Inspiration is Relative

A review of Barry Dixon’s new home design book, Inspirations.

I am a huge fan of home décor books. Perhaps I could be classified as obsessive. I rarely implement any of the ideas shown, either from lack of time, courage or funds. It is not often that I review books, but this time I feel I must speak (write), even though only my blog friends will ever read these words. This review is a bit strongly worded for Amazon.com.

Out of five stars, I award this book three. How could that be for such a lovely coffee table book? Well, in this tome chock full of props (also called accessories) such a book would not show up on one of the perfectly orchestrated coffee tables dotted throughout the book. Little of real life is depicted in these pages. However, the book is full of thick pages, large clear photos and details on where the moneyed set can purchase the accoutrements of luxury living.

Before purchasing the book, I did view a few pages through Amazon, but did not get into the “meat” of the book until it arrived. When I talk about meat here, it is as if I was looking though one of the manse’s many French doors, watching a couple with lovely, possessionless children eat filet mignon in the expanse of their 30-foot-long dining room while standing out in the rain eating a bologna sandwich filched from a dumpster.

Some of the “family” homes shown in the pages are quite a curiosity for someone that has a family of their own. One in particular really makes me shake my head and laugh sadly. The claim is that the home is designed for a growing family. Somehow that makes me think of young children. I could be wrong. Perhaps the residents are just growing more portly. Before extensive renovations, the home had been described as stately. That encourages me to think that it might of had a surplus of square footage. Well, I’m an idiot then, because the house required the addition of a two-level living room and two new wings. The original living room, no doubt bigger than my original (and only) living room is now an intimate reception room. The original dining room (in a bow to modesty?) remained intact, although, one can dine in a new supper room. Perhaps there are separate rooms for breakfast and lunch and, why the hell not, a late night snack. I suppose if one were to feel peckish while reading, they could have a tray brought into the two-story library. In the evening the master and mistress of the house can retire to their own studies, dressing rooms and bathrooms before traveling on to the master bedroom. When it is time for the family to gather together, they can do so in the informal family quarters in the southern wing of the home.

And so on.

If that home is not to your liking, you can read about the Charlotte Chateau. This home, in the narrative, is described as a castle. Mr. Dixon worked with a local architect (after the first architect was canned) in adjusting the scale of the rooms “in an effort to make them smaller and more inviting.” Why the hell these rooms weren’t made smaller and more inviting to begin with is not explained. Maybe it pleases the owner to know that the footprint of the average American home can fit inside the master bath. And my thinking is that if you have to add a niche to the bedroom to create a focal point, then the room must be too damn large. In my home (and so many others), the bed IS the focal point. In my “master” bedroom, the bed IS the room.

Imagine a world where the sharing of a bathroom is out of the question, even among married couples. Hell, aside from the sharing of a richly draped colossal bed, hubby and wife have plenty of room to roam and never have to cross paths. Children (invisible I suppose) can range about like antelope on the savannah. Plenty of room, just don’t leave out one toy, book, shoe or drawing. One kitchen stove costs more than a lifetime of motor vehicles for an average family. And I don’t think I need to mention the colossal size of the kitchen. But I did. Ah, the joy and beauty (and complete fucking uselessness) of a foyer that could house 3 or 4 extended third-world families.

And then there is the family residing in one of Washington, D.C.’s ritzier suburbs. The owner’s house was just too modestly scaled and, well, the decision was made to scrap that house and start anew. With, of course, yet another kitchen that would put the Hogwarts’ dining hall on the same level as a lower-east-side-tenement kitchen. Naturally, his and her master baths and dressing rooms (with fireplaces) are mandatory. As is the series of guest suites. Yep, plural.

There is one relatively modest abode – a Chicago apartment “in a downtown Michigan Avenue high-rise with sweeping views of the city and Lake Michigan.” Actually, this is a second home , so once inside any restrictions on real estate are covered up with silk draperies and hand painted-wallpapers. I still would not be able to afford a sconce or decorative pillow in this dwelling. Not even for my first (and only) home.

And I have to pass along the most ridiculous decorating tip ever: “Upholster kitchen walls and ceilings with fabrics and textures to absorb street noise and make the room more inviting.” That idea is as practical as the purchase of a fur-lined pot.


At this book’s completion, I am not left with the desire to tear down my modest home and build a mansion with rooms assigned for each moment’s task. I no longer have the desire to upgrade my sheets, hang a painting or clean out my kitchen drawers (although such mundane things were not mentioned in this book). At the end, I just found myself chanting, “tax the rich tax the rich tax the rich.”

Amazing Artwork, Aisle 27

Art from Lowe’s?

I had lunch with a friend the other day. Somewhat older, somewhat more conservative. Lovely home. Except, I must say, for the art.

I think that the art one hangs in one’s home should reflect the character of the inhabitants. Most inhabitants seem reluctant to let it all (or anything) hang out. One must blend. Artwork should match the sofa. Nothing should stand out. Nothing.

Now, I am an artist. Whether I am a good artist or not is up to the beholder, not me. I’m think I’m pretty good, but I also believe I have quite a ways to go. Now, this lady might not be able to stand laying eyes on my creations. Whatever. There’s plenty of original art out there that I wouldn’t hang up in a portable potty in a beer festival parking lot. But this was art purchased from Lowe’s with a $50 discount coupon. Sure, it matched the woodwork and the shower curtain. And it added some needed color to an open wall. But its benefits stopped there.

This woman is not the only person I know who has scored “artwork” at a huge discount. I’ve heard bragging from several friends about their cheap finds. Rarely (never?) are these finds unique works of art with some kind of meaning. Just a smoosh of dull, tired colors. Is this what people really want?!?

What am I to think of my own work and the work of those starving and not-so-hungry artists that head to their studios each day to paint, sculpt, weave, and craft their hearts out? Why is it that original art is almost completely overlooked by the majority of wall-adorning consumers out there? Do these people not buy original work out of ignorance, fear or cost control? Do they really like this faded generic “art” that they buy by the ton? Are they actually inspired not one whit about any original art out there in the world?

I have heard of emergency art. Someone has said to me before and will say to me again, “I just had to cover that hole/stain/useless outlet immediately. That thing was just laying around and I thought, hell, I’ll just stick that old thing up on the wall.” I myself have used something on hand to cover up unattractive blotches and ancient outlets that have no business ever coupling with an electrical plug again. But whatever I do hang in this type of situation will at least have some meaning for me.

Perhaps this woman is giddy with happiness over her purchase. Inspired to the max. Maybe I am just feeling slighted and sullen. I could have marketed the hell out of myself and not left her house until she had agreed on buying five thousand dollars worth of art from me. But that’s not the way I operate. I just nodded and agreed that the new artwork did, indeed, match the towels.

Drill Baby Drill

Drilling.

What does it have to do with religion?

More than you'd think.

So . . .

I live across the street from Penn State University. It's a big school. And as far as I'm concerned, it has lots of room to house various activities, whether its education, sports, theatre, or praying. I thought the school was big enough for it all.

Wrong.

Several years ago, a spiritual center was built on my side of campus. A professional baseball player could get a ball through the window from my property if they tried hard enough. All faiths are welcome there. But it wasn't good enough for the campus Catholics. Not sure why, and it obviously doesn't matter as the local Catholic community razed several homes OFF campus (and on my block) to build a Catholic center where folks of other religions couldn't get their filthy hands on their icons and what not.

For about a year and a half, I've heard construction vehicles rumbling past my house which sits six feet from the access alley. When we had the earthquake last week, I thought it was a convoy of construction trucks. Its been pretty much a constant earthquake for the past 18 months.

It can't get any worse, right?

It can.

Here's the email I received 10 minutes ago about the "progress" of the Catholic center.

The following is an update on the construction activities at the Catholic Student Faith Center being constructed in your neighborhood. Thank you all for your continued patience in dealing with the temporary disturbance that will result in a beautiful new building in your community.

The building will be served by a geothermal heat pump system. Part of that system included the installation of wells in the ground that accept and reject heat depending on the season. The CSFC has 17 wells 400’ deep in the area surrounding the building. We will begin drilling those wells next Tuesday 9/6/11. The drilling rig will create a noise disturbance. The drilling will last approximately 1 month, start at 7:00 in the morning and conclude at 5:00 daily.

The overall project is intended to be completed around the end of this year. Again, we appreciate your patience and if you have any question don’t hesitate to contact me. Thanks.

Mac Wright

I'm thrilled that religion has seen the light, as least where the environment is concerned. But if I seem a little testier than usual on this blog, then you'll know why.

I'm assuming this racket will top the two rock bands that practice in the houses across the alley.

Perhaps its time to move to the country and raise llamas.

Please, take my identity

Dear Auburn Student:

Please tell me you are a student and not an instructor or professor.

I know tuition costs are rising and student debt is waaaaayyyy out of hand. You need some dough. What better way to raise your much needed funds for education and date rape drugs than the old give me all of your personal information so I can worm my way into your bank account and whatnot scam?

Let me tell you, I've seen far better attempts at this. FAR BETTER.

You were wise to put Bank of American in the "from" section, but having vqgfds@auburn.edu right next to Bank of America made me just a teeeeeennnny bit wary. I'm not sure why.

But all in all it just looked a mite shady:

We recently have determined that different computers have logged onto your Online Banking account, and multiple password failures were present before the logons. We now need you to re-confirm your account information to us.

If this is not completed by August 31, 2011, we will be forced to suspend your account indefinitely, as it may have been used for fraudulent purposes. We thank you for your cooperation in this manner.


To confirm your Online Banking records click on the following link:


bankofamerica-scholarship.stud.from-wa.com/index.php?



Thank you for your patience in this matter.

Bank of America Customer Service

Please do not reply to this e-mail as this is only a notification. Mail sent to this address cannot be answered.


2011 Bank of America All Rights Reserved.

I'm thinking that your college career is going to take a nose dive and this will probably have some effect on the rest of your life.

Of course, this could be showing that you have low moral fiber and great ambition and that you will go far in life. Far down the road, when you are at the top of your game and I am a dottering old woman, you will be able to scam me and my cats out of our last quarters and take the burial plot on top of that.

Hope you get everything that is coming your way, asshole.

Don't Put it On Me

I'm not usually one to pay much attention to what big woohoos that go on in the entertainment world. Either I'm slow to catch on or I just don't give a damn. Sometimes both.

But this time, I'm really irritated and nauseous, so I have to share.

Unless you're me or live under a rock, you've heard about the most disgusting marriage of the decade. Yep, 51-year-old actor marries 16-year-old chick. Normally, I would just think to myself, "whatever" (done in the eye-rolling sarcastic manner of a 16-year-old). But, for the love of Pete, I'm apoplectic.

Wanna watch! Go on . . .

Hopefully you've finished retching.

I only heard about this two days ago. I'm lucky to have been spared so far. Generally, I'm thinking about Libya, poverty in Africa, our failing school system, Michelle Bachmann, etc. Nowthis damn thing has taken over. Several scalding showers and eye washes have not helped in the least.

At first, I laughed. I saw a couple of videos of this girl and I just busted out laughing. I thought her plastic self was just too funny. And she does these REALLY bizarre things with her lips. If you haven't watched the video yet, please, you have to.

AND she has a music video. Classic!

Yes, it seems she really is 16. There are some disbelievers. I know, she does look like a 30-year old smokin' and boozin' not-so-good-hearted hooker. But the birthers have spoken and a birth certificate has been shown.

After I had an evening of belly-shaking laughter, slowly the weight of her situation came down on me. She really is a kid. She does possess the social skills of a 16-year-old girl (albeit one that hangs out by the back door of the boys' locker room). She didn't acquire her attitude, mannerisms, personality, and ability to make really dirty-nasty faces on her own. These things she learned. And from whom? Her parents. Hell, they are the ones that married her off to this man. Excuse me, I have the dry heaves.

So, why? Why would this man wish to marry such a girl? Pardon me for stealing a bit from Seinfeld, but I'm wondering what team he really plays for. Is she a molded petroleum-by-product working as a beard? Just sayin'! There's a little blip on my gaydar every time I hear him speak. But, that's beside the point. Why would this girl's parents sign her over, push her onto, give her up to, let her go to, hook her up with this lizard? Hurl.

I can see only one reason. Need a clue? Green paper stamped with the faces of various presidents. Ah, yes, the "reality" show people have apparently come knocking. And they are frothing at the mouth while doing the math. Probably a bit easier for him to do the math, since she is not finishing her high school career. I'm sure he's wanting the money, and no doubt she's wanting the money, but I'm sure her parents are looking forward to an early retirement and all that comes with the sloth of easy money.

I'm thinking that I lived a pretty normal childhood. My parents were a little(?) sheltering. They encouraged logical thinking, empathy, responsibility, honesty and other apparently useless shit. This girl's parents were teaching her something else entirely. And when she was done with learning, they affixed her to this pimp. Or are the parents the pimps? Dang! Its the battle of the pimps and this poor misled girl is the one caught in the middle.

So, now I'm done laughing at her and I'm into the pity. She's apparently never known the security of being raised by responsible parents. She couldn't have been given the ability to create confidence in herself. Let's face it, she didn't come out of the womb this way. But here she is now, as far from being a normal 16-year-old girl as she can possibly be. Thanks Mr. and Mrs. Stodden. You've created a plastic chick that will unfortunately become the poster child of "itness" for all young girls out there today.

No Courtney, I'm NOT going to put it on you. I'm going to put it on the man and woman that raised you.

What they have done, in my mind, borders on the criminal. They have given you no respect for who you truly are (were). And after watching these videos, I know that (except for the tweens out there who are having confidence issues) you will receive no respect from those around you. Your parents have taken that from you. You may become wealthy, but not from talent, skill, or an intelligent, well-developed mind. Those who come into contact with you will take advantage of you. They are laughing at you, and they will continue to laugh at you until your spurt of fame is over. Your parents have made you completely vulnerable to the leeches of the world.

What's next for you and the hubby? I'm praying (not something I am accustomed to doing) that one or both of you are sterile. PLEASE! NO OFFSPRING!

Girl, beware of the drinking, the drugs, the sicknesses that are out there waiting for what is left of you. I hear that the Amy Winehouse exit door is quite easy to push open.

Dear Friend,

Gee, how long have we been friends now? Forty two years. That's a long damn time. We've had our childhood differences. I recall the time at the beach when we were in our early 20's and we actually had a fistfight. I can look back at that now and laugh. God, how tacky! But, I must say, I felt a little better afterward.

We can't do that anymore. Or we don't. I guess we could. I'm not sure who would win. Would it be a long fight? Might be. We disagree on soooooooooo many things.

I can't remember our first real disagreement. Not one of those childhood things about who was spit sisters with who first, or who's sister was the meanest. We put more energy into those debates than anything we've discussed since we were 16.

There were those eye-rolling discussions. That time when you were finished with your dinner and a fly landed on your plate. You managed to kill him and slide him around in your remaining sauce and got a free dinner. You did not share this discount with me. I paid full freight. I'm not sure you even tipped. I also recall times when luck came my way and you demanded that I share. I wanted to share, but I also wanted to punish you for that fly incident.

These days, there are so few things we can talk about. Our children are fair game. Although my kid might have an eating issue, or lice, or difficulty learning how to ride a bike, or a tantrum. And I know as soon as I tell you these things, you will not commiserate with me or ask me for more information. The first thing you will tell me is that your kids NEVER had that problem. Shit. Why did I even bring it up. Oh, yeah. Because I wanted to share.

Religion. Good heavens I would never bring that topic up. And I do thank you for never bringing it up with me. I'm surprised that you haven't. Really. I know that you fear that my child (and the rest of us) will go to hell. I should thank you for never bringing it up, but that would be bringing it up, so I'll say nothing.

Politics. I do like to discuss politics. That's just one of my many annoying features. When was the last time I brought it up? Was that the Bush/Gore election? I'm thinking so. I had the audacity to ask who you were thinking about voting for. You told me you would vote for whoever your brother-in-law suggested, seeing that your Daddy was dead and couldn't tell you anymore. I'm sure I had the What-the-fuck look on my face, but since we were talking on the phone you couldn't see it so we managed to stay friends.

I know I haven't been the best of friends myself. When your mother was dying, I was having the time of my life in college and I wasn't there enough for you. I truly feel awful for that.

Why is it that we can't get personal anymore? I do keep a great deal to myself. I don't have many friends (could that be because of the politics?) so the ones I do have, I like to share my feelings with. When I had the nerve to tell you I was depressed because my artist life sucked and my real life sucked and I hated where I lived and I was having a mid-life crisis and I felt I had no future and all of that and your response was a little grunt and the suggestion that I get a job, I really wanted to say screw you that I real friend would want to talk about it. I just shut up and we talked about your job or store coupons or some shit that had nothing to do with me like most of our conversations go.

I remember a couple of years ago, if we went more than a week without talking on the phone we were shocked. We used to take turns calling each other on Fridays. If someone had to do the calling more than twice in a row the other one was called out. If we did skip a week, then the next conversation was a long one. For the past few months, its been me calling. And you sound so put out when I'm on the other end. I know you're busy. We all are, don't you know? I do think you can spare 10 minutes every other week. That's enough time for you to tell me about your recent bargains.

Does it hurt your feelings that I don't ask you to come visit anymore? It shouldn't. You know you are welcome anytime. I just got tired of asking and hearing really crappy excuses. Its really easy for me to pack it all up and drive six hours each way and visit you and my family every couple of months. However, I do think your five year (or is it six?) absence is a little noticeable.

This last visit was a bit hard on me. I am glad you took a few minutes to come see me at my Dad's house. I know my recent trip was boring for you to hear about. That's why I only talked about it for two or three minutes before you changed the subject to your recent trip. But I'd already heard about that twice, so . . .

And when you asked me about me, I'm not sure what you wanted to hear. I gave you a sentence or two about what I had been doing. You grunted. I guess that meant you were listening. And then I got a repeat of everything your children had been doing. I've heard that three times. I don't think you got the message when I was able to recite their comings and goings. But when you asked about me and what's going on in my life, I thought you meant what I was working on. You've told me all of your work trials and tribulations. So when I ventured that sentence or two about my new artwork, I thought I might get a grunt. No, I really did not expect you to ask me to show you something that I've made. I'm not sure that has ever happened. Of course, I did not expect you to say, "Hey, I'll have a look at your website." Why, oh why, did I not expect that sound of crickets. And the blank face. And then the immediate change of subject.

After 42 years, can't you just be honest and say, "I don't give a shit?" I must say, I'm getting close.

Well, I'm assuming no one has read this whole post. But I sure do feel better now. It's out there. It's written down.

And if you have read this far, we should really get together and discuss religion and politics.

Hey Independents

The hubby has started a new blog of his newspaper editorials.

Jeez, he's always so darn fair minded.

Let him know what you think. Really. It can't be any worse than what some of the spittle-flecked ranting locals think of his ideas.