Domesticity

I don't recall whether I've used this photo in the blog. I know I once intended to but removed the entry because it just seemed too lame. But the photo, I think, is quite funny.

The painting comes from the basement of my apartment building. In the laundry room is this weird scene covering the walls. Fields, frollicking squirrels with massive acorns, sihouettes of horses and riders on the horizon. There's a fox. There's a barn. It's all done in something of a joyous Hamm's woodland pastoral style.

(The beer refreshing!)

And then there's this white owl. On which someone, probably years before I moved here, has painted a boner.

Normalizations



The word domesticity seems like a mistake. I'm fine with the concept, but the word just seems like...hmm. Like "normalcy." My recollection on that one is that President Wilson uttered it post-stroke and people ran with it because it would have been mean to do otherwise.

Things get scrambled in my head, as they had in Wilson's head, I suppose. I've referred to shopping plazas as placentas. I've referred to curdling up with a good book. And I'm not even from the Isle of Meapos.

But lately I've been feeling rather domestic and enjoying it. Putting nails in walls. Hanging things on those nails. Sifting through boxes. Setting things aside for donation. Setting other things aside to hide within other things so that not even the garbage man might discover such embarrassing possessions. For example, an elf candle. Who gave this to me? Why did I keep it? It's not even something I'd burn just to watch its head melt. It's just too creepy.

(Alas! Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's soap opera swag! I'm keeping my Men of Days of Our Lives puzzle, thank you very much. AND the N'Sync sticker book, though I will send N'Sync stickers to anyone who would like one. Warning: my supply of Timberlakes is low, as he was my favorite to paste in empty cubes back in my office days. The Men of Days is available on loan, but only to the most trustworthy. Kitsch this powerful doesn't saunter along often.)

Along with my copy of Super Cat, I've unearthed many lost treasures, including a high volume of items sent without signature or explanation from Urbana, Illinois' Gehngis John.

The one that tickled me most yesterday:



This clothes drying rack schematic. At the top he's highlighted a copy error and added his commentary:



A 27-foot rack? Indeed.
-cK