Houses
Is it me or do Californians build houses like they make salads at a salad bar? My favorite walk through Beverly Hills brings me down several streets where the houses begin to aspire to mansion status, although it is still a suburb. They are well-kept and spacious, and it’s a lovely street, but there is something jarring about the houses.
There are several elements that recur in house after house, and each house seems to have at least three of them, none of which, as far as I can tell, actually go together.
If I were to make a composite house that represents this neighborhood, I’d do it thusly: The fence surrounding the house would be comprised of white painted wrought iron, intricately worked. Very intricate, with curls and coils. The gate, indeed, should look like a big Irish doily.
Behind the big Irish doily, the house would sit grandly under a Spanish tiled roof, with big, bright shutters at the windows that should suggest an air rather Flemish. The walkway should be surrounded with Moroccan tile.
The front door… and this is absolutely essential… should bespeak a clear Greco-Roman influence, with flattened pillars implanted on either side, and a piece overhead that looks like the roof of a temple.
Finally, the house should be banked in roses like a cozy English cottage, while palm trees rise on either side. In other words, they are big and grand, but horrid, a hodge-podge of styles tossed on a plate and smothered in sauce, a pizza of clashing cultures and pointless features. They may be large, may be rich, may be well-appointed and comfortable, but I find them utterly tasteless.
Although, of course, if someone gave me one for free, I’d take it. Then I’d build a pagoda in the front. Just for fun!
