May 17, 2007--Where There's Smoke There's Bono
Like Bono, I too live in a Manhattan co-op. He in the San Remo on Central Park West (along with Steven Spielberg and Steve Martin); I on Broadway and 9th Street (on my floor, along with a Rikers Island Prison guard and a kid whose parents bought him a studio who sits in it all day smoking pot). Bono inhabits Steve Job's old apartment, a duplex penthouse in one of the legendary San Remo towers that he bought for about 14 and a half mil; I also have a penthouse, but mine is just 850 square feet—the size of Bono’s sunglass closet. But we got a good deal when we bought it 16 years ago and it's now worth a gizzilion dollars, though not yet quite $14.5.
At the San Remo they are fighting like cats and dogs over fireplace smoke while we are battling, because we do not have fireplaces in our building, over cats and dogs. Of which we have plenty. (See linked NY Times article for all the bloody details.)
These are just two of 8 million stories from the Big Apple, where folks like Bono and the Zwerlings are so fortunate that they shouldn't be fighting about anything. Except maybe over what to do about world hunger.
But Bono has his pants in a bunch and I can not longer stand the howling of the prison screw's three hunting dogs. Bono sounds ready to kill someone; all I want to do is put a couple of dogs to sleep. Or, better, get them an appropriate new home in England's Cotswold’s where they can hunt to their little hearts' content.
In Bono’s case another rocker, Billy Squier, famous for 1980s hits such as Rock Me Tonight and, my favorite, The Stroke, lives in the San Remo, has a fireplace, and when he uses it the smoke drifts into Paul (Bono) Hewson’s place where it is felt to be unhealthy for the Hewson’s four children. In my case, the midnight howling interferes with my sleep. This makes me cranky the next day, which you know is often if you are a regular reader of this blog. Like today.
At the San Remo, the co-op board, which is the last example of absolute monarchy remaining on earth (to prove my point, they rejected Madonna’s offer to buy a flat) the board voted to forbid the use of fireplaces because smoke pouring into apartments was a widespread problem, not just Bono's. But not everyone, clearly, is following the rules. In our building, which legally has a weak board, no one is willing to deal with the proliferation of pets—for example, pass a by-law that says that no shareholder can have a dog (or dogs) which in the aggregate weight more than 10 pounds. That would take care of my problem, and keep me out of ASPCA court.
Back at the San Remo, 95 year-old Sing-Along musical conductor Mitch Miller, another resident, got it right when he said, “If people want fireplaces, let them go live in the country.” In our place, the other day, the guy with the Springer Spaniels said, “Get out of my way or I’ll bust your face.”
Maybe I’ll get lucky and Bono will decide to move here where there are no fireplaces. Better yet, I think maybe I need Mitch.
At the San Remo they are fighting like cats and dogs over fireplace smoke while we are battling, because we do not have fireplaces in our building, over cats and dogs. Of which we have plenty. (See linked NY Times article for all the bloody details.)
These are just two of 8 million stories from the Big Apple, where folks like Bono and the Zwerlings are so fortunate that they shouldn't be fighting about anything. Except maybe over what to do about world hunger.
But Bono has his pants in a bunch and I can not longer stand the howling of the prison screw's three hunting dogs. Bono sounds ready to kill someone; all I want to do is put a couple of dogs to sleep. Or, better, get them an appropriate new home in England's Cotswold’s where they can hunt to their little hearts' content.
In Bono’s case another rocker, Billy Squier, famous for 1980s hits such as Rock Me Tonight and, my favorite, The Stroke, lives in the San Remo, has a fireplace, and when he uses it the smoke drifts into Paul (Bono) Hewson’s place where it is felt to be unhealthy for the Hewson’s four children. In my case, the midnight howling interferes with my sleep. This makes me cranky the next day, which you know is often if you are a regular reader of this blog. Like today.
At the San Remo, the co-op board, which is the last example of absolute monarchy remaining on earth (to prove my point, they rejected Madonna’s offer to buy a flat) the board voted to forbid the use of fireplaces because smoke pouring into apartments was a widespread problem, not just Bono's. But not everyone, clearly, is following the rules. In our building, which legally has a weak board, no one is willing to deal with the proliferation of pets—for example, pass a by-law that says that no shareholder can have a dog (or dogs) which in the aggregate weight more than 10 pounds. That would take care of my problem, and keep me out of ASPCA court.
Back at the San Remo, 95 year-old Sing-Along musical conductor Mitch Miller, another resident, got it right when he said, “If people want fireplaces, let them go live in the country.” In our place, the other day, the guy with the Springer Spaniels said, “Get out of my way or I’ll bust your face.”
Maybe I’ll get lucky and Bono will decide to move here where there are no fireplaces. Better yet, I think maybe I need Mitch.
posted by Steven Zwerling at
2:25 PM
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