Playhouse

I find myself at a crossroads, a crossroads of home decor decision-making. You, you are hopefully at this crossroads with me, patiently twiddling your thumbs in the hopes that I can function for you as a divining rod of interior design. And I can, I think.

This crossing of roads we find ourselves standing at--brought here apparently by magical forces (ie sans trajectory, work with me or I'll have to drop the metaphor). This crossroads is between having nice things and feasting upon the fruits of Bohemia (ie not nice things, but with style). I, myself, am caught. I want some beautiful things, sometimes I need order. But I also like dilapidated things and revel, occasionally, in chaos. What is a boy to do? It is the struggle between adulthood--bourgeois normalcy-- and youthful exuberance (read: folly / fancy). And I, not unlike me, have some ideas.

Playful adulthood. And whimsy (damn I am a sucker for whimsy). I want you to cavort with me for a moment in the fields of youth fancy, to be amazed by small things, fascinated by the things that are silly and fun. Are you there? Are you skipping in joy hand in hand with an out-sized fur penguin? Great. Remember old houses with dumbwaiters and attics and cellars? And hidden passageways and roll-away book cases ad other things that serve really no practical purpose if you aren't an arch-fiend of some sort? Those things were fun but they were also nice, not beat up or trashy. That's a way not to buy into that particular binary (adult / youth) that I so masterfully tricked you into believing a few paragraphs back.

I just want us to think about the future of nice things as unformed, as not uniform. Have fun with things and in your own way. Sorry to harp but DIY it. I promise it is a better use of your time than a lot of things (read: television). I ask a lot of you, I know. But I'm not going to stop, so you bet be getting used to it.