Fly High to the Angels

Lately I've felt the pull of dark spaces with mod, streamlined furnishings. Oh, who am I kidding -- I always feel that way. Well today I'm busting out my bestest of the best... I've been hoarding some of these for a while now, and I feel a little verklempt about releasing them into the world, like a momma bird pushing her babies out of the nest. You bitches better come back to me -- I mean, I love you and want you to fly on your own. And then COME BACK.

I usually only show odd numbers of pics for my posts because I am OCD like that (and because odd numbers are infinitely superior), but anything else I add to this group will just destroy the mojo.

Bask in the glory. Soak in the coolness. Fly like a winged evangelist and spread the moody word.

[Living Etc, Wallpaper, Curbed NY, Mark Seelen]

Yet Another House Hunting Fail

We've pretty much given up on our new house dream -- for this season at least. The Austin market is overheated and overpriced (we hope), and we'd rather wait for things to cool down. Like, maybe on Christmas Day. Despite swearing off any more home tours, I found myself drawn to a particular house like bubbas to the rapture, largely because I spent two or three months trying to get into the same stupid house last year before it was finally yanked off market. What kind of realtor won't allow people to come look at their awesome and amazing house for sale? The kind that has something to hide.

When you look at the pictures, you guys are going to flip, because this place looks like the second coming of Christ. Let me try to explain why it's really just this hellish house 2.0...

Entry = incredible. This house was built in the 70s by a "designer." Hmmmm, not an architect. Ok. Who cares? The neighborhood is a stunner, and even though buying this place would financially destroy us, I am already making plans to sell a kidney.

Upon entry we are informed by the listing agent that the owner installed all the custom *cough* lighting. It looks like Beetlejuice barfed all over the place, but whatevs. It's just light fixtures. And hideous tiles. And ugly doors... but it's all cosmetic, right?

The owners also built this delightful concrete island, with custom beetlejuice uplighting. I want to take a sledgehammer to the entire kitchen -- which is teeny tiny, by the way. Count the cabinets... sike! Many are just for show.

Pop quiz: where is the master bedroom? Answer: in a labyrinthine hidden door BEHIND THE FIREPLACE. wtf???

The house is surrounded by incredible decks that overlook the yard -- only problem is that I'm afraid my foot might go through a board (did I mention I might have to sell Ben's kidney to buy this house, too? no money for repairs). Also there is a weird stairway that goes to the bottom deck, and the opening is only four feet tall. Ike has no problem fitting through the Willy Wonka door, but even shorty me is screwed. We are informed that the "designer" meant to do that because it's "funny." Why was this place not built by an architect???

Speaking of the yard, it's actually pretty great, except for the rickety death fort and the weird drainage ditch that runs across its full length. Oh, and it backs up to a main road.

But we haven't yet discussed the main, uh, focal point of the home. Hmmm... what's that I spy through those windows?

Oh, it's just a 2.5 story waterfall running through the center of the house. Seriously, ya'll, this thing is SO MUCH BIGGER than it appears in the photo. Like almost 30 feet tall. Check the chairs for scale. Notice the stairway through the window. And then look at the green water and imagine this thing backing up in the middle of your house... Do you think this is cool? I admit it's pretty spectacular -- like it's a SPECTACLE. But it is also very very weird. And BIG.

Still, I think I might get over living in fear of a septic meltdown if this place were cheap. Or in any way functional. Instead, it was built by a "designer" who valued a giant waterfall over kitchen space, who hid the master bedroom behind the fireplace, and who built rooms you could only see from the outside. The whole house is like a labyrinth of doors and useless rooms. It's bizarre.

If the price drops 100k, then I think we should buy it, right? And judging by the alternating looks of shame and terror flashing across the listing agent's face, it just might.

Erin's Artwork, Lazy Friday Edition

I feel guilty for treating y'all like a captive audience and forcing you to look at some art I added to my website, but not so guilty that I'm not going to do it. Mostly it's because I am lazy and don't feel like digging up a real post. No wait, strike that -- it's because these photographs are so AMAZING and INCREDIBLE that I felt I would be doing you a disservice to withhold them. Even I didn't believe that. Whatever. I'm posting them anyway.

These images are from a series of large format photographs I did on my home town Texarkana, a wee settlement at the corner of Texas, Arkansas and Louisiana. Shocking, given the name.

Texarkana is a funny place. Like any small hometown, it has more than its fair share of a provincial mindset. I found myself bursting at the seams by the ripe old age of 15, grown too big for all those little ideas.

Or so I thought. Once gone, I was surprised by how very much I missed driving the lonely highways at night, with no one except for the armadillos and opossums to witness my attempts to break the sound barrier in my battered Mazda 626.

And, trite though it may be to write this, I miss hauling our little red wagon full of cow bones around the levees of our family farm more than I ever thought possible.

I kind of hate that I was so cynical about home when I was there, but I suppose that is the teenage condition. And I suppose nostalgia is the adult equivalent, because home is not a real place; it's a state of being that dissipates along with acne and adolescence.

Holy crap, that was way too heavy for a Friday.

Go see some more pictures from this series here if you dare.

Have a super weekend, y'all!