Voodoo Time Dot Com

In an effort to make our apartment look less like a dorm room, and more like a home of people approaching their thirties, my wife and I have decided to purchase a dresser, with drawers and everything. I hear that all the cool people are putting their clothes in dressers instead of cardboard boxes. It sounds kind of trendy to me, but my wife is into it.

So we took a trip to Ikea today. I normally hate shopping (especially furniture stores), but I have a particular affinity for Ikea. I like the contemporary / modern design sensibility for which Ikea is famous. I like that it doesn’t cost as much as “real” furniture. I like that if I accidentally spill something on my Ikea furniture, or nick the wood, I haven’t just ruined a $2,000 piece.

And they have Swedish meatballs there. Cheap.

As one might imagine, we own a lot of Ikea furniture. As I look around the living room, everything that can be sat upon, or can have stuff sat upon it is from Ikea. Our chairs, the TV stand, the bookshelf-thingie with the drawers and little wicker baskets - all Ikea. Even the computer desk from which I am writing this entry was assembled from a flat-pack with just a screwdriver and an allen wrench (included) by yours truly.

But as much as I love the whole idea of Ikea furniture, the reality is a real pain in the ass. I always begin with the best of intentions and following all best practices. I begin with a tradition handed down to me by my step-father. The ceremonial spirit (a fermented mixture of various grains) is consumed. I then utter the traditional invocation: “This box better not be missing any f***ing pieces!”

In typically manly fashion, the final step in the ceremony used to be the disposal of the instruction manual, but I have abandoned this final gesture. This is not to suggest that the manual is all that useful. There is no text, English or otherwise to give context to the simple graphics that fill each page. But, as useless as the instructions may be, I keep them around for reference - but mostly for a handy paper surface on which to catch the blood that will inevitably trickle from my hands before it stains the floor. Assembling Ikea furniture makes me bleed… and curse. This episode was no exception. In the process of constructing this chest of six drawers blood was spilled and expletives were spoken.

So after much bleeding and cursing, I sit here nursing a rum and coke held in blistered palms. The dresser is assembled and in place in the bedroom. It has been consecrated with liquor and blood, and various oaths were uttered over it. As a result, I suspect it is now imbued with voodoo magic. It is too soon to know whether this is scary or cool. I’ll be putting my clothes in it later tonight, including the pants I plan to wear to tomorrow’s Thanksgiving festivities.

That means tomorrow I’ll be wearing my voodoo pants. Oh yeah.

Bye for now.