It's not about the house.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Apocrypha

My One Friend is here this week -- well, she's not here today, but she was here yesterday and she'll be back tomorrow. Really! She's even agreed to team-blog with me, so you will know she does exist, so there. She's here because she has Post-Doc interviews in Cambridge and New Haven. (I'm trying to be all Miss-Manners modest on her behalf about those secret locations, but you know what I'm saying, don't you? Wink wink?)

Anyway, she'll tell you more about what she really thinks of The famous House (and I) tomorrow, but for now I had to elaborate upon this observation:

"I love," she said, "how you have all these secret stashes of books everywhere."

What? No, I don't. There's only one bookshelf, and it's not even really a shelf, per se, but just the hole in the wall where the old window used to be. Secret books? Whatever are you talking about?

So she commenced to pointing.

Oh, those. Those aren't books. Those are just ideas that I keep handy in my office. Also one pig-rat (can you spot her?) and some soup.

Oh, those? Those aren't books. Those are just the leather-bounds that we keep next to the guest bed. See, Johnny's severely dyslexic, so reading is a chore for him, but still important. Because it takes so much out of him, he reads only Important Things, and every time he finishes one through to the end, he buys himself a copy bound in leather. So this is really more like a trophy shelf than it is a bookshelf. I merely filled in a few empty spaces. Plus a purple paperback that One Friend left here. (That adjective is not a comment on the contents, I don't know what the book's about, but the cover of it is the color purple -- see it? On the top right? So that proves it: One Friend is real, and she was here.)

Those aren't books. They're just a few things that wouldn't fit on the actual bookshelf. Plus Superstar. And, behind Jesus, the Partridge Family. (See? The glass on the table? One Friend was here! She's real, I tell you!)

Now that is the real bookshelf. The old back window that was boarded over on the other side when Previous Owners built the addition that is now my bedroom. See that starburst parttern on the bottom left there? That's where I duct-taped a blanket to this wall in order to keep Him and Her from escaping while the construction was going on out back. Four years ago. Yeah, no: we haven't gotten round to painting this bedroom yet. So?

Those aren't books. That's just Johnny's secret stash of magic.

And that is mine.

Those aren't books. Ahem. They're cookbooks. And empty beer cans. And maybe a pot or two that I've yet to put away from our St. Pats party. They're clean, though. The pots, that is. Not the cans. Sorry, Redemption Guy.

That's just my bedside table. The on-deck circle, as it were. What? Oh, I sleep fine, thanks for asking. Why?

Those aren't books. That's Johnny's music.

And those are his National Geographics. Plus a few other things. And hey, come to think of it, why are there other things in the FLW magazine-holder that Mom bought us last year? It's supposed to be only for NatGeo (that was not a condition of the gift, just a House Rule that Johnny and I have Agreed Upon. Because once a NatGeo is read and put away, it doesn't tend to get touched again, and the FLW magazine rack Tips Over easily). Oh, that's right. We had Company last weekend, and a few Things just had to get Put Somewhere. Remind me when I finish this, and I'll go take them out.

Hey, now! Those really aren't books. Mostly. With a few exceptions. How did that happen? Well, I guess I know what I'll be doing this afternoon with that long-neglected box up in the attic! Ah, Mr. Mezzrow, we will at long last be together again...


Someone may have stealthily snuck in here yesterday and insinuated that my husband is a pack rat. Lots of you may have shared your own male-of-the-species woes in this regard. We may have all commiserated and agreed that they are the pack-rat problem, and if it only weren't for them, our houses would be clutter-free in a New Haven minute (well, come on, have you seen the AssVac? That's a lot to cram into a New York one, don't you think?).

But then my One Friend came along, opened her very impressive, PhD-finishing, soon-to-be-Cambridge-bound eyes, and without even meaning to -- with, actually, the intent of complimenting me -- pointed out what a hypocrite I was.

So, the moral of the story is:

Them Ivy-leaguers are some snobby bitches, ain't they?


Amalie said...

This is 100% the discussion I have with everyone about my definitions of "food." See, I don't like fruit in my food; however, dessert is not food, therefore, apple pie is ok. Cereal is also not food, it is breakfast, therefore, bananas on cereal is ok. Salad-- while it is also not food, I still don't want fruit in it unless it is designated as fruit salad per se. Mango chutney is not food-- it is a condiment. Chicken, on the other hand, IS food, and need not be paired with fruit or nuts. There are very VERY few exceptions to this rule, though they do exist.

(Oh-- and YAY PG Wodehouse and YAY Bill Bryson. All this post has done is make me want to spend the afternoon eating and reading. Surely I can swing that...?)

EGE said...

Oooh, I HATE fruit in my food! Especially hot, mushy raisins. Yuck. Except in bread products. Which are not food.

We were separated at birth.

su said...

It all just goes to support the premise that one man's junk is another person's treasure! So stop bugging me! lol

Amalie said...

Agreed. I think it was the inclusion of raisins and CURRENTS and sultanas in rice that was the final straw. And you are correct-- bread is NOT food.

Tara said...

Is the stuff brewing in the jar next to Johnny's magic, PART of Johnny's magic? Or is that a jar of homebrew Irish magic?

EGE said...

Oh, that. Yuck. Wait. I've got to go to work now, but when I get home I'll explain about the Mother in the Jar.

su said...

Just so you are all not hanging and waiting to hear the story of Johnny doing me in and fleeing to Dublin.. I am not the Mother in the jar! lol

Courtney said...

Dear EGE,

Please stop putting pictures of my house on your blog. We are TRYING to work on the book clutter, okay?


Tiny Oak Park Bungalow said...

I'm glad I'm not the only one. That's not a pile of books, it's an end table...

Dr. One Friend said...

Lies! All Lies!
I am not snobby!
I am not a bitch!
I am not in the AssVac!
I am here!

su said...

Hi Dr one friend Congrats and welcome home