Reminds me of the naked guy from the 90's in San Diego.
I probably shouldn't post the whole article, but here is the good parts.
<strong>An empty tower, a bankrupt builder and me</strong>
<em>The San Diego Union-Tribune</em>
June 6, 1993
by Terry Rodgers
Living nearly alone in one of downtown San Diego's newest, tallest and priciest skyscrapers has certain unforeseen perks never mentioned in the sales brochures.
"You don't have to worry about neighbors popping in on you -- there aren't any," said Michael Berg, a resident of One Harbor Drive, the twin chocolate-colored towers mired in bankruptcy.
"And, of course, you never have to wait for an elevator."
When completed early last year, the 202-unit high-rise across from the San Diego Convention Center etched a distinctive profile on the city's skyline.
Rising 430 feet above San Diego Bay, the slim towers -- each 41 stories tall -- symbolized what optimists saw as an emerging residential market along the urban waterfront.
Today, the project, which cost $76 million to build, is a luxury ghost town: a honeycomb of empty rooms with endless views.
Jittery about the prospect of financial collapse, many early-bird buyers backed out and are fighting the developer to recoup their money. For them, the near-vacant high-rise represents a paradise lost.
But for Berg, an affable 37-year-old attorney who has the east tower virtually to himself, it's been like a private Disneyland.
Imagine an adult version of "Home Alone," splice in a few excerpts of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous," and the result would approximate his fantasy-turned-reality.
"Except for the (absence of) room service, it's like living in a hotel," Berg said.
Ever felt a hankering to take out the garbage in the nude? Berg's done it.
"Hey, there's nobody to see me," he explained. "I don't even have curtains because there's nobody in the other tower to look in."
For a cheap thrill, he sneaks up to the vacant penthouse to steal a peek at a coastline view that, to own, would cost a cool $2.5 million.
The lone vehicle parked on the vast top floor of the building's four-story garage is Berg's red Miata sports car. Naturally, he parks right next to the elevator.
Although the Jacuzzi and sauna have been broken for weeks, he has never had to wait his turn at the 90-foot-long lap pool or jockey with debutantes for a chaise lounge on the recreation deck.
He can rev up the volume on his fancy stereo to jet-engine loudness without worry.
"It's not lonely at the top, I'll tell you that," he joked, exaggerating the altitude of his 22nd-floor condo, which is roughly halfway to the penthouse.
The only snooping eyes that could possibly puncture his privacy belong to his four cats.
Until a few weeks ago, Berg at least had a smattering of neighbors with whom he could commiserate.
Like him, they had taken advantage of an unusual incentive plan that allowed them to occupy and upgrade their condominiums before escrow closed.
But when the developer, Bruce Stark, placed the project in bankruptcy six months ago, several of these buyers-in-waiting vacated their units. Berg, who vows to stay no matter what, suddenly found himself nearly alone. Only two other potential owners occupy the east tower.
Occasional recurring doubts about his decision are overwhelmed by his pleasure over the mesmerizing view.
"Every time I'm just about ready to move out, I look outside and I think how I'd be an idiot to leave -- and how I'm an idiot to stay," said Berg, who purchased his condo three years ago when the project was nothing but an artist's drawing.
"Everybody is watching what happens to One Harbor Drive because if it fails, it will set back the city's residential renaissance -- six months or six years, I don't know," said developer Neil Senturia, formerly a partner in the project with Stark.
Meanwhile, the sultan of the east tower, Michael Berg, would like to see the skyscraper enlivened with new activity, if for no other reason than to keep the understimulated doorman from turning into a human mannequin.
"I feel guilty when I don't come home before the end of his shift, because there's no one else for him to open the door for," said Berg.
