what a bulbiful calendar

For a bit more on the recurring onions theme extravaganza silliness on this blog, check the label called, well... onions, what else?

Note: Created by advertising agency Serviceplan of Munich for a knife brand by Wüsthof. Seen @ idsgn amongst many other superb winners (I particularly love the sound posters, the piggy bank and the hairdo business cards.)

no drama, just onions!

Ah, onions! Those pungent bulby buggers that have become a recurrent fixture on this little space I call my own. Haven't they become a source of endless mirth and entertainment! Haven't they just! Whatever, I just cannot root them out of here!

Just came across this very clever concept and, not only have I been giggling at the definitions all evening, but have also (probably for the first time ever in my life) have had to admit that I seem to enjoy maths. Well, at least this new math breed. Had it always been this interesting, I would have gotten myself into significantly less trouble back at high school.

under my (onion)skin

Nearly forgot to add this publication to the oniony theme of late.

I got acquainted with it some time ago via the same lovely, if slightly off her head, friend who kindly sent me the little onions necklace featured a few posts below!

She hadn't quite sussed out the real nature of the paper when she sent me the link. Apparently, she just thought of me and my wee nickname when she came across it online. Talk about obsessions... Ahem!
Me, I love its random fakeness. ¡¡Gracias, guapa!!

the onions saga continues in, oh, so many forms!

So I'm tracing back an article on energy-trading, speculation and carbon becoming a new category of sub-prime investment -as you do on Saturday morning, I lead a riveting existence- but, while scrolling down trying to look for sources, what do I come across? Well, this: Men smell of cheese and women of onions. Needless to say I immediately click on it (given the prominent place onions seem to be getting on this blog it could make for interesting reading).

The article starts thus: "Little girls may be made of sugar and spice and all things nice, but their armpits smell of onions."

It is official now, when it comes to my onions, I haven't got a bleeding clue. The mighty Internet never ceases to... amaze me? I am logging off and popping out of the house to get the printed papers. Much less disconcerting, methinks!

knowing one's onions...?

I'm re-visiting the title of a previous post even though, apart from the pungent edible bulbs in question, both posts have pretty little in common.

Right, setting: pub, Friday after work with a few colleagues. A few snacks to go with the drinks were ordered. One of the favoured nibbles was cheese, which generally gets served accompanied by a generous dollop of strong mustard to dip in. This time it also came with a complementary side-kick of pickled onions (or silver uitjes), which are normally bite-size. These were huge!

Please see images depicting fingers of volunteers to demonstrate hugeness of said onion (the photos were taken with my mobile phone and are, therefore, somewhat lacking in quality... but come to think of it, not much worse than some others I've shown here before, actually!).

Later on, a second plate of cheese was ordered and, to the delight and amusement of those present, one of the pickled onions was even bigger than those of the previous batch. The last picture is just me, the technical wiz (not!) discovering silly options of the camera phone.

Moral of the story: Contrary to what I had stated here before, I do not seem to know my onions.

knowing one's onions...

A few years ago, whilst a student living in the UK (ahem, let's re-phrase: many years ago, whilst a student living in the UK), my adorable yet bonkers friend E sent me this on the mail.
It came on a brown leather string (I seem to remember) and it is one of la ninja's old nicknames, born years ago playing around with the letters of yet another previous nickname. Either way, hilarious as it was I don't think I ever wore it or, at least, I never did in public. (Okay, if you are reading, E, just imagine yourself walking around a small Spanish town wearing a necklace reading "CEBOLLAS" hanging from your neck... Nah, it just doesn't work, too much attention-seeking and not necessarily of the right kind!). The hilarity of it all didn't go unnoticed by my flatmates but that's as far as it went, I decided not to share it with the rest of the world.

However, a couple of weeks ago, during the Xmas break I found the loose letters inside a little tin box in my old bedroom at my parents' apartment so I took them with me. I have just strung them (rather rudimentary) through a simple black thread and they are now hanging on the cork board in the hallway. I still know my onions, me!