the mother of all hashtags
the mother of all hashtags
The journaling habit is dubious at best
This this this is what I want.
STORAGE PROJECTS YOU CAN BUILD | Better Homes and Gardens ©1977
Great pattern on Elena’s shirt- afghan inspiration for later
Buyer’s Remorse, personified, at the Arden Goodwill #mysizeteddy
found in today’s Craigslist Missed Connections
…After lunch, she retreated into her teenage, anime-covered bedroom with her computer, and R and I retreated into the back room— his “lair” where every inch of wall space is covered in his wife’s fantasy novels and his obsessively organized cassette tapes. It was a rainy afternoon. We put on the Grateful Dead- an album that just arrived in the mail, taped from a show at the Fillmore East in 1970 that he may or may not have been at, and after some coaxing he brought out the disorganized box of photos I’d been wanting to see. There were a lot of photos of his beloved dog, Munchkin, and one with him and Munchkin on some craggy Nevada hillside, him about 20 in blue jeans and a jean jacket, essentially unchanged except for some extra hair (blonde). I was especially struck by the casual photos of his wedding, with the date stamp SEPT 1984 along the bottom. There was something poignant about them. I don’t know if it was the looks on their faces or his pale suit and her big straw hat— out of date even then—or how the way he was standing then is the way he stands now (kind of like he’s atop a horse) or that they weren’t professionally done. Maybe it’s just poignant because I want it to be; I was searching for something— some look in the eye, some body language that said it wasn’t real—and found no such tell-tale sign. What I saw instead were two wide-eyed people awkwardly hanging onto each other, unaccustomed to the formalwear and the attention, first in a church and later, in a living room. I got less information from the people in the photos than from the fact that the photos are carelessly tossed in a cardboard box, warping and bending under the weight of 28 years worth of similarly disorganized photos: cats they’ve had, her supine and smiling in big puffy robes on Christmas mornings, him slicing into office party birthday cakes, their daughter’s school/sports/girlscouts group portraits, and before-and-after photos of ugly bare lots turned into landscaped gardens.
April 12th, 2013
NEW HOUSE BOOK | Terence Conran ©1986
So much housepiration! Maybe I’ll even consider moving out of my parents house (eventually, someday) so that I can decorate the shit out of some lil stucko dungheap downtown! I’ve been amassing Navajo weavings and antique California-made pottery like there’s no tomorrow…