A Friday bit of funny

This made me laugh, especially after playing the, "Describe the accessory and guess the neighborhood" game. Tribal tatoo? Williamsburg. Stroller? Park Slope. Scratches from fighting Polish women for meat? Greenpoint.



So I gave up eating meat...

...because I saw my reflection coming down a flight of stairs in a pair of jeans and didn't like what I saw. And because I felt puffy all the time. And because, when I thought about my inner battle between eating lamb and loving bouncy little lambs, I felt dirty. And it was time to take control of my food intake again.

It is going surprisingly well, largely due to this web site:

Nothing stops the cravings like a heart attack on a plate.


RIP favorite orange vintage shoes

My heels simultaneously snapped off while slipping down a flight of carpeted stairs at work.

I sort of liked how the toes curled up afterwards and managed to shuffle around on them for the rest of the day, as well as ride home.

I loved these shoes, found at Lady Day during my first Amsterdam summer, and was sad to see them go, but even a pack rat like me knows when it is time to say farewell.


Hotel mini soaps are like crack

No matter where my parents lived, there was always a bag of mini toiletries stashed somewhere. And by bag I do not mean a wee gift bag or small piece of hand luggage, I mean a proper shopping bag, probably culled from a duty free shop somewhere. The bag bulged because there was never a soap, shampoo, body lotion, sewing kit, shaving kit, business class amenity, cologne, cracker or mini ketchup, that my parents did not keep. When I would drift through the house, engulfed in ennui of my own pre-teen creation, (which was a lot, in retrospect), I would take the bag down from the shelf in the linen closet and sift through the bounty.

There were paper-wrapped soaps from France that smelled like lime and cloves and white shirts that never stain or wrinkle. There were bottles upon bottles of 4711 cologne from flights to Germany. Zippered welcome pouches with slippers, sleep masks, combs and toothbrushes from flights to Japan (the yukata robes liberated from the Hotel Okura in Tokyo accompanied these nicely), mingled with lotions and potions from hotels throughout Europe - souvenirs of business trips made throughout the 70s - and Asia - souvenirs of business trips made throughout the 80s.

But it wasn't just fancy things in the bag. There were also the brittle pink soaps picked up en route during family vacations at budget hotels that lined the highway. Mini bottles of Scope, though my parents were die-hard Listerine people. Shoe shine sponges and tiny emory boards, all packed in cute boxes with names and locations stamped on the outside.

I love hotels, partly because of these free samples of luxury that filled the bag, and in turn fed my imagination. Like Tiffany's, nothing bad could ever happen in a fancy hotel that gave its guests presents. Travel seemed elegant.

But the reality of travel is quite different, and lack of space combined with the diminishing quality of hotel giveaways have made me less likely to bring anything home with me, though the spirit of mini soap crack still runs strong in my veins. The first thing I do when I get into my room is go into the bathroom and gleefully explore the freebies on the counter, but unless the product is exceptional, it typically stays behind (the Hermes soap, shampoo, bath gel and lotion from a recent stay in Munich was squirrled away in my suitcase within two minutes of checking in, just in case hotel management decided I wasn't worthy and came to take it back).

But of everything found on my recent work trips, this is my very favorite - a very cute toothpaste and mini toothbrush combination liberated from the hotel outside Milan. I have no use for it and shouldn't have even taken it, but absolutely could not resist it. In the classic vein of travel goods of old, it is far too special to use casually, but not nice enough to give away as wampum. It belongs on a shelf somewhere, right? Saved for a rainy day when no toothpaste can be found and I am jonesing particularly hard for a souvenir of free.



There is a European thing that I do not enjoy and that is the unisex restroom. Sorry. Toilet.

Not a low lit, stylishly accessorized room with a toilet, sink and ubiquitous almond scented hand soap that either men or women use based on who gets there first, but a truly unisex toilet. A room you enter, minding your own business, and you see a closet for dames and a closet for heren (men) and a urinal hanging out on its own with a little half wall for privacy of sorts. The sink is out in the open and you can totally see the back of the man using the urinal when you exit your closet (and his surprised face when you walk in the room). This set up makes me uncomfortable.

And this is the toilet situation at the new building RIOT moved into on Monday. So the surprised face is a co-worker's face. And even more uncomfortable? When you exit your gender closet the same time as a man exits his gender closet because then you know he was sitting down. I don't need to jostle for position at the hand washing sink with a guy who will later be jostling for position at the coffee machine.

And that is the rant for the day. Peace out.