elephantine

shades of gray

Even though I prefer a colorful summer wardrobe, Morrison's seasonal looks are lovely.

My dreams used to be plump and cinematic, sometimes indulgent (winning the lottery, flying unaided), sometimes terrifying (cornered in a natural history museum by a live, ravenous T-rex). But lately, they've all been, well, bland. I dream about having work to do. I dream about showing up late. If there's a trick to encouraging more colorful ways to keep my mind occupied in the wee hours of the night, indulge me. Because I'd appreciate avoiding experiences like this: I actually had a dream that I was using my iPhone, accidentally pressed the web browser button, and couldn't figure out how to get back to my email. How lackluster is that?

wed-nes-day

Gold jewelry from Catbird NYC: 14K tiny chain rings and bobby pin necklace.

Tonight: preoccupied with the third season of Weeds and season premiere of Project Runway. Oh, yeah. I'm going to pour a little Baileys and slump down into the sofa like the true couch potato I am.

that's pants!

Oh Leoluca makes me swoon forever and ever. There's a good reason I've repeatedly posted about it.

Recently I was walking up a wide outdoor stairway populated by scattered lunchers. Now, I wasn't trying to notice it, but it happened anyway: one guy had a split down the entire crotch of his pants. This wasn't some little inconspicuous hole; it was so large that ripping the pants the rest of the way apart seriously looked feasible. I don't understand how he couldn't have noticed. (He must have been wearing some thick undies.) Anyway, there he sat, chatting with his lunch-buddy without a care in the world, and at that moment I really wanted more than anything to see the expression on his face the moment he discovered his shortcoming. Would it be while he was still at work, in the middle of a critical meeting, a frozen terror instantly flashing across his face? Would it be that evening, at home, a much-delayed humiliation suddenly burning up his cheeks?

Today's advice: spot-check for horrific rips in outfit before dressing.

exclamation point

Photos as promised: this is the typewriter that now sits on my dining room table, occupying the space that has been used for actual dining only two or three times. Punching the keys is very satisfying, as is the confident ding! at the end of each line. There is no key for 1 (I searched for a good solid minute) but I think I can manage – the I will be on double duty. It is a Smith-Corona Sterling from the 1940's, and it is all mine mine mine.

another weekend bites the dust

Lighthearted work from D. Billy.

As of yesterday, I'm officially a proud and slightly poorer iPhonette, obsessively checking it, trying to see how fast and accurately I can hunt and peck, adding new apps and shifting them around and then adding more for good measure. I'm also going to try to keep my twitter updated, so if you feel the need, follow me here.

It was about a two hour wait until being ushered into the AT&T store. This particular AT&T store is attached to a mall. And not a big or popular mall: I can count the numbers of shops I actually shop in on my left hand.

But at one point, a man slowly approached the line, looked at all of us with great confusion, and asked with disbelief, "Is this... the line... to get into the mall?" It was a good thing that someone explained the situation, because I think he might have had a heart attack had we said yes.

half a dozen

Adorable children's clothing and playthings from Japanese shop Chigo.

Yesterday was beau & my 6th year anniversary. I kept thinking, "Six, really? It's really been that long already?" He gave me an incredibly lovely gift – a Corona typewriter from the 40's. (Yes, I'll photograph it soon.) We had reservations at the Melting Pot: two and a half hours of scrumptious bits of food dipped in everything from garlic-flavored cheese to bouillon to Bailey's and chocolate. And let's not forget the Love Martini – rum, schnapps, cranberry juice, and fresh strawberries.

Goals for this weekend: fight off the crowds for the new iPhone, get the novel outline to 15 pages (currently at 13), go canoeing without embarrassing myself, watch the French flick Happenstance.

super supermarket

Sweetness from Supermarket: Egg Pants and randLCanvas Large Notebook.

ooolio

Light & summery from Olio United.

Today I saw a woman toting her dog around in a baby carrier. Its feet jutted out, dangling helplessly, but not showing disapproval in the slightest. Then the woman sneezed – a loud, mega-spray sneeze – right into the pup's face.

spaghetti stock

Western Spaghetti, the latest and greatest from PES, is the coolest thing I've seen in weeks. These stills don't do it a smidgen of justice. Watch it. And turn on your speakers.

Today on the morning ride, I overhear the guy behind me rave to his friend about a realtime bus tracker on his cellphone. "There's another bus about five blocks behind us," he informs the friend, and he gains instant popularity with those around him.

"What is that? Where'd you get it?" I hear.

"It's a project by the University of Washington. Just go to mybus.org," he instructs.

Women on both sides of him are tickled pink. But one of them is still a little fuzzy, and keeps asking how exactly he's accessing this enigmatic treasure chest of knowledge. He tells her that she just needs a WAP-enabled phone, to which she replies, "Oh.... uh, well, I guess I need a new phone. So, um, how do you get to it, again?" He rattles off the web address another couple times, still wildly cheerful.

And then the woman exclaims, "I'll have to buy stock in this!"

To which the guy replies, "Well, um... you can't – it's not really – um."

This is kind of like saying, 'I'm going to buy stock in search engines!" But, you know, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt, because things can come out wrong. I am no stranger to that. Sometimes I even switch the order of words and don't realize it until someone pokes fun. (On a semi-related note, I have to insert here that one of my all-time favorite Onion headlines is Man Accidentally Ends Business Call With "I Love You".)

Lastly, on another and completely unrelated note: for those of you intrigued by Takashi Iwasaki's work that I posted about a bit ago, check out The Duhks album over at Sugar Hill Records – his art is featured on the cover.

opposites attract

The Dorogaya Magnetic Calendar gets major brownie points because it'll never be outdated, includes specialty buttons, and even sports a magnet for the 32th day of the month.

In the morning: first stop downtown, one person gets off the bus, a policeman gets on. He's in full Bicycle Cop getup: the shorts, the helmet, the slanted shades. Our bus driver greets him with her usual vigor.

"You're awfully cheery this morning," the policeman shoots back. "How's your bus doing?"

"Oh, I have wonderful passengers," she grins.

He gives us all a once-over, then tries, "Any problems?" Again, she reassures him that we are all behaving. I'm expecting him to say something next like, "Well, I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but there's an escaped felon on your coach," or with even greater intensity, "Ma'am, little do you know that there is a meth lab thriving in the back of your bus," but right then my fantasy of being caught in a primetime television drama is given the boot, and he gets off the bus without any further interrogation.

I used to always dream about dinosaurs

I'm finding the homewares over at Dinosaur Designs quite alluring, especially in these gorgeous arrays of food. It's putting my toast & coffee breakfast to shame. Hop on over to The Design Files to read an interview with co-founder Liane Rossler (there's also plenty of jewelry, for the not-so-food-obsessed).

Yesterday, small good things: it was a friend's birthday and she received my card in time, when I was convinced it would arrive late; I made progress in fixing my Google Reader freakshow; I found new chopsticks to replace our broken ones and honeysuckle incense that wasn't too overpowering; beau and I walked all the way around Greenlake, which for some reason I had never done (topics of conversation: pellet guns, renting a canoe next time, the Spanish Lessons guy, head injuries).

the long weekend continues

Digging these looks from altamira nyc.

Quick status update, one week of working on the novel outline: about seven pages completed, although still a mess of a storyline. I've got roughly five chapters significantly figured out, and another twentyish that are extremely vague. I think I'm on track for my self-assigned end-o-august deadline. I think.

In other completely random news, I've developed a fondness for pairing cheese and onions. I was notoriously anti-onion as a kid and only began liking them in the last couple years. A cheese and onion sandwich, nothing else on it? Delish. (If there's a sandwich to bring tears to your eyes, it's that one.)

stars and stripes

I love: Folle 26 Stapler and Lexon Pocket Calculator from See Jane Work.

So I have this little problem, and his name is Google Reader: it is the norm for my unread items to be in the (here I cover my face in shame) 1000+ category. Yes, not only a thousand, but a thousand plus. And it's not because I neglect to use it – I do, everyday –  it's because I subscribe to practically any feed I feel some affinity toward. I'm subscribed to everything from friends' blogs to Michael Ian Black's blog to writer's tips to the local radio station. And, of course, an excess of design, craft, and style feeds.

The only reason I've been able to deal with it is because it's intangible, 1's and 0's, easily deletable. (But imagine if it was tangible, real! Imagine if there were 1000+ memos jammed into my mailbox! Oh, the paper cuts.) This weekend I'm determined to do the much needed housecleaning, unsubscribing (without guilt, without guilt!) to the feeds I'm only half-interested, and giving my dutiful attention to the ones I'm very interested in.

(Just as I finished typing that, Rufus casually approached the shoe closet, opened the barely ajar door with great difficulty and squeaking, and disappeared inside the tiny, dark space. Is there something he knows that I don't know? Is that, like, his office, or a portal?)

Anyway, have a happy fourth. I'm armed with Pop-its and vegetarian hot dogs to boot.

simply good

I've been a fan of the simplicity from shim + sons for a while, and now I'll have a little bit of my own: blue mousepad, you'll soon be mine.

Just a few words for tonight: this episode is three years old, and I've already listened to it at least one time before, but I just had to again today, and so should you: 20 Acts in 60 Minutes on This American Life.

delishishish

Um – yes, please. Whiskie bits bakeshop, I officially beg you to relocate.

Stefan and I walk to Gorditos tonight, which if you haven't been there, goes something like this: after placing an order, you're assigned one of many paper mache donkeys, all identical save for their name tags. We're handed Sylvestre, who is missing one of his legs but still appears to be in good humor. The place is full of mismatched tables and chairs, a repetitive trombone-heavy tune playing overhead, bouncing off walls that don't absorb the noise. There's the bad art: one piece (available for $35!) is simply a spray-painted biohazard symbol, black on red. There's the delicious, tremendous portions – a photo of a burrito laying beside a newborn is proudly taped to the cash register. And finally, there's the blonde, peachy-complexioned kid, maybe five years old, sitting with his parents and sister, shooting me a flat look as I wait for my food. He's wearing a yellow tee with a racecar (typical) and chipped, dark purple polish on all ten of his tiny fingernails (not so typical). He stabs his burrito with a fork, frowns at it, then opts to fish a piece of ice out of his glass with the same fork, chewing it fiercely, unfazed.