DONALD TRUMP'S plan to rebuild the twin towers has created an uproar among architects, real-estate developers and politicians. But his grandiose vision has also generated a tide of counterproposals from another influential constituency, the New York celebrity. To wit:
The Olsen Twin Towers.
Yes, they are tall, thin, and disorienting to behold, but that shouldn't stop Mary Kate and Ashley from erecting their own sister buildings that pay tribute to youth, fame, wealth, and the need to purge oneself of internal obstacles to self-fulfillment. Which tower is which? You'll know once you get better acquainted.
Howard Stern's Truth Towers.
The unlikely First Amendment hero wants to raise five office towers with totally transparent ceilings, floors, interior and exterior walls, and doors, in order to place corporate CEOs under complete public scrutiny. As with everything Stern, the proposal is shockingly relevant, yet still provides a sleazy vehicle to spy on women in the bathroom.
Bob & Harvey Weinstein Present: WTC II.
The Disney-dismantling duo appreciate the relationship between originality and sequel better than anyone. Even if their script for remaking the World Trade towers is a brain-numbing web of self-justification that could never be produced in the real world, the virtuosity of their marketing is a profound expression of the American will to create something out of nothing, or, as is often the case, vice versa.
Paris's Triple Hiltons.
Let policy wonks, editorial writers, corporate angels, and political handmaidens wrestle over moral and political complexities, but allow Hilton to lend some overdue sexual provocation to the city that sleeps in instead of around. Her ménage-a-trois of highly flexible towers are engineered to progressively lean together and intertwine suggestively as day turns into night, but by morning the towers are standing straight once again, their facades facing in three different directions.
Start making your reservations now for 'Molto' Mario Batali's latest culinary conception: Two 110-story World Trade Center replicas constructed from rigatoni and layers of imported Italian cheese that will be ceremonially collapsed into a river of molten marinara sauce and consumed al fresco by 50,000 New Yorkers, who crave an act of symbolic closure almost as much as they need a good excuse to consume carbs in public.
Al Sharpton's Justice Town.
Adding the spark of race relations to the already explosive mixture of warring political ideals, Justice Town is a revolutionary idea: A 16-acre alternate universe in which whites will live in quiet subjugation to African-Americans, trying to navigate an alien culture in which George Washington Carver is the father of the country, 50 Cent appears on the $20 bill, Queen Latifah is attorney general, and Tom Hanks is considered a menace to public health.
The Immaculate Deception.
Tag-sale-shopping from Jewish, Muslim, and Christian doctrine to create a daring monument to rebirth, pop star Madonna puts forth a soaring quartet of towers designed to be torn down and rebuilt from scratch every two years, an homage that strikes critics as nauseatingly self-involved but also provides a caustic critique of American mythmaking, even if her 25-story, uterine shaped atriums do negate some of the emotional energy.
Real estate mega-broker Barbara Corcoran unveils the most surprising idea: A Scarsdale-like mini-village, with 25 center-hall Colonial houses nestled into tidy 1/4-acre plots outfitted with mature trees, gardens, and swing sets. A communal playground, dog run, and soccer field finish off this 16-acre tone poem of normal life. But hidden underneath each home is a 10-story underground office tower, accessible through the home's detached two-car garage. Access to the new subway station is discrete: just walk through a faux little red schoolhouse.
Bruce Stockler is a public relations consultant and writer.