ÔWaste not want notÕ means exactly what it says, never wasting anything results in never wanting anything. Yet, to many, to want is to live, and to live is to waste. But how much should one Ôlive to waste,Õ and to what degree? The book begins in a rectilinear midtown apartment in New York City as the foundation for radical modifications of use and activity. Guilty of its own consumption, and overwhelmed by its mundane production of routines, the house is sliced like a loaf of bread, isolating programmatic zones and freeing them from dependence on contextual and spatial orders. A second slice, doubling the footprint, propels the story deeper as added space comes with a communal tradeoff. Negotiating with site and neighbor, the house becomes aware of its place amongst a world of thingsÑof objects produced Ôen masseÕ yet enjoyed individually. My house, this house, becomes consciously aware of production, and its own production. Waste not, want not.