I bought it from a large man who sells things off Craigslist after scouring the homes of the deceased rich who lived in the Hollywood Hills. I am told it's an authentic Danish piece, and that it came from a Jetson's-style pad hanging off the side of a cliff. I can choose to believe that or go with the skepticism that tells me Mr. Craigslist just bought it at the Salvation Army in Mission Viejo. Nonetheless, I'm thwarting the convention that says the mid-century return is over, and opting not to go too 1981 with my living room. I live in a dingbat-style LA complex from the '50s. Think Melrose Place meets Palm Springs Modern with straight edges and spiky green plants. I even have a cheesecake ceiling. So I've got to make do. An apartment, after all, has its own spirit, and for me to clog this new thing with art deco wood and steel like I did my pre-war NYC pad just wouldn't be right. So come over some night, and let's figure out how to make atomic cocktails. I finally have a place to put them.