Jill V

Repeat after me. You do not need a heritage apron. In fact, your life is probably greatly bettered by not knowing what on earth a heritage apron might be.

The heritage apron is the perfect example of everything that is wrong in the world of “artisan” everything. In case you don’t know, a heritage apron is made of expensive fabric for no good reason and the cost should definitely exceed $100.

That thing costs $128, because the denim is special. You will hand it down to your children, because your children do not want your money, they want your apron. Are there competing brands of heritage aprons? Haha of course there are:

This one is $145, in case you were considering running out and getting one.

I have no idea what one does in a giant denim apron in the first place. Are you working as a shop mechanic in the 1940s? You are probably not so you do not need this thing. Are you cooking in this thing? That is dumb as well because your stiff raw denim will not take kindly to food stains. Listen. Work aprons date back to a time when it was considered inappropriate to wear scrubby clothes to do a job that might get you dirty. Now, we just wear our work clothes if we want to get our grubby on. If you really want to be the kind of person that rocks an expensive apron over your expensive bullshit heritage lumberjack clothes, have at it, but you likely have more money than sense. Buy a kitchen apron for inside and wear a fucking pair of torn jeans and a stained t-shirt to work on your vintage car or whatever thing you do when you pretend to be a craftsman.

Do you live in the forest and chop your own wood to heat your house? Is it the 1860s where you live? If you answered “no” to these things, you do not need a $350 axe.

There are a number of other heritage heirloom artisan objects I promise you do not need. Do you need dice made out of titanium that cost $50?

Are you trying to keep your dice lightweight because you carry them everywhere? Are you afraid your regular old dice will wear down too quickly? No and no and NO NO NO.

Also, too, you do not need a $200+ stapler. No, really, you don’t. Even if you are trying to create the most handsomest desk ever, a triple-digit-cost stapler just says “I am a douche. Look at my stapler.”

You are not going to pass on your stapler. You are not even going to keep track of your stapler for longer than a year or two, because staplers are like scissors and they migrate both around and out of your house. Do you really want to keep track of a $200 stapler? No you do not.

You also do not want to keep track of your skull-crushingly expensive $120 for a three-pack t-shirts because they are t-shirts, for crying out loud:

Now, you probably need an apron, and an axe, and a pair of dice, and a stapler, and some t-shirts. These are not rarities in the modern household. Some artisan items, however, are things you do not need ever anymore ever because there is literally no longer any use for them. Witness the steel-forged handmade dinner bell:

You do not live anywhere where you must communicate via bell to call people in for dinner. Either people are standing in the same room as you, or you will yell upstairs, or you will call them on a cell phone. You will not ring a dinner bell to call your ranch hands from far and wide so that they might sup at your table. Knock. It. Off.

The post You Do Not Need A Heritage Apron appeared first on Happy Nice Time People.

by Redheadedgirl

Grade: D-
Title: Hedging His Bets
Author: Kyle and Mina Carter
Publication Info: Summerhouse Publishing April 2013
ISBN: 9781301234332
Genre: Paranormal

I would like you to know that I hate each and every one of you.  And I really hate who ever it was that put this book in my path, because I KNOW it was RHG bait and you KNOW I can’t resist that so...

Oh my god, the pain.

He’s a fucking WERE HEDGEHOG.  LIKE.  AS IN.  A SMALL SOMEWHAT PRICKLY THING THAT WUFFLES AROUND IN HEDGES.

ONLY A WERE.

I can’t even.

As far as plots go....there really isn’t one.  Honey (yes, really) owns a bar, and has been in an antagonistic relationship with Blake, who is seriously over compensating for the fact that he’s a WERE-HEDGEHOG by being a bad-ass biker dude who wears leather and beats up any guy that looks at Honey at all.  He wants her, she secretly wants him (and fantasizing about him while masturbating, which he finds out because he followed her home one night and snuck into her house).

She also adopts hedgehogs.

Of course she does.

Anyway, Honey has an employee in the bar, Katie,  who is also a female were-hedgehog (and Honey knows that she is, so we are spared the whole “What do you mean there are were-things and YOU TURN INTO A FUCKING HEDGEHOG” conversation).   Blake convinces Katie to beat the shit out him in were-form so that Honey will take him in and take care of him so he can get into her house that way....

He doesn’t factor in that she’d take him to the vet, which results in getting his temperature taken rectally (which he totally deserved) and then she takes him home and arranges a date with the vet.  The vet then says to a buddy of his, while Blake is listening, that he’s going out with a fat chick who is obviously desperate for sex and will totally put out.  Blake pees on the vet and chews on his fingers, and the vet throws him against a wall.  (This kiboshes the date quite neatly.)  

Honey lets Blake sleep on her bed (as a hedgehog still).  But he turns back human in the middle of the night and they start making out.... until she wakes up and it’s all awkward.  She throws him out, and he promptly gets into a motorcycle accident and Honey... brings him back into her house to nurse him back to health.  But they still want to bang eachother, but neither of them know the other wants also wants the banging and Honey is all sneaking into the shower to jerk off....

And then they finally end up in bed and it’s perfect because you KNOW were-hedgehogs are able to BRING IT, and that’s basically the end of the book.

Here’s the thing: I think that the book knows how ridiculous it is.  It has a “I am not taking this seriously, so you shouldn’t, either” tone that yes, alpha were-hedgehogs are a silly concept.  

[Blake] grumbled low in his throat as she turned the car off and climbed out, being careful not to jostle him.  On a normal day, he’d gripe about that; just because he was a hedgie didn’t mean he was that delicate.  But after the experience with the vet tech from hell... Just let the bastard try and euthanize a werehedgehog. Blake would show him exactly what hell was.

That is the correct tone to take with this premise.  I was deeply concerned that this book thought it was the shit, and once I decided that it, like Hansel and Gretel: Witchhunters (IN 3D) knew what it was and made no apologies for it, my reading experience was improved.

But the thing about writing a book with a knowingly ridiculous premise is that you have to be a good writer to pull it off (Hansel and Gretel: Witchhunters (IN 3D!) was awesome at being the precise type of movie it was).  And they aren’t.  I did a dramatic reading for Alina, one of my podcast co-hosts, and she didn’t even make it through two paragraphs before she made me stop.  The writing is just awkward and clunky. 

Blake with his tight leathers that outlined everything he had to offer, from a large package to lots of long, lean muscle.  He even had the cliche bad boy tattoos on his biceps.  Tattoos she’d like to lick all over... when she wasn’t pissed at him starting fights, that is....

...All right, truth be told, she wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay if she could be sure it was no strings attatched.  Except she had a feeling that Blake wanted a little more than a straight-forward friendly fuck.  He was one of those, she internally shuddered, long-term kind of guys despite his outward short-term attitude.

It’s never clear why Honey has this problem with Blake.  She wants him, but she’s sure he doesn’t want her, except that she knows he does, but she only wants him for a FWB situation, except maybe not, and she thinks he goes for skinny blondes anyway, and not curvy chicks like her, so he's not really interested... none of this makes any sense.   You need to have consistency in character, even when the book is silly.  ESPECIALLY when the book is silly, or it can’t sustain itself.  

While it might have been fun to see Honey come to terms with the existence of were-hedgehogs, I can appreciate the decision to make it clear that she already knows about them, and has come to terms with that paradigm shift.  Now she only has to deal with the fact that Blake is one (although it wasn't clear to me if he knew that she knew that shifters are a thing.)  (Look, it's a very knowledgable cast, okay.)  

While I, as a woman who is not small, liked seeing a heroine who is pointedly not skinny, Honey's constant obsession with the size of her butt or how guys only go for skinny chicks was tiresome.  Yeah, okay, it's true a lot of us do that some of the time, but that doesn't mean I want to read about it.  

I do feel like the authors understand and love hedgehogs, which added a level of sincerity.  (I admit that my experiences with hedgehogs are holding one at a zoo one time and watching youtube videos of hedgies taking baths, which are amazing and adorable and worth every second.)  

 

 

On the whole, though, this book is utterly ridiculous and knows it, but not well-written enough to hold that up. If it had been trying to take itself seriously, we might be in the coveted F+ territory, but alas, we are not.  If it had been well-written enough to take the ridonkadonk to new levels of ridonk, I'd be all over it!  Mostly, I'm sad at missed opportunities.   As I wrote this review, I got more and more sad. 

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This book is available from Goodreads | Amazon | BN | Kobo | iBooks | All Romance eBooks.

Categories: Reviews, Reviews by Author, Authors, L-P, Reviews by Grade, Grade D

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North Carolina legislators celebrated their victories over voting, poverty, and human decency, and they celebrated with THE DANCE!

Meanwhile, everyone who wasn’t in the North Carolina Capitol celebrated by dying of back alley bortions, and starving because “poor.”

[CNN]

Medievalists.net has a nice post on what people in the Middle Ages called their pets:

In England we find dogs that were named Sturdy, Whitefoot, Hardy, Jakke, Bo and Terri. Anne Boleyn, one of the wives of King Henry VIII, had a dog named Purkoy, who got its name from the French ‘pourquoi’ because it was very inquisitive.

Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Nun’s Priest Tale has a line where they name three dogs: Colle, Talbot and Gerland. Meanwhile, in the early fifteenth-century, Edward, Duke of York, wrote The Master of Game, which explains how dogs are to be used in hunting and taken care of. He also included a list of 1100 names that he thought would be appropriate for hunting dogs. They include Troy, Nosewise, Amiable, Nameles, Clenche, Bragge, Ringwood and Holdfast. ...

In medieval England domestic cats were known as Gyb – the short form of of Gilbert – and that name was also popular for individual pet cats. ... Other names for cats included Mite, who prowled around Beaulieu Abbey in the 13th century, and Belaud, a grey cat belonging to Joachim du Bellay in the 16th century. Isabella d’Este also owned a cat named Martino. Old Irish legal texts refer to several individual cats and names them: Meone (little meow); Cruibne (little paws); Breone (little flame, perhaps an orange cat), and Glas nenta (nettle grey). An Irish poem from the ninth century describes how a monk owned a cat named Pangur Bán, which meant ‘fuller white’. The poem begins:

I and Pangur Bán, my cat
‘Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night.

"Pangur Bán" is everybody's favorite Old Irish poem; you can see the original text with translation en face here, and hear it read (in Modern Irish pronunciation) here. But I object strongly to the alleged translation "fuller white"; as Hermocrates says here, "Pangur isn't an Irish word. It's actually the cat's name and could be of Welsh origin (pannwr)." Welsh pannwr means 'fuller,' but 1) there's no way of knowing if that's actually the source of the Irish name, and 2) even if it is (etymologically), there's no way of knowing if the cat's owner (the poet) knew that fact. The only honest way to translate the phrase is White Pangur. (Thanks, Rick!)

Old men in Ohio are nervously stocking up on Viagra like Elaine did with sponges on the episode of Seinfeld from like a million years ago. Why is life imitating art? In this case, it’s because sassy womyn-folk are trying to make some kind of point, via Dayton Daily News:

Before getting a prescription for Viagra or other erectile dysfunction drugs, men would have to see a sex therapist, receive a cardiac stress test and get a notarized affidavit signed by a sexual partner affirming impotency, if state Sen. Nina Turner has her way.

Whoa there, Ms. Turner. Just who do you think you are that you can regulate men’s sexytime? Don’t you know that it is the job of Republican men (and the occasional brain-dead woman) to regulate your ladyparts, and your job is to quietly take it, unless you have Pink Shoes of Power, and then you get to yammer on and be insulted by the governor? What do you think you are doing? Let’s explore. 

State Sen. Turner is sick and tired of menfolk continually trying to regulate her pieces. She is tired of Ohio seeking to prohibit abortion after the sixth week of pregnancy, so she decided that if men can regulate her wombular region, then she should take an active stance on men’s peener health. Under the bill:

[M]en taking the drugs would continue to be tested for heart problems, receive counseling about possible side effects and receive information about “pursuing celibacy as a viable lifestyle choice.”

Hahahaha, seriously Olds, mebbe you should consider putting that wang away for a bit. We kinda agree with Sen. Turner — if menfolk can go apeshit and pass 92 abortion-related bills in Ohio in one year(!), then perhaps women should pass bills about twigs & berries. After all, it’s about men’s health, and Sen. Turner is just doing her best to protect men. Because sometimes men think with their little head, and maybe their hearts can’t take the lustful urges, so Sen. Turner is just looking out for them. Why is that a problem?

Supporters of drastically reducing abortion options were none too pleased, probably because they have no sense of humor about these things. A sponsor of the awful anti-choice bill, who did not comment on whether or not he used medication to raise the flag:

Rep. Lynn Wachtmann, R-Napoleon, said comparing his bill to Turner’s would be like comparing apples to bananas.

Well, if the bill goes through, one can imagine a lot of bananas and banana-like objects increasing in sales as grandmas across the state seek to get their jollies one way or another. As of press time, we have received no comment from Elizabeth Dole on this measure.

Let’s give Sen. Turner the last word, ’cause we are quickly becoming fans:

“I certainly want to stand up for men’s health and take this seriously and legislate it the same way mostly men say they want to legislate a woman’s womb.”

[Dayton Daily News]

Next month, Peaches Christ Productions brings the second installment of the San Francisco Album Project to The Chapel on Valencia Street: a gender-bending theatrical production of Radiohead's landmark 1997 album OK Computer lip-synched in its entirety. [ more › ]

So here is the San Francisco Chronicle’s front page for today. (It is in “print,” a thing where they put “ink” on “paper.”) You can look and look, but you will not find a story about “gay marriage” on it, in the paper of record for the city so gay Nancy Pelosi’s staffers all wear assless chaps, because BART is ONE STEP CLOSER to a WALKOUT!

What are those little top stories above the A-1, for the world and nation fronts? They are: “Australia,” “Africa Trip,” “Filibuster Star,” “Death Penalty,” and “Ancient Horse.” Okay, so they must have covered it below the fold, right?

No.*

*But they must have done a special section wrap or something, right? DON’T KNOW, because THAT IS NOT THE FRONT PAGE.

[Newseum]

I don't really like alcohol that much. I mean, I definitely drink it—I like a wine or a cocktail (and a cocktail and a cocktail) on a Friday afternoon—but I'm not one of those people who, say, sips a fine oaky bourbon and is all, "Oh, impudent...aspirational...cryptic...NEEDS MORE LOAM." I don't give a shit. Just hurry up and get it down there so I can talk to people like a normal.

Or, better yet, can I just have some chocolate milk and go home and watch Dateline: Real Life Mysteries? I'm so old and tired!

But ANYHOO, ever in search of new ways to make me gag on camera (after the Great Candy Corn Oreo Imbroglio of 2012) my editor decided I should get to the bottom of the never ending stream of celebrity vanity liquor brands. By taking shots of all of them in a row.

So I did it. I drank all the brands of celebrity liquor so you don't have to.

Well, all of them I could find, at least—which, it turns out, is not very many. Celebrities are good at a lot of things (putting on outfits and yelling, having their own planes, being exhausted, smizing) but liquor distribution, apparently, is not in their wheelhouse. Eventually, following an hour on the phone and a drive to a liquor warehouse by the airport, I tracked down five:

• Justin Timberlake's 901 Tequila
• Carlos Santana's Casa Noble Tequila
• Dan Aykroyd's Crystal Head Vodka
• Sammy Hagar's Cabo Wabo Tequila
• Diddy's Ciroc Coconut Flavored Vodka

Watch the video to find out who "won." Hint: It wasn't me!

(For those of you who want to cut to the chase, I start drinking the hard stuff at the 2:45 mark.)

Special thanks to Ahamefule J. Oluo and Ijeoma Oluo.

Producer David Binder is thrilled to announce that Neil Patrick Harris will star in the Broadway premiere of John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask’s musical HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH in the Spring of 2014. The remaining creative team members, additional casting, and the theatre will be confirmed at a later date.

The announcement that Neil Patrick Harris will play ‘Hedwig,’ follows his recent triumphant engagement as the host of the 67th Annual Tony Awards® (the highest rated Tonys® broadcast in more than a decade).

Harris said, “I am simultaneously ecstatic and terrified to be stepping into Hedwig’s heels. It is truly a once-in-a-lifetime role and I can’t wait to begin the journey.”

John Cameron Mitchell who wrote the book and starred in the original stage and film productions of HEDWIG said, “Who better to pass the wig to but the finest entertainer of his generation?” and composer Stephen Trask said, “It’s like you’re putting together a fantasy rock band and Paul McCartney agrees to play bass.”

David Binder, who first produced HEDWIG in 1997 and is now producing the musical on Broadway, said,

“I’m so excited that everything has come into place to bring HEDWIG to Broadway. I have always felt that John and Stephen’s musical is a masterpiece and deserved to be seen by wider audiences. Neil Patrick Harris is a consummate stage performer who knows how to rock — there is no one better to play the role of Hedwig on Broadway.”

HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH is produced on Broadway by David Binder and Jayne Baron Sherman. 101 Productions, Ltd are the executive producers.

Mark Rothko