Tuesday, July 9, 2013


Photos by Flickr user Howzey!

This can't be real.  It's too perfect. STAGED I SAY.  I just love that exposed wood lath when plaster falls away.

I can't live anymore.



It's all so Grey Gardens, 10 Years Later.

This reminded me of a hideous old house I visited when I was still apparently confused enough to consider purchasing a house in Phoenix.  (I'm moving in 10 mos or a year or something. Bye-)  I visited it twice just because I loved seeing it, even though it was much too destroyed to consider.  It wasn't worth it like all the structures above.  It was just a little early 50s ranch that had been time capsuled and then abandoned.  I decided to look in my other old blog to see what I had written about it.  Also, I guess sometimes capitalizing takes too much time?

"though the absurdly high price paired with the extreme state of dereliction instantly ruled it out as a prospect, i forwarded the link to my realtor anyway.  it is in a very picturesque state of decay and i wanted to see the inside. 

it is entirely salmon, everything is the same color.  the brick, the porch, the doors, the windows, the carport.  when we entered, i saw that the drapes were curiously still intact.  heavy, fancy silk sitting room drapes, full of forty years of sun, looking like they'd crumble if touched.  the drapes, walls, floors and ceiling were all coated in thick cobwebs.  i've never seen them so...hangy, so thick.  i walked around to the kitchen and was almost afraid to walk in.  the cobwebs were much worse in there.  what used to be a vent above the stove in the ceiling was now just a roughened, black hole.  the wallpaper was 1950s, floral, teals and greens, distended and puffy.  the requisite precious blue and yellow tiled counters.  intimidated by the narrow hallway from the kitchen, i went back through the living room to the bedrooms.  i felt like anything could jump out at or fall on me.

the first one indicated some severe settling of the house, or genuine movement of the earth underneath.  you could see daylight through the cracks torn in the bricks.  the old paint was peeling and falling down in long, wide  sheaths. the next bedroom featured a 6" hole in the pink ceiling, the edges corroded and softened by rushing water.  i'm sure plenty of friday's rain freshened that room.  the bathroom was cramped, with gaudy 1950s sconces placed on each side of the large, dusty mirror.  more of the tile countertops i miss.  pretty, narrow old doors with dented, dusky bronze knobs. 

the realtor, of course, was having fits, bitching and complaining the whole time about having to go inside.  ah, i hate him."

I'm sure it's still empty.  A wreck in bad neighborhood like that can't possibly seem worth renovation to anyone here.  Can't quite remember where it was.  I wish I had taken photos!

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