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I'm having a lunch break. Today is difficult to deal with (personally, I suspect biochemistry. Hormones, thou art low, conniving beasts).
So, to distract myself, I checked out Slate and discovered that they've got a bunch of features about weddings. "Ah" said I, "![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fenmere is going to have one of those!"
First I read the article about kitchen stuff and registries. I agree with the general gist (a pared down, more versatile kitchen world), but not the title. I LOVE MY WOK. And I know where it goes in the kitchen, even though my kitchen is tiny (on the wall). Also, she is amazed and impressed by a dude outfitting a kitchen for $200. I rather think any of us could do that, actually. Sometimes I have to remind myself that the writers of this magazine live in NYC and DC, and hence are ridiculous about money. They can't help it, bless them.
Also, anyone who thinks that no single-family cook needs chafing dishes regularly has never met my mother, or her parties. Granted, she's an exception to many rules.
The bachelor party article is funny. Perhaps it shouldn't be...no, it is.
Down with engagement rings! Down with diamonds! Yes, it's an article that (once again) summarizes what I believe to be one of the most ridiculous, hurtful, and gosh-darned impressive marketing creations of all time - the diamond industry. I am a diamond industry voyeur. I can't help admire them, in a terrified and disgusted way. If I worked for De Beers I'd start every morning by finding an echo-y stairwell and having a good demonic laugh. Seroiusly, supervillains only DREAM about manipulating societies like this.
There are more, but as I'm not particularly interested in weddings in general (except as an accident-voyeur, or member of the proletariat befuddled by the meaningless squandering of the bourgeousie), I didn't read any more. I tried to read a more seriousouserer one, but I got bored.
Okay, so mostly I wanted the chance to say 'proletariat' and rag on diamonds some more.
*This post is loveingly titled after that most vital of kitchen-elements, the random jar that holds all the frequently used spoons and whisks and things.westrider and I dubbed ours the Crock O'Shit, and so it is 'till this day. Well, it's actually an Adam's peanut-butter jar, but it aspires to crock-hood.
So, to distract myself, I checked out Slate and discovered that they've got a bunch of features about weddings. "Ah" said I, "
fenmere is going to have one of those!" First I read the article about kitchen stuff and registries. I agree with the general gist (a pared down, more versatile kitchen world), but not the title. I LOVE MY WOK. And I know where it goes in the kitchen, even though my kitchen is tiny (on the wall). Also, she is amazed and impressed by a dude outfitting a kitchen for $200. I rather think any of us could do that, actually. Sometimes I have to remind myself that the writers of this magazine live in NYC and DC, and hence are ridiculous about money. They can't help it, bless them.
Also, anyone who thinks that no single-family cook needs chafing dishes regularly has never met my mother, or her parties. Granted, she's an exception to many rules.
The bachelor party article is funny. Perhaps it shouldn't be...no, it is.
Down with engagement rings! Down with diamonds! Yes, it's an article that (once again) summarizes what I believe to be one of the most ridiculous, hurtful, and gosh-darned impressive marketing creations of all time - the diamond industry. I am a diamond industry voyeur. I can't help admire them, in a terrified and disgusted way. If I worked for De Beers I'd start every morning by finding an echo-y stairwell and having a good demonic laugh. Seroiusly, supervillains only DREAM about manipulating societies like this.
There are more, but as I'm not particularly interested in weddings in general (except as an accident-voyeur, or member of the proletariat befuddled by the meaningless squandering of the bourgeousie), I didn't read any more. I tried to read a more seriousouserer one, but I got bored.
Okay, so mostly I wanted the chance to say 'proletariat' and rag on diamonds some more.
*This post is loveingly titled after that most vital of kitchen-elements, the random jar that holds all the frequently used spoons and whisks and things.
westrider and I dubbed ours the Crock O'Shit, and so it is 'till this day. Well, it's actually an Adam's peanut-butter jar, but it aspires to crock-hood.
