Thinking inside the box

I might actually have Glee-cred if I could say that I willingly watched the pilot episode last May and recognized Ryan Murphy's genius.  I didn't.

After hearing my friend Gavin rave about the show at a wedding last May, I decided to make my favorite person in world watch the pilot with me on Hulu.  We were hooked and enthusiastically followed the New Directions glee club on their journey to regionals.  While the season finale could have been better - Vocal Adrenaline could have performed the made-for-Glee-Queen-classic "Fat Bottomed Girls" instead of "Bohemian Rhapsody - the episode still included amazing one-liners, including Anchorman Rod Remington's nostalgic recollection of his wilder days:

I partied with Freddie Mercury and I partied hard if you know what I mean. Back then people weren't so obsessed with labels.

Queen references and labels...It's so nice to finally be a television writer's target audience.

1. I love Queen.  I've only been proposing an all-Queen-all-the-time radio station since I was sixteen.  (Such a station probably exists on satellite radio, but I'm entirely dependent on my iPod and my favorite person in the world's superior taste in music these days.) My mother takes credit for my Queen obsession, claiming that she frequently listened to her Queen's Greatest Hits tape, (which I later commandeered), while she was pregnant with me.

2. I, unlike Rod Remington, am obsessed with labels.  And making labels.  And adding labels to boxes.

Everything in our home has a specific place, almost every type of item has a designated Ikea Kassett box, and every Kassett box has a label.  (A recent dinner guest laughed when he overheard me saying that I needed to change the label on our "tape" box to "general adhesives" because I had decided to store glue and heavy-duty Velcro with the tape. How else will a house guest or burglar know where to find the glue?)  

I go overboard with boxes and labels because it is the only way I know how to organize a home for two people.  It also saves time if I am in a hurry. Three years ago, I spent fifteen minutes looking for a pair of sunglasses that were perched on top of my head; now I know my sunglasses are either on my head or in a box next to our cell phone charging station. I hate when I am unable to find a camera before racing out the door for a party, so I have a camera/camera equipment box in a cabinet next to the front door.  My favorite person in the world can pack for business travel much faster knowing that iPod and laptop chargers are in the "chargers" box, and outlet adapters, leftover foreign currency, and pocket translation books are in the "world travel" box.

There are boxes in our office for post-its, paper clips and binder clips, sewing notions, checkbooks, extra pens, and old greeting cards.  There are boxes in the bathroom for extra toothpaste, floss and lip balm, backup hair care products, skin care products, and nail polish.  All of our utensils are divided into clear boxes with labels identifying the particular type of utensil contained within.  Scarves, gloves, and winter hats have a box. Guitar supplies have a box.  Extra light bulbs and batteries have a box. Shoe polish has a box. 

 

 The boxes and labels have become a joke in our home, ("I would have disposed of that ink cartridge, but I couldn't find the discarded cartridge box"), but they keep our lives organized.   Take that, Rod Remington; you and your disdain for labels.

Notes: After a long hiatus, I'm back.  I've done some traveling, writing, and soul-searching, and discovered that souls need as much organization as closets.  Sorry for the silent treatment and thanks for your patience.

What's in a name?

I have been inexcusably delinquent in posting, but I'll attempt to rationalize my neglect by reminding myself (and you) that I am so close to finishing a freelance project that has resisted completion for months.  Though said project consumes almost every waking moment of my time, today I treated myself to the latest installment of my favorite New York Times column, Critical Shopper.  (You can read the complete article here.)

 This week, Cintra Wilson notes that her scavenged ensemble of eBay and discount store finds closely resembles those of her fellow shoppers at Isabel Marant's Soho boutique.

I was wearing a boy's plaid rodeo shirt with snap buttons (eBay, $12), a charcoal-gray Hanes zipper hoodie (Wal-Mart $12), skinny-legged Levi's I bought at one of those loud discount places on lower Broadway (under $40) and an old wool Army jacket (eBay, under $20). Coincidentally enough, I looked, in texture, shape and substance, more or less like I got dressed right in the store.  [Another shopper], wearing what I reckoned was head-to-toe Isabel Marant, was dressed more or less like I was: military jacket, high clog boots, skinny pants.  Only the grand total of my outfit cost approximately what she might have paid for parking while buying hers.

I love Wilson's columns because she is rarely seduced by the lure of luxury.  In a 2009 review of Vince's Meatpacking District boutique, Wilson called the line's $53 and $118 tank tops "viscerally obscene."

The Vince pocket T is the identical twin of the Gap pocket T, only without the democracy. It’s the $72 pocket T made of silky thin Peruvian cotton that says to your mechanic: “Sure, we’re all God’s children in the brotherhood of man. Only I’m slightly better than you.”

Wilson raises an interesting question about the value of comparable goods:  At what point should the difference in workmanship and materials justify the cost disparity between similar items?  When does our money stop paying for quality and start paying for a name? Take these chairs, for example:

Images from Design Within Reach and West Elm, respectively

The top chair, available at Design Within Reach, is $449.  The bottom chairs, from West Elm, are $79 to $99, (roughly the price of a Vince t-shirt).  The DWR chair has a narrower back than the West Elm version.  The top curvature of the West Elm chair dips deeper than the DWR chair.  The variations, in my mind, cannot warrant the $350 price difference.

One of my DC friends is an interior designer who used to work in a high-end, contemporary design district in Georgetown.  The quality and cost of the pieces she sold made DWR look like Ikea; these items were built to last.  She spoke of clients who had owned their contemporary Italian furnishings for fifty years, but she also lamented the amount of indestructible furniture that her delivery crew hauled to who-knows-where when her clients redecorated. Since her clients did not keep their expensive furnishings for all eternity, did they realize the value of their initial expenditure?

Admittedly, my perspective on fine Italian furniture is skewed; I could not afford a Minotti chair or a Cappellini lamp even if I wanted one. But the same logic should apply to most purchases: Will I enjoy more/better use of this type of item if I spend more money? Since I prefer comfortable furniture to uncomfortable furniture, (quel surpris!), I am willing to spend more money to purchase quality furniture that will last longer, thus enjoying more and better use of my purchase.  Even so, I would not spend an amount equal to my annual income on a dining set guaranteed to last a thousand years because, much like my friend's clients, I am unlikely to keep it for a thousand years.

So what about home accessories?

Last year, Apartment Therapy posted a comparison of several similar home furnishings from West Elm and Target to illustrate that similar looks can be found at a variety of price points.

Images from West Elm and Target via Apartment Therapy

 In both of the comparisons above, the West Elm item, featured first, was more than twice as expensive as the Target item.  Why spend more when you can get the same look for less money? When it comes to similar items like lamps, mirrors, and pillows, I buy the cheaper version and spend the rest of my money on shoes. 

All things being equal, the amount you pay for an item does not enhance or diminish how you interpret your style. Ultimately, that is the logic Wilson imparts so poetically.

On Church Street I stood underneath a tree that was having a riotous outburst of pink flowers, and I may be far from wise, but eventually I noticed that no matter how much money I threw at it, it didn’t get any prettier. It wouldn’t have been prettier if I had replanted it on 86th and Madison, either. The point is to recognize a meritocracy in things of value, regardless of their low points of origin, current trendiness or future invisibility. 

Dinner for 14, service for 8, seating for 6

Sunday, my favorite person in the world and I hosted Easter dinner for fourteen people.  Behold, the aftermath. 

Prior to Easter, I had china service for eight.  When I realized that ten adults and two kids were coming over, I scrambled to find more china.  I saved over $80 off the retail price of my china pattern by buying new place settings online.  I contacted an eBay seller who had listed two place settings in separate Buy It Now listings, and asked her if she would discount the shipping if I purchased both.  When the seller found out that I actually needed four place settings, she suggested that we simply do a PayPal sale for all of the items I needed instead of separate eBay sales for the pieces she had listed. We completed the sale, and UPS delivered four new place settings to me on Good Friday.

Next, I tackled kid dishes and seating.  The kids typically eat earlier than the adults, so I decided against purchasing china for them.  (My favorite person in the world suggested that, while these particular kids are rather sophisticated, dinnerware was a more practical choice for the four and six year old siblings.)  I decided to make a very special kid table that could be easily cleared once the kids had been fed.  I used a white paper table cloth to cover an Ikea Lack side table that usually functions as a nightstand in our guest bedroom.  I set the table with black salad plates on top of striped dinner plates used as chargers, and completed the place settings with linen napkins and salad forks.  Since the kids love sparkling cider, (which they call "kid wine"), we added champagne flutes to the table as a grown-up detail.  The pièce de résistance was a Jonathan Adler bud vase, which complimented the miniature table features. 

The kid table

Then it was time to resolve our lack of adult seating.  Our dining table comfortably seats four, but we squeeze in six for holiday dinners.  I needed a table to seat six more people.  The day before our party, I remembered that there was an abandoned table in the garage that we share with our neighbor.  After confirming with the neighbor that the table was not his, my favorite person in the world and I carefully liberated the table from the garage for the party.  I cleaned it up, covered it with a table cloth, and gathered extra chairs from around the apartment for seating.

The abandoned table, before its makeover

In New York and DC, I lived in small apartments with insufficient storage space for party supplies.  I had to rely on disposable cups, napkins, and flatware.  Now that I have more storage space, I am transitioning to reusable party supplies, (especially after reading this).  My favorite person in the world picked up six cases of champagne flutes at Ikea when we first moved here, and we bought additional water and old-fashioned glasses, linen napkins, and forks at Bed Bath and Beyond before the party.  Our kitchen counter space in Not New York is still limited, so I controlled the dirty dish situation by using small, lidded plastic tubs as bus bins.  These were a lifesaver.  I filled them with water and dishwashing liquid, and left the dishes to soak while the party continued.  When I finished cleaning after the party, I used the bins to store the extra party supplies.

Post-party bins with extra glassware and linens

It was a great party, filled with laughter, revelry, and the occasional squeal of "Come to the living room!  The skipping show is about to start!" Now if I can just convince my favorite person in the world that our next event should be a murder mystery costume party...


Notes: Asking a buyer or seller to cancel an eBay listing and arrange a transaction on the canceled item outside of eBay is a violation of the website's policies; the seller and I did not violate eBay's rules because we negotiated a sale for items she had not yet listed on eBay.  The original Buy It Now listings were unaffected by our transaction. 

Bed Bath and Beyond sells individual pieces of 18/10 stainless steel flatware, which is a great resource for party forks and knives. 

The Lack side table represents everything that is wrong with Ikea, but it is a handy kid table for $8.  

The table in our garage is really heavy.  I hurt my back carrying it up the stairs. My favorite person and one of our friends had a hard time hauling it back to the garage after the party.  Before our next party, I want to find a gateleg table that we can store in the guestroom.  Ikea makes one for $179 and Crate and Barrel makes one for $299.  I'm confident I can find a used one on Craigslist for about $50 to $75.

Truly the best Craigslist posting ever

While searching Craigslist for an end table for my living room, I came across this ad.  I'm disappointed that I don't need this table, because I really want to give it a home.

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Fetching little parsons table - $45 (noe valley)

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Date: 2010-03-12, 8:21PM PST
Reply to: sale-uy4vj-1641780622@craigslist.org

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Are you looking for a table that has both a flat surface and four legs?

Look no further!

I have just such a table.

This makes a handsome coffee table, end table (depending on your furniture), or perhaps a good surface for your TV. It is wooden--actual wood, not IKEA style--and painted white. The table itself is in excellent condition. There are some insignificant marks on the paint on the tabletop. If they bother you, or you want a bolder color, it would be easy to repaint it.

28" square, 19.75" h.

I'd keep it myself, but I've replaced some other furniture and it no longer suits the room. It would be happy to come live with you. No; it didn't actually tell me so, but it has an eager look about it.