The only explanation for this is that, last night, I completely blanked on what I wanted to write, so my wife said “you should write 800 words from the point of view of someone trying to get up from a beanbag chair”.
We bought one for the basement playroom so the nanny would have a place to sit. She, a young-ish person, was thrilled. I tried sitting in it once, lost all the change in my pockets, and then had to barrel roll out.
Yesterday, I too, chose poorly. Deciding the stuffed ottoman was a good vessel for sitting while my daughter sat in her tent to play. There was no good exit option. I chose the half-breakdance, half-army crawl and I'm happy to report my knees are still intact.
Oh boy, I can only imagine what Friday's content will be like....the /recette du semaine/ will be a link to grubhub, the drink a lukewarm craft beer "purposefully aged on household shelves and served at room temp to fully experience the blend of hops and malt". Thankfully, the phone is still accessible, so music, books, and streamed video recommendations should be unphased.
Can't wait for the dog photos to be a carefully curated bunch of large galoots who would each be perfect candidates to help drag a stranded owner from their beany prison. I don't think Holly can be talked into a rescue mission. Sorry, Scott!
I knew this was going to be a good one when you threatened- ah, that is, teased us with it on Twitter.
One of the perfect objects of childhood memory is a green bean bag I had as a child, from which I would watch TV on lazy afternoons, controlling it with the kind of remote everyone calls "candy bar" even though that brings a Snickers or something to mind, not a KitKat or a particularly thick Hershey bar. It had translucent whitish-grayish buttons for most functions, but yellow and orange buttons for the key features like volume. The TV guide I could pull up from anywhere, a crude blue screen with white lettering and grids, seemed like a technological miracle to me. The television itself was a behemoth, not a CRT but one of the bigger rounded-screened TVs one could get in the mid to late 90s, with its RCA inputs on the front next to a few buttons for power, channel, volume, etc.
Ahh, the number of cartoons I watched on Saturdays on that thing, particularly early in the morning or the afternoon, before or between being trucked outdoors to help rake on crisp, chilly fall days...
Damn it, Scott, you've got me in full on reverie mode! Now I feel like a mid-00s blogger, from when there were still Gen Xers young enough not to have thrown their knees and backs out yet.
The only explanation for this is that, last night, I completely blanked on what I wanted to write, so my wife said “you should write 800 words from the point of view of someone trying to get up from a beanbag chair”.
It ended up being 900.
How much do I have to pay to get Werner Herzog to read this?
We bought one for the basement playroom so the nanny would have a place to sit. She, a young-ish person, was thrilled. I tried sitting in it once, lost all the change in my pockets, and then had to barrel roll out.
Finally, To Build A Fire for modern times
I don’t know what I expected when I saw the Twitter tease last night but it wasn’t this. With that said this is incredible.
I’m looking forward to the seven part Netflix series based around this article.
Yesterday, I too, chose poorly. Deciding the stuffed ottoman was a good vessel for sitting while my daughter sat in her tent to play. There was no good exit option. I chose the half-breakdance, half-army crawl and I'm happy to report my knees are still intact.
Oh boy, I can only imagine what Friday's content will be like....the /recette du semaine/ will be a link to grubhub, the drink a lukewarm craft beer "purposefully aged on household shelves and served at room temp to fully experience the blend of hops and malt". Thankfully, the phone is still accessible, so music, books, and streamed video recommendations should be unphased.
Can't wait for the dog photos to be a carefully curated bunch of large galoots who would each be perfect candidates to help drag a stranded owner from their beany prison. I don't think Holly can be talked into a rescue mission. Sorry, Scott!
This article will not help me try to convince my wife that our dog needs a bean bag chair that I will eventually steal for naps.
I knew this was going to be a good one when you threatened- ah, that is, teased us with it on Twitter.
One of the perfect objects of childhood memory is a green bean bag I had as a child, from which I would watch TV on lazy afternoons, controlling it with the kind of remote everyone calls "candy bar" even though that brings a Snickers or something to mind, not a KitKat or a particularly thick Hershey bar. It had translucent whitish-grayish buttons for most functions, but yellow and orange buttons for the key features like volume. The TV guide I could pull up from anywhere, a crude blue screen with white lettering and grids, seemed like a technological miracle to me. The television itself was a behemoth, not a CRT but one of the bigger rounded-screened TVs one could get in the mid to late 90s, with its RCA inputs on the front next to a few buttons for power, channel, volume, etc.
Ahh, the number of cartoons I watched on Saturdays on that thing, particularly early in the morning or the afternoon, before or between being trucked outdoors to help rake on crisp, chilly fall days...
Damn it, Scott, you've got me in full on reverie mode! Now I feel like a mid-00s blogger, from when there were still Gen Xers young enough not to have thrown their knees and backs out yet.
Few mundane moments so soul-crushing as finally getting comfortable and then realizing you can't reach the totem you need to complete the experience.