Jacked Up Seasonal Affective Disorder

Summer. You can have it. Oppressive heat, sunburn, humidity, mold, insect colonies, stagnant air, scorching pavement, air conditioning ... all the hateful things. I didn't mean to stop posting here, but my energy level dropped into sub-existence and my world melted into a steaming hot mess. I lost interest in just about everything except cold alcoholic beverages and, well, that's not such a good thing. I hereby blame all of my shortcomings on summer. (Deflection is an art, you know.)

ANYWAY. Fall has arrived! And I say, thank fuck.

In celebration of my favorite season as well as a lasting return from the pit of despair I call summer, I give you this Dutch apartment by Studio Bakker. I absolutely love this space and how the quiet colors and low light are all about autumn.

I have this thing about kitchens. This one is no exception. It's open and simple and I want it.

I love that it looks like a real kitchen where someone might actually live, not just styled and posed for the shoot. I want to linger at that table in the morning drinking hot espresso made with the sweet little machine on the counter. The minimal under-counter refrigerator leads me to believe this apartment is surrounded by amazing take-out restaurants and there has to be a gourmet grocery store and bakery on the corner.

I usually go for white and bright but this room is so restful and simple, if somewhat masculine. Fine by me, I like men in my bedroom.

Oh the power of photography, always providing the stuff of dreams. I pretty much want to move in to this place right now because it will undoubtedly make my life perfect and serene. (Even if that big plant display on the table is a bit much.)

So yeah, I think I'm back. Thanks to this apartment, the pivot of the earth's axis, and a certain blogger friend who yanked me from that soul-sucking spiral of self-defeatism and purposelessness we all needlessly head down sometimes. (Please tell me it's not just me.)

★

Teaser Shots: My Dope New Living Room in Japan

I Suck at Blogging

Maybe I shouldn't use that as a title, not the best advertising. But right now it really feels true.

This arrives 2 months after my last post ...

... so ...

I will now attempt to distract you ...

Brought to the online people of planet Earth today by Google. Nice, a birthday homage to Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, who designed the chair upon which I sometimes sit. And paid no money for.

This isn't my chair. But you get the idea.

One of my dogs chewed off several sections of its leather. I promise to write another post about that with real pictures of my chair. ( ... you are breathless with anticipation, no?)

Mine looks a lot like this now. Worse actually.

 

Back to MvdR. He looks a bit like my grandfather.

What are your impressions of his work?

Hate Is Not a Big Enough Word

 

Granite & Slate. Slate & Granite. This pair.

Certain rooms in my house ooze of these ubiquitous late 90s material. And I have grown to loathe them for they do not belong in my house or in my life.

Not all slab granite resembles endless layers of potato bug vomit and bile abstractly choreographed on a blackened dance floor of sleek hard rock. Not all granite has the calculated intelligence to camouflage a half-gallon puddle of liquid so acutely that I inevitably set a newspaper, magazine, or freshly laundered item exactly there, upon it. No, not all granite is created equal.

As for you, slate. You are so very earthy and neutral. You are considerate enough to look exactly the same before and after I scrub filth from your porous surface, yet you remain so painfully dull and lifeless. Where did you come from and how did you get in my house? Specifically, how did you get in my entry, kitchen, laundry room, three bathrooms, mud room and, yes, on my front porch? When we first met, you blended so expertly into your surroundings that I never, not once, stopped to consider that you have no place in a historic home. How ever did you escape your big box suburban sea of innocuous cul de sac, where people not only accept you, they covet you? Are you slate of a masochistic variety because why would you willingly sentence yourself to a life of humiliation here in my little abode?

What have I done to deserve this sublime duality of pedestrian decor? I blame myself for turning a hurried, blind eye to these surfaces before it was too late and I found myself trapped by their perfect balance of banality.

★