Life on the Brighter Side

Trying to look at the better, albeit somewhat trivial, things that happened over the past week. Work is ultra, ultra slack this week, as if you can't tell. I may take tomorrow off.

I got a new kick ass phone. It's a "smart phone", which is pretty good, because I'm pretty dumb. Anyway, here's my old phone:

A Nokia, it was pretty primitive. Actually, the Motorola phone I had before that one was more advanced - it had voice dialing, which I thought was pretty cool. The Nokia was a really basic device, bulky, and generally lame. I thought I was going to move up to a flip phone, but somehow made the leap right to the do-everything gizmo. I already carried a Palm TungstenE, so there was a great appeal in getting the phone and planner rolled into one, and Amazon had a deal that I couldn't pass up: a smart phone with just a one-year commitment for $99. Verizon sells the same phone for $299, and their New-every-two deal would knock only a hundred bucks off of that. The downside is that I had to get myself a new phone number, but this was so minor -- it just involved sending a few e-mails out. Anyway, I now have myself a Motorola Q:


The device is about as bulky as the previous phone, but it's so slim that it's actually easier to carry around, plus I ditched the Palm device. I might try to get a few bucks for it on eBay.

I haven't had a lot of time to figure out all the functions yet. Today I came across a text message from the weekend that I didn't know I had. It's windows-based, which neither me nor my Mac at home like, but it seems to function reasonably. I'll see how it goes.

The Flyers' Summer Social on Thursday was a good time, although the venue wasn't necessarily somewhere I would normally hang out, and Lionel Richie isn't exactly my musician of choice either. It was the usual suspects and the regular number of people I had never seen before. I did drink a bit more than I normally would have in two hours, but it was open bar and I did pay my twenty bucks. And I tipped responsibly, which is all the bartender cared about, I'm sure. Saw some people I hadn't seen in awhile, and found out some others even have read my blog (hi!). Good fun.

Friday night I hit the Frying Pan at Chelsea Piers at happy hour for a friend's b-day, and later went with another friend friend to see a musician, named Jeremy Enigk, with his band at Bowery. I didn't know his stuff that well, but my friend loves him and it was good to hang out with her that night. He put on a great show, though, and we had some good laughs.

I also got my apartment finally in order. The first week I spent getting boxes unpacked, the second, making and assembling shelves and furniture, and as of this past weekend, I finished stocking the books and the rest of my crap away. There are still odds and ends to take care of, mainly just hanging my photos, but it finally feels like home.

Also on the home front, there's been progress with building security. In my building, as in many apartments, there are two doors to unlock as you enter the building. The week before last, upon returning from a run, I was walking in the first door, and this tall, skinny, toothless guy followed me into the vestibule. Not really knowing whether to protest or not, I stalled for some time in fumbling with my keys to unlock the second door. He enlightened me by demonstrating that I didn't, in fact, need keys for the door, and just by pushing it hard enough, it unlatched and opened. It was apparent to me that the door never actually locked, and people were coming and going as they pleased, most of them to Crackwhore-across-the-hall's apartment. As he followed me into the building, the junkie continued to chat with me, telling me through his toothless, I've-gotten-the-shit-beaten-out-of-me-many-times grin that he hoped for my sake that I wasn't going to end up having a stroke after running so much. I was touched that he cared so much.

I called the management company the next day to alert them to the door issue, and they sent someone out last monday and repaired the lock. Trouble is that, after the lock was repaired, the cobweb of cracks appearing in the glass steadily increased, and for the last week, the door has been tied open. Luckily, I caught Dex, the building super, outside this weekend and asked him about it. He said there's a new door coming this week to fix the whole problem. "Don't worry, buddy, I'm on it!" he said.

And this morning I returned my previous apartment keys to my old landlord. He's been pestering me for days to get them back, but I didn't want to do so until the 15th, at least halfway through the month, purely for the sake of principle. He did tell me last night that the apartment was very clean and in good condition and that I'd get my full security deposit back next week, and as long as he's as good as his word, that's all I care about.

I also spent much of the weekend looking at gyms to join and places to take swimming lessons since I can't run anymore. There's something slightly "serendipitous" about this, but I haven't quite figured out what. Anyway, I figure I have to do something, right? I came up with a couple options, and hope to join some place next weekend after I check them out.

And top all that off with: My optometrist in NJ called me this weekend. She had no interest in how my eyes were. She wanted to set me up on a date. This would be the second date that she's set me up on.

I have the best optometrist in the world.

Lead Paint, Dead Bolts, and Beer Gardens

I ran this morning and caught part of the Long Training Run in Central Park. I saw lots of Flyers, but I don't think many saw me. In fact one almost spit on me, so I'd really like to think she didn't see me. It's a weird thing - being injured, I'm tending to wear grey a lot and try to not be noticed.

I'd have loved to have been able to stick around and cheer on the runners, but I had to get back to the apartment. Today our building is having a lead paint inspection between 9 and 5 PM. I'm not sure why this is necessary. . . doees anyone use lead paint anymore? Supposedly, this is a one time thing, and the inspectors need access to the suites.

That being the case, Medley's been put in solitary confinement. I smuggled her out of the building and back to my old apartment, which is sitting empty for the month. I feel a little guilty about this, but being an illegal alien in the building, she can deal with being alone in an empty room for a day. It's not like I'm making her sleep in her own feces or anything. I did put her litter box out with her food. She didn't like the subway ride, though, which is why I feel a tad guilty about carting her back to the old place.

Returning from my aforementioned run, I met Crazy-lady-down-the-hall again. She was friendly this time, asked me how I liked the building, and told me that it was a good building except for the drug dealer that lived across from me. She told me to make sure I complain to the management company about her, but I'm really not sure how to do that ("Hi, the chick across the hall sells drugs and I'd like to complain that she charges too much."). Crazy then was nice enough to reintroduce herself to me, and asked my name again. I told her and she responded with a smile: "Oh, just like my brother." This is a sharp contrast to her calling me "white-boy" the other day and telling me I don't belong there, but then, in her defence, she's crazy.

While Lead-paint-guy was usng his geiger-counter-like device to check my apartment, I installed a new deadbolt on my door. Ted, who lived in the apartment before, had one on the door but the management company removed it when he moved out. I guessed that they must not have had a key to that lock, and removed it accordingly. The lock I bought was similar to the previous one, but apparently a slightly different model or make. I was able to use some of the same holes in the door and the jamb, but had to drill others. Both Lead-paint-guy and Crazy-lady-down-the-hall, who came out while I was drilling through my door, were in awe, and couldn't believe that I was attempting to install this monumental security device in my apartment. Seeing that I was all for security devices, Crazy actually said "It's so good to have you here." Then she just kept asking me questions about what I did ("Are you a locksmith?") and how I learned to do what I was doing with locks. She just gave me the creeps, so while I was putting the guard plate on, I pretended that I needed to go back inside to check the other side of the lock, and shut the door with her still standing there. Lead-paint-guy was just as amazed by the whole locksmithing process, but I found his comments far less irritating, probably because I was also asking him about lead paint and the "gun" he was figuratively shooting at my walls.

Last night I had a little backyard bbq and drinks with a running club friend of mine whom I hadn't seen in a while. He's the only guy I know in Manhattan with a real backyard. We talked work, (his) grad school, running (or lack thereof for both of us), (my) frustrations with the dating scene, and general gossip and guy-stuff.

The previous evening I went to one of my favourite NYC venues, Bohemian Hall, with my coworkers. Had a great time, as usual. As far as being a landscape architect and, well, a lover of beer goes, there's no place more fitting then a beer garden. One of my coworkers invited a friend that she wanted to set me up with. Upon the woman's arrival, it became duly apparent that my coworker really has no clue what my preferences are as far as women are concerned, and will thus be relinquished of her setting-up priveleges. That is, unless her future descriptions of possible women to set me up with come with adjectives like "amazing", "fabulous", or "sexiest woman on earth". Because then we'd probably make a good couple, no? Hee.

The Neighbours

So I share the floor of my new apartment building with 3 other units. First, there's Crackwhore-across-the-hall, whom I referred to in an earlier post. Next, there's Loud-Momma-nextdoor. The only interaction I've had with her is when I was moving in, she came over and introduced herself to me: "Hi, my name is ****. I have a three-year-old and I'm very loud." My buddy Ted, who moved out of the apartment, said that she's quite a hypocrite. Apparently, she does play her music loud, and uses the kid as an excuse to get others to turn their music down when she wants it quiet. I haven't seen her since we met.

A few days ago, however, I had the pleasure of meeting Crazy-lady-down-the-hall. She knocked on the door and asked me what I was doing there. When I told her I was the new tenant, she proceeded to tell me that I was not the new tenant. She said she knew that I was a friend of Ted's (she saw me helping Ted move out), and that I couldn't be the new tenant. I explained that Ted moved out, and I put an application in for the apartment and was accepted. She responded by first repeating what I said in the form of a question("You just put an application in for the apartment and was accepted?" She kept doing this throughout our conversation: "You're the new tenant?" "You signed a new lease?" I thought she was practicing for Jeopardy). When I finally made the facts clear to her that I was living there, she told me that she was a member of the building association, and that was not how the rental process was supposed to work. I told her she'd have to talk to the management company about it, to which she responded, "You better believe I'm gonna talk to the management company about it!" When I finally got out of the conversation and shut the door, she was raving in the hall to Crackwhore about how "They just want our black asses outta here," and "What they doin' lettin' a white boy like that in here?!" I called Ted afterwards, and he said as far as he knows there's no building association, and she's just crazy. He did affirm that she'd be Medley's biggest enemy, and would be first to complain about a cat living in the building. Damn.

So it seems I have a very colourful floor as far as neighbours go. And I do mean colourful in the most non-race-related way.

Meet My New Super

I'm not sure why I wrote this as a story, or in the third person. I think maybe I wanted to distance myself somehow from this whole event. My super was a bit creepy and I felt more uncomfortable looking back on the meeting than I did when I was actually there. I don't claim that it's a story written well, or grammatically correct or anything. While names have been changed, this is how it happened.


Skye knocked on the door. He waited for a minute or two and finally decided no one was home. Turning to leave, he heard a shuffling sound in the apartment, and the door unlatched. It opened.

"Hey, you must be that new guy", Dex greeting him gleefully. Too gleefully, Skye thought. "They keep asking me if the new guy moved in yet, but I said I ain't seen him. Come on in."

Dex was in his underwear, a black and white pair of briefs. He was a black man of medium height, with a salt-and-pepper full beard. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, well built - obviously the product of a lot of visits to the gym. Across his chest was a tattoo of a large bird. Skye thought it was an eagle, but it was a little difficult to make out against his black skin.

Skye thought he must have woke him from a nap, given the underwear and how long it took Dex to answer the door. "I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I'm sorry - I didn't want to disturb you."

"No, no, come on in." Skye followed the scantily-clad Dex into the unusually dark apartment, although it wouldn't occur to him until later how strange this was. Traversing the hallway, they passed through a beaded curtain to get to the living area, where Dex rolled a high-backed chair toward Skye and told him to have a seat. Skye really did only want to stop by for a quick hello, but now he was committed to having a conversation with his new super, so he sat.

He had been warned that Dex was 'a little eccentric', but hadn't thought about what this might mean: the underwear, the tattoo, the beaded curtain, and now, the leopard print - which was everywhere in the studio. Dex had faux leopard fur draped over bookshelves, and a leopard print bed sheet on his bed, which Skye tried not to stare at.

Looking at the floor, Skye then recalled from his lease a rider, which stated that all hardwood floors should have at least 80% coverage by rugs and carpets to reduce noise and wear on the hardwood floors. While perusing this note, he recalled how ridiculous a clause this seemed to be, and figured that it must have been included in the event that there might be complaints about a tenant's noise above another tenant. Skye didn't really think anyone would go to an effort to cover his or her hardwoods to such an extent. But there they were - area rugs of all different sizes - all over Dex's floors. Skye guessed that the coverage was at about 85%. And they were all leopard prints. The whole place had been leopardized.

"So you're down in 2A, right? When did you move in? You musta done it during the night, slippin' in like that so fast, 'cause I never seen you!" said the astonished super.

"Nope, just on Saturday."

"Any problems? Anything you need?"

"No, I had a friend who lived in that apartment, and he pretty much told me everything I needed to know about it." Skye replied.

"Yeah, that guy, he was a good guy, then all a sudden, he done all moved out, jus' like that! We got some good people living here, you know. Real good people. But there are a couple bad ones, too, and we gotta get'em out. Don't need the bad ones. Don't need them whatsoever! There's this one here in 3D, and that one by you in 2D."

"Yeah, I'd heard about her from Ted." Skye already knew about Crackwhore-Across-The-Hall. His friend Ted, his apartment's former tenant, had already warned him that she was loud and had many people coming and going from her apartment at all hours. Ted was pretty certain that she at least used to be a prostitute, and although he wasn't sure if she still was one, he knew, along with most of the other tenants as well as Dex, that she dealt drugs. There was a lot of traffic to and from her apartment.

"You don't want anything to do with her, an' if she causes any trouble you just let me know. "Her and this guy, they all gotta go," he said, waving towards the apartment across the hall. "They makes noise, don't no pay their rent on time, and always causing trouble. We don"t need them people here.

"But I tell you, things are a lot better since I became super. When I moved in here, back in '97, this place was shit! There was garbage everywhere, and these people were no damn good. I became super about 4 years ago, and we got a new management company, and I tells you, this place turned around! I don't take no shit from nobody. Now we got some good people, professional people. Skye, what do you do for a living?"

"Landscape architecture," Skye I told him, and presuming Dex didn't know much about it, Skye explained that he did a lot of design of parks, plazas, and other public open space.

"In Manhattan?" he asked. This was the response that Skye got the most, so he went on to explain that he did a lot of work for New York City Department of Parks and Rec, and New York Department of Transportation. Somehow this answer always seemed to satisfy the person posing the question, even though it didn't answer the question. The actual answer would have been simply: 'Yes, Manhattan. Believe it or not.'

"That's some cutting edge work, right there. Good business to be in. Right now there's so much stuff goin' on here in the city. It's like this." Dex gestured with his arms coming together to indicate space was shrinking.

"Around here, they been building so much, things been changing, the whole neighborhood's different now." Dex went on to tell Skye which buildings were 'real gold mines' in the neighborhood, but Skye couldn't quite tell by the ambiguous pointing at adjacent walls which buildings he exactly meant, and decided it better to not ask for clarification. Obviously Dex had some issues here and Skye felt it best to just let him have his say, and nod in agreement. Skye looked around the apartment, but tried not to look like he was looking around the apartment. He particularly wanted to know if the leopard-print motif carried into the kitchen, but the kitchen was unfortunately too dark to see into.

"Yeah," Dex went on, "when I first got here those brownstones down the street were all boarded up. There was drug dealers everywhere. Then they cracked down on them one day, and the cops rounded up about twenty guys. Big bust, I'm tellin' ya, I ain't seen nothin' like it! Next day these other guys, stupid as they was, come back thinking they'd get more business, and the cops - they was right there again and busted them too! Now things are all cleaned up and all these professionals come in and bought up all those places and things got turned around. We got some good people living round here now."

Dex continued to say that he wanted to own one of these buildings, and that he could get one for two or three million He claimed he was well on his way to achieving that goal.

"Buy a building and sell it as condos - that's the way! None of this apartment shit. Ain't no money in apartments. I'm gonna do it one of these days. I had it once, but lost it, and it's harder to get it back a second time," Dex said. Skye expected him to launch into an extensive history of past financial successes and failures, but Dex suddenly returned to his building super role.

"So everything good with the place, no troubles, I hope?"

"No problems. I had put a bundle of cardboard out yesterday and I saw that someone moved it to the side of the building. I have more empty boxes. Should I put them there too?" Skye inquired.

"I moved that 'cause that's recycling. Yeah, you go ahead an' put those boxes on the side of the building. Anything else? You all settled in? You need any help moving anything? Furniture or stuff?"

"Pretty much settled in. I'm fine with the furniture." Skye considered mentioning the inch-and-a-half-long cockroach that Medley, his cat, had presented to him outside the shower that morning, but thought better of it. Pets were against the rules, and given Dex's adherence to the 80% floor-covering rule, he probably wasn't going to let the pet rule slide. Medley would need to remain an illegal alien, although now if he was asked to get rid of her, Skye at least had a good argument for keeping her around.

"Well, you just let me know if there's anything you need, any problems, anything at all, you call me, all right?' Dex wrote his number down and passed it to Skye. Skye already had it, but took the piece of paper anyway.

Skye rose and walked back through the dark room, across the leopard prints, guided by the half-naked, tattooed black super, toward the door. Passing through the beaded curtain, they both exchanged a "Nice meeting you" with each other, and Skye stepped out into the hall and headed down to his apartment, as Dex locked the door behind him.

About a half hour later, Skye went out for a short jog. Upon returning, he re-entered his new home, and observed a drug-deal taking place across the street.

Moved

Today was a great day for moving: nice weather; not too hot; a little breeze blowing. Unfortunately, I moved yesterday, when the humidity at a million percent made the temperature feel like a trillion bazillion degrees. I may be exaggerating, but only by a zillion or two.

It was a tough move, but one made a jillion times easier (okay, I'll stop now) with the six other pairs of arms donated by friends, who arrived during the course of the loading, which took about two hours, going down three flights of stairs. A mile away, the unloading saw us form a very efficient assembly line up one flight to my new apartment, and we quickly completed the day in another hour. This sure beat the 10+ hours it took me moving the stuff in by myself last year, up those three flights. Ugh!
So I provided my helpers with pizza and beer while waiting for Time Warner to show up and connect my internet. Took off with one couple to Brooklyn, where I returned the favour, and used my rental truck to load the biggest damn piece of furniture I've ever seen: this huge-ass chest-of-drawers thing that cost more than I'm worth. Then we got it back to their place in Queens, and I headed back to Harlem.

This morning I was so exhausted, I awoke to the third alarm I had set, at 7 AM, so that I could return the truck by 8 AM. A word of advice, by the way. A friend and I used a U-Haul a few weeks ago to move him to Brooklyn. The vehicle felt like it was going to fall to pieces! This time I took my chances on Budget on East 117th, and it was worth it: the truck was new, clean, drove very well, and all the accoutrements - A/C, stereo, etc., were in top condition.

I love the new place, and today I walked a bit of the neighbourhood, which I'm really liking, before heading to the old place to clean. It's a lot nicer than I thought it would be. My street has some beautiful old brownstones, and I'm very near the 125th St. commercial area, which has pretty-much everything I need. Even the movie theatre's just a block away. Beats the hell out of the old 'hood.

I spent 6 hrs at the old place, and you'd think that would be more than enough time to clean a 275 square foot apartment, and its bathroom, but I still have to go back and finish the floor. I bought a $4 can of a stain-varnish mix to touch up where I scratched the hardwoods, and it worked really well. The floors were old and not that greatly finished in the first place, and I was concerned that the landlord would ding my security deposit for the scratches.

Suddenly I realise how boring all this must seem if you're not... me. Let me finish by saying that one of the first things I did after getting home last night was measure the new place. It's over 460 square feet, nearly 200 sf larger than the other place. I don't know what I'm going to do with all this space, but it'll be fun finding out.

And of special note, the Miniature (& Prettier) Incredible Hulk Award goes to Sister Smile, who proved that, besides running, she can lift and carry pretty well, too. If she'd just combine the two, she could have a hell of a quick moving business.

This Body is Busy

I actually had intended to get all my friends really drunk on Saturday and get them to promise to help me move this weekend, but that plan entirely backfired. Instead, my friends got me really drunk on Saturday and I ended up moving myself temporarily to Brooklyn that night. Anyway, I was going to write a whole post following up my birthday week to summarize what I ended up getting up to and how great it was to see all my friends, and how much I appreciate them, blah, blah, blah... I was going to make it really heartfelt and sappy. Really. But this is a bad week to try to pen those thoughts in the meaningful way that they deserve, so my blog will have to take a rain check on that one.

Work this week has suddenly unleashed a fury on me unequalled in recent months. I've gone from strictly focusing on just a couple of projects, to being stretched in six different directions. First, the West Street reconstruction job is winding down, so I've got to be on site to see that it's finished off properly, and there are a few issues with that one. Then, suddenly I'm involved in a very important proposal, which is new for me, and I'm expected to make a very short presentation tomorrow, and we're having a rehearsal meeting with the other consultants this afternoon. On another project I'm involved with, we have a drawing package submission on Friday, so I'm up to my eyeballs in CAD work as well. I also have two physiotherapy appointments, which unfortunately cannot be rushed through, and the 6-week follow-up appointment with my orthopedic sports doctor today to find out my status on the injury front. I tried putting that one off for next week, but they can't fit me in before August if I postpone.

That probably doesn't sound that busy, but top all that off with the fact that I am moving Saturday, fitting anything in between packing boxes is nothing less than a challenge. There was a social event tonight that I was going to go to strictly with the intentions of meeting women, which after recent events, I have decided it is important for me to do. I do think I need to start dating more, but making that kind of social time this week is a pipe dream for me, so once again the potential for me to build a love-life is sacrificed for work and other crap. Instead, tonight I'll try to finish the bulk of the packing, so that I might socialise with friends later in the week, even though no romantic prospects are involved.

And I've missed the last two nights of running. I don't want to fall too far behind in rebuilding, so I might try to fit a short one in tonight before packing... Oh, I forgot - they're all short ones now.

I'm excited about the move. It looks like I might actually have enough help to get it over with quickly. Medley, however, is not excited at all. With the chaos surrounding packing, she retreats to the bathroom, the only unchanged area of the apartment, and curls up under the sink, unknowing of what lay ahead in her life.

So I'll likely have no more blogs until the move is over. I might chime in briefly about what the doctor says, though. I've got my fingers crossed on that one.

For Pete's sake, I'm moving again!

Yesterday I signed a lease for a new apartment. Yep, I'm moving downtown, all the way to 123rd St., the heart of Harlem.

I've only been in my place since December 1st, so I really didn't want to move again so soon. But a good buddy of mine, who's apartment I've coveted for years, decided to abandon Manhattan for Brooklyn, and as well as getting his apartment, I'm doing him a big favour by helping him get out of his lease. He's a star tenant in that neighbourhood, and by bringing someone in that is responsible, trustworthy and rent-dependable (me), the landlord will release him from his lease without penalty. My problem is that my lease ends at the end of August, so I'll have one-and-a-third month of rent overlap to shoulder. My landlord gave me a good rental reference, but was unsympathetic to allowing me to sublet for a month, or letting me out of my lease early. Others have suggested that the friend getting out of his lease should have made an offer to split it with me, but I wouldn't expect that, and frankly, if the shoe was on the other foot, I doubt that I would make an offer like that myself. The financial burden somewhat reduces the excitement I might otherwise have for moving into a new, and hopefully better, address.

And it is a better address, I think. It's less than a half mile from Central Park, so when I am finally on my feet again, there will be a lot fewer streets to cross to get there. Access to 125th St. Station and the 4,5 & 6 will be more reasonable for getting to east side events, but I'll still be closer to the west side subways, which I like better. The neighbourhood is about the same quality as where I live now, which isn't great, but it's getting better: "The New Harlem".

My current apartment is 275 square feet, with no closets. When one walks in, just about everything I own is in full view. It has a wardrobe unit bolted to the wall, inconveniently in the middle of the room. The bathroom is 2'9" wide, with a shower stall at the far end. Imagine yourself using the bathroom facilities as I say the words "knees against the wall". The new place, although I'm not sure about the square footage (and it is still a studio) is somewhat larger and, seriously, has more closets than I will know what to do with, 5 of them. It also has a large bathroom and separate kitchen, all for only 55 bucks more than what I pay now. If I include the rent overlap for the year, it's much more, but still not really expensive, and rent stabilized to boot. I actually am getting excited.

When I was in Montclair, I was in the same place for 5 years. It was a sweet little apartment, and I have great memories from living there. Then I decided to move into the city in '04. This will be the third time I've moved in less than two years. Ugh. I suppose one good thing about being in this teeny place, is that I've purged a LOT of stuff, so the move shouldn't be that bad. Plus I have many friends who owe me moving help that hopefully I can cash in on this time. Hopefully I'll stay in the next place for awhile, but you never know, I might end up in that sweet little penthouse in Tribeca. Yeah, right.