No Time For the Killing Floor

Johnny’s on a mission. Perhaps you can help.

Hey, I’m hitting a wall here, and maybe you and your coterie of cultists of the fabulous might have some ideas. Remember in Diva where what’s his name, Gorodish, I think, lives in the huge loft with his teenage Viet Minh girlfriend roller skating around the wooden floors? He has one of those big 70s wave machines, where the tank gently sways from side to side and bluey green gelatinous goop inside makes an endlessly rocking slow motion wave. I want one of those for my desk. It doesn’t have to be the size of a car like the one in the movie. A little one would be good. But everywhere I search, I come up blank. You must understand that I need without fail to have this thing. Then my life will be complete and I’ll never ask for anything ever again. I know I said that about the greyhound cufflinks. But this time I really mean it.

Yeah yeah, I looked up wave machines, lava lamps and combed the Sharper Image for something approximating this object – no dice. Fan and review sites for the movie offered no pictures. Even YouTube somehow didn’t have video of the buttered-baguette scene with the wave machine in the background that is so crazy-hot I’m sweating just thinking about it, but I just walked to work again. Man, am I fit!

Siobhan found this one.
I’m not sure it has the hypnotic kitsch or retro cool factors for which our Armani-clad zoot suiter searches, but it’s certainly miles closer than I got. Another source offers this mysterious item.

Funny, all I can think of is fragrant, golden toast…and car hops. I can’t explain that. But now I’ve pictured myself standing in the middle of a TV disco dream sequence in which French-speaking nymphets on skates emerge from dry ice clouds to offer me snacks and home appliances. And I’m singing Dancing Queen.

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