sip and take in Claire's pad. "Claire, your place is spotless and charming as usual."
"Gee, thanks Dag." Claire assumes Dag is being supercilious, but actually, Dag and I have always admired Claire's taste—her bungalow
is quantum leaps in taste ahead of both of ours, furnished with heaps of familial loot snagged in between her mother's and father's plentiful Brentwood divorces.
Claire will go to incredible lengths to get the desired effects. ("My apartment must be perfect.") She pulled up the carpet, for instance, and revealed hardwood flooring, which she hand-refinished, stained, and then sprinkled with Persian and Mexican throw rugs. Antique plate silver jugs and vases (Orange Country Flea Market) rest in front of walls covered with fabric. Outdoorsy Adirondack chairs made of cascara willow bear cushions of Provençal material printed by wood block.
SEMI-DISPOSABLE
Claire's is a lovely space, but it has one truly disturbing artifact in SWEDISH FURNITURE
it—racks of antlers, dozens of them, lying tangled in a brittle calciferous cluster in the room adjoining the kitchen, the room that technically really ought to have been the dining room instead of an ossuary that scares the daylights out of repairpersons come to fix the appliances.
ARCHITECTURAL
The antler-collecting obsession started months ago, when Claire
INDIGESTION: The almost
obsessive need to live in a 'cool'
"liberated" a rack of elk antlers from a nearby garage sale. A few days architectural environment.
later she informed Dag and me that she had performed a small ceremony Frequently related objects of
to allow the soul of the tortured, hunted animal to go to heaven. She fetish include framed black-and-white art photography [Diane
wouldn't tell us what the ceremony was.
Arbus a favorite); simplistic pine
Soon, the liberation process became a small obsession. Claire now
furniture; matte black high-tech
rescues antlers by placing ads in the Desert Sun saying, "Local artist items such as TVs, stereos, and
telephones; low-wattage ambient
requires antlers for project. Please call 323. . . .' Nine times out often lighting; a lamp, chair, or ta ble
the respondent is a woman named Verna, hair in curlers, chewing nic -that alludes to the 1950s; cut flowers with complex names.
otine gum who says to Claire, "You don't look the the scrimshaw type to me, honey, but the bastard's gone, so just take the damn things.
JAPANESE
Never could stand them, anyway."
MINIMALISM: The most
frequently offered interior
design aesthetic used by
rootless career-hopping young
people.
"Well, Dag," I ask, reaching for his paper bags, "What did you get me?"
"Hands off the merchandise, please!" Dag snaps, adding quickly,
"Patience. Please." He then reaches into the bag and then hands me something quickly before I can see what it is. "Un cadeau pour toi."
It's a coiled-up antique bead belt with GRAND CANYON written on
it in bead-ese.
"Dag! This is perfect! Total 1940s."
"Thought you'd like it. And now for mademoiselle —" Dag pivots and hands Claire something: a de-labeled Miracle Whip mayonnaise jar filled with something green. "Possibly the most charmed object in my collection."
"Mille tendresses, Dag," Claire says, looking into what looks like olive-colored instant coffee crystals, "But what is it? Green sand?" She s h o w s t h e j a r t o m e , t h e n s h a k e s i t a b i t . " I am perplexed. Is it jade?"
"Not jade at all."
A sick shiver marimbas down my spine. "Dag, you didn't get it in New Mexico, did you?"
" G o o d g u e s s , A n d y . T h e n y o u k n o w w h a t i t i s ? "
" I h a v e a h u n c h . "
"You kittenish thing, you."
"Will you two stop being so male, and just tell me what this stuff i s ? " d e m a n d s Claire. "My cheeks are hurting from smiling."
I a s k C l a i r e i f I c a n s e e h e r p r e s e n t f o r a s e c o n d , a n d s h e h a n d s me the jar, but Dag tries to grab it from me. I guess his cocktail is
"Gee, thanks Dag." Claire assumes Dag is being supercilious, but actually, Dag and I have always admired Claire's taste—her bungalow
is quantum leaps in taste ahead of both of ours, furnished with heaps of familial loot snagged in between her mother's and father's plentiful Brentwood divorces.
Claire will go to incredible lengths to get the desired effects. ("My apartment must be perfect.") She pulled up the carpet, for instance, and revealed hardwood flooring, which she hand-refinished, stained, and then sprinkled with Persian and Mexican throw rugs. Antique plate silver jugs and vases (Orange Country Flea Market) rest in front of walls covered with fabric. Outdoorsy Adirondack chairs made of cascara willow bear cushions of Provençal material printed by wood block.
SEMI-DISPOSABLE
Claire's is a lovely space, but it has one truly disturbing artifact in SWEDISH FURNITURE
it—racks of antlers, dozens of them, lying tangled in a brittle calciferous cluster in the room adjoining the kitchen, the room that technically really ought to have been the dining room instead of an ossuary that scares the daylights out of repairpersons come to fix the appliances.
ARCHITECTURAL
The antler-collecting obsession started months ago, when Claire
INDIGESTION: The almost
obsessive need to live in a 'cool'
"liberated" a rack of elk antlers from a nearby garage sale. A few days architectural environment.
later she informed Dag and me that she had performed a small ceremony Frequently related objects of
to allow the soul of the tortured, hunted animal to go to heaven. She fetish include framed black-and-white art photography [Diane
wouldn't tell us what the ceremony was.
Arbus a favorite); simplistic pine
Soon, the liberation process became a small obsession. Claire now
furniture; matte black high-tech
rescues antlers by placing ads in the Desert Sun saying, "Local artist items such as TVs, stereos, and
telephones; low-wattage ambient
requires antlers for project. Please call 323. . . .' Nine times out often lighting; a lamp, chair, or ta ble
the respondent is a woman named Verna, hair in curlers, chewing nic -that alludes to the 1950s; cut flowers with complex names.
otine gum who says to Claire, "You don't look the the scrimshaw type to me, honey, but the bastard's gone, so just take the damn things.
JAPANESE
Never could stand them, anyway."
MINIMALISM: The most
frequently offered interior
design aesthetic used by
rootless career-hopping young
people.
"Well, Dag," I ask, reaching for his paper bags, "What did you get me?"
"Hands off the merchandise, please!" Dag snaps, adding quickly,
"Patience. Please." He then reaches into the bag and then hands me something quickly before I can see what it is. "Un cadeau pour toi."
It's a coiled-up antique bead belt with GRAND CANYON written on
it in bead-ese.
"Dag! This is perfect! Total 1940s."
"Thought you'd like it. And now for mademoiselle —" Dag pivots and hands Claire something: a de-labeled Miracle Whip mayonnaise jar filled with something green. "Possibly the most charmed object in my collection."
"Mille tendresses, Dag," Claire says, looking into what looks like olive-colored instant coffee crystals, "But what is it? Green sand?" She s h o w s t h e j a r t o m e , t h e n s h a k e s i t a b i t . " I am perplexed. Is it jade?"
"Not jade at all."
A sick shiver marimbas down my spine. "Dag, you didn't get it in New Mexico, did you?"
" G o o d g u e s s , A n d y . T h e n y o u k n o w w h a t i t i s ? "
" I h a v e a h u n c h . "
"You kittenish thing, you."
"Will you two stop being so male, and just tell me what this stuff i s ? " d e m a n d s Claire. "My cheeks are hurting from smiling."
I a s k C l a i r e i f I c a n s e e h e r p r e s e n t f o r a s e c o n d , a n d s h e h a n d s me the jar, but Dag tries to grab it from me. I guess his cocktail is
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