Wednesday, November 22, 2006
I have shifted my ideals of "what I want my future house to be like" to the more intangible "how I want to live in the future" concept.
So barely 7 hours after I arrived at my uncle's place in suburban New Jersey, I have been absolutely blown away by the sheer "fullness" of their house. It has everything! And no, by saying "everything" I dont mean that its got an in-house cinema, gold plated taps or a pool table. Everything is as suburban as it can be, yet it seems to be absolutely complete: Anything you could ever wish for in a stable, convenient, charming environment as it can get.
It has fully carpeted floors. It looks like something out of an Ikea showroom. It has a little plate full of cookies and Skittles on the living room table, surrounded by squashy white armchairs and facing a TV. There is a DDR(!) mat in the basement lounge. There are little wicker baskets hanging from the ceiling for that homey country look. There is a (unused) fireplace complete with a full set of glittery fire tending rods. The kitchen's cupboards are overflowing with cereal, chips, ice cream and yoghurt. There's a fridge in the garage because the one in the kitchen's too full. There is a piano. The master bedroom has TWO walk in closets. There is a bathtub with little jars of flowers surrounding it. There are 2 washing machines in the laundry room (there's a LAUNDRY room!) Everything's bathed in cosy, yellow light. There is bottled water scattered in strategic areas around the ground floor. The bathroom floor is covered by 4-5 pink fluffy carpet rugs that I could stand on forever. All it needs is a golden retriever puppy taking a nap at your feet and it'll be complete.
Get the picture? It seems that you dont need pure luxury to convey a rich life. Hollywood set me the impression that I need floor to ceiling glass windows overlooking the pool and plush red armchairs to truly live like im rich. But my uncle's house is normal, yet complete in its conformity.
And after years of getting used to living in the bare minimum (you know how its like in the army and college: you get by with one bedsheet a month, and wash your underwear with cheap detergent. Oh, and my fridge in college has one lonely orange in it) To recline in a squishy armchair, munching on cookies with your laptop infront of you, is in my point of view, pure, unadulterated luxury.
he rocked the party at 9:12 PM |
