I stole this photo from Laura Leu, by the way. I mean, I borrowed it. I have every intention of returning it provided I don’t spill red wine on it. Think she would notice if I returned a magenta puppy? Because I think if you spill red wine on your picture of a puppy the best course of action is to dye the whole photo Bordeaux.
I posted a blog on The Activity Pit
http://activitypit.ning.com/profiles/blogs/thoughts-about-myself-on-this
Furniture Design Styles ™
I’ve been thinking a lot about Rachel Ashwell lately. She’s the founder of a design style called Shabby Chic and she’s made a fortune stuffing this frilly, distressed white-on-white style down the public’s throat. I’m a member of that public, by the way. Today I sat in a shabby chic chair in the Shabby Chic store in Soho and had to agree with the sales girls: “It’s like being hugged! It’s like a big down hug! It’s like a two thousand dollar hug!” What does a two thousand dollar hug feel like, you may be wondering? Like being embraced by a big marshmallow peep cloud, but not sticky, just soothing and warm and comforting. If my sister were worth two thousand dollars I would sell her and buy that chair, no offense Laura.
So then I was thinking that I should create my own design style and trademark it and write a bunch of books and sell DVDs and give ol’ fussy Ashwell a run for her money. Here are some movements I’m thinking of trademarking:
Shabby Crappy
Crappy Chic
Crab Chic
Mid-Century Morbid
Yellow
Oodles of Ribbons
Honk If You Love Wood Furniture
Bright Lights; Big Chaise Lounge
Pretentious
Squishy Washy
Fuck This Chair Is Hard
Update
I hated everything at Laz-y-boy! Hooray!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
Judge me not
Readers, I’m about to do something rash. I’m going to a Laz-Y-Boy Furniture Gallery. In the same way that a soon-to-be married person might need one more night at a strip club, I need to see what’s out there one last time before I settle on the Crate and Barrel couch. See, even my language is troubling. Settle? Am I settling on the couch? Shouldn’t I wait to find the couch that’s going to sweep me off my feet and make me feel alive and inspire me to greatness? Is that couch even out there?
That’s why I need to sow my upholstery oats, even if my mind is already 99 percent made up.
Crapload of screen grabs? But of course!
Here’s where I explained that the reason you need a gun in this economy is so you can exercise your constitutional right to shoot anyone who may be trying to repossess your car.
And then here’s where I apparently was holding the mic cord.
And then I was going to say that here’s where I killed time during an intro because it’s tough to figure out what to do during the intro however the lower third (that’s fancy TV talk for the words on the screen) make me realize that this is actually where I said that Halloween is fattening and scary and so I hate it. Wait, actually I think I said that later.
And then here’s where I was like “I’m too beautiful to be all covered up by words. I demand you un-word me!” and so they did.
Wherein I talk about my hair for far too long
When $17,999 burns a hole in your pocket
Are you a complete douche? Let the world know with this:
I have not forgotten about you
Readers, hello! New York is cold as nuts and it’s not the weather I’m talking about, it’s the way I haven’t written anything on this blog today which has left you feeling out-of-sorts and dare I say, bereft. I do, I do dare say it. I dared it and said it and now I have to move on. Too much wallowing.
I should go to sleep which I planned to do 37 minutes ago but it took me 37 minutes to figure out what New York is as cold as. Nuts? It doesn’t even make sense unless you keep your nuts in the freezer.
I don’t though. I put them under my pillow so I can have crunchy dreams. I also shove shellfish, soy and traces of chocolate under there as a precautionary measure in case anyone with food allergies tries to attack me in my sleep.
When it comes to social interactions
When it comes to social interactions I prefer to have them with a mic in my hand or a camera in my face. Tonight I mixed with people unknown to me without all that though. Just me, my bongos and a bottle of Wild Turkey. Minus the bongos and Wild Turkey.
I went to a party with Red Eye pal John Roy where I met a guy (funny comedian Pete Holmes) who draws actual cartoons for the New Yorker. I got all excited and tried to explain that I draw fake cartoons for the New Yorker but I don’t draw them, I just think them up, and I never send them in because it’s not about that. I think he was suitably impressed. Then I mentioned that some of my fans have actually drawn them but what I really meant to say was, “Did I mention I have fans?”
And then I had a horribly awkward exchange with a woman by the crudite, but it’s late and I’m too tired to write it out. Perhaps tomorrow, my dears. It involves slippery bell peppers and tongs.