I have been to Mecca. (Again.)
Last weekend, I was treated to a visit to the local IKEA in scenic New Jersey. StyleGirl's parents were in town and had splurged on a rental car, so away the four of us went, to bask in the glow of Scandinavian simplicity and meatballs. I managed to restrain my spending urges admirably, if I do say so myself, and left having only purchased a new medicine cabinet, a flour sifter, a six-pack of wine glasses, a twelve-pack of drinking glasses, a pastry cutter, four scrubby brushes, and a new bedroom light fixture.
The installation of the light fixture was foremost in my mind when I got home. Basically what was already in my ceiling was a can light -- you know, the recessed light fixture with the strange conical lightbulbs that seem to be all the rage in today's modern homes. If you listen carefully late at night, you can even hear architect-spirits whispering "Scatter a few can lights across the ceiling and call it good," to the night winds. I do not find can lights to have very much personality, so I was eager to put up my new tasteful three-spotlights-below-a-frosted-glass-circle, so as to protect my eyes from glare when I read in bed.
I went after the can light with a variety of tools such as my fingernails and a flat-head screwdriver to remove it. After sproinging the cunningly concealed latches that held it in place, I was left with a disassembled can light, dangling from a rather large hole by a few wires. Always excited to look in hidden places, I took a peek into the forgotten spaces of my ceiling.
And made a horrifying discovery.
Apparently my landlord had, at some point, come up with the ill-conceived idea to install a drop ceiling -- essentially a new ceiling a foot below the original one. In the process, he both a) made all the rooms in our apartment shorter by at least a foot, b) covered up antique plaster light fixtures, and c) tore down the existing crown moulding that used to edge the rooms. I was overcome with shock when I found this out -- and of course, I immediately ran around to my various roommates to let them know. We have been entertaining dreams of tearing down the new ceiling to expose the old ever since. Nobody can understand what would drive a man to such extreme lengths as these, simply to install can lights. CAN LIGHTS. He traded plaster fixtures and crown moulding for CAN LIGHTS.
For those of you without immediate access to my apartment, I have taken a photograph of my bedroom that illustrates the problem. Luckily, ArtStudent even has enough fancy-schmancy photo equipment to let me take a picture of the gap between the old (or "awesome") ceiling and the new (or "fucking craptacular") ceiling. You are now all contractually obligated to view this photograph by clicking on this. I am continually amazed at just how much space is being wasted. (And yes, if you are wondering -- that is a Macintosh G4 Cube sitting on my lovely IKEA desk.)
All I can ask is that you do not let this happen to your home. Do not modernize for the sake of modernization. There are still those of us left who do not mind a few cracks in the plasterwork if it means we get something like antique light fixtures. In addition to looking good, they (along with words like "brownstone," "balcony," "ceiling fan," and "no-fee") are also a source of major bragging rights among New York apartment renters. If we can keep just one claw-foot bathtub from being replaced with a multi-jet Jacuzz-i-tub, our vigilance will be worth it.