7" of Separation

I’ve felt guilty for some time now, guilty about updates here. I have excuses, but a new theme in my life is “no excuses,” so I’ll just jump right in.

In the days following my last post, I found an apartment that will serve as my permanent home, at least for a year. Located one block down and two blocks up from my sub-lease, its a “large” two bedroom, meaning it has a separate kitchen and living room and two full bedrooms. The paperwork is all done, I’e been judged to my face by the landlord and I’m only awaiting my copy of the lease and the keys. If my broker would call, that should be all taken care of in a matter of days — though, I’ve been saying that for a couple days already.

Finding the place happened in a blur. I called the broker about a different listing, which had gone only hours after it was posted. He informed me he had a better deal though. It wasn’t even on the market yet, but he could show it to me that morning. I met him and was the second person to see it.

Once inside, it felt like a good fit, and while I would have liked more time to think it over and show it to Ellyn, I had no time to waste. I thought about it for an hour and then called to put in my application. After two days of waiting and a series of complicated bank transactions, I had my deposit down and approval from the landlord. I beat out the couple that saw it just before me. Victory on some small scale. If all goes as planned, I should be in sometime before the first — me, two stacks of clothing, some books and an air mattress. Living large, I know.

…

The job hunt continues. It’s up and down. A waiting game. It takes its toll. I send out applications every day and most everything I’ve applied for continues to be open. Read that as there are stacks of resumes all over the city containing my information, and once application windows close, I should get some calls. I hope.

I’ve had a few small victories that led to letdown. Mostly, three different callbacks that ended once I outlined my experience and salary requirements. The positions that have been quick to call back have all been entry-level and I’ve been informed I’m overqualified. One such interview ended with a laugh, the HR rep telling me they’d love to be able to pay me what I wanted, but it would in no way make sense to hire someone with my experience for a job they would need to fill again once I moved on. Too bad, it’s nice to know you’re qualified, but it’d be nice to find work, too.

Anyway, I have faith it will all come together, I just don’t like the timeline it seems to be happening on. Patience though. Patience and dedication.

…

I have a friend here whom I meet with on Tuesday afternoons at Union Square. We get coffee and talk about music and comics and other guy things. Two weeks ago, while sitting in the park, we witnessed an epic struggle between a heroin addict and Death. After laying unconscious in the grass, being slapped around and then deserted by friends, for three hours. The police finally came and woke him up with a shot to the heart. He collected his shoes, and walked off. We could only watch in amazement, wondering what it would be like to be strung out with friends one moment then awaking to nine cops standing over your lifeless body the next. New York is wonderful that way. Even a day in the park is nothing to take lightly.

…

Ellyn and I hit Coney Island last weekend for the Siren Music Festival. We were only there for a little while, as the heat was unbearable. We’ve been having our first offical heatwave the last week or so, and the humidity is crushing. Everyone sweats, everyone complains. It was fun to see the color and diversity at Coney Island though, and we decided to come back another day. We did catch a good band, the Dodos, and took a walk on the beach and boardwalk though. It was a nice afternoon.

On Sunday, we took in the Dark Knight. Well worth the effort.

…

With all that, we’ve been trying to save money, plan a wedding and adjust to living in the same city. Being in love and engaged is great. Though we are discovering what being dedicated really involves. Also, with our lives in such a state of flux, with jobs shifting and moving, with wedding hassles and decisions, with all that, we find ourselves testy and stressed, attempting to figure out how to do this thing we got ourselves into. Though, I think I speak for both of us when I say it’s so worth it. The fighting passes, the schedules adjust, and a quiet evening on the couch revives us. It’s finally knowing I won’t ever have to leaver her again that makes all my fears about work and life reside. It isn’t blind optimism, but a little truth in a life full of uncertainty. And in New York, a little truth goes a long way.

Apparently, he drives up and down Bedford Ave. on the weekends. Sometimes, he’s on a side street. You can hear him well before you see him. Singing. Loudly.

It’s a mid-80s Subaru, red. The windows are rolled down, music blasts from the stereo and he sings at the top of his lungs. Up and down all night long. Cruising — a party of one.

The first time I saw him was a Friday afternoon, late in the day. It was “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” I hate the song, with its “Wimoweh, Wimoweh” and falsetto nonsense. Twice more Ellyn and I have spotted him, again on Friday.

What he’s doing, I’m not sure — other than driving and singing all night long.

I’m on to you red 80s Subaru singing man… I’m on to you. I’ll get to the bottom of this.

…

For the Fourth, Ellyn and I had a undecidable un-American afternoon. Settling in to being a New Yorker, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art with the knowledge that we didn’t have to see everything because we can go aback anytime.

We saw the Koons on the roof, wandered the Modern Art with its Warhols, were fascinated by the Comic Book Fashion special exhibit and then looked at the Arms and Armor display — swords are neat. We got tired after about three hours and that was fine. We’ll go back whenever we want.

Then, we went up to Murry Hill, or Curry Hill as it’s known, for Indian. Yep, while the family was hitting the barbecue pit, we had Chana Masala.

We headed back to my place and hit the roof to catch 1/4 of the Macy’s fireworks display. You see, there was a building between us and them, so we got a quadrant’s worth. However, Macy’s spends eight times the normal amount on fireworks for their show, so we still got to see twice as many fireworks as normal, right?

Mostly, we bummed around the rest of the weekend. I applied for a job with radio station WNYC this morning. It’s a dream job. I hope. I hope. I hope.

We also played with cameras a bit.

She’s lovely.

I’m still here, now almost a week. The same bed. The same shower. Only clocking 1/4 a mile in Pam moving her around the block. Yet, life moves forward.

I apply for two jobs a day, on average. So far, I have one interview set for tomorrow — a copy editing position for a education technology company. It’s not quite media, but I’m actually really excited at the prospect. I’ve written about education at both the K-12 and Higher Ed levels and I’ve always enjoyed the stories about technology trends in the classroom. Plus, I’m a firm believer in the idea that technology must be introduced to schools faster, as it’s one of the best ways to level the playing field and improve student’s overall experience. Anyway, this isn’t the interview, so I’ll move on.

In between my morning cup of coffee from The Rabbit Hole and my job search, I take a stroll around Bedford, looking at apartment ads in the realty offices and on craigslist. A story:

Two days ago, I went to look at the first apartment in what I now understand will be a long series of trips to look at apartments. An ad on craigslist featured a three bedroom loft with full windows, hardwood floors and even electronic locks. The pictures made it look like a spacious and amazing find. The rent was only $1800. And now a lesson about too good to be true. How can you have a three bedroom in Brooklyn for $1800? I’ll tell you.

I made my way up to the apartment to meet Saul, a portly Hasid, who opened it up for me, a dad and his daughter. Well, you can have a three bedroom for $1800 if that three bedroom is, in fact, a one room loft.

“Saul, this isn’t a three bedroom. It’s one room,” the dad pointed out, quite obviously.

Saul shrugged. “They had three people in here.”

So they did. And that was that. (Actually, Saul was kind — if not a bit of a fibber — and he drove me to another location to show me three more places. All nice, but too far from where we want to be.)

I’ve now learned to look for the words “true” or “real” before the bedroom count. I’m in the market for a “true two bedroom.” It seems possible. A number of apartments are opening up on the first and start showing in two weeks. I have my name on a few lists.

I’m rather in love with the area I live in. Mainly because I enjoy walking the neighborhood. Of course, the fact that it isn’t “hip” to live here anymore makes me like it more. Though, the place seems pretty hip to me. When I come home from Manhattan, Brooklyn feels so nice. It’s slower here. People are nicer. The same characters populate the storyline. I’ve seen my pink-shorted foot soaker a few times now. It’s comfortable.

This morning, in preparation for the interview, I got a haircut at a little place called Public. It’s just down the street and I got a trim there when I visited back in November. Brooke, the stylist, does a great job, and she’s from Portland. So we Oregon it up the whole time. Today, we entertained the desk girl with tall tales of Nutrias, which she had never heard of.

I bought a suit at a hole-in-the-wall men’s vintage place on Driggs called Houndstooth the day before and after the cut, I had a few things to pick up to finish off the look. My suit makes me very happy. It’s vintage designer, a Pierre Cardin. It was a great price and it fit like a charm. Also, it’s three piece. I’m never going out without a vest again. I picked up some $15 shoes and a $100 tie to finish it all off. I have a thing for ties, obviously.

Anyway, enough about my clothes. But honestly, who wouldn’t hire that? (Also, sorry to Mike and Sandy who had to put up with my hippy hair and jeans. If JC would have had suits like this, it would have been an easy fix.)

Reflections on life in New York continue. I love the subways, but like everyone else, even if you love what you’re doing, it’s necessary to have a look of disdain and hate on your face, just to get around. Walking everywhere and sweating for most of it has led to dramatic weight loss. It’s going to be easy to feel in shape. Plus, groceries are expensive, which leads to smaller portions. I’m getting enough though, and what I’m getting is fantastic. Fruit is best from stands and that found in the store is pretty over ripe. It might be the heat, though.

Walking at night is my favorite. Tonight, on the way home from a dinner party, I climbed out of the L-train station, Elliott Smith on my iPod, and walked slowly home. The night was cool and people were out. The city, ever playing its part, changing your mood, even sometimes lifting spirits, but always, without failing giving a surprise or two.