� la jwinokur | 2002-10-02 - 9:30 p.m.


For motivos that have never been enteramente clear to me, my madre has been a Better Homes and Gardens subscriber for the better parte of treinte a�os. She explained it to me once, but I wasn't really prestando atenci�n at the time. Even if I had been, I don't know if the explicaci�n would have made that much sentido to me.

Superficialmente, the revista has changed a lot since Mam� first sighted it in the R*lphs checkout aisle all those years ago. For one thing, the ideal of hermosura the magazine celebrates has completamente gone the way of the Male Perm. Gone are the severely futuristic chrome coffee tables, shag rugs, and floating candles of anta�o. Between the covers of the new BHG, readers will find a softer, more relaxed est�tica, manifest in a timeless colecci�n of distressed campaign tables, yellowing panels of vintage textiles, and algo called faience. La �ltima, for those who don't subscribe to BHG, is French for "overpriced antique."

De vez en cuando, Mam� hands me down her old issues, presumably so I can one day transform my own smelly, stained living quarters into algo worthy of the Editor's notice. I generalmente stash the issues by the toilet, so visitantes can be entretenidos by the contraste between the gleaming, marbleized bathrooms the magazine depicts and the filthy pocilga they find themselves sitting in. But I rarely read the magazines myself. I find them algo depressing.

Es decir, I did until one d�a this week, when Concha drew my atenci�n to a BHG art�culo about a rich old lady who collects faience.

"Get this," she says, pointing to a foto of a dumpy old lady clutching a pitcher the size of Jessie Ventura's torso to her chest. "It says this old bruja has nine different fabrics in her living room alone."

I shrugged, eyeing the grubby upholstery of my mismatched Salvation Army furniture. "So? I've never counted, but I must have at least fifteen."

"She had her ceiling painted yellow."

"The ceiling over my stove is yellow. Sort of."

Concha sighed. "OK, Castigada, get this. She's made a vow 'never to own brown furniture.'"

I envisioned the old bruja with her mano on the Bible, swearing solemnly never to buy anything that was not of French or Scandinavian origen. Idiota.

Concha put the revista down thoughtfully. "I don't know about the brown furniture thing," she said after a momento, "but for mi parte, I vow not to decorate with human waste."

"And por mi parte," I continued, "I solemnly swear never to line my underwear drawers with dried dog vomit."

Maybe, I thought, after the raucous laughter had subsided, this revista does have some m�rito, after all.

anterior - siguiente

pride and prejudice - 2004-09-07
wherein I become a Yahoo! Search Result - 2004-06-23
like 9-11 all over again - 2004-06-20
enough said - 2003-02-05
tirar por la calle de en medio - 2003-01-28

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