Monday, October 19, 2009

A little drearier

A good portion of my waking hours are spent in Milton Bennion Hall. It is a rather dreary, poorly lit place, littered with amber and white 50s brickwork, lonely whiteboards, fake linoleum. But the redeeming feature of the interior, the element I have connected with since the day I started working here, has been the doors. Each was a unique pastel color, and these solid swatches of blues and greens and oranges used to cleave the otherwise horrible hallways. They were not tasteful; they were inexplicably and endearingly and serendipitously wonderful, like when you let your 4 year old dress herself. The paint was not peeling. Nothing else has been changed. I walked in this morning to find every door painted deep, cadmium red. 



    *exaggerated pause of shock and anger, dropped jaw, furrowed brow*

    I'm soooooo sad. 25% sad for me, 75% sad for you.
    Let's scrape the paint off! The other colors are toooootally underneath still and if we scrape carefully we'd be fine.

    I'm serious. At least expose a piece of color on each door.

    Now that MBH sucks entirely, I'll come visit more. I'm serious about that too.

  2. old milton is my great great grandpa. he would be sorely disappointed, i think. why don't we believe in color anymore?