Are you an evil wizard who lives in a spooky castle and wants to destroy all the light in the universe? Are you trying to kill He-Man and his friends and plunge the planet into darkness and suffering? Are you Skeletor? That’s what I’m asking. If you’re Skeletor, you have to tell me. It’s the rules.
Here’s the thing, if you’re the dark lord manifesting themselves as a suburbanite, then you get a pass. Obviously, you like terrible things and this fits right in with your choices in life. So by all means, have weird dusty old bottles of beans and peppers suspended in low grade olive oil. You do you, you Chaotic Evil nightmare of a human.
These fucking things are perfect for confusing the elderly and causing deep emotional trauma to children. “But Mom! Why can’t I eat the anal bead bottle of olives and raw corn?! You never let me do ANYTHING!!”
We’re not going to unpack Tuscan style just yet. I need to reup a Xanax prescription before I wade into the morass of the blighted hellscape that is Google Image Search “Tuscan Interiors.” So we’re going to take this slow. We’re just going to talk about this horrible trend.
People make these, and people buy these. There are entire blogs and websites devoted to making these weird bottles of garbage, and this is someone’s hobby. This is a lot of people’s hobby. Putting peppers and corn kernels and olives in a weird bottle suspended in olive oil isn’t just something someone does. They think it’s beautiful.
These people eat paste.
Tuscan style hung around for like two decades and we’re now, finally, getting rid of it. Which means Goodwills are now filling up with weird bottles full of rotten food. Bottles from the George W.’s first term. Inside these little time capsules is the crystalline naivete of the early 2000’s. If you hold one of these up to your ear you can hear the angry saber rattling of a traumatized nation still reeling from the terrorist attacks of 9/11.
The contents, hidden under the unbroken seal, quiver with the expired expectations of a newly married couple, who now in 2019, have been divorced for 5 years. But at one point, these bottles weren’t murky. They weren’t rotten. They were new, and bright, and clear. They were lovingly placed on the top of a cabinet in your new build 2003 McMansion. They caught the light cast from your wicker wing ceiling fan and glistened with the optimism of a growing real estate bubble.
Not all nostalgia is met with a hazy loving stare. Some things are best left in the past and never spoken of again. Like the loss of an unborn child or an injury that causes paralysis; some things you endure and when you come out the other side, you’re not stronger and better, but tired and bitter.
One day, Tuscan style might come back. And we need stay vigilant, my friends. We must learn from our past mistakes. We must never, ever repeat the aesthetic holocaust that still plagues aging McMansions on the outskirts of the suburbs.
Real talk. If you go to a friends house, and they have one of these. Throw it in the trash. You’ll be doing them a favor. If they get mad about it, get a new friend. No one needs that negativity in their life.
Do you have a sense of humor? Do you legit wonder how you can make your room more Bachelor Uncle? Do you want me to make fun of your living room? Or praise it, if it’s worthy of praise? Maybe you want to convince your Mom that Farmhouse is fucking stupid, so you send me her living room and I rip it to shreds. I don’t know.
Email me pics of your living rooms and once a week I’ll post it and offer praise or scorn. Whatever you deserve. This will be fun and traumatic.
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