I’m just gonna warn you right now that I have no direction in mind today. I just opened the laptop, asked Edsel to MOVE HIS DAMN HEAD oh my god with that dog, and got started with talking to you.
Why do I get all these clingy animals, such as for example e.g. Lily and Edsel? I like a hands-off pet, whom I can admire from a distance. You know who I liked? Steely Dan. Oh, I loved that cat. He really, really is keeping his distance at present.
I keep hoping the chip people will call me and say they found him, and he’ll be an older, grizzled, cuddlier version of Steely Dan. Like when Morgan Freeman got out of prison. Red was here.
Oh! I know something I can tell you!
This was my grandmother’s chair. The grandmother I’ve turned into. When she owned it, it was a burgundy Naugahyde with brass tacks in it. At some point in the ’70s, she gave it to my mother and me.
This weekend I went through every photo I have, throwing out stupid pictures of scenery, out-of-focus shots, people I didn’t know, etc. (Although of course I still have my collection of photos of people I don’t know.) (There’s a difference between photos of people I don’t know from 1940 as opposed to some random guy in a Saginaw bar in 1990.) (I don’t KNOW why. Stop asking.)
I got rid of a ton of useless photos (really, stop taking pictures of the horizon) and reorganized my photo area in these roomy 1922 closets I have here. At some point I found a shot of Grammy’s chair in its original state; when we first got it it was still burgundy Naugahyde. And did I take a photo of it to show you? I did not. It sort of looked like this, although of course not this shape:
I gotta tell you: I hate today’s designs. Everything looks thin and flimsy. It’s all supposed to look “clean” but to me it just looks unsubstantial. Like a souffle. Everything’s a souffle and I want a steak.
That table would fall right over if you sat on it in conversation. You’re tryina have a dramatic Lifetime Television fight, and you sit on the edge of that table for emphasis, and go flying. Also, what’s that douche doing on the table?
Anyway, Grammy’s chair used to be burgundy Naugahyde and it had, like, brass tacks along it. I sort of wish it still looked like that. Grammy was always in it, with her More cigarette and her thick plastic insulated glass filled with diet 7-Up on ice. I believe she stored that on a TV tray, and why didn’t she get a real side table?
At some time in the ’90s, my mother recovered the chair. In 2011 she gave it to me.
My dogs immediately got this fabric dirty, and I really never cottoned to the Little Naugahyde on the Prairie look of this fabric. So when I finally got some money together, I had it recovered.
Careful viewers will note the footstool is missing. That is because recovering the chair was, like, $750, and I didn’t have the scratch for the footstool. You know who DOES have the scratch for the chair? That goddamn Milhous, who is the scratchiest cat I’ve ever owned.
Anyway, last week I got an email. The guy who owns the recovering store, which I would have called 12-Step Recovery but he did not, sent out an email saying although his place wasn’t open, he was willing to let people drop off their stuff safely, contact-free, and he would personally recover furniture one piece at a time, not using any employees.
I’ve been killing myself tryina support my friends with small businesses. Kit’s going to be able to survive another month because I just spent $15 on a pair of camellia prints from the ’30s. I actually can’t wait to get my prints. She’s delivering them to my door because I have an in.
Kit is currently on Instagram (@designarchivesvintage) doing videos, showing off her wares since people can’t go to her stores, and I screamed on over to tell her I wanted the camellia prints she was recently touting. “I thought of you when I saw those,” she said, because I’m overblown and slightly red.
So I emailed my furniture guy. “I want my footstool recovered! Can you fit me in?” And that is how I found myself driving across town to the guy’s store. The parking lot was empty. It was all sort of eerie. He came out with mask and gloves, propped open his door, I ran just barely inside with the footstool, never speaking to him, ran back to my car, and then we made plans over the phone.
It’s gonna cost $200, which I don’t actually have to spend, but I’m trying, folks. I’m trying to help.
The best part of that whole scenario was finding the fabric I’d bought for the footstool. I knew it was here somewhere. The fabric store had had a big sale at one point, and I knew I wanted to one day cover that dang thing, so back on October 4, 2018 I traipsed out to the fabric shop and got it on the cheap. I know this because once I finally located that fabric in this roomy house, it was still in the original shopping bag with the receipt still tidily inside.
Anyway that’s exciting. I’ll have a footstool for Milhous to claw. Also new camellia prints that are old.
I’d better go. Yesterday I did the thing where I changed from pajamas to a new pair of pajamas. Today my goal is to shower and put on yoga pants. I know! Stretch goals.
You know what really annoys me, other than having a pandemic, which is annoying in general? My counters are always sticky. Is this what happens when you eat at home all the time? And WHY are they always sticky? I feel like I’m constantly wiping them, and then next time I check, WHAT IS ON THE COUNTER?
Also I run the dishwasher like 5x a week. I used to run it once weekly.
I miss Sonic. I miss my Sonic youth.
Okay, really going now.
The touch, the feel, of June-ton