At Home He's a Tourist

He fills his head with culture/ He gives himself an ulcer.

Saturday, December 06, 2003

Home Economics

The phrase "bachelor pad" has two distinct, contradictory connotations: (1) a swinging, stylishly outfitted den of seduction; (2) a spartan and/or slovenly hovel resembling a Neanderthal's cave or monk's cell. My place is a bachelor pad in the second sense. My only furniture is a twenty-dollar love seat picked up at a garage sale, a twin bed with a simple steel frame, and a folding card table for the computer. I keep my clothes in plastic Sterilite drawers and my silverware in an old shoe box.

I was thinking that, since I spend so much time at home, I should pretty up the place so that, even if it never becomes a bachelor pad in the first sense, it would cease to be a bachelor pad in the second sense. But I face two obstacles to the realization of this dream: my laziness and my stinginess. I hate shopping and I haven't saved up much money this first year at my new job. I suppose that next year I'll need to forego trips to Europe, camping equipment from pricey little boutiques, expensive bottles of whiskey, and stacks of CDs. Or should I forego the home improvement and accept my semi-monastic habits as an integral part of my personality?


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