The owls are not what they seem ... in fact, they are the hot new animal. Horses, deer and birds (of the sparrow variety) have had their day in the sun. Now, let night fall, and behold: THE OWL.

These are Keds from Elanor Grosch. Buy them here. 

This coffee mug is from FlyBird. Buy it here. 

This ceramic owl is from Jonathan Adler. Buy it here. 

Satisfy your nocturnal side now, before everyone else does. It would be only, well, wise. 

I was introduced to this lawn game at Kory's house party a couple of weeks ago. It's ridiculously accessible for you non-athletes, and reminds me of good times at the arcade playing Skee-Ball. Plus, we all need things to do while hanging out in the backyard drinking beer.

 Edit: I hear that you can build your own set. I don't think it would be hard, except for making those double-ball-string things. Get on it.

I made these today after seeing a similar idea in a book I'm reading on design. I can't wait to send them out to my friends. I'm really obsessed with the checklist/table motif lately: I'm doing a scrapbook page with an old-school timecard about my job; and I've always loved the order forms at Speakeasy, my favorite Athens restaurant, where you just check off the items you want to eat. It's so 60s-library chic.

I hit something. With my car. Not saying what, but it wasn't that bad. Nothing died. However, there are now a ton of ugly-ass scratches on my car (and the tiniest little dent) that I need to get fixed before Dad, the High Priest of All Things Honda, sees this. Not because I am afraid of him (okay, sort of because of that) but because he and Mom just don't need that kind of stress right now. I don't want to discuss it here, but I will say that Athens Regional Medical Center has seen my family three times too many this past week. So they really don't need to be concerning themselves with some little scratches, capisce?

I decided to flee the scene--I mean, take immediate action--and went to a body shop. The first one I went to said they couldn't do an estimate until Monday, when Mr. Estimate comes back. A leathered mechanic fearlessly smoking a cigarette in a puddle of oil said it could be fixed without replacing the bumper, which was music to my ears. No parts to buy=maximum savings for moi. Unfortunately, he said it would take two days. The longer they have it, the more labor I'm going to have to pay for, and the more likely it is that my Dad will come through town and wonder where the Silver Bullet is.

So I headed down to the next body shop, rolling in just before the whistle blew to send the fellas home. A weasely guy with a terrible combover looked at my car and declared it would need a new bumper cover. I protested, but still followed him inside to get my estimate. The office fairly reeked of fuck-you-over-ness, with atrocious maroon and hunter green wallpaper on the walls and framed pictures of old-timey cars that I'm  certain were meant to gently imply that getting your car fixed at this body shop would be a lot like living in a Norman Rockwell painting. I swear, though, that when he read my estimate to me, I nearly choked. $600. Yeah, sure brah. Let me just pull out my checkbook for you.

The bullshit about getting your car messed up is that it's not really one of those things you can fix yourself. Being a DIY Warrior, I would not hesitate to pull out the sander and paint gun and go at the bitch, but those tools are fairly hard to come by. Maybe I'll make a mint auctioning my ACL tickets and not have to worry about it. Hurry, go buy them! I've got a car to fix!

Also, Angela, if you tell Mom and Dad about this, I will kill you.

I've launched a new section of this website, The Love List. I decided to do it after wanting a place to talk about all the things I fall in love with, which are many and varied. It can include movies, music, food, clothing, web sites, books, sports, ideas, processes, skills, homes or any other thing that makes me excited. You should visit. It will be worth it.