Written by Michael Claxton
I used to think my mother had nothing better to do. She’s been known to turn on Home and Garden Television—HGTV, for short—and leave it on for hours. But she doesn’t necessarily sit still the whole time; she might come in and out of the living room in between vacuuming or cooking or keeping Dad out of the popsicles in the freezer.But every few minutes, she’ll check back in with Candice Olson to see how that basement redo in Nashville is coming, or to find out how Antonio plans to open up that cramped Manhattan apartment, or to learn whether the House Hunters in Kansas City have settled on the two-story colonial, the fixer-upper with a great backyard or that cozy condo minutes from downtown.Mom even talked me into sitting through a couple of episodes of “Design Star.” I watched in utter apathy as would-be designers competed to see who could throw together the tackiest room. The first design challenge was to create a space using only décor available at Kroger, and one contestant actually covered the floor of his room with dog food. When asked about this by the judges, he claimed it was some sort of rug. Not to be outdone, a competitor coated the floor of her space with white feathers.While of course most people prefer to vacuum food and pet dander off of their floors, these decorators were operating on quite another level altogether. One guy painted an entire bathroom (ceiling and all) dark blue, while another woman created curtains out of yellow police tape. The winner gets to host his or her own HGTV series. The losers are given a set of Legos and told to go build something that no one ever has to live in.My only response to all of this was to ask why these contestants weren’t given the challenge to do something about judge Vern Yip’s hair. I pronounced HGTV a complete waste of time and went right back to watching reruns of “The Gong Show,” though it did occur to me that a whack on the gong by Jamie Farr might be just what some of these flaky designers needed to hear.Then I bought a house. After seven years of luxurious Searcy condo living, I decided in January to take the plunge and move to River Oaks, where aging Harding faculty are put out to pasture. The process of pricing, touring, negotiating, closing, remodeling, decorating and landscaping a house has done two things for me. One, it has provided material for my next 12 columns. And two, it has made me eat white-feathered crow as I sat glued to HGTV all summer, wishing I had called them to film me as I dove blindly into my first mortgage.Now suddenly it matters to me whether Monique—a complete stranger who is relocating to the Milwaukee suburbs—decides to go with the move-in-ready bungalow, the updated ranch with curb appeal, or the stately Victorian on two-acres. I’m cheering for Monique and find myself genuinely hurt when she settles for that tiny, green linoleum kitchen just because there is a pet door for her Chihuahua Andre.Incidentally, HGTV is indeed a channel for the wealthy. You never see an episode of House Hunters where the drama revolves around whether LeRoy and Myrtle will choose the second-floor apartment overlooking the junkyard, or the brick duplex with a brand-new clothes line or the double-wide within walking distance of the Waffle House. Though I’d bet if they chose the duplex, it would have granite countertops.The one thing I have learned from HGTV is that I am in the wrong profession. Selling custom stone countertops is clearly the only stable source of income in this economy. That’s the first thing any house-hunter asks about. Some yuppie couple could be looking at a tax-free mansion in Santa Monica with 4,500 square feet of hardwood floors, a surround-sound theater, seven walk-in closets, an indoor Jacuzzi and a full-time English gardener. But if there are—heaven forbid—Formica countertops—the wife will crinkle her nose, yank her simpering husband away from the four-car garage and pronounce that she wouldn’t be caught dead in this outdated scullery.So my get-rich-quick scheme is to quietly buy up slabs of granite and store them in my new garage. Then, between grading papers, lecturing on semicolons, and clipping Lowe’s coupons, I can start my side business. Of course, I have no idea how to cut, shape, polish or install granite countertops, but after watching the first season of “All-American Handyman,” I should be ready to go. Can’t afford new countertops? No worries. I’ll be happy to spread feathers on your kitchen floor for free.MICHAEL CLAXTON is a guest contributor for the Bison. He may be contacted atmclaxto1@harding.edu
