I miss my old neighborhood in Chelsea, and sending David Horvitz to the mailbox on my former street corner to take a photo, then using the mailbox to send the photo is somehow comforting, in a very circuitous way.
And for $10, a whole lot cheaper than plane fare to New York.
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The best summer host/ess gift: four of these Warhol melamine butterfly dishes will only set you back $8, making them deeply superficial indeed.
Easily mistaken for breath fresheners, but oh, aren’t these bathroom soaps lovely?
I’ve always loved these graceful candlesticks, and with the code GIVEGIFTS, they’re $7.50 apiece. Buy six now, and hoard them for the holidays.
Wouldn’t a pair of these look great flanking your bed?
Place this little bank next to your Das Kapital money box, and your shelf just might explode from the irony.
When my daughter was tiny, I found myself washing my hands 14 times a day, if not to remove the imaginary germs that were contaminating her skin, then to wipe off spittle or some other bodily ook. Bar soap has a communal yick factor and dish soap is slimy, so I settled on Method’s Foaming Hand Wash. Amazing smell and texture, but the bottle, cool as it looks, seemed to run dry after 36 hours.
Enter the most thoughtful, economical, and environmentally friendly of products: a pump that turns your own liquid soap into foam. Obsessive hand washers like me (oh, who am I kidding; I scrubbed all day even before she was born) rejoice.
Having a kid gives you the opportunity to reclaim certain primordial pleasures, chief among them Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, rubber ducks, and coloring books. Inspired by yesterday’s Everywhere Daily Candy, I present to you the ultimate in cheap fun: color your own Modern Art Masterpieces and Human Anatomy. Throw in a Classic Crayola 64-Pack and a bottle of Two Buck Chuck, and a hot Friday night (after the kids go to sleep, of course) is all yours for under $15. Staying inside the lines optional.
These luggage tags remind me of when my suitcase fell apart in Charles de Gaulle airport on my way home from Paris. Two months of smoky, wine-splotched clothes fell onto the pristine floor; the bag checker loaned me a roll of packing tape and a garbage bag, snickering while I scooped my sorry American stink off the ground. The story’s funny now, but it would have been funnier then with the “open with caution: dirty clothes inside” strapped to the handle.
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Infinitely better than one of those goofy “tonight/not tonight”