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Pastimes : Don't Ask Rambi -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Rambi who wrote (35248)	8/17/1999 2:51:00 PM
From: epicure	Respond to of 71178

I USE mine now. I stack junk on it. Recommend you do the same.

To: Rambi who wrote (35248)	8/17/1999 3:44:00 PM
From: Gauguin	Read Replies (3) \| Respond to of 71178

RE: "Living rooms": There is quite an architectural movement afoot to re-think the "living room" and "dining room." But the most amazing resistance, comes from banks, who don't like that sort of shit one bit. They want: L,D,F,K,MB,B2,B3. PERIOD. Is that clear? There have been some hilarious and extremely insightful social critiques written about this, some as early as 100 years ago, when this thing was spotted; but most of these writings are in the modern era from architects and designers who are I'd have to say is ~ "FED UP." I use the living room for a bedroom. See? I bet you're shocked. Cmon, admit it, there was a little tinge of frightenment there. "You can't do that!" We LIVE in OUR house. "Music room" is a GREAT idea. I lived in a monster house, a well-architected one, in Utah, and the living room was about 40 by 30 with 14 ft ceilings and clerestories about 11 feet off the floor. The carpet was white, as was the couch, and it was 10 feet long. There was a "corner" that was big enough for rowdy bridge. (I trounced an asshole friend of my father's there at age 16; and I had a brass marker installed.) But back to Music. I had two beautiful acoustic guitars, a classical and six-string, and I would go in there and practice. No one else really went in there. It was, actually, an incredibly beautiful room. It was mostly massive vista-glass and beautiful stone. With large patios adjacent. Floor to ceiling windows with beautiful views of the mountains; sliding doors to the quiet outside. The mountains were scarlet oak fireballs in Fall.) I LOVED that house. Anyway, I would sometimes leave the guitar leaning against one of the flock of upholstered chairs in there, and if my dad ever ventured in there, he would yell at me, "Paul! Get your guitar OUT of THE LIVING ROOM!" (Don't think that didn't strike a chord with me. I remember asking him why he called it that, since none was allowed in there. This is just about the time we got in a physical fight. Summer 1969. I admit I was cantankerous and not respectful, but also tired of up-putting with stuff that was bullshit.) I'd go in there and look at it, the guitar, a beautiful little speck of varnished mahogany and spruce; and to me, it looked like delicate, proportioned furniture. And, frankly, goddamit, it gave the otherwise veiled outer-space a "hint" of purpose. A context. I tole my Dad. (He was a big guy; you didn't tell him anything.) "It looks like a piece of furniture." I would make aesthetic comments. He didn't appreciate it. "Get it out of there." I got really tired of that. Weird, idiotic paradigms. Piss me off. Okay, so it's his living room. BFD. Like I said, I was a bad boy. But a good bad boy. I would think, "What kind of thinking is going on in there to be an asshole over a guitar in a room no one uses without 3.5 months warning?" I hate that shit. And I think there are an awful lot of people our age who do too. But the bankers, they have that same mentality as me dad.