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Money Irreverence, the Neo Nouveau Riche
2/20/2007 3:39 am Last Read: |
The insert is a map of Graceland, the most Shining (dubiously shining?) example of Nouveau Riche in the US. A shameless waste of money by Elvis Presley, it's still considered a Mecca by fans, a study in tactless decorating by most architects, and by a few who can glimpse underneath it, the playfulness of someone who not only had money, but also the right to enjoy it. I'm not an Elvis fan by any stretch, and I'm certainly not a professional interior designer, but something about Graceland makes me smile, and that I think was the whole point of the place. This week the Hubby asked me to do some research into areas to live and work in the UK once his contract is up in Amsterdam. I'm pretty sure he knew the figures already, but he wanted me to see them for myself. Holy gods...let's just put it this way. I've been a poor girl most of my life (not all of it mind you, but the past ten years have been very hard ones). I can't even contemplate that kind of money, to be honest. It boggles the imagination. What does anyone do with that amount of cash? I'm already got a list in my head of friends who helped me out in the past - I can finally do something nice for them though I don't want to overdo it and hurt their own pride...and still, it doesn't even scratch the surface of what's left over. So...what do people actually do with all this money? I know the answer to that. Ticky Tacky. Fancy cars and homes and show-off tans and rings and stupidly expensive clothing and kids in boarding school no one ever sees and things that make you dead inside as you work your way to your first heart attack. That's money Worship, Nouveau Riche style. The hubby and I are more money Irreverent. We have just the type of mentality to buy a madly expensive car just so we could tie die paint the thing, or put Emily Strange on the hood, solely to watch the looks of horror and disgust on the face of old money and stodgy pretender upper class types. Yes, it's tacky, the thing is we KNOW it's tacky. We know just how tacky it is. We're laughing. That's the point, isn't it? money isn't serious. It's stupid. It shouldn't be so important. So we use it to take the piss out of it and give ourselves something amusing out of it. We don't use it to embarass our friends and make them uncomfortable around us, we don't embarass them with overly expensive gifts, and we do what we like with it because we want to enjoy it - though we're not daft enough to think it will last forever. So, it seems we have to move closer to London for the Hubby's work, but the idea of Ticky Tacky houses and being surrounded by SUV driving mutton-dressed-as-lamb and red convertible driving men with girls in the passenger side who aren't their daughters makes our skin crawl. We have thus come up with a solution: The Stealth House. Would you like a tour? Very well then, enter the Stealth House of the money Irreverent. It doesn't look like much on the outside, does it? All very nice, respectable and Kent-like on the outside, but I assure you, the interior will be the sort of thing to make Hubby's fellow yuppies wince and give plastic smiles beneath eyes smarting with horror. Our son's friends will probably think we're the coolest parents on the planet, however. Frank Lloyd Wright will get more than a nod, and rub elbows with David Rockwell, all tied together with feng shui and eco-living. Granted, the fact the family car is actually an antique hearse should be a pretty good tip off that Things Are Not As They Appear. That, and my hair... We want a spiral staircase - which will spiral round a tree trunk, as if ascending a tree house...and a pole to slide down if we choose to, or maybe a slide. Our conservatory won't be a refined place imitating nature with upholstered seating; the ground will be grass, with hills and planted trees to sit beneath, and flowers growing out of the turf, and a hammock. Sprog's room will have a glowing constellation on the ceiling, and sensory stuff built into his walls. Our bathroom will be as big as our bedroom, crammed with a sauna, steam room, massive yuppie sized bath...and of course loads of Lush products and tub toys for sprog, maybe even some bath crayons. Hubby wants to fill the house with just about every geeky gadget imaginable - AI hoovers, remote control sensors, a scale electrics system which will baffle the imagination, house studio sound, some rather James Bond-like security system stuff. I find it easier to just sigh and agree, as long as I can operate things in the house with a push of a button (not TEN pushes of this button, eight on this, and then pick up another remote and pushing THAT button, say thankya). Velvet, silk, antique chairs, goth stuff, and Froud prints, faerie dolls, puppets, dragons, pillows and a waterfall - we're not sure where that's going yet but we'll figure it out. A cellar for our homebrew (and Hubby will set up a proper mash tun for that), the back garden turned into my allotment so I never have to go far for herbs or veg, and a giant climbing frame thing for sproggo - big enough for adults to have a go. The family car? A hearse, naturally; one of the older models, running on "green" fuel. Behind all the fun is stealth-responsibility as well - the "living wall" in the conservatory is watered by collected and filtered rainwater. We've got a grey water recycling system, and alternative heating throughout. Solar panels isn't good enough, so we're looking into algae and other forms. The veg plot out back is organic, natch. There's air purifiers all over the house. The paint is as natural as we could get it without actually colouring on the walls with chalk (though it probably crossed our minds). We've done eco-this and sustainable-that, and we've researched it all down to the minute details before we put it in our house. We temper our money irreverence with our holistic conscience. A Feng Shui designer has been in and alternatively laughed or gasped at what we wanted to do with the place...but they left smiling. Anonymously, a very large cheque is paid to a particular cancer charity, and a homeless charity. We pay our dues, and we both owe a debt we are very happy to repay, and always swore we would do when we had enough to do so. Believe it or not, there's actually money being saved in there for retirement by 50, and trips to the Continent during December-January when Hubby starts to run low (he may love England but it isn't kind to him during the winter). It won't be all tacky and strange, but most of it will be. Not that we mind much. Unlike most of the rich and undeserving, we don't want to enter our house and grin and say "This is ours and we display this because it is expensive." We want to enter our house and grin and say "This is ours because it reminds us to be happy and think like children, though daily life tries to wring that out of us. This is our space. We can do what we like here." Of course, you're all invited. Dinner is at six - remember to wash your hands because we rarely use silverware. Have a go in the steam shower, I suggest putting the chromotherapy lights on purple. Sprog will show you his bubble tube in his sensory room and you can all have a play. Enjoy. Have Fun. Take off your shoes and curl your toes in carpet and grass and kick back and just grin at the utter madness of living outdoors whilst inside. Why not? |
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2/20/2007 6:10 pm |
i wanna live there! too cool
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