Is Febreeze - a magical ingredient worthy of veneration or Death in a bottle ☠️?

The Gift

"This pot was crafted in Sea Grove, NC, home to some of the most famous potters (and clay!) in NC and the U.S. I picked it up at my favorite store, Oddities and Such, in Carrboro. I think it holds well the attributes of marriage - fullness, fecundity, a dash of stoutness. But perhaps most of all (and you should not be trusting of any relationship talk from a wayward lover such as me), an overdeterminedness that serves to hold all the errant dreams of partners by which we oversubscribe to a platonic shared love and find a mere construction instead. In place of authenticity, the pot sits to expiate and thereby exorcise such aspirations, a totem that receives penny wishes and returns one to the real. May your union always be blessed with the authenticity of the real communication that serves to renew love daily as one may so simply make a cup of tea."

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Bill Callahan

And I got the woman of my dreams

And an imitation Eames


The Granny Tapes

 In 2016, I was gifted an old 1960 Motorola cabinet with a reel to reel, phono player, and tuner. The only thing that apparently worked was the tuner, but unfortunately I believe the reel to reel was on the entire time, just not playing, as one night the smoky smell that frequently came from the cabinet ("It's just burning dust," I was told) turned into a real live fire inside the cabinet underneath the reel to reel. Panicked, I struggled and then ripped off the back cabinet and blew out the kindling flame. That flame, as it turns out, was the spirit of "Granny" as scrawled onto the reel to reel. With the help of Amanda and her father, the reel to reel was then digitized to mp3 for your listening enjoyment. We date this to approximately the late 1970s. Granny, may you rest now in peace.



Fitzgerald on Crack

 "Instead of being so sorry for yourself, listen—"she said. (She always says "Listen," because she thinks while she talks—really thinks.) So she said: "Listen. Suppose this wasn't a crack in you—suppose it was a crack in the Grand Canyon."

"The crack's in me," I said heroically.

"Listen! The world only exists in your eyes—your conception of it. You can make it as big or as small as you want to. And you're trying to be a little puny individual. By God, if I ever cracked, I'd try to make the world crack with me. Listen! The world only exists through your apprehension of it, and so it's much better to say that it's not you that's cracked—it's the Grand Canyon."


Madame Bovary

 On the evening when the Bovarys were to arrive at Yonville, Widow Lefrancois, the landlady of this inn, was so very busy that she sweated great drops as she moved her saucepans. To-morrow was market-day. The meat had to be cut beforehand, the fowls drawn, the soup and coffee made. Moreover, she had the boarders’ meal to see to, and that of the doctor, his wife, and their servant; the billiard-room was echoing with bursts of laughter; three millers in a small parlour were calling for brandy; the wood was blazing, the brazen pan was hissing, and on the long kitchen table, amid the quarters of raw mutton, rose piles of plates that rattled with the shaking of the block on which spinach was being chopped.

From the poultry-yard was heard the screaming of the fowls whom the servant was chasing in order to wring their necks.