The Gift of Third-Degree Burns

It’s a very cute idea with one teensy, tiny design flaw…one that Grandma is bound to find the first time she tries to jam that thing into a standard-issue cup holder.

(Actually, now that I look at it more closely…is that a spout? Did they print this design on a coffee creamer?? I have so many questions…)

Edit: Alex Jedraszczak points out on Twitter:

 My dad had a mug just like that (minus the part about grandma). It had grippy rubber on the bottom and was meant to sit on the dashboard. I think maybe cars up until the ’80s or ’90s didn’t have cupholders as standard equipment.

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The Beast Coast

New York is different from California. This may come as a surprise to those of you who have only lived on one coast or the other, or (God forbid) any readers who got stuck living in-between (I’ve driven through your states twice now; I’m so sorry). They’re both big states, with lots of…trees…and they’ve both made me realize that I should look out the window more and see what they’ve got besides trees. But certain things feel like they’re a step away in a random direction; even the yard sales.

This past Saturday in New York, I overheard a guy talking about how he (his company?) recently had to pay a $200 million fine, in the same regretful tone that one might remark that they left their phone charger on the bus. “Aw gee,” I could imagine him shrugging, then giving the propeller on his beanie cap a twirl. “What a boo-boo I just did.” (And we don’t even live in the rich part of New York. We live in the cow part.) In Humboldt County—our home in California before moving back east—the only time you’d hear the word “million” was if someone was breaking the record for number of buds grown in a single field.

Another example. In California, I found some pretty adorable quilting-themed goods at an estate sale…