Oh dear, what a morning: Feeling a bit shaky, a bit green around the edges. Coffee is in order, and maybe a nap before I can really face the day. Not even sure if I'll be able to venture out at all, really.
I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. I had hardly more than a few cocktails last night - a quiet night at home, actually. Quiet as the tomb. And all because I ventured to that black hole of consumerism called University Village.
Once upon a time, University Village was a nice, neighborhood, open-air mall, straight out of some California developer's blueprint file: It had courtyards and fountains and low-slung, mod buildings, with grown-up stores. It also had grocery stores, a bowling alley, and a Lamonts (or something) that had seen much better days, but had been the last word in understated post-war elegance when it had opened as the suburban branch of the dearly departed Rhodes Department Store. It had plenty of parking and not many people, and it was a pleasure to shop at. When I first moved to Seattle, I did my banking at the (also departed) Rainier Bank branch at U Village, and was known to let my hair down on occasion at University Lanes (which had a HUGE mural of Mount Rainier that glowered down on you as you bowled).
Then the glamour patrol came in: Down went University Lanes (it's an Office Max now) down went all the mod, relaxed, laid-back buildings. Up went a mish-mash of structures designed (I suppose) to look like some sort of generic Main Street - if Main Street were designed by a bunch of art thugs with an advanced case of irony, no imagination beyond what they saw at Disneyland as a child, and a hatred for humanity.
Suffice to say, it's a dreadful place, a house of horrors, a latter-day Sodom (no, not that kind of Sodom) that would normally be shunned by people of taste and decency (except for Millard-Pollard, which is one of the few places left for a bride to register for her china and silver, now that Macys has eaten the Bon Marche and Frederick & Nelson bit the dust) As you can well imagine, it's not a place People Like Us would normally be caught dead in.
But here's the thing of it: It has an Apple Store, and a Crate and Barrel. And I have a grudging respect for both of those institutions. And U village is the only place in the region - other than Bellevue Square, which I would rather swim in a river of snot than patronize - that has those shops, so there you go.
But I've learned - oh yes, you really can teach an old dog new tricks - to shop on-line, and then call the store to see if they have what you want in stock, so you can minimize the mental anguish. Which I did. And then I girded my loins for the trip up north.
At this point, I suppose I should tell you what I was shopping for: As visitors to Chez Vel-DuRay know, I have this thing for cookware and serving pieces (Not that we've entertained in the last million years, but that's another story). Specifically, I like cast iron pots. I've got a lot of cast iron pots, and I needed a place to store them, and perhaps display them, although I am very wary of anything that might hint of Country Kitchen (I hate Country Kitchens) so I didn't want to do a cookware stand - all of the cookware stands I'd seen were either Country Kitcheny or something out of Monica's apartment on "Friends" (the look that simply will not die)
But then I saw one on the Crate and Barrel website that wasn't all curly-queuy or Ye Olde Rooster-ish. It was simple and sleek and - best of all - on sale, so I called ahead (remembering my advice) and fired up the Prius, without even bothering to run a comb through my hair or patch my makeup (I find that when one has to go to someplace like U village, it rather helps if you look a bit sinister, as a salesclerk or security person is sure to approach you right away - assuming you're a menace - and you will be able to get what you want and get out. This also has the added advantage of parents pulling their children away from your vicinity, so you don't have to worry about little Madison or Brooke being precocious around you, while you're trying to do your business)
Arriving at U Village, the scene was more chaotic and hateful than I had even imagined: Throngs of dead-eyed suburbanites, in a Coldstone-induced daze, wandering out into the road, while scores of cars were trying to find parking. I was about to surrender and return home, when I finally found a place in the parking garage (who knew they had a parking garage?)
I went in, got my stuff, got out, and got home just as a torrential downpour engulfed the city. Real rain - like in the midwest, not just wimpy Seattle rain. Complete with thunder and everything. It was against this ominous background that I put together my cookware stand. This is the end result, and this is the cause of my consumerism-induced hangover.
What do you think? Is it too cluttered, too kitschy? On the one hand, I like to show off my pots, and this frees up all sorts of valuable storage space, but on the other hand, is it too Rachel Ray? I need you advice, darling readers. Let me know what you think. Should I keep it, or take it back and take half those pots to the Goodwill?
Speaking of consumerism, Let me ask you this: Have you been watching "Mad Men"? I found it when we were camping (that's the sort of camping we do - camping with cable) and have been addicted ever since. That's the way an office SHOULD be, and that's sort of the way offices were back in my tender years: Everybody had a huge ashtray where the computer now sits, and a bottle in their bottom drawer. La, the memories.....
Anyway, If you haven't yet caught onto "Mad Men", you should.
That is all.
