Living In New York

I live in a building that some have dubbed "the fame building" because several residents work from home in various performance, visual, and graphic arts.

Over the years there have been gymnasts, Broadway dancers, models, and those who aspired to a creative medium (and perhaps knew they'd never succeed).

There's a story that the landlord once tried a singing career, having gone so far as recording an album or two. I believe that his energy is trapped in this building, and thus has attracted the assortment of residents.

Sure there are residents without an ounce of rhythm or creative inclination, but what makes this building unique and at times annoying are the creative people. In no particular order, there's a bawdy, ballsy woman whose voice echoes throughout the six floors, a drummer who needs to buy a drum book and learn new rhythms (he's plodded the same two or three drum beats for the past six or seven years), a would-be composer with a creaky voice, a prissy jingle singer who thinks she's a force to be reckoned with just because she dominates her submissive husband, and an overzealous dancer/gymnast who thinks his life warrants hallway announcements.

Then there's a woman who obviously wears bricks for shoes as she clods back and forth through her apartment, dragging furniture, propelling her vacuum over the floor, and making all sorts of irritating noises. The building wouldn't be the same without a resident whose witch-like cackle reverberates octaves higher than the aforementioned bawdy female.

The building isn't without pleasure. There's a diamond in the rough among the camera hogs and attention seekers. She's a Soul/R & B singer who sings powerful and emotional songs as she climbs the stairs to her apartment. If only the other would-be divas and divos could learn from her natural talent.