My roommate and I reached an agreement last night: our room is totally pimp.
It was fairly pimp to begin with, really. Our door faces the main stairway of the house, and the room is long and skinny, so there was nothing else to do but put both of our beds against the far wall. Mine's on a loft and Kye's is on cinderblocks, creating a sort of step pyramid of bedness. Then there's the matter of the recliner and cushy square ottoman that he liberated from an unidentified common room, and once those are logically placed next to the beds it's more of a heavily cushioned Escher painting with endless steps winding around in incredibly comfortable circuits.
Last night after dinner we went on a decorating spree. Actually, it was more like a decorating arms race. Kye's had a pair of disturbingly stereotypical conic Chinese hats hanging on his wall for weeks, so last night I finally retaliated by hanging up my pith helmet with a pair of water pistols in a triumphant and vaguely inappropriate tableau. He, unfazed, simply filled an entire wall with shelves to hold trellised vines. I brought out the beautiful maroon-and-gold sari that Michele bought for me in Singapore, and we draped it across the ceiling in sumptuous billows with one end hanging languorously over each bed. Kye borrowed my watercolor brushes and painted himself a sign to go over his bed, which, as he explained to me, says in very bad calligraphy and worse grammar that he is a big king. I intend to counter with an unreasonably ornate sign informing the viewer that this is, in fact, The Sultan's Love Palace, but until I do so I suppose I must concede that Kye has the upper hand. I won't stoop so low as to consider either the giant red and gold koi tassel hanging in the middle of the room or the artfully draped scarlet sheet serving as an unreasonably luxurious window covering -- okay, yes I will. The point here is that my room assaults the senses of the casual passerby with a confusion of red, gold, silk, and pillows, and because we're located on the line of sight of the stairway and rarely close our door, every single person in my house has to look at it.
At 1:00 this morning, with decorating still in full swing, one of the girls from the room next door stumbled blearily in the door and asked if I could please stop hammering and let her sleep. I did, in case you're wondering, do exactly that, but it was only after some fierce internal struggle. A fairly significant percentage of me dearly wanted to tell her that the Sultan was displeased and she would be receiving a visit from the Grand Vizier at his earliest convenience to discuss the error of her ways. I'm really going to have to watch this.
Posted by dianna at October 2, 2006 04:17 PMYour room is, indeed, rather sumptuously oppulent, or it was as of the last time I saw it yesterday evening. And it sounds as though its sumptuous oppulence has only increased since then.
And yet I find this post terribly unamusing. Where are the pictures? How are we to judge the depths of your depravity with a scant paragraph of description? Put your money where your mouse is, find someone in the house with a digital camera, and post some photos of the decadent design which you claim your room possesses!
I would add that if at least one photo is not posted of someone feeding someone else peeled grapes, any claims to sultanical oppulence will be looked on with severe skepticism. I would also assert that a photograph of oneself being fed peeled grapes would constitute strong prima facie evidence that one is, in fact, the sultan of that particular domicile.
Posted by: Zach at October 2, 2006 06:58 PMZach has a good point re: the need to demonstrate your sultanity. I had been thinking that I'd be happy with a simple set of multi-angle pictures of the room itself, but without proof of your right to recline, I might be tempted to take you for a mere palm-frond-waver or, worse yet, a pretender to someone else's throne/room. You might consider a tableau involving scantily clad harem girls and suggestive figs. Only, you understand, for the purposes of establishing The Facts.
Ha! The pith helmet! With water pistols! I knew I'd stop feeling guilty about buying you that damn thing someday.
Posted by: katie at October 2, 2006 07:57 PMSpeaking of your room, I have a sneaking suspicion that my belt is still in it. Can you confirm or deny?
Posted by: Zach at October 2, 2006 08:12 PMConfirmed. You also left a sock during your visit, so I suppose I'll just put together a package to mail to you.
I really do need to find a camera, or, failing that, a skilled visual artist. The latter sounds simpler on first consideration, although when you think about it, getting co-opers to pose in opulent and suggestive tableaux is actually one of the easiest tasks known to mankind. I'll talk to the kitchen manager about figs tonight and get back to you guys.
I mean, I mean, I'll put the eunuchs to work on it and you will all wait patiently in your pointy shoes for my magnanimous gesture of allowing the commoners to gaze upon my sumptuous appointments.
Posted by: Dianna at October 4, 2006 09:53 AM