Lots of people. They are setting up lights and clamping things to metal posts. There are giant industrial-strength carrying cases for god-knows-what stacked in my son’s tiny bedroom.

My wife and I are messy people. Really messy. Messy enough, evidently, to beat out a number of other families in New York City for this show–Clean House, which airs on the Style Network. Those other families were merely everyday messy, they were not in need of the sort of emergency intervention we have earned.

So as “winners” of the slob-off, we are now surrendering our apartment to various expert sorters, deaccessioners, organizers, and designers. Last week, the designers walked through (we were just very briefly introduced to them) to examine the raw materials, and did a good job masking their disgust at any number of things–our messiness, our hodgepodge of furniture, disrepair of said furniture, the strange ’70s-style imitation kitchen, the terrible living conditions we are inflicting on our children.

I really don’t know what to expect out of this. We went through the application process (nominated by a couple of friends of my wife who have basically given up on us, thank you Amy and Adina) feeling we would not get picked. We knew we were bad, but have you seen this show? There are some people on it who are just a few pet carcasses away from Hoarders, and we do not to our knowledge have any dead pets. (Because we have avoided having pets, because we do not want the responsibility of caring for them. No pets, thanks, just children.) Once we received the news that yes, we need this intervention, and it will happen on national TV (cable–phew!), I began to feel severe buyer’s remorse. Jesus, do we really want this? I want a cleaner house, but … well, if we really wanted a cleaner house, perhaps our house would already be cleaner. It’s not like we’re invalids or have some kind of mental disorder that prevents us from throwing out wire coathangers and other utterly useless items.

Well, if we have the mental disorder, it has yet to be diagnosed. Which is as good as not having it in my book.

I used to live with a guy in film production, and his buddies would occasionally want to film in our tenement-style apartment, and he always said absolutely not, no way, if you film something in your place it will end up a shambles. Equipment will leave black scuffmarks on the walls, gaffers holding long poles will break stuff, etc.

But the point of this show is to take our shambolic place and leave it pristine. Surely that will happen as planned, right?

Right?

So far the damage is not so much to the house, but I sense our rep is going downhill. A gas generator placed next to our landlords’ window polluted their place and set off their carbon monoxide detector. I watched with dread as a tow truck showed up this morning to remove cars from the street. A lady down the block was disturbed by a production powwow outside her window at 7 AM. These are everyday occurrences for TV and film crews–I have had my car moved twice for the same reason–but I can’t help feeling we will look like jerks, at least ’til the show airs and everyone we pissed off can laugh at our problems.

(Hm. The landlord/CO problem was really not good. The lady down the street is of less concern to me.)

I’m exiled to Starbucks right now, but before sign off, to go back to box up my overgrown life, I do want to send out a call to action: Come to our sale this Saturday. Buy something–we got good stuff, we just got too much of it.

(Psst! If you wear a woman’s size 7 shoe or need a new retro handbag you will really score.)

The details:

Saturday, July 9
Auction starts at 11 AM, sale goes on until at least 3
Plymouth Church
69 Orange Street (This is the back entrance to the church, which is officially at 75 Hicks St.)
Brooklyn Heights

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