... they hate that.
This is an important commercial. Not just because it's funny, but watch it now, then read the rest of this blog.
I'm sort of responding to my own blog post from a few weeks back; I admit and fully recognize that my reactions to an unmatched sock is, as the Ikea spokesman so succinctly puts it, because I am, "Cray-see. It *haz* no feelings!"
A running joke in our marriage has been the issue of what I call orphan furniture. When Jennilyn finds a piece of furniture (or even pieces of a piece) that's been set out on the curb, she often recognizes that it still has great value and use; and she feels a pang of sorrow for it!
This value might be in structure (it still works!) or aesthetic (it's a beautiful color!) or even as a raw material (what can we make out of it?). I will occasionally (and I hope with great humor) point out that technically, it is garbage. That's why it got thrown out. But I'm happily married, so I often fetch the van and retrieve the thing.
It is tempting to view instilling moral or emotional value in "stuff" as sentimentality, or worse, as hoarding. Often, that's all it is, and it can be a serious problem. Jennilyn has a great response to circumstances were an item holds no value other than sentimentality; take a picture of it, write the sentimental caption, and throw it out! She is actually a great advocate for just wearing two socks that *almost* match.
Where is the boundary between thrift and hoarding? Between seeing the infinite value still residing in an old violin (a la "A Touch of the Master's Hand") and just hanging onto junk?
I have a garage that I gleefully fill up with art material for Jennilyn. I have my favorite front corner sidewalk where I put furniture out for other people to take. I don't know the formula for perfectly balancing these two important principles.
But I giggle whenever I hear the Ikea dude's accent at the end of that commercial.
6 months ago
