The Thing Speaks for Whatever

Archive for November, 2010|Monthly archive page

Dear Williams-Sonoma

In Katie, My Letter Game is On Point, This verges on the ridiculous, Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. on November 30, 2010 at 2:05 pm

Dear Williams-Sonoma,

I love you.  A lot. Really. Given the way I’m physically drawn to you when I walk through the mall, you may well have your own gravitational pull. I turn to you for ice cream starter when I’m feeling too lazy to make a custard, mechanical pastry bags when I want to try my hand at cake decorating, and pastry blenders when I discover that my food processer isn’t large enough to make pie crust and, in a rare moment of fiscal responsibility, realize that perhaps buying a new food processer is not the answer. I love your French pop-up kitchen sponges. I have a favorite clerk; we trade recipe tips and he believes me when I tell him that you already have my e-mail address on file, and in fact I’m there that day because I saw something I must have in an e-mail that morning, and so I really don’t need to spell the address out for him. But not even I, Williams-Sonoma, will spend $26 on three 3.5 ounce vintage milk chocolate bars, where “vintage” = “packaged in old-timey looking wrappers.”


Not. Even. I. I may be a girl, but I’m good enough at math to know that that’s nearly $2.50/ounce. I don’t care if it is Belgian. No.

But I will take all of these, please.




You don’t know this yet, but GOBBLE GOBBLE owns you, and you LIKE it!

In Bezuidenthustra, Didn't you know this is a music blog?, GOBBLE GOBBLE, So . . . about this blog . . ., We's ravin'! on November 29, 2010 at 6:51 pm

Cecil Frena directs traffic. (Photo credits unclear)

God forbid this place should ever turn into a music blog.

Not to say we don’t all love music. We do. Some of us even make wicked awesome mixtapes. USB-styles. But if there’s one thing I think the intersphere has enough of (other than porn sites, of course, although I’m not so sure we can ever have enough of those), it’s music blogs. Nobody likes to prattle on about obscure shit quite like indie music nerds, and there are few places more ideally suited to prattle than blogs. Ahem.

So I’m kind of breaking my own rule by gushing about a band on Res Ipsa, but this is an emergency. You, my dear readers, need to hear about this now. NOW.

Now, before it’s too late, before one of their tunes accompanies an Apple commercial to which an annoying, mange-bearded local hipster, sallow hands shoved disdainfully in the back-pockets of ill-fitting skinny jeans,  sneers, “Oh yeah, I remember those guys, I bought their first seven inch after reading about them on — they were better before they got signed.” Read the rest of this entry »