A quick little story about Savannah... 2 days ago, after seeing a show, Justin, Kevin, and I arrived at Steve's to take Savannah out for her evening walk. Lately, she has been pretty good about not doing her business on the floors in the apartment when left alone, but it had been over 4 hours since we last saw her so we were expecting the worst.
Fortunately, when we arrived everything was clean and dry. Now for the tricky part... you see Savannah, like all other puppies gets extremely excited when visitors arrive. And when she gets excited, her little bladder struggles to hold in the pee she has already held in for hours. So I cautiously and nonchalantly approached the dog and her wagging tail as she laid on Steve's bed. Next, I gently grabbed her and picked her up (vagina out--as to stay out of the spray zone) to carry her down stairs.
Much to Kevin's dismay (because he would later be sleeping in that bed), we found a rather large wet spot on the comforter. Well Kevin whined, and off in the distant bathroom, the sounds of Justin's evil laugh took hold. Through the bathroom door, Justin had caught wind of what had happened to Kevin's bed. And through the bathroom door, we caught wind of schadenfreude (German word for: joy in others pain) at its finest.
A good laugh was had and Justin came out of the bathroom just as I was lugging Savannah to the front door (still vagina out mind you, to take no chances).
Justin approached Savannah as if to congratulate her on the triumphant peeing of the bed. And just as he did, he entered the splash zone. Yes my friends, Justin, who had just laughed his schadenfreude ass off at Kevin had entered the splash zone. Sensing this, Savannah began to wag her tail to start the process. Next she let go of her bladder muscles and let gravity take hold. Soon the pee was spraying out. And just in case the initial spray didn't get Justin, which it did, she made sure her tail acted as one of those old sprinkler that go..."choo, choo, choo, choo, tatatatatatatata, choo, choo choo..." It was priceless. The dog had successfully pissed on Justin's face and I was overcome with a case of schadenfreude.
On the way down the stairs, Savannah gave me a little kiss on the cheek as if she was saying, "you're welcome."
What did we learn today? Vagina out and stay out of the splash zone!!!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Floors Were Dry, But I Wasn't
Well today I was caught in my first summer downpour. After brunch at a slightly over-rated spot on the westside (nothing has yet to compare to Kimmie's on the other westside--California that is), we took the subway down to Midtown to take over our Savannah shift as Kevin had left his post with the puppy a few hours earlier. The weather had been on and off cloudy and maybe a few sprinkles here and there, but definitely nothing to blog about and for sure nothing to carry an umbrella over. But looking back on it, I remember seeing a lot of smart New Yorkers carrying their folded umbrellas as if they could smell the imminent danger--or who knows, maybe they just listened to the weather report.
Unfortunately, Steve lives a good distance from a subway stop and sure enough when Justin and I arose from the subway station it was raining. Not too hard, but enough to get you wet. We looked at each other, smiled, and decided to jog. Everybody else had there big, tent like, canopy of an umbrella umbrellas, but us two idiots just kept on running. We were machines, dodging puddles left and right; spiderman-ing from one awning to the next. Then we struck gold; we could see it across the street... an entire block with scaffolding that was clearly meant to protect us from the elements as we journeyed on. All we needed to do was ford across two intersections and we were safe.
We did it, and just in time because as we arrived at our safe-zone the rain started to come down even harder. Soon the water was past the curb and starting to flood the sidewalk...thank god I can swim. We decided this momentary monsoon would soon pass, but it didn't--it just got harder. At this point (still 5 blocks from our destination) we decided to sit on a stoop and wait it out.
Enter, "The Bitch." And on cue she arrived, dragging her unhappy dog. Most people that had just arrived under our safe haven quickly folded their umbrella and gave us a look of..."Whooo, its crazy out there," and we would share a smile together, because we were all it together. So, accustomed to this pattern of interaction, I readied my smile when She Devil entered the scaffolding. But this little gem of a human folded her umbrella, and to my smile replied with a visual, "Yes, I'm a bitch." I gotta give her credit, at least she knows he she is. Immediately my smile ran away, but she didn't. She just kept staring at me with her ugly soul. Then she opened her mouth and exclaimed, "You're in my way." Wow, apparently I had been sitting on her stoop and my whole ass had been taking up the entire 4 foot wide staircase.
I stood up, not wanting to fight, yet oddly yearning to scratch her eyes out. As the dog was angrily yanked up the stairs behind her, we made eye contact. You could see in this dogs eyes that he desired to be put down years ago even though he was in tip-top shape. The dog wanted--nay, needed my help to be set free, but unfortunately there was another dog that needed my help and her name was Savannah. And if I didn't get to Savannah soon I'd be picking up pooh and mopping up piss off a hardwood floor. So off Justin and I went. 5 more blocks, 4 wet shoes, and 2 soaked shirts later we arrived at Steve's to tend to Savannah. She's a lucky dog and I'm a damn good Doggy God Father.
Oh and the floors were clean :-)
Unfortunately, Steve lives a good distance from a subway stop and sure enough when Justin and I arose from the subway station it was raining. Not too hard, but enough to get you wet. We looked at each other, smiled, and decided to jog. Everybody else had there big, tent like, canopy of an umbrella umbrellas, but us two idiots just kept on running. We were machines, dodging puddles left and right; spiderman-ing from one awning to the next. Then we struck gold; we could see it across the street... an entire block with scaffolding that was clearly meant to protect us from the elements as we journeyed on. All we needed to do was ford across two intersections and we were safe.
We did it, and just in time because as we arrived at our safe-zone the rain started to come down even harder. Soon the water was past the curb and starting to flood the sidewalk...thank god I can swim. We decided this momentary monsoon would soon pass, but it didn't--it just got harder. At this point (still 5 blocks from our destination) we decided to sit on a stoop and wait it out.
Enter, "The Bitch." And on cue she arrived, dragging her unhappy dog. Most people that had just arrived under our safe haven quickly folded their umbrella and gave us a look of..."Whooo, its crazy out there," and we would share a smile together, because we were all it together. So, accustomed to this pattern of interaction, I readied my smile when She Devil entered the scaffolding. But this little gem of a human folded her umbrella, and to my smile replied with a visual, "Yes, I'm a bitch." I gotta give her credit, at least she knows he she is. Immediately my smile ran away, but she didn't. She just kept staring at me with her ugly soul. Then she opened her mouth and exclaimed, "You're in my way." Wow, apparently I had been sitting on her stoop and my whole ass had been taking up the entire 4 foot wide staircase.
I stood up, not wanting to fight, yet oddly yearning to scratch her eyes out. As the dog was angrily yanked up the stairs behind her, we made eye contact. You could see in this dogs eyes that he desired to be put down years ago even though he was in tip-top shape. The dog wanted--nay, needed my help to be set free, but unfortunately there was another dog that needed my help and her name was Savannah. And if I didn't get to Savannah soon I'd be picking up pooh and mopping up piss off a hardwood floor. So off Justin and I went. 5 more blocks, 4 wet shoes, and 2 soaked shirts later we arrived at Steve's to tend to Savannah. She's a lucky dog and I'm a damn good Doggy God Father.
Oh and the floors were clean :-)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Savannah Rose
So one of the great things about having friends with a dog is being able to love the cute things to death and them leave them when its time for them to shit. Or better yet, watch them pick up the shit with that itsy-bitsy baggy. I mean it’s even better than being a grandparent because grandparents still have to change diapers.
Well I had to open my big mouth when I first met Steve’s dog Savannah Rose, a beautiful 4 month old black lab. Yep, I casually said, ”Oh you’re so cute, I can’t wait to babysit you.” In that brief moment Steve jumped on my sign of weakness; immediately I was named “Uncle Ryan.” And a second after that I was yet again bestowed the title of God Father, and once again this God Father was not officially Church sanctioned. Nonetheless, Steve made sure I was more than a casual stranger to dear Savannah so when the time came to take care of her, the guilt would be overwhelming.
The time to take care of her came sooner than expected. The text came at 11 am yesterday, “Can you take care of Savannah, no pressure?” Thrilled at the opportunity to leave the city with his boy, Steve jumped at the idea of going Jersey overnight. Well what was the God Father gonna say??? I said yes, and 24 hours later what did I have in my hand…hot, steamy, fresh Savannah shit. Separating my delicate hand from this excrement was only a thin piece of plastic that I quickly flipped inside out and knotted to capture the pungent essence of Savannah. I was slightly disgusted, but then she smiled and laughed at me with her tongue hanging out and I figured it wasn’t all that bad.
I can’t wait to get my own puppy and pass the joy of picking up pooh onto some other unexpected God Father.
Have fun in Jersey Steve.
A Breeze Off The River
Life has slowed down considerably lately, which is nice, but uneventful. I haven't been called a liar, the air conditioner keeps plugging away and really only one cockroach has been allegedly seen in the apartment. I say allegedly because the two tenants of the apartment (Kev and I) didn't witness the said cockroach. Mr cockroach was witnessed and reported by our house guest Justin. And when I say "reported," I mean...screamed like a little bitch, then broke into laughter as the little guys scurried away. The perpetrator first appeared in the bathtub region of the bathroom, then quickly fled the scene. I just hope he found our place too clean and uninviting for his taste...the cockroach that is---not Justin LOL.
Since things have slowed, we have had more time to spend going out with friends and meeting even more friends. Last night one of our friends recommended a little Latin restaurant downtown call Boca Chica. 6 of us headed down there, grabbed a drink and had a wonderful meal. What was nice about this place was the amount of effort put into the food. You could tell the food wasn't just whipped up; it was started hours beforehand and slowly cooked to a flavorful peak that was brought to the table. It was also nice to have a latin meal that wasn't smothered in cheese to cover up the lack of substance.
At the end of the meal, we all sat at the table, bellies in hand, contemplating what to do. After very little deliberation, Brooklyn Bridge was one the agenda. And this is why I love New York... doing something like walking the Brooklyn Bridge isn't a chore to plan out; its just decide and go. So we went. We hopped on a subway, got off at the first Brooklyn stop and walked to the East River.
At Brooklyn Bridge Park, we stopped for a few minutes to admire what man has created...a bridge that has been an enduring symbol of America with hundreds of towers stealing the sky behind.
So great was the view at this spot, that we saw at least a dozen professional sized cameras and tripods trying to capture an image of a lifetime. A couple taking what seemed to be engagement photos, because the looks on their faces have never expressed more love before or will never be that genuine again. And to top it off, we watched the final moments of a wedding set against this extravagant backdrop with the N Train on the Manhattan Bridge adding the soundtrack.
From there we hoped on the bridge and walked it. Such a neat experience to walk towards home on the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun was down and the temperature was perfect---I never thought I would say 80 was perfect, but it was. There was a slight breeze off the river...or was the a slight breeze generated from the 6 car lanes 15 feet below me---either way it felt good. The Statue of Liberty was off to the left; her flame still quite visible despite the distance. It was one of those New York moments that I will probably never do again for me, but will try to create for others because it was just that nice.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Central Park Jog with Mama
Now what I really wanted to write before being called a liar...
Yesterday was a slow apartment work day. Kev and I had decided to take a break from building, buying and cooling the apartment because we were getting a bit burnt out. Plus Mama was coming in from California in the morning and the cable/internet guy was due to come a 11am. Since we were having a slow day I decided to go on my first jog through Central Park since moving here.
This is kind of a big deal because since I have moved here, I haven't exercised once. Now the problem with this is two fold, and let me tell you why. 1st fold: I like to exercise. I like the way it makes me feel; I enjoy the sense of accomplishment after a long jog or hard bike ride. I also enjoy the community of exercisers. Although my type of exercising is largely a solo sport, there is a sense of community among us. Theres a certain look that only two sweaty people can share. A nod if you will, that lets each other know: "nice day for sweating."
2nd fold (didn't think I'd get to it did you) is I'm an eater. I come from a long line of eaters. A type of people that like to eat. And no, not for sustenance, but for the shear love of food. It has plagued and blessed our people for generations. Nothing makes us feel better than that second cheeseburger or that extra scoop of ice cream. On the flip side, nothing makes us feel worse than that second cheeseburger or that extra scoop of ice cream. My brother somehow has managed to escape this hell. I feel bad for him; he will never know the joy we have to endure with food.
It is for these reason that exercise is so important to me. So when given the window of possibly to go for a jog, I decided to take it. I even decided to treat myself to a new pair of my favorite running shoes to commemorate this occasion. After all, my old ones showed little sign of support, and smelled as good as 300 miles could smell.
Justin said he would go with, so around 7:30 we headed out to Central Park. We entered the park at the corner on 110th. It was better than I had imagined. Suddenly we were in a current of the Central Park trans-exercise Jet Stream. Cyclists, runners, Road bikers, joggers, walkers, and speed roller bladers all converge on one closed down road that zigzags throughout the entire park. All types of people: hard core, casual, fully clothed, very little clothing (thank god, its inspiring!!!), little people, big people ( I saw one guy with toned calves the size of ham hawks---they were huge). I was in the NY exercise community. And it wasn't just us soloists; the path took us to 3 separate baseball facilities, a huge swimming pool and a tennis club. All of which were full. When this city wants to get out, it gets out. And its no wonder...in a city filled with concrete, steel, and glass why wouldn't you want to get out and stretch your legs in a place as close to nature as your gonna get.
We continued our jog around to the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. It was one of the most beautiful lights I've seen the city in. The sun was setting, fiery clouds were set on a backdrop of blue, the reservoir was making duplicates of the surrounding trees, and the city skyline that frames the park revealed the tips of Empire and Chrysler. Is there a better track than this...I think not.
The jog was an overwhelming success in my book. I got to spend some much needed time with my mama on my first jog. Plus, he only had to scoff at me a few times for checking out the other shirtless boys.
I wonder if they run shirtless in the winter as well???
Yesterday was a slow apartment work day. Kev and I had decided to take a break from building, buying and cooling the apartment because we were getting a bit burnt out. Plus Mama was coming in from California in the morning and the cable/internet guy was due to come a 11am. Since we were having a slow day I decided to go on my first jog through Central Park since moving here.
This is kind of a big deal because since I have moved here, I haven't exercised once. Now the problem with this is two fold, and let me tell you why. 1st fold: I like to exercise. I like the way it makes me feel; I enjoy the sense of accomplishment after a long jog or hard bike ride. I also enjoy the community of exercisers. Although my type of exercising is largely a solo sport, there is a sense of community among us. Theres a certain look that only two sweaty people can share. A nod if you will, that lets each other know: "nice day for sweating."
2nd fold (didn't think I'd get to it did you) is I'm an eater. I come from a long line of eaters. A type of people that like to eat. And no, not for sustenance, but for the shear love of food. It has plagued and blessed our people for generations. Nothing makes us feel better than that second cheeseburger or that extra scoop of ice cream. On the flip side, nothing makes us feel worse than that second cheeseburger or that extra scoop of ice cream. My brother somehow has managed to escape this hell. I feel bad for him; he will never know the joy we have to endure with food.
It is for these reason that exercise is so important to me. So when given the window of possibly to go for a jog, I decided to take it. I even decided to treat myself to a new pair of my favorite running shoes to commemorate this occasion. After all, my old ones showed little sign of support, and smelled as good as 300 miles could smell.
Justin said he would go with, so around 7:30 we headed out to Central Park. We entered the park at the corner on 110th. It was better than I had imagined. Suddenly we were in a current of the Central Park trans-exercise Jet Stream. Cyclists, runners, Road bikers, joggers, walkers, and speed roller bladers all converge on one closed down road that zigzags throughout the entire park. All types of people: hard core, casual, fully clothed, very little clothing (thank god, its inspiring!!!), little people, big people ( I saw one guy with toned calves the size of ham hawks---they were huge). I was in the NY exercise community. And it wasn't just us soloists; the path took us to 3 separate baseball facilities, a huge swimming pool and a tennis club. All of which were full. When this city wants to get out, it gets out. And its no wonder...in a city filled with concrete, steel, and glass why wouldn't you want to get out and stretch your legs in a place as close to nature as your gonna get.
We continued our jog around to the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. It was one of the most beautiful lights I've seen the city in. The sun was setting, fiery clouds were set on a backdrop of blue, the reservoir was making duplicates of the surrounding trees, and the city skyline that frames the park revealed the tips of Empire and Chrysler. Is there a better track than this...I think not.
The jog was an overwhelming success in my book. I got to spend some much needed time with my mama on my first jog. Plus, he only had to scoff at me a few times for checking out the other shirtless boys.
I wonder if they run shirtless in the winter as well???
Liar, Liar
I was just called a liar. I know, I'm shocked too. I am many things, including a fibber, but liar...my friend you have gone too far. I woke up this morning around 5:30 for some reason and couldn't go back to sleep so I decided to do a little writing. Since Kev was asleep in the living room, and Mama (thats the affectionate name Justin and I have for each other) was in my bed, I decided to leave my comfy and now cold apartment (the air conditioner is working its ass off) and go to my local Starbucks. And if that one is closed, I will go next door to the other Starbucks. I will continue door to door until I find a Starbucks that is open so I can do some writing. Luckily my Starbucks was open, but it was on my way to Starbucks that I was called this vulgar name.
You see as I left my front stoop and the theme from The Mary Tyler Moore Show played (for some reason it just plays when I leave my apartment), I was passed by a man. But this man wasn't the problem; it was the man a half mile down that I needed to worry about. This man that I was currently dealing with put me in a great mood. He simply said "morning" as we quickly passed by each other and made eye contact. That simple, unexpected "morning" was enough to put a grin on my face and make me feel all was right with the world. Well, all thats wrong with the world was now a quarter mile out.
He saw me coming, and like any good salesman, he had a pitch. He started off with a question; a classic really..."can I ask you a question?" I was hooked; so hooked that I kept walking right past him and said "sure."
At this point I recognized a few things about this man: his red basketball jersey (I'm sure he was an athlete of sorts), and the fact that clearly he was not up early, he was up late. At 6 in the morning this man had been up all night on all sorts of fun drugs and now he was cranky. But, being the salesman that he was, he continued to pitch. I couldn't imagine what he wanted, so I was captivated and continued to walk away. Now mind you at this point my body had sent that all familiar "danger" signal out. You know the one...your body is overcome with a flood of adrenaline that lets you know "shit, I'm gonna die soon." Its that fight or flight response that I must tell you is always flight with me. You won't catch me choosing fight first; good god I don't want to get hurt.
Well he continued to pitch his idea with me and now I'm realizing this man is a traveling salesman because he's following me. Another burst of adrenaline; now I'm the one on drugs because I'm now at peace with dying. As he proceeds with his presentation, I realize he needs a little work on the actual wordage he is using because he is not being very clear or concise. What I imagine my traveling salesman wanted to say was, " My friend, I have had a very long night. Would you be so kind as to help me out. I require another hit to get rid of this nasty withdrawal headache I have been suffering from for over 2 hours now. Could you please lend me some change. I'd gladly pay you back on Tuesday. Thank you so much. Oh by the way you look good today and I love the Theme song!!!"
What he actually said was " mumble mumble CHANGE, mumble mumble." To that I replied with my standard, "Sorry, I don't have anything on me" as I pat my pocket for a visual reference. Luckily this time I really had nothing in them because I love looking like an asshole when I go to the visual reference portion of my response and you clearly here the jingle and clang of keys or boat loads of coins.
Usually, this response I have gets me a half assed "god bless" at worst, but this time I got a persistent one. He was on the chase and was determined to call my bluff. It was at this point that time slowed and he uttered the words (and I quote), "mumble mumble mumble LIIIIIIAAAARRRRRR mumble." I was shocked and appalled. So shocked and appalled that I sped up my pace from fast to leg chafingly fast.
It was also at this point I noticed his funny walk. At first I thought this was just his signature stumble, but as I glanced down to better identify this new move that was sweeping the nation, I was surprised to see an artificial leg. An ill fitting artificial leg at that.
Well suddenly all the adrenaline stopped flowing and I almost got a little cocky. I mean, he was already trailing behind at this point. And given the fact he had an ill fitting leg, clearly my flight response would be more than adequate should the time come for me to run. So in a gesture rooted in taunt, I slowed down to admire his moves.
In the end, I was telling the truth...I only had 20's in my pocket asshole :-)
You see as I left my front stoop and the theme from The Mary Tyler Moore Show played (for some reason it just plays when I leave my apartment), I was passed by a man. But this man wasn't the problem; it was the man a half mile down that I needed to worry about. This man that I was currently dealing with put me in a great mood. He simply said "morning" as we quickly passed by each other and made eye contact. That simple, unexpected "morning" was enough to put a grin on my face and make me feel all was right with the world. Well, all thats wrong with the world was now a quarter mile out.
He saw me coming, and like any good salesman, he had a pitch. He started off with a question; a classic really..."can I ask you a question?" I was hooked; so hooked that I kept walking right past him and said "sure."
At this point I recognized a few things about this man: his red basketball jersey (I'm sure he was an athlete of sorts), and the fact that clearly he was not up early, he was up late. At 6 in the morning this man had been up all night on all sorts of fun drugs and now he was cranky. But, being the salesman that he was, he continued to pitch. I couldn't imagine what he wanted, so I was captivated and continued to walk away. Now mind you at this point my body had sent that all familiar "danger" signal out. You know the one...your body is overcome with a flood of adrenaline that lets you know "shit, I'm gonna die soon." Its that fight or flight response that I must tell you is always flight with me. You won't catch me choosing fight first; good god I don't want to get hurt.
Well he continued to pitch his idea with me and now I'm realizing this man is a traveling salesman because he's following me. Another burst of adrenaline; now I'm the one on drugs because I'm now at peace with dying. As he proceeds with his presentation, I realize he needs a little work on the actual wordage he is using because he is not being very clear or concise. What I imagine my traveling salesman wanted to say was, " My friend, I have had a very long night. Would you be so kind as to help me out. I require another hit to get rid of this nasty withdrawal headache I have been suffering from for over 2 hours now. Could you please lend me some change. I'd gladly pay you back on Tuesday. Thank you so much. Oh by the way you look good today and I love the Theme song!!!"
What he actually said was " mumble mumble CHANGE, mumble mumble." To that I replied with my standard, "Sorry, I don't have anything on me" as I pat my pocket for a visual reference. Luckily this time I really had nothing in them because I love looking like an asshole when I go to the visual reference portion of my response and you clearly here the jingle and clang of keys or boat loads of coins.
Usually, this response I have gets me a half assed "god bless" at worst, but this time I got a persistent one. He was on the chase and was determined to call my bluff. It was at this point that time slowed and he uttered the words (and I quote), "mumble mumble mumble LIIIIIIAAAARRRRRR mumble." I was shocked and appalled. So shocked and appalled that I sped up my pace from fast to leg chafingly fast.
It was also at this point I noticed his funny walk. At first I thought this was just his signature stumble, but as I glanced down to better identify this new move that was sweeping the nation, I was surprised to see an artificial leg. An ill fitting artificial leg at that.
Well suddenly all the adrenaline stopped flowing and I almost got a little cocky. I mean, he was already trailing behind at this point. And given the fact he had an ill fitting leg, clearly my flight response would be more than adequate should the time come for me to run. So in a gesture rooted in taunt, I slowed down to admire his moves.
In the end, I was telling the truth...I only had 20's in my pocket asshole :-)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Sweat in the City
Yesterday marked the anniversary of my first full week in the city. It also marked the return of the heat and humidity. The first few days in the city were quite hot. But, as luck would have it, the city cooled for about three days to allow Kev and I to do all of the work that goes along with moving into a new apartment. It cooled so much we had decided our cute little railroad apartment on the Upper West Side would not require an air conditioner for the remaining weeks of summer. That was one deciding factor; the other element in that decision includes no place having an air conditioner to buy. We checked everywhere we went: Best Buy, Target, Home Depot, and Bed Bath and Beyond. Sure, they all have Dyson’s new $300.00 bladeless fan for sale (and I admit its pretty cool), but they can’t stock some air-con???
Once it cooled off in the middle of the week, I believe we happened to stumble across a pile of air conditioners at Rite-Aid. And funny enough these air conditioners were an exclusive product of Rite Air---they bore the Rite-Aid name. Which might give some indication as to why there was such a plethora in stock. But in any case, it had cooled and we had made the decision to do without.
Well then came dinner time. Since it was our first full week, and the apartment had been pretty much settled, we decided to go spend a special gift card on some ingredients to make our first meal in the apartment. Spaghetti, meat sauce, and fresh garlic bread were on the menu. So around 9pm, Kev fired up everything. And I mean everything; 2 burners, and a stove for the bread. 450 degrees in the oven and I think about 150 of those slipped out into the apartment. Working against us was the fact it had slightly rained earlier and the sun had since turned our block into a sauna, plus this night had been particularly still with no cross breeze.
Once the meal was completely prepared we sat down to sweat. I think there was some eating involved too, but I believe it was mostly to sweat. Actually the meal was quite amazing. It was great to have a home cooked meal, and I had bought some cheap sparkling wine, poured into Starbucks cups, that was quite refreshing. When the meal was over and all the food had gone, the sweating continued.
It had gotten to a point where moving was out of the question. Even blinking was more of an insurmountable task that one didn’t want to take on. Then suddenly out of nowhere Kev puts on his shoes. The look on his face said it all…he was leaving the moist, musky heat of our apartment to venture out 3 blocks to our local air conditioning vendor—Rite Aid.
20 minutes later, I gathered the strength to go down stairs and help him. I walked a block and in the distance I could see a little boy with a brand new toy. He had carried his new purchase at least half way and still had a smile on his face. I took over and carried the air conditioner back to its new home. Their we sloppily threw it in a window with a cupcake pan to support it on the sill and turned it on. And after 10 minutes… we were still hot. Oppps, I turned it to “Hi Fan” not “Hi Cool.” A simple correction and 10 min later we could feel the cool air changing the temperature of each individual bead of sweat.
We slept last night with the living room cut off from the cool air, leaving only the bedrooms to be our oasis. When we woke, not a drop was to be found on our dry bodies. But in an odd turn, Kev woke up with a sore throat; a small price to pay for a cold nights sleep securely wrapped in blankets. Oh what a week.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Mickey Corleone
So I was told to go see Mickey. Apparently Mickey is the head super for all the apartments under the same ownership on my block. He leads a crew of guys that make all the repairs on the buildings and keep up on general maintenance. Well, he is also lord of the keys. I was given his number and told to call, so I did. A man answered, his accent told me he’s a Russian immigrant. No, I just lied, his accent was so damn thick, I couldn’t tell what the hell he was. I just know I said “what,” and “I’m sorry, can you repeat that” about 8 times. Eventually, I gave up and just said “ok,” and “Mmmm, Hmmm” to every thought he was trying to convey.
What I did get out of the conversation was: meet at 235, or was it 239... shit it might have been L35. Oh well, I decided just to go to the general area and see what happens. Sure enough, first person I saw that looked like they might have an accent I proudly call Mickey. Nope, not Mickey. But, he too had an accent and was able to point me to the building in which Mickey had his office, well dungeon really.
I got to the stoop of the building and headed down the stairs into the basement—I told you it was a dungeon. It was where all the crew would get there daily orders and make repairs to necessary equipment. It was Mickey’s very own laire. As I descended into the depths, I came upon two doors. Not knowing which to choose, I went with my gut, (and the one that I heard a familiar loud accent coming from). I knocked twice, but surely Mickey couldn’t hear anything over the thickness in is own voice so I decided to peek my head in. I slowly opened the door to a room that looked like a mechanic’s shop; lots of tools and even more grease. I took in everything with a look of "good god" plastered on my face.
As I scanned the room I came upon a man yelling into a walkie talkie. I’m sure he considered it talking because he didn’t look mad, but the decibel levels were definitely at the yelling threshold. Now mind you, my head is in the office but my body is still out the door. I don’t know if Mickey has rules, and I certainly don’t want to break them on day one. We make eye contact and he stares at me while continuing to yell. Now any other human being would continue to talk, but would at least motion me to come in or put up a hand to say wait…not Mickey. Mickey is playing with my head; he decided less is more and makes no motion at all. So I stay put. Head-in, ass-out not wanting to invade his space, yet not wanting to cower out. I was in Mickey purgatory and he was loving every minute. When he got off the walkie talkie he said “Yawwww???” What the fuck is “Yawwww???” He couldn’t say how can I help you? I guess he knew the depths of his accent and figured the least amount of words to decipher would be best. I took this as a sign to enter.
As my ass entered into the room that my head had been blessed to be in 5 minutes earlier, I rounded a corner and saw the one sacred thing this man had in his office—a poster of Al Pacino in The Godfather. Clearly, when Mickey grew up he wanted to be Michael Corleone. I mean look at the similarities Michael-Mickey, Crime Boss- Crew Boss. I was asked to sit down; I just wanted the keys. Suddenly I felt I was being interrogated by the father of a girl before prom. I was on my best behavior: good posture, well spoken, and a slight smile—not too big, I don’t want Mickey thinking I’m “funny” or anything like that.
Eventually, after a long stare down he asked to see my ID so he could release the keys. He then proceeded to give me a break down of things that need to be taken care of. I was able to understand a good 1/3 of what he said so 66% of the time Mickey’s going to think I’m a failure when it comes to doing what he asked me to do. Oh well, he released the keys and that’s what counts. In truth Mickey turned out to be a nice guys—just rough on the edges.
Yawwwwww!!!!
The Long Road Home
A few days ago we received the keys to the apartment. Shortly after, I learned not only do I have a place to rest my head every night, but I also have a place to do my stinky business. Yes folks, its true: we have a bathroom…a private bathroom, and its pretty damn clean too!
On Friday, the 13th (don’t ruin it with your superstitious thoughts) we were notified all of the paper work was approved and we could pick up our keys from “Mickey” (more about this guy later). So Kev and I proceeded to lug our over-weight luggage down 3 flights of narrow stairways to get to the street. It would be the last time we had to carry all 8 of our bags at once which was thrilling, yet still didn’t make the job any easier. We sat in front of Steve’s building in Midtown and waited for our cab to take us home. We were slightly obscured by park cars so Kev headed out to the street to hail one. Success, and right away; Kev managed to get the first one passing by. The cab slowed, and rolled down his window, but I don’t remember him actually stopping. You see, when the cab finally passed the car that was blocking us, he got a panoramic view of Mt. Luggage. As quickly as he slowed down, he sped up, claiming “no room.” Whatever, I’m sure his cab smelled.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes more when a cab driver with the balls to take us on would arrive. He was actually very nice…well he stopped—and stayed at least. As I uttered the address, I couldn’t help but note that this series of numbers that marked a small minuet spot in New York, New York was my future home. These numbers represent the place I will sleep after a hard day. The place I will make meals on holidays. The place I will skype my friends and family to make sure they know I still love them. A place to cry and laugh. My home.
I don’t think our cab driver knew the significance of this trip, but I sure as hell did. We drove up the West Side and eventually found our way onto Central Park West. I got a glimpse of my corner of the park; it was beautiful. Spectacular really… it was just so vibrant. There were people everywhere and the trees were overwhelmingly green. I pictured myself biking, jogging, and laying out with the rest of New York. It felt good; it felt right. Sure it’s all the way to the top and way over to the left, but it’s the place where I will enter the park each day when I need a break from the city.
We then turned on our street and a wave of giddiness took over; I made “funny face.” I’m not sure if anybody else has ever gotten a case of the “funny face’s” or if I'm the sole sufferer, but, it usually occurs in times of great excitement when it would be inappropriate to scream out with joy or break into song. It’s at these time my body is overwhelmed with positive energy and I have to explode. In order for me to not die, I must make “funny face.” Now most people have never seen my funny face because I usually bury my face in my hands when I get symptoms, which is exactly what I did in the cab. I buried my face in my hands, made what I can only imagine as a hideous face, and uttered “AHHHHHHHHH” very quietly to myself. Crisis obverted; I’m still alive.
And now I’m home.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Oh What a Night
After signing the lease, it was time for celebration...actually, I'm 30 now, I really just wanted to sleep. Plus its been a long 3 days and my body aches from too much luggage and couch crashing, but sleep was definitely not in my future. Kev and I headed uptown to meet our friends at Happy Hour, no not too drink, but to grab Steve's keys so we could just go rest. When we got to the bar, we were met with congratulations and smiles. Soon enough I had a beer in my hand and then just right after "soon enough," I had another beer in my hand. What can I say...its hard to pass up a $3 beer in Manhattan. And really, deals such as these $3 dollar beers only come around once every 24 hours. I wouldn't see a mark down such as this until 4pm the following day.
I stopped at 2 beers, and we went back to Steve's to have order-in Italian. Food delivery here is amazing. {Mom, we can even order ice cream delivered. Could you imagine, every night as Dad goes to bed we call for our shipment of Haagen Dazs, gluttonly enjoy it (or is that guiltily enjoy, I forgot the spelling), and then discretely hide the evidence in the outside trash. Heaven, right???}
After dinner, I was ready to sleep, but remember I was staying in Bed-Stuy and Steve's is in Midtown. After much convincing to stay, I still packed up and left for Bed-Stuy; I wanted one more night with my friends who had graciously opened there home to me. It was around 10pm and darkness had already taken hold of the city. And while all of the building and billboards fought against it, it still can be a bit intimidating. So as I began my journey to Bed-Stuy (2 subways, a transfer, and about a 10 block walk by myself), I decided against it. My friend Mikey had invited me out for a drink after he got out of work. Now although I was tired and really didn't want a drink, Mikey happens to be the person I'm staying with. And my thought process goes like this: go have a few quick drinks, bond with Mikey, and then commute (with Mikey) back to Bed-Stuy and walk those 10 blocks with him as if he is some sort of good will ambassador to the greater Bed-Stuy area. Smart cookie am I.
Well I guess in NY a few quick drinks means 7 beers and close down the place because thats what we did. This cozy little piano dive-bar in the West Village happens to be Mikey's very own Cheers because everybody knows his name. I bought one round and the rest were free--I'm telling you the boy gets free drinks. Even when I was past the point of wanting more, Mikey would show up with another and gently place it in my hand. He made sure I had a good time as well as met everyone he knows, including the piano player who gave me a huge sweaty hug (I think he thought I would actually wick moisture away from his drenched shirt if he held me longer), and then proceeded to pull down my V-neck shirt to see the amount of hair I had on my chest. Apparently he disapproved because he guffawed and took his sweaty self elsewhere. The bar in general hosts an eclectic mix of gays, straight couples, elderly women, and european tourists to which the bartender is more than eager to explain our American tipping process. I ended up meeting a director, a future composer and many others. To one person when asked "where I was from" I laughingly said, "the Upper West Side."
At just before 4 in the morning, my Bed-Stuy ambassador and I arrived home I finally got to sleep. Oh what a night....
I stopped at 2 beers, and we went back to Steve's to have order-in Italian. Food delivery here is amazing. {Mom, we can even order ice cream delivered. Could you imagine, every night as Dad goes to bed we call for our shipment of Haagen Dazs, gluttonly enjoy it (or is that guiltily enjoy, I forgot the spelling), and then discretely hide the evidence in the outside trash. Heaven, right???}
After dinner, I was ready to sleep, but remember I was staying in Bed-Stuy and Steve's is in Midtown. After much convincing to stay, I still packed up and left for Bed-Stuy; I wanted one more night with my friends who had graciously opened there home to me. It was around 10pm and darkness had already taken hold of the city. And while all of the building and billboards fought against it, it still can be a bit intimidating. So as I began my journey to Bed-Stuy (2 subways, a transfer, and about a 10 block walk by myself), I decided against it. My friend Mikey had invited me out for a drink after he got out of work. Now although I was tired and really didn't want a drink, Mikey happens to be the person I'm staying with. And my thought process goes like this: go have a few quick drinks, bond with Mikey, and then commute (with Mikey) back to Bed-Stuy and walk those 10 blocks with him as if he is some sort of good will ambassador to the greater Bed-Stuy area. Smart cookie am I.
Well I guess in NY a few quick drinks means 7 beers and close down the place because thats what we did. This cozy little piano dive-bar in the West Village happens to be Mikey's very own Cheers because everybody knows his name. I bought one round and the rest were free--I'm telling you the boy gets free drinks. Even when I was past the point of wanting more, Mikey would show up with another and gently place it in my hand. He made sure I had a good time as well as met everyone he knows, including the piano player who gave me a huge sweaty hug (I think he thought I would actually wick moisture away from his drenched shirt if he held me longer), and then proceeded to pull down my V-neck shirt to see the amount of hair I had on my chest. Apparently he disapproved because he guffawed and took his sweaty self elsewhere. The bar in general hosts an eclectic mix of gays, straight couples, elderly women, and european tourists to which the bartender is more than eager to explain our American tipping process. I ended up meeting a director, a future composer and many others. To one person when asked "where I was from" I laughingly said, "the Upper West Side."
At just before 4 in the morning, my Bed-Stuy ambassador and I arrived home I finally got to sleep. Oh what a night....
Choo Choo....
On August 11, 2010 at 4:25 pm est I walked into Best Apartments Inc. and signed my first lease for a New York apartment. Its a lovely little railroad apartment on the Upper West Side. Now I haven't received the keys to this lovely little railroad apartment, so in truth, my memory may hold it in higher regard than it deserves. For those of you who don't know, a "railroad" is one long apartment that usually requires one roommate to cross through another roommates room to get to their own 1x1 mecca. As in our case you enter immediately in the kitchen and continue on to the living room (don't blink). Next you'll find yourself in Kevin's room and then in mine, complete with a fake fireplace. I know , I know...what about the bathroom, you say? I don't know where that fits into the mix. I mean I believe we have one, and I'm close to positive it its not a community toilet, but for the life on me I can't tell you where it is. I guess I'll just have to be surprised; hopefully pleasantly.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A Night in Brooklyn--Deep in Brooklyn
After a long sweaty day of Apartment shopping it looks like we might be getting a place on the Upper West Side. We gave our Broker a $500 check and what seemed to be every bit of personal information possible. I even had to make up a wonderful job title for myself to prove employment; I believe my current position at the high-end CHERCH Lounge and Restaurant in the prestigious Downtown area of Fullerton is "Head of Marketing and Entertainment Coordinator." Hook, line, and sinker because the lease should be signed at 4 o'clock today.
After leaving our Broker, Kevin and I (oh I should mention Kevin is who I'll be living with. He's an incredibly special person in my life whom I've known for over 10 years--way too much history to get into now--just know he's special) decided to part ways for the night and meet up with the generous people who are housing us. Kev took a short trip to Midtown and I met up with my friend to hop on the subway to Brooklyn. But not just anywhere in Brooklyn... our destination was Bed-Stuy. As we got off the train, I was amazed how quickly my ass tightened up. No joke, I was out of place and slightly scared to say the least. My friend warned me about telling people where I was staying and expecting the reaction of "Oh, god...where? Aren't you scared?" To that, her customary response is always, "No, there's a cop on every corner, and plus the police station is 2 blocks away." But in the end, it wasn't that response that eased my concerns of safety, it was the fact that she seemed to know everyone and everything in this neighborhood, which truly was a neighborhood complete with community garden, daily chess matches in the park, basketball games, crazy ladies in the park, and of course the cop on every corner.
This morning when we left the apartment for our commute to the city, we turned a corner to find some men hanging out as they do every early morning. As we passed by, one yelled out..."HEY...cake lady!!!" I couldn't help but smile. An affectionate name given to my friend by members of her community because she often takes freshly baked goods to work for her colleagues. Someday I'll be a member of my new community. I wonder what my name will be...god, I hope its affectionate.
After leaving our Broker, Kevin and I (oh I should mention Kevin is who I'll be living with. He's an incredibly special person in my life whom I've known for over 10 years--way too much history to get into now--just know he's special) decided to part ways for the night and meet up with the generous people who are housing us. Kev took a short trip to Midtown and I met up with my friend to hop on the subway to Brooklyn. But not just anywhere in Brooklyn... our destination was Bed-Stuy. As we got off the train, I was amazed how quickly my ass tightened up. No joke, I was out of place and slightly scared to say the least. My friend warned me about telling people where I was staying and expecting the reaction of "Oh, god...where? Aren't you scared?" To that, her customary response is always, "No, there's a cop on every corner, and plus the police station is 2 blocks away." But in the end, it wasn't that response that eased my concerns of safety, it was the fact that she seemed to know everyone and everything in this neighborhood, which truly was a neighborhood complete with community garden, daily chess matches in the park, basketball games, crazy ladies in the park, and of course the cop on every corner.
This morning when we left the apartment for our commute to the city, we turned a corner to find some men hanging out as they do every early morning. As we passed by, one yelled out..."HEY...cake lady!!!" I couldn't help but smile. An affectionate name given to my friend by members of her community because she often takes freshly baked goods to work for her colleagues. Someday I'll be a member of my new community. I wonder what my name will be...god, I hope its affectionate.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
1st Adventure: Apartment Hunt
First 24 hours...my cab driver was called a motherfucker, I watched Spiderman get loaded into the Hilton Theatre, I saw a lady wipe a dogs ass, and a fire hydrant was opened for cooling cars because clearly there were no kids around. All of this while shopping for an apartment and sporadically crying from sentimental text messages from friends and family ( including the first ever text message sent from my mom--what can I say...this boy is proud!!!!)
New Beginnings
To go some place, you must leave somewhere else. That simple concept is harder than I expected. As the airplane took to the runway and the engines revved up I couldn't help but cry. Not tears of joy as one might expect (after all this day has been coming for over 12 years now), but rather tears of sadness because I realized what has kept me in LA for those 12 years; family that supports me more than I deserve, and friends that float me in a sea of love. I know many people feel they have a good relationship with family and friends, but to steal a line from RAGTIME...I secretly feel I have been touched by an extra light.
The wheels lifted from the ground and retracted into the belly of the plane and I silently knew this was the last time southern California would be the place I call home; I'm on my way to becoming a New Yorker
The wheels lifted from the ground and retracted into the belly of the plane and I silently knew this was the last time southern California would be the place I call home; I'm on my way to becoming a New Yorker
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