In Which I Anthropomorphize Things In and Around My Apartment

This is a dead cockroach, found on the steps just inside the entrance to my building. It has been there for over a week now, because every single person in my 26-apt building is putting their finger on their nose in terms of being the person to actually get rid of the thing, and because the misnomered "super", a Russian man with a fondness for the fashions of 1992, won't do anything about it. Even though the corpse is only about 8 feet from the door, and quite obviously dead, not one of us is willing to suck it up and deal with it, mainly because it's the largest insect I have ever seen. When you step inside the door, you actually feel a gravitational pull towards it. For perspective:

The cockroach, the Collossus at Rhodes

Ignoring the fact that the first time I came face to face with this cockroach (I climb up stairs on all fours, Homo Habilis-style), I essentially shat both myself and my neighbor across the hall, I've found myself growing to respect this roach. He just looks so peaceful. This isn't a roach that left the world fighting, this is a roach that accepted the inevitability of death and its role in the circle of life, and decided to recline and just let go, albeit on the grungy, unwashed step of my East Village walkup. This roach didn't meet his maker at the business end of a rolled up newspaper, he didn't keel over after ingesting a bad batch of trap poison, and he definitely didn't starve to death, having apparently been feeding on thick, juicy steaks, and, I would imagine, radioactive waste. It was not a bad life, so it follows that it was not a bad death. Would that we all could shed our mortal coil with such dignity.

This is an old lamp that has resided in the hallway of my building's second floor (that is actually considered a hallway. No one in my building has more than two dimensions). It just popped up one day out of nowhere. At first, I thought there was some sort of poetic symbolism behind it, in a Petit Prince kind of way, but a month later, I realize that it's probably just broken and nobody wants to carry it outside to the trash, least of all the aforementioned super, whose tapered jeans don't allow for the navigation of stairs. I'm guessing it's a remnant from the recent death of an Old Person in my building, when I witnessed the disposal of about a million cookbooks and one of those potty chair contraptions that allows you to turn any sort of container into a toilet. Anyway, I wish someone would throw this out, but again, finger on nose.

This is the side tiling of my shower. As you can see, the front tiling has already fallen off, but I had thought this corner piece was pretty soild, at least, until I gently brushed up against it with my fuzzy slipper, sending it crashing to the floor. Upon looking down, I saw dozens of species of bugs scurrying around, searching for dark moist places, much like when you would turn over a big rock or log as a kid. For those of you that grew up in NYC, this is what a rock and log look like:

Scissors felt left out.

It seems my shower tile has been playing Anne Frank house to hundreds of creatures while I lathered up mere inches above. My first thought was "They're just as scared of you as you are of them", followed by "Holy fuck shit shit Jesus Christ", but in the end, the proper course of action was to replace the tile, admonish it, and pretend that it never happened.

This is my shoe.

# of times worn- 1

# of cockroaches killed- 3

It's my stomping shoe. Good grippable front, separate heel, no give. If the roach is especially large, then I'll combine the shoe with a few sprays of 409, to stun (and clean) the bug, followed by a swift stomping, girlish squeals, and wine. I have no intention of ever wearing this shoe again, as I wouldn't want to confuse it about its job. I even keep its matching shoe so it will have someone to go home to at the end of a day, and remind it why it keeps working. It's an unconventional career path.

This is my air conditioner. I would fuck it if only it were physically possible. I would put on a cowboy hat, cover myself in oil, and tell it to just lie back and let me do all of the work- it can just watch the game. However, being that appliance/human love is of the forbidden type, we have to settle for a few stolen kisses and some tender handholding. Such is the closemindedness of our society.