Futility Now

It seems sort of nice when you don’t have to hear it. In a sign of America’s increased optimism in the face of non-retarded leadership the place was packed this weekend, and it definitely projected a melodious soundscape, rich in the tones of freedom and, umm, tequila.

Part of the reason that we’re trying to escape, however, is that La Carretta has become the least of it. There’s a new development going in right next to that venerable booze-house, and it’s going to be called, get this, “The Shops at Brooklyn Yards.” I guess there’s not a lot to add once that’s out of the way. Where was that tequila again?

Minor headway into the chaos.  I’m thinking a small victories approach is the right thing.  There is, for instance, a very nice moment happening on the mantle.

These little vases are charming, yes?  My mother gave them to me at Christmas.  The “you = love” is actually a belt buckle made out of bronze — jmags will tell you about it sometime, I’m sure.

I’ve been thinking a fair amount about messes.  I asked jmags what he thought our worst areas were, and they were a little different than mine.  This just shows that different things bug us.  We agree on recycling (argh!), papers with no homes (and really anything with no designated home.  Have I mentioned that we have five laptops for three people?), and the kitchen (I would say the refrigerator, especially).

Bright spots exist — we have implemented a few systems that have been complete successes.

Canning jars.  Beautiful.

Work mornings, when I’m making coffee in the Technivorm, and all is dead quiet and dark (I don’t even like to turn on the light some days), I find the unscrewing of the sugar jar — the slight initial resistance of the seal, and the smooth slide of metal that follows — very satisfying.  Small things.

hi, it’s zia again. my mother told me just minutes ago to write a post about what i want in a house. so i am going to get as detailed as i possibly can when describing my “dream home.”

BASEMENT:
-finished (not moldy, dry, good floors, etc.)
-one tiny room with a small door, leading into numerous hidden passageways and perhaps another dimension)
-blacklight
-extremely far underground

FIRST FLOOR:
-kitchen, with really cool black and green tiling
-bathroom, with black and purple tiling and a really deep bathtub

SECOND FLOOR:
-another bathroom, same but with black and yellow tiles
-one bedroom for hazel and jmags
-another bedroom for jmags’s workspace
-tons and tons of windows

ATTIC:
-my room and my room only
-slanted ceiling
-two big windows and a sunroof or whatever
-a mural with creepy teddy bear squids and stuff all over the walls
-a futon
-a coffee table
-a tunnel leading down to the basement
-a great place for an altar
-haunted
-tons and tons of posters everywhere
-my dad’s paintings everywhere
-amazing cd player
-victorian rugs
-tiny little closet

and that is what i want in a house.

While I appreciate jmags’ generous use of “we” in the last post regarding our current housekeeping practices,  in all actual truth it has been me that’s been ignoring the slow creep of chaos.  My only defense is this analogy: it’s like when you are no longer interested in someone, in fact plan to break up with them, and maybe even already have your eye on some alluring alternative — you stop really doing any maintenance or caretaking.  Do you bring flowers?  No.  Give back massages? No.  You neglect the relationship, and turn a blind eye toward the accumulation of dust on your own heart.  Well, we thought we might be able to move forward with this house business pretty quickly, and in my excitement I have done just that — spent my time dreaming about someone else’s crown molding instead of doing the dishes.

This became painfully obvious when our plans were monkeywrenched by the ghost of NYU.  Now that it appears we have at the very least several months left in what is by all rights a very nice apartment, I have a lot of apologetic vaccuuming to do.  It’s important to keep busy, too, because I have fallen pretty hard for a house that we almost certainly won’t be able to buy.  I’ll say this much: 1908, two stories plus an attic garret & basement, pocket doors, porch swing, & leaded glass.  And just the right amount of disrepair.  Sigh.

Lest you think that house-lust is all I’ve been up to, I have photos to prove otherwise.

Hedgehog or pot?  Dunno.

Steamboat or pot?  Dunno.

And, last, Zia’s Christmas present.  The firing had to be postponed because of the Blizzard of Aught-Eight, so she only received it last week.

The impetus for this project, technically the most complex that I’ve done, is Objects: USA, a book I found on a cart in front of an antique store in Sellwood.  As jmags would say, its school is very old.  One of the featured artists within is Michele Oka Doner, who has gone on to do all sorts of impressive things.  I knew as soon as I saw these creature/babies that I had to make one for Zia.

Mine is made of a very different clay body, and I think the face is actually a little less freaky, unfortunately, but the spirit I think is right.  I loved doing this level of detailing.  It was very satisfying.  Almost as satisfying as winning the Miller Teaching Award.

Wait, what was that, you say? Mmhmm, I won a prize. A $5,000 prize — the best kind.  Too bad I can’t use it to buy up that luscious crown molding-ed (and box-beamed!) house, right?  Sometime this spring I’ll be going to a banquet to receive a big check.  The grant I wrote as part of my application was for taking ceramics classes, esp. in wheel throwing, and for developing an online portfolio.

So some dreams really do come true.  Consolation in the face of so much vaccuuming.

So, we’ve been looking for a house. There is something undeniably foolhardy about looking for a house, given the state of the universe in general, and in our states more particularly, but there it is. We’ve decided to be foolhardy. Or just fools.

It is not, of course, going with 100 percent smoothness. For example, there is a lot of money that has to be directed to a lot of places before one can even consider considering paying money towards the prospect of considering such a purpose, but we’re soldiering on through all that paying and considering with our fingers crossed.

In the immediate term, the main issue our search presents us with is the fact that it is made us pretty sloppy in terms of where we live now. This is, one must admit under the hot-lights of reason, a fairly pointed piece of criticism, especially when one is trying to contend that one’s optimism isn’t some subset of denial. If nothing else, the process is already educational.