For the most part, I usually think Ikea rocks. It's just a fun place, some decent stuff, reasonable prices. In addition, I've also been impressed with the emphasis they put on reducing waste, using recyclable materials, etc. But they are testing my love at the moment.
I have a glass-top table that MD and I bought there when we moved in together. The glass was an unfortunate victim in my move to Regent Square, and replacing it has finally moved to the top of my long to-do list. I figured it wouldn't be a big deal; Ikea probably just has a parts replacement system and I can buy a new top for it.
Nope.
I have to buy a whole new table. I've talked to people at the store, people on the phone, people on the customer service "live chat" thing, and sent them an email. The table top is packaged and handled separately; the infrastructure is entirely in place for them to sell just the top, but they just won't do it. I'm a little irritated about the cost, but really, why force people to waste perfectly good furniture pieces? Considering that most of their stuff is in pieces, I'm very surprised and disappointed that they don't have a better parts-replacement system.
Oh, and they do have another line of glass table tops that you can buy seperately, but in one direction it is 3/4" off in length. Really? How hard would it be to make them the same size??
It's still cheaper for me to buy the whole new table than to get replacement glass from a different store, so I'm going to do it. But I'm just going to leave the base at the store--I'll be damned if I'm going to deal with the hassle of getting rid of an extra table base, and I'm sure as hell not going to just throw it out.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Dave Comes to Regent Square
Surprise, surprise, a fair amount of explanation for a small bit of fact, but it's an important bit to me so I don't care.
Some backstory for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Dave, a friend of ours from the restaurant. He ate at Pamela's just about every day and was simultaneously a voice of wisdom and a good-natured troublemaker; he was our Yoda. Sadly, Dave died in May 2006 after a yearlong fight with cancer.
After he died, MD and I each got to pick out photos from a huge collection of ones that he had taken and his wife had mounted; we each picked two. In the old apartment we had all four photos hanging together. When I moved, I took the two that I had picked, and have been trying to decide where to hang them. There were spots in my TV nook that I liked, but I have candles around there and I was very afraid of the heat damaging them. Nowhere else in the place has really felt right for them, so they remained unhung.
Last night I was lighting the aforementioned candles, and just happened to look up at the panel of wall up above the TV nook, and for the first time noticed two nails already in the wall. They are positioned perfectly to hang the two photos, one of which is tall and thin, the other short and wide. As far as I've seen, they are the only two nails left over from a previous tenant in any wall in the apartment. In an odd way, I'm not at all surprised. It might seem spooky to some people, but it gives me a smile to think that maybe Dave is still up to a little subtle mischief. I'm happy to welcome him into my new home.
Some backstory for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Dave, a friend of ours from the restaurant. He ate at Pamela's just about every day and was simultaneously a voice of wisdom and a good-natured troublemaker; he was our Yoda. Sadly, Dave died in May 2006 after a yearlong fight with cancer.
After he died, MD and I each got to pick out photos from a huge collection of ones that he had taken and his wife had mounted; we each picked two. In the old apartment we had all four photos hanging together. When I moved, I took the two that I had picked, and have been trying to decide where to hang them. There were spots in my TV nook that I liked, but I have candles around there and I was very afraid of the heat damaging them. Nowhere else in the place has really felt right for them, so they remained unhung.
Last night I was lighting the aforementioned candles, and just happened to look up at the panel of wall up above the TV nook, and for the first time noticed two nails already in the wall. They are positioned perfectly to hang the two photos, one of which is tall and thin, the other short and wide. As far as I've seen, they are the only two nails left over from a previous tenant in any wall in the apartment. In an odd way, I'm not at all surprised. It might seem spooky to some people, but it gives me a smile to think that maybe Dave is still up to a little subtle mischief. I'm happy to welcome him into my new home.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Bacon Infatuation
Better news that the owners of the Harris Grill do intend to rebuild. Of course, anyone who actually cares probably already knows, but I mention it in relation to a funny tidbit. A friend of mine is infatuated with the idea of Bacon Night, which they had every Tuesday. Neither of us actually went to Bacon Night, but she is very determined to experience one if they resume the tradition.
The funny thing is, she's a veggie. But she's determined that we must go, and claims she's willing to make an exception for me and Harris' Bacon Night. Which leads to the other thing that makes the situation slightly funny, which is that the only time in my life that I've ever actively craved bacon is when I worked at Pamela's. I think at that point it was a saturation effect. You know how you can hear a song on the radio and not like it, but if they pound it into your skull enough first you get it stuck in your head, and eventually realize to your horror that you crave it? Thus I believe it was with me and bacon.
Of course, it's not that I hate bacon, like one hates the aforementioned song. It's just...oops, I have to go. Whiskey has decided to try and dig the leftover food out of the garbage that he's already dug out twice now and left on the floor. Because it might be different this time or something.
The funny thing is, she's a veggie. But she's determined that we must go, and claims she's willing to make an exception for me and Harris' Bacon Night. Which leads to the other thing that makes the situation slightly funny, which is that the only time in my life that I've ever actively craved bacon is when I worked at Pamela's. I think at that point it was a saturation effect. You know how you can hear a song on the radio and not like it, but if they pound it into your skull enough first you get it stuck in your head, and eventually realize to your horror that you crave it? Thus I believe it was with me and bacon.
Of course, it's not that I hate bacon, like one hates the aforementioned song. It's just...oops, I have to go. Whiskey has decided to try and dig the leftover food out of the garbage that he's already dug out twice now and left on the floor. Because it might be different this time or something.
Oh, Right...That's Why
I don't go to the movies all that often these days, and I was reminded why today. In case you are curious, take note: The Last Legion = Steaming Pile of Crap.
I would like to note, MD picked it. She apologized afterwards. At least it was the matinee.
I would like to note, MD picked it. She apologized afterwards. At least it was the matinee.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Happy Birthday MT!!
Today is my good friend MT's birthday, so happy birthday to you! You survived long enough to have the privilege of your age no longer starting with a "2", so congratulations--in another 10 or so months I'll be right behind you. I think you and I might be the only two people in the world who are happy to reach that milestone.
At any rate, it's been, what, five years now since The Nameless Evil was late for public skate but it was so obvious which two people didn't belong amongst the high school dudes and chickies that we didn't need her around to make the introduction. Five years, jeez. Five years full of ups, downs, foot surgeries, shoulder surgeries, mmmmonkeys, tears, smiles, hugs, antidepressants, anti-inflammatories, Lower Wildcat backwards, ffffourty-nine, new relationships, new heartbreaks, ciclon, vodka fireballs, ham-cheese-onion-pickle sandwiches on potato bread, 8 cats, 4 tempcats, Buffalo, 9 residences, Patrick the Starfish, and pork fried rice stuffed in a pickle jar. (Just the rice in the jar, not Patrick.) And oh yeah, some hockey in there somewhere too.
And through it all has been the comfort and knowledge that I have found in you a true, lifelong friend...even if we had to work out a few kinks along the way.
Just before my birthday this year, someone told me that age 29 marks one of the great times of transition in life--that you truly begin to become the adult that you really want to or will be. I can definitely say that I've seen that happen in you over the past year. It hasn't been an entirely easy year, but as it's progressed I've seen the seeds of real happiness finally firmly taking root for you. My wish for your birthday is that they continue to flourish.
And by the way, nice lederhosen.
At any rate, it's been, what, five years now since The Nameless Evil was late for public skate but it was so obvious which two people didn't belong amongst the high school dudes and chickies that we didn't need her around to make the introduction. Five years, jeez. Five years full of ups, downs, foot surgeries, shoulder surgeries, mmmmonkeys, tears, smiles, hugs, antidepressants, anti-inflammatories, Lower Wildcat backwards, ffffourty-nine, new relationships, new heartbreaks, ciclon, vodka fireballs, ham-cheese-onion-pickle sandwiches on potato bread, 8 cats, 4 tempcats, Buffalo, 9 residences, Patrick the Starfish, and pork fried rice stuffed in a pickle jar. (Just the rice in the jar, not Patrick.) And oh yeah, some hockey in there somewhere too.
And through it all has been the comfort and knowledge that I have found in you a true, lifelong friend...even if we had to work out a few kinks along the way.
Just before my birthday this year, someone told me that age 29 marks one of the great times of transition in life--that you truly begin to become the adult that you really want to or will be. I can definitely say that I've seen that happen in you over the past year. It hasn't been an entirely easy year, but as it's progressed I've seen the seeds of real happiness finally firmly taking root for you. My wish for your birthday is that they continue to flourish.
And by the way, nice lederhosen.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Pet Peeve #83: Sidewalk Hogs
The first thing I have to do is make a confession. I bike on the sidewalk sometimes. Yep, I'm one of those jerks that gives bicycle commuters a bad name. If I'm in an area where drivers are used to seeing bikes, there's plenty of space, or the sidewalks have lots of pedestrians, I stick to the road. But on narrow, busy, non-bike-friendly roads, I hit the sidewalk. For example, Penn Ave. between Braddock and Fifth--I drove that stretch every day for two years, and can personally attest that drivers are too concerned with stirring their coffee and beating the red lights to get to work, they aren't looking out for bikers.
That admission made, my pet peeve is something I don't have a right to. Too bad, it irritates me anyhow. When a pedestrian sees a bike coming down the sidewalk, why do they simultaneously gawk in fear that I'm going to mow them down, yet also refuse to make a decent amount of space?
On my ride to work down that stretch of Penn, there's one bus stop in particular that drives me insane. There's a telephone pole and mailbox side by side. Most times that a pedestrian is waiting there, they stand immediately opposite the mailbox, leaving maybe a third of the sidewalk open. Let me show you: (MD, you know you've been waiting for a diagram.)
They shrink back against the shrubs in clear recognition of the tight squeeze, yet they don't make any move to relieve the congestion. I know that as a biker on the sidewalk I have no claim to anything, so I'm not complaining from that aspect. But the stupidity irritates me. Out of a sheer desire for their own self-preservation, wouldn't it make sense to stand somewhere different? Say, next to the mailbox, or a few feet down from the mailbox rather than immediately across from it. Are they that dumb? Wait, don't answer that.
That admission made, my pet peeve is something I don't have a right to. Too bad, it irritates me anyhow. When a pedestrian sees a bike coming down the sidewalk, why do they simultaneously gawk in fear that I'm going to mow them down, yet also refuse to make a decent amount of space?
On my ride to work down that stretch of Penn, there's one bus stop in particular that drives me insane. There's a telephone pole and mailbox side by side. Most times that a pedestrian is waiting there, they stand immediately opposite the mailbox, leaving maybe a third of the sidewalk open. Let me show you: (MD, you know you've been waiting for a diagram.)
They shrink back against the shrubs in clear recognition of the tight squeeze, yet they don't make any move to relieve the congestion. I know that as a biker on the sidewalk I have no claim to anything, so I'm not complaining from that aspect. But the stupidity irritates me. Out of a sheer desire for their own self-preservation, wouldn't it make sense to stand somewhere different? Say, next to the mailbox, or a few feet down from the mailbox rather than immediately across from it. Are they that dumb? Wait, don't answer that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)