Sunday, January 28, 2007

Home Sweet Home!

After living in New York City for a number of years (and that number is "7"), I have learned quite a few things. Things like: Don't lick subway seats, always wear at least some clothing to church, and remember that DNA can ruin your life.

But I've also learned that all of the most expensive apartment buildings in this immense city have elegant-sounding names (usually displayed with a fancy font above the building entrance). Names like "Trump Towers," "The Seville," "Tuscany Plaza" or "Normandy Court." These buildings usually feature apartments that rent for over $2,500 a month and have such enviable amenities as swimming pools, valet service, and uniformed doormen. Boy howdy, that's living!

But what of the "less-prestigious" buildings, the ones lacking laundry rooms and perhaps requiring a 4-flight schlep up a dark, dirty staircase? Do these buildings not deserve to be named as well? Why, of course they do. For instance, a modestly-priced apartment dwelling might be known as "The Unashamed," "The Adequate," "The Stepping Stone," or "Keokuk Estates." The upwardly mobile residing within could, when returning home each day, gaze in satisfaction at the encouraging sign above the front door as they dream of better jobs to come, fame, or the unexpected, much-appreciated death of a wealthy relative.

And then there's the housing for the city's most unfortunate residents. For instance, a building dominated by a merciless slumlord who allows the rats to breed like mice may be labeled, "The Shame Shack." Buildings housing the down-and-out, desperate drug addicts, or overly-driven professional men who've suffered massive emotional breakdowns may boldly be dubbed, "The Downward Spiral," "Hopeless Harbor," or "Musty Manor." Perhaps a beautiful, highly-stylized sign "out front" would raise the spirits of the anguished residents and motivate them to pursue "brighter horizons" each and every time they come home. Turning their lives around and being happy could be as simple as that. Just ask The Hallmark Card Company!

In conclusion, let the Trumps, the Rockefellers, and the Vanderbilts sprinkle their fancy names up and down Park Avenue like so much smelly caviar. I say kudos to the working class and the despairing as they return each day to their "Good Enough For Now" hovels and dream of a brighter future!

Always supporting the common man,
Paul "Paul" Rosa


Rich said...

A yes, a true friend to the "prole" - kudos to you, my friend for a "big idea".

Why stop at residences, I say?!

Your "common" man (and "lady" - using that term in its loosest context considering your preferred demographic!) could and should surround himself (herself) with all the trappings of their doomed existence!

Imagine this, if you will:

Ned "just getting by until the lottery hits" Morose wakes up to his "air raid" alarm clock (sold at an incredibly low price by that most magnanamous conglomerate, GE) in a somewhat semi-feverous state. After all, it's kind of difficult (but well deserved for his station in life) to get an "everyman's" good night sleep when your forced to lie on a "Lumpy-pedic" mattress. This mattress has reinforced chunks of concrete as well as a guarantee of at least one rodent carcass for every 10 springs - nothing says inadequate sleep like "Lumpy-pedic"!

Anyway, after getting himself out of bed to the blaring sounds of an air raid siren not much dissimilar to the sounds the English faced during the bombing by the Germans in "The Big One", he slides his feet into his favorite pair of slippers (which utilize only the finest recycled fur from the local Animal rescue league) and "glides" to his shower. Turning on his "hot spring roulette" faucet, he timidly steps into a splotchy (and specially treated to ENCOURAGE mold and mildew growth) tub that's not big enough to sit in, but slightly larger than a standard shower stall. Knowing full well that his time under the sporadic spray will treat him to the full gambit of mother earth's water temperatures, he reaches for the "Heads Without Shoulders" a specially formulated concoction that smells distinclty pine-tar-ish but still leaves his hair with the scent of "wet dog". His "Irish Republican Army" spring is redolant with the scent of a freshly bombed Protestant quilting session and reminds him that although his life sucks, there are people to at least get to be blown up and removed from their miserable existence!

Drying himself off with a "sandpaper and wilted lettuce" towel, he does a quick (for him, at least) mental check on what's on his agenda today - chess at Washington Square Park followed by a check in with his social worker and then off to a meeting with his parole officer.

Brushing his teeth with "Crust", his favorite tobacco and wine-flavored gel reminds him fondly of his poor high-school choices and the bitterness of thinking what could have been...

No morning hygenic ritual would be complete without the nasty and permanently scarring effects of "the farthest" shave - Gillettes "Senseless" razor system.

OK, that's enough, but you get the idea - keep those ideas festering and flowing!

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