Metal Round End Table - Contemporary Outdoor Tables - Small Dining Tables And Chairs
Metal Round End Table
- A table is a type of furniture comprising an open, flat surface supported by a base or legs. It may be used to hold articles such as food or papers at a convenient or comfortable height when sitting, and is therefore often used in conjunction with chairs.
- (End tables) Usually bought in pairs, they accent the style of the coffee table or other furniture. Usually placed at the end of the sofa, it is a very important piece of a living room set.
- (End tables) are small tables typically placed beside couches or armchairs. Often lamps will be placed on an end table.
- Gold and silver (as tinctures in blazoning)
- Broken stone for use in making roads
- cover with metal
- A solid material that is typically hard, shiny, malleable, fusible, and ductile, with good electrical and thermal conductivity (e.g., iron, gold, silver, copper, and aluminum, and alloys such as brass and steel)
- metallic element: any of several chemical elements that are usually shiny solids that conduct heat or electricity and can be formed into sheets etc.
- metallic: containing or made of or resembling or characteristic of a metal; "a metallic compound"; "metallic luster"; "the strange metallic note of the meadow lark, suggesting the clash of vibrant blades"- Ambrose Bierce
- Give a round shape to
- Pass and go around (something) so as to move on in a changed direction
- a charge of ammunition for a single shot
- Alter (a number) to one less exact but more convenient for calculations
- wind around; move along a circular course; "round the bend"
- from beginning to end; throughout; "It rains all year round on Skye"; "frigid weather the year around"
It Ends With Cuts 46.jpg
.....Me Me’s Smile..... It had a nice beat. It was something you could dance to and yet… and yet what she was doing up on the stage was definitely out of sync to the music. I couldn’t help but think that there was that sound which struck her ear drums and that which passed through the sludge there on the other side of the ear canal to register as the bizarre, off kilter syncopations which emanated outward to her arms, hips and feet. It’s almost two in the morning and I’m sitting by myself at the Hilltop Club waiting for my girlfriend to get off so I can walk her home. It’s Song Tan, South Korea and the bikini clad girl currently on stage and dancing for a very sparse room is not my girlfriend but a girl we know of as “Me-Me.” A girl we know of as… None of these girls went by their real names. No. They picked names for themselves to portray how they perceived who they were, and of course, for anonymity. Sometimes Me-Me was just Me-Me, and sometimes she was Me-Me-Yah. Me-Me-Yah was the name we had given her. Though Me-Me was how she saw herself, Me-Me-Yah was how we experienced her under the influence of… Shall we say, some ultra-methamphetamine bounce. Lo, but if you encountered Me-Me in this mode of persona, you would invariably be greeted with either a shove to the chest, slap to the face, or punch to the arm. One or all of this accompanied with a loud feral “Yah!” Yes, you instantly knew when you were talking to Me-Me-yah as opposed to just plain Me-Me. Upon first meeting Me-Me-Yah you’d think to yourself, “How cute. How effervescent.” But when you got to finally meet “just plain Me-Me…” The introverted true Me-Me… You’d come to understand the inherent sadness of that “Yah.” If you brought yourself to comprehend the nature of these girls’ jobs… The need to dance all night… The necessity to be constantly alluring to the outside world whilst the inner you screams to be shut away behind a multitude of closed personal doors... If you could comprehend this, then you could understand why so many of these girls were involved in drugs. Yes, for the vast majority of them, the drug de rigueur was amphetamine, and Me-Me would likely fail to exist without it. But on this particular night at the Hilltop Club, Me-Me was most certainly under the influence of some other cocktail. Quaalude? Barbiturate? I’m not certain. On this night something special had been required to lock the inner Me-Me in a room far, far away. I’m not even sure that that which I was seeing up on the stage was even Me-Me-Yah. If not Me-Me or Me-Me-Yah, then who or what was that up there? Was I the only parasite in the audience who could see the pathetic drama that was transpiring up there under the lights? And what passed through the heads of all the bouncers and mama-sans when they saw this version of Me-Me doing her spasmotic dance? The stage upon which Me-Me danced was a simple two foot high wooden platform with steps to the rear and an array of metal folding chairs around its front. When Me-Me’s music ended and her narcoleptic gyrations eased to a halt, she paused for a moment to acknowledge a vapid round of applause, and then as opposed to turning to the stairs at her rear, walked straight forward to the edge of the stage. Straight forward without a stop. Straight forward to pitch over the edge and fall face first into the assorted folding chairs which exploded asunder as her body passed through on its way to the concrete floor. I shot up out of my chair and began snaking my way through the tables but before I crossed half the distance, Me-Me was already rising to her feet. Where I had expected a broken arm and blood gushing from her face, there was nothing. Well… not nothing. There across her face she formed a smile. It is a smile she holds while she slowly turns and passes the stage, there to vanish amidst the curtains at the far wall. That smile. Me-Me’s smile. It is and remains the saddest smile I shall have ever known. ©05 Jack Hubbell
The Chestnut Tree
From our dining room table I have a clear view of a beautiful chestnut tree in our garden. I follow it all year round - from the cold winter with its bare, frozen branches, in to spring when the first green starts show, when its white plumes of flowers are buzzing with foraging insects and on to late summer when the chestnuts are green on the outside, but still white on the inside. We are now getting close for the chestnuts to fall to the ground, hoping to find a place to settle down. Unless, one little girl who lives in the house – no, not me, my daughter :) - picks the round, prickly nuts and pries them open to pick out the lovely, smooth treasures hidden within. She does that. A lot! And all the chestnuts she picks - ends up in a big bowl on our dining room table with a clear view of the beautiful chestnut tree they once fell from.