the container store

mindy and i made a day trip to indy this afternoon.  more like an extended detour through indy on our way back to portland.  i dropped off new work at the Indianapolis Art Center's Basile Studio Shop and we stopped in the gallery to see charles gick's new show called 'involving the sky.'  go see it.  it's incredibly refreshing.  he uses different kinds of media, materials and surfaces to present a truly midwestern take on art.  you can feel the slow moving breath of clouds and life.

Dome, 2010

Caged Cloud, 2010

we ate lunch at taiwan tea house on 82nd street.  i had black pepper chicken.  mindy had the asparagus and chicken.  we both ate our own full order of turnip cakes.  bloat. bloat. bloat. then just to top it off, we ordered bubble tea to go.  feeling full.

Taiwan Tea House

after lunch we set off for muncie to check on framing prices for some prints, but got side tracked by a phenomenon of suburbanite hell.  the CONTAINER STORE.  brand spanking shining white new container store.  shit.  a big box that sells only big boxes (what a genius/idiot idea).  mindy's eyes lit up like flash bulbs.  shit.  so i whipped into the turn lane and we parked and walked into a different dimension.  the sliding glass door welcomed us into a world of plastic tubs, tubes, trundles, and totes.  i tentatively followed mindy's excitement at the overwhelming piles and shelves stacked to the ceiling with empty boxes.  boxes to store your shit so you can buy more shit so you can buy more boxes to store that shit to buy new shit.  it's a vicious shit cycle ya really don't want to get caught up in it.  we walked through most aisles,  got accosted by an overly friendly employee overly excited about our bubble tea cups, tripping over women in sweatsuits.  ugh.  i'm frightened now and the piles of boxes are causing me a bit of suburban claustrophobia.  when i snapped out of it and hit the bit of white noise that allowed me to breathe a breath of plasticy fresh air, i realized i was the only man in the store.  check that, there's another sad old man in a too small trophy store nylon jacket pushing his wife's cart of empty boxes.  and wait, there's another.  similar to the other.  wait, where is a mirror?  am i wearing slacks?  it amazes me that a store can exist to sell you overpriced boxes to store your shit.  i thought wal-mart and menards had the market on cheap boxes.  besides,  the container store was not that cheap.  this is what makes it a phenomenon of suburbanite hell.  could the fact of where you bought your cheap plastic boxes to store your cheap plastic shit indicate your status?

i spent $68 on boxes -- 2 for under the bed to use mostly as a cat fence, a basket for cat toys,  and a box for the stamps and inks we use to print our cards.  sixty-eight dollars.  i feel fleeced.  and i grew up in the suburbs.  i should know better.

(Photo for 'involving the sky' via charlesgick.com)