There are many reasons why I’ve temporarily withdrawn into quiet, largely offline pursuits recently. Besides the toll of sleep deprivation and daily uncertainty about how useful my arm will be, I often find myself unhappy with the general state of the world and the Internet’s contributions to it. Getting away from that and immersing myself in old movies, old books and old (or rather, old-timey) hobbies is relaxing and restorative.
In just a few days, the doctor will perform her wizardry on my neck. With any luck, that’ll get me back into the swing of things. Tonight I’m sorry to report that I’m again going to write about very boring, non-personal things. Originally the topic was going to be baseboards, but there’s only so much to say about why I chose to match the floor’s stain: going a smidge darker or lighter for contrast can work well on taller baseboards, but simplicity suffices when the boards (and the spaces they inhabit) are this small.
Instead we’ll briefly talk furniture. You have a choice when decorating a tiny room (or tiny set, if you prefer): wood or plastic? The latter is often faster and cheaper, particularly if you have your own 3D printer. Some would argue it looks cheaper, too. I’m mixing wood and plastic pieces here so you can judge for yourself, with the obligatory caveat that they aren’t representative of all 3D prints or handcrafted objects.
Since Basil’s the type of guy who requires both a davenport and a fainting couch — the latter will come in handy if he glances downward and notices that part of his ankle is missing — I’ve looked for both items without much success.* Then I found these, sold by a man whose sensibilities seem not entirely unlike Basil’s, and they were agreeably inexpensive. They’re offered in shades of brown but you can paint them if you prefer.
The couch — which is destined for a diorama about my grandparents — was also made by a hobbyist, one whose half-scale furniture is more accurately sized than the printed pieces. In a satisfying twist, fainting couches are one of her specialties. She sent photos of newly finished furniture for feedback, and excitedly volunteered that she has enough leftover fabric to make Basil’s couch when I admired the rich burgundy used for a sofa and chair set.
It’s interesting how many interactions I’ve had like that lately, from the printer looking for ways to economize production of my vintage Dodge pickup to the artist charging less for custom mirrors than you’d pay for a carryout pizza. Most of these helpful, encouraging people work full-time jobs and sell their wares or services on the side for minimal gain to offset the costs of hobby materials; a few are retirees. The majority seem socially awkward, which I can relate to, yet they’re adept at fostering a sense of community due to their shared love of the craft. They’re proof, I suppose, that the Internet isn’t a total cesspool — more like 98%.
* He was shipped like that by an inattentive printer; I can fill the gap with plastic putty prior to painting.