Bringing Down the Property Value
So today I went on the hunt for a dresser. I braved IKEA again, on the quest for something cheap and functional. Perhaps this is where I should say I do not enjoy the vortex of IKEA. the first time I went into an IKEA I was hobbling along on crutches as I had broken my foot. Perhaps it was the pain pills, perhaps it was the July heat, perhaps it was the massive crowds that day . . . But, ever since I have detested the place.
I'm just not a fan of winding through the vortex of IKEA, with only one way out--through more crap. To make it even better all the furniture blurs into itself after about five minutes, and winding through the maze of assemble-yourself furniture of pressed wood and veneer it feels like a vortex has sucked you in. Mixed in are rooms assembled with signs attesting that "This is rooms costs 1000." Components share and match, and mix, and . . . scores of folks run about designing their room to look like something from the store. But, then there are the strollers and little people. Everywhere you turn.
I'm not against little people, but IKEA and its similarities and ready made look reminds me of the gentrification of Brooklyn in the 1990s. When I first went to Brooklyn in 1997 the streets were still gritty and property values were still . . . reasonable. Now, as novels like _Park Slope West_ showcase, Brooklyn has become the vortex for uber-moms and strollers. Competition over pre-schools, strollers, and who has the best child related product seem to seep through the popular culture of the newly revised Brooklyn. Trendy boutiques and restaurants have popped up, and for people like me it seems like Brooklyn has been power washed clean.
Well, I didn't really want to pay 120 bucks for a dresser I needed to put together . . . So I opted for the Thrift Store. It was my lucky day as furniture was fifty percent off. Booyea. I scored a dresser for eight bucks. Even better, it is strapped to the roof of my car until Monday. I'm not sure if that part makes me a cool and independent female, or if it makes me a ghetto-fly fabulous chick who is bringing down the property values in Port Jeff where she's house-sitting.
Yup, like I said . . . for the record, it is covered with two black garbage bags for the night. I should also tell you that the guys loading it asked me if I was in construction because of the tool kit in my trunk, bungee cords, and (oddly) an extension cord. Cha cha.
And for my friends in Brooklyn, sorry . . . I just don't care for some of the hoopla. Who knows, one day I might furnish my joint from IKEA and live in Park Slope West. Doubtful, but . . .
I'm just not a fan of winding through the vortex of IKEA, with only one way out--through more crap. To make it even better all the furniture blurs into itself after about five minutes, and winding through the maze of assemble-yourself furniture of pressed wood and veneer it feels like a vortex has sucked you in. Mixed in are rooms assembled with signs attesting that "This is rooms costs 1000." Components share and match, and mix, and . . . scores of folks run about designing their room to look like something from the store. But, then there are the strollers and little people. Everywhere you turn.
I'm not against little people, but IKEA and its similarities and ready made look reminds me of the gentrification of Brooklyn in the 1990s. When I first went to Brooklyn in 1997 the streets were still gritty and property values were still . . . reasonable. Now, as novels like _Park Slope West_ showcase, Brooklyn has become the vortex for uber-moms and strollers. Competition over pre-schools, strollers, and who has the best child related product seem to seep through the popular culture of the newly revised Brooklyn. Trendy boutiques and restaurants have popped up, and for people like me it seems like Brooklyn has been power washed clean.
Well, I didn't really want to pay 120 bucks for a dresser I needed to put together . . . So I opted for the Thrift Store. It was my lucky day as furniture was fifty percent off. Booyea. I scored a dresser for eight bucks. Even better, it is strapped to the roof of my car until Monday. I'm not sure if that part makes me a cool and independent female, or if it makes me a ghetto-fly fabulous chick who is bringing down the property values in Port Jeff where she's house-sitting.
Yup, like I said . . . for the record, it is covered with two black garbage bags for the night. I should also tell you that the guys loading it asked me if I was in construction because of the tool kit in my trunk, bungee cords, and (oddly) an extension cord. Cha cha.
And for my friends in Brooklyn, sorry . . . I just don't care for some of the hoopla. Who knows, one day I might furnish my joint from IKEA and live in Park Slope West. Doubtful, but . . .
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