Thu 14 May 2009 |
|
 I saw it on a Dr. Phil show, so it must be true. There’s a syndrome, I don’t remember the name, whereby something in the future seems like a good idea, but when it gets closer, not so much. The show was about marriage and the men who avoid it, but my complex is about curtains. (Where is Jill Zarin when you need her?) Or, more broadly, it's about decorating.When we moved into this apartment, we planned a “Before” and “After” party. We threw the first one before the furniture had arrived (more room for dancing and carrying on), with pictures pinned on the walls showing what would end up where (a Tiffany lamp here, an Oriental rug there, some bookcases by the fireplace). We even had a contest for the best decorating tip, with a bottle of champagne as the prize. The winner was: a lap pool in the hallway between the bedrooms. Great idea, but it never happened. And as you may have guessed, neither did the “After” party . . . We got the basics, like a table and chairs, a bed, some reading lamps, then went around to antique shows for many years picking up this and that. We also foraged in my husband’s warehouse, where we found some cool things: Depression glassware (how appropriate is that right now!), the hood ornament from a vintage Buick and a pair of end tables from his mother with marble on top. The tables, not his mother, may she rest in peace. Anyone from that side of the family, now hear this: I am NOT giving up those tables. Anyway. The apartment really looks kinda nice, at least to us. But no one would think that a decorator had come within miles of it. The worst thing —maybe the only really bad thing — are the curtains. Let's face it, I have no talent for curtains. Remember when it was the style to have bedroom curtains made from designer sheets? No? Well, it was a good concept. You picked a nice pattern for the bed, bought a bunch of extra flat sheets and turned them over to someone who knew what they were doing, who made you curtains. And then everything would go together and you’d live happily ever after with lots of pleasant dreams. The thing is, no one counted on me (They were too busy counting threads, I suppose.) I picked a lovely set of coordinating sheets, beautiful floral prints in pastel colors from the designer Vittadini, as I recall. Pretty! Not cheap! So far, so good. But when the curtains were made and hung on the windows, they looked monumentally awful. I mean really, really bad. Not just "off," but off-the-charts terrible. The gathering of the fabric had compressed the pattern and it had become too dense and flowery for words. Honestly. Even I was speechless. I tried to explain how horrible they were to a friend, and she suggested that I just had to "get used to them." I had always had plain, cream or beige colored, curtains, she explained, so these might just look too different. Oh, they were different, all right. When I invited her over, she left the room immediately and made me promise that I would never, ever pick out a curtain fabric again, not on my own. The thing is, I never think that I am on my own. I think I’m getting help. The guys at the fabric store seem so nice and so knowledgeable. The man who made the bed sheet curtains didn’t flinch when I showed him the material. Don’t these people know who they’re dealing with? Can’t they stop me before I drape again? I will, you know. Ages ago, they started doing point work on my building. If you don’t live in an apartment building, or you’re not seriously into construction, or you’re not a guy, you have no idea what I’m talking about. Well, they have crews on scaffolding that park outside your window and make the most deafening sounds you have ever heard. They are fixing the bricks and mortar, more or less. And they come back every morning around 8, for days or weeks until they don’t anymore, and you think they’re finished. They’re not. They’re never finished. They come back and make even more noise, because, we were told at the shareholder meeting, some inspector made them do it over. And over. Ad nauseum. Maybe this is hopelessly naïve of me, but wouldn’t it be possible for them to get it right the first time? Don't Put Them Up — Put It Off. Forever, if possible The only good thing about this, apart from the fact that it needs to be done so that stuff won’t fall off the building and hit someone on the head, was that it postponed the job of getting new curtains for the bedroom. Besides the noise, this whole procedure kicks up a lot a dust, so you don’t want to be putting up new curtains until it’s done. It’s done. They said it couldn’t be done, but it’s done. Gulp! What do I do now? I know what you’re thinking: the curtains we have now must be pretty horrendous for me to even think about replacing them, given my history and all. Not so. They’re just very old, and very boring. Beige, semi-sheer, yawn. (After the flower fiasco, what did you expect?) And besides, I was thinking — just thinking, you understand— about getting some nice velvet ones (dark red even!) with that backing that blocks light (then I could also get rid of the exceeding ugly shades that currently serve this purpose) and noise (not even the double-paned windows shuts out Second Avenue, home of 24-hour sirens and city buses that screech to a halt all day and night). But changing the curtains (GASP! ) means making decorating decisions. It means going to Zarin Fabrics downtown and picking out a fabric. So many fabrics! Then choosing a style. So many styles! Do I even know what I like? Then a curtain rod. You think that’s easy? Haven’t I already told you that Nothing Is Easy? Tie-backs? Tassels? Can you feel me hyperventilating in here? Deep breath. Look on the bright side. I have a nice apartment. I can take one of those noisy buses right down Second Avenue to Zarin Fabrics. Maybe I could bribe or cajole a friend into going with me. (This is a thankless job.) Hey! Maybe Jill Zarin will be there. She’s fearless: she could help me decide what to do. Maybe the other Housewives of New York City will show up for a charity cocktail party or something (oh god, what will I wear?) and we’ll all have a merry old time. Maybe I’ll have a few drinks and I won’t care what curtains I order. And when they arrive, they wouldn’t be . . . terrible. They won’t scare the horses, if horses ever happen stop by for a visit here on the fourteenth floor. They’ll be . . . okay. Nice even, or is that just way too much to hope for? Maybe I should just get it over with and call Dr. Phil. I have his number here someplace.  Or is it just THE BEGINNING . . . Can someone out there please give me some advice? Quick! This could be . . .curtains for me. |
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Bitter Patter
Friday the 13th
Came and went.
I bought a lottery ticket
And didn't win.
Reread
THE 13th FLOOR
To remind myself how lucky I am.
WENT FISHING!
Well, eating fish anyway.
And swimming, although not with the fishes in the Uncle Nunzio sense.
Back from the Caribbean.
But don't be TOO jealous:
My tan has already faded.
Besdies, before we left, I had to go through
THE ELEVEN STAGES OF PACKING
Which is not for sissies.
Just got a call from
(Gasp!) the dental hygienist.
Hasn't she read:
A DEVOUT COWARD
GOES TO THE DENTIST
Do NOT Google Santorum.
I warned you . . .
Just as I posted I WAS THE GIRL PHANTOM, I found a website called The Ghost Who Blogs about The Phantom comics:
http://falkonthewildside.blogspot.com
Writing Comics. . .
Was a small but wonderful part of my checkered career, and doing a post about it brought back a lot of great memories. If you know any other women in NYC who wrote — or are writing — comics, tell me how to get in touch with them.
I'm on a watching-old-movies kick these days.
Great way to lose yourself.
If you're lucky, you'll never be found.
REVIEWS TO PERUSE
I'm All Right, Jack:
"Jack" is not just all right, it's totally delightful and fresh as a daisy after all these years (made in 1959), with Sellers, although not technically the lead, giving the brilliant performance that launched him as an international star. He plays an all-too-zealous union leader and father of a blonde bombshell who falls for Stanley, the British Upper Class Twit played, also to perfection, by Ian Carmichael, who you might remember from the Lord Peter Wimsey series. The makeout scenes between the the Twit and the Bombshell are priceless. But what is Stanley doing in this working class atmosphere anyway? Working. And too well at that. Forced by financial circumstances too dreary to discuss, he gets a job in his uncle's factory and messes things up for the other workers by, well, working, and thus making his fellow employees look bad. The film takes a big shot at unions — but also at management: they are manipulating white-collar thieves who'll do anything for a buck. Or a pound. Except for the ones, like Major Hitchcock, played by Terry Thomas, who are just plain lazy and inept. Needless to say, Stanley foils everybody's plans, labor and management alike, to my great joy and delight. Oh, and on top of everything else, Margaret Rutherford plays dotty dowager Aunt Dolly. Delicious!
The Big Lebowski:
What can you say that hasn't been said before: brilliant, inspired, with some of the most memorable lines ever to come out of a movie, the most quoted being "The Dude abides." Oh yes. For anyone who hasn't yet seen the film, and it's now out in a special Blu-Ray edition if that floats your bowling ball. The Dude in question, played to perfection by Jeff Bridges, is an out-of-work pothead who is roughed up and has his rug destroyed by some thugs mistaking him for another, bigger, Lebowski. The Dude is really upset about this because, man, "that rug really tied the room together," which The Dude says with all seriousness and not a trace of irony, a great comic touch considering the condition his condition is in. Oh, and besides "Just Dropped In," all the music is perfect for the film. The plot, according to Wikipedia, which has been known to be wrong, is "loosely based on Raymond chandler's novel, The Big Sleep." Could be. But who cares. It involves a bowling competition, "the occasional acid flashback," a trophy wife, a group of German nihilists, a kidnapping gone awry, a mad millionaire and his lackey, in another great performance by Philip Seymour Hoffman. Actually, they're all great performances. Never a fan of John Goodman before or since, he is brilliant in this film. And so are John Turturro, overacting his little heart out, Steve Buscemi in a nerdy, needy role that makes you marvel at his star turn in Boardwalk Empire, and even the actors in the smaller parts, especially Julianne Moore and Sam Elliott. Elliott plays The Stranger (God? Everyman? The part of us that roots for the bad boy?) who elicits from Bridges the immortal words, "The Dude abides." Which prompts The Stranger to comment to the audience: "Don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners. Shoosh. I sure hope he makes the finals." We'll never know about the bowling trophy because there's never been a sequel to this 1998 film by the great Coen Brothers, and I hope there never will be. It just abides, as all great films do.
Prince of the City:
Okay, the criticisms of this movie are not totally unfounded: it's too long, and Treat Williams may have overacted a bit, although I found him so deliciously charming I couldn't care less, and there's one part concerning the Jerry Orbach character I just didn't understand. But get over it, The New Yorker, this is one powerful movie. And yes, Dog Day Afternoon it isn't, but what it? The DVD has a great special feature with Williams (I so want to call him Treat) and Sidney (what the hell: I once made a meatloaf sandwich for the man) that explains a lot about filmmaking in general and this movie in particular. Also, Sidney's views on good and evil, and how things are not so black and white as you think. I loved it.
Bad Day At Black Rock:
Recommended on TCM by Robert Osbourne as a film he originally had no interest in seeing, then loved it, and by Alex Baldwin, who pointed out the great actors in the cast, including Lee Marvin, Ernest Brognine and Dean Jagger. Well, after all that, I had to like it, right? I did. A lot. It was a Good Day On My Couch.
Behind the Scenes Stuff: Spencer Tracey was off drinking and wouldn't commit to the film until the producers (who wanted him desperately) told him that they had Alan Ladd, at which point Tracey grabbed it. He was perfect for the part, wearing a dark suit and tie the entire time in a western setting, pulling it off perfectly. Other than that "fashion statement," the film makes a strong case against racism: the hatred of the Japanese during WW2. See it.
Song of The Thin Man:
I usually like these frothy, silly, suave, utter unrealistic films from the 30s and 40s, with William Powell and Myrna Loy as the couple we'd all like to be — if only we had the looks, brains, money, a huge capacity for drinking and a dog like Asta. But this one was a stinker, rather than a stinger, or maybe a sinker, because it turned out to be the last, not to mention the least, in the series. Watch any of the others four sequels, but not this one: Even the pooch jumped the shark.
The Children's Hour:
It had its moments, and just looking at Audrey Hepburn makes life worth living, but mostly I kept thinking that the play, by Lillian Hellman, was so much better. It's about two young women runing a school for girls, who are accused by a hateful little brat of being (GASP!) lesbians. And although the closest we get in this 1961 production to using that actual term is the word "unnatural," it's enough to ruin their lives. A young Shirley McClaine is worth seeing in this, and James Garner, and Audrey Hepburn is, well, Audrey Hepburn. The rumor of the love that dare not speak its name is totally untrue — or is it? And I'll say no more, because you should see the movie for yourself, imperfect as it may be, as is Life Itself.
by martinis alone,
I like this blog:
grapesandgreens.blogspot.com
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Comments
You must have missed the episode when Jill Zarin's apartment renovation was presented to her loyal viewers. Even Bethany, her BFF, had nothing nice to say about it. If you don't want a migraine every time you walk in the door, don't you dare call Jill. Take her out for a drink instead.
D
Thanks for the advice, both of you.
What a nice offer! The thing is that I'm up to my you-know-what in blogging, and a few other things, so curtains are taking a back seat for now. But I'm keeping your info and am recommending your site to others who are better and more motivated decorators than I. And sorry, I don't twitter. I'm just not that kind of girl. Yet.
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