There's nothing real about real estate

Staging houses is a real art form, and from the looks of things, most people spend about 20 hours a week watching HGTV.

I saw about eight places on Saturday afternoon -- not counting the two open house lofts in the Merchandise Building that were utterly fantastic and hence completely out of my price range.

About six of the places were beautifully staged. Scented candles burning. A bowl of green apples on the table (with a nod to the original Designer Guys). All clutter removed.

But, even though they were lovingly staged, the personality of the owners often shined through.

We saw a lovely place in Radio City, overlooking my alma mater, The National Ballet School. When we arrived, the two gayer-than-gay owners were just leaving. Both of them were cuter than buttons. The place was everything you'd expect -- a modern and clean design aesthetic, and fastidious attention to detail. You just KNEW these guys would have ten aneurysms a piece if you put a wet glass down on their coffee table top.

But there it was. Their personality. The shrine to Janet Jackson.

The spare room had several poster-sized framed pictures of Miss Jackson, and a triptych of Janet with her dancers during the Rhythm Nation tour. There was Janet on the wall. Janet on the mantle. Janet on the pillow sham. There was so much Janet memorabilia that I thought that one of the departing homo-owners must be one of Janet's dancers, if not the sole-White member of the Jackson Five.

We did our tour. I decided that, while nice, the unit was over-priced (a theme for the day, really) and we took the elevator down to the lobby.

Happily, the boys were waiting there.

"Hey," I said as they came towards us all hopeful and glowing, "What's the Janet connection?"

"Oh," gushed the blonde one, "I just LOVE her!"

Clearly.

Anyway, still looking, but optimistic.

This picture is for my BFF, who had us in stitches yesterday with his assessment of Mr. Big City Broker's marketing campaign.