Friday Fun With Jim Williamson

Jim talks about busting late employees, the perfect Father's Day gift, and Mally Skok.

I’m enjoying cooler temperatures in Chicago, and it’s glorious. So I’m turning things over to your friend and mine, Mr. Jim Williamson. Are you superstitious because it’s Friday the 13th? I would refer to myself as more cautious than superstitious, a trait I wish I had discovered prior to my first marriage. But just to be safe, I definitely will not be crossing any black cats or stepping on any sidewalk cracks today.

My day started early—like 3:35 a.m. early—which would be about the time that Max decided to begin snoring like he was working on the soundtrack for Fast and Loud. I grabbed some earplugs, but I still couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to go to the guest room. I turned the AC down and the ceiling fan on and crawled into that bed only to discover that we have the loudest AC and ceiling fan ever. The AC sounded like it was shooting out static electricity while rattling the register to some beat with no rhythm (kind of like that awful World Cup song) combined with the “tick tick” of the ceiling fan. I began to feel like I was on the set of Apocalypse Now.

Hey, at least I got to work really early. What did I discover by getting to work so early? I now know exactly what time everyone else arrives at work. For some of you, that’s probably not a good thing. Here’s a helpful hint: If you are late, at least kind of rush in like you know you’re late. Don’t shuffle across the floor like you’re taking a walk on the beach. And bring donuts.

Let’s do a quick recap of what has caught Jimbo’s attention on this freaky Friday. First, we have news of a funeral—the second such funeral of this type in New Orleans. The deceased was literally propped up wearing sunglasses (kind of like Lohan leaving a club in London, just a little more stiff) at a roped-off table with her favorite booze, cigarettes, and a disco ball. All in front of her much-loved, large-screen television. You got to love that—disco till your dead (and beyond), Mrs. Myriam!

In design news, we met with Mally Skok of Mally Skok Designs to see her fabric and wallpaper collection. She is a very charming person, so it’s little wonder that she has some 10,0000 followers on Instagram. Her collection is just as charming as she is. Raised in South Africa, she ended up outside of Boston thanks to her second husband. Then came a thriving design career and now a fabric and wallpaper collection. You can tell that she is an interior designer. She thinks about how different collections can play off one other and pays attention to scale and how patterns work. You can see her life’s influences in her designs. Her look is comfortable with fun happy colors and prints. I guess we would call it “modern traditional.”

In other news, a friend called and asked if I would look at some fabric selections for her new house. Her mother always hired decorators for their homes, and growing up with design has definitely rubbed off in a good way. My friend is also super sweet and funny, and she sent an email showing this and that with the following statement: “You have no idea how much time I have spent looking and selecting fabrics, measuring, and ordering…” I was like, “Really, Sister? Jimbo has been doing this for so long (only Dr. Ho knows for sure exactly how long). I have dreams—some might call them nightmares—where I am surrounded by ever growing piles of fabric samples, tape measures, and drapery hardware that slowly morph into the Incredible Hulk. He isn’t green in my dream; he looks like a crazy quilt because he is a combination of all the fabrics I have ever seen. He only starts to attack me when I pull anything resembling a tapestry.

So yes, I do in fact know your pain.

Now don’t forget that it’s Father’s Day weekend. Most dads probably just want to be left alone for a day. It requires no shopping and no returns. Think about that before you give him that tie. I don’t think I will be getting any gifts from the children this Father’s Day, as for some reason I have been lumped in with mothers instead. Don’t ask.
I would say happy Father’s Day to my dad, but he is propped up in the great pool hall in the sky, drinking a cold one, having a chili dog, and probably enjoying a smoke. I would imagine our old dog, Poppy Doo, might also be there with him. (See? I come by my bathroom humor naturally.)  Keep on keeping on W. O., and for the rest of you, have a great weekend!