Amy Atlas's dessert tables look irresistible.
Got up early today, ate breakfast out, bought some new tights and a dress. I've been doing a little cleaning back at the apartment, which is going well, except for the part where Rufus the cat decided to use a cardboard box as a surf board and crash into some plastic drawers. He's okay, but feeling a little self-conscious, I think.
I can't understand most of it, but I can still swoon: Billet.
Stefan: So, my friend just got back from Croatia...
Me: Where is that, anyway?
Stefan: I'm not sure. I think it's, uh...
Me: It's near Cheece, right?
Me: Greece. Greece!
I do this all the time, borrowing letters from previous words. It's worse when I don't even realize it. And no, Croatia is not really that close to Greece.
Enigmatic prints from Lolley Land.
There were a lot of entertaining things about the hockey game that I went to last night, and one of them was the Zamboni. But it wasn't the machine. It was the guy driving the machine. He was probably in his thirties and on the shorter side, an attribute magnified by wearing wide leg jeans and a jumbo hockey jersey. He was balding, and little tufts of hair stood up on the front of his head. He also had a severe underbite, bulging eyes, and black-rimmed glasses. As he sped the Zamboni around the rink, he didn't even bother to sit down; instead, he stood, hunched over the steering wheel, navigating deftly. I started to imagine him at parties, mingling with friends unaware of the culture of ice rinks, boasting about how necessary and intense his job is.
And after reading up a little bit about it, I just have to share this: Frank J. Zamboni, the inventor of the Zamboni, was born in Eureka, Utah. Can it get much better than that?
Today's been scrumptious & picturesque: we did some errands in the morning, then dropped by a community boutique sale (got a cute a.p.c. striped button up shirt), had sushi and coffee, and drove around while all the orange and yellow leaves fluttered through the air.
This morning, I spotted a yellow-eyed black cat just outside the garage. I approached it really slowly, but it skedaddled before I was within arm's length. Disappointed, watching it run into the neighbor's yard, I turned around – and there was another yellow-eyed black cat, just sitting there sweetly in the middle of the garage.
I think I may have discovered a teleporting cat.
Lots of sweetness in Creature Comforts' photostream.
So I've been wanting to expand my good-board-games-for-two collection, and I might have done so tonight, except for this one little problem. And that problem was a gangly teenage kid drifting around the aisle, talking to himself. Or maybe he was talking at me?
As soon as I heard him cry out, "Andbeforeyouknowit! Iron Man is gonna..." to himself/no one/me, I ran out of the aisle and looked for other things to occupy myself with, like mountainous amounts of candy corn. (A few minutes after that, an announcement about Iron Man came over the PA system. So maybe he was on to something after all.)
This evening, I got so caught up in taking a grammar quiz online that my half-eaten ice cream sandwich started to melt all over the table and I didn't even notice. If that's not a sign of being a grammar nerd, I don't know what is.
(And now I keep thinking about all the people who are shaking their heads, lamenting, "Oh, what a horrible waste of ice cream!")
Random product recommendation for anyone who has to deal with unintentionally hairy couches and pants: get the Furminator. We've been using it on our cat, and it's ridiculously better than any other brush. I'm finding fewer and fewer of those little tumbleweeds of fur rolling around the apartment.
Have a stellar weekend!
Recent Sartorialist faves.
Hey, folks. Sorry, I've been a little MIA recently, and I don't have much for you today, either. Mostly, I'm just very slowly cleaning house & getting distracted by television & nibbling on snacks. Enjoy the weekend!
There was a woman applying makeup on the bus this morning, and despite being a little scary when a mascara wand is being used and the bus is racing over bumps in the road, this isn't really a rare thing to see. So I was ignoring it, sucked into my book, until I heard the woman say, "Well, this is the only way I can get my lashes to curl, they're so thick!"
And of course, hearing that, I had to look up. I nearly expected to see her holding an oversized, ultra-bulky eyelash curler, something scary and serious.
But I was oh-so wrong: she was holding the back of a spoon against her eye.
A spoon! Who knew? And looks like it's old news: someone's even posted a tutorial about this technique here. Oh, the things you can learn...
The cocoa machine at work is sort of hit and miss. Sometimes it spews out this rich, sweet hot chocolate, and other times it expels a watered down version of said drink. So I've learned to take a test sip before carrying it back to my desk, and if I've been served the watery version, then I'll add half-and-half to make it decently drinkable.
But recently I noticed something next to the half-and-half. A mystery container was wrapped in a grocery bag, with an attached note that read: "Do not drink! Will cause intoxication."
And along the side of the note, someone else had responded, "Do you really think that's going to stop anyone?" with a little smiley face.
Flagrante delícia: yum yum yum.
Last night I had a dream that my mom paid Radiohead $100 to call me up on the phone. I was absolutely ecstatic about this, and tried to think of interesting things to ask them.
Me: "So, Thom, what's your middle name?"
Thom: "Middle name? What's that?"
Me: "Oh, that's right. British people don't have middle names."
And this wasn't sarcastic. For whatever reason, that was the truth – the British simply didn't believe in middle names.
After that, they sang me some songs over the phone, and it was pretty much the best dream I've had in a while.
Finally, something to do with those annoying flaps: Netflix Origami.
Something just a tad peculiar happened this evening: I was standing in Safeway, browsing the magazines, looking at a cover of James Franco next to the words, "…the next James Dean." Meanwhile, James Blunt was the song playing overhead. And guess what our checker's name was? That's right. James.
Goodies from Canoe.
Well, it was a pretty typical day, except for the:
Today at work, I'm in the bathroom minding my own business when a roll of toilet paper comes speeding into my stall, unrolling along the way. There's an awkward pause, then I hear a voice say, "Oh, ha-ha, my toilet paper ran away!"
And I sort of laugh and then stammer, "I'll, uh… here," and push it back. Then I try to remain anonymous and scoot my shoes as far away as possible. That's typical Rachel Logic – here I am, acting like I was the one who accidentally flung something the size of a pet turtle into a neighboring stall.
But, you know, it could have been worse. It can always be worse.
The difference between house and home: Cox & Cox.
When I woke up this morning, I discovered that my glasses had flung themselves off the night table, and were probably hiding in a pile of clothes/books/pillows waiting to be cleaned up. But I didn't know for sure, because without actually having my glasses on, I'm about as useful as a paper knife. I considered stumbling into the bathroom and putting my contacts in, but then thought stubbornly, "No! Can't be defeated by AWOL glasses. Must...find...them..."
I found them eventually, but it was the optometric equivalent of locking my keys in a car.
A few minutes ago, the fire alarms in our apartment building went off, which was about as loud as handing a screaming baby a megaphone and then positioning your face a quarter of an inch away. When it happened, Rufus the cat beelined directly into the bedroom and onto the scale. I guess there's no better time than when an alarm is falsely tripped to see if you've been nibbling on too many kitty treats.
Can't remember the keyboard shortcut for that character? Copy and paste from here.
We ate dinner at a nearby teriyaki joint this evening. It's the kind of place that displays the menu visually with pristine photos of plates after plates after plates of various combinations of noodles, meat, and football-shaped rice. But tonight there was a new addition taped to the bottom of the menu, misaligned type on a yellow piece of paper: TOFU MENU.
A Tofu Menu! I thought. Finally!
The sad part is that there were only two items on it: Tofu Stir Fried and Tofu Yakisoba.
My prediction is that Tofu Menus are going to start showing up everywhere within the next year. Tofu Menu at McDonalds. Tofu Menu at Black Angus.
Small goodness from imogeneANDannie.
I'm watching America's Next Top Model right now, but not without plenty of, "Um…what? Seriously?" I think every season the show gets more ridiculous and the girls get less attractive. Right-o. Time to flip to the channel to Project Runway.
I took an alternate bus home from work today, one that mostly clears out by the time it gets near my stop. At the end of the ride, a guy in the back of the bus started talking on his cell phone – and by talking, I mean shouting. Not angry shouting, but this-is-just-how-I-talk shouting. Anyway, the audible side of the conversation went something like this:
"I told you, I'll be there in a couple of minutes!… Yeah, I'm just a couple of blocks away. I'll be at Safeway any minute now!… What? What?… Subway?!… Where's Subway at!… I don't know where the Subway is at!… Oh… Oh, okay! Subway!"
And then the bus driver got on his speaker, and announced to the whole bus: "I want some Subway, too."
A few minutes ago I was going to light some tea light candles that sit on the dining table. But, oh, surprise! There's a fat, brown spider hanging out on one of them. And I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that it's dead (tested by blowing on it) but it's still standing on all its legs as if it's alive.
Option one: turn the candle holder upside down and dump the spider in the trash. Downside: the candle will also fall into the trash.
Option two: light the wick and burn the spider. Downside: morbid, in a small and strange way.
Option three: introduce Rufus into the situation, and he might eat it. Because, um… cats eats spiders, right? Isn't that how it works?
This has been making the rounds, but I need to put my two cents in that Jayme McGowan's work is daydreamingly wonderful.
Today I bought Cat Power's album The Greatest and am looooving it.
Today I also submitted a short story to a literary magazine, which will go unnamed unless, by some ultra stroke of luck, they accept the story. It feels good to have something actually finished and sent out there.
The even greater thing is that after finishing that piece, I'm even more pumped to start on a new one.
Tomorrow's challenge: make a decent jicama salad for a little BBQ we're going to. Any secrets I should know?
Okay, seriously: I could spend all day drooling over Cannelle et Vanille.
Although, in reality, I spent most of today writing, being distracted by writing forums, eating candy and salmon (not together), watching The Science of Sleep again, fighting with Rufus over a roll of wrapping paper that he has become obsessed with, and being glad that there's still two days left in the weekend. Bonne nuit!
Cuteness from Romp.
Went to the Seahawks game tonight, although I'm not too ashamed to say that I started reading New Yorker fiction on my iPhone after a while. When we were leaving, we walked about five stories down this huge, winding ramp, and all of a sudden a guy in a wheelchair came speeding past everyone, taking full advantage of the slope with a huge grin on his face. I imagine that he was thinking something like, "Later, suckers!"
Illustrations from Marc Johns.
The woman sitting across from me on the bus this morning was wearing shoes resembling Band-Aids. They were flesh-colored, designed with minimalism and padding, and featured sections pricked with pinholes for ventilation.
Recent Sartorialist faves.
Right now I'm being held captive by Rufus. If I move my foot a millimeter, he'll sink both his claws and teeth in. And to make his point even clearer, he's both sitting on and eating the newest issue of The Stranger that I want to be reading.
The thing I forgot to mention about my walk in the rain yesterday was the tiny snails everywhere. Their shells were no larger than a quarter and housed half-transparent bodies. With my monstrous rain boots I would have undoubtedly crushed one had I not kept my eyes on the sidewalk.
That's one of those tiny things I love about the city. The slug population is significantly lower. Once, when I was younger, a black slug had crawled up the front door of our house and curled around the door handle. I would have had nightmares for weeks had I grabbed that slimy handful. (Although what would be even worse would be flying slugs. Oh, shudder.)
Low-key today. I finished watching Tremors and Transformers (neither of which I'll probably bother to watch again), read all of John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist (more philosophical than how-to and very good) then rubbed some blush & vaseline on my cheeks and went out for a walk in the rain, making use of my pear-patterned rainboots and stopping to pet a sweet Husky tied up outside the library. I'm not sure where the rest of the day went. I have mixed feelings about the book I've been reading (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle) – the plot's interesting enough, but the writing's a bit dull – and I might start cheating on it by reading some Faulkner...
Oh, YES. I saw Radiohead tonight in concert. As in, my favorite band. As in, I actually know most of the lyrics. This was the set list (from memory, mind you, but I think it's right):
1. 15 Step
4. There There
5. All I Need
6. Pyramid Song
7. Talk Show Host
8. The National Anthem
9. The Gloaming
12. Faust Arp
13. Jigsaw Falling Into Place
14. Climbing up the Walls
15. Dollars and Cents
The show was everything I had hoped for. There was an encore, but Stefan & I left as it was starting, and for a hell of a good reason: it took us THREE HOURS to drive the 40 miles out there. (So you can only imagine how awful it would have been to leave with the masses.) As we ran out to the car, the rain started coming down faster, but even with soaked hair clinging to my face and an empty stomach and malfunctioning eardrums, all the wonderfulness was not dampened a bit.
Latin America in the modern age: LAMA.
Some character studies from the morning bus ride:
1. Girl wearing yellow Chucks Taylors, blue zip-up sweatshirt, t-shirt silkscreened with a neon skyline and "DALLAS", jeans that are slit an inch on both sides. She's wearing a plain chain necklace, no makeup, hair pulled back, glasses. Beside her, a bag slumps with frayed edges, decorated with blue and tan cats. She's playing a PSP with the grimace of either angst or severe concentration. She holds a purple Starbucks mug between her thighs.
2. Woman in her mid-twenties wearing a black blazer, gemstone necklace, dark wash jeans, black boots with silver piping. Shiny hair the color of honey. Mauve lipstick. A small purple purse is slung over her shoulder. She's reading a book. Near the end of the bus ride, she pulls a banana out of the purse, puts the book in, then places the banana on top – it doesn't seem like there's room for anything else.
3. Native American middle-aged couple, embracing each other. Woman: baby blue sweatsuit with an embroidered feather on the pants, gray and black sneakers, tie-dyed shirt, turquoise ring. Man: skinnier than his wife, pale jeans, cream button-up shirt, leather jacket, brown loafers. Both are wearing caps. Hers says "NATIVE PRIDE." His says "BUICK."
The other day we're standing in Petco, trying to decide what type of cat food to buy for Rufus. Then I spot it: "Organic Turkey and Organic Spinach Formula." Because, come on, isn't it funny to feed a cat spinach? I mean, can you imagine setting out a bunch of fresh spinach leaves in a dish and your cat furiously racing over to it and scarfing it down?
Anyway, that's what Rufus ate for dinner tonight, as I stood over him and imitated Popeye: "A-gah-gah-gah-gah!"
Wasara has the most gorgeous paper tableware.
It was unbearably hot today. To sum up my day, materialistically: I finished reading The Other and started McSweeney's Issue 27; watched It's Pat and From Hell; bought cat food, plums, and liquor; received a 798-page Vogue in the mail and ripped out the only half dozen pages that I liked. I have a feeling I won't be renewing my subscription.
And, dutifully, here's my weekly novel update: 8,000 words. To put that into perspective, that's about 20 formatted pages. My goal this weekend is to hit the 10,000 mark and maybe start revising the first chapter.
Have a splendid Saturday night!
Pretty from stone & honey.
On the bus today I saw a man try to flirt with the woman he was sitting next to. This wouldn't have been unusual, except the man was deaf. He motioned to her face – she was wearing bright red lipstick and well-orchestrated eyeshadow – and then drew a smile on his own face. I don't know if this is actually sign language or the kind of sign language used toward people who won't understand it. In any case, the woman was gracious.
"Oh, thank you!" she said. "I had it done professionally. At Macy's!"
The man made more gestures around his face, and she laughed and thanked him again. It went on like this for a couple minutes. At one point, they both glanced in my direction, and I lowered my head shamefully.
"That's my cat. He's my baby!" I then heard her say. I couldn't help but sneak another glance. She had her cell phone out, and the man pointed to the screen, then drew invisible whiskers onto his face with his fingers. After this, he imitated a cat kneading, claws out. The woman laughed again, and repeated that her cat was "her baby, and so soft".
But then he made a gesture that she didn't understand. It almost looked as if he was pretending to cut his wrists. After repeating it several times, the woman frowned, then said, "Oh… I don't…I don't really give out my phone number."
So, as you might guess, it was silent between those two during the rest of the ride. What a way to end the week, huh?
Last night we ventured down to the fish ladder at the Ballard Locks to see a plethora of Chinook salmon. I loved how demanding this sign was ("Understand it, damn it!") and the redundancy of its subsequent inquiry. I also admired a funny little sign directing the way to the fish ladder. It would be severely entertaining to see an fish hop up a set of stairs. Or, wait – is that fish dancing?
While we were there, a little boy leaned over the railing and screamed, "EW! Soapy water!" (It was, in fact, not soapy.) This interested his little sister greatly, for she immediately yelled back in a baby doll voice, "Andy, why did you say "EW"?" I later spotted them by the roses, chasing a neon soccer ball.
Goodies from Poketo.
I should know better by now. I really should. Four out of seven nights of the week, I'll decide to take a "refresher nap" with the intention of waking back up in fifteen or twenty minutes. But it never, ever works. I end up waking up after midnight in a hazy stupor, cursing myself for wasting the night away. That's what happened last night: I was writing, decided to lay down for just a minute or two, and then woke up two and a half hours later.
But something was different. I had this awful, eerie feeling. From the other room, I heard a woman emit a muted scream: "Nooooooooo! Nooooo...." Silence followed. I stayed very still, my eyes heavy. Finally, I stumbled out into the living room.
And you know what it was? Stefan had been watching a horror movie. I had woken up during the scariest and most climatic part – the ending. So as I was laying in bed, mistaking a length of dead silence for being ominous and foreboding, it was only the end credits rolling.
Today's lesson: don't do that again.
For whatever reason, straddling the arm of the couch is Rufus' preferred hang-out spot. My theory is that he sits like this for maximum swiping power: once the position is assumed, he'll act like a snapping turtle even at the gentlest touch, all four limbs (and mouth) in attack mode. The best part is that from above, his flattened body becomes an unimaginably huge rectangle, and with his arms jutting out on both sides he resembles a bear skin rug.
Hi! I'm Rachel, and these are bits of my days and things I like. I run the online shops Elephantine and Mignon, am a fiction writer, and live in Seattle with my husband and two cats. Read more about this blog...
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