June 20, 2006

Curtains and Commitment

It used to be that I did not consider myself settled into a place until there were curtains. If my apartment came pre-packaged with those cheap white mini-blinds I would immediately exorcise them and install my own curtains, most often hand-stitched and hung on a wooden dowel I had cut to size at the lumber yard.

So, it’s saying something that yesterday I finally bought curtains. What’s more, I purchased a pre-fab curtain rod at a large chain store that tries to convince you that you NEED a gold metallic toilet-brush holder, and a soap dish with fishes suspended in blue oil, and 600 thread-count duvet covers made of easily staining white, and a neat little wooden thing that goes over your lap on the bed so you can write or eat toast and drink mimosas out of champagne flutes that you can also buy at the store. I always feel out of place in this type of store. Once, when wandering through an identical looking store in California with my friend Kyle, we came across a pillow grotto that was at least 25 feet deep and 45 feet high. It was faintly reminiscent of a scene from The Labrynth, with the exception that The Labrynth only had one big flaming fag in it (not that it stopped me and my 12 year old best friend from fully checking out his spandexed package), and there were at least two sets of them either entering or exiting the grotto, when I turned to Kyle, while holding up a “pillow” encased in perfectly aligned squares of leather and exclaimed, “Look at this pillow Kyle! This is SO GAY!” One of the couples blanched at what appeared to be a straight couple high on shrooms clearly ridiculing their unique way of life. This was no so. I just wanted some simple pillows for my livingroom and Kyle was being a good friend by supporting me in my search. He responded by holding up a wine-colored “pillow” dotted with little fake crystals and beads. “How are you supposed to rest your head on this thing?!” He exclaimed. This was back when Pottery Barn was pioneering throw pillow art by installing all sorts of inappropriately sharp devices on them in order to spice up their nauseatingly boring line of home furnishings.

Clearly high on the fumes from the fresh-from-the-factory pillows, Kyle spun around and found himself face to face with a five by five panel of pillows covered in a heavy duty pastel shag. “What the hell are these?” He cried out, clearly in pain.

“It’s… it’s a toilet seat cover!” I yelled back. Kyle doubled over in what appeared to be a drug-induced hysterical laughter… the kind where you can’t make any sound, but have to lie down and curl up because it hurts too much.

A few minutes after Kyle got up off the floor, we stumbled out of the pillow grotto, and towards a bevy of beds so bedecked with beads, baubles and bolsters that it was impossible to determine how they could be slept in. Tempted by an aisle of nameless things I did not need, I left Kyle to his own devices while I fondled fabric samples, massaged vinyl casings and squinted at price tags. When I came around the corner, there was Kyle, throwing himself across a faux-fur bed spread.

“Just look at this thing!” He cried out. “This makes me want to tear my liver out!” I’m not joking. That’s what he said.

Anyways. It’s hard for me not to react like this every time I enter any kind of superstore, which there are a great number of these days. But after two days of searching for curtains that were not offensively pretentious or made of sateen (whatever the hell that is), I’m embarrassed to admit that I found some at a store that is so pretentiously hip that they are selling ratty old trucker-caps and patched up army bags, as well as a number of suspiciously 80’s era belts, hats, off-the shoulder shirts and skirts. It’s all very embarrassing. But the mini-blinds were really doing me in. And the other chain stores haven’t figured out that not everybody wants to dress up their windows like a funeral home or an ice-cream parlor.

Since the last pathetic post about my empty apartment, I have also invested in some new very portable furniture. They’re called pillows (sans leather squares and crystals). I refuse to buy a couch. Or a chair. It’s just so… old-fashioned. I’ve been hard at work re-shaping my simple life.

I stayed up last night till after midnight hand-screwing in the holders for one of my curtain rods (the cheap one that I bought at the hardware store) and triumphantly stringing the little curtain loops onto the fake metal and then standing back to admire the sudden change wrought upon my living space by three curtains and an overpriced extendable curtain rod. I guess I’m committed now. Which is probably the most I’ve done with the C-word in quite some time.