The humble lentil is a magnificent addition to anyone's cuisine, as I have proved today by converting two friends to its wholesome discipleship (I'm tipsy, so forgive the loquaciousness). You should consider it too. I will explain how this has anything to do with my life, thus:
I spent the morning cleaning, organizing, and started putting things on the wall, but then two married friends from Chicago who have since moved to DC - just two blocks away, oh happy convenience - with whom I had delicious Turkish food last night invited me over to bake challah, a delicious braided bread, so I happily abandoned my labors (most appropriate for Labor Day - laboring, I mean, not abandoning labor; we're unionized now, you know) and went over. I spent a very pleasant afternoon helping not just in the preparation of challah, but also putting up shelves, assembling a desk, folding laundry, strategizing the hanging of pictures on the wall, and gossiping. But due to the volume of work and the length of time it takes to make challah (two risings, baking time, and so on), it soon came to be 7 and we hadn't had dinner yet. For someone born and bred in the Midwest, this is unspeakable heresy (which is why I'm writing it instead), so I suggested that they come over to my place where I would whip them up some lentil soup in under half an hour. Since they had not yet seen my apartment, this seemed a great idea, and with freshly baked challah to eat with the lentils, a fortuitous one as well.
If you've never made lentils, listen closely, because they are both cheap and healthy, virtues which appeal to me and my friends (students we may no longer be, but student loan payments have a way of making one feel as though one were a student again, complete with the minuscule food budget, even if this is not actually the case). Not only are they cheap and healthy, but they are also incredibly easy - you can prettify them all you want, but stripped down to the basics, lentil soup in half an hour is a breeze. You will need:
1 bag of of lentils - generally this means one pound, which is two cups, if you're curious.
8-9 cups of water
About 3 bouillon cubes or their equivalent - your choice of flavor, though I prefer beef and chicken. Add more cubes if you like your broth richer, but I warn you, bouillon has a lot of salt.
Spices as you desire.
And now the promised blessed simplicity. Rinse the lentils. Put them in the water. Add bouillon and spices. Boil. Bring down to simmer until lentils are tender (generally around 20-25 minutes). Eat them.
It's really that easy. I cheated this evening because I wanted them fast and added the lentils to boiling water for the first ten minutes (which actually made precious little difference) but it's better to let them simmer so they can take on the spices more easily (also, too much boiling will turn them to mush). What spices, you ask? Whatever you want them to taste like, of course. The classic is onion, garlic, and basil, but tonight I used a mix with garlic, white onion, white pepper, salt, ginger, and hickory which is intended for pork chops but is also magnificent on lentils. It might be fun to try them with red pepper, or even curry. You may also add some meat to augment the bouillon, like a bit of bacon, some andouille or chorizo sausage, or whatever you have lying around (some ham is good; so is a left-over bratwurst chopped up). I suspect they would be phenomenal with lamb - they are, after all, a Mediterranean staple.
So why not try adding lentils to your diet? I can get a pound of them for ninety-five cents at the Safeway up the street, and with some interesting spices, good bread, and a bottle of red wine, you're set for a delicious, healthy, and cheap dinner (and a pound serves between four and six people). Now don't say I never taught you anything!
Monday, September 6, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Getting to Know One's Oven
I've been invited to dinner at the home of some friends who preceded me to Washington and, as I usually have when I dine with them, am bringing dessert. This, of course, requires use of the oven, something I hadn't done since moving in. If I am to bake at anything like the rate I did back in Chicago, it's high time I got to know my oven. (I had already used the stove top, and am pleased to report that it's fin, although the fact that the dials are numbered from 1 to 6 rather than 1 to 10 as they were in Chicago threw me much more than I expected it to. I'm going to have to start thinking of 6 as high heat, a change from thinking of it as in the middle. Why aren't these things standardized?)
As I was pressed for time, I whipped up the fastest recipe in my collection, a heavily-edited one which began as Lebanese cookies with a honey glaze (delicious but time-consuming) and has since become a sort of Lemon Tea Biscuit (I keep changing the name). As I did back at Tales from Second City, here's a picture of the goods:
Yummy, no? They're sweet and sandy (because the original Lebanese recipe called for oil instead of butter, and I've kept doing it because it gives a different texture from my butter-based cookies), and I'm pleased. I've discovered that this oven runs about fifteen degrees slow (better than the thirty to fifty degrees I had to deal with in Chicago), but I expected it to - gas stovetops are great, but gas ovens, not so much.
Do you suppose I could get a hybrid?
(P.S.: If anyone wants recipes, either for the original Lebanese cookies or my variation, just ask for them in the comments and I'll put them up.)
As I was pressed for time, I whipped up the fastest recipe in my collection, a heavily-edited one which began as Lebanese cookies with a honey glaze (delicious but time-consuming) and has since become a sort of Lemon Tea Biscuit (I keep changing the name). As I did back at Tales from Second City, here's a picture of the goods:
Yummy, no? They're sweet and sandy (because the original Lebanese recipe called for oil instead of butter, and I've kept doing it because it gives a different texture from my butter-based cookies), and I'm pleased. I've discovered that this oven runs about fifteen degrees slow (better than the thirty to fifty degrees I had to deal with in Chicago), but I expected it to - gas stovetops are great, but gas ovens, not so much.
Do you suppose I could get a hybrid?
(P.S.: If anyone wants recipes, either for the original Lebanese cookies or my variation, just ask for them in the comments and I'll put them up.)
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The Color Purple
12:00
I have a wall. It is purple. See?
In the cool northern light that comes in from my balcony, it almost looks slate gray, but I promise you that it's purple. Remember the Christmas tree from Williamsburg Pottery? That purple.
When I came to see this apartment at the beginning of August, I thought the purple wall was fine. It was a bold accent color, and it's not a huge wall, really, so I didn't have a problem with it. However, once I moved in I realized something I hadn't earlier - without furniture in front of it, the purple wall revealed a problem: it was unevenly painted. You can see some of this to the left of the cable outlet in the picture above (blow it up and see what else you can find - there are some weird spots by the thermostat too, and up near the ceiling). So, although I am willing to live with a purple wall, I am not willing to live with an unevenly-painted one. Therefore and forthwith, I'm painting the sucker.
What color, you ask? Well, you'll just have to wait and see - I'll be back later in the day with more photos. But one thing is certain - you can kiss the color purple goodbye!
2:00
I have a wall. Now it's white.
Sorta. As you can see (though not very well in this picture - it's clearer and brighter in real life, promise), the purple refuses to go without a fight, something I was told to expect when I went to buy primer and paint. So I've put on Primer Coat #1 and will let it set for about an hour before I apply Primer Coat #2. Hopefully two coats is enough, but I reckon I've got enough paint to do three if I have to. I hope not, though, because if I do there's no way I'm making it to church tonight...
4:00
I still have a wall, but now it is definitely white. See?
This, however, raises a quandary. It's 4:00, and the Saturday evening vigil Mass at the local church is at 5:15. If I let this primer dry for an hour, it'll be time for me to leave for church. I could go tomorrow morning or tomorrow evening, but I've already been to those Masses, and I want to see if the vigil of Saturday is any different. Alas, it appears that I won't be able to do that, because if I do go, I'll get back around 6:30 and want dinner, and by the time time I'm done the light may not be good enough to paint by. So no church tonight - I'll have to go sample the vigil Mass next week.
Not Quite 7:00
I have a wall. It is brown. And it is also a miracle. I will explain.
I had it on good authority (my parents, who have both painted walls in the past) that all I would need was a quart of paint (the saleslady at the hardware store wisely recommended that I get a gallon of primer). So after the primer had dried I got out my paint roller (blessings on the person who invented them - they're amazing) and started on the left side of the wall. But as I was nearing the right side I began to panic. Would I have enough paint? Surely not - there was hardly any left in the can! What would I do if I ran out of paint? Desperate, I began painting more and more lightly, hoping to conserve enough paint to allow me to touch up the edges (which I couldn't do with the roller, unless I wanted to paint the ceiling too). I finished everything I could do with the roller, but there were still edges and hardly and paint left to paint them with. Grimly, I reached from my brush.
And then I had a Hannukah moment. (Wait, what?) I'll explain. The story behind Hannukah comes from the Jewish tradition and, as you may recall, describes a menorah in the Temple in Jerusalem which burned for eight days on a single day's supply of oil. I could have sworn that there was hardly any paint left in my can, but I managed to paint all four edges and touch up the spots I had painted more lightly, and there was still paint left! My perception of volume is obviously faulty, but aside from that, I am relieved in obscenely gigantic proportions that I didn't run out. Is the wall perfect? No, it's not - you'll probably be able to see some some brush strokes when it's dry (there are some still-wet ones at the far right of the picture), and I need to touch up the baseboard (it's white, so I'll use leftover primer), but it's done - no gaping white holes to be filled with a paint that wouldn't quite match (of course), and no emergency trip to a hardware store which I've yet to locate in this city. And in any case, it's far better than what preceded it, so you'll hear no complaints from me.
Whew. I need a beer.
I have a wall. It is purple. See?
In the cool northern light that comes in from my balcony, it almost looks slate gray, but I promise you that it's purple. Remember the Christmas tree from Williamsburg Pottery? That purple.
When I came to see this apartment at the beginning of August, I thought the purple wall was fine. It was a bold accent color, and it's not a huge wall, really, so I didn't have a problem with it. However, once I moved in I realized something I hadn't earlier - without furniture in front of it, the purple wall revealed a problem: it was unevenly painted. You can see some of this to the left of the cable outlet in the picture above (blow it up and see what else you can find - there are some weird spots by the thermostat too, and up near the ceiling). So, although I am willing to live with a purple wall, I am not willing to live with an unevenly-painted one. Therefore and forthwith, I'm painting the sucker.
What color, you ask? Well, you'll just have to wait and see - I'll be back later in the day with more photos. But one thing is certain - you can kiss the color purple goodbye!
2:00
I have a wall. Now it's white.
Sorta. As you can see (though not very well in this picture - it's clearer and brighter in real life, promise), the purple refuses to go without a fight, something I was told to expect when I went to buy primer and paint. So I've put on Primer Coat #1 and will let it set for about an hour before I apply Primer Coat #2. Hopefully two coats is enough, but I reckon I've got enough paint to do three if I have to. I hope not, though, because if I do there's no way I'm making it to church tonight...
4:00
I still have a wall, but now it is definitely white. See?
This, however, raises a quandary. It's 4:00, and the Saturday evening vigil Mass at the local church is at 5:15. If I let this primer dry for an hour, it'll be time for me to leave for church. I could go tomorrow morning or tomorrow evening, but I've already been to those Masses, and I want to see if the vigil of Saturday is any different. Alas, it appears that I won't be able to do that, because if I do go, I'll get back around 6:30 and want dinner, and by the time time I'm done the light may not be good enough to paint by. So no church tonight - I'll have to go sample the vigil Mass next week.
Not Quite 7:00
I have a wall. It is brown. And it is also a miracle. I will explain.
I had it on good authority (my parents, who have both painted walls in the past) that all I would need was a quart of paint (the saleslady at the hardware store wisely recommended that I get a gallon of primer). So after the primer had dried I got out my paint roller (blessings on the person who invented them - they're amazing) and started on the left side of the wall. But as I was nearing the right side I began to panic. Would I have enough paint? Surely not - there was hardly any left in the can! What would I do if I ran out of paint? Desperate, I began painting more and more lightly, hoping to conserve enough paint to allow me to touch up the edges (which I couldn't do with the roller, unless I wanted to paint the ceiling too). I finished everything I could do with the roller, but there were still edges and hardly and paint left to paint them with. Grimly, I reached from my brush.
And then I had a Hannukah moment. (Wait, what?) I'll explain. The story behind Hannukah comes from the Jewish tradition and, as you may recall, describes a menorah in the Temple in Jerusalem which burned for eight days on a single day's supply of oil. I could have sworn that there was hardly any paint left in my can, but I managed to paint all four edges and touch up the spots I had painted more lightly, and there was still paint left! My perception of volume is obviously faulty, but aside from that, I am relieved in obscenely gigantic proportions that I didn't run out. Is the wall perfect? No, it's not - you'll probably be able to see some some brush strokes when it's dry (there are some still-wet ones at the far right of the picture), and I need to touch up the baseboard (it's white, so I'll use leftover primer), but it's done - no gaping white holes to be filled with a paint that wouldn't quite match (of course), and no emergency trip to a hardware store which I've yet to locate in this city. And in any case, it's far better than what preceded it, so you'll hear no complaints from me.
Whew. I need a beer.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Note to Self
Note to Self:
"Hint of Salt" Wheat Thins are not flavored with, as one would suspect, a hint of sea salt. Rather, "hint of salt" refers to the fact that they have less salt than standard-issue Wheat Thins; in fact, the entire vat was most likely seasoned with about half a teaspoon. Stated differently, they're #@&%ing boring.
Don't buy again.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Sign Wrecks
(Backdated from Friday evening.)
I spent a healthy part of today on the train home from Williamsburg and then cleaning, so not much to talk about on that front, but yesterday I promised you some awful signs, and I intend to deliver.
For a couple of years now I've been a fan of Cake Wrecks, a blog devoted to searching out and gently ridiculing fouled-up professionally decorated cakes. The idea of collecting odd permutations of the everyday appeals to me, but I've never come across a cake wreck (the few professional cakes in my life have been blessedly flawless), so I can't contribute to that particular theme. However, my sojourn at the Williamsburg Pottery showed me the kind of wrecks I can collect - wrecked language! There's quite an abundance of that, as we'll soon see, and as a literate person, I feel obligated to point out mistakes, even if it's out of my power to correct them (somewhere, Lynne Truss is smiling). I wouldn't call any of these egregious, but these sorts of things entertain me, so without further ado, on to Sign Wrecks!
1. The perfectly understandable
"Rennovation"
What, pray, is that? It's "renovation," of course, and can you blame whoever was making this sign? It sounds like it ought to have two n's, but it doesn't. And if you were just sounding it out because you'd forgotten how it's supposed to be spelled, wouldn't you put in the extra n? And since it's just a temporary sign in a remote corner of the linens building, I suppose it's not really that important.
2. The unpronounceable
"Straigt"
It's obvious what happened here - some one forgot the silent "h" in "straight." But we can't give whoever wrote up this sign the passes we gave #1 (temporary sign and obscure location) - this is a permanent sign on the central aisle of the main building, and furthermore, sounding out "straight" does not get you "straigt." It gets "strait" which, conveniently, is a extant word that has nothing to do with "straight."
But supposing that "straigt" were a word, what would it be? First off, how would you pronounce it? "Streygt" is the best I can come up, and as far as a definition, I'm stuck with a combination of stripping and death by hanging. Erotic asphyxiation? Perhaps we shouldn't go there.
3. The Nitpicky
Take a moment to look at this one. If you just casually glance, there doesn't appear to be anything wrong with it - no misspellings, egregious or otherwise, and the phrase makes sense. But if you're picky like I am, this (it's an apron, by the way) is bothersome for two reasons:
a) Look carefully at this and you'll notice a sentence fragment there at the bottom. "Don't You Understand" can't stand on its own as a sentence, but it's being forced to by those exclamation points after "yet." Never mind that using more than one exclamation point at a time is obnoxious - those big, bad upside-down i's have orphaned that poor little clause! "Don't You Understand" is all by itself at the bottom of the apron, trying and failing to stand on its own two feet!! This is a travesty!!! Someone needs to do something!!!! Like take away my ability to type exclamation points!!!!!
b) Ahem. Sorry about that - on to problem #2, which is a bit picky. But here it is: I always thought that "It's Not Ready Yet" was the phrase we use, so shouldn't all four of those words be the same color? (Also that "of" shouldn't be capitalized.) In other words, a corrected version - re-aligned, punctuated, and parsed - of this apron should read:
I spent a healthy part of today on the train home from Williamsburg and then cleaning, so not much to talk about on that front, but yesterday I promised you some awful signs, and I intend to deliver.
For a couple of years now I've been a fan of Cake Wrecks, a blog devoted to searching out and gently ridiculing fouled-up professionally decorated cakes. The idea of collecting odd permutations of the everyday appeals to me, but I've never come across a cake wreck (the few professional cakes in my life have been blessedly flawless), so I can't contribute to that particular theme. However, my sojourn at the Williamsburg Pottery showed me the kind of wrecks I can collect - wrecked language! There's quite an abundance of that, as we'll soon see, and as a literate person, I feel obligated to point out mistakes, even if it's out of my power to correct them (somewhere, Lynne Truss is smiling). I wouldn't call any of these egregious, but these sorts of things entertain me, so without further ado, on to Sign Wrecks!
1. The perfectly understandable
What, pray, is that? It's "renovation," of course, and can you blame whoever was making this sign? It sounds like it ought to have two n's, but it doesn't. And if you were just sounding it out because you'd forgotten how it's supposed to be spelled, wouldn't you put in the extra n? And since it's just a temporary sign in a remote corner of the linens building, I suppose it's not really that important.
2. The unpronounceable
It's obvious what happened here - some one forgot the silent "h" in "straight." But we can't give whoever wrote up this sign the passes we gave #1 (temporary sign and obscure location) - this is a permanent sign on the central aisle of the main building, and furthermore, sounding out "straight" does not get you "straigt." It gets "strait" which, conveniently, is a extant word that has nothing to do with "straight."
But supposing that "straigt" were a word, what would it be? First off, how would you pronounce it? "Streygt" is the best I can come up, and as far as a definition, I'm stuck with a combination of stripping and death by hanging. Erotic asphyxiation? Perhaps we shouldn't go there.
3. The Nitpicky
a) Look carefully at this and you'll notice a sentence fragment there at the bottom. "Don't You Understand" can't stand on its own as a sentence, but it's being forced to by those exclamation points after "yet." Never mind that using more than one exclamation point at a time is obnoxious - those big, bad upside-down i's have orphaned that poor little clause! "Don't You Understand" is all by itself at the bottom of the apron, trying and failing to stand on its own two feet!! This is a travesty!!! Someone needs to do something!!!! Like take away my ability to type exclamation points!!!!!
b) Ahem. Sorry about that - on to problem #2, which is a bit picky. But here it is: I always thought that "It's Not Ready Yet" was the phrase we use, so shouldn't all four of those words be the same color? (Also that "of" shouldn't be capitalized.) In other words, a corrected version - re-aligned, punctuated, and parsed - of this apron should read:
What Part of
IT'S NOT
READY YET
Don't You Understand?
There - isn't that better? Good thing I didn't have a red marker with me.
4. The just plain weird
"LiNEN N PLUS"
This is the outside of the linens building (which, interestingly, is where three of these four sign wrecks came from), and apparently, it's called "LiNEN N PLUS." Er, wut?
I think I know what happened here. They decided to open a building where they could sell linens, kitchen things (aprons, placemats), bath rugs, and so on, and they were trying to come up with a name:
"Well, gentlemen, we've got some linens, and we've got some other things, so why not call it "Linens and Things"?"
"Actually, sir, we can't do that - that name is already taken."
"It is? Well $#!+. What about shortening the "and" to "Linens 'N' Things"?"
"Probable lawsuit, sir."
"Well $#!+. "Linens 'N'" something...well, we're adding a new building, so how about "plus"? "Linens 'N' Plus" - it sounds good to me."
The decision-makers confer and agree that it sounds good to them too.
"All right, sir, let's royally screw up the capitalization to be edgy and capture the youth demographic, drop the apostrophes because they cost extra, and make the N a different color to be arty - I think we've got a winner!"
And thus was born LiNEN N PLUS. May the grammar god help us all.
- - - - - - -
So you see, there's quite a bit of fun to be had looking for grammatical mistakes in the world all around you. Alas, it's the same sort of fun that an elementary school friend of mine derived from raking his nails across the blackboard and watching everyone else cringe as he did so - even thinking back on it, I involuntarily wince. And looking at the these signs again I not only wince, but I wish for a large, red marker...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Williamsburg Pottery
(Backdated from Friday evening.)
One of the family traditions when we visit our relatives in Williamsburg, Virginia, is to venture out to Williamsburg Pottery, which bills itself as "The World's Largest Bizarre Bazaar." I have photographic evidence:
The Pottery was founded in the thirties by a entrepreneur with a roadside stand selling Williamsburg's distinctive salt-glaze pottery. The business was successful, and he turned Williamsburg Pottery into a large-scale outlet retail operation dedicated to cutting out the middle man and passing the savings onto the customer. Eventually he married a Chinese woman who worked in the fake flower section; she took over the business upon his death and has since injected lots of East Asian goods into the mix. Needless to say, "bizarre bazaar" is a perfectly accurate statement, and although I can't confirm the veracity of its claim the be the largest such bizarre - err, bazaar...sorry - it's pretty large nonetheless.
How large? Well, does this give you any idea? This is a shot down an aisle in the Solar Building, the largest of the several enormous warehouses that make up the complex (of which you can see an aerial picture here). I took this in the fake flower section, which goes on for what seems like miles. It's even odder for someone like me, who wouldn't buy fake flowers in a million years, to go roaming through aisle upon aisle of things I have no desire to even consider purchasing. This, it turns out, is the best way to approach a retail operation of this size - with clearly designated preferences. Skip what you aren't interested in and go find whatever it is you came for (in my case, things for me apartment, which I promise to introduce to you all soon).
Of course, periodically you'll stumble across something which you would never contemplate buying, but which is so odd, unique, bizarre, or fascinating that you can't help but stop for a moment and examine it. It is this sort of thing that I dedicate this post to - I'll have another for some of the odd signs I saw around the Pottery tomorrow.
First off, something one might potentially have use for: a fake Christmas tree. As an apartment-dweller who enjoys the decorative trappings of the Christmas season, I imagine I'll needs to invest in a fake tree eventually. Just not this one:
That's right - it's purple. In fact, it's approximately the same color as the purple accent wall in my living room. I intend to paint that wall over the weekend, so obviously I don't want this particular tree.
Now, I was never one of the hip kids who toyed with the Eastern religions in college, so I'm not quite certain which religion this next curiosity pertains to:
Whatever religion it belongs to, I imagine that this would go well in the makeshift temple in your backyard, don't you think? (Incidentally, this is one of a pair. I don't know if it's buy-one-get-one though.)
Speaking of the backyard, I understand that it occasionally comes to pass that you just want a drink. A very large one, just for you. Understandably, you feel guilty pouring yourself glass after glass of wine - you look like a drunkard in one of those badly-acted anti-alcoholism videos they showed us in health class in high school during freshman year (remember? And then the sympathetic character always ended up dying in an alcohol-related car crash). But thanks to Williamsburg Pottery, there's a tactful solution to your needs. You want a drink but don't want to pour glass after glass? Then limit yourself a single glass of wine:
Did I say pour yourself a single glass? I did? My bad - I meant bottle.
Now I've saved the best for last, and this item is unique, because it is one of the very few pieces at the Pottery which isn't for sale. Nevertheless it is exquisite, so I'll blow up the picture:
I'm not certain what the material is - I'd like to think it's ivory from an aesthetic point of view, but my inner conservationist cringes at the idea of how many tusks it would take to carve something this large (it's as long as I am tall - nearly six feet, and by the way, there's some of the Williamsburg salt glaze pottery in the background). But whatever it's made of, I found it fascinating. The details are impeccable:
This is a close-up of the center-piece of this sculpture (click to see it full size). The ribbing on the roof, the pagoda in the background, each individual figure carved to perfection, and that gateway is actually supported by the four pillar you can see - no cheating that I could detect. It's not something you would expect to see in the world's largest bargain basement (except above-ground). Of course, this is the world's largest "bizarre bazaar," so I guess we should expect things like this. Still, I could go for a lot more of this and a lot less of the fake flowers.
And how about this shot below, of the cave? Whatever artist or artists were responsible for this oeuvre actually carved things inside the cave too - that beautiful ornamental screen in the background, servants off to the sides, dancing girls in front, and an ornate
balustrade separating the entertainers from their audience on the dais...I imagine it's probably chintzy more than anything else (which is generally my reaction to cheap East Asian trinkets), but every time we've been to the Pottery we find this sculpture and stop for a moment to admire it. A lot changes between our visits, but this is always in the same place, and we always stop to marvel.
Although this sculpture never changes, other things at the Pottery do. Perhaps it's because I had a camera with me, or because I was kind of looking for blog-worthy things while roaming around, but one of the changes I noticed the most was the signs. Specifically, the bad signs. This post is quite long enough, but tomorrow I'll put together my pictures of odd and awful signs for you to peruse and giggle over. Think of it as Cake Wrecks for signage...
One of the family traditions when we visit our relatives in Williamsburg, Virginia, is to venture out to Williamsburg Pottery, which bills itself as "The World's Largest Bizarre Bazaar." I have photographic evidence:
Of course, periodically you'll stumble across something which you would never contemplate buying, but which is so odd, unique, bizarre, or fascinating that you can't help but stop for a moment and examine it. It is this sort of thing that I dedicate this post to - I'll have another for some of the odd signs I saw around the Pottery tomorrow.
First off, something one might potentially have use for: a fake Christmas tree. As an apartment-dweller who enjoys the decorative trappings of the Christmas season, I imagine I'll needs to invest in a fake tree eventually. Just not this one:
That's right - it's purple. In fact, it's approximately the same color as the purple accent wall in my living room. I intend to paint that wall over the weekend, so obviously I don't want this particular tree.
Now, I was never one of the hip kids who toyed with the Eastern religions in college, so I'm not quite certain which religion this next curiosity pertains to:
Speaking of the backyard, I understand that it occasionally comes to pass that you just want a drink. A very large one, just for you. Understandably, you feel guilty pouring yourself glass after glass of wine - you look like a drunkard in one of those badly-acted anti-alcoholism videos they showed us in health class in high school during freshman year (remember? And then the sympathetic character always ended up dying in an alcohol-related car crash). But thanks to Williamsburg Pottery, there's a tactful solution to your needs. You want a drink but don't want to pour glass after glass? Then limit yourself a single glass of wine:
Now I've saved the best for last, and this item is unique, because it is one of the very few pieces at the Pottery which isn't for sale. Nevertheless it is exquisite, so I'll blow up the picture:
This is a close-up of the center-piece of this sculpture (click to see it full size). The ribbing on the roof, the pagoda in the background, each individual figure carved to perfection, and that gateway is actually supported by the four pillar you can see - no cheating that I could detect. It's not something you would expect to see in the world's largest bargain basement (except above-ground). Of course, this is the world's largest "bizarre bazaar," so I guess we should expect things like this. Still, I could go for a lot more of this and a lot less of the fake flowers.
And how about this shot below, of the cave? Whatever artist or artists were responsible for this oeuvre actually carved things inside the cave too - that beautiful ornamental screen in the background, servants off to the sides, dancing girls in front, and an ornate
Although this sculpture never changes, other things at the Pottery do. Perhaps it's because I had a camera with me, or because I was kind of looking for blog-worthy things while roaming around, but one of the changes I noticed the most was the signs. Specifically, the bad signs. This post is quite long enough, but tomorrow I'll put together my pictures of odd and awful signs for you to peruse and giggle over. Think of it as Cake Wrecks for signage...
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