My door is open: why I’m pretty public online about my home
Rockethaus is pretty public. I run two blogs dealing specifically with homes, I tweet pretty much all the time, and I am also a normal Young Professional living in America. A LOT of my life happens online, publicly, where other people have access to it, even people I don't know terribly well. We talk about parties, problems, events, and projects, and we do a lot of it completely in the open. My mom would argue that it's dangerous for people to know where I live and what my habits are, but I prefer to think it's part of community building.
Kill your darlings: what being a writer taught me about homemaking
Kill your darlings is one of the writing terms which has become a mantra to me over the last year of homemaking.
You’ll hear in writing courses and author’s workshops across the nation: Kill your darlings. Supposedly advice from Faulkner, “kill your darlings” means letting go of your work — even when it is beautiful, hard-won work — in order to make progress in a piece of writing. That beautiful landscape description your readers will simply skip? That character you spent months developing but turns out to be unimportant to the plot? Off with their heads. On with your work.
Losing my maternal drive: maybe I really don’t want children
I have no idea what happened. One minute, I was boiling with the need to have a baby, staring melty-eyed at little ones in the street. The next, I was cold and empty. The desire had extinguished itself, leaving hollow indifference in its place. I riddled over what force possessed the power to do this. Perhaps it was a particularly difficult babysitting session with a screamy, parent-missing girl. Or maybe a heartfelt conversation about parenting with my partner.
Why does everyone’s house look the same?
Fuck your frame cluster. Fuck your decorative typewriter. Fuck your Eames rocker, your vintage map, your rotary phone and your card catalog. Fuck every inch of your sterile, homogeneous,”curated” apartment. Also, where did you get that throw pillow? It’s gorgeous!
How to use your powers — and parties — for good
On New Year’s Eve, we raised over $2,000 for a local food bank by dressing up, showing off, and getting cheerfully smashed with 30 or so of our best buds. We don’t have loads of cash, a fancy venue, or any (particularly) super powers, so how’d we pull off this feat? By focusing on what we do have.
Eavesdropping: one of the many joys of city living
Our condo faces onto a courtyard, and when the windows are open there’s definitely a little Melrose Place action that happens. We hear neighbors coming and going, having sex, spanking each other, etc. It’s always entertaining.
We can also hear the callbox at the front gate. Monday night, this is what Dre and I heard, as we sat on the couch staring each other silently with wide eyes that said, “Don’t start laughing! They’ll hear you!”
How can I minimize weirdness when hosting clients in my home office?
I run a business from my home, and I often have to meet with clients and collaborators. I’ve been meeting in coffee shops, but I want to make a change: some meetings require lots of materials or even room to spread out drawings and papers, and I hate lugging this stuff around and then splaying out my work in a cafe. However, I want to make sure I’m projecting a professional persona even when I greet a client at my front door and lead them through the living room to my office. My house is fine — it’s neat, though doesn’t have a ton of furniture. It just feels strange to invite people to see where I live AND work.
Am I silly to worry about this? Is there anything you can suggest to allay my twinge of weirdness about mixing business and personal worlds?
“Toned-down Ned Flanders”: Hosting travelers who’ll want to come back
I’ve stayed at a bunch of places through CouchSurfing and AirBnB and I think I have a few ideas on how to make my guests leave glowing reviews (and send more guests your way!). You can call my strategy Toned-Down Ned Flanders: there’s an episode of The Simpsons where Ned lets the Simpsons borrow his beach house for the weekend. He leaves a note on every square inch of the cabin explaining how to use each thing (like “Put food in me” on the fridge). Don’t go to these lengths or risk being made fun of mercilessly on the internet, but DO share more information than you think you might have to.