Feb 25, 2010

Mourning Glories


Somewhat unsurprisingly, I'm rather a fan of jewelry. Sparkle alone is enough to grab my attention, but it's always more interesting when there's a story of some kind behind the glitter. So yesterday, while killing time in the doctor's waiting room, I read an interview with a collector of antique sentimental and mourning jewelry. Very informative, not to mention plain ol' neato. No pics of mourning tiaras, though. Seriously, they exist and are often gorgeous. Some are made from iron, which means that it looks like you're wearing a wrought iron fence on your head. An awesome wrought iron fence, obviously.

Via Boing Boing.

Feb 22, 2010

Happiness is a Warm Arm

Dear lord, I've been so freaking busy. No time to post. So sad. It's been three weeks. Three freaking weeks! First, by means of apology, have the most adorable bunny ever. (Ever, people.)



Second, this product, Happiness in Bed is brilliant. I have this exact problem on a nightly basis. It seems pretty simple—gloves/sleeves attached to a blanket, but could be totally helpful. I think the description says it all: Because it's really, really annoying to have cold arms when reading in bed. I couldn't agree more.

Happiness in Bed isn't available for sale yet, but you can sign up for the mailing list. Via Josh Spear.

Feb 1, 2010

George Costanza Invents Sex Robot!



Holy crap. George Costanza invented a sex robot! Okay, okay, I know the inventor—Douglas Hines— isn't actually George Costanza, but he does look awfully Costanzan. And I suppose if Costanza had invented said robot, she probably wouldn't, well, work...but come on. Doesn't she look like something Costanza could have designed? I mean, doesn't she look a little...special? Slack-jawed, dead-eyed, a little bit corpsified, a little bit retarded?

As noble as Hines' goals may be, the whole story is just as creepy as his doll looks. Believe it or not, the dude created his sex robot in tribute to a friend who died on 9/11. So, not that I ever thought it'd be necessary to spell this out, but please, if I die tragically, don't create a sex robot version of me, okay? Thanks.