Friday, July 25, 2008

John Lautner, White Russians & Broken Hearts.





I used to live in London and it was great and all, if a little chilly.  I spent a few months one year running about town with a lovely man. He was quite delightful and looked like an elf. I like elves. In November of that year, he decided that he no longer wanted to run around town with me, which was a little upsetting. After being delivered this joyful news, I met my big brother and he took me to a swanky book opening in Soho and bought me a gazillion White Russians. We got superbly drunk and then had a McDonald's take out which we ate on the tube on the way home. The next morning I woke up, quite heart sore and sweating cow juice from the White Russians and the Big Mac. I spent the next few months recreating that combination of ingredients (minus the break-up conversation) and having a gay old time - even if it was slightly tinged with rejection and hurt feelings. It was around this time that I kept falling over on my way to work in the mornings. This wasn't from the demon drink, but more I think from a feeling of being out-of-balance with the world. It was embarrassing and after falling I would sometimes just lie there, being too mortified to get up. This is not a good idea, because then people around you assume you are mortally wounded and run over and make a fuss and kerfuffle. I learnt, it's much better to quickly jump up and pretend nothing happened.

I started drinking White Russians the year before this series of disastrous events. My friend Margot and I used to escape the perils of London every couple of weeks by trekking to her house in the countryside. No-one else would be there and we would spend the weekend eating, drinking and watching re-runs of our favourite films - one of these being the Big Lebowski - hence the White Russians. There was a time when we could both lip-synch along to hour long chunks of the film, which is very annoying for anyone other than us. We still think we're HILARIOUS.

The very long-winded point of all this is, that John Lautner, the architect who designed the house that The Dude has to visit to see Mr Lebowski - the one where Bunny is outside painting her toes green (Tara Reid before she got a bit ragged) - is the subject of the new exhibition at the Hammer. I haven't been yet but I hear wonderful reviews - I have a delicious book of his in the store "Between Earth & Heaven: The Architecture of John Lautner".  The images above are from said book...

1 comment:

Camille said...

Actually, the Lautner home in "the Big Lebowski" is not the home of Mr. Lebowski. The Sheats/Goldstein Home in Malibu is used as the setting for the home of Jackie Treehorn. It is the house in the scene where there is the girls onb the trampolines and the Dude's White Russian is drugged.