Gallery Gripes

I always thought galleries were for untouchable things like fancy paintings and sculptures of nekkid stuff that I never get to ordinarily see without a chaperone or a mirror. Why is it then, every stupid mattress and furniture joint who tries to sell overpriced polished n’ processed pine tree tables, and soft tops for beds label themselves a gallery? Who would buy a haughty hunk of wood to put next to your big puff n’ overstuffed ‘Sleep Number’ mattress if it’s ‘too terrific to touch or leave a water ring on either one of them?

How can I afford these high-brow furnishings anyway unless I break into my life savings glued under my hobo-hammock in a locked-box spring. Who knows, maybe the value of these ‘top drawer’ trappings is in the bed thread spun from 1000 count silken Egyptian skivvies; or possibly it’s that hard to make fancy footboard since calloused artisans always seem to put their ‘SOLES’ into their work. As far as I can tell though, the only thing that differentiates the price of the posh pads from my classy cot is an embellished embroidered cover, and the fact that my roll-a-way’s ‘ergo-WRONG-mics’ tend to disturb my bowling ball from its Brunswick slumber when I bound into bed.

if only I could get past both the yellow tags and the stains on Goodwill’s mattress bin,  I surely could find some MITEY fine bed bug buys at a bargain price, or at the very least an oversized plastic bag to play in. Oh sure the stuff hawked by those snobby spring-thing dandy dealers  at the mall smell a little fresher, but to be truly worthy of a gallery exhibition I think somebody famous should have expired on the ‘flattress’ first - or at least they should’ve been eating something expired. To the sales gurus credit though, I’ve heard that the memory foam carcass-cushions really do work; since you’ll never forget their sky-high prices  and will always remember that soft spot the salesman so smoothly shoved his ‘FUTON’ up to get you to buy.  

Hmmm on second thought instead of a bed, to save some ‘Green’, I guess I could always pound down a patch of it out on the lawn or commune with a trampoline as a bouncy bunk for bedtime. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking new bedding booty – it’s just that jungle bums like me usually find our sleep-time creature comforts in parks, landfills, and under overpasses. That strategy seems to work just fine for the ducks, deer, and bear … uh as long as they don’t wander into one of those expensive, high pressure arcade galleries – of the SHOOTIN’ kind! 

Chair-man ON a board

Despite the rather ample fat pad that’s already glued to my caboose all of the time, I am at a loss to find a truly comfortable chair. I’m not sure if I am just big (vestigial) boned or if the wood (in my head) is getting harder but something has got to change with these chairs. Even when I try to make padding out of random packing materials like cardboard or those Styrofoam peanuts, they still feel lumpy, itchy and uncomfortable inside my pants.

Anyway, sitting and I are not great friends even though I have trained intensively to do it pretty well. The only kind of sitting surface I haven’t broken is an ancient hunk of craggy granite in a National park, though my wife swears I cracked that too. It’s a rare chair indeed that hasn’t succumbed to my beguiling bulk, weighty wiles, and corpulent charms, because as a giant slug I’ve left a long sad trail of splinters, screws, and sticky wood glue.

Yes I should be forever known as the Von Richthofen of furniture flattening. Like that nose art emblazoned on fighter planes, I need to pridefully start marking off how many chairs my big ACE has killed off and turned into matchsticks and toothpicks. After my long caREAR , obviously not only is my ‘Baron’ very Red but by now I’ve should have earned the BLUE gluteus MAXimus medal.

Ok ok, so I see your point – with a track record like mine it’s clear that I never ran a track in my life, and it’s no wonder why no one manufactures chattel for the ‘PRATTel’ that’s supple to my ’RUMPle’. Soft furniture simply won’t suffice anymore since so many hefty folk are packing on the pounds and they must build every hard board sofa for the ‘loaf-a’ of an ‘oaf-a’ like me! Still, I can someday wish for pillow-puff downy-dreams down below can’t I? Maybe if I am lucky, somebody will eventually come up with a truly effective STOOL softener!

Artful Dodger

Well since it is getting warmer, we have begun our weekend trips to acquire fine objet d’art from random strangers and their ‘garages d’ junk’! I am not a picky picker like those know-it-all cable TV show folks. No, I like my artwork served strange with a just a dash of daffy delight on the side.

My wife is no slop slouch either, though she probably would deny it. I have clearly infected the spousal unit with my keen eye and ability to be most attracted to the MOST UN-attractive hand-made art available. That is harder to do than you may think. It’s one thing to find horrible artwork atrocities best only approached with an oversized long-reach camping fork, but quite another to buy the stuff, and really WANT it too regardless of cost.

My wife found this particular piece. It truly fit the BILL of being so far off-the-wall that we found it in a box on the floor. Hand carved from wood with a truly universally appealing decorator theme of a wild-eyed watermelon fan in prison pj’s and red boots. We tested this little gem out on impressionable young children and it actually made them cry. I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life, have you?

So the next time you are out and about at a swap meet or a second-hand shop, don’t just go for the gold but check out some of that oxidized tin too. Yes if you’re lucky you can be just like my wife and get your hands on your own homely treasure. Don’t worry nobody’s looking. There is no reason to dodge your inner art critic – embrace the tasteless and taste the juicy fruit of your desire. Fear not because it only cost a buck . . . and you can always spit out the seeds!

Roomba Rhumba

The last few days I have been engaged in a genuine dance of love. I know what you’re thinking, even If it sounds romantic, it must have something to do with robots right? Well I guess I am so thin-skinned that you can see right into my small and dehydrated grayish CPU because you are right.

Yes I have been doing the Roomba Rhumba, which since this is one of those self-propelled robotic vacuums, it must mean my techno ‘jig’ is the direct opposite of ‘dirty dancing’. Though not perfect by any means (here is a formal review), I am genuinely impressed with these fun and flat little dust suckers. They are only about 4 inches tall and the width of a normal beater-bar (as opposed to a biker bar) vac head, so they can go anywhere – EVEN completely under couches, tables, and recliners.

While these devices are literally like having a housekeeper with an extra set of hands around, at best this little ‘micro-maid’ is still a bit mentally challenged. So if you cannot stand the random roaming of a bump n’ grind ‘robo-mop’ running into chair legs, reversing course slightly, and then doing it again – DON’T get one of these bots. But particularly if you have hardwood or tile floors, they are pretty amazing at doing a very respectable job at sucking up crumbs and devouring dust bunnies.

The rechargeable battery runs for about an hour on plush carpet and nearly twice that long on hard floors. Unless you have a mansion, the beast can clean 2 to 3 rooms on a single charge and get this, be programmed to clean floors then recharge itself when needed. It came with a remote control too but, other than to chase your pets, I think if you are going to ‘guide’ a vacuum, why not grab the REAL upright plug-in and help the Roomba suck-it-up faster? Maybe I should invent an all-purpose robot that cleans literally ANYTHING in and around the toilets. Now that is what the world REALLY needs … I’m thinking of calling it the “CAN-DOO BOT”

Furniture salespeople frustrations

I’m not sure why I don’t like furniture sales people. I know it is not fair since all they are trying to do is help me find that perfect padded fabric-covered platform for my lazy posterior. That is not an easy task either, since I have somewhat of a bad reputation for destroying chairs and recliners. Who can afford this stuff too? These days I need to get a letter of credit from a bank just to buy a set of TV stands.

I think the fundamental problem is that those irritating furniture sales folks flock so quickly and attack me when I walk in the door. What if every business operated this way? Can you imagine trying to pick out a nice piano crate to bury your favorite fat, but dead Uncle, when all of a sudden a half-dozen pale morticians descended on you like Robin on a yard worm?

I know it is tough competitive sales work to be locked in a barn full of sticks and cushions that most people don’t really need. I mean you KNOW most everyone that walks in a furniture store already OWNS stuff to sit, sleep, and eat on. In my case it all just happens to be the same dusty, broken down easy chair. Yeah I have thought occasionally about replacing the beast when the buttons and springs start leaving indentations on my body. But invariably, I pull out the duct tape, plump the pillows, and then brush off the runaway Froot Loops to make that old recliner as good as new.

I don’t know, maybe like my bar stools, I am being too hard on these velour vendors of furniture row. I should be more considerate and try to ‘couch’ my displeasure better when greeted on the sales floor. I’m sure if my paycheck depended on how many rumps I lowered into loveseats every day, I would be even MORE irritating than I am now too. I’m not sure if that is possible though? Fortunately all the salary I need can be found underneath the ample nooks and crannies of my favorite bank, ‘Lazy-Boy Savings and Loan’.