The one pictured sits horizontally in the guest bedroom of my apt, although recently one of the vinyl stuffed cubes was repurposed with a 2 terabyte Network Area Storage machine that offers a redundancy for all my files that I have yet to take advantage of.
“Ikea Shelving And The Impossible Pursuit Of Perfection” by Bethlehem Shoals.
The record shelf, like most record shelves, is an Ikea Expedit. If there is a record shelf in your place of living, and it doesn’t look like it was ripped out of a seventies rec room or an eighties coke dorm, it is most likely an Expedit. It’s all but unavoidable, totally ecumenical, as likely to be filled with thrift store rock or an invaluable stock of sealed raers. It’s unavoidable, axiomatic, and with good reason: it’s nearly perfect. Brute function with a dash of form, the Expedit outstrips its native brand and all the prejudices that Ikea brings. Picking one out — you have your choice of three colors, last I checked — is like a christening for a new place. Ever since I moved to Seattle, though, my Expedit has been trying to kill me. Tonight is one of those nights.
