Bombardment Of The Senses Part II

I would like to have Joan over for Coronas and taco salad. What would she make of my neighborhood, my building? Would it be enough for her that it is a not-cheap and somewhat coveted locale? Do the words "a great deal...for Manhattan" mean anything to Joan? Could her sense-bombardment cease long enough for her to utter her objections?

The super's assistant, Jacob, who lives in the basement boiler-suite, does the lobby decor at my place. Next to the elevator is "Paisley Ass Crack":




There is no shortage of art, cheesy or otherwise, that makes use of the female form. However, what sets Paisley Ass Crack apart is the ass crack, and the fact that it is paisley. Namely, the ass crack is indisputably the focus and the star of the composition as a whole, and it seems to be an exceptionally lengthy, capacious crack. It could be a spare purse. And, it is paisley. So: why so capacious, why so front and center, and why so paisley are the prominent questions for me there.

To me, Paisley Ass Crack represents the point of compromise between Jacob's design tendencies and what my neighbors and I can bear to glimpse several times a day. Because after several months no one has taken down Paisley Ass Crack. Everything else is gone, including the four foot square Siemens poster featuring a telecommuting family under that cheesy double-vision coating. Now the family eats breakfast. Move your head, now Dad is busy making money and Mom sees kid off to school.

And last December, I came home drunk late one night and tore down the hard-shelled relief-map of Santa's head that had been affixed to the outer door with duct tape. Jacob caught me and protested, claiming to have paid money for it. Right. It had come from the trash just like Paisley Ass Crack, but unlike the crack, it was going to go back there.

Maybe Jacob and Joan could share their interior design experiences.