IKEA, I Kee Ya!

I hate Ikea. Several times while shopping their Renton, Washington store over the past 15 years, I've vowed never to return. And yet, like Charlie Brown and the football, I find myself back within the big blue box again, tempted in by the lure of cheap, pine furniture, only to leave in frustration. Yesterday I was back again, and my reward was five hours of furniture-assembly-hell.

My daughter wanted a new closet for her room. She browsed IKEA online and settled on a model they sell. When we went down to take a look at it awhile back. When I saw it, I counseled against buying it. The closet was about what you'd expect for $130, cheap pressboard material that would fly apart if left outside in a mild windstorm. (Since we don't put our closets outside, she thought this was a stupid argument). Anyhow, we left IKEA that day and looked for alternatives. After two fruitless months, I found myself back at IKEA yesterday hauling said cheap wardobe home.

When you buy one of these self-assembled furniture pieces at an "American" store, you get instructions with English words to help you interpret the illustrations. With IKEA, since they're Swedish (and probably hate Americans), you get the illustrations. No niftly little clues, no coded pieces that correspond to numbered parts on the illustrations. Nothing. It's like trying to assemble furniture by Roshach test. This is a big closet, so we're talking lots of pieces.

We get the frame assembled and lift the piece upright and it becomes clear that something is wrong. Very wrong. The closet is reversed. There is a very basic decision early in the process and that is which board is the top of the closet and which is the bottom. Again, the instructions are silent on this point. It's up to you, the consumer, they seem to say. You'll know best. WRONG!

So, down goes the closet again. We dissemble the structure, flip the boards around, and re-assemble. Four hours after we start, the closet is up. My back is sore. My shoulders are sore. I feel like I've been working on the most depressingly dull assembly line job for the last 5 days. But, daughter is happy. I vow never to return to IKEA. Then, she tells me we need to go back today for the desk. sigh...

My Dogs...They're Nuts
I've got two big, beautiful dogs.

One's a labrador-pit bull mix.

The other, a labrador-Rottweiler mix. They are the two most nervous Nellies on four legs. We can't leave them at a kennel because they suffer separation anxiety and become almost catatonic by the time we pick them up again. So, if we go on vacation we have to get a house sitter. They can't stand any change in their routine at home, either. My youngest is having a sleep over party, so we put the dogs downstairs in a hallway with a child-safety gate to keep them from going upstairs again. All day long, they paced and drooled like prisoners awaiting the dead man's walk to the gallows. Then, with my work on the closet - some hammering and nailing, a few mild swear words - the LPB mix would shake like the end had come. Every time they see me come down the hallway, each one looks up at me with mournful eyes that seem to say, "Please, stop the torture." I think they need dog psychologists.

Italians Break The Trophy
Yes, the Italians have broken the damn trophy. I can't think of a more symbolic act for the boring, defensive tactics of the Italians taking the championship.

Well, I lied...
I said no more about Zidane but I couldn't resist when I found this website. And if you think Materazzi didn't have it coming, watch this video. He deserved it just for the last hit on the clip. You think someone who'd take a deliberate whack at another player's testes wouldn't talk a little trash about your mama and sister?