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Painting update.

Update: I had my painter come over to give me a quote on a job in another room and he looked at my hallway project and said, "Did you sand the doors?" and I sheepishly said no. And he shrugged and said, "Oh goodie. More work for me eventually."

I love that guy. He just painted that hallway last year and it was like I was pissing all over his baby or something.

Want.



My chrome obsession rages on. I need a new house for these, though. A big, modern, all new house.

Ok - - speaking of new houses, the ladies across the street just moved out. They sold their house to the people behind them. That couple now has two houses. What kind of impulse purchase is that?? What are they going to do with the second house? Rumor has it, the nanny will stay there. At what point do you look around Montlake and just conclude, it's not THAT great. If you can buy a second house, just move to Denny Blaine. Upgrade, people. Oy.

But I'm not bitter. At all.

Where do you stop painting?


I am painting my little hallway a color called French Beret. It's charcoal-y and dark. Here's my dilemma: if the adjacent room is white, where do I stop painting the trim? I am painting all the trim in the hallway the same color... just an eggshell finish of the same French Beret wall color. Where on the trim do I stop painting and keep it white? (Does that make sense?)

(Why am I doing this myself? Where are my assistants???? Where is Harvey Millstein, Certified Interior Decorator when I need him??)

Just 196 days...




Sometimes in shitty Seattle, you need something to look forward to.

Flipping through Lonny.


I need a simple pendant for my office. Like this one.



And I would like this giant tub (and an all-new bathroom) for Christmas, please.

Photos from the latest Lonny.

Can't stop listening to this.

If you've been in Seattle driving around wondering, "Who's that elderly person singing along to this hot new jam?" the answer is me.

Love the little move he makes when he sings, "Make the floor shake..."

Inside out.

I need a house like this. Slide open the massive door and live a little inside out.


You can see more photos on THIS blog.


I just got this back from the framer and now I feel like I need a new house to put it in. Dare to dream.

Alex Prager

Where do you put a big photo of bikini'd asses?? This is the question of the day around the house.

Churchy.



I kinda dig THIS place.





But good luck selling it with these shit-shacks going in next door. (God bless google street view...)

For Christmas, I would like:


THESE, please.

Browsing the auction lots at Phillips de Pury & Co makes my whole body burn with desire.

Put your pants on, Anna.




I really love her, but I think I am too old for this. (She may be, too.) But, you gotta like her ambition. I won't hurl my leg over my head for anything these days.

Can you believe she's come out with her own perfume? Oy.

More photos from her W spread (heh, heh) HERE if you dare.

Can we please talk about Barbra Streisand in Vogue?


Her house... I can't even bear to scan the photos. It's so embarassing.

If someone has the photos to send, I will gladly post.

Discuss.

Life changing.


If he really loves you, he will get you this for Christmas.

LIFE CHANGING. Seriously. Bergamot, angelica, iris, honey, hawthorn, jasmine, heliotrope and white musk. It smells like snow and isn't showy. Someone will have to get really close to smell this on you. Maybe that's the point.


Sometimes people listen to The Decorno.

Alex Prager photo at the Kips Bay thingamajig HERE.


First, Lonny.

Now, Rue?

Best interview ever.


Where did you grow up?
Oh. I’m Cuban. I lived there until I was 15 years old.

How was it to grow up there?
Well, I mean … it’s very … I mean … where did you grow up? As a kid, you’re just growing up in your home. You only know in hindsight what those experiences are like to compared to other situations.

I’m not asking if you had an exceptional childhood, just what your memories of it were.

No … no … I know …



You really have to read every word of it HERE. If only Parade's interviews were this testy and constipated...

(Thanks to Harvey Millstein, Certified Interior Decorator, for sending the link.)

Salvage fail.

Obsessed



...with Tim Lokiec. (Birthday hint. I was kidding when I said I only want a mug with a picture of a pug on it. I really don't. I want art, dammit.)

In other news, don't you think Margaret Russell should do an Elle Decor book about art and collectors? Juicy photos and (brief) stories on collecting high & low, how people arrange it, how to frame it, unusual collections, artist homes they've featured, etc etc? And print it up big-style, and blow up the photos for more detail of the walls and arrangements.

Lastly - this month's Elle Decor? I could do without Ellen P's mug, but what did you guys think of the cover? Closer in. More personal, right? Did you love it? Or did it look too InStyle? Either way, I liked the homes. I love the sunny, happy spring/summer issues. Wards off that Seattle suicide feeling.

Are you going to watch Bravo's Work of Art?


HERE. (ArtFagCity = my new favorite blog.) and HERE.

Nick Olsen is an opium-addicted Chinese hooker.


Not really, but it's fun to say!

Looky HERE, Nick's place is featured in the new Lonny mag.

If you don't read Nick's BLOG, you should. Seriously.

Here...


you go look at THIS while I go to Palm Springs.

I didn't have the stomach to tackle this topic...

... but HOBAC did. Read it HERE.

I knew I was in trouble when I skimmed the press release and read this:

"I wanted something elegant and gorgeous and at the same time rather masculine and raw. I guess I would describe the apartment as bohemian old-world rustic chateau with a taste of baroque."


And then this awesome comment:

What should Drucker do to make Town & Country great?


Discuss.

Big news on the magazine front:


(Thanks to my hot tipper, Harvey Millstein)


Many changes to report:

Stephen Drucker will move to Town and Country, shaking the dust off Miss Havisham.

Dara Caponigro (formerly at Domino) will revive Veranda. This is SUCH great news. Veranda is a great magazine for the "I-have-money-and-I-am-over-50" set. Hopefully Dara can make it a tad younger and sneak in some newness while reducing the number of "look at my French-inspired southern chateau" stories.

Newell Turner takes over House Beautiful. Yay, Newell.


HERE.

Good things.

1. Broken Bells.

2. Particuliere in all its dumster-y grey glory.




3. I won our Final Four pool here at home. I'm rich, bitches!

Perivolas





Yes, please. HERE.

Hey, remember this?

HERE. Amazon has it available to watch right now. Just click on the "Video on Demand" link and you can rent it now to watch on your laptop, or download it to your Tivo.

Total fucking magic.

A funeral for top 40.





I bought a car in Oct and drove away only to realize that the CD player didn't work. I finally got it fixed in Dec, and then on one freezing morning, I pulled a CD out a little to eagerly, and broke the new stereo. So, since then I have had nothing but radio to listen to. Usually, I live in a hermetically sealed world consisting only of my own (mostly old) music. I should note that for me, my musical adventurousness stopped around 1994. I still keep Liz Phair on deck, and I could probably listen to nothing but Afghan Whigs and The Twilight Singers for the rest of my life. Until two weeks ago, I was convinced that Taylor Swift got famous on American Idol (I don't watch it, clearly). I abandoned staying "current" with musical a long time ago, and my ignorance shows it.

But for the last five months as I have been forced to turn to the radio for my "car"aoke sessions, I have built a deep and meaningful relationship with 93.3. I know the top 40 list by heart. I have bonded with Drake, Trey Songz, Birdman and Lil' Wayne. When "Say Something" comes on, this bitch turns that shit up. Early on during The Broken CD Player Crisis of 2009 - 2010, I heard this one song which was new to me, and thought, "Oh, this is kind of cute...." I actually went to buy it on iTunes later on, thinking it would be a nice addition to my guilty pleasures list. It was Justin Bieber. I felt like a pedophile just listening to this tweener. I felt even deeper shame when I learned that Justin Bieber has one person on his staff whose sole job is to show JB how to "act cool." (Save us, Jesus.)

But as of yesterday, my better half coordinated installation of an iPod connection in my car and I am back to my old self. If you heard someone barreling down the freeway this morning with the radio blasting "Underneath the Waves" or "Fuck and Run," then that was me.

1994 (and its cousins).... it's good to be back!

In celebration of this rebirth, I present to you choice cuts from the world's narrowest iPod playlist... mine:
















(Candy Cane Crawl is especially good.... go grab a pack of cloves, start smoking 1988-style and listen for the amazing backing vocals of Ani DiFranco. I am not even an Ani fan, but holy shit. Be patient and keep going until at least 2:20 when Greg Dulli really leans into it. Afghan Whigs and Twilight Singers are best played on blast, and better still at night.)

Confidential to Newell T:

Are you still digging on How to Make It In America?

I am not sure sure. I am through episode 3. Not sure if I will watch #4. What do you think?

I am against accent walls...



... but pro lazy-cats-on-tables. So this is my dilemma.

Yum.



My brother-in-law is irritated that I have never blogged about him. Funny. I try not to blog about people I know because I think they might enjoy their privacy.

Let me just tell you this: He's an amazing cook and when you watch him in the kitchen, it's like seeing someone completely in his element. He really just needs to chuck it all and start working in a restaurant somewhere.

He made these treats for Oscar night. Little servings of creme brulee in spoons. Delicious. And clever. Go Tom.

Bubbies.


omg, why didn't anyone tell me??? Amazing.

Neko does Harry.



If I could sing like this, I would sing everything. All the time. All day. Every day.

Seattle people.



This ad played before A Single Man, which we saw this weekend at the Harvard Exit theater.

Very loud hissing from the Seattle audience. The Stella Artois ads are kind of pushing our limits. I don't think the LVMH people (or their ad agency) really understand their markets, you know? You can't tell Seattle people that the $1000 Keepall 55 is really about "the journey."




HERE.

(The trash bags are so hilarious... what I would give for LV toilet paper or LV trash can liners.)

Oh, youth.

I love these songs. Haven't heard them in ages.



Make lemonade.




Nia commented today on THIS old post and I thought I would throw it out there for comment.


The implied premise here is that if you aren't willing to spend $700, you won't get a quality product. I don't buy that.


Price isn't always an indication of quality; sometimes it's merely an measure of arbitrary mark-up... or economies of scale (or lack of). If you want something custom, or if you're buying bench-made shoes, one component of price in the shoe example might be the creation of the last. You need to make & sell a certain number of shoes from it before you can cover the cost of your capital expense. This is probably the same with lighting. There's this initial cost to get the item into production and then you have the benefit of economies of scale, right?

But when this topic comes up, no one can actually explain to me WHY the light at Veritables is better quality than a knock-off at Restoration. I am not interested here in discussion why one should or should not buy a knock-off. What I am interested in discussing is, on what basis could someone look at a $700 light from Circa and tell me with this much certainty that a $400 light wouldn't be just as good in terms of quality and function?

Can't wait to see this.




I'm a sucker for documentaries.

HERE.

Wow.







HERE.

It's Thursday, and you know what that means... The New York Times practically writes my post for me. (Thanks, Big T!)

I present to you this Las Vegas treasure in all its glue-gunned glory. You can't really hate this place or these people. PURE LOVE:

Mr. Hart, a singer and composer whose gospel musical, “Sisterella,” counted Michael Jackson among its producers, created all eight bedrooms: the four-poster swags made of bed sheets; the ruched silk ceilings; the gold-leafed armchairs, which he bought 30 years ago for $10 apiece and gold-leafed himself.

“All my family has a black belt in shopping, and we have radar when something is 70 percent off,” Mr. Hart said.

Understood. But why so much?

“I’m just from Texas,” Ms. Hart said. “I like it big.”



And:


On arrival, though, it was clear that informal is something the Harts do not do. A round table had been set in the grand foyer with a printed menu, and red napkins were stuffed into black patent-leather stilettos on each plate. Tiny glass slippers had been hot-glued to the side of wineglasses from the local Dollar Tree store (a precarious gig for the reporter’s slipper, which fell off in her hand). More glass shoes had been glued to a six-foot silver-and-faux-candle candelabra.

Holy shit!

Mr. Hart wrote a song called “Big Hair Gets You Closer to God." I just thought you should know.



More from the article:


Ms. Hart began renting out the house for weddings in the mid-’80s, though she also officiated at Las Vegas chapels. She’s had her share of celebrities but is proud to say she’s always been discreet.

But weddings can be grueling, and disgruntled modern brides, aided by the Internet, vicious. “Totally run-down, tacky fake flowers everywhere, roaches, brought-in food and located in a horrible part of town with no outside ambience,” groused one, under the name travilyaya, on tripadvisor.com, with the heading “Do NOT Do It There.”

That review hurt Ms. Hart horribly — it was “not remotely accurate,” she said. But since she is getting on and is sick of mopping all those floors, she recently put the Hartland Mansion up for sale, for $8.5 million.

Larry, who now runs an events company called Botanica Las Vegas with his partner, Michael Flach, lives in a town house in the suburbs, and Ms. Hart often stays at her condo at the Las Vegas Country Club. The 34-pound bedspread in her grand bedroom at the Hartland Mansion is too heavy for her, she said, and when she does stay there, she sleeps in a workroom littered with bills.

The only family member who still lives at Hartland full time is Garry, in a suite off limits to reporters and reportedly utterly free of pearls.
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