You guys, I don’t usually share images as recent as only 30-something years old, which I’m guessing this is, but we need to talk about this.
Discounting the obvious crimes of hair and use of cigarettes (and LENGTH of cigarettes; you’ve come a long, long, LONG way, baby), and plaid vest that somehow makes her more street than lumberjack, or even simply the use of THIS as their Christmas card, what bothers me most is those blinds. I remember those blinds in my first years of apartment dwelling. The way they never moved in synchronicity like Venetian blinds or their superior window cousin, plantation shutters. Just try and pull them to the side. You can already hear the swishing and slamming of cheap plastic blind crashing into cheap plastic blind. Erratic! Random!
And oh, what fun to dust them! And even better, what their very existence oft implied, which was sliding glass doors. Who doesn’t love the sliding glass door? You know, the one that only slides seamlessly for a month before catching and stuttering. Or it does that diagonal thing, where it gets off its rollers. Yes, the very same sliding glass door that a criminal attempted to break into in my townhome in the early 90s, when everyone used that same broken broom handle to shove in between the doors as a perfect deterrent. It was only good fortune that my angry queen of a roommate drew said blinds back and showed his horrified face to the thief that saved us. Damn sliding door. Damn blinds. What did they think they would get? A glass coffee table full of Madonna magazines and a TV with an enormous antenna? Hmph.
I’ve never lived in a trailer court or hauled a camper or driven inside a 50s car, or even seen more than three inches of snow in my life. So perhaps that’s the appeal here to me. It all looks so campy and fun! I may not ever build a real snowman before I get to heaven, so I’ll enjoy the pictures instead.
For the more refined sensibilities, you may prefer your holiday pooches in cardinal-dotted doorways of resplendent mansions.
Reminds me of a certain Malt I’ve read about…
Or perhaps you prefer a chillier theme for a most chill dog.
Whichever way you go, make sure you can tell the real ones from the fakes!
I don’t mind wood paneling (tongue and groove) or framed pointer pups or even taxidermied crittters in lodges, but I’ve never been a fan of skulls. Not Coco-movie, Day of the Dead colorful human skulls, nor Southwest lying-in-the-desert animal skulls. So this chandelier (or perhaps it’s just rustic lighting) doesn’t float my boat.
I’d prefer something less bony, less death, more modern, like these super trendy Edison bulbs.
But they’ll probably look dated in 10 years.
How about a DIY project? I know mason jars are cute, but I honestly don’t even like drinking out of them in restaurants and bars that offer them. It’s supposed to be quaint and down-home, but lips just don’t feel good against jar rims–and now that cities are outlawing straws, what to do? While I admit I like the turquoise, I don’t cotton to this aesthetic. Looks like a clanky accident waiting to happen.
What do you think of these chandeliers at Albatross in Shinjuku, Tokyo?
No amount of liquor could help heal the headache she’d get if one fell on top of her noggin. And then we’d have another skull to worry about.
These fake Latuda smiles are not exactly winning endorsements for the enticingly-named Congoleum product. They look more like they’re remembering an old flame, the one that got away. Who can say? But we CAN safely assume this is a tee-totaling home. A couple whiskeys and this tile does not a good pair make. Every day is a hallucination in Polly’s kitchen! Actually, Prohibition was in effect, so the liquor was probably in the cellar. Americans were sober and their pockets were empty.
Two years later, old floors still posed problems. Fortunately, Muriel found a way to fix it.
Before islands existed, folks tossed a table in the kitchen and called it eat-in dining. I like how the couples are having separate conversations three feet apart. You think Edward and Henry even NOTICED that Muriel changed the tile? Fat chance. Drinking is legal now, and it is SO ON. Edward and Henry have hooch on the brain and hooch only. Meanwhile, Muriel is sitting on the table, assessing her new flooring. I think she’s having second thoughts, now that she sees how it clashes with Nora’s orange striped dress. In fact, I think Muriel is playing the quicksand game and avoiding contact entirely. And why is she dressed for a funeral?
At least her little green squares were preferable to this muddy brown zigzag hot mess. I imagine it disguised dirt well but I’m getting a migraine just looking at it. And such a shame with an otherwise upbeat kitchen!
Did your grandparents have tile like this? Did you make up games to walk on it?
There’s no denying the eye-catching power of these mod Kentiles, in “gaeity” and “fleecy cerulean” with a white feature strip. See how well they compliment the gold-plated television and backgammon room dividers? What I don’t get is why Peg is alone with her wine and sensible flats and salty carbs, while Pam is relegated to the dog pillow and Frank is nearly shoved behind the divider. Are his skills that lacking? Does he have halitosis? Is he playing that new release, “Be Bop A Lula,” into the ground? Whatever it is, my bet is that wine bottle will be drained by the second chorus.