Skip to main content

look at the souvenirs i didn't buy in switzerland

by a weird fluke, i found myself in switzerland with no ability to get money and no money on hand. that sucked in a lot of ways, because i always like to buy a map of the city/ country i'm in while i'm traveling. [i've prohibited myself from purchasing a map in advance of a trip because of that unseemly incident back in 2005.] it also sucked because it meant that i couldn't buy the gorgeous europe-only shade of yves st. laurent's new "rouge pur couture- les mats" lipstick called "prune virgin", which is not only named after an underrated irish band, but which is also just a perfectly me shade of deep shiraz purple-red.

but in other ways, it's a good thing that i couldn't get money, because that's probably all that stopped me from buying stuff like this ::

ok, let's start with the predictable, which is that i wanted the entire window display at prada on banhofstrasse. choosing one pair would have been too difficult. i will take all the pairs, please. and i will pay by credit card. someone else's.


and it's just too typical to get a cow. although a cow dressed as michael jackson might have been slightly more acceptable.


a cowbell the size of my torso was vaguely appealing, if only because i could imagine it freaking out some underpaid baggage handlers if i were able to fit it in a suitcase. i also think it would have guaranteed that my baggage left the plane pretty damn fast upon arrival.


and no, i wasn't tempted to get a gnome, which would also be cliche, but when i saw this in tiny, touristy appenzell, i was tempted to get all the gnomes, just so i could watch dom's reaction when i organised them in military formation in front of our door and then called in a set of demands to avoid war from a nearby pay phone. then again, he lives with me, so i suspect he's getting used to that sort of thing.


this would also have been totally cliche, except that it was about fifteen feet long. size trumps cliche. it's an international rule.


of course, this was like a sign reading "giant gift shop for kate"


unfortunately, they only had a couple of things on the wall i could have stolen and given the general decor, i sort of thought they might have noticed they were missing...


besides, why would i want old stuff when i could easily have bought a giant chrome brain with strawberries sprouting out of it?


ok, to be fair, when dom saw this, he couldn't understand why i didn't buy it. yes, it was about two feet tall and yes, it probably weighed about eighty pounds, but seriously, what's a better souvenir than a great big bronze statue of a bear taking a dump?


i think dom's secret fear was that i was going to come home with this guy, because i texted him pictures saying how happy i was that i'd made a friend on my travels and how i was almost certain that the large number of bug bites i received were not due to his giving me fleas. but come on, look at him. he was totally flirting with me.


so those are all the awesome things i could have [would have] bought in switzerland if my bank card had worked. also, i'll bet you're pretty happy you're not dom right now.

Comments

as long as you're here, why not read more?

long suffering

i've been meaning to write this post for a while, but, every time i get started, something happens that makes me rethink portions of it, to add or subtract or consider a different way of looking at things. the post was originally going to be my take on a #metoo statement, but i ended up making that post on my personal facebook page. [it's not that i don't love you all, but there are a few things i'm not comfortable putting in the entirely public sphere.] but beyond joining the #metoo juggernaut, i wanted to write something about the wave of sexual assault revelations that continues to swell over the north american media landscape that wasn't about me. then i realised that that was a little more complicated than just writing "so, lotta sex rapes happenin' these days, ain't there?" or whatever it was that i was going to say.

so i tried writing something about just a part of it: the media coverage or the entertainment industry or the politicians or …

jihadvertising?

i keep seeing this ad for tictac candies:



am i the only one who finds the suicide bomber clown at the end a little unnerving? all the nice natural things like the bunny and the [extinct] woolly mammoth and the fruit get devoured by a trying-to-appear-nonthreatening-but-obviously-psychotic clown who then blows himself up. congratulations, tictac, i think this ad has landed you on about a dozen watch lists.

oh and by the way, showing me that your product will somehow cause my stomach to explode in a rainbow of wtf makes me believe that doing consuming tictacs would be a worse dietary decision than the time i ate two raw eggs and a half a bottle of hot sauce on a dare.

making faces :: getting cheeky

blush might just be the last thing that a beauty lover comes to appreciate, seeing as it can be a matter of slight degrees that separates one product from another, and it's most difficult to tell from just swatching a product how it's going to look. and it did take me a long time to appreciate that, despite loving my refined pallor and believing that my natural rosy flush was more than enough of a blush for me, blush is my friend. it softens, sculpts, perfects and, although you might not see it at first blush [yuk yuk yuk], it is something that subtly harmonises with the other colours in a look to make it "complete". yes, it's the most tricky thing to pull off when you're wearing something that doesn't mesh with your own undertones. but it's also the thing that can take a face from gloomy to glowing with a swish of the magic wand known as a makeup brush.

highlighters are an even trickier lot, since many of the more brilliant ones have a tendency to e…