Oh yes, dear Etsians — Etsyhound is back. And the first retail giant to fall prey to another smackdown?
ladies and fellas,
just letting you know that this blog will be, for the most part, static for the next several weeks as I undergo a particularly hellish round of finals and prepare to enter the Real World. no worries, though; Etsyhound will be back with a dogged vengeance.
in the meantime, please check out your local sellers. one of my favorite finds on the site has been from a local Atlantan who met me at the post office a few hours before a big event so that I could buy a sparkly headband. she rocks.
keep on hounding, etsygoers!
Type in “food” in Etsy’s photography section, and there it is: a treasure trove of tantalizing imagery there for the taking, whipping my inner fat kid into a lather. It’s like the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue for people like me–and by “people like me,” I don’t mean the snobby “gourmands” or that awful, obnoxious linguistic pimple, “foodies.” I mean people who just downright love food, plain and simple, whether it’s a truffle risotto or a greasy dive bar reuben. Chow.com calls them “chowhounds,” and after reading their manifesto, I think that’s the best term for this obsession of mine.
At any rate, macro shots of an orange peel and stylistically arranged chili peppers just so happen to tickle my fancy and whet my appetite. Here are a few of my favorite bits of food porn on Etsy. Warning: NSFW (that’s “Not Safe For Women-who-think-a-Slimfast-shake-counts-as-a-meal). Continue reading
We dog lovers are insane. There, I said it. It’s an indisputable fact that people who purchase apparel for domesticated animals are completely out of touch with reality. I’m just as guilty as anyone else (for evidence, please see Exhibit A, Exhibit B, Exhibit C… that’s probably enough). But a cute pup in a plaid jacket is just adorable. There’s no getting around that fact. Continue reading
So, it’s Tuesday night. And for the past several months, this has meant nothing to me. But three years ago, one seemingly innocuous night of the week took on an omnipotent, almost evil significance. No, it was not the night of my Narcotics Anonymous meetings (joke). It was the night of Lost, a nefarious intoxicating substance masquerading as a television show. For the past three years, I’ve tried with all my might to shake the addiction… to no avail. I am its prisoner. Like a toxic relationship, I have stayed right by Lost’s side as it bitch-slaps me with polar bears, sucker-punches me with smoke monsters, and then apologetically caresses me with cheap explanations that only lead to more questions.