If it's good enough for Tim Gunn

As of this weekend, I've started watching HGTV. I've been living in apartments for three years now, and decorating is still not a thing that's really happened for. At all.

Well, unless you count the cheap-o DVD shelves that I painted (rather poorly) on a whim a couple of summers ago.

But now: HGTV! Because I'm hoping that watching hours upon hours of home buying/renovating/decorating is the source of people's decorating knowledge and capability, rather than a symptom of some innate, untouchable, stylishness.

I just don't want to be that person whose whole house could be described as "A Study in Beige." Nor do I want to be the person who has a giant statue of a tiger - formed entirely out of stained glass and mirrors - serving as the base of her coffee table.

(Actually, it'd be kind of fun to be that person. How cool would it be to be some crazy, aging society dame with a fur turban, a ton of brooches, a gin habit, and maybe some sort of long-suffering personal assistant?)

So, anyway, I'm watching HGTV in the hopes that by the time I have a home, and some money, and a scroll saw (I should never own a scroll saw), I'll be full of clever decorating ideas.

As of day two, the only idea I've had is this: HGTV totally needs scripted programming.

It could be about unreasonably young and sexy home inspectors looking at each other melodramatically while assessing basement water damage. And one of them could have a fraught relationship with a corrupt realtor who forces them to falsify inspections so that her sellers get good prices.

Season 1 could end with the delicate and naive (but damaged) lead female character inspecting a house that has been booby trapped with tons of mold! Oh no! "Will she survive?" you'll wonder, as the season closes with a close-up of her panicked (but carefully made-up) face.

But then, you know, of course she will. Because she's only been in there for a few minutes, and it's mold, for God's sake, not arsenic.

It's like when your mom discovered flash mobs

I have a problem. I get super excited when I discover new things. I go from zero to obsessed in the matter of days, and I want to share it with everyone. That, in and of itself, isn't the problem (you know, unless you're one of the people that I've hounded). The problem is that I am NEVER on the cutting edge.

Between my distrust of new things and my general laziness, I tend to champion movies that just came out on DVD, and albums that came out three years ago. So bear my epic un-cool-ness in mind if I'm WAY behind the curve when I say oh my God, are you using Spotify? Because my husband (who's way more interested in music than I am) just introduced me to it this morning and IT'S THE BEST. It is to Pandora as Thundercats are to He-Man (by which I mean it's way, way, way, way, better). You can basically stream whatever music you want, whenever you want, and it's free!

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go listen Adam Ant until it seems like a good idea to paint a giant stripe across my face with blue eyeshadow.


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