Stop Being Polite

Remember when The Real World emerged back in the early 90s? A "soap opera" with no script, no actors, no story - just life. An idea so crazy it just might work! And, the "sell" (Stop being polite and start being real) may be the phrase that gave "reality" TV its now-ironic name.

That phrase has been in my mind this week, characterizing as it does two things: First, a jumble of people with no plot but their own lives in media res. Second, the end of preparation time and the beginning of the main event.


In class, we had our first tests. We had to identify 10 parts of a jointer, 8 parts of a planer and 13 parts of a table saw. It was scary! We adults are not often on the spot to quickly answer questions in an area far outside our expertise.


It was also illuminating (at least entertaining) to watch my classmates various approaches to the tests. Being back in school, as I've noted before, is like being an anthropologist studying your own past. The Ivy League baseball player was deliberate and unhurried, and intentionally turned his paper in last, in case one last correction should come to mind. The medical resident declined to take it at all until she had a chance to review the material and practice all over. The 19-year-old construction worker showed up 20 minutes late and rushed through it, then cheated. (Not that it matters, after all. This is continuing education, not the bar exam!)


I've never been in a group - through school or work or anything else - with such diversity. Not even MTV could come up with such a diverse and incompatible mix. I guess power tools are the great bond of humankind.


On Wednesday, I used the miter saw for the first time. I chopped the hell out of some 2x6's. (Sorry I failed to take pictures of my first work outputs.) I watched a demonstration of constructing table legs. I haven't reached the point where I honestly believe all this lumber going to turn into a piece of furniture, but I had better get faith soon, or all the money I spent at Lowe's is down the drain.


Michael and I also closed on our first house this week. On the one hand I keep thinking, "How did we end up here?!" Not just here, Durham, geographically - though that itself is a trick of fate. But here in our lives, two people with no biographical intersection before the day we met. What we share through coincidence and co-creation is awesome and improbable. Is this some kind of cosmic experiment? or joke? or mistake? Here we are, getting real!


And all our fantasies about a domestic life and becoming a family are crashing to earth in an alarming cascade of reality checks and good-enough compromises. If we want wainscoting, we are going to have to order it! Stair treads! Countertops! What's the budget for upstairs flooring? Appliances? Tuition? Family vacations?


The "reality" that New York City promised to the first housemates of The Real World was a condition of unmediated responsibility and risk. Everybody in carpentry class has a similar drive - to be free from paying contractors to build your shed, free from spending your life in front of a computer screen, free to get it all wrong, cut off your finger, and waste your own money. And, rounding out this three-way comparison, owning a home is all about a risky freedom, too - freedom to paint the walls a crazy color (or knock them down!) and win or lose when it comes time to sell. The process of getting a mortgage is very much a weeks-long test of one's maturity and capacity to handle all this freedom.


This weekend we'll be moving, and we have a team of parents, siblings, and friends to help. This is going to be a true story... of nine people.. tapped to box up our house ...work together and have their lives disrupted... and we are definitely going to find out what happens... when people stop being polite... and start getting real!

Too Much of Good Things

So, last Friday night I was kickin' it preppy-style with my homegirl in Cambridge, Mass., just reading Martha Stewart Living and having a good laugh (a picture of four dozen French ivory flatware settings that "Martha uses daily" drew guffaws) - tempered of course by all the genuinely brilliant and beautiful ideas in the annual Decorating issue.

That smile, plus a fistful of knives - is making me uneasy.

For the most part, the advice boils down to three simple rules:

1. Have a bigger kitchen.
2. Have more money.
3. Use the money to have an even bigger kitchen.

For example, it is stated as a rule that you should have two islands rather than one. And, that "an island must be at least 4 feet long and 2 1/2 feet wide." Anything Martha offers is taken with a grain of salt after learning that she "collects vintage enamel holders" for sponges and has a servery - a special room where dishes are stored and cleaned. How handy!

http://wondermark.com/649/

Anticipation Aides

We are closing on our new house in eight days, which is a torturous amount of time for anticipation.

One of the toughest things (noted earlier) is the difficulty of thinking about the space without living in the space. The quality of planning is at its nadir, while the passion for planning is at its apex.

As we look forward to more-than-doubling our space, there are not only projects but purchases to contemplate. Here are a few beautiful and inspiring things that have me excited today:

Durham's most nationally renowned interior designer offers a project that suits our style beautifully:

http://www.heathergarrettdesign.com/portfolio/residential-portfolio/2010/02/young-tradition

Apartment Therapy rounds up lower- (and higher-) priced alternatives to the Fermob and Tolix chairs I covet:
http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/ny/at-email/best-outdoor-dining-chairs-2010-118835

Remodelista addles my brain with a surfeit of great ideas:
http://remodelista.com/posts/steal-this-look-low-cost-kitchen
and
http://remodelista.com/shop/storage/shelving?view=99

A Dream Deferred

Instructor says that all woodworking in this course will be based on right angles only. I suppose this eliminates the prospect of building an traditional round vineyard table as my project. Alas.