Bad Places to Live from the Fifth Avenue Gazette

January 19, 2006

The Worst Places to Live
Hillcrest – Today the Fifth Avenue Gazette presents the results of a months-long study conducted by the prestigious research firm of Norton and Associates, Llp. Undertaken in the days immediately following the devastation in New Orleans from Hurricane Katrina, the study concludes that no matter how bad things are in the Big Easy, there are still places far worse off. In fact, New Orleans finished 74th on the list of shitty places to live, prompting Mayor Ray Nagin to remark, “I told all y’all fools to get yo black asses back here. San Antonio’s a cracker town. Y’all belong down here. We be fixin' to go straight chocolate all up in dis piece.”

Ten Worst Places to Live (in reverse order):
10. Mars – Named for the Roman god of war, the fourth planet from the sun has long been a favorite of science fiction writers as the second best planet to inhabit in the solar system. However, the Fifth Avenue Gazette study revealed that rumors of canals and Barsoomian princesses on the surface of Mars are grossly exaggerated. Mars also scores low in the areas of community amenities, climate, roads and schools. Still, to its credit, Mars has never been invaded by Mongols and was not involved in the United Nations oil-for-food scandal.

9. Bangladesh – Since winning its independence from Pakistan in 1971, Bangladesh, the world’s most densely populated country, has had 13 different heads of state, two assassinations, and two military coups. Not bad for a 34-year history. Uncertainty and crowdedness are facts of life in Bangladesh, as are hunger and floods. Add to that the disease and pestilence, the rickets, the naked orphans in the streets - well let's just say that Bangladesh has something for everybody. By Bangladeshi standards, the flooding in New Orleans’ Ninth Ward was a neighborhood clean-up. It’s hard to believe there are eight worse places to live than Bangladesh – but I assure you there are.

8. Manhattan, Kansas – Holy fuck. The editors were stunned to learn that Manhattan, Kansas, did not finish first on this list. I have not the words to describe Manhattan, Kansas. To get some idea of what it is like to live there, just imagine yourself seated for eternity in a vinyl-covered recliner. On your lap is a TV tray with a self-replenishing plate of egg salad sandwiches on white bread and an endless glass of sugary Lipton iced tea. Your television choices consist of reruns of The Lawrence Welk Show and Hee Haw. Now imagine that for six months the sweat pours from your head leaving tracks down your face that are stained brown by a constant howling wind that somehow manages to just make things hotter. Then imagine yourself for the next six months shaking in a cold that knows no depth. Finally, imagine that every few hours a neighbor with black fingernails and a Mack Truck cap pops by, spits tobacco juice on your rug and asks, “Hey, you wanna run down to the Piggly Wiggly and pick up a carton of Winstons?”

7. Pelican Bay State Correctional Facility – In 1989 the California Department of Corrections unveiled its state-of-the-art 1,056-cell Security Housing Unit (SHU) at Pelican Bay. If you’re considering a move to Pelican Bay, be sure you’re o.k. with your own company. If you land in the SHU, you’ll be guaranteed at least 22 ½ hours per day of confinement to a room designed for one occupant, but probably shared by a violent predator. Charles Manson has never been in an SHU. California Department of Corrections officials told the Fifth Avenue Gazette that Manson is far too affable to make it at Pelican Bay.

6. Antarctica – At 14 million square kilometers, the world’s fifth largest continent is home to researchers from several nations. It has no drive-throughs, no video stores, no nightclubs, no parades, and no permanent government. The terrain is 98 percent ice and 2 percent barren rock. It has 17,968 miles of coastline and not a single beach. If you visit Antarctica, be sure to check out the Bentley Subglacial Trench, the continent’s lowest point, at approximately 8,000 feet below sea level.

5. Manhattan (the other one) – Purchased from the Native Americans for some beads, two shiny buttons, a bottle of rum and two handfuls of smallpox spores, the worst thing about the Island of Manhattan is that it is full of New Yorkers. Some ten million people per day clamber aboard this nasty, fetid, swarming barge to produce, quite literally, nothing but waste. When it’s not frozen, Manhattan is world renowned for its ubiquitous aroma of urine. The very best thing about Manhattan is that I shan't ever go there again.

4. Burundi – Largely unknown to the Western world and virtually ignored by Western governments, Burundi, with a land mass slightly smaller than Maryland, boasts a seven percent infant mortality rate, a 51 percent literacy rate, a life expectancy of 50 years and a per capita income of 25 cents per day. Civil war has raged in Burundi for more than four decades since the Belgians gave it back to the indigenous Hutu and Tutsi tribes from whom they stole it, and whose cultures they all but destroyed by raping the land and enslaving the people. It’s a bad, bad, bad fucking place. On a serious note, if the advanced nations of the world want to be properly so-called wouldn't you think they could do something to keep thugs from cutting off villagers hands in an impoverished, landlocked nation? Maybe once we get through fighting for important things like petroleum reserves we can get around to the low-priority stuff like tribal genocide, starvation and child slavery.

3. Canada –Insightful readers will wonder why the nation of Canada, with free universal health care, universal access to safe, high-quality affordable housing, almost no violent crime, clean cities, a stable economy and peaceful relations with every other nation in the world even makes the list. Canada is a shitty place to live because of its proximity to the United States and the tendency for everyone in the world to assume that Canadians are just like Americans. If you happen to be Canadian, and if you happen to get abducted in, oh, let’s say the outskirts of Baghdad, it won’t matter to your captors that you come from a nice, respectable place. They will still saw your white head off and broadcast it over the internet. It sucks to be Canadian.

2. Alabama – (I don’t really need to explain this one, do I? All right, fine.) The State of Alabama, home to such attractions as the Johnson Ranch Automatic Rifle Range and The Place Where Those Negro Kids Got Blowed Up, is the only state in the union with four a's in its name. It also proudly bosts three k's. The Fifth Avenue Gazette study revealed that not everyone in Alabama is his or her cousin's son or daughter (that's a covoluted incest reference if I've ever heard one) and that not everyone in Alabama is a redneck, genetic mutant, hate-filled, spouse-beating piece of backward white trash. Those are just the people in charge.

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1. My girlfriend’s house – While Marie has been in New York City shopping for the past three days, I have spent time at her house trying to learn to play her piano. I haven’t gotten any better at the piano, but I do finally understand why it is that she likes to stay at my place pretty regularly. I can confidently declare that Marie's house is the shittiest place to live in the universe, ever.

Marie lives between two of Hillcrest's leading businesses - the Hash House a Go Go (http://www.hashhouseagogo.com/) and the Loft (yeah, like they've got a website). I'm pretty familiar with the Loft, to say the least, not so much with the Hash House. So let's take these two establishments in reverse order, shall we?

In the litany of great neighborhood pubs at which to get oneself good and drunk in this town, there is none finer than the Loft. Good drinks generously poured by attentive bartenders, along with one of the more colorful regular patronages on the West Coast are just the beginning of it. What makes the Loft really special is the fact that on any given night you can expect to meet up with a good two dozen or so opinionated snots like me who enjoy drinking to excess and arguing loudly on the sidewalk over such important things as whether the fact that he was never elected either to the presidency or the vice presidency makes Gerald Ford a significant anomaly in presidential history or whether that fact is just a curious bit of trivia that people like to trot out anytime that Ford, 92, gets a little under the weather. (For the record, it's the latter). We Lofters can get loud. I have no idea why the neighbors haven't planted a bomb at the Loft yet.

But the Loft doesn't hold a candle to the Hash House. Marie's bed is separated from the Hash House patio by a thin plate of shaky glass and six feet of air. The Hash House loading area and storage facilities are just another ten feet further away. To sleep earlier than 11:00 p.m. or later than 6:00 a.m. in Marie's bed requires at least three glasses of wine, two Excedrin PM's, a white noise machine, ear plugs and a smart blow to the back of the head. (For the record - the Hash House a Go Go is one of the best reviewed and busiest restaurants in Uptown San Diego, and deservedly so. I am not picking a fight with the Hash House. I hope they know this because someday I might steal one of their images from the internet and publish it on this page).

In front of Marie's home there are about 200 square feet of grass. I believe it is the only grass anywhere on Fifth Avenue. Someone write to me if I'm wrong. Two words - dog shit. You would not believe the mountains of shit that pile up on her lawn. It's a veritable poop garden. This fact, however, does not deter the literal scores of people who line up for as long as an hour in the mornings waiting to get into the Hash House. Neither does it deter the late night Loft-goers from frequenting her lawn for less passive reasons.

The single worst part of Marie's house, however, has nothing to do with either of her nextdoor neighbors. Her upstairs neighbors have a cat. Judging by the sound of it, I would guess it tips the scales at about 140 pounds. Marie's bed is eight feet beneath her upstairs neighbors' kitchen floor. Given that her building is of Victorian vintage and the kitchen floor in question consists of two milimeters of linoleum sitting atop old creaky wood, the acoustic properties of Marie's bedroom are roughly equivalent to the inside of a snare drum.

Now whereas humans are diurnal critters who like to sleep at night, cats tend to get rather active at around one in the morning. I swear, it sounds like a panther toppling over a school bus. Try this experiment. Put on a football helmet. Go to sleep. Have a friend of yours stand by and the moment you nod off have him empty a sack of ball bearings on your head. That's not quite as bad as sleeping in Marie's bed.

So there you have it. New Orleans might be a sopping wet, mold infested, nasty, dirty, shitty place to go back to, but it could be worse, it could be Marie's house.