As the shoppers rush home

With their treasures…

Jeff: I went to Pottery Barn today. It made me, like, truly happy. Am I a whore to commercialism?
Rajani: Let me put my therapist hat on. [pauses] Now, there’s nothing wrong with being a whore. It’s an ancient profession.
Jeff: I see. A viable career choice, you’re saying?

Heh. Last night on my way to Hold Everything to see about a new bookcase–I’m obsessed; I will not stop until an entire wall of my apartment is lined with shelves–I stopped at Pottery Barn. The retro-swing Christmas music was playing (Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of “Winter Wonderland” is heavenly), and everything was so red and festive. I stopped short of giggling, but I definitely couldn’t stop smiling. So there.

Necessity is a mother. From Ken, “Ideas that would make me rich, but that I don’t really have the inclination to carry out”:

The Simon™ alarm clock, for just those people (like me) who have developed the super-ninja technique of deactivating their alarm clocks in their sleep, would require the user to memorize and re-enter a series of increasingly difficult sequential button presses, like the eponymous sound-and-light memory game from the 80s.

I so need one of those. What I don’t need, at least for now: a Segway. You can pre-order the intelligent scooter at Amazon.com for $4,950. Jeebus. And lest the intentional misspelling throw off future generations of spelling-bee champions, the word meaning “transition” or “to proceed without pause” (especially as a musical direction) is correctly spelled segue.

Another bit from blogworld: “Ernie’s God-Awful, Low-Quality Gay Film Festival” reminds me that I’ve been meaning to sign up for Netflix. Maybe come January. Ah, then I’d never leave the house owing to the steady stream of DVDs. Or, I’d just carry my laptop and watch movies wherever I go. Now there’s a thought.

Only the truth is funny. Any resemblance to certain rebel princes is purely coincidental: “Modern-Day Proust E-mails Friend Six Times A Day.” Let’s give thanks for The Onion.

An officer and a gentleman. Natey, my silly Canadian goose, the epic poem you wrote on my GuestMap deserves to be here up front:

In the Rockies, I played, dodged and darted
Sat down on a glacier and then it just parted
My own body heat induced the big thaw
My hair got quite wet, but there was much more…

The deluge flushed me across the wide States
I rode on a surf board, no need for the skates
Devoid of all clothes and with uncovered modesty
I thought of a flaneur, our own Jeffrey S. T.
With extensive drobe of duds fine and fair
He’d surely dress me and dry my wet hair
I roamed and roamed the vast southern climes
I searched and searched for the Capitol’s chimes

His bachelor pad was so hard to find
I looked for chintz curtains, but there were just blinds
I wondered and wondered, should I ring the bell?
How would he receive me? I just could not tell

The door was ajar, so in I did rush
I was stark bollock naked, except for a blush
My throat was too dry, I could almost not speak
I opened my mouth and murmured quite weak,

“So here I am, Jeff, a fair Northern bounty!”
Then I fainted with shock… Jeff was dressed as a Mountie!

That is fabulous. I lub it.