The Apartment Game, Version 2011: Eleven Sub-Faces of Me

I don't know if I ever blogged about this previously on my myspace entries, but a couple years ago, I took advantage of a distinct phenomenon that ensued in my life to create a parlor game.
Every apartment I've ever had, including one I spent many nights in with two now ex-girlfriends (each one had their own domicile), was the on the middle floor of a three-story, 12-unit building. In each of the buildings, we'd see people move in and out over the months, letting our curiousities ruminate over what kind of neighbor we'd have next. Eventually, my hyper imagination ran this idea to its full extent and it turned into this fantasy game.
The rules are simple: You, like I (and she) was, is in one of the four units on the middle floor of a similar three-story, 12-unit building. Next, fill the remaining eleven units with people you'd like to have living near you. They can be living or dead, fictional or real, public or personal, or any mixture of those three dichotomies.
Sometimes I'd mull it over during a slow time at work, or on a drive, or any time I had time for a mental diversion. Then I realized something: The people I was putting above me had those qualities I aspired to have, the ones on my floor I saw as peers, and the those who I put on the bottom floor were those who connected to the lesser-but-necessary parts of me. Plus, the location of each resident on that particular floor began to reflect how far away I saw those qualities either being or wanting to be. Quite the symbolic paradigm, eh?
Basically, the one who lives above you on the unit diagonally from you is your ideal that you think you can never attain, while those who share a wall with you have a partnership role in your consciousness, and those who live across from you have that which is the rival that inspires healthy competition within yourself.
I think it was the poet/author Robert Bly who theorized that fictional characters were really the fleshing out of the author's own collective consciousnesses. In that line of thinking, what I did was take personalities and characters that influence a person and create a literal physical construct to analyze who and how you are influenced by characters. Whether or not they share the same mortal plane of living or not still really doesn't change the fact that personality and character are still ultimately intangible, ergo perfect for an ultimately intangible symbol for the physical representation of how they represent themselves.
So without further ado, here's my fantasy three-story, 12-unit apartment building of real people who are currently alive.
Middle floor: Me (duh.)
I share a wall with Michelle Beadle, who I see as a female ideal; With a perfect blend of ethereal grace and selfless accessibility, you have to wonder if she's actually easier on the mind than she is the eyes. Will I ever meet her? Doubt it. Date/Marry her? That line is too long, and there are too many in it who are more qualified for her than I, but the public persona she exhibits carries a great majority of the qualities look for in a woman who I intend to be a personal partner in my life. Of course, this probably assumes that I see myself psychologically ready for such a long-term marriage. In previous entires, I have put ideal wives on higher floors, while maintaining that direct neighbor spot for those I saw in a sibling manner.
Diagonally from me is - surprisingly  to me - Keith Olbermann. Previously, I put him on the floor above me as someone I aspired to be. An expert on writing, sports and later politics, he is someone I don't see myself taking a path to follow, but intellectually I probably don't find to be too far ahead of me, despite the miles of distance between us in terms of economy and career accomplishments, which is probably what puts him diagonally to me. Maybe it's because of the ways I've questioned if I could write some of his "special comments" myself with comparable quality and effectiveness, as I have begun to refine my own voice as he has greatly refined his.
Another great surprise to me was my placement of Garrison Keillor across from me. If there's one uniquity to Mr. Keillor, it is that he is the only one on this list with whom I had a direct conversation. Previously, I have seen him as a form of my Higher Self, placing him on a higher floor, but it turns I have developed a mental austerity and pragmatism that may now be similar instead of inferior.
The Lower Floor:
Directly below me is Bill Maher. Seemingly a confirmed bachelor, a cynical athiest, and a man whose wit is poignative and entertaining but ultimately bitter and skeptical of the world we live in. I think he, like I want to believe in the world we live in, but Maher is a very accurate reflection of my negative perceptions.
Sharing a wall with him is Anthony Bourdain. A world traveler, accomplished chef, he lived the cool version of a rock-and-roll life we all admire. Now, I wish to be a fantastic cook. I wish to travel the world that tourists usually miss. But I don't want to make my entire life that devoted to those things like he has. It's a nice place to visit, but his world is not one I'd like to live with full time.
Across the hall from Maher and diagonally from Bourdain is Chelsea Handler. Now, I've always seen her as a pretty woman, but recently, from watching her show and from articles I've read about her, her stock has risen as she seems to be outgrowing the realm of celebrity gossip and smalltalk. At Borders, I've rummaged through a few of her books, and for the most part, she's lived a personal life, that I can relate to pretty well. When life sucks in all the mediocre ways, there's no one I'd rather have harmonize my verbal middle finger with than her. However, she seems to not be the romantic - in many senses of the word. The troubles that she's written about, while I find a miserable companionship with, is still not the mental state I wish to maintain.
(Note: There are many women I like who aren't blonde. This is an exceptional coicidence that does not prove any rule for my taste in female allurement. Two words: red kryptonite. Maybe I could come up with a 12-unit "Big Love" buiding? Oh, the Viagra Blues.)
Rounding out the Lower Floor was another surprise in ESPN blathering head Woody Paige. Probably the most entertaining of the bunch of blathering heads that is evaluated daily by Tony Reali on ESPN's Around the Horn, his wild antics and half-baked notions and reliance on limited elements of sport are something that I used to do in life. He was a career newspaperman, a destiny I used to assume was mine. A columnist, like I want to be. Talking sports, like I used to do when I hadn't fleshed out my entire realm of thought. I guess what's clinched it is recent allegations of plagiarism, a cardinal sin in the journalism world just as bad as factual inaccuracy. Well, in my life, I have committed my own cardinal sins - personal and professional, which I still feel remorse, shame and self-pity over at times.
The Upper Floor:
I'll start with the diagonal unit from the one right above me.
When he dies, I dream that James Burke will simply ascend into an academic utopia that's a Valhalla-like library/labratory/lecture hall where all the greats can oooh and ahhh over his achievements. Seeing the world through his eyes is probably the way Einstein wished he could elaborate on his objective analyses of our world's operational history. Simply put, I am simply a different person without his documentaries. As China sees itself as a Middle Kingdom between Earth and God, then I see James Burke as the Middle Intellect between me and Omniscience.
Diagonally from (I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!) Burke is actor/author/musician/art collector/...ah, screw it...Renaissance Man Steve Martin. I am a well-rounded culturalist at heart, full of humor and whimsy that inspires while still maintaining a moderate level of humility. It would be difficult to find someone who has a greater comedic range than him. His comedy career is enough to make me a fan, but then add in that he is a Grammy-winning banjo player, a stellar art collector, and still at heart a philosopher, you might see him - and me - as being emotionally shut in, but there's a secret that both Martin and I conceivably share: When you're surrounded by life's beauty, the best way to enjoy it is to simply relax and become part of it, content in knowing you're simply blessed you and it can simply co-exist with its presence.
Across from Martin and next to Burke is MSNBC wizard Rachel Maddow. Watching her explain current events is like seeing an Iron Chef's brain function as (s)he figures out recipes. Another comparison is that she orchestrates her show as a current event, real-time exercise of Burke's "Connections" format. A data and raw information junkie, I love to vicariously enjoy the glimmer in her eyes as she puts it all together in an objective argument that, despite respectfully acknowledging opposing perspectives, reaches a conclusion that makes more sense and pulls more weight. She cares for her side of the issues; but like Voltaire, she will defend someone's right to say something no matter how much she disagrees with it. She loves taking a status quo and pushing it's limits, seeing if it really true, or just a lesser statement that can't stand up to functioning realities. In essence, that's what I've been doing my whole life. Proudly.
Lastly,  Mark Knopfler is in the unit upstairs that shares the wall with Steve Martin. For one thing, it would be an interesting jam session with his guitar and Martin's banjo playing. Lacking solid musical chops myself, I share a passion for music as a high art form, as it is one of the few things that simultaneously stimulates both the creative and analytical halves of the brain. His career is an epitome of how I wish my life's work could be: Start out as a reporter, then become an artistically, creative genius that maintained his own identity in the face of commercialism. His songs are snapshots of life that tell a story, summoning the troubadours of history, making me wonder if other traditions can be updated. And in keeping with a truly noble belief of mine, he intends to share what he's got in hopes he future will be even better by opening up a school for student musicians.
Not to mention, he also composed music that will be played at my funeral if my wishes are granted.
There are other names that proverbially "live" in a psychic adjoining building, like Al Franken, Michael Stipe, Neil Peart, Kari Byron, and many more. But when in terms of having a public face, sometimes its interesting to consider what external influences affect that persona you present to people.
Although, maybe if I ever find an apartment, it'll be in a ten-story skyscraper.