The million dollar hotel…err, apartment

7 10 2003

If a view is everything, discount viagra see well hey-de-ho campers, and look at me. I’ve donned my Speedo and am happily swimming in true filthy landscape lucre. Yep, illness I’ve got the classic US$1300 a month NY apartment vista. It’s a peach. To look out my apartment window is to dip your brain in subtle hues, ambient light and enigmatic reflections. I mean, who knew bricks could be so expressive?

Viewed from a distance of a mere ten meters, these bricks radiate urban charm. The attachment of the metal fire escape to their bricky form does not deplete their winsomeness, only adds to their allure. These bricks don’t just sit; they staunchly rage against the weight of all six floors, and…argh! Who am I kidding?

They’re gritty, smutty and oppressive. The word ‘alley’ is dull for a reason.

But never mind the bricks; it’s the pigeons I can’t stand. Dirty, dirty pigeons. Vermin of the sky. Singapore mongrel pigeons ain’t got nothin’ on these manky balls of feathers. Sometimes, when I’m sitting idly in the Coat Alcove of my spacious abode, one will land on the fire escape and make pink-eyed contact with me. A menacing tilt of its feathery head and I’m diving behind a dry cleaning baggie.

I tell you, Beelzebub himself drew up the blueprints of the New York pigeon. They’re real Picasso pigeons when you think about it. Just distorted and wrong. All lumpy and colored from the wrong palette. New York pigeons need to look up the word preening in the dictionary. They all need to receive detailed and comprehensive instruction on personal pigeon hygiene. Oh, and didn’t their mothers ever tell them that tattoos weren’t cool? Have you ever seen a pigeon wearing jackboots?

To further illuminate. Just the other day I was walking from the Reading Room through the Television Room and toward my Wrapping Room when I spotted a particularly vile specimen of pigeonous uglius on the sill, leering at me through the fly screen. It stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Shoo,” I said with not much conviction. I itched to close the window. I mean, who knew what kind of fetid air and diseased aura radiated from its disheveled pigeon breast?

It hacked up a cough (what happened to the traditional pigeon coo I’ll never know), pressed its head against the fly screen and tried to see what was on the tele. My tele! I didn’t know quite what to do. The audacity of this creature! Fortunately, the lady across the alley opened her window and the rancid bird flew off in a hail of lice-ridden feathers.

I tell you, I was traumatized. I had to leg it to the Guest Parlor for some light refreshments and a quick hoot on the smelling salts after that.

So, from all this talk of pigeons and brickwork, you’ve probably twigged it that I’ve finally moved out of the Y and into my first NY apartment. A fifth floor walkup on East 78th street. For your entertainment and cyber pleasure, here is a lightning tour. Please keep together as I would hate for people to wander off exploring on their own and lose contact with the tour group.

Here we go.

As we enter via the majestic Entry Cavern, please note to your left the impressive Pre-Entry Cloakroom with 1920s fixtures and 1980s ambiance. Turn a smidge to the right and cast your eye toward the glistening chrome of the Kitchen in the distance. Beyond that, keen eyes will spot the fully stocked Pantry and Butler’s Quarters.

Walk this way please, through the hallway and here we are in the kitchen proper. Please note the overhead cabinetry, the pristine sinketry and faucetry, oh and don’t forget the knob-twiddling tomfoolery of the stove. And here is the food prep area. Sometimes the cockroaches like to hang out here, pulling up a pew on a RAID bait while quaffing a cheeky Chardonnay and laughing at the world. Oh, what fun they must have!

Glance to your right. A bathroom. Marvelous. Hang on. Is that someone swinging a cat in there? Oh dear! Group, group, please turn away! Nothing to see here! I’m not allowed to have pets anyway. What’s that? No, he’s fine. He’s a stunt kitty.

I tell you what, let’s turn 180 degrees. As we pass through this impressive archway, we find ourselves in the Junk Mail Reading Room. Now, take one baby step forward and we’re in the Wrapping Room. We might wrap something after the tour, if you’re feeling up to it. But onward, another step and we’re in the Television Room, one more step to the Dining Room. And see, just there on the right? The Library. And there is the Smoking Annex. Oh, and there, there! Do you see it? Yes, it’s a very rare Nose-scratching Room. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.

Here we are at another archway. Let’s amble through to the Boudoir. To your right you can see the Novel Room, where magical words drip from my mighty pen/laptop and the steady hum of inspiration permeates the air. Straight ahead of us, the bed, and to the left, my massive walk-in closet and dressing cubicle with full-length mirror, retractable shoe racks, a shirt turntable, and patented sock dispenser.

To close the tour, please note that windows abound, wooden flooring seems to wink through the varnish in a very seductive manner, and the radiator caked in 20 years of paint croaks, whimpers and, well…radiates. And there you have it. Noodle’s first New York apartment.*

THE NOODLE ROUNDUP
Just getting off the apartment for a second, I’ve not updated for a while, so rather than make this Noos stupidly long, here is the abridged version.

The Big Black Thing.
The blackout of 2003 saw me missing all the action and stuck in the dark in Connecticut. I drank beer by candlelight with workmate Jordan, saw a firefly click its arse alight at dusk, and spent the night sleeping on a couch with a cat. The cat never calls.

The Big Windy Thing.
Hurricane Isabel came around for tea and crumpets. By the time she got to NY, she ran out of gossip. It was sunny in Connecticut. It might have been windy overnight, but I didn’t notice as I was asleep.

The Big Watery Thing.
I traipsed to the Catskills to see Kaaterskill Falls. Pretty. The water went whoosh. I went ooooh. Then I went ahhhh. Pleased to report that there were no bears present.

The Big Vroom Thing.
I got behind the wheel of my first American car and drove on the wrong side of the road while sitting on the wrong side of the car. My brain built some new circuitry on the fly to cater for the overload of stimulus and compensate for the confusion. Things worked out ok.

* For dramatic purposes, this tour may have exaggerated the actual scale and room count of this one bedroom apartment.

Toodle-Noo. Here endeth the missive.

Noodle

©Janeen McCrae 2003




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