You may be wondering who I tagged:
Everybody Loves Saturday Night,
Nipperknits,
Flowergirl,
and In the Quiet of My Heart.
I'm not sure that they all care to play such foolish games, but they always have something interesting to say regardless.
Ssssh! Let's listen now!
2.14.2007
2.11.2007
Reassessment
Joni Mitchell's late-70s period was never my favorite. The songs were too long, talky, and meandering for me, with hardly a discernible melody or hook. Hejira made my head hurt.
Now I understand -- it's the sound of art imitating life.
Joni's early records have a ferocious, Brandoesque quality to them that will never go out of style. What a searing sureness of emotion and appropriately stark, pared-down arrangements.
As Joni hits her 30s the timbre shifts, and she offers longer catalogs of images and impressions, doubts and recollections --
The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets through to you
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
-- and appropriately wraps these lines in jazzier, more complex arrangements. Sure, she shifts toward stranger melodies; but at a certain age, life does take on a strange melody, doesn't it?
Dora says, have children!
Mama and Betsy say, find yourself a charity.
Help the needy and the crippled or put some time into ecology.
Well, there's a wide wide world of noble causes
And lovely landscapes to discover
But all I really want right now
Is to find another lover
I'm sure over the years people have explained all of this to me about Joni, but only today it arrived fully.
People will tell you where they've gone
They'll tell you where to go
But till you get there yourself you never really know
Now I understand -- it's the sound of art imitating life.
Joni's early records have a ferocious, Brandoesque quality to them that will never go out of style. What a searing sureness of emotion and appropriately stark, pared-down arrangements.
As Joni hits her 30s the timbre shifts, and she offers longer catalogs of images and impressions, doubts and recollections --
The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets through to you
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture-post-card-charms
Amelia, it was just a false alarm
-- and appropriately wraps these lines in jazzier, more complex arrangements. Sure, she shifts toward stranger melodies; but at a certain age, life does take on a strange melody, doesn't it?
Dora says, have children!
Mama and Betsy say, find yourself a charity.
Help the needy and the crippled or put some time into ecology.
Well, there's a wide wide world of noble causes
And lovely landscapes to discover
But all I really want right now
Is to find another lover
I'm sure over the years people have explained all of this to me about Joni, but only today it arrived fully.
People will tell you where they've gone
They'll tell you where to go
But till you get there yourself you never really know
Eeep! I've been tagged!
The scoop is, I post 6 odd things about myself, and then "tag" 6 others to do the same, sending them the link to this page.
Six odd things about me:
1. I floss after I brush, not before. (Then I rinse again.)
2. I almost always write songs with the radio on. Otherwise it feels too spooky.
3. I almost always leave a little food on the plate, as if to convince myself that I didn't really eat the whole thing.
4. When I was little I made up my own daytime talk show. It had a theme song. Perhaps this is the first song I ever wrote. In addition to reporting the news and weather, I enacted recurring dramatic segments such as Batgirl Story. I often interviewed my parents; they embodied a rotating cast of characters, such as a friendly neighborhood dragon, King Kong, Barbara Walters, and a daffy mermaid who sold used cars. I recorded all of this onto cassette tapes and still have them.
5. Last week I dreamed I was visted by a sweet, amazing dog. In my dream I knew that the dog was my grandmother. Now, a week later, I believe it really was my grandmother.
The scoop is, I post 6 odd things about myself, and then "tag" 6 others to do the same, sending them the link to this page.
Six odd things about me:
1. I floss after I brush, not before. (Then I rinse again.)
2. I almost always write songs with the radio on. Otherwise it feels too spooky.
3. I almost always leave a little food on the plate, as if to convince myself that I didn't really eat the whole thing.
4. When I was little I made up my own daytime talk show. It had a theme song. Perhaps this is the first song I ever wrote. In addition to reporting the news and weather, I enacted recurring dramatic segments such as Batgirl Story. I often interviewed my parents; they embodied a rotating cast of characters, such as a friendly neighborhood dragon, King Kong, Barbara Walters, and a daffy mermaid who sold used cars. I recorded all of this onto cassette tapes and still have them.
5. Last week I dreamed I was visted by a sweet, amazing dog. In my dream I knew that the dog was my grandmother. Now, a week later, I believe it really was my grandmother.
1.23.2007
Just a Note
There are about 2 months in early 2005 I hardly remember at all; they're a kaleidoscope of colors and feelings.
I think a lot now about how kind people were to me. Unbelievably kind. Calling and checking up. Inviting me out for eggs. Having a drink. Listening to me rant. God knows what I must have said.
During that black hole period I received the best piece of advice ever, thanks to my friend Alex: "Just be careful -- you're very out of it -- look both ways before you cross the street."
Sometimes I find random stuff in the apartment. Who gave me that Judee Sill record? Dan was that you? It's a blur. I'm really enjoying it.
I can only hope to show the same loving kindness to others when they need it.
Thank you -- You know who you are!
I think a lot now about how kind people were to me. Unbelievably kind. Calling and checking up. Inviting me out for eggs. Having a drink. Listening to me rant. God knows what I must have said.
During that black hole period I received the best piece of advice ever, thanks to my friend Alex: "Just be careful -- you're very out of it -- look both ways before you cross the street."
Sometimes I find random stuff in the apartment. Who gave me that Judee Sill record? Dan was that you? It's a blur. I'm really enjoying it.
I can only hope to show the same loving kindness to others when they need it.
Thank you -- You know who you are!
1.12.2007
Big Entrances
I love movies that start with a clever animated sequence.
"Down With Love" is my favoritest movie right now, for that and many other reasons.
"What's New Pussycat?" is another fave.
Recommendations?
"Down With Love" is my favoritest movie right now, for that and many other reasons.
"What's New Pussycat?" is another fave.
Recommendations?
1.03.2007
Concerning the Continuing Adventures of the Pampered Pugilist; Or, How I Learned to Take the Punches and Like It
The major development in my entanglement with boxing is that somewhere along the way I lost my fear.
I think it's probably because Maria got injured and doesn't come to sparring class anymore, so the threat of leaving with a black eye or a bruised jaw is greatly decreased. So I have started getting bold with my opponents.
At first, it was easy to keep Kora at bay; like a chipmunk, she alternately darted and halted, hungry and unfocused. I could kind of jab her around. However, Kora broke up with her boyfriend and simultaneously found her hook. When I felt that hit, I snapped to attention. Soon we will see what Kora is fully capable of inflicting onto others. She is naturally sassy and fearless, so this probably won't be pretty for me.
Mike is about six-foot-twelve, of unabashedly sweet temperament and indeterminate Scandinavian descent. When I first saw him on the bag, his arms seemed to take two full seconds to unfurl a punch, and when they made contact, the bag swung high and wild. One time, the bag spasmed, dislodged, and hit the floor.
I quickly learned that, despite Mike's enormous wingspan, you can never quite see him coming; he is a free-jazz boxer, with a rhythm all his own. So I learned to be light. He will lunge at you with a hook that could make the blind see -- using only half his power, because he is a gentleman -- and you have to sit, slip, weave, or pull your sorry ass back, and try to at least graze his chin with a right before he can fully retract his arm. And think light, light, light. After several rounds tonight, our faces were both purple-red and we were staggering. And yet I remembered: pirouette, pirouette, and mustering all my energy, I danced. That got me the hell out of that round.
Tina was there tonight. She is adorable, but every time I see her on Wednesday I have a flash thought: "Crap." She closest in line to being the second coming of Maria: tiny -- five-two tops -- and fast. And I now know for certain that fighting tiny people is far worse than fighting tall people, for when they hit, they don't hit the proverbial bull's eye on the forehead of your headgear. They hit upward toward your jaw, lip, nose. I took a few hard pops from Tina, but no bleeding or swelling resulted, so I'm grateful and high as a kite on endorphins.
And I made an appointment for a Christmas facial, courtesy of a most delightful and generous friend.
Life is sweet!
I think it's probably because Maria got injured and doesn't come to sparring class anymore, so the threat of leaving with a black eye or a bruised jaw is greatly decreased. So I have started getting bold with my opponents.
At first, it was easy to keep Kora at bay; like a chipmunk, she alternately darted and halted, hungry and unfocused. I could kind of jab her around. However, Kora broke up with her boyfriend and simultaneously found her hook. When I felt that hit, I snapped to attention. Soon we will see what Kora is fully capable of inflicting onto others. She is naturally sassy and fearless, so this probably won't be pretty for me.
Mike is about six-foot-twelve, of unabashedly sweet temperament and indeterminate Scandinavian descent. When I first saw him on the bag, his arms seemed to take two full seconds to unfurl a punch, and when they made contact, the bag swung high and wild. One time, the bag spasmed, dislodged, and hit the floor.
I quickly learned that, despite Mike's enormous wingspan, you can never quite see him coming; he is a free-jazz boxer, with a rhythm all his own. So I learned to be light. He will lunge at you with a hook that could make the blind see -- using only half his power, because he is a gentleman -- and you have to sit, slip, weave, or pull your sorry ass back, and try to at least graze his chin with a right before he can fully retract his arm. And think light, light, light. After several rounds tonight, our faces were both purple-red and we were staggering. And yet I remembered: pirouette, pirouette, and mustering all my energy, I danced. That got me the hell out of that round.
Tina was there tonight. She is adorable, but every time I see her on Wednesday I have a flash thought: "Crap." She closest in line to being the second coming of Maria: tiny -- five-two tops -- and fast. And I now know for certain that fighting tiny people is far worse than fighting tall people, for when they hit, they don't hit the proverbial bull's eye on the forehead of your headgear. They hit upward toward your jaw, lip, nose. I took a few hard pops from Tina, but no bleeding or swelling resulted, so I'm grateful and high as a kite on endorphins.
And I made an appointment for a Christmas facial, courtesy of a most delightful and generous friend.
Life is sweet!
1.01.2007
Holy Crap, It's 2007
Happy New Year. I've been sick and as of 4pm I've watched about twelve episodes of "Law and Order" back to back. I took the whole week off from work.
Random highlights of days off:
1. Painting the bathroom bright white while listening to Neko Case and Sam Phillips and singing along while pirouetting on the ladder on one foot, reaching with spongebrush to dab paint in ceiling corners.
2. Icing said foot afterward.
3. Curling up with Chinese food (steamed) and watching "Ugly Betty" marathon (but only after complaining on phone to buddies about how it was being pre-empted by Ford's funeral. "Casket, go home! We want Betty!").
4. The smell of smoke in the studio. It was just the motor on the tape machine blowing out, but still.
5. Bruce's 11th-hour determination to try loading the (intact) tape onto other machines and transferring the mix so that I could still make good on my promise to bring a song home on CD for the holidays. The other machines didn't work, but Bruce's persistence was touching.
6. Getting my first "Blowout." I had read about a place in Chinatown that gives you fantastic hair pizzazz for $15. It was fantastic and pizzazztical, and right on time for a crazy-badass haute foode lunch at Perry St.
7. My 4-year-old niece doing her impression of the Cookie Monster: "ME WANT COOOKIE! COOOKIE!!"
I'm not one for resolutions, but I do vow to strengthen my resolve, doing more of the good things and less of the bad things. You?
Hope to see you soon.
Random highlights of days off:
1. Painting the bathroom bright white while listening to Neko Case and Sam Phillips and singing along while pirouetting on the ladder on one foot, reaching with spongebrush to dab paint in ceiling corners.
2. Icing said foot afterward.
3. Curling up with Chinese food (steamed) and watching "Ugly Betty" marathon (but only after complaining on phone to buddies about how it was being pre-empted by Ford's funeral. "Casket, go home! We want Betty!").
4. The smell of smoke in the studio. It was just the motor on the tape machine blowing out, but still.
5. Bruce's 11th-hour determination to try loading the (intact) tape onto other machines and transferring the mix so that I could still make good on my promise to bring a song home on CD for the holidays. The other machines didn't work, but Bruce's persistence was touching.
6. Getting my first "Blowout." I had read about a place in Chinatown that gives you fantastic hair pizzazz for $15. It was fantastic and pizzazztical, and right on time for a crazy-badass haute foode lunch at Perry St.
7. My 4-year-old niece doing her impression of the Cookie Monster: "ME WANT COOOKIE! COOOKIE!!"
I'm not one for resolutions, but I do vow to strengthen my resolve, doing more of the good things and less of the bad things. You?
Hope to see you soon.
12.10.2006
Mega Thoughts
A thought occurred to me today while browsing through DVDs at the Virgin Megastore (and the branding of anything as "Virgin Mega" is a whole discussion unto itself).
Let me preface it by saying, of course it's no secret that we live in an age of decadence and vulgarity. I have been arguing back and forth with myself for years as to whether or not this is inherently bad. In terms of art, those who, early on, are ridiculed or dismissed for being offensive or obscene, but ultimately are recognized as visionaries (Walt Whitman comes to mind, as does Picasso with Les Demoiselles d'Avignon), help create what those in academe would call a new way of seeing. In strictly personal terms, anything that at first seems too vulgar or embarrassing to do or say almost always quickly becomes to me the only thing worth doing. It is more raw and almost always more true.
But I'm not really talking about either kind of decadence here. Nor am I talking about pornography, although I guess it would qualify. Nestled deep within the womb of the Mega Virgin, i.e. browsing the lower level at Union Square, I was struck by how you could just pick anything . . . and then have it. I want to buy "Breakfast at Tiffany's." Done. Then I will go to the bakery and buy 35 croissants and eat them slowly one by one while watching the movie 35 times. Can do. I can go back and buy any other movie and then own it.
Can a movie really be owned? If you watch it hundred times and memorize it, do you own it then?
Being able to get whatever, whenever is a big big problem. I always knew it was but now I can feel why: Because when you can own whatever whenever, you remove the elemental emotion of longing, which is essential to art.
That said, every time I wach "Tiffany's" I feel deep longing . . . for a croissant, preferably chocolate. But I don't eat it.
Score one for art and my winter wool pants.
Let me preface it by saying, of course it's no secret that we live in an age of decadence and vulgarity. I have been arguing back and forth with myself for years as to whether or not this is inherently bad. In terms of art, those who, early on, are ridiculed or dismissed for being offensive or obscene, but ultimately are recognized as visionaries (Walt Whitman comes to mind, as does Picasso with Les Demoiselles d'Avignon), help create what those in academe would call a new way of seeing. In strictly personal terms, anything that at first seems too vulgar or embarrassing to do or say almost always quickly becomes to me the only thing worth doing. It is more raw and almost always more true.
But I'm not really talking about either kind of decadence here. Nor am I talking about pornography, although I guess it would qualify. Nestled deep within the womb of the Mega Virgin, i.e. browsing the lower level at Union Square, I was struck by how you could just pick anything . . . and then have it. I want to buy "Breakfast at Tiffany's." Done. Then I will go to the bakery and buy 35 croissants and eat them slowly one by one while watching the movie 35 times. Can do. I can go back and buy any other movie and then own it.
Can a movie really be owned? If you watch it hundred times and memorize it, do you own it then?
Being able to get whatever, whenever is a big big problem. I always knew it was but now I can feel why: Because when you can own whatever whenever, you remove the elemental emotion of longing, which is essential to art.
That said, every time I wach "Tiffany's" I feel deep longing . . . for a croissant, preferably chocolate. But I don't eat it.
Score one for art and my winter wool pants.
9.11.2006
8.28.2006
When I left work a small crowd was gathering on the corner. 2 guys were having some kind of scuffle.
I got closer. One guy was on the ground wearing yellow roller blades. The other guy was standing above him. The guy on the ground took a long, slow lunge at the standing guy, tried to get up, and slipped and slid. The standing guy shoved him and made him slide more.
A car was parked just a few feet away with its driver's door opened.
The standing guy didn't get taken down. The rollerblade guy couldn't stand up. He loped around on his knees throwing an occasional punch to the gut.
A woman waiting for the bus finally busted in. "STOP IT!"
The standing guy yelled at her to shut the fuck up, and pushed the other guy again.
I was rooting for the rollerblade guy to swipe the other guy's knees and bring him on the level.
A police car was parked on the opposite corner with its lights flashing, but no officer could be found.
I imagine them still there at midnight, deadlocked among the gravel and rain puddles.
I got closer. One guy was on the ground wearing yellow roller blades. The other guy was standing above him. The guy on the ground took a long, slow lunge at the standing guy, tried to get up, and slipped and slid. The standing guy shoved him and made him slide more.
A car was parked just a few feet away with its driver's door opened.
The standing guy didn't get taken down. The rollerblade guy couldn't stand up. He loped around on his knees throwing an occasional punch to the gut.
A woman waiting for the bus finally busted in. "STOP IT!"
The standing guy yelled at her to shut the fuck up, and pushed the other guy again.
I was rooting for the rollerblade guy to swipe the other guy's knees and bring him on the level.
A police car was parked on the opposite corner with its lights flashing, but no officer could be found.
I imagine them still there at midnight, deadlocked among the gravel and rain puddles.
Raining and reading
On a rainy, cool Sunday afternoon, when the house is clean and I'm buzzed from a long lavender bath, I curl up with some Bukowski. After reading for a few minutes I start to feel hopeful and light. Then I feel ashamed.
Hope comes because Bukowski reminds me that everything is strange and beautiful and even the most heartbroken soul can find grace.
Shame comes because it has been way too long since I have wandered in this field.
Next stop: Karamazov.
Hope comes because Bukowski reminds me that everything is strange and beautiful and even the most heartbroken soul can find grace.
Shame comes because it has been way too long since I have wandered in this field.
Next stop: Karamazov.
8.20.2006
Wagging the Dog
It has come to my attention that the previous post may have been unclear, or heaven forbid, unseemly.
I guess I just meant woof.
Apologies to Scott and everyone if this seems disappointing.
*********************
Other topics of the summer:
1. Faith.
Why have it. What is it. Where can I get some.
2. Firemen.
If it weren't for the macabre sense of comfort provided by this show, I'd have completely given up on item #1.
3. 'Fiddich.
I do not drink this often, but take comfort knowing it's out there if I need it.
4. Frank.
Finally, yes . . . I believe every fucking word he sings.
I guess I just meant woof.
Apologies to Scott and everyone if this seems disappointing.
*********************
Other topics of the summer:
1. Faith.
Why have it. What is it. Where can I get some.
2. Firemen.
If it weren't for the macabre sense of comfort provided by this show, I'd have completely given up on item #1.
3. 'Fiddich.
I do not drink this often, but take comfort knowing it's out there if I need it.
4. Frank.
Finally, yes . . . I believe every fucking word he sings.
7.10.2006
7.03.2006
Not Dead Yet; Just Resting
Hi. Are you having a good summer, I hope?
I'm feeling renewed after a few days of rest. Also, I bought a new computer. It occurred to me that my old computer couldn't actually open any applications except Safari, and even that was getting pretty slow and sticky. It started making a horrible grinding sound to boot. So here we go: I'm all souped up and typing like lightning on a wireless keyboard.
This new computer comes with a built-in video camera and you can use it to take snapshots. I inaugurated it by, what else:
Dottie, the shy one.
Oh Saro, perhaps we shall run away to Paris and become chorus girls!
I'm feeling renewed after a few days of rest. Also, I bought a new computer. It occurred to me that my old computer couldn't actually open any applications except Safari, and even that was getting pretty slow and sticky. It started making a horrible grinding sound to boot. So here we go: I'm all souped up and typing like lightning on a wireless keyboard.
This new computer comes with a built-in video camera and you can use it to take snapshots. I inaugurated it by, what else:
Dottie, the shy one.
Oh Saro, perhaps we shall run away to Paris and become chorus girls!
4.04.2006
Intuition
I trust the voice inside my head. In general, I trust other people.
However, at one point in life I was very disconnected, depressed, and panicky. I started to lose my trust in others. I sometimes thought people were trying to poison my food. I knew this was nuts but I couldn't stop being nervous. I'd eat a few bites, freak, spit the last bite out into a napkin, and try to hide the napkin. This got to be very embarrassing.
I went to my doctor for an EKG to see if my always-racing heart had a physical cause or was just anxiety. The office was closing early because a snowstorm had begun. Dr. Sharkey sat me down in his office after the test.
"How are you doing?"
I started falling, falling, falling down a hole in my soul. Sob, sob, sob.
"What's wrong?'
"I don't know . . . " Doctor, there's a hole in my soul . . . .
"It says here you're having panic attacks? Like, you're sitting there, and suddenly feel like you're going to lose it?"
"Uh huh."
"I get those. It happened to me at the Board of Directors meeting at NYU Hospital."
"Uh huh." The snow was splatting against the 15th-floor window.
"I'm going to prescribe an antianxiety pill for you. If there's something you have to do, and you need to calm down, just take half a pill and you'll be fine." He pulled out a prescription pad, wrote something on it, tore off a sheet and handed it to me.
"Okay." I took the paper.
"I'll tell you what." He wrote something else down. "This is my buddy. He's a great shrink. He'll fix what's bothering you. Just fix it. He doesn't want to hear about your problems, doesn't want to hear about your family. He'll patch you right up."
I took the second paper. I was still snorting and choking on sobs. However, I still knew this was bullshit. I walked out of his office, rode the elevator down, and stepped out into snowy midtown.
However, at one point in life I was very disconnected, depressed, and panicky. I started to lose my trust in others. I sometimes thought people were trying to poison my food. I knew this was nuts but I couldn't stop being nervous. I'd eat a few bites, freak, spit the last bite out into a napkin, and try to hide the napkin. This got to be very embarrassing.
I went to my doctor for an EKG to see if my always-racing heart had a physical cause or was just anxiety. The office was closing early because a snowstorm had begun. Dr. Sharkey sat me down in his office after the test.
"How are you doing?"
I started falling, falling, falling down a hole in my soul. Sob, sob, sob.
"What's wrong?'
"I don't know . . . " Doctor, there's a hole in my soul . . . .
"It says here you're having panic attacks? Like, you're sitting there, and suddenly feel like you're going to lose it?"
"Uh huh."
"I get those. It happened to me at the Board of Directors meeting at NYU Hospital."
"Uh huh." The snow was splatting against the 15th-floor window.
"I'm going to prescribe an antianxiety pill for you. If there's something you have to do, and you need to calm down, just take half a pill and you'll be fine." He pulled out a prescription pad, wrote something on it, tore off a sheet and handed it to me.
"Okay." I took the paper.
"I'll tell you what." He wrote something else down. "This is my buddy. He's a great shrink. He'll fix what's bothering you. Just fix it. He doesn't want to hear about your problems, doesn't want to hear about your family. He'll patch you right up."
I took the second paper. I was still snorting and choking on sobs. However, I still knew this was bullshit. I walked out of his office, rode the elevator down, and stepped out into snowy midtown.
3.21.2006
Spring: Day One
From my window -- the Verizon building nestled among other tall buildings with row upon row of perfect glowing windows. The buildings are crisply silhouetted against a solid black-blue sky. The wind is screeching. Occasionally a blink of light from a plane far away.
2.06.2006
I'll Take Dare
I have to come clean. In light of the recent attention shed on a certain book that has been ripped into a million tiny shreds, I have come to reconsider the writings I have written over a lifetime. Not only have I passed off certain versifications as true, but sometimes in earnest nocturnal conversation -- or even on public broadcasts -- I have confided that these ragtag couplets truly are emissions from my soul.
But no more. The truth is that I have tampered with certain events and situations to render them more conveniently squished into song. I have taken the truth, bent it like a wire hanger, and used it to whack my tiny tribe of fans square on the ass.
Thus it is with great shame that I must confess a horrible confession.
It didn't really happen on 31st Avenue.
It was Broadway, one block over.
'31st Avenue' just sounded better.
Please.
Forgive.
Me.
But no more. The truth is that I have tampered with certain events and situations to render them more conveniently squished into song. I have taken the truth, bent it like a wire hanger, and used it to whack my tiny tribe of fans square on the ass.
Thus it is with great shame that I must confess a horrible confession.
It didn't really happen on 31st Avenue.
It was Broadway, one block over.
'31st Avenue' just sounded better.
Please.
Forgive.
Me.
12.27.2005
Well Hello, Dottie
A new graceful presence in the household: Dottie arrived 3 weeks ago on the first snow. She is a big fan of food, toys, couch, and blanky.
Saro was pretty mad at first but has come to accept her fate.
Chiaroscuro in the household!
Saro was pretty mad at first but has come to accept her fate.
Chiaroscuro in the household!
12.09.2005
Chestnuts Roasting on My Ass
I am not a fan of food-inspired spa treatments.
No chocolate fudge pedicures, please.
No honey on my face.
And please, DO NOT wrap me in pumpkin pulp.
Ew.
No chocolate fudge pedicures, please.
No honey on my face.
And please, DO NOT wrap me in pumpkin pulp.
Ew.
12.01.2005
Feng Shui Me
I had some ideas for rearranging the furniture, maybe adding a small new piece or 2. But I was petrified of buying something that was wrong and being stuck with it, or picking out a wall color or wallpaper that was going to make my home look plum silly. Or moving the piano . . . and then having to move the piano back.
Obsessed with the magazine that everyone at work is obsessed with, I saw an interesting article on one-shot design consultants. For a very small fee they will advise you on the best way to arrange your home, using what you have and making suggestions for manageable additions and subtractions.
I found a nice woman with a background in interior design and, as a bonus, extensive experience in feng shui. Jennifer came by today to have a gander at my apartment.
"Nice and spacious," she said. "But we have to do something about the energy when you come in. It's one long corridor, and then your energy falls out the window."
Couldn'ta said it better myself.
She meditated on my space for a long time and asked me a lot of questions as we sipped peppermint tea. When did I move in? Why this neighborhood? Why all white? After awhile she got up from the couch and rotated one corner twenty-five degrees. She paused. I worried for a moment that was going to be it.
I stepped back a few paces and surveyed the pivot. I don't usually like furniture on an angle, but this was working. Energy crisis averted!
She took out this crazy-ass compass on a big square board with colors all around it. She said it's very hard to find this compass in English. Saro started slinking around us, interested. Jennifer said she didn't mind Saro eating all her other stuff so long as Saro didn't touch the compass. As soon as we relaxed in conversation, Saro lurched toward the compass. No, Saro!
I said I was thinking of color for the foyer. Jennifer also had a giant wad of Benjamin Moore paint chips on a binder ring. How did I feel about red? Very interesting.
I really liked this meeting. She's going to e-mail me all of her notes and suggestions tomorrow. Her recommendations for new pieces were well within my budget -- Pearl River, Home Depot. And I feel confident I'm making the right move *before* dumping out all my bookcases.
When this is all done -- party at my place.
Obsessed with the magazine that everyone at work is obsessed with, I saw an interesting article on one-shot design consultants. For a very small fee they will advise you on the best way to arrange your home, using what you have and making suggestions for manageable additions and subtractions.
I found a nice woman with a background in interior design and, as a bonus, extensive experience in feng shui. Jennifer came by today to have a gander at my apartment.
"Nice and spacious," she said. "But we have to do something about the energy when you come in. It's one long corridor, and then your energy falls out the window."
Couldn'ta said it better myself.
She meditated on my space for a long time and asked me a lot of questions as we sipped peppermint tea. When did I move in? Why this neighborhood? Why all white? After awhile she got up from the couch and rotated one corner twenty-five degrees. She paused. I worried for a moment that was going to be it.
I stepped back a few paces and surveyed the pivot. I don't usually like furniture on an angle, but this was working. Energy crisis averted!
She took out this crazy-ass compass on a big square board with colors all around it. She said it's very hard to find this compass in English. Saro started slinking around us, interested. Jennifer said she didn't mind Saro eating all her other stuff so long as Saro didn't touch the compass. As soon as we relaxed in conversation, Saro lurched toward the compass. No, Saro!
I said I was thinking of color for the foyer. Jennifer also had a giant wad of Benjamin Moore paint chips on a binder ring. How did I feel about red? Very interesting.
I really liked this meeting. She's going to e-mail me all of her notes and suggestions tomorrow. Her recommendations for new pieces were well within my budget -- Pearl River, Home Depot. And I feel confident I'm making the right move *before* dumping out all my bookcases.
When this is all done -- party at my place.
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