of letters

Speaking of people of letters, while walking home from the Metro this afternoon I was viewing and judging the homes along Haycock Road when I came across one of those genius families that put their address above the garage using black cursive, wrought-iron letters. I'd never thought much about it but I'm now convinced that crappy lettering in lieu of bright brass or lit actual numbers is horribly frustrating. I'm sure I've driven around any number of unfamiliar neighborhoods looking for addresses and coming across some house with Garamond italic phrases proclaiming, in the dusk of evening, that this home is indeed seventy-five thirty-nine Jumbalaya Lane.

The Eleven has been all over craigslist for the last three or four weeks filling some of the needs for the new place. Suddenly we notice a certain type of post-er / photog that feels the need to display furniture just so; like this or this. The first thing that comes to a man's mind runs along these lines. "Honey, take the chaise outside for the picture...not there, over there...not on the grass, on the sidewalk. Don't step on the dahlias!...maybe a little closer to the driveway...watch out for the minivan...that looks good. Wait...what about the backlighting..." In our little minds we're thinking our original plan of tossing the damn thing in a dumpster - or eating it - would be preferable to this jackassery. I love the table in this ad because apparently it would make a great "computer desk" out near the forest in our backyard. "Hey honey, why don't you take your computer out back - I'll run you a power cord."

Maybe I'm jaded.

t.