I used to have this obsession with living in a space capsule a la 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Naturally, my capsule would come with a maid to compensate for all the white white white and bright overhead lighting, but overall I love the retro future vision Stanley Kubrick formulated way back in ye olde 1968.
In my minimally padded environment, I would totally have an excuse to wear the beehive crash helmet that's been sitting in my closet, collecting dust for the longest time.
Of course, I would feel most comfortable in the cockpit, although I would like to take a moment to ponder the origins of that word. Let's just say, I would not be happy simply serving beverages with a meek smile pasted on my face. Hellz no -- I would be captain of my capsule, and I don't need a... pit, to do it.
It's nice to know that space can provide all the comforts of home, like TV and cash. Sounds like they must play episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey around the clock.
Ok, imagine that's me and not some wanker rubbing his sweaty pits on my massage table. I am living the sweet life, not a care in the world. If I get tired, I'll just hop into my little hibernation station to chillax.
There's really nothing to worry about in my happy pod, right? My trusty computer, Hal 9000, will take care of life's basic necessities. Like breathing.
Well, maybe not. But at least they give really good drugs on my pod.
If not for some fantastic hallucinations, how else could I end up with this awesome bedroom? French Provincial on acid is so cool. In all seriousness, I kind of think my bedroom looks a bit like this, minus the statue laden alcoves.
I knew something was missing.
