I was looking around Etsy (fucking sue me) for a gift the other day, and on the page that details the art categories, I noticed…
That’s a bowl, right? For weed? Is Etsy based in Portland, or is this the world we live in now? To be clear, I’m not upset about that, I just want to know so I am aware of what’s acceptable.
I normally don’t get in a tizzy about things like this, but what the fuck is a MANSIZE tissue?
My sneezes are just as important and deserve just as money as a man’s, thankyouverymuch.
Time for a new game: of these portraits of Victorian ladies, which ones were taken on psych wards and which ones are just, well, your average Victorian lady?
(I could have kept going for ages, for the record.)
Email Siobhan for the answers!
LET IT BE KNOWN THAT ID NEVER ABANDONS A PROJECT! NOT EVEN IN THE FACE OF PUBLIC RIDICULE, LEGAL THREATS OR CERTAIN DEATH! (Okay, so maybe not that last one…) For nearly four years now, I’ve pitched to everyone who would listen (my husband, my former boss, Jeff Stark of Nonsense NYC) my idea for a portable padded room, constructed of an old trailer of some kind. On the side could be a big sign that reads, “For all your public nervous breakdown needs!” and the artist (that’d be me) could drive it around the city and invite the marching suits inside to have a good old fashioned freak out.
One minor problem with this plan: I have zero experience in construction. Or design. And I’m just an okay driver, but we’ll put that on the back burner for now. As for the first two problems, I think my problem is solved, because I’ve recently discovered Danish creative director Jonas Hallberg’s genius tiny office.
Perfekt!
Dear Jonas,
Will you please collaborate with me? This project haunts my dreams; I shall not rest until the portable padded room is a reality.
Love,
ID
or does this immediately strike you as gross?
Via the Guardian, which I really didn’t think was porn, but maybe I’m wrong?
PS In my dream last night, a book reviewer called me “chubby” and then I was so upset that they (reviewer and whatever publication they were attached to, I guess?) offered me $1.1 million. I was still upset, which should have been the clue that I was dreaming, because in real life I’d like be, “SO worth it!”
Guys, remember when I had my psychic dream? THIS is what we were wearing.
Groovy.
I really should have a category called Whimsical Haberdashery, but I think I might be done adding categories. I mean, at a certain point, expansion becomes procrastination, no? Speaking of procrastination, I wanted to work today, but I went to a family wedding last night so I was tired and lazy and ended up watching a lot of (really good) movies and eating an entire medium pizza by myself. A day that sounds funny in the context of a Girls episode––millennials, they’re so stupid and yet witty!––but is actually just kind of sad in real life. But you know what isn’t sad? This drawing of a meringue hat, which I told my husband I wanted the other day. It was done by Will Cotton, my new art crush. Will, can you make me one of these IRL? Great, thankssomuch.
My friend KM, who has helped me reach so many literary milestones, recently told me about a house in the posh neighborhood in London where her aunt lives. Apparently the woman who owns it was upset that the neighborhood council didn’t approve her plans to install a swimming pool (noise and all) so to get back at them, she painted the facade of her home in red and white stripes. Honestly, I think it looks pretty cool, and think the neighbors should continue to oppose her swimming pool plan so that their lane remains the cutest in the borough.
Yum
I don’t know that this stuff all falls under this topic heading, exactly, but I’m going with it.
1. When I was walking through the streets of New York before we moved, I noticed ads for Club Monaco’s new line (or maybe it wasn’t Club Monaco, but some similarly business casual outlet that would advertise on the sides of bus terminals) that featured something they were calling REPORTER PANTS. And I thought, “Gee, I should just stop working and get those pants, and maybe things will be about the same!” I couldn’t find them––so probably they were called “journalist pants,” and made by Gap, or something like that––but here are a pair of “reporter pants,” from ModCloth, which, as we all know, is the best (said in Jessica Simpson slur) at product labeling (there’s a marketing term for that, no?)
Yes, these do look like they have great sources.
2. A few years ago, I read an article in Departures about this place in London called The School of Life. Founded by Alain de Botton and other sweet pop-philosophers, it offered classes in things like, “How to Get Things Done.” I thought it sounded amazing; now that I’m older and (in some ways) more cynical, I wonder if perhaps the teachers of a class like “How to Get Things Done” ought to tell his/her students to take that hour to do said things instead of listen to a self-professed expert blather on. Lest you think I’m being too harsh on the School of Life, I present for you: the Philosopher’s Jumper, A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR BLACK SWEATER guaranteed to make you as influential a thinker as Heidegger.
BITCH. PLEASE.
And to put the cherry on this pretentious sundae, check out the insufferable copy:
“It has taken pride of place in the wardrobes of philosophical figures as diverse as Herbert Marcuse, Iris Murdoch, Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre. The Philosopher’s Jumper, designed in collaboration with Bella Freud, invites us to share in the philosophical life: one of soul-searching, interesting relationships, impassioned argument and bold speculation.”
I have… no words.
3. Speaking of London, a truck from a company called Future Comforts has been parked across the street from my house for the past two weeks. Here’s their logo:
I think it’s the word “comfort” that’s throwing me.
Yep, that’s a geisha. Is this offensive? I’m going to vote yes, and I almost never vote yes.
4. Is it just me, or is the Times Magazine basically all celebrity profiles these days? It’s like a more long-winded version of People.
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