Motorcycles. Shoes. Handbags. Yes, please. I love each of them in their own way. So in a round about way, luggage is sort of handbag-ish, right? Fine. I know. But, just go with it anyway…
I’ve run across the Ducati luggage collection by Tumi online earlier this year, but as we were strolling around Macy’s Herald Square, I finally got to see the pieces with my own eyes.
Like everything Ducati and Tumi for that matter, it’s a bit pricey. I guess if you want to be able to spot your luggage quickly on the conveyor belt of death at JFK, maybe one of these bags are for you.
While I was looking at the online pricing for information on the pieces, I saw this delicious nugget:
Firstly, for me to pay $35 for a key fob, said fob had better come with a key to a surprise gift attached to it. Maybe something like, oh, I don’t know, a lucky key that will start a new 1098 that they are giving away.
Secondly… Request warranty information… ? Oh. Oh, that is rich. As a Ducati owner, I can laugh. Its not really a full, hearty belly laugh though, It’s more of a “without an extended warranty I’d be on skid row, I know your pain” sort of laugh. I guess it’s pretty much a sympathetic chuckle.
Look at the bullet points detailing the “features” on the key fob.
Metal. Metal? Wow! How clever, making a key ring out of metal. This just might catch on. They might want to patent that idea.
Request Warranty Information :::snickers::::
Rotating key ring makes finding keys a cinch. Are people having trouble in this department?
Oh, Ducati. How do you do it? How do you package up something that isn’t really anything “new” and still make it so much more palatable than the others? Like a pair of Manolo $795 Mary-janes that garner unfortunate, man-made comments like, “Well, what makes them any better than any other shoe?” I guess some people just don’t ‘get it.’ Me included in this case. That being said…The Mary-Janes, I get. The luggage, I don’t.
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+Roadside Map+
M o n d a y , J a n u a r y 1 , 2 0 0 7
WhooHoo! Ok, its the little things that keep me entertained.
The newest addition to the blogmopomatic-thingamabobber here is our new muy fantastical, magical, Google-escent, map...Gah! My Ipod has a song on it thats all skippy and crackley. WTF? ... Where was i? Right! The map!
You too can go to the nowhere we've been! Just click on those weird, pink knob things to get pics & info. ::snicker:: I said, "pink knobs".
...An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people....
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Peas Porridge Cold
T h u r s d a y , D e c e m b e r 2 1 , 2 0 0 6
Pea soup can be pretty tasty on a cold winter day. I would go so far as to say that in the world of soup, pea soup is pretty substantial. It is kind of thick and weighty, it can almost be more like a stew. More often than not I find it quite yummy. But then there are those times that you get a piece of ham in there that has a dangling, wiggly, fat piece that is still attached to it.
As you lift your spoon that piece of ham with the bum fat-leg sits haughtily in its pool of swamp water and glares at you like, “Hey, how’s it going? Pretend you don’t see me. I’m still a delicious soup.”
For a microsecond you might be like “Ok,” but if you keep your eyes fixed on the scary little globule for more than 2 seconds your gag reflex will kick in and your once delicious cardboard cup of soup becomes a revolting, green nightmare that cannot find its way into the garbage can fast enough.
You had such high hopes for your steaming, hot cup of goodness. To make matters worse, that $4 bucks was all you could scrape together from the bottom of your purse; the last dollar of which you were forced to make out of 3 quarters, two dimes and a nickel, while the guy with the visible dandruff from the 3rd floor insurance firm impatiently shifted in his white Rockports behind you, making you feel like a loser for having to pay with change.
Now you’re slightly sickened and stuck eating a pack of mostly crushed cracker crumbs and a Diet Dr. Pepper for lunch all because some fetid hunk of grizzle had to go makin’ eyes at you.
These boots are like that.
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Roulette Green with Envy
M o n d a y , D e c e m b e r 1 8 , 2 0 0 6
Curses! Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Actually, that isn't exactly accurate. I've been the bride. Always the bride of Frankenstein, maybe? That seems more appropriate given the green theme of my post.
For 2007 Triumph has released the Speed Triple in the finest color known to the human retina. Roulette Green. Looks like I prematurely Triumphed. I know, I know. It happens to everyone, right?
I found this in my picture archive from the 2000 bikeshow here in NYC.
Black Sweater? check. Mop of unruly hair? check. Goofy, Perplexed Look? check. Triumph Lust? check.
Looks like old habits die hard, I guess.
Long have I loved you, Roulette Green Speed Triple. Beautiful, Roulette Green Speed Triple. Why will you not come to nuzzle yourself into the safety of my loving embrace? Have I not touted your greatness even to the most fervent non-believer? Have I not adamantly proclaimed my undying love for you to the Triumph dealers within a 100-mile radius?
"Ugly," they say.
I LAUGH in their FACES! Buffoons. They mock what they do not understand.
"It looks like antifreeze," they cry out.
Hot, scalding, beams shoot from my eyes, nearly incinerating them on sight. I've defended your honor, faithfully. And still I suffer from this unrequited love.
For years, I thought Don Henley was just a dirty looking hobo who's pants probably smell like an ashtray and he's probably harboring a family of field mice in his chest hair, but it is at this moment that I have come to realize the heartfelt truth and beauty that he has given to the world. I can tell you my love for you will still be strong, after the boys of summer have gone...
Someday Roulette Green Speed Triple. Someday; you and me. We'll dance, lady.
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