This might get ugly...

Courtesy of Chopping Block.

Friday Fashion: The Vegan Edition

As promised, here is the post about beautiful vegan shoes from the Web site Vegan Chic. A big thanks to Anderburf for turning me on to the site in the comments of the previous "Friday Fashion!" According to the site, "You don't have to wear somebody else's skin to be in style!" I am definitely a meat eater (albeit picky about what type), but I appreciate Vegan Chic's ambition and their promise that they "donate a generous portion of [their] profits to multiple animal charities!" So, my friends, revel in the beauty that is accessories!

I know this is primarily a shoe-themed post today, but I absolutely could not pass up including this bag. It is sooooo cute. I am seriously contemplating buying this. At $34.90, I wouldn't feel too bad about purchasing this Vegan Crescent Satchel. It also comes in dark brown and black (which looks silver in the picture)...I know I should pick a more neutral color, but there is just something about this deep, soft red! I'm in love, for serious.I wanted to include something a little different today also, a fashion shout-out to my male readers. These OG Vegan Sneakers by Punk Rose are $42.50. They are so deliciously geek and could easily be dressed down with a pair of jeans and sweatshirt or dressed up with some khakis and a polo. I know Husband could pull these off with nothing else on...mmm...'scuse me, I need a moment...
I kind of hate that I think these $34.99 Vegan Decorative Flats are adorable. They're exceptionally frou frou (not to be confused with the artists formerly known as). But I just don't think I could "Let Go" of these sweet flats. Ha. See what I did there? I used the band Frou Frou's best known song to describe shoes that I think are also frou frou. Oh, I guess explaining what I did kind of negates the cleverness...Moving on...
I had a difficult time deciding whether or not to include this pair of Vegan Sling-Back Wedges, on sale for $18.25, but I finally decided that the detailing was too intricate not to include them. Again, I am not normally a fan of the faux-wood wedge look (although I am wearing a pair today...whoops...), but I love the olive green color and the braiding and weaving and criss-cross texture.
I have a sad, sad penchant for Mary Janes (the shoes, not the pot or girlfriend of Spiderman), especially these $35.99 Mid-Heel Vegan Mary Jane Pumps. Look at the kitten heel! The soft rounded toe! The button-secured strap! Plus, dudes, they totally match that kick-ass bag that I have almost talked myself into buying...
You probably think that these $58.99 Corduroy Vegan Boots are my final fashion faux-pas of the post, but, no, those are coming right up next. I actually think these are kind of adorable, in a Frodo the Hobbit meets the Green Giant kind of way. They look warm (for winter, of course, nothing to do with yesterday's "Shoes that would make my ankles sweat" post) and would provide a nice pop of color during the cold, gray months. Plus, no heels. I have a difficult time understanding heels on boots, because I would buy boots to wear in the snow...and ice seems to negate gravity when one is wearing heels. But I digress: Cute.

Finally, the fashion faux-pas. Every site has them. Vegans are no different. At least I have a sneaking suspicion that no one else really likes these Vegan Pleather Mules either, because they are on sale for $16.00. There is just nothing more unflattering than that wide, flat-ended toe box (or the word "Mules"). They look like flesh-colored flippers. These. shoes. disgust. me. Your thoughts?

Shoes that would make my ankles sweat.

I realize I've been including a lot of shoe posts lately, and I really have no reasonable explanation for this, so you people are just going to have to deal, m'kay? In fact, I have a special, beautiful vegan shoe post all planned out for tomorrow's "Friday Fashion," but I came across a set of atrocities this afternoon that made me stop and reevaluate my life. Normally, I love Mod Cloth. They have adorable purses and clothing. Maybe I just never paid attention to their shoe collection before, or maybe they have a new buyer who has some kind of mental instability, but the following should sufficiently horrify you as it did me.*** The title of this post is "Shoes that would make my ankles sweat." Please note that I hate sweating; I do everything in my power on a daily basis to avoid sweating. These are horrific.

***I cannot be responsible for any violent vomiting, mental breakdowns, or deaths that occur due to the content of this blog post. If any of you people actually like the shoes below, I'm not sure I can even guarantee our continued friendship.

Let me begin with the most obvious example. At $114.99, these shoes are even named Warm Leather Sandals. Why would one make a sandal that doubles as a foot warmer? Are you supposed to wear these just in case the beach suddenly turns into some kind of snowy tundra? Again, I ask why? WHY, GOD, WHY?

My ankles would be dripping after five minutes of wearing these $29.99 South Side Sandals. What is that, plastic? At such a low price, I can't hope for some kind of high-quality, breathable material. I suppose these would be useful if you had an unfortunate ankle tattoo leftover from a drunken college ink session. Or if you had disturbingly disfigured heels. If so, just wear some bloody socks and sneakers for the love of Jimmy Choo.

These $29.99 Jewel of the Nile Sandals in Onyx are along the lines of the previous atrocity...only with sparkly snaps. Are you really that worried about your foot falling out of the shoe that you need ankle cuffs? Are they under arrest or something?

Are they even serious with these $149.99 Figaro Boots? I would pay 150 bucks not to wear these. Does this pair conform to that now antiquated custom that ladies were required to hide their ankles at all times, lest they be called "hussy"? But discreet toes and heels on display are okay?

The Boudoir Boots for $149.99. These make me think of two words: Hot. Vinegar.These $149.99 Majorette Booties actually have a built-in ankle ventilation system. How thoughtful. However, this is not a redeeming enough quality to not make me feel like a Stormtrooper while wearing these white devils.And finally, we come to an enigma, $119.99 Unicorn Princess Heels (I shit you not, that is their real name). I want to hate these shoes. I really do. I imagine Little Bo Peep would sport a pair of these while tending to her flock beneath a rainbow that squirts puppies. I'm not sure I could ever pull them off at any kind of event, but there's something about them that doesn't instantly make me want to take a spoon to my eyes while drinking bleach and slitting my wrists. Have I completely lost it? Have the previous cobbled disasters driven me to the brink of insanity? Or are these actually okay? Maybe even cute? Please, I beg you to set me straight. I can take it.

Putting pen to paper

I just finished a quick and encouraging article entitled Thirteen Tips for Actually Getting Some Writing Done compiled by the author of The Happiness Project. As an English-Creative Writing major in college, you would think that I just love writing. Oh, yes, you would think that.

I'm not sure what my problem is (okay, so I know...I'm lazy), but I rarely write unless I have some kind of overwhelming inspiration, usually spurred by an emotional event. I grew up straddling the generation that wrote with an ink pen in hand and the generation that composed on the computer screen. I am now probably more comfortable composing on the screen, finding that the callous on the middle finger of my right hand has significantly diminished in the past few years from lack of longhand, and that I cramp up just writing a grocery list but can tap away on a keyboard for hours.

I used to journal the events of my life every single day, keeping a detailed, if mundane, record of my goings on. I am now lucky to force myself to write out a life update once a month, which makes me sad, but apparently not sad enough to actually set aside five minutes to write. My journal lays next to my bed, neglected, silently mocking my feigned ignorance. I suppose what I do each week on this blog should be considered writing (drrr...), but I suppose I classify writing as something more creative, interesting, exciting. Short stories, poetry, long pieces, these are what I fail to put real time into.

Oh, help me, Happiness Project. Hold a gun to my head and make me write again.

Friday Fashion

This past weekend on Saturday, while my father-in-law and three other men were slaving away installing our hardwood flooring, I went shopping. I felt rather bad abandoning them to the task, since it is, you know, my house, but after my experience "helping" the following day, I was reassured that I my assistance was very much not integral to the work. So I didn't feel too bad. Perhaps I should have felt worse about the absolute shoe gluttony in which I participated. I bought sneakers and sandals and wedges and flats and more flats (but, seriously, you cannot tell me that you would be able to pass up completely adorable flats for $7.50 and $9.99, respectively, right?) So, in honor of the shoe-gasm I had last weekend (and the subsequent heel blisters that served as my punishment this week), I bring you an assortment from Plasticland.com, a site that I stumbled upon just today.


Thank You Note Seafoam Pumps, $62.40. I will begin with my favorite pair, though I cannot properly articulate why I love them so. Perhaps it is the color, seafoam. Is there a more delicious color in existence? Even the word sounds delicious: light, fluffy, with a hint of salt and snapper. I don't normally appreciate heels in faux wood, but the shape of these heels are simply adorable. These shoes are very delicate and elegant at the same time.


Lavender Purple Sweet Satin Ballet Flats, $27. These are just darling (aside from my personal, obvious color concerns). The Web site also informs me that they are vegan. So I guess if you ever get tired of wearing them, they can also be your afternoon snack.


Graphite "Check's in the Mail" Pumps, 62.40. I am in love with the slate purple color (and the name of these shoes). I don't normally gravitate toward metallic gold in shoes (or jewelry...or doorknobs...), but the tone is appropriate here. Again, super cute heel shape. I would gladly break my ankle in these.


1940s Inspired Aqua Scalloped Dolly Maryjanes, $49. This Web site manages to have the longest names for their products! The color is what jumps out at me first. I love the aqua (of course, I would have no clothes that would match these, but that is beside the point). There is something so simple and innocent about these shoes.


Black Ruffled Vintage Spat Maryjane Pump Boots, $54. I can't end a fashion post without including something completely horrible, just to leave a bad taste in your mouth. It's like three shoe genres (yes, I think the word "genres" is quite appropriate here) had a giant orgy in the back of a cobbler's shop and these shoes were the bastard offspring. Buttons, ruffles, straps, uncomfortable heel elevation, plus a zipper and leather? Ewwwww...I can't look anymore. Please, take them away.

I've got wood.

I haven't posted an update of our renovation (with pictures) in such a long time, so this weekend, while working at the house, I dug out my camera and got down to business. In two days, my father-in-law and a crew of three other men (myself and Husband excluded) put down over 1,100 feet of creamy chocolate bamboo hardwood, which promptly caused me to orgasm multiple times. It is not the same house that it was a week ago. Not even close. This is now a place that we could, like, actually live in.

The first step in the process was removing the ugly blue tile and pet-hair infested carpeting that ran throughout the downstairs. Then went the carpet pad and the lauan and approximately 800,000 staples that had to be removed by hand from much of the area with just a screwdriver and hammer. Then the remaining lauan that had been glued down had to be scraped and sanded off. Somehow, the prep work got done. When installing the hardwood, roofing paper was first laid and stapled down (trust me, we did not go overboard on the motherf*&%$#@ staples like the previous owners). Once that was securely in place, the slats of wood could be laid, popped into place, and nailed down with a rented gun. My gopher job during the process was to open boxes, remove slats, and lay them down so the real experts could pop them into place (win). And avoid splinters (fail). I often felt as though the whole operation was rather like delivering a baby. Workers would scurry in and out of rooms, back and forth constantly, between laying the flooring and cutting the pieces. When things really got going everyone was very focused and working at breakneck speed. It just felt like we were about to produce a miracle. Oh, hey, look:


And the result was what can only be called beautifigloriousness.


Here is the kitchen with the new flooring. In the very back you can just make out my very own little light yellow craft room. We installed the hardwood flooring throughout the entire downstairs except for the master bath and attached master closet, weency half bath that is situated down this hallway, and just under where the washer and dryer will be located (all of which we will tile). The wood doesn't really look as it appears in the pictures. It is extremely dusty, but if you look closely you can make out a tiny clean patch in the middle. I think some serious swiffering is on task for this evening.


You can tell how dusty the entire ordeal was by the spots on my camera lens. This is our living room with our green accent wall and delicious floor.


And remember in this post where I said we got new French doors to replace the sliding glass one? Yeah, well here they are! It turns out the original sliding glass doors weren't wrapped properly (I'm shocked. I'll take a large cup of cynicality. Heavy on the sarcasm.). Therefore, the frame and surrounding wood flooring was pretty much rotted out and all had to be replaced. At least now it's fresh and new and non-moldy and we won't fall through the floor to our death.


And that carpeting that was installed...forever ago? Here you go! Mmmm...mushroom!


This is me trying to be clever. I'm in Husband's office (green) looking through the doorway past the stairwell (tan) into the guest bedroom (red). So you can see how well the carpeting works with all of the colors that we had already painted. *Pats self on the back*


So there you have it. La Maison Pourpre. We are still praying to the renovation gods to move in within a month or two, but we will see how the tile, cabinet, and appliance installation goes. Other than that, it's all downhill from here! We hope you will come visit us soon!

Gabriel García Márquez: A must read

I stumbled across an interesting article on Slate.com entitled The Myth of Gabriel García Márquez: How a Colombian writer really changed literature. The article reviews the biography of García Márquez written by Gerald Martin, but it also provides great insight into the life of the writer. I first read García Márquez in college. One Hundred Years of Solitude was required reading for the Core class that focused study on Central and South America. I completely fell in love with that book and have read it many times over since. So long as the reader can keep all of the generations of the Buendía family straight (oh so many Josés and Arcadios and Aurelianos and Remidioses and Amarantas and Úrsulas), he or she can understand what a masterpiece the book truly is. I have been working my way through another book by García Márquez for many months, Love in the Time of Cholera, but I haven't made myself find time to finish it (and no, I have not seen the movie, nor do I plan to).

I highly, highly, higly suggest you read One Hundred Years of Solitude. You can never regret magical realism.


Not only is he an amazing author, but the man can wear a hat. Image from here.

A new kind of McCarthyism...with fewer Communists

I thoroughly enjoyed the tongue-in-check humor in the article entitled "Don't Listen to Jenny McCarthy" from Cracked.com. And I have to agree wholeheartedly. She seems to be yet another Oprah minion touting her "advice" to the masses.

I have a lot to say about the inflammatory topic of "vaccines cause Autism and are going to kill your children posthaste" because of a book that I just edited and laid out, but since it is work-related and the proceeds from such a book finance my job, I'll keep my thoughts to myself. The article can pretty much speak for me.

I had an English professor in college who positively loved Oprah. He sang her praises each semester for (according to him) single-handedly getting the American population to read again (through Oprah's Book Club). I won't disagree that she has done a lot for the popularity of reading. I used to be a faithful Oprah follower myself, settling in with a snack and tuning in every afternoon at 4:00 when I returned home from school. One of my favorite books, She's Come Undone, is even on her list (although Oprah's thumbs up was not the reason I read the book in the first place). She does good. But she also makes choices that are commercially profitable and will surely net her many more millions, but that may not be the best for the American public who follow the latest celebrities ever so faithfully (ah, the Messiahs dripping with Harry Winston diamonds and mincing through the pasture on Manolo Blahnik heels while tending to their flocks of sheep...and wagging a finger, telling them what to buy, see, or do).

At least we don't have to worry about the Reds anymore, right?

English vs. French (the people, not the language)

I recently perused an article on mentalfloss.com entitled "Why Do the English Hate the French?" The article struck me as rather stereotypical, but then I thought more about the fact that stereotypes are usually why one group of people hate another group of people. I visited France many moons ago, and I found most of the points in the article relatively unfounded. Here are my thoughts, point for point.

Because they're always fighting: I can't speak to this point specifically, except to say that I did not get in one barfight during my time en Provence. I can't argue with the historical accuracy of the wars, but couldn't one make the argument that the English were just as responsible for all of that fighting? I think they both should have had a time-out in their respective corners for a few centuries.

Because the French are rude: I did not find the French to be any more or less rude than any other culture I've encountered (granted, in my limited, middle-American experience). In fact, most of the people were downright congenial (thanks for playing Justin Timberlake in your car to make us feel at home, Jacque, but I really would have preferred some popular French station, you know, just because I was riding around in France). I don't count aloofness to be a symptom of rudeness, it's far more cultural than personality-based.

Because they're food snobs: This one may have a bit of credence, but seriously, look who they are going up against. I'm pretty sure England doesn't find food appealing unless it's deep fried and accompanied by a stout lager. The tastes of the French are just more refined. For example, even the simple food staple pizza was the absolute best that I have ever had in my entire life, no hyperbole. And I have a number of people to back me up on this. I still dream about that pizza. And you can never beat a crêpe...it can be an entree AND a dessert, people! It's the perfect food!

Because they're wine snobs: What's the point of being a food snob if you don't have the best wine to accompany the dishes? This just makes logical sense.

Because they're fashion snobs: What's wrong with knowing how to dress? England is just a frumpy country. If you were as beautiful as a Parisian, wouldn't you dress to the nines, too?

Because French women "don't get fat": This stereotype is, if not completely, at least partially true. But, instead of the reasons that the article posits, I argue that they don't get fat because they smoke for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and walk everywhere. In my short five weeks I became a toned animal from all of that damn walking. We were even instructed to practice walking before we arrived. If you have to practice something like that, you know you're going to be in good shape.

Because the French hate the English, too: This may be true, or it may just be another widely accepted fact that isn't actually based in any truth. As an American, admittedly not an Englishman, but a speaker of English nonetheless, I felt very little, if any, animosity. I'm sure everything about me screamed "tourist," but I did not feel singled out. The only open hatred I saw was some badly misspelled graffiti that said something to the effect of "Go home, you American fuckers." But that's pretty much standard in any culture. Someone's always gotta be hating on someone else.

The Burn Pile

I think I am going to miss a lot of things when Husband and I move into our new house and I officially become a "townie." I've lived in the country since before I can remember with the closest neighbors residing miles away from our old farmhouse. I'm going to miss the absolute quiet on warm spring evenings while reclining on the swing. I'm going to miss running outside in my underwear (or less) to grab a shirt and pants off the clothesline in the yard without worrying about any Peeping Toms. But most of all, I think I'm going to miss The Burn Pile. While living in town with my in-laws, I've had to wrap my head around the fact that every week someone comes around and picks up your trash. You don't just head out back and toss it into The Burn Barrel or on The Burn Pile, to be burned at a later date. Not exactly "green," I know, but efficient. The Burn Pile has offered much assistance during our renovation process. While most people would have to haul the offal to the landfill themselves (Mr. Trash Man refuses to even pick up grass clippings), we have had the luxury of loading up the ripped out carpeting, giant pieces of lauan, and other sundry pieces into the bed of our little gray truck, driving to my parents' house, meandering through a field, and satisfactorily pushing everything onto The Burn Pile, burn date to be decided.

And so, here is the best story I have about The Burn Pile.

One day, while I and my rational brain were away at college, my parents decided that they needed a new bed. So, logical people that they are, they drug the mattresses that made up their queen bed through the orchard, dumped them onto The Burn Pile, and lit a bonfire. Then, they drove to the furniture store in the next town over to purchase a new bed. They picked out their mattress and were then told that their mattress would arrive in about a week. *crickets chirping* Uhm...you did what already? No, we don't have any in stock. No, you can't just take the floor model. The next few days before the arrival of the mattress found them bed hopping, from the small guest bed that they found too hard and too close for comfort, to splitting up between the couch and my empty little twin bed, to the air mattress, pumped up on the floor of the sitting room.

Therefore, I pronounce my parents goobers and sing praises to The Burn Pile, so long as its powers are used wisely. Everyone should be so lucky as to have one.

Knock and the door shall be opened unto you...

Last night Husband and I broke down and purchased a set of french doors to replace the sliding glass door leading from our kitchen/dining room onto the back deck. The price tag stung a bit because it was an unexpected expense (although the 10% off coupon did help. Seriously, if you need a coupon to the big box home improvement store that begins with "L" and rhymes with "toes," just pick up (i.e., steal) a few "change of address" packets from your local post office.) The doors are lovely and have the blinds built in between the two panes of glass to match our new back door. They are made out of steel, which was an important requirement. We discovered that the old sliding glass door had let in enough moisture to rot the wood around the entrance. Since we knew we would have to replace this anyway, why not just blow several hundred more on a prettier door that actually opens smoothly and doesn't include a screen that looks as though it has been attacked by the members of the Broadway musical Cats? Pictures of the doors and the carpet that was installed over a week ago are still pending because I'm both lazy and forgetful.

Additionally, last night we purchased some roofing paper to lay on top of the plywood as a moisture barrier before our beautiful bamboo hardwood goes down this weekend (take note, future homeowners). We also bought some rope, whose intended purpose was to tie down the doors on the way home but that I think I will instead use to hang myself once I see our final renovation total.

However, last Saturday we did make a small pittance of our investment back when I participated in the town-wide yard sale by dragging onto my driveway all of our "inheritance," that is, crappy possessions left in the house by the previous owners. Anyone want a broken teapot? A bodily fluid/animal hair encrusted vanity? A birdbath that probably houses the avian flu? Well, too bad, because people trashier than me already bought all of that junk. We got rid of almost everything that had collected in our basement for the past four months, which thrilled me beyond belief because purging is one of my favorite things to do (not as in, like, bulimia). What was even better is that I had no emotional ties to the detritus, so I was more than happy to accept customers' haggling. The two boxes left over will probably be donated to Goodwill or the Habitat for Humanity retail shop. Good riddance.

And so we march on through renovation hell. As many, many people have repeated to me, at least we aren't forced to live in the middle of it. If we had, we would probably have black lung from the drywall dust and uncovered mold and our divorce would be pending. Luckily, that is not the case. Yet.

It's in the bag...

I love purses. I think I always have. I don't buy one very often, and I don't put in an inordinate amount of time matching my purses to my outfits (I only have three that I alternate at the moment), but I love to waste time looking at them online and fantasizing about a world in which I could own every purse I desired (and actually have a use for all of those purses).

I also love Anthropologie. If you've never before visited the site, go. Drool. Love. The following came from there.
Smocked canvas tote. $78. This also comes in yellow...decisions, decisions. This bag kind of reminds me of a tube top...but in a significantly less slutty way.
Movement-Of-Waves Bag. $158. RRRuffles have RRRidges!
Gathered Teal Tote. $89. Okay, this is adorable.
Carrickmacross Wallet. $128. A bit exorbitant for a wallet, but I'll allow it because of the lasered design. This comes in a number of colors, but the orange really caught me eye. I don't think I could bear to stuff this away in a purse.
Spark & Silence Bag. At $288, this is the most expensive bag, but it is also my most favorite. I love, love, love the design (can you say Ode to Damask?) and the warm vs. icy colors. It looks large and heavy and carrying it would probably require me to see a chiropractor afterward, but I don't care because PRETTY.

Happy Mother's Day

No, don't freak out. Today isn't Mother's Day. Mother's Day is Sunday. I just am way too lazy to wrestle the computer controls away from Husband during the weekend, so my Mother's Day post will appear today. Go buy your mom a card.

I heard this song today while driving to work and listening to Bob and Tom. If you don't know what Bob and Tom is, then go find out. You won't be disappointed.

For your listening pleasure, I present Paul and Storm's Mother's Day Song. It's HI-larious.

And, Mom, for the record, thanks for having intercourse with Dad.

"Shaaaaauuuun?"

"How are you doing?" asks Yvonne.

"Surviving," replies Shaun.

-----------------------------

My lack of posting correlates to body sickness and heartsickness. Instead of reading my bitching, how about you read something equally inconsequential but much more funny? This very short piece from The New Yorker cracked me up. I hope you will feel the same.

Cheers!

Friday Funny

I am absolutely not kidding when I say that I know not one, not two, but several people who think this way. It's kind of terrifying. Enjoy!

Amazing comic courtesy of the always funny explosm.net.

Friday Fashion

Last night we went to the local piano bar, and I got a firsthand look at all of the young, bouncy coeds in their ridiculously tight/lowcut/vagina hanging out cocktail dresses. Seriously, people. This is Indiana. You're not impressing anyone. However, their inappropriately sexy couture did make me feel spectacularly bad about my chunky, schlumpy self, so here is some Friday Fashion for you, all of which are beautiful and all of which would make my ass look like...something large and unappealing...sorry, I'm fresh out of similies this morning. These are from chickdowntown.com. Enjoy:


Black Blanchette Dress. This is so Audrey Hepburn and for only $66! Quite a steal, from the look of the rest of their merchandise. Love the sweetheart neckline, and you can never go wrong with black. I would wear this with bright red heels, all the way.


Ella Dress. For obvious color reasons, I could never wear this dress. I got married and had to give up the color purple cold turkey. This is the priciest dress at $473, an amount I would never shell out on a dress that wasn't for a prom or my own wedding. However, the construction looks so precise. You'd definitely be locked and loaded in this number. Beats the hell out of me what kind of shoes would go well with this dress, though.



Maureen Dress. I'm not exactly sure what is going on with the bust in this dress, but it seems like it would look spectacular on someone who actually had a bust (*peeks into shirt...dammit*). I love the soft gray and the tiny sleeves, although I still wouldn't pay $385 for this dress, even if I would feel like a powerful corporate attorney or expensive dominatrix.
All of the above pieces are so lovely, I just had to add in something spectacularly ugly, just to round out the day. In some big city circle of haute couture critics, these are probably orgasm-worthy. But to me, they are just about the ugliest shoes I have ever seen in my life ever ever ever. They look like my feet would sweat a lot and everyone around me would look up, wondering, "What's that awful smell?" Right before my ankle took a ninety-degree turn and I fell into some kind of open manhole.

Heh.

Manhole.

Have a great weekend, everybody.