Views, houses, views from houses, etc
My realtor took me in a condo building called "the Hague" after "Boss Hague", the notorious Jersey City mayor in the first half of the 1900s. For forty years, he had politics in his back pocket, not only for Jersey City but for the entire state of New Jersey and into some other states.
In the lavish foyer of the building (where he had the top two floors entirely for his mob machine), there was a photograph of a man in 1940's clothes, wearing a hat and overcoat and looking the camera directly in the eye. A small bronze plaque at the bottom said, "Boss Hague" and then beneath, "I am the law."
The foyer was all gleaming white marble and potted palms as far as the eye could see. It looked like a movie set's stylized view of heaven.
I don't know why I am telling you this. It's just that I have been consumed by real estate the last several weeks and so I was thinking, "My life is real estate." And then I started wondering about the derivation of the words "real estate" and the link between the work "estate" as property and "l'estat" in the sense of Louis XIV and "L'estat, c'est moi."
And then I realized that that was pretty much Boss Hague's mantra, and wondered if he even knew who Louis XIV was.
"Apres moi, le deluge."
I'll bet Boss Hague said that too. And he'd have been right.
My roommate moved from Arkansas to New Jersey to work in politics because she was fascinated that the Boss system still works here to a degree.
But that's neither here nor there. I wanted to talk about houses, because I made an offer on one yesterday.
L'estate de reale, c'est moi.
It's a two family house about a five minute walk from the old house, where for the moment, I am still living. It's overlooking one of those beautiful parks, the kind where people exercise their horses in Henry James movies. There's a pavillion of some sort up on the hill on the horizon. The view reminds me of the garden behind a castle in Vienna I went to once. Which is awfully special, for a house in Jersey City.
It just occured to me that from his penthouse, Boss Hague would have had the same view. Although it wouldn't have been the horizon for him. Newark would have been his horizon.
Anyway. I made an offer on a house and we should be negotiating today on price, and if all goes well I'll be moving at some point in December, probably in the days between Christmas and New Years. Hooray.
I briefly suffered some regrets last week, but I am really glad I sold this house. I never really liked it.
I hope I like the new house. I hope I get it, for one thing. And if I do, I hope I like it and that it wildly appreciates in value, which would make me like it even more. Then I can sell it in a couple of years and get a new house. Because that's what I do.
Readers, Cupcake has long been aware that her life is not a novel but rather a collection of short stories. This most recent story has been one that, given the option, she would probably skim over, skipping the last part and jumping right onto the first page of the next one, hoping it presented more interesting narrative.
Maybe moving to a new house will push things into the next installment of her life. Wouldn't that be nice?
Though Cupcake hastens to confirm that she had a very nice holiday with her cousin, though she spent the lion's share of the weekend with her realtor, a very patient man who is probably pretty ready to strangle Cupcake about now. She made him a whole lotta money on the sale of her home, but she's been a very demanding customer as a buyer, making him take her, over the holiday weekend, to the same house 4 times in 3 days. Then she made an offer on a different house.
The 4 times in 3 days house was a house Cupcake really, really liked. But it would have been a money pit. The apartment on the second and third floors was one giant apartment, too big to be an easy rent (5 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, in a transportationally challenged section of Jersey City). Cupcake would have had to deal with repeated vacancies (ergo, no rental income to assist with the mortgage, which would be irksome and worrying). And/or large families stomping around overhead (which would be irksome and annoying)-- Also, to make the house habitable would have cost at least $10,000 when she moved in, on top of the mortgage, as the seller was adamnant that she wasn't doing any more work. She was also inflexible in the price, which is why the beautiful old house, which had been enduring a half-assed renovation which mercifully sputtered out when the seller ran out of money, has been on the market for six months.
Cupcake loved that house. She would have been very happy there, despite the lack of a Viennese pavilion on the horizon. It was a graceful old Wedding Cake Victorian on a lovely, quiet street. There were trees in the backyard, and a sense of timelessness, and (Cupcake believes) a gentle ghostly presence in the basement. (Cupcake imagined the ghost hanging out with the rabbit, whose would have shared that domain.) Added up, it might have made up for legions of tenants stomping overhead.
But at the end of the day, Cupcake is a practical girl. And perhaps a lazy girl, because she likes other people to pay her mortgage for her. And the rental income of that house would have been erratic and insufficient. The house on the park has a better cash flow. So Cupcake's heart, softened by Victorian cornices and a kick-ass Kohler sink, took one for the team. She passed on the Wedding Cake house for the sake of her bottom line.
And at the end of the day, it was probably a good move. Now she will be Boss Hague's neighbor, and have a park outside her door, and maybe, just maybe, things will move to the next short story as assuredly as Louis XV took up right after Louis XIV.
Who knows what that story will be. Let's hope there's no Thirty Years War in it.(Though Cupcake would welcome M. de Pompedour, should he show up.) But whatever is ahead-- Cupcake's ready.
I'll let you know if they accept my offer. I think the realtor will be very happy if he doesn't have to keep driving me around.
"I am the law." I like the sound of that. Maybe the Viennese pavilion won't be the only view I end up sharing with Boss Hague.
Nah. Just kidding. Being that kind of estat would drive me nuts. Real estate is more than enough to amuse me.
In the lavish foyer of the building (where he had the top two floors entirely for his mob machine), there was a photograph of a man in 1940's clothes, wearing a hat and overcoat and looking the camera directly in the eye. A small bronze plaque at the bottom said, "Boss Hague" and then beneath, "I am the law."
The foyer was all gleaming white marble and potted palms as far as the eye could see. It looked like a movie set's stylized view of heaven.
I don't know why I am telling you this. It's just that I have been consumed by real estate the last several weeks and so I was thinking, "My life is real estate." And then I started wondering about the derivation of the words "real estate" and the link between the work "estate" as property and "l'estat" in the sense of Louis XIV and "L'estat, c'est moi."
And then I realized that that was pretty much Boss Hague's mantra, and wondered if he even knew who Louis XIV was.
"Apres moi, le deluge."
I'll bet Boss Hague said that too. And he'd have been right.
My roommate moved from Arkansas to New Jersey to work in politics because she was fascinated that the Boss system still works here to a degree.
But that's neither here nor there. I wanted to talk about houses, because I made an offer on one yesterday.
L'estate de reale, c'est moi.
It's a two family house about a five minute walk from the old house, where for the moment, I am still living. It's overlooking one of those beautiful parks, the kind where people exercise their horses in Henry James movies. There's a pavillion of some sort up on the hill on the horizon. The view reminds me of the garden behind a castle in Vienna I went to once. Which is awfully special, for a house in Jersey City.
It just occured to me that from his penthouse, Boss Hague would have had the same view. Although it wouldn't have been the horizon for him. Newark would have been his horizon.
Anyway. I made an offer on a house and we should be negotiating today on price, and if all goes well I'll be moving at some point in December, probably in the days between Christmas and New Years. Hooray.
I briefly suffered some regrets last week, but I am really glad I sold this house. I never really liked it.
I hope I like the new house. I hope I get it, for one thing. And if I do, I hope I like it and that it wildly appreciates in value, which would make me like it even more. Then I can sell it in a couple of years and get a new house. Because that's what I do.
Readers, Cupcake has long been aware that her life is not a novel but rather a collection of short stories. This most recent story has been one that, given the option, she would probably skim over, skipping the last part and jumping right onto the first page of the next one, hoping it presented more interesting narrative.
Maybe moving to a new house will push things into the next installment of her life. Wouldn't that be nice?
Though Cupcake hastens to confirm that she had a very nice holiday with her cousin, though she spent the lion's share of the weekend with her realtor, a very patient man who is probably pretty ready to strangle Cupcake about now. She made him a whole lotta money on the sale of her home, but she's been a very demanding customer as a buyer, making him take her, over the holiday weekend, to the same house 4 times in 3 days. Then she made an offer on a different house.
The 4 times in 3 days house was a house Cupcake really, really liked. But it would have been a money pit. The apartment on the second and third floors was one giant apartment, too big to be an easy rent (5 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, in a transportationally challenged section of Jersey City). Cupcake would have had to deal with repeated vacancies (ergo, no rental income to assist with the mortgage, which would be irksome and worrying). And/or large families stomping around overhead (which would be irksome and annoying)-- Also, to make the house habitable would have cost at least $10,000 when she moved in, on top of the mortgage, as the seller was adamnant that she wasn't doing any more work. She was also inflexible in the price, which is why the beautiful old house, which had been enduring a half-assed renovation which mercifully sputtered out when the seller ran out of money, has been on the market for six months.
Cupcake loved that house. She would have been very happy there, despite the lack of a Viennese pavilion on the horizon. It was a graceful old Wedding Cake Victorian on a lovely, quiet street. There were trees in the backyard, and a sense of timelessness, and (Cupcake believes) a gentle ghostly presence in the basement. (Cupcake imagined the ghost hanging out with the rabbit, whose would have shared that domain.) Added up, it might have made up for legions of tenants stomping overhead.
But at the end of the day, Cupcake is a practical girl. And perhaps a lazy girl, because she likes other people to pay her mortgage for her. And the rental income of that house would have been erratic and insufficient. The house on the park has a better cash flow. So Cupcake's heart, softened by Victorian cornices and a kick-ass Kohler sink, took one for the team. She passed on the Wedding Cake house for the sake of her bottom line.
And at the end of the day, it was probably a good move. Now she will be Boss Hague's neighbor, and have a park outside her door, and maybe, just maybe, things will move to the next short story as assuredly as Louis XV took up right after Louis XIV.
Who knows what that story will be. Let's hope there's no Thirty Years War in it.(Though Cupcake would welcome M. de Pompedour, should he show up.) But whatever is ahead-- Cupcake's ready.
I'll let you know if they accept my offer. I think the realtor will be very happy if he doesn't have to keep driving me around.
"I am the law." I like the sound of that. Maybe the Viennese pavilion won't be the only view I end up sharing with Boss Hague.
Nah. Just kidding. Being that kind of estat would drive me nuts. Real estate is more than enough to amuse me.
posted by Cupcakegrrl at Monday, November 28, 2005
3 Comments:
I love short stories so much more than novels; just ask Miss Marisol. I hope the one about your new house is as thrilling to write as it will be to read.
Between making the offer and closing the deal was the most anguishing time of our house purchase. Fortunately it all came out well, but I remember after making the offer how I dreamt that the house was actually smaller than it was -- I was so convinced it was smaller that when I finally went back to see it I was pleasantly surprised by how spacious it seemed.
i hope it has room for a guest next may.
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