collapse and delight

steven gambrel’s digs

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I can't stop looking at Steven Gambrel’s house in the Jan/Feb Elle Decor, which is a master class in attention to detail, what with the lacquered walls here, the upholstered (with nailhead trim!) walls there, the subtly varied and layered finishes everywhere. There are lots of his signatures — the Jordan Almond colors, the contrast welting, the focus on the borders of every little thing — but it’s all on a deeper, richer, more seductive level. And the kitchen is like the world’s loveliest dungeon. They’ve given it 6 spreads — seventeen gorgeous William Waldron photos — and it’s still not enough.

then the cockroach says to the composer

I'm in line — a very long line — at Trader Joe’s tonight, so of course I pull out the wonderphone and start to read. The app opens to where I left off in Insect Dreams, with Gregor literally talking Charles Ives down off a ledge. I’m thinking to myself “I’m really more in the mood for Walden at the moment,” but I only have a few minutes anyway, right? So I turn the page:

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I’m telling you, you can't make this shit up. Books have a way of colliding.