Man Seeks Man to Fight About White Paint With

This is, far and away, the best thing I’ve ever found in a thrift store.

This is my boyfriend, Max. Isn’t he precious? I know, you don’t have to tell me.

Max is wonderful. He puts up with all the significant amount of crazy I have to offer with enthusiastic courtesy, and he’s far sweeter to me than I often deserve.

He supports my bad habits with panache, like helping me drag this bar cart off the street that is currently gathering dust in my kitchen (it looked cute in my old living room, I swear!).

He is a devoted Harry Potter enthusiast.

He got brains, too.

He is hilarious and kind and completely useless with tools and just the sort of person I want to come home to everyday. Turns out, I’ve conned him into thinking the same about me. Minus the tool thing, seeing as I’m all handy ‘n stuff.

So, Max officially moved in yesterday!

He brings with him an impressive dowry, including an A/C unit, several fans, and his Pratt desk from West Elm. (Which it turns out is very hard to photograph when it’s so bright out. I think I need camera lessons.)

And a KitchenAid Stand Mixer. I might only be in it for the mixer. Hello, my precious.

As a veteran blogger and trained artsy weirdo, Max doesn’t exactly take all of my decorating ideas and ideals lying down, especially since we have very different tastes. This is the boy who once had his apartment written about in the New York Times under the headline “Anything But White.” Moving in with me. Go fucking figure.

So not only is living with someone this way new to both of us, it’s also a huge exercise in loosening up our normally dictatorial, obsessively controlling approach to decorating and designing our spaces. But we’re good at compromising. The best at it when I get my way, which, to Max’s very trusting credit, is most of the time. And you know what? I’m really looking forward to it.

Welcome home, Max. I’m so glad you’re here.

Give an Inch, Take a Mile.

The plane that flies back and forth between Regina, Saskatchewan and Minneapolis, Minnesota is roughly the size of a floating school bus, only with wings, more cylindrical, and more cramped. I found myself on this flight a few weeks ago, after having visited some friends in Canada for a few days. Planes always make me uncomfortable, mostly stemming from the social anxiety surrounding the other flyers. Not that I think any of them will, you know, try to stab the pilot with a smuggled knitting needle, but that I might have to speak to them.

On the way to Saskatchewan, I’d sat next to a 60-something year old woman. She was from Austin. Her daughter had moved to Regina to date and then marry a man she met on the internet, who owned a tanning salon. They had two kids and lived in the south end of town and she didn’t like the winters and sort of missed her life in the States but loved her husband and kids and this trip marked the second time she’d see her mother that year and ohwellshewasjustsoexcited.

And according to her, my name is Adam and I’m from Columbus, Ohio and I’m majoring in Biochemistry at Tuft’s University. I don’t like to give too many details, or any.

Talkers scare the shit out of me, but only because I’d never sat next to the gentleman who took the aisle seat to my window on this particular flight. Before he even sat down, I judged him for wearing shorts and flip flops. Because who wears shorts on a plane?

He didn’t speak, but ordered a coke when the flight attendant came around with drinks. I ordered a V8. When she came to collect the cups, I handed mine over, like the responsible citizen of the air that I try to be, but he wanted to keep his.

The flight attendant looked a bit confused for a second, as if something had glitched in her brain. Why did this man want to keep an empty cup on his tray table? What was he up to? But, seeing as he seemed to pose no threat and his demand was simple enough, she went with it.

And that’s when it happened—the concept of “taking advantage” drawn out to its most egregious limit. He pulled out a bag of chewing tobacco, stuffed some in his mouth, and began to chew, periodically shooting a small waterfall of frothy brown spit into his empty clear plastic cup. This went on for at least half an hour, during which time I talked myself down from a panic attack and focused on not crying, trapped as I was in my window seat. Later on, he handed the cup to the flight attendant, who recoiled in fear before recomposing herself and placing it in the open trash bag. This is the danger of a simple gesture of good faith with people you don’t know. You might give them an empty cup, and they might reappropriate it as a spittoon for a while and hand it back to you.

I feel as though I’ve become that man, a little bit. Recently, I got an email from a woman named Maya. You might remember Maya from when Morgan at The Brick House (which, if you’re not already reading, I really have to wonder about your priorities in life) posted about her house a while ago. Let me jog your memory:

Maya is the originator of the $100 rule of decorating and a masterful thrifter. She’s very cool, very artsy, and her style and eye for color is as terrific as her Bumling light is brassy.

You see, when people live on the West Coast and have amazing thrifting around every corner (this is how I imagine California to be now), they accumulate. And Maya had an extra Eames chair. An extra wire Eames chair, broken in several spots, and in need of repair. She had gathered from The Twitter that I had been taking a welding class on the weekends, so she wanted to offer me the broken chair. For free. For rizzle. For frizzle?

Why yes, I will take that original wire Eames chair off you hands, sure!

Maya and I got to talking over email and it turns out that wasn’t the only thing crowding her space. So one thing led to another and she’s become not only a swell pen pal, but also something like the fairy godmother I always dreamed of having. You know, one that has cool furniture that she wants to let me have at very reasonable prices. That’s right, I have a magical furniture fairy.

So first Maya gave me the Eames chair, which has been relegated to the corner of our very unpainted hallway, awaiting the day when I can hopefully repair it.

It’s pretty broken. I think I can save it. But the fun don’t stop there.

Maya was also looking to unload this vintage knock-off Eames lounge chair. Did I know anyone that would want it? For cheapsies?

Me me me!

It’s been a super comfy addition to the living room. It had been sitting in storage for a bit, so I took the whole thing apart and gave it some oily love, following The Brick House’s instructions. It’s not dramatically different, but the plywood shells cleaned up nicely.

What else do you have, Maya? Oh, just these two danish teak shelves that would make great nightstands if they were cleaned up a bit. Want those, too?

Yes, yes I do.

So I got those. A previous owner had put some precautionary L-brackets on them that Maya had intended to take off and restore the wood, but she hadn’t gotten around to it. The structure of the shelves was totally fine, so it’s a bit of a mystery why somebody would abuse two perfectly good, perfectly Scandinavian shelves like that. What’s wrong with people?

I took off the L-brackets and filled the holes with Minwax Wood Filler, then followed Morgan’s wood refreshing tutorial again.

The teak oil and wax totally brought the wood back to life, and the holes filled in nicely and are barely noticeable. I’m pretty smitten with these guys, honestly—having matching nightstands has been a long-held dream of mine and I love the narrow depth these have to offer.

And, of course, I think it’s cute how the two sides look totally different.

Mine.

Max’s. Isn’t that fan cute? I found it at a little antique store somewhere in Virginia for him during a trip home. The look on his face when he met me at Penn Station—you would have thought I handed him a puppy, or seven. The boy likes fans.

I’m so glad I met Maya. She’s super nice and a great person to bounce ideas off of for the apartment, and we already have a few more goodies from her place lined up to come my way. I really have no business being in her good graces, but I guess as long as she keeps offering without getting sick of me, I’ll keep taking. I’m so good at it. She just has to tell me when she feels like I’m spitting in the cup, as it were.

FRÄCK Hack

Even as a small child, I knew that the waiting room of my dentist’s office was due for a makeover, what with the slouchy green leather sofa placed below an enormously out of scale woven Mickey Mouse tapestry, mounted upon glossy beige walls. The carpeting was a black and white flecked shag number, laden with the smell of fluoride and drenched in children’s tears, stapled over enough carpet pads to give the illusion of walking on a pillowtop mattress. It was the sort of place one could tell was designed to make children comfortable, which only served to put me more on edge. After all, this was a house of medicine, not Discovery Zone, and I longed for it to be treated as such.

We had this ritual at the dentist, wherein we were afforded the opportunity to choose our fate by selecting one of two distinct treatment options: “the easy way, or the hard way.” The easy way was simple enough to understand: once perched on the avocado-green pleather exam chair, we were to remain calm and accept whatever form of torture was bestowed upon us, hoping we’d emerge alive but armed with the knowledge that if our deaths did come to pass, we’d at least go with our honor and dignity intact and be remembered for our good-nature and obedience. The hard way was significantly more mysterious—what would happen if we chose not to comply? Would they spank us? Would they not give us a lollipop at the end? These are big questions when you’ve only lived for half a decade, so I took it upon myself to give it a try at least once.

I committed to the act with admirable devotion, maniacally screaming my way into the exam room, mustering all my strength to wriggle free of my captives. Once forced into an exam chair, I rocked back and forth angrily, unclenching my tightly-wound jaw only to emit a series of high-pitched, tortured wails. This, before a doctor or glimmering, vibrating tool had even approached me. Eventually, I heard somebody give the command: “strap him down.” Catalyzing a renewed wave of rage, I howled in agony and kicked a nurse before all of my limbs, thighs, and torso had been tied down with the aid of rough velcro restraints. And that, my friends, is when they administered the electric shocks.

In reality, no pulses of electricity were sent to my brain, but I do remember lying there and wishing I could call the whole thing off. I was still crying, but now they were tears of shame and defeat, produced in a longing to undo the damage that had been wrought upon my reputation and ego. I had been a fool, and I longed for the easy way once more.

I think “the hard way” is generally how I approach most home-related tasks. While it’s usually a sticker-shock-induced bout of “well, I could just make that!,” the resulting effect is hours of work I could have spent doing other things—like my dishes, for instance—had I just had the good sense to purchase something pre-made. This is how I’ve come to regard all DIY projects.

So when I decided I really wanted some cute wall-mounted accordion-style bedside lights to go over the new floating teak shelves, I didn’t even hop on my Google machine to try to find some. I knew they’d be pricey, or ugly, or both, and the chances of finding matching vintage ones that wouldn’t cost a month’s rent seemed slim. Besides, I already had a plan. Or, well, an inkling of a plan.

Say hello to the classic IKEA FRÄCK bathroom mirror. We’ve all seen them. We’ve probably all used them. We might even have one, or several. They’re only $4.99, but they’re well-made and super handy for small spaces or a beauty regimen that is more advanced than mine.

That’s a pretty cute light, am I right?

I know I just talked ad nauseam about the virtues of the “hard way,” but actually making these lights was really, really easy. You just need a few simple parts, about 15 minutes, and less than $20.

1. IKEA FRÄCK mirror, with the mirror part thrown away (it just screws on and off of that threaded part at the top)
2. Lamp socket, the kind with a hole on the side for the cord to escape.
3. Adapter Nut
4. Plug
5. Wire. Any lamp wire will work, but since I generally have a phobia of exposed wires and this is, by definition, exposed, I ordered some cute twisted red cloth wire from Sundial Wire. It’s only $1.40 per foot, the shipping was really fast, it’s cute and really nice quality. I’m tempted to order the 250-foot spool, you know, just because. I’ll use it eventually.
6. Tools: flathead screwdriver, wire strippers.

If you’ve never rewired a lamp, just know that it’s basically the easiest thing ever and there are about 8 trillion tutorials on the internet on how to do it. As I am not anything approaching an electrician, I won’t bore you with my retelling and lack of proper terminology. Still, step 1: wire that socket. Any good lighting supply store and most hardware stores should have a good selection of sockets, make sure you get the kind that has a hole for the cord to escape through that’s NOT the bottom hole, since that’s what holds it onto the accordion part. After it’s wired, put the socket back together.

This is the most important piece, and also the tiniest: the adapter nut. At least I think that’s what it’s called. This is the piece that adapts the threaded part on the IKEA accordion base to the bottom of the light socket, so they can screw together tightly. I got mine by bringing the accordion to a lamps store and the employee immediately finding the right piece, so I assume most lamp/lighting/hardware places should have them.

After the adapter nut is screwed on tight, gather the cord in your hand and screw on your light socket.

After the socket is in place, thread the cord through the back of the FRÄCK hardware, between the wall plate and the supporting rod. I made those terms up. I only draw special attention to this because you’ll want to decide which side you want your loose cord to hang on—since these are for bedsides, I wanted the cords to hang on the outside of the accordion, so the cord is threaded in opposite directions on the two lamps. All of this will make sense if you’re actually doing it. My ability to form legible sentences is failing me.

Then, just wire the plug. Again, this is SO EASY (even if you’ve never done it). A monkey could do it.

Once it’s all put together, hang it up and you’re done! I chose to top ours with 25W chrome-tipped bulbs. They aren’t terribly bright, which is how I like a bedside light. All moody n’ shiz.

When they’re not in use, it’s nice to be able to just push them back towards the wall, where they’re completely unobtrusive. Also, having something wall-mounted instead of a traditional tabletop lamp frees up space on the nightstands, which are only about 8 inches deep. More room for books or glasses or mugs or your crystal balls or… I don’t know your life.

I’m super-duper happy with the little lights. All the virtue of having done something “the hard way” (think of the times you get to impress people with “oh yeah, I made those in my free time”!) and none of the actual effort ordinarily inherent in that choice. Which is the best sort of DIY, if you ask me.

My Inspirational Story of Hope and Perseverance

A little over five years ago, I spent a month in Paris and discovered a magical Japanese shop called Muji. Contained in this store were exciting things, such as translucent organizational bins, tiny packs of colored pencils, fancy stationary, and origami paper. It might give you an idea of what sort of teenager I was that while the other students were busy spending their days trying to get wasted and then sober up again enough to avoid suspicion from the counselors at nightly check-in, I spent mine in the company of Asian office supplies.

It was instant love between Muji and I. Right before I came back to the States, I picked up a white duvet cover made of gorgeous and super soft cotton. When I got home, I stripped the Pottery Barn duvet off my comforter and replaced it with that one. Newly fancying myself ever-so-slightly French (and, therefore, automatically sophisticated), red ticking stripes no longer suited the decor of my childhood bedroom. It was white, all the way.

I’ve clung fairly consistently to white linens over the years, partially because I like the way they look, partially because they were the only thing that didn’t get ruined by the peroxide-laced products I used to treat my teenaged pizza-face, and partially because, in my book, there’s not a scent in the world more beautiful than that of Clorox bleach. My sister recently reported that she watched an episode of My Strange Addiction in which a woman was addicted to bathing in bleach. Now, before you get all uppity, I’ll admit that it sounds unhealthy, sure—and I’m sure they told her as much. But the fact that this woman apparently did this both frequently enough to warrant calling her habit an addiction rather than, say, a quirky hobby, and managed to avoid instant death in the process has me thinking it might not be such a bad thing to try every now and again.

But for at least two years now, I’ve had a vision in my head of a perfectly grey duvet cover. It had to be light but not too light, warm but not too beige and cool but not too blue. It had to have a nice substantial texture, preferably linen. Since that time, I’ve searched high and low for hours online, multiple times. As it happens, Max enthusiastically supported this goal, motivated mostly by his open disdain of the white one I already owned. Which was fair, seeing as the multiple coffee and food stains (yes, food. I can feel your judgment from here, and it hurts) made its further categorization as “white” generous at best.

We searched and searched. We found. We found this:

It is from area. It is perfect. It is $255 for the duvet alone. It was not happening.

As usual, heartbreak and sticker shock was mentally retooled as a fabulous DIY opportunity!, and a plan was born in a crazed fit of desire. We would make it. We would buy a plain white IKEA duvet cover. And then we would dye it. And then all of our dreams would come true.

With the best of intentions, we bought both the duvet and the dye (Rit Dye in Pearl Grey from Amazon), and were planning to complete our scheme last night when, as fate would have it, my dear (cyber)friend Morgan of The Brick House, tweeted a link to exactly what I’d always wanted yesterday morning. Hands shaking as I clasped my iPhone, I wept. On the inside. CB2 had heard my prayers and answered them with a product called Coast Bed Linens:

Grey linen? For $139? I guess could get into that.

Then, yesterday afternoon, Anna from Door Sixteen asked if I wanted to meet at CB2 to check out this mysterious new duvet in town. I might buy one. She might buy one. Let’s making shopping a team sport!

And then… we saw it. And it wasn’t the stuff that dreams are made of. Well, not my dreams. Or Anna’s dreams. It was darker and had an odd sheen to it and the linen texture just wasn’t all that nice. So we passed on that grass.

Luckily, in the five years since I went to Paris, Muji has found its way to the US of A, with a big ole store right next to CB2. Feeling dejected, hungry, and sad, we decided to pop inside for a second and I SAW IT.

I love spending time with Anna, but this was a moment in which I probably should have been alone, since she was introduced to my “maniacally excited voice,” something that apparently bears a disconcerting resemblance to a “heaving growl.” This is why:

Yeah. It brings the hotness.

For real. It does. It’s not linen, but more of a texture-y (but soft!) cotton. And it was half the price of the CB2 one. I’m so smug about it.

Oh, and in case you think I’m the greedy bastard that I am but pretend not to be, I picked one on Morgan’s behalf, too. And one for Maya.Grey duvets all around!

And because I’ve been a lazy lazy blogger lately and HAVE SO MUCH TO POST ABOUT but haven’t gotten my act together to take pictures of any of it, I guess I’ll just make up for it by showing this hot pink geode coaster I picked up recently at Evolution. I’m into hot pink right now. Oh and half of that girly silver box to hold watches and stuff. The box might be heinously ugly, I’m undecided.

Now what do I do with this?