Everyday Modular Solutions
May. 26th, 2004 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueAt any given time, I feel a strong compulsion to read. I'm like a junkie that way; if I'm not actively engaged in reading, you can bet I'm plotting my next hit. This can be something of a bitch, since I go through my drug of choice as quickly as does the aforementioned junkie. I read quickly. Very quickly. In the absence of compelling distractions, I go through at least two novels a day - and we're talking literature and sci-fi, things that require active analysis. To make things worse, I don't just read books; I read junk mail, milk cartons, warning labels, and in one memorable case the Richardson, Texas telephone directory. I read news articles I hate, full of punctuation mistakes and factual inaccuracies, articles on subjects I find boring, with opinions that enrage me; I push them away, and yet my eyes keep tracking down the column. I leave the room, but I know I'm coming back. I have to.
All of this is a way of explaining why I've read every caption in the current Pottery Barn catalog. I don't even like Pottery Barn. The catalog was just there.
That said, it presents me with an intriguing mystery. Namely, a small red gift-box logo that indicates items specially earmarked as father's day presents. I've been trying to establish a pattern in these choices, and from it draw conclusions about American culture. This is greatly complicated by the way these gift boxes are placed seemingly at random. For example:
Dad would like votive candles, but not hurricane lamps.
Dad would like an ice bucket, but not cloth napkins.
Dad would like picture frames, but not clocks. Or well, the Stainless Steel Pocket Watch Wall Clock, but not the larger Galvanized Steel Wall Clock.
Dad would like the Chesapeake Extending Dining Table, but not Farmhouse Occasional Tables.
Dad would also like CD storage and a wine rack, but for the love of god not bookshelves. He's also fond of random large letters made out of black wood. Don't ask us why; you obviously don't know Dad as well as we do.
Apparently, Dad is somewhat schizoid in his likes and dislikes, prefers to be outdoors as often as possible, does not own a refrigerator, and must be kept away from textiles at all costs. He's not just allergic to cotton, either -- for his own protection, he should not be exposed to jute, wool, or sisal. I have to admit that after all this research, I'm a little worried for Dad; what if I'd gotten a Cherry Red Leather Manhattan Recliner instead of a Cherry Red Leather Manhattan Armchair? I guess that's why we should leave this sort of decision to the professionals.
All of this is a way of explaining why I've read every caption in the current Pottery Barn catalog. I don't even like Pottery Barn. The catalog was just there.
That said, it presents me with an intriguing mystery. Namely, a small red gift-box logo that indicates items specially earmarked as father's day presents. I've been trying to establish a pattern in these choices, and from it draw conclusions about American culture. This is greatly complicated by the way these gift boxes are placed seemingly at random. For example:
Dad would like votive candles, but not hurricane lamps.
Dad would like an ice bucket, but not cloth napkins.
Dad would like picture frames, but not clocks. Or well, the Stainless Steel Pocket Watch Wall Clock, but not the larger Galvanized Steel Wall Clock.
Dad would like the Chesapeake Extending Dining Table, but not Farmhouse Occasional Tables.
Dad would also like CD storage and a wine rack, but for the love of god not bookshelves. He's also fond of random large letters made out of black wood. Don't ask us why; you obviously don't know Dad as well as we do.
Apparently, Dad is somewhat schizoid in his likes and dislikes, prefers to be outdoors as often as possible, does not own a refrigerator, and must be kept away from textiles at all costs. He's not just allergic to cotton, either -- for his own protection, he should not be exposed to jute, wool, or sisal. I have to admit that after all this research, I'm a little worried for Dad; what if I'd gotten a Cherry Red Leather Manhattan Recliner instead of a Cherry Red Leather Manhattan Armchair? I guess that's why we should leave this sort of decision to the professionals.
