My closet is average. I mean the content, the actual closet is a quite small walk-in. It’s like a walk-in-but-be-careful-not-to-get-stuck kind of closet. And it’s pretty packed. Now, I live in a big city…too big for my taste…and I compensate my discontent over not being immediately or even reasonably closely surrounded by nature – by buying things…some which I need, some which I need less, and others which I don’t need at all. In my defense, I am also a ‘bargain’ kind of shopper, a moderately parsimonious soul, and my wardrobe was bought at probably some 30-40% of its original price tag value. Not bad, but a lot of those things just sit there waiting to be picked, so I decided to, one by one, wear every little garment that happens to be in my closet. Started today. And I will not buy anything new until I wear everything old. Pinky Laura Ingalls promise :)
Maybe remodel it, too…
Work outfit today…first time wear for the jacket, and first time after a long, long time for the shirt. Very comfy pairing.
Via Spiga red suede mary-janes. Love them.
Said somebody…I don’t know who…but sounds about right…
Klaus is a Russian guy who moved here from Moscow a few years ago. He is the building supervisor. He does the mail and orders supplies and does all other kinds of stuff in our little publishing company. He also goes to school but I don’t know what his major is. His English is moderately good, although polite expressions and simple sentences are hardly a measure of linguistic proficiency. I don’t know how he would fare in the subject of…the Scandinavian model as a development strategy for poor countries. Yesterday I asked him if he liked living in the United States and he said yes.”Do you like working here?” He said it was better than working in a fucktory. “Did you ever work in a fucktory?”, he asked me. “Klaus”, I said, “I don’t know what vibe you are getting from me, but I am not a whore”. “No, no, no”, he said, “I mean the place where you produce things”. “Then pronounce it factory, not fucktory.” If I could choose an accent to speak with, it would be Irish. The Irish, they sound like they don’t give a shit.
I don’t think Klaus is a Russian name. I told him so and he agreed. Turns out he was named after his maternal great grand-father who was German. His grand-father was Russian and he met his grand-mother in the rubble of Berlin in 1945. He saved her life and they fell in love. It was a fairly romantic story in a fairly devastating background. Today people meet on Match.com. Not that I miss wars. I told Klaus that if he and I were an item I would probably call him Nazi every time we had a heated argument. He frowned and asked me how would it be possible that we become one product? I explained that “item” meant couple. He smiled rather sheepishly and left me somewhat confused. I had to ask if he was not bothered at all that I just told him I would use the Nazi insult to offend him should we ever cross swords? He said “No, because I don’t have a sword and I know who I am the same way you know who you are and some label you stick on me would not work. You can call good vodka water – it will still burn your throat, warm your stomach and make you feel good and say things you will maybe regret and maybe you will also wake up in some strange place with somebody you don’t remember who it is. Things are what they are, it does not matter how you call them. You know what I mean? I know who I am, the same way you know about you. You know who you are and I know who I am.” He was very serious and I detected an unexpected manliness about him. I turned around and left, not quite sure who I was.
I was typing a story, actually a stage play I’ve been working on for the past few weeks, and (as had happened before) forgot to periodically save the document, and then of course (as had happened before) the computer froze, then shut down and the written words got lost…aghrrr…I rebooted, wrote a bit more, got a piece of chocolate, read some bits and pieces from the Italian Grazia magazine I received in the mail today (November 19 issue but ok), and then took this picture. By the way, this is a table I remodeled a few months ago – pictures included…
…Bought wood planks in Home Depot (4 at $1.99 apiece), cut them to size, glued them to table, arranged stacks of books and magazines on top for weight; once firmly glued – stained the wood for an under-paint effect and possible shabby chic sanding, and painted it eggshell white.