Sunday, October 30, 2005

Well Hung

I’m talking about the fact that this weekend, exactly 3 months, 12 days, 2 hours and 22 minutes after I moved into my new condo, I finally got around to hanging my pictures. I wanted them to be well hung, in just the right place, so I waited.

“Lazy ass,” would be a common sentiment. To which I would respond, "I’m not lazy” (well, I’m a guy, I’m a little bit lazy—but this would just take too much energy to explain). Anyhow, I decided to look at it this way; in my last place, some of this artwork had been stored away for five years, while some of it hadn’t seen the light of day since the last Bush Administration. Thus, I’m kind of ahead of the game.

Anyhow, it’s not as if I’m alone in my procrastination of hanging artwork. According to an independent survey I conducted with my male friends, most of them take an average of four days (and 16 beers) to hang artwork after they move into a new place (I’m just a bit of an overachiever in the procrastination arena).

However, this weekend, my artwork was going to get hung. Well hung, at that. Not so my place felt homey. But because two weeks ago I used the boxes my artwork was stored in to house my ten-year old computer antiques (which would surely be worth money sometime in the future) and now my artwork was blocking egress to my refrigerator. I’d finally unsheathed my artwork (including my infamous finger painted moose, that looked more like moose poop; and the watercolor of my pet rock: both, priceless). Hey, I never claimed to be MichelPicasso. Just last week, I’d laid all my artwork on the kitchen floor: I’m a man I don’t cook. I figured if I was lucky I’d get back to this project sometime in 2006.

Just this week, I started hearing the artwork calling my name (okay, so what I actually was hearing was my own screaming of the Lord’s name after I stubbed my toe retrieving a couple of beers to watch the Sox World Series). After a couple more beers and stubbed toes (because I had to pre-reward myself for actually committing to hanging my artwork up, plus the Sox winning the World Series) I’d had enough., I finally had to get my artwork off the floor or risk a permanent sprained toe or beer withdrawal. Not a pretty sight. The upside was that I would again be ahead of schedule—about three to nine months (since I’d figured the artwork would remain in the kitchen until sometime in 2006).

Even with all my procrastination, I wanted my art to be hung "just right" (ask Goldilocks about bears and things feeling "just right"--sounds a bit kinky to me). Which meant, I wanted my artwork to be perfectly level with my uneven ceiling and angled floor tiles, plus exactly eye level (to whom? My 6’8” basketball friend or my Bowling for Midgets friend? I could be sure). The point was I didn’t want my art hung without any thought going into it: like in my last apartment where it was only eye level to people who thought the sky was falling. To figure out how to do it right this time, I decided to check the Internet (a boon of helpful, rational information: if you spend 22 hours finding it). I’m not kidding here.

First part of two-part article
(This is a serialized story, please read tomorrow for the second installment of this article):

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