Tag Archives: apartment

Burnish

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Burnish: (v) to polish something by rubbing.

An important exercise:

Add up all the hours you and I have spent complaining, resisting, avoiding or diminishing the need to improve something. Now compare that to the number of hours it would have taken to do the job.

Every single time, the amount of energy expended in bitching exceeds the required minutes necessary to burnish up the situations in our lives.

Case in point: when I was much younger and rented an apartment, my parents gave me a beat-up coffee table. It was light brown wood, so every little scrape, nick and stain was very noticeable. Bluntly, I did not care. I was a punk.

One day a girlfriend of mine came in and told me that if I took some furniture polish to the table, it would look a hundred percent better. I nodded my head, simulating interest, but inwardly dismissed all her claims. She made the point three more times before she finally walked in, polish and cloth in hand, and quickly–no more than five minutes–transformed that piece of worn down trash into a burnished surface.

It was so shiny that I could actually look down and see my face.

I didn’t know whether to be grateful or angry over her interference. Before I could decide which profile to select, she gave me a quick hug and said, “You’re a man. You’re often too dumb to do what’s necessary.”

She left the room.

My problem was not being a man. My difficulty was that I did not believe I was worthy of a polished table, so I decided to leave it as ugly and unkempt as I felt myself.

 

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Beanbag

Beanbag: (n) a large cushion, typically filled with polystyrene beads, used as a seat.Dictionary B

The beanbag chair is the “government cheese” of furniture.

It’s too bad.

Beanbags come in a variety of colors. Matter of fact, they even have quite a choice of stylings.

Yet the best way to communicate to people around you that you’re only moving into the apartment temporarily, to soon be evicted, is to sling a bunch of beanbag chairs around your living room.

Some of them are very comfortable–that is, if you decide to situate yourself in them and not attempt extraction. At almost any age, getting out of a beanbag becomes a purposeful action. Yes, it is a campaign which you approach with great sobriety.

That’s why beanbags are considered the seating choice of the unemployed. It’s not that these people are unmotivated–just uncertain as to whether they can actually get up from where they’ve placed themselves.

I’ve had some great conversations sitting on beanbags. Many years ago, during the coffee-house era, it was the preferred perch. But honestly, no one who has money, ilk, conceit, preference or even a conscious awareness of decor will ever purposely select a beanbag to include in the layout of a favored room.

So if you are deciding on your stock portfolio, I could not recommend investing in beanbags.

That is, unless the next President of the United States helps to make us all very, very poor again. 

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April Fool’s Day

dictionary with letter A

April Fool’s Day (n): April 1st, a day on which people play tricks on each other.

Most of the time, April Fool’s day is fun, filled with practical jokes ranging from the sublime to even the macabre.

I remember once convincing my seven-year-old son that I had to go off to war against Poland, because the people of that country had refused to send us our alloted Polish sausage, and it was a time to stand up for our rights and demands for processed meat.

But there was a time in my life when I pulled an April Fool’s prank which backfired seriously, because what I thought was obviously comically bizarre was accepted as true, and had to be played out.

It was about two years after my father had passed on. I was continually trying to cheer my mother up with various antics and projects. (About six months after my dad’s crossing over, I took my mother bowling, agsint her strong objections, only to discover when we got there that she had never been bowling before, and rather than being a joyous release of tension, it became an arduous task of painful instruction and embarrassments, ranging from trying to get bowling shoes on her feet to retrieving a ball she had rolled down the alley which only made it halfway.)

So I should have been aware that April Fool’s jokes involving one’s mother were not always destined for success.

There was a restaurant near our town called Kahiki. It was known to be very expensive and a posh center for those of affluence.

Thinking that it was obvious that I would be unable to afford such a dining experience, I jokingly told my mother I would take her to Kahiki that night for dinner. I walked out of the house giggling to myself, figuring that she would decipher that the whole thing was a joke when she realized it was April 1st.

About three o’clock that afternoon, my little brother came running to the door of my apartment, and told me that our mutual mother was in the process of putting on her best Sunday dress and was even wearing makeup and fixing her hair. She had intoned to the little fellow that she was so moved and so looking forward to “a night at the Kahiki.”

Somehow or another, arriving at her home and screaming “April Fool’s!” did not seem appropriate.

I spent the next two hours driving around town borrowing money from people who had told me they would never lend me money ever again, to secure the funds to take her to this lavish eatery.

Arriving at 6:30 that evening, a bit out of breath and pulling on my suit coat, there was my mother, sitting and waiting for me with her purse in her lap, tears in her eyes, so grateful for her son’s generosity.

I took her to the restaurant. We had a lovely evening. And I spent the next two months being bugged by my friends to get the payback for the cash.

I learned something very valuable: April Fool’s Day jokes always need to be very, very obvious.

 

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Apartment

dictionary with letter A

Apartment: (n) a suite of rooms forming one residence typically in a building containing a number of these.

When I run across people who appear to like me as I am today, I am certainly cognizant of the fact that if they had met me decades earlier, they would have disliked me totally.

Now, I don’t mean this to be either critical of my new-found friends or myself. I have taken a journey. Because it is a journey, the road was rarely straight and certainly never free of construction.

To a certain degree I can chronicle my progress and my respectability based on just a simple review of my apartment selections.

Graduating from high school and immediately getting married, I had no money, appreciation of money or desire to make money. I was of the firm conviction that high school should continue and all groceries should be supplied, and preferably, food prepared and set before me. Since I did not go to college, where such an arrangement is possible, everyone in my small town felt that I needed to become “responsible.”

I did not agree.

So my family, in an attempt to get me on the “strait and narrow,” rented an apartment for my new wife and myself, where we could live. It was quite lovely. It sat on the second floor in the middle of town and had several large rooms, which continued to mock us due to our lack of owning furniture.

We were able to stay there exactly forty-five days, since we had no money to pay the next month’s installment of rent.

At this point we were forced to go to a cheaper location, which also ended up having previous tenets. Cockroaches.

We had so many in our apartment that they began to be incestuous, leading to mutations and even the development of an albino clan. After a while, it was the cockroaches that evicted us from our apartment, feeling that we were unsuitable roommates.

At this point some success greeted my creative efforts, and we were able to move into a better apartment, and then a better one still. Finally, on about my fourth excursion into this cave dwelling, I was able to occupy an apartment where I could pay the monthly rent. It was larger, also had a dishwasher, and as far as I was able to tell, had no previous hairy-legged dwellers.

So every time I hear the word “apartment,” both a chill goes down my spine and a giggle in my soul.

For I realize that it is a benchmark of being a citizen in this country. And lo and behold, after awhile, I was deemed worthy of escaping apartments and live in a house.

God bless America, strike up the band, John Phillip Sousa is a great composer … and apple pie is the only dessert for a true American..

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