Go and see what the Rumpus Room actually looks like in this article, which containa lots of cool pics of the pad, as well as the most unflattering picture of me ever seen by human eyes. It’s a very complimentery article, but I winced a little while reading it to see how even the simplest remarks can be misinterpreted by someone who doesn’t already know you, and who has to summarize you. Am I a vicitim of media manipultion? Or just a Virgo control freak who likes things just so?
The article is a bit weird: It’s loaded with little embellishments and things that miss the point, but I can see how someone who didn’t know me well could come to those conclusions. For instance, I don’t actively collect action figures, but I never throw anything away so I’ve found myself owning a bunch after years of getting a kick out of them. (By the way, I only have a couple dozen, not a couple hundred.) And I’m not all that zealous about home improvement, either. I painted my bathroom after two years of procrastinating about the day-long project. It also makes me seem really, really gay, but I guess I am. Whatever. It’s a nice, flattering article, even though it features a disturbingly unflattering picture of me in the photo slideshow.
You can see what a museum of various, uncurated pop junk the Rumpus Room really is. There aren’t any carefully cultivated collections of anything, but there are lots and lots of cool things lying around. If nothing else, a close look at the photos reveals just how many treasures there are to be found in thrift stores and sidewalk junk piles. After all, I don’t own a stick of new furniture, only thrift scores and trash relics abandoned by assorted friends and strangers. Behold the scavenger!