misosouper, a shopping blog

Without fail, I get at least three hits a day from the Google phrase “hungarian baby bathtub.”  I’m not surprised, because Hungarian baby bathtubs are the apotheosis of useful; I ice mine once per year, when I stock it with cheap vodka and cheaper bubbly for my December birthday bash.

Originally posted on May 6:

I’m categorizing this under Splurge-day Thursday because, while the price for this Hungarian baby bathtub isn’t outrageous, it remains, well, a Hungarian baby bathtub, with limited application beyond bathing Hungarian babies and icing cold drinks. Really, Hungarian baby bathtubs shouldn’t be more than $20, but apparently Garnet Hill didn’t get that memo. (Tangential note: How did Garnet Hill discover this stash of “vintage” bathtubs? Was J. Peterman somehow involved?)

Despite its limits, I still want one; the Hungarian baby bathtub reminds me of my best friend’s wedding, where we grabbed beers from a frosty rowboat on her deck, only this is the all-grown-up, now-we-drink-champagne version.

Originally posted on October 10:

Dear Future Me,

I hope that four years from now, your 401k doesn’t read -4256.39, Barack Obama is finishing up his first term, and Sarah Palin isn’t out shaking her beehive on the presidential campaign trail.

It would also be great if you have a robot maid/bartender named Sparky.

Love, Anna

Disclosure: I have a friend whose letter is included (not that he gets any money if you buy the book). So yes, that makes me totally biased.

Originally posted on May 23:

By virtue of our house’s directionality and location, it appears perpetually sunny and bright; what better way to infuse some darkness than these fantastically detailed Victorian posters, hand-drawn by Madame Talbot in New Orleans? (Plus, they’re buy three, get one free. Who can resist darkness at a discount?)

Originally posted on August 18:

I’ve seen Kiel Mead’s knot-me-tight-and-don’t-let-go rings before, cast in sterling and gold. The beautifully blackened version is more bleak than demure, as if you have a painful, delicious secret that needs remembering.

It’s the week before the week before Thanksgiving, and here at Misosouper, I’m prepping the ‘08 holiday gift guide, which will be posted next Monday, November 17.  So this week, in High Fidelity tradition, we’ll cycle through Misosouper’s top five all time posts, so you can snag a gift from the archives that you may have missed.

___________________________________

Originally posted on April 14:

This weekend’s WSJ article on American Apparel produced my usual reaction to Dov Charney: I want to clap for him, then throw up.

Instead, I bought a shirt. (I believe that’s what you might call scruples.)

As far as tank tops go, this tri-blend racerback version reigns supreme: it really is as soft, non-clingy, and comfortable as advertised. You’ll also get to enjoy one of my favorite AA experiences: snickering at the product reviews that begin, “I’m a 32G but this top isn’t too tight…” or “I’m 5′4, 95 lbs, and while I was worried this would be too big…” (Because I’m also a member of the 32G-5′4″-95lb club, I’m allowed to mock, OK?)

Like I said, it’s all about the scruples.