Tag Archives: kitchen

And The Swedes Take Over The World

9 Sep


Yesterday, I stood in 375 square feet of space, masquerading as a real full apartment, in which everything from a bathroom to kitchen, to bedroom, to closet space was compacted on a grid-system of proficiency.

…The sign outside said, “walk into my living space,” and claims that a human actually exists in an exact replica of this area.

…I have 800 square feet, which I share with my two fish, and upon occasion…feel crowded. 

I am “proficient” as hell.

…Which just shows that there is always room for improvement.  Exhausting as that may sound.

IKEA is one of those places that I have to gird my loins to go and visit. There is so much stimulation to the creative sectors of my brain when I frequent all it’s million tiny room mock-ups, that I get hyper enthusiastic.  Somehow, even though the Mod 60’s thing really isn’t my deal, I end up wanting them all anyway.  Every room, every collection of goods, every little bookcase prop.  Why? I dunno.  Possibly because the color coordination and multi-use of every product, screams a challenge of maximum capabilities.  Maybe because I’m addicted to shelving and cabinetry.  Maybe because twelve bucks for a French Press, that costs fifty even at Target, is just too much goodness for my brain to take in.

This place spawns a cousin disease to my general, “I never knew I always wanted that” one…only this time I truly believe my entire life would change for the better if I had it…because all my OCD’s would completely disappear if I could live in something as slip-streamed and categorize-perfected.

…In my mind, as I walk the aisles, all I can see are the dozens of tiny alterations to my little apartment that would bump me into a high-tech, sheer-surface, spot-lit, rug-wielding, stainless steel, goddess.  I’m already practically there, but this would just seal the deal.  And who doesn’t want to run at that level?

Can you imagine what it would be like, to have zero wasted space?  Not a single undevoted centimeter…where everything has a home and convenient location, which tucks away inside of itself about fifty times, until its basically just negative entity? Where every shoes has it’s place on a tree in the closet, where every individual halogen light is focused precisely where you want it, off a steel lined track running the entirety of your room? Where the walls become secret hidden cabinets, which you can still hang shit on, with beds that grow out of other beds and sofas, so your one-bedroom apartment or dorm room can suddenly sleep ten people. You know…for all those times that you REALLY NEED to sleep ten people!

…This place gets me so undone with wonder and excitement, that I accidentally start mirroring the children, calling their parents to, “look at this thing! Oh, but look at that one too!” I simply cannot trust the visuals of whoever I am with to pick up the kind of subtleties that are the entire main focus on the display, and feel the need to walk them through it. I must describing in detail how “this thing” transformers into “that one,” like I’m an expert showcase salesman…because clearly they wouldn’t get the full sliding-swing action, if I didn’t really sell it for them. And I also have to explain why it works aesthetically, on a level far more pleasing than just to the eye:

“Cant you just FEEL how all the books are happy right now, with that certain kind of open wall-mount display on equal parallel planes, without all the box bulk of an actual case?”

“Lookit that lamp. I dunno when in the hell you’d have the reason to mount a giant glowing dandelion above your head…but if you just stand here for a second and think about the kind of room it would go in…it’s totally awesome. Right?”

“Here is why this kitchen layout is better than any other kind: floor to ceiling Lazy Suzans in that corner cabinet. No, just stop right now, you will never beat that.”

…And I also feel compelled to let them know that any time they wanna get rich and buy me shit, this is the place to do it, and here are some reasons why:

“‘Kay, look…this roll out drawer would save my life maybe…because my god, how long have I lived having to reach under my bed to get at things, then scrape the hell out of my arms, or slam my head on that fucking Hollywood frame?”

“…No wait, now picture my living room…but then add this to every wall. Instant James Bond high tech, am I right? Just, push this spot in the wall and, BAM cabinet materializes! Push that over there: a door! That there: a sunken wet bar! Tap here: my whole entertainment center folds out…!”

…And sometimes, I’m not so subtle about it:

“…If you wanted to get me this rug, that would be okay.”

“Maybe you could pick up that chair as an early Birthday present to me now…I mean, since we’re already here.”

“I bet if I had this pot and pan set, I’d be able to cook you a delicious dinner. The ones I have now are just holding me back, mostly cuz you deserve the very best.”

Yes. It is that ridiculous. Ask anyone whose ever gone with me.

…All I know is that in the end: the Swedes with their happy-go-luckiness and uber efficiency, are someday going to take over the world…and there will be nothing we can do about it.

…They will hook up with their handy-dandy equally efficient Swiss friends (with their compacted tools and weaponry), and dig themselves a little mountain fortress somewhere (prob’ly throughout the entire Swiss Alps in a collected switchback of mathematically precise grids.) And they will outfit every square inch of tunnel with IKEA themed, space-aged, 60’s-kick-back wonder…where every man, woman, and child, will live in their own customized pod of up to 375 square feet of perfected living space. (Built entirely by their Swiss Army-issued, fold out tool and weaponry knife.)

You guys, the secret is already out there…

…Like the masterminds that they are, they have hidden it in full fucking sight, inside every single one of their monster stores. They will do this all with a maximum of silent speed and efficiency, (if they haven’t already), and thus, out-last every apocalypse (be it zombie or otherwise) by doing so.

…And when it’s all over, the new world power of quiet, happy blond people with killer skiing skills, will emerge.

…And civilization will be saved.

…And that is the truth.


Death Of Micros

30 Aug


I put a mug of water in the microwave the other day, and when I pressed the “two,” it began to spark like the fourth if July and make my lights blink.

…So I stopped it.

…Then, because I’m a human, I tried it again.

It was a bad idea the first time, so the second really didn’t work out well either. There was smoke.  A small fire…whatever..I “lived.”  This is the same trial and error the Cavemen went through, (sorta), so…at least I’m keeping to tradition in our historic breed of stupidity.

…When I reported the episode on FB (as I do most of my major life travesties), my Uncle had the best conclusion: I have too much iron in my water, and the thing-a-ma-bobs that zap the do-hickeys knew it. The water broke it.  Works for me.  As long as I’m not to blame.

Actually, I’m pretty surprised it’s lasted this long, truth be told.  I’ve been through two T.V.’s., three DVD players, four coffee pots, two toasters, three apartments and eleven years with this one piece of kitchen equipment.  And I’ve used it at least three times a day, for all those years.  That really ads up.

…When we were doing that film shoot last month, the house we were staying at had no microwave at all, and it was a total baffelment to us. Over and over again. All weekend.

“But how do you defrost meat you forgot to take out of the freezer?”

“How do you make just one mug of tea?”

“…Or warm up the left-overs?”

…I’m told all this can be accomplished on a stove as well, but that is just nonsense.  Why worry a stove over twenty minutes, when you can fix any kitchen problem you have with a microwave in only a buck-thirty?  You need some melted butter?  It can do that! Warm the syrup? I’m on it!  Heat the beans? No problemo!  Steam the tortillas? Si! 

Maybe this is a huge part of why I’m not a Master Chef right now; but my microwave has been my key mode of eating-salvation since the day I first packed up my room and moved out on my own.  With theatre schedules and long rehearsals and double jobs and early mornings paired with late “nights” (actually ending at dawn)…it is the ONLY way I have managed to eat at home for most of my adult life, on the kind of manic schedules that I run on.  And I ain’t the only one!  I know this because of the instant empathetic panic of my friends upon viewing my FB post…which equalled four offers for a free replacement within — I am not kidding you — three minutes of posting.

Three. Minutes.

…People have incurable diseases, a bad kidney, need bone marrow and even just blood donations on a daily basis (we are told)…but when something really fucked up, (like a broken microwave) happens, by God…people will step up!!!

…Incidentally, I am not making fun of said people (who are lovely) or the above medical emergent needs.  I am only admitting to my own part of slightly exaggerating the woe undertaken by the “inconvenience”  of having  no microwave for twenty-four hours.  I mean…I managed to reheat those take-out, left-overs from the “M” wine-and-dine-night, just fine.  But it did take twenty whole minutes. And I kinda burnt some stuff on accident.

…Which never woulda happened with my “old friend.” 

Never. Woulda. Happened.


P.S. A very special thanks to S.M. and J.M…for their much appreciated replacement donation. I owe you both some whiskey.

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