Photo courtesy Flickr
This was written last week.
Churning paperwork at home, I’m watching a cheesy broadcast jet-set thriller from the late Sixties or early Seventies. Bikini-clad female deck hands with giant eyelashes are waging a pirate battle with some guy in a shiny grey suit. You know the drill. The interesting parts of this movie are the backgrounds. Looks like authentic neo-classical furniture and architecture, at least to this kid from the West End. Presumably people with big houses to maintain didn’t mind renting them out for a production. If you like this style, it’s not hard to find copies at Episcopal thrift shops. The work dates from a time when the hardwood supply was adequate. Painted a slightly yellowish white, they’re Gustavian.
A few minutes ago I tuned in to the all-Sandy all the time channel to see what was going on, and was treated to a shot of somebody’s soggy rec room, thanks to a missing wall. My great-grandmother used to exhort her daughters to wear decent underclothing when they left the house, in case they had an accident. That’s especially important in a small town. My mother chuckled when she told me the policy, but she did tell me.
I keep this barn in decent shape so unplanned visits aren’t embarrassing (and because it’s easier that way), but I have never considered the possibility of network cameras broadcasting my design decisions to the world. Should have thought of that the day my kid quietly pointed out the iPhone in his palm. The screen displayed an unflattering shot of me ahead of him in a cafeteria line.