How the Other Half Lives

I think I'm living in the wrong reality.

Something made me pick up San Francisco Magazine at the library recently. A demented desire to look at things I could never afford, I guess. Or maybe it was the headline, "A Secret Shopping Avenue (with 75 cent parking)".

Inside I saw this chair: It's the Lafayette Chair designed by Gary Hutton, which actually means nothing to me. I just thought it was a cool and different looking chair, until I saw how much it costs. It STARTS at $12,675. Then I thought, "Oh, that's an ugly chair."

You know how when you were in middle and high school and the guy you liked preferred someone else? You might have silently obsessed over him (more my style), or you might have turned all sour grapes and been like, "Oh, he wasn't cute anyway." Sour grapes, anyone?

But I couldn't play that game with the ad I saw for the new private first class cabins on some of Emirates Airlines flights. I was blown away. Sigh.

Click on the picture to see it up close. You have to see this! This is on a plane! Forget sitting with your knees to your chin in coach. Of course, coach is where I will be on my next flight, but a girl can dream, can't she?

In other news: A short review in the same magazine of the book Vintage Paris Couture used the term "recessionista", I guess, to describe those of us who love fashion but who aren't super rich enough to afford the crazy prices, especially in this economy. Or maybe just for those of us who love fashion, but who aren't crazy. Some of the places in the book are apparently "under the radar" -- in other words, flea markets, resale shops, and as the review says "charity shops" (you mean like The Sal?). Sing it with me in a Dolly Parton twang: "I was a recessionista, when frugal wasn't cool." I was a recessionista before the recession. That makes me oh, so ahead of my time. And what proves it?! In this same magazine of treasures (I'm realizing just how cool I really am!), some guy talks about his addiction to chicharrones -- translation: pork rinds. Go on, affirm my 7 year old self. People would turn their nose up at me for eating them, but he throws some lime and hot sauce on them (an idea he probably got from the Chicanos in the Mission where he "discovered" the pork rinds) and suddenly they are chic and worthy of a mention in SF Mag.

BTW, they also had an photo spread on the return of pantsuits (or should I say, jumpsuits?). May I say, for the record, that, no sour grapes, these are hideous.