Struggling with the 10th Commandment
I may be a Hebrew School dropout, but darn if I haven't caught the Cecil B. DeMille version of "The Ten Commandments" a couple of dozen times. In fact, I always rent the flick for my annual Passover seder. I pop the tape in the VCR, cue it up to the plagues and we watch them in Technicolor while we're reading that section of the Haggadah.
So, needless to say, I'm familiar with all of "The Big Ten." And, just this past weekend, I failed to live up to #10:
You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, or his manservant, or his maidservant, or his ox, or his ass, or anything that is your neighbor's.
And, the really sad part is it was worse than coveting a neighbor's ox or ass - I coveted my friends' new home in the outskirts of Hoboken, New Jersey. Yes, I actually coveted my pals Melissa and David's apartment in deepest, darkest NJ - a good 15-20 minute walk from the Hoboken PATH station.
Invited for a friendly barbecue last Sunday, I had no idea that I would turn green with jealousy at seeing their three-bedroom abode with an immense kitchen and sizeable, leafy yard.
I tried to focus on Melissa's yummy Heirloom Tomato Salsa and Chips as we waited for the burgers to be done. But, it was no use. I wanted to bludgeon my friends to death and steal their home.
I'm not an animal. I controlled my self. I ate my burger and thoughts of murder danced in my mind. I tried to think happy thoughts. I crunched into some potato chips and I started picturing how well my furniture would look in the living room.
It had to stop. I love my apartment in Brooklyn. This was Melissa and David's home. Besides, I thought to myself - I'm sure all those bedrooms, that oversized kitchen and this gorgeous, green garden require a lot of upkeep. And, heck, just think of the cleaning after this party.
I sipped on some Merlot and began to mellow. A sugar rush quickly took its place after a few bites into a slice of Walnut Sour-Cream Apple Pie. I didn't know if my newfound peace-of-mind could hold.
Thankfully, Celeste and Tom came to the rescue, with the offer of a ride home. I bid our hosts adieu, jumped into the backseat and we were off - on the road - in New Jersey. New Jersey. Jersey. Joisey. NJ. The Garden State. Home of Tony Soprano and Jim McGreevy.
We made our way through the Holland Tunnel and suddenly I felt a rush of relief. New York!!!
Clearly, I had been suffering from what some urban real estate experts have called: UrbanSquareFootageEnvy-itis.
What can I say? I prefer to think of myself as being victim of a nasty NYC-Yuppie virus than admit that the State of New Jersey inspired me to break one of the Lord's commandments.