This New HOuse(sticky O's) not starring Bob Villa
but my father can step in if he wears a plaid shirt...
This place is really quiet and solitary. I love it. I also have to get used to it. It has just the right amount of silence, I can hear the tv from the bedroom in the basement, but I can't hear the laundry room from the living room. Spectacular, really. People walking over the steel doors that lead to the basement still freaks me out a tad.
The backyard at night has this orangey glow that makes you feel like you were part of a lead-based, nuclear radiation experiment when you were a small child. I'm glad it's lit though, any dark corners in Philly deserve caution, I don't care who you are. There are also crazy cockroach/giant water bug fuckers running around outside. I blew almost 4 of them off of the wall like I was making the most grandiose birthday wish, ever. I might take up early morning yoga out there. heh!
The internets are only turned on the s.o.'s computer and right now I really want to listen to Of Monteal.
I've already started painting those muti-functional shelves I have that are taking up the only closet in the house. I should've counted them by now. They're raw pine(well some at the moment) and soome of them have been with me for over 2 years now. Probably over 50 actual shelves in all. The kitchen, which I did not expect, is the first room shaping up. We did covet a sanitary kitchen for over a year... I'm thinking of making pillows out of hospital gown fabric for the living room, in addition to eyeball pillows, or maybe the dumpstered papasan into a giant eyeball! Too scary? I keep being told that I'm going to turn the place into a carnival, which is when I reply : "No, I'm not! What'daya have against carnivals anyway?". Its the same person that picked out a daring but ultimately baby puke green that will be gracing the walls in our bed room. I think much can be done with the color but his taste in style is as off kilter as mine. I'm gonna try and pull of the whole jewel tone thing in the living room. And we have decided that flying(I like to think migrating) birds will grace the wall with bikes on it. They can ether be flying north or south. I have to ponder on the metaphorical implications that would contain for me. Maybe I should bust out the Fung Shui bible that is on top of one of the boxes floating around. For good measure. Hrm.
It makes me think of all the cool stuff of mine that I probably will never see again, resting, decaying, being eaten in a hay loft in North Eastern Indiana. Some of those things were very special to me. But they lie in an ocean of other things I can't remember or would want to throw out, if given the chance. My collection of Buddha's hands, the scarecrow, pictures, kitchy junk that was hand picked by me. If I could have some of it back I would gladly discard half of my belongings. Yes, it's just earthly stuff. Yes, I can live without it. No, I can't say I haven't shed tears over the sentimentality of it.
Some contents, without our names written on them, of our fridge at last random inspection:
Whipped salad dressing
jar of relish
half a case of cold Boh
old pizza
2 bags of mixed salad
2 litre
pitcher of water
There are so many projects I can't begin to fathom. Projects have to come after the more apparently obvious tasks. I've been trying to scribble down zine titles I like lately...Angular Turnip, These Iron Shoes, & Peach and Kidney. And no, tangible memories did not make the list. Risky Business wants a piece of artwork for his already belated birthday.
And I got back in touch with an old friend that sent me this:
This place is really quiet and solitary. I love it. I also have to get used to it. It has just the right amount of silence, I can hear the tv from the bedroom in the basement, but I can't hear the laundry room from the living room. Spectacular, really. People walking over the steel doors that lead to the basement still freaks me out a tad.
The backyard at night has this orangey glow that makes you feel like you were part of a lead-based, nuclear radiation experiment when you were a small child. I'm glad it's lit though, any dark corners in Philly deserve caution, I don't care who you are. There are also crazy cockroach/giant water bug fuckers running around outside. I blew almost 4 of them off of the wall like I was making the most grandiose birthday wish, ever. I might take up early morning yoga out there. heh!
The internets are only turned on the s.o.'s computer and right now I really want to listen to Of Monteal.
I've already started painting those muti-functional shelves I have that are taking up the only closet in the house. I should've counted them by now. They're raw pine(well some at the moment) and soome of them have been with me for over 2 years now. Probably over 50 actual shelves in all. The kitchen, which I did not expect, is the first room shaping up. We did covet a sanitary kitchen for over a year... I'm thinking of making pillows out of hospital gown fabric for the living room, in addition to eyeball pillows, or maybe the dumpstered papasan into a giant eyeball! Too scary? I keep being told that I'm going to turn the place into a carnival, which is when I reply : "No, I'm not! What'daya have against carnivals anyway?". Its the same person that picked out a daring but ultimately baby puke green that will be gracing the walls in our bed room. I think much can be done with the color but his taste in style is as off kilter as mine. I'm gonna try and pull of the whole jewel tone thing in the living room. And we have decided that flying(I like to think migrating) birds will grace the wall with bikes on it. They can ether be flying north or south. I have to ponder on the metaphorical implications that would contain for me. Maybe I should bust out the Fung Shui bible that is on top of one of the boxes floating around. For good measure. Hrm.
It makes me think of all the cool stuff of mine that I probably will never see again, resting, decaying, being eaten in a hay loft in North Eastern Indiana. Some of those things were very special to me. But they lie in an ocean of other things I can't remember or would want to throw out, if given the chance. My collection of Buddha's hands, the scarecrow, pictures, kitchy junk that was hand picked by me. If I could have some of it back I would gladly discard half of my belongings. Yes, it's just earthly stuff. Yes, I can live without it. No, I can't say I haven't shed tears over the sentimentality of it.
Some contents, without our names written on them, of our fridge at last random inspection:
Whipped salad dressing
jar of relish
half a case of cold Boh
old pizza
2 bags of mixed salad
2 litre
pitcher of water
There are so many projects I can't begin to fathom. Projects have to come after the more apparently obvious tasks. I've been trying to scribble down zine titles I like lately...Angular Turnip, These Iron Shoes, & Peach and Kidney. And no, tangible memories did not make the list. Risky Business wants a piece of artwork for his already belated birthday.
And I got back in touch with an old friend that sent me this: