The House That Baby Built

Kids, I have been Bizzy. The inlaws are a' visiting, and on Saturday, Karly and Diana hosted an awesome baby shower for me and the fetus, the net result being that the inside of my house looks like Babies R Us exploded in a frenzy of blue and green velour. Oh well -- hopefully it's for a good cause. Anyway, the events of the weekend have left me unprepared for the week, so thank jeebus for my good pal Stephanie over at Even Cleveland, who has once again bailed me out of the Monday doldrums with another fabulous house link.

So, do I just have baby on the brain, or does this radicool Mexico City house look like the inside of a womb?

Because I totally imagine my fetus skipping around in here, singing Sunshine Day, and NEVER, ever, wanting to leave.

Lazy fetus is always lounging around the couch, rolling and stretching his way from seat to seat.

He's such a bum that I doubt he ever showers.

At night he sacks out on his plush bed pod, sucking his thumb and continuing the infernal KICKING. Obviously, the bed is located adjacent to my bladder.

He needs to find the exit to outside, pronto. Look, fetus -- it's so sunny and bright out there! Go towards the light!

Does anyone know where the door is on this thing?

Pod People

Monday's wackadoo post got me thinking about my childhood expectations for the future. I assumed that by 2001, we would be flying around in hover cars a la The Jetsons, ordering our robot maids to fetch yet another fat free Twinkie, and living in a deluxe pod house in the sky. As early as 1946, Buckminster Fuller created the Dynamaxion House to give the world a taste of what the future might hold, and yet here I am, still struggling to bring my 1960's ranch house into the 21st century. I am seriously considering scrapping all these pesky renovations and moving into Bucky's historic house, despite it being under lock down in a museum. I defy the police to arrest a cranky, giant pregnant lady for wee bit of harmless breaking and entering.

Behold! Bask in the glory of its Airstream shiny dinertastic roundness. Can you imagine living in the 40s and encountering this beauty on a house tour, like this cardboard cutout family did?

I love that a Heywood Wakefield dining set and Kroehler couches were the best that modern design had to offer at the time. Not that I'm dissing -- I sold four of those chairs on Craigslist for $500. See, the futuristic past is very popular in the present.

Somehow, as far as I can tell, the 50s were mysteriously devoid of podness. Instead, the world was populated by cheap tract homes. Yuck. But never fear -- the 60s and 70s ressurected the pod life. Check out this mushroom house in Boulder, built in the late 60's/early 70s:

I think this place is communing with some prehensile proboscis laden aliens. Or maybe just The Snorks.

Still, I do not hate this kitchen. Ikea Fado pendant lights -- I've got your number. But what goes in the triangular cabinet...?

One of my favorite crazy pod structures is under attack from crazy people who just don't like it (ok, and maybe it wasn't built to standards and an earthquake could collape it any minute, but that's a minor detail).

Seriously how awesome is Japan's Nagakin Tower, built by Kisho Kurakawa in the early 70s. That was not really a question, by the way.

Ah, modern capsule living at its finest! Chillax in front of your big screen color tv and 8 track playah.

Do you think they have Wi-fi? No matter -- looks like they might have some Hennessey and Courvoisier, so it's all good. If you drink enough, maybe you can plug directly into the Matrix.

Sadly, the bathroom is a major downer. I just know pee would end up on my toothbrush, somehow...

Here's crazy ass Kisho Kurakawa, the dude who built Nagakin Tower. I think he may have spent too much time marinating in a formaldehyde puddle in one of those teeny bathrooms.

I have no idea when this concrete mushroom house was built, but I'm guessing it's high 70's, and by "high," I mean tinfoil hats and magic mushrooms high. Nothing like a little a lot of paranoia to make living alone in the woods a meaningful experience.

Let me tell you what is not going to be a part of my pod lifestyle. This:

Built in the 80s, this sunbathing pod is beyond the pale. I know! Let's enclose ourselves in an airless plastic bubble, so we can focus and condense the sun's rays in a suffocating, cancer causing extravaganza! The 80s were stupid. But I want that bikini. And the drink. And this baby out of my belly.

Since the 70s, it seems as though poditechture has gone downhill, fast. Why can't the future of the present be as cool as the future in the past? To wit: who wants to live in a 90k shingle covered poop turd pod that looks poised to rocket forth on a mission to brown town? Not I, said Erin.

I guess this pod house by Hans Haus is ok with me. I like wood, I like windows, I like round windows, blah blah blah.

Stop the presses! The interior has a remote controlled platform that rotates four different rooms into view? AND it comes in pink?! Sold, and I don't even need a Heywood Wakefield table to live here.

Take Two Capsules and Call Me In the Morning

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.