The Music of the Spheres

I made a call to Waltham today, and learned that my replacement billiard cloth had arrived just this morning, and that John is planning to drive up early Friday to finish the installation.  I'll be there as well, both to see it completed and to help with the brief two-person element of the job.

Just as a side note, there are a lot of jobs that I imagine to be two-person jobs, even if the second person is doing nothing more than holding the other end of the board, or steadying the ladder.  But time is money, as they say, and people who rely on billing their time have often figured out ways to do both parts of a two-person jobs.  Hanging drywall, for instance.  That stuff comes in sheets that are 4' wide and 8' or 10' long, weighing seventy pounds or more each.  Okay, so imagine lifting a 70-lb panel, fitting it into place on a sloped ceiling, holding it correctly aligned, and driving four rows of six screws per row in line with the studs.  By yourself.  All day.  If I were doing that, it'd be a nine-person job, and I'd still be whining about how hard it was.

Anyway, the table and the lighting will be complete as of mid-afternoon on Friday.  And then will come the long process of furnishing the room.

A few years ago, no one had ever heard of the idea of "man cave."  But for the past six years, there's been a reality makeover show on the DIY Network devoted to nothing but man caves.  The common interior decorating elements seem to be:

• Sports jerseys, helmets, photos, or other equipment
• Beer signs, beer taps, beer mugs... beer...
• Actually, logos in general, now that I think of it
• An enormous television, perhaps more than one
• Taxidermy
• Astroturf

Nope.

And now that my pool room is nearing completion, I hear the term "man cave" all the time.  Just as I hear "pool shark."  It seems that we only have the most limited vocabulary for my poor beleagured game.

There will be no sports memorabilia.  No dormitory mini-fridge.  No taxidermy.  No Astroturf.  There WILL be a computer, so that I can study my instructional DVDs at the table.

I don't have a sense of the chairs and tables yet.  They need to be tall, so that you can see down onto the table; but they need to be comfortable, because if you're playing someone good, you might be sitting there for quite a while.  At present, a terra cotta urn serves as the cue rack, which is a nice touch — that might stay.

One of the elements of the room will be music.  My good stereo is going up there, including the Sony CD player that holds 400 discs.  Typically, pool room music is just as stereotyped as man cave decor:  AC/DC, Van Halen, Lynyrd Skynyrd, blahblahblah.  Auditory testosterone, to match the football and gambling and hunting motifs.

I've never had good pool music, because I've never had control over the jukebox or television that establishes the tone in commercial pool rooms, so I'm just speculating from the kinds of music I listen to when I write.  A good pool music, I imagine, sets up a quiet breathing cycle, a kind of groove that allows you to loosen your muscles, free your joints, and stop competing with yourself.  Not that wind-chimes-and-flutes new age crap, either, but real music.  People like Harold Budd and Brian Eno and Alison Goldfrapp and Massive Attack.  Or if you prefer, Samuel Barber and Erik Satie and Amy Beach and Arvo Part.  Or, if you prefer instead, Pat Metheny and Rachel Grimes and Dave Brubeck and Vince Guaraldi.  It'll be a great experiment, and one that I invite you to join me in any time after this weekend.

Music is a neglected component of interior design.  Maybe I should teach a class...