champagne wishes/caviar dreams/books

Flavorwire recently posted these photos of "libraries of the rich and famous" that (I never thought I'd say this) made me fall in love, just a little bit, with Rod Stewart.

With Rod Stewart, his frumpy couches, stuffed bunny, and built-ins.

the sweet taste of not eating local

I started to feel guilty today eating my little breakfast of figs from California, strawberries from Quebec, and yogurt from Greece.


But then I was all like, f*ck that. I live in Vermont. Summer here lasts four days. Woman can not live by nuts and berries and root vegetables alone. Oh wait, nuts don't grow in Vermont. Make that zucchini and berries and root vegetables.

Tomorrow I plan to make a localvore dinner to compensate (as if I have something to compensate for). If all goes well, I'll post about my tomato goat cheese tart here Thursday. If not, I'll feast on mangoes and avocados and bunnies imported from Australia, and tell you about that, instead.

repelling bunny attacks

There is a deranged dog in this house: Every time a human approaches him,

he grabs this stuffed bunny in his mouth,

shakes his head back and forth, the bunny swinging wildly,

drops the bunny and snarls,

runs away from the bunny while barking frantically,

and then runs back to the bunny and tries to look innocent, as if he didn't just try to kill it (and isn't about to try and rape it, which is what comes next).

If forced to spend every day in a housing development in a suburb of Denver, I, too, would probably become a neurotic, obsessive animal.

In fact, if I'm stuck here tomorrow, I may steal the stuffed animal and have my way with it.

That's right, Bandit; I'm coming for the bunny.

let them eat cake

The Jehovah bunnies left little Easter pamphlets all over our building yesterday.


Just like Betty Crocker and Aunt Jemima, it looks as though Jesus has been given a modern makeover. And I'm going to be honest with you: I would totally buy a bottle of that wine he's hawking.

But an even better Easter treat would be this chocolate cross, for sale at, of all places, Borders. Because there's nothing like chowing down on a candy replica of a torture/execution device while loitering with a copy of Us Magazine.


For Bastille Day, Borders will be selling guillotines made out of Nerds.