must be object friendly
Ever since I moved out of my parents home for undergraduate edification I have been haunted by the thought that my life is being scripted by some not altogether benevolent being. And by this I don't mean i have no free will or individuality or anything like that. No, the author of my life, if in fact it isn't me, is doing a bang-up job in every arena save one. Setting. I cannot get over the fact that the subtle everyday objects (or lack thereof) that surround me are planted by someone with absolutely no idea how actual human beings decorate their environs.
It started in Syracuse my freshman year. I moved into my dorm at the last possible minute, mere hours before the first mandatory incoming matriculant meeting. When I finally finished unpacking I was faced by some rather disconcerting questions from my new roomie Ahmad. "Where is all your stuff?," and "Don't you own any posters or anything?" I glanced back at my half of our bread-box. A bleak wall of primer white cinder blocks was all that greeted me. No, I did not own any posters, or for that matter any teevee, stereo, or computer. I had barely a week's worth of underwear. I turned my head askance to look at Ahmad's side and almost lost my balance. It was as if gravity momentarilly shifted and all of the 'stuff' in our room shifted over to his half. His bed was a mess, his desk full of random stuff, computer bleeping, stereo mumbling something reggae-ish, food in various states of preparation and decomposition, and up on the wall as if mocking me, three large posters of Marley, the Beastie Boys (Liscensed to Ill if I remember correctly), and something else largely forgettable, not quite a cat hanging from a tree-limb declaring 'hang in there!' but something inspirational or other. It took me most of my freshman year to acquire a single wall ornament, a radiohead poster my brother got me as a present the following spring. But it never looked like it was having any fun.
Things progressed slowly from there. Every Fall my friends lined up to help move me in as I was by far the easiest kid to unload and they all knew I would help them in return, hell, I would have helped them anyways. Sophomore year I added an original Nintendo to my room. As a Junior I now had a clunky PC that doubled as a stereo. Yet I never truly felt fully equipped. and certainly none of the 'pieces' of my room shared any self-enlightening connection. And for this I blame television.
I've long since shed my collegiate quarters. Presently I sit and watch programs like the Gilmore Girls (especially the early seasons) and marvel at how real the character's rooms look. There is stuff everywhere! It all seems to compliment each other and the chracters as well. No swath of wall is left unburdened by photos and posters and pennants and various wall-hangery. "Now this is how a 'real' person lives!," I say to myself ironically. By contrast the me that keeps laying out my Setting is still having trouble realizing his character. Even now I walk into my lovely bathroom and mentally erase everything non-comissioned by Croftie and am left to conclude that perhaps I should have been a monk or something because all there would be is a partially dry towel hanging on the back of the door, a bar of soap, toothbrush, paste, shampoo, lens fluid, and if I'm lucky, some floss.
But it is not just television that makes me feel this way. I have friends. I know people. And their homes (Oline, Bombstella, Lady E to name just a few) are delightful. Splendid to the eye and other sensory operations. So it is not just the 'real' people on teevee living it up inanimate object style. No, 'real' people from 'real' life also have things! And not just books, but art, framed and laminated, busts, posters, mirrors, draping things, things to sit on, things obviously happy with their surroundings, oh what midnight conversations they must have.
I am left to conclude that I must soon fire my interior designer. For too long have they toiled in mediocrity. Perhaps I was just reluctant to hurt their feelings. But one can only live for so long in such deprivation. And while I am at it may as well issue a few solicitations:
Wanted: One competent set designer. Knowledge of Gilmore Girls, James Jean, Marcel Duchamp, Indie Rock Poster Art a plus. Must be object friendly. Less does not equal more. God is in the details, etc. Pay negotiable.
posted by Les Savy Ferd @ 2:52 PM
14 Comments
14 Comments:
for the record, january to february is the traditional season for the Oline's Paint Everything In Sight A-Thon. so if your set designer (whom i imagine is a gay man with gelled bleach blond hair and tight purple pants who makes a lot of wavey, enthusiastic hand gestures and incongruously rides a motorcycle) suggests painting- my brushes and i are so there.
incidentally, remember the rumor that you decorated your apt with squirrel pelts? i'd say that did something to the eye and other sensory operations.
See that's just the thing. At least the portrait you paint is of a man who would go garishly out of his way to fulfill his 'vision.'
The squirrel pelts got outmoded. they were so 2005.
so this all comes down to you having no 'vision'?
Ironic you should write on this, Sir Ferdinand. I was just meditating yesterday on very this topic. I grew up visiting my Aunt Krissypants (only 5 years older and IMPOSSIBLY cool) in her various and ridiculously chic environs. When I got my first place and asked her what her environ-creating secret was, she told me that you have to find and hone "your thing". Her thing is "Elegant Parisian Mess". It happens naturally around her so it suits her lifestyle. So maybe your thing is "Whimsical Monastic" or "Dapper Minimalism". You just can't fight your thing.
I shall now meditate on how very odd that last sentence sounds.
an oddity indeed. and "Whimsical Monastic" will definitely end up a chapter title to a future piece of writing, know this.
a chapter in EMSB&SS, dare we dream?!
what's this EMSB&SS?
evil man smells baby & stabs snowman- the dread pirate's great epic work.
something i haven't given much thought to is the sequencing in that title. surely having the baby before the snowman means something. Did the man, because he's evil, smell the baby and decide the next best course of action was violence to a snowman?
by contrast suppose it was reversed. In such a case the man might not be quite as evil, seeing as after stabbing the snowman he feels compelled to smell a baby as if so disgusted by what just went down that he needs the scent of an innocent child to restore his faith in the himan condition.
perhaps i've given this too much thought.
and perhaps need a spell-checker. 'himan' condition? sounds like some sort of post chinese food hang-over.
i always thought that the evil man smelled the baby and that the baby smelled so bad he stabbed the snowman in disgust, being an evil man and all.
i'm thinking the baby smells fine. his evil is intrinsic, not projected/constructed from the outside world. born bad, evil man smells baby, stabs snowman. one might aruge the snowman was going to get it either way, but something had to keep him from assaulting the baby, and a pleasant scent is as good a reason as any. or maybe it's HIS baby.
oh, piiiiiiiiiiiirate. where have you gone? you have readers. as of late, they're crying big, fat crocodile tears for the lack of treasure to be found in your bloggery trove.
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