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The lounge–room at Success ville:

Turn off the downlights and incandescents.   Turn down the interruptions.

Turn on your ambient c D–Light™s and savour the genteel aura of light around you.

Then turn up your Magna Planars, sit back and allow the soothing sounds of instrumentals, of classical music, the moody blues, rich jazz or enchanting Diana Krall to envelop you.

Relax, wind down, mellow out.

Allow the hectic to fade away and be transported to a gently lit, transcendental sphere of calm.

The lounge room at Chill ville

One simple low table in the middle of the room.

A thick rug on the floor and comfortable beanbags dotted around the room.

Wide open french doors leading onto an open decking with fabulous views of the beach, the mountains or other spectacular natural outdoor vistas.

Guitar in the corner, drinks on the shelf above.

A single c D–Light™ LED illumination in the room, the Byron Bay energy conscious choice of course, to chill out with, as you bandy about the philosophy of life.

The lounge room at Normal ville

Most folks know this place well.

A slightly dusty mantlepiece above the fireplace with room for all the special treasures.

Mum, tired from a busy day’s work, curled up among the pillows on an easy chair and taking time–out just for a moment.

Thinking back on the special times she’s shared with her noisy family and how she wouldn’t trade them in for a moment, even though Dad’s currently spread–eagled on the sofa channel surfing and the comfy, lived–in room is full of kids bouncing on the couch and off walls, as it’s past bedtime.

Mum admiring the eclectic collection of glowing c D–Light™ images in the room — the black and white wedding photo (all the rage at the time) on the bookshelf next to a sepia toned memento of her parents.   The brash red Postman Pat light on the lid of the toy–box, to scare away “Rug–rat’s” fear of the dark.   In the corner near the library bag, two green lamps boasting a set of alphabetised inscapes each.   Like torchlight flashcards.   The kinda–twins have become alphabet stars since they have those to practice their reading with.   And lastly the smiling face of a sunflower light with its big yellow petals ringing a hand–drawn message “I love you mummy", a present from Miss Teenage last Mothers Day and who now can’t decide whether to fight Dad for the remote, to paint her nearly–adult nails with blood–red polish she will definitely NOT be wearing to school tomorrow or to design another c D–Light™ inscape for her blue light above the TV as she doesn’t have a crush on Tony anymore today.   Tomorrow, it’ll probably be a debutante souvenir to the collection and then soon after another wedding photo as Miss Teenage moves on to her own Normal ville home, and then more babies and …

Amazing how normal everyday things can mean so much…

The lounge room at Simpsons ville

Imagine the loudest explosion you’ve ever heard.

Imagine a fully armed SWAT team, buckling under the weight of combat gear, fully automatic rifles and covert operations spy equipment swarming through the massive hole they’ve just blown into the side wall of the Simpsons lounge room.   Outside, helicopters spraying bullets, heavy artillery, and a parade of Sherman tanks and Hummer vehicles follow up in quick succession.

Imagine Marge, her hair in rollers, protectively shielding her brood from the advancing tanks yelling “STOP!   WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!!!”

Imagine C.M.   Burns riding on top of one of those tanks like a wild western cowboy, screaming “There it is!   There it is!   The Springfield Nuclear Power Station secret!   Nuclear blue music!” and whipping the General into a frenzy.

Imagine Homer, sitting in the corner doughnut in hand, hiding his cd collection behind his back.

Imagine Bart and Maggie waging war against the fish–phobic SWAT team leader with Bart’s slingshot and Scratchy’s left–over fish skeleton dinner.

And Lisa calmly putting down her saxaphone, extracting the mysterious blue glowing cd case with its wicked “afterglow” message from Homer’s deathly grip behind his back and holding it up like a terrorist threat for the world to see.

“This is MY c D–Light™” Lisa explained.   “This is not the Springfield Nuclear Power Station cd, programmed with illegal subliminal messages forcing workers to idolise Mr Burns.   That one was accidentally dropped into nuclear waste by my dad when he was saving the last box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.   So it’s Burns you need to arrest, not my Dad!”

D’Oh, bravo Lisa…