Distractions...

Ahh this past week has been crazy, no time for any real, profound posting I fear. 

But.... I bought new shoes.  Happy days.  They're basically that wedge work-boot variation that has been seen everywhere lately.  So while hardly original, at least I'll be comfortable.  As they're also black, and quite plain as design goes, I like to think of them as a blank canvas for outfits.  Here's to my happy future with my new favourite shoes.

New Look boots, paid about 26 euro due to student discount, yay.

Today, as I have been working on the dreaded college work, I was delighted in my futile attempts at research to come across some postcards I bought at Woodstock that I had completely and utterly forgotten about.  That was eighteen months ago now.... take me back America, please.  

I collect unusual postcards and use them as wall art, well, because I cannot afford the originals.

Frankly mine is better quality.  Minus the Life watermark.

I picked up my copy of The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage which was also bought at Woodstock, when those magnificent postcards revealed themselves.  One was of Pete Townshend during The Who's performance in 1969, the other was of the site owner, Max Yasgur.  He was pictured giving the peace sign to the high-spirited, mud-soaked crowd.  The legacy of Woodstock itself immortalized with his words, 

"You have shown the world what this generation is about."

Never a truer word spoken about what the 60s encompassed.  A decade of unrest certainly, but imperatively of progress .  

Then, I felt nostalgic, and relented to my inner-hippie momentarily:

   

Furnish the Mind

I am looking for a new place to live.

Not that there is anything wrong with the room, house, heating, location (well), or people (meh...), where I currently reside.

The bane of my academic existence this past five months has been my lack of defined study space, for I have no desk.  I had this intention of buying a cheap desk since I moved in last September but have stalled to the point where I would rather move to a place not only nearer to college, but with a desk. 

Who would have known this would be such a burning ambition, to have a desk?

For not I, in all my wild fantasies of adulthood, could ever have anticipated that a prominent concern that would litter my brain would be the desire for a good, solid, dependable desk.

My lamentation was further agitated over Christmas break, when I headed home to the confines of my childhood abode, to my old school desk, which my family acquired in New York back in the 70s.  Its origins remain a mystery.  

For my mother often either inherited amazing furniture, or household bits from friends or even employers.  Sometimes she gave sidewalk-rubbish a new home.  While one of my favourite thrift-acquisitions goes to my mother's butcher knife.  A neighboring couple who lived in their building were squabbling (the censored version of what was going on, I believe), when the female threw the knife and the male.  It was forgotten, perhaps discarded in an effort to mend relations.  My mother was willing to provide the knife a place to crash.  Thirty-plus years later and its still in the family.  More treasured than I, I dare say.

Back to my the desk however.  Of course, I am now obsessed with the idea of the perfect desk, and indeed, work space.  Especially after I saw how Dodai Stewart did it so so well.

I simply love my parent's desk.  Its genuinely vintage, something my style yearns to be, but cannot afford.  Something like this would complement and encourage me, don't you think? 

Apologies for studious/general mess in peripheral area of desk....

As if fate has intervened, my interest were piqued further, when for the first time in all my eight years of using the desk, I noticed this:

So who was John Stuart?  Or at least is the furniture still purchasable?  All signs point to no.  After fruitless Internet searching.  Plenty pictures, and mentions, but no dedicated site.  All I could really pertain was that the label is antique, we have the real article here, my friends.  

So for now, other antique John Stuart Inc pieces that would look good in my life.  Mad Men anyone?  Santa, I hope you are reading.

This here is described as a "Gentleman's Chest", but fuck 50s sexism, I want it. 

      

Hell's to the yeah.