Raw City Home Lounge

Tete a tete (noun)

A.  A term for a hair pulling fight that occurs predominately in females.  Similar to mano a mano in males.

B.  A slang phrase used in the plastic surgery circles for breast implants.

A small, curved sofa on which two people can face each other.

ANSWER:  C

Etymology

French tête-à-tête (“‘head-to-head’”)

[edit] Noun

tête-à-tête (plural tête-à-têtes)

1. A face-to-face meeting, or private conversation between two people, usually in an intimate setting; a head-to-head.
2. A bench or sofa that allows two people to talk face-to-face
   
3. 

What is Negative Space?

Negative space in action: do you see a vase or two faces?

Image: ©2006 Marion Boddy-Evans. Licensed to About.com, Inc.

Negative space isn’t the place your mind retreats to when a painting isn’t going well. Negative space is the space between objects or parts of an object, or around it. Studying this can have a surprisingly positive effect on a painting.

In her book Drawing on the Right Hand Side of the Brain Betty Edwards uses a great Bugs Bunny analogy to explain negative space. Imagine Bugs Bunny speeding along and running through a door. What you’ll see in the cartoon is a door with a bunny-shaped hole in it. What’s left of the door is the negative space, that is the space around the object, in this case Bugs Bunny.

Is It a Vase or Two Faces?

The classic example of negative space or shapes is the brain-teaser where depending on how you look you see either a vase or two faces (as shown in the image above). It becomes very evident when the image is reversed.

courtesy of http://painting.about.com/

Nancy Hadley was the muralist on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition when I was there and working with her often made the whole thing bearable.  She is smart, funny, crazy talented and way more fun to paint with than just about anyone.  Since then, she has been active all over design TV.  We’ve also worked on murals and designs for lots of different clients.    Here is a quick story from Nancy Hadley.   -Daniel

I bolted the front end of this motorcycle to the wall, Nancy made it fly!

I have been working in reality television for five and half years.  My first show was Extreme Makeover: Home Edition on ABC.  It was one of the highlights of my professional life.  The workload and deadlines were brutal but I expected and loved it. I had not anticipated the incredible friendships I would make while working on the road.  A typical schedule for work would go as follows.  Get up at 4am, shower, eat breakfast, lift two little girls out of bed and take them to the car, coax one larger 8 year old boy into the car and wake my husband.  With a car-load of very sleepy people I would drive to the John Wayne airport.  My husband would pull out my enormous suitcase, hand me my backpack and kiss me goodbye.  With the kids it was a little more emotional. There were many many hugs and tears and I would have to peal off little hands to start my journey. At the check out counter the attendants recognized me.  They would always ask where the house was going to be this time.   I had the security check down to a science that is until liquids were not allowed.  Computer out of bag – check, shoes off – check, jacket off – check, boarding pass and id in hand – check, avoid line with strollers – check, make joke about athletes foot risk – check, walk thru and pack it all back in my bag.  In the terminal I would frequent a snack stand that sold muffins but as I did not drink coffee, I ordered it with hot chocolate.  Next I would find my way to the gate and search for a seat till my boarding letter was called.  Just one year prior to my travel for the show I was an extremely nervous flier.  I would pace while waiting to board and roll airplane disaster stories through my head before surrendering to the fact that the plane was just going to crash. I would count seats to the nearest exit and take a baby census because maybe they could save us.  Always astounded to land safely I would exit thankful to be alive.

Oh, yeah, right… because I’m not twelve years old…

Don't make me show you my mad Mario skills on the WII...

But that does’t mean the awesomeness of this isn’t unparalleled….

Dear Daniel and Maite,

I have a question. I live in a downstair condo unit. It’s new building and we recently moved in. I was brushing my teeth at the bathroom sink when I heard someone, um “relieving themselves” in the bathroom above. It was as audible as if they were in the room with me. Is there anything I can do for more privacy? More insulation? Anything?

thank you,
Patience B.
Jacksonville Beach, FL

Dear Patience,

Daniel:  An excellent question, and one that I think all first floor apartment dwellers have experienced.  My first apartment in New York was beneath a rollar derby team and I used to drift off to sleep to the dulcet tones of their wheels grinding across their floor (my ceiling.)

Maite: Didn’t you date one of them?

Daniel: One?

These are the sweetest girls that my past has to offer...

Maite: Hence, your pathological fear of ball bearings…. If you owned the apartment, then you could soundproof the ceiling, but even still you wouldn’t be able to get rid of the sound because it travels down through the plumbing.  I think a schedule is in order.

Daniel: Right.  Like he can only pee between the hours of 9am to high noon, and 7pm to 10.  I think that’s perfectly reasonable.

Maite: A better idea is to create some ambiant sound in your bathroom to cover the sound of your neighbour’s um, what’s a good euphamism for “pee?”

As the sound soothes you to complacency, the gnomes will steal your soul!

Daniel: Yeah, you could just have a little table top fountain that sounds like pee anyway.  That way, he would just be contributing to the atmosphere.  Or a fan, or an ambiant sound machine.

Maite: Or a new pet parakeet!  I think that would be lovely.

Maite's grammer school photo

Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

Daniel: Really, your upstairs neighbor is giving you sound effects for free!

Maite:  Exactly.  It’s all in the mind.  Just visualize that you are under a babbling brook or cascading forest stream.  Or, as the case may be, a thunder storm.  Better yet, move.  There isn’t much you can do.

Daniel:  And for Pete’s sake, don’t get the bottom unit!

Maite’ and I have made our annual trek across the desert to Las Vegas, the town of our collective youths.

Santa and Friends!

I generally don’t get that warm holiday spirit until I’m in the deep desert and can see the lights of the Strip sparkling up at me as I rocket across the 15.   Not ironically, Christmas to me is a cacophony of intoxicating neon, showgirls in red velvet, gaudy casino carpets, and hicks in monster trucks.

Maite’s Christmas is mobs of relatives, Cuban delicacies (yum yum yucca!), and big fuzzy scarves.

Ultimately, of course, we dig in with our respective families, open presents (fewer this year than last) and generally revel in the gratitude we each share at how lucky we are.  But the only snow we’ll see is when we gaze at the mountaintops way out on the horizon; the only jingle bells are the ringing of the slots.

But I gotta tell ya and trust me when I say it; those sights and sounds make us warm and smiley and grateful and full of the holiday spirit.  I could be knee deep in pine trees and woolen mittens and mistletoe and holly wreaths and it wouldn’t make me feel even remotely festive.  I need the desert and the stuccoed houses and the cactus and the blackjack.

I guess the idea of a “traditional American holiday” is based more on what each of us brings to it than the images foisted upon us, either by the advertisers or our own misconceptions.

So Maite’ and I wish you all of that, whatever it is, whatever it is that makes you feel all yummy and good and hopeful and grateful.

And just because I’m writing this, here is a completely gratuitous picture of a hot showgirl in red velvet.

There's no way Maite' will let me post this...