Sunday, February 18, 2007
Chair lust
So, kind of a hobby of mine is furniture design. It took me completely by surprise, and I can tell you exactly when it started (and I will, because this is my blog and I get to do such things): In high school, I climbed with some friends into the upper level of the art museum in Richmond so we could peer over the railing into the Egypt exhibit, which we had no intention of paying to get into. The best illicit view was from the corner where the Art Nouveau furniture (incidentally, one of the finest collections in the country, go figure) was kept. And I said "MY GOD, WHAT IS THAT DESK?" editor's note: quotes may not be accurate It was love at first sight.
Thanks to the Interwebs, I can read about furniture all day long now, if I want. Lately, I've been seeing a chair all over. It's obviously not new (or at least modern, except in the mid-century sense), and I clearly have the same taste as everyone else, because it seems sometimes like everybody has this chair. Anyway, I just found out what it is: The Eames Plywood Lounge Chair.
Co-worker Austin's response: "That doesn't look comfy at all, Megan." But I bet it is. I BET IT IS.
So I had to add it to my Chair Lust List.
... What, you don't have one of those? Anyway, it's Number Two, after the Anthropologie Astrid Chair:
As soon as I win the lottery, man, chairs.
Thanks to the Interwebs, I can read about furniture all day long now, if I want. Lately, I've been seeing a chair all over. It's obviously not new (or at least modern, except in the mid-century sense), and I clearly have the same taste as everyone else, because it seems sometimes like everybody has this chair. Anyway, I just found out what it is: The Eames Plywood Lounge Chair.
Co-worker Austin's response: "That doesn't look comfy at all, Megan." But I bet it is. I BET IT IS.
So I had to add it to my Chair Lust List.
... What, you don't have one of those? Anyway, it's Number Two, after the Anthropologie Astrid Chair:
As soon as I win the lottery, man, chairs.
Labels: consumer whore
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
The Low-Down Meg Blues
Can you hear my day today? It's like an R.L. Burnside song, with a wailing harmonica, and, like, a dog or something. I'm not sad or anything, but man, I feel like crud. I woke up at 7:30 this morning because my stomach hurt, and at first I thought it was because Jupiter was jumping up and down on me (note to cat: I am not your freakin' trampoline, go feed yourself) but then I rolled over and realized it still felt like a rabid weasel was living in my large intestine and wanted out. And then I realized it was probably my stupidly complicated Japanese bowl thing that took me four hours and an emergency trip to Vons for soy sauce to cook yesterday and then wasn't very good. Anyway now the pain has stopped but I still feel all pale and shaky. Bleh. And it's my day off, so I can't even call in sick! I'm going to go eat a pile of starch and see if that makes me feel better.
P.S. Oh and I can't open my refrigerator because the remaining ingredients of yesterday's disaster are in there and they SMELL LIKE DEATH and then I turn green and have to run away. So, lunch is oatmeal and rice pilaf.
P.S. Oh and I can't open my refrigerator because the remaining ingredients of yesterday's disaster are in there and they SMELL LIKE DEATH and then I turn green and have to run away. So, lunch is oatmeal and rice pilaf.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
String in a tin
Because really, who doesn't need string in a tin?
From Baileys Home and Garden
Just minding my own business
So I got off work at about 11 last night, as usual, and was cruising down Ocean Boulevard on my way home. "Ooh, the light at Shoreline's green," I thought, and followed the car ahead of me into the intersection. And then SCREECH! and WHAM! and BREAKING GLASS! and I had to swerve suddenly, because a guy had just made an illegal left turn right in front of the guy in front of me, and their cars went boom.
I pulled into the Villa Riviera's driveway without thinking, really, and ran over to check on things. A man standing next to an SUV was calling the police, and the drivers were standing next to their cars, looking dazed. (Actually, the guy who did the illegal turning looked drunk, but I'm not the police.) But then ... what to do? I was right there when it happened, so I should tell the police or something, right? Where is my mom when I need her? A woman ran up and asked if everyone was alright, and I said that they looked okay. I figured she was the closest thing to a grown-up I was likely to find, so I asked her whether she thought I should stay or go. "Oh, you should talk to them," she said. "I'll wait here with you."
The police showed up with lightning speed, which I was a little startled by. I guess when it's a big accident in a major intersection, they pick up their normal glacial pace a bit. I tiptoed over and looked involved, and finally an officer came over to talk to me. I waved goodbye to the nice lady (never did find out what her name was) and gave the officer my ID and my story. It really didn't take that long, but I was feeling rattled. People really need to not have spectacular car accidents in front of me, that's all I'm saying.
Then, today, I pop outside to get my newspaper and THERE IS NO NEWSPAPER. Now, I understand that sometimes stuff happens. I always call the Times so I get credited, but it's not a huge deal. However, it's started happening at least once a week. I smelled a rat. I walked aroud the back on my way to work and peered into the recycling bin, and sure enough, there was my paper. It had clearly been read, and then chucked in there. How do I know it was my paper?
Now, I know that's circumstantial, but come on. So what do I do? I don't want to be passive-agressive about it, but this has to stop. It's stealing! Co-worker Craig suggested I knock on doors, since there are only three of them (I will ignore the rest of his advice, about brass knuckles and thinly veiled death threats). Any thoughts, Internets?
I pulled into the Villa Riviera's driveway without thinking, really, and ran over to check on things. A man standing next to an SUV was calling the police, and the drivers were standing next to their cars, looking dazed. (Actually, the guy who did the illegal turning looked drunk, but I'm not the police.) But then ... what to do? I was right there when it happened, so I should tell the police or something, right? Where is my mom when I need her? A woman ran up and asked if everyone was alright, and I said that they looked okay. I figured she was the closest thing to a grown-up I was likely to find, so I asked her whether she thought I should stay or go. "Oh, you should talk to them," she said. "I'll wait here with you."
The police showed up with lightning speed, which I was a little startled by. I guess when it's a big accident in a major intersection, they pick up their normal glacial pace a bit. I tiptoed over and looked involved, and finally an officer came over to talk to me. I waved goodbye to the nice lady (never did find out what her name was) and gave the officer my ID and my story. It really didn't take that long, but I was feeling rattled. People really need to not have spectacular car accidents in front of me, that's all I'm saying.
Then, today, I pop outside to get my newspaper and THERE IS NO NEWSPAPER. Now, I understand that sometimes stuff happens. I always call the Times so I get credited, but it's not a huge deal. However, it's started happening at least once a week. I smelled a rat. I walked aroud the back on my way to work and peered into the recycling bin, and sure enough, there was my paper. It had clearly been read, and then chucked in there. How do I know it was my paper?
- It was from today.
- This has been happening a lot lately.
- Nobody else in my building gets the paper.
Now, I know that's circumstantial, but come on. So what do I do? I don't want to be passive-agressive about it, but this has to stop. It's stealing! Co-worker Craig suggested I knock on doors, since there are only three of them (I will ignore the rest of his advice, about brass knuckles and thinly veiled death threats). Any thoughts, Internets?
Labels: things happen to me
