in which I appoint myself design czar of the universe

I'm procrastinating, avoiding designing a project I've been contracted to do, with a very engaging activity I call "Mental Makeover."

The idea of Mental Makeover stems from the volume of house-sitting I've done over the past several years. With any house-sitting job, the first task after putting down my bags is to take in and analyze the decor of the house, followed by a critique of the overall layout, then an assessment of the contents of the fridge and a treaure hunt for the utensils.

I see all kinds of houses, and my favorite ones need no makeovers, or very slight adjustments, to be considered ideal for my use. I love the houses with strong identities, lots of character and oddities--my friend Candace's house is my favorite. I might knock out the wall between the dining room and the hall to improve the flow, but the house is cozy and full of quirky antiques and color.

The Keelhauler once found, in a Tucson thrift store, a hideous figurine of a sailboat, enameled in an unattractive shade of blue, with the word LOVE in red, printed vertically down the mainsail. The entire thing is punctured with holes, and I think it was intended as an earring holder. It's truly ugly, but he loves it, and insists on displaying it, so I've grown to see the humor in it. I recognized a kindred spirit in Candace when I discovered, positioned in a cabinet full of bone china with wide gold bands, a duplicate to the Sailboat of Love.

The comfort of her house is in sharp contrast to other houses I visit, houses so spartan as to resemble the display kitchens at Home Deepio. Sure, there are dishes in the cupboard, but it's obvious no one really lives there. I was recently at such a house to babysit a couple of dogs. Despite the rigidly antiseptic housekeeping standards for the humans, the dogs are allowed the run of the place, and track mud, grass, and pieces of the coir doormat all over the tile. The sofas in the living room (tan, like every other piece of furniture and all the walls) are sprinkled with dog hair. The dogs (also tan) are permitted to go everywhere, and although they have fluffy dog beds in every room, prefer to sleep on the human bed at night. I have trouble understanding the point of disinfecting every surface if you're going to sleep on a pillow that only moments before was in direct contact with a dog's ass. (I had an idea that might be the case, so I brought my own pillowcase.) My mental makeover of that house includes a doghouse in the back yard, and high gates around the bed, to prevent dog ass germs on the pillows.

I babysit for several ladies who have decorated their houses in the Deranged Spinster period, a style noted for its reliance on plum velour, leopard print, and high beds with upholstered damask headboards. Each of these ladies laments the absence of a man in her life, and I would really like to share my opinion that no man in his right mind would feel comfortable in a house filled with fainting couches and tiny dogs. She might get a guy into the bedroom, I suppose, but once he's there, he's just going to trip on the overstuffed ottoman that the tiny dogs employ to reach the bed.

I want to tell these ladies that if they really are interested in male company, they must create a space that wouldn't instantly spell "crazed divorcee" to a date. That means getting rid of the following objects:

  • Self-help books with titles implying neediness, recovery, or inner children

  • Reproductions of portraits of women with languid expressions and sensual mouths, especially those painted by Tamara Lempicka

  • Dogs weighing less than eight pounds each, especially if they have runny eyes and drag their asses on the carpet, and more especially if their presence causes you to speak nonsense syllables in a high-pitched voice or utter the phrase "She's my spoiled little baayyyyyybeeeeee!"

  • Stained glass panels or table lamps featuring art deco nudes

  • Tapestry-style pillows featuring themes of frog-kissing, man-hating, or chocoholism

  • Quasi-lesbian perfume or clothing ads cut from magazines and stuck onto the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a martini glass

  • Purple velvet bedspreads, leopard-print carpets, molded-resin shoe figurines, inspirational plaques, Enya CDs

Because all these things give men the hives. They cannot envision themselves living in that kind of a space, and so they never do.

Well, this has been a productive exercise, in that it kept me from my duties and had no actual effect on the problems I've identified! My work here is done.



Star of the day. . .Martha Stewart
posted @ 5:09 p.m. on February 21, 2005 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......