It's That Time of the Year Again

I know the holidays are approaching when the Neiman Marcus Wish Book comes out.  They sell the thing for $15 on-line, but send it to me for some unknown reason.  It's designed for the people who TBG describes as having stupid money.  A friend opined that they might be looking for a bigger and bigger thrill and that involves spending more and more money in order to feel anything at all.

It's a problem, I'm sure.

I can't look at it as a reflection of the times, as the end of days, as anything other than a guilty pleasure while ignoring football.  Come and dream with me, denizens.  Don't worry what it might say about you. I know just how you feel, because I, too, gasped when I saw this

Yes, it's a television that rises, at the touch of a button, from an underground cache.

That's an outdoor, waterproof TV with a 201" screen.  

Tell me you don't want it right now.

The catalog shows expansive wicker furniture, blankets at the ready, canapes, roses, and wine artfully arranged on the end table. 

I wonder if the people who buy it will invite me over for dinner-and-a-movie?

There was something missing from the experience, it seemed.

There was no artwork.  

Never fear, Neimans is here.

We saw a Jeff Koons show at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. There were so many of us that I bought a membership and used all the guest passes that afternoon.

The work made us smile.

The mirrored surface reflects your own face back at you.

Somehow, I'm not sure that's how I want to see myself.

I had no difficulty imagining myself carrying one of these, though.

It's called a knuckle duster clutch.

Who knew that there could be yet another iteration of a pocketbook... a purse... a bag?

Not I.  

Thinking about sweaty palms and ivory silk appliques let me to the gloves

and no, I don't know why she has that face on her face.

You know, that supercilious I am hipper than you are face.

The face of a woman who wears gloves which are banned in California.

No, you cannot purchase pythons to wear on your hands on the Left Coast. 

The more I look at them, the more sense that makes to me. 

The gloves were creeping me out, so I turned the page and found peace, serenity,

in candles, the largest of which is more expensive than any pair of shoes in my closet.

And I have some nice shoes.

And I don't burn my shoes up as I use them.

With thoughts of burning hundred dollar bills in my head, I will now refer to the elephant in the closet.  Where are the price tags, Ashleigh?

The answer is this sage advice from Daddooooo:

If you have to ask how much it costs, you can't afford it.