ANTIQUE BLACK DEMILUNE CONSOLE TABLE
TALL BREAKFAST TABLE - BREAKFAST TABLE
TALL BREAKFAST TABLE - ITALIAN MARBLE DINING ROOM TABLE.
Tall Breakfast Table
Amisco Andy Tall Dining Table
The Andy Tall Dining Table offers up a stylish contemporary design perfect for any kitchen, home dining area, or other casual dining space. It's the ideal choice for your casual dining environment or breakfast nook. Built by industry leader, Amisco, this dining table features a durable construction and seasoned intelligent designing. These pieces are available in a wide variety of finish options. Set a bold new trend in your home or blend seamlessly into existing decor! Experience the difference of quality Canadian workmanship in your home!
Yoko Ono: Feeling The Space (1973)
[Feeling The Space]
A man came up to me and said “May I shake hands with the hand that shook hands with John Lennon?” I said, “Well, we’ve done a lot of things in our time but we haven’t got around to doing that yet...so what are you going to do about that?” He just mumbled, sort of, and shook my hand anyway. Hey, yoke, yoki, yoyo, yoho! A is for Anger, B is for Brute, C is for Cunning, D is for Death. Actually, I’m a Lenny Bruce married to Greta Garbo, if you must know. Two people in love never shake hands.
The Shortest distance between two dots is a direct line. Direct line is out of order. Snow in New York City - in our heads. Central Park is still summer. The air smells wise and tender. It surrounds me without giving me any pressure - like a kind friend. It makes me feel innocent again. I was never able to get hold of my mother without touching her manicure and fur. My father had a huge desk in front of him that separated us permanently. There was always such a space around me. I would play sitting in the deep gaps between tall and fat chairs. I never liked ringing the service bell because it often made me realize that there was nobody at the other end.
In the middle of the night I wake up in the dark. Is this Tokyo, London, where is it? It doesn’t seem to matter as long as it’s on this globe. Would I care if it was on the moon? Yes, I think I would be lonelier then though I don’t know why. Sometimes the moon looks closer than Tokyo. What would happen if I called my mother now. Would I hit her manicure again?
The phone is glowing in the dark like an entrance to a mysterious space. Is there anything that is real I would hit if I reached into space through that wire? Shall I call my cousin? What time is it in Paris? I might wake up the woman he is with. Curse the day when I was taught to be considerate- it’s so much like death. But that was decades ago. Now there’s nobody in Paris to call.
I think of this friend. I want to call them and tell them how beautiful they are, how much I love them, how much I care for them... And, if I had... If I had... Why is calling somebody such a difficult thing to do? They say if you write your thoughts down on paper you don’t have to send it. They get the message anyway. Shall I do that? I doze off for awhile. I’m up again at dawn. I feel something strange is happening that I can’t put my finger on. At the breakfast table, I find that one of the friends I wished to call had died during the night. What if I had called and spoken to her? Would it have changed anything? Things that I wanted to tell her... They’ll never be resolved now. Never is a long time. Maybe death has resolved it all.
Don’t leave me words, they haunt me. Leave me your coat to keep me warm. I like secondhand clothes because that is like wearing a person.
I miss you. I’ve written twenty letters to you in my mind but never mailed them. Anyway, I don’t know your address. I don’t even know your name. And if you do exist, why do you care about me? - an electric fan.
A musician came up to me and said he was very glad to work with me, because he liked foreigners. “Foreigners?” “I mean, foreign people, specially the Oriental people.” I was going to snap back and say, “Well I like to work with foreigners too,” but then the whole thing suddenly hit me as being so funny, and I just said something to thank him for liking to work with foreigners. It’s hard to remember about your slanted eyes and your skin in the melting pot of a recording session, but I suppose this is the first thing that hits them when they try to communicate. “That Jap. You never know what she’s thinking.” Next time you meet a “foreigner,” remember it’s only like a window with a little different shape to it and the person who’s sitting inside is you. Anyway, in my mind I’m a singing Sylvia Plath, half her head out of the gas stove still looking for a pencil to write her last beauty.
In the evening I watch the city lights from my apartment that hangs in the air, and become overwhelmed with the incredibility of it all. Behind each shining dot, there is a room, an apartment, a person or people who are all having a life show of their own. Every person’s life can be a book thicker than an encyclopedia and still you couldn’t explain all that they took to survive. I would probably not meet even 1/1000th of those people. The odds of not meeting in this life are so great that every meeting is like a miracle. It’s a wonder that we don’t make love to every single person we meet in our life. We take meetings like riding a cab. You know that you would probably never meet the driver again. Yet if the car crashed, that driver is the person you are going to die with. In fact, your life is in the driver’s hands while you’re in the car. But when you get to the destination, you give a bit of metal and slam the door behind you.
When I’m on the stage, I freak out thinking about the strangeness of the gathering. In four hours or so, all the seats w
Beer bread biscuit french toast
Oh you guys. I wasn't sure how this would go down, but oh. OH. They are so good.
1. Make beer bread for dinner (pre-heat oven to 375F; combine 3c flour, 1T sugar, 1tsp salt, and 1T baking powder in a large mixing bowl; slowly stir in 12oz of warm, flat beer and mix just until combined. Batter will be thick. Spread in a greased loaf pan, and bake until golden brown and a toothpick stuck in the center comes out clean, about 45 minutes), except (a) use a Guinness, (b) pour into a greased muffin tin, and (c) only bake about 20 minutes.
2. Laugh when they rise very strangely. Repeatedly tell Steve that they are not beer muffins. Eat a few with dinner, throw the rest in the fridge.
3. The next day, crave French toast. Your taste buds want it, your body needs it. Lightly whisk 2 eggs with some cream and cinnamon. Pull out the beer bread biscuits and slice them into 1/2-inch rounds. Dunk the rounds into the egg mixture and slap them onto a hot, buttered cast-iron skillet.
4. Slather each round in peanut butter, it's the only way to do it. Stack the rounds precariously and drizzle with syrup*.
5. Realize it's incredibly difficult to eat while stacked three inches tall, but do your best.
*For all of my food snobbery of homemade this and fresh ingredients that, I really can't stand real maple syrup. It's a personal failing that I'm well aware of. I've made peace with it, and so should Steve.
strobist: Canon 580EX, 1/4 power, sitting on the table camera left and pointed at the wall/ceiling for bounce
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