Second Hand, Second Thoughts

Solitude      I used to think it was a personal, moral failing that, after about three to five days of being around people, I turn into this irritable, snappy, fitful, horrible creature.      I was told that I was "difficult," "unpredictable," "arrogant," not a "team player." These are nice ways of saying "snappy, fitful, horrible creature."      I have since been told this is typical, introverted behavior.      But frankly, I still think of it as a failing.      Because I've been running my little gallery in Louisville for over a month, now, and I'm truly understanding that regular shop-keepers' hours are not my strong suit. But I somehow think that shouldn't matter. I should do it because other people do it. What's wrong with me that I just can't do it?      Outwardly, I am boisterous and outgoing; I have made a sort of burlesque art of talking to strangers ...

I do know how to take a compliment. But it still kinda-sorta bugs me when people say anything about my thrifting habits. "You find the most amazing stuff! You must have some sort of Midas touch when it comes to the junk stores!" "I just can't go to thrift stores--not like you do. I never find anything good." "You must really love your stores." Admittedly, I am showing them Chanel shoes and Tod's purses and Bally briefcases, which is amazing stuff, to be sure--that's why I'm showing it to them. But if I had a true 'Midas Touch,' I sure as hell wouldn't be using it trying to remove set-in wine stains and sweater pills. I'd be raking in money investing in real estate and have someone else shop at Saks for me so that I could donate amazing stuff for some alternate universe version of me to find. As for the second comment, it's true: You can't find anything good in thrift stores if you don't go to thrift stor...

The joke goes: Two circus laborers were shoveling piles of elephant shit. It was a hot day, the flies were awful and one of the elephants had diarrhea.  A gorgeous woman walked by on the arm of a well-dressed, obviously successful man.  "Ya know, if we got office jobs, we could afford a dame like that," said the first guy, pitching an enormous, soupy elephant turd onto the pile. "What?" said the other guy, aghast. "And give up showbiz?" There are jobs that everyone wants to do because they sound cool and interesting:  writer, actor or theater designer, architect, artist, fashion designer, bar owner. But most people realize that you really should only pursue those careers if you absolutely, positively can not do anything else. Those are jobs that actually require a lot of much of the time very, very dull, tedious work with huge possibilities of ridiculed obscurity, thankless poverty and heartbreaking failure. Most of us who labor in these creative sal...

It must have been hell to raise children in the 1970's. The world lost its mind after a series of cultural revolutions and the fallout resulted in the Captain and Tenille, trucker chic, and Herpes.  The Chevy Vega.  Polyester leisure suits.  Leading women's magazines touted the opinion that not only " could  good" girls 'do it' on the first date, good girls should do it on the first date." Men stopped trying to get women to sleep with them the old way: snappy dressing, chocolates and general gallantry and got into silky polyester shirts, unbuttoned them to the navel and started using astrology. I think parents just gave up. I'm pretty sure mine did--at least after giving their previous four kids the ol' college try. My mother made a sort of little playpen in an out-of-the-way corner of her antique shop by making walls of stacks of vintage Playboy  magazines. I remember long winter afternoons, learning to read (they do have excellent articles...

I am not one of those people who insist that my organizational challenges are because I don't have enough space. Neither am I one of those people that can ignore and live amid clutter. My house is cluttered. But I do not have an organizational problem. I simply have run out of space. Really. What we have here is what might be called an inventory problem. It's a small house. We were proud of that. But I was a full-time writer then. Writers don't really need a lot of place to keep your inventory. Okay, fine--there are all those dusty books, and maybe some paper and envelopes, but the majority of that business just stuff you can keep in your head. Now, up to five people live here and we have an open door for friends and family and neighbors. Now, we have three businesses with heavy inventory: coats and jeans and boots; saddles and bridles and blankets; building equipment, tools and materials. Oh, and there are still the books. So, this week, I'm photographin...

Yeah--I watched the video version of The Secret and kinda totally loved it. What of it? And yeah--I know it was a kind of pop-psych pap-so? But you know, when you start really buying it--when you start thinking " Yes! The Universe will align itself with my desires if I can just put out enough positive vibrations!! " Well, it can open up all sorts of cans of worms. Such as: why hasn't a dear friend's nasty, abusive ex husband had the decency to crash through a bridge guardrail while he was sending her nasty text messages while driving drunk when so many of us have believed it was inevitable? (And if he did, would the universe contact the police or the insurance company?) Or: where is my: Range Rover, criminally expensive string of horses, French chateau, face/boob lift, book contract??? Because, if you've watched the film, if the expression of the omnipotent power is to open up a more convenient parking spot for my shitbox Toyota Highlander, then to hell with it....

I have never been a "collector."  Goodwill Find o' the Week: Christian Laboutin red satin heels Most things that "collectors" fancy--trading cards, figurines of varying cuteness or expensiveness, art of particular eras, war paraphernalia, or whatever (--has never held my interest long enough for me to shell out actual money to obtain in critical mass worthy of being called a "collection." Also, I never had actual money, either. But even stuff you can pick up: shells, birds' nests, animal skulls, heart-shaped things, interestingly shaped poo--meh. Okay--I always thought I wasn't really a collector, until I referred to cleaning my shoe shelves as "curating."  Several pairs of Prada, one pair of Jimmy Choo slides, Manolo Blahnik pumps, Lanvin sandals, Tod's driving mocs, Gucci boots, Frye boots, Ralph Lauren boots, Hunter boots, Red Wing Boots, Coach heeled loafers, Guiseppe Zanotti pumps, Chanel captoe two-tones, Miu Miu b...