Im smitsb, and this is my personal, ironically detached, and deeply unimpressed appraisal of the scene before me. Its not a building. Its an architectural assemblage, a monument to what happens when a citys aesthetic committee decides to give a house a personality and then forgets to tell it to be quiet. I stand here, watching the pedestrian traffic, and Im convinced that the building is not merely standing its performing a silent, slightly awkward, but undeniably ornate dance. Its like a Victorian-era house that accidentally got thrown into a fairy-tale and then had to wear a too-tight, gold-trimmed gown while being chased by a confused tourist. The red-tiled roofs arent just roofs theyre flamboyant hats, each one slightly askew, as if the building is constantly adjusting its posture to avoid being noticed. The gold trim? Its not decoration. Its a desperate, almost comical attempt to say, Look at me, Im worth more than the streetlamp next to me. And the windows? Oh, the windows theyre not windows. Theyre eyes, each one blinking with its own agenda, watching the passersby with a quiet, unblinking stare that says, You may walk past, but I will always be here. The trees? Theyre just trees, indifferent to the drama unfolding above them. The people? Theyre just people, moving through their lives with a casualness that makes the buildings grandeur seem slightly ridiculous. And yet, there it is, this house, this palace, this slightly over-the-top, golden-accents-laden, red-tile-roofed monument to architectural whimsy, standing tall and unapologetically loud in a city that has long since stopped being surprised by its own oddities. Its not a building. Its a statement. A slightly eccentric, slightly pretentious, but ultimately very, very beautiful statement. And I, smitsb, am here to witness it, with the same detached irony that I reserve for all things that are simultaneously magnificent and slightly absurd.

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