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Posts tagged as “Greenpoint”

A Letter to My Landlord Frank That He Will Almost Definitely Never Read

Dear Frank,

First, let me just say thank you. You’re the best landlord I’ve ever had.

Now, let’s jump backwards a little bit. For 5 years I lived in an apartment at 310 S 3rd St. It was a fine enough apartment and I was basically happy with it. I lived there with my former girlfriend and life was mostly good. I liked the neighborhood (except on Puerto Rico/Dominican Republic days when it was constant Reggaeton until dawn—yuck) enough and everything was close and accessible and easy.

But as soon as we had problems with the apartment, we ran into roadblocks. Since my girlfriend was generally less employed than I was during that time, it often fell on her shoulders to make calls and see that repairs were taken care of. Unfortunately for us, she was a woman and good luck getting our old landlords to listen to a woman for anything. Even when we spoke to women, nothing ever happened. Repairs went untended to and things fell into our laps. A prime example, when we first moved in the apartment was newly renovated, which was nice but it also meant that we had no stove or refrigerator for like 2 weeks. Pretty annoying. And when they finally did drop them off, that was all they did. I had to figure out how to connect the stove to the gas, purchase a tube and thread goop from the hardware store, and do it myself. I imagine that this isn’t up to code, but call me crazy.

At some point in our tenure in that apartment, our bathroom ceiling started dripping. It was a pain, and we called about it. No response. As the months of dripping went on and the damage it was causing to the bathroom ceiling became evident, we started calling on the regular. No response. So we wrote letters. No response. I spoke to the super. No follow-up. The drywall of the ceiling became wetter and wetter and moldier and stained and fucked up, but they didn’t care enough to send someone over to fix it.

The final straw with them came the day I lost my job in June 2009. It was an overcast day and I had to go to the office to turn in my ID and keys and sign some paper for our corporate overlords agreeing to the shitty severance package I was getting and that I wouldn’t sue them. Spirits were high. Jesse, who I worked with at the time, picked up a bunch of beers and headed back to my house to mourn the loss our of employment. We arrived home just in time for the bathroom ceiling to explode into a great torrent of water that spread all over the floor of the kitchen and into the living room. I called my old landlords furious, yelling and cursing that this problem had gone on a year and now, on the day I got laid off, I have my ceiling exploding water all over the place. I yelled. A lot. The woman on the phone was afraid and they actually sent someone right away. It still took them weeks to fix the now gaping hole in the ceiling.

I was glad to move out of there.

When I moved into your building, Frank, I was prepared to have the same sort of shitty landlord/tenant relationship I had always experienced while living in New York. They are, generally, a bunch of assholes. Luckily, you are not.

On the wall of the kitchen of my then-new apartment there was a mirror, which is cool and everything, except that I intended to put a kitchen island against that wall and the top of the mirror only reached my collarbone. I suppose the previous tenant was much shorter than I am. I very carefully attempted to remove the mirror from the wall, but when you’d painted the place the wet paint had dripped behind the mirror and glued it to the drywall. I used a knife to remove the mirror, like a surgeon, but I was unable to take it down without damaging the wall. And then there was a giant unpainted rectangle mirror ghost. Oops!

I went to Richie, the amazing super intendant, and told him what happened. I offered to fix it myself if he could provide me with the tools, since it was totally my fault. I went to https://toolsduty.com/best-portable-tool-box/ and bought a tool box so I wouldn’t lose anymore tools. He told me it was no problem and that you’d take care of it. The next day before I returned fro work, the wall was patched and painted.

Amazing! I had never in my adult life experienced such rapid turn-around on a repair in my apartment. I expected the damage to mar my wall forever. I was glad to be wrong.

But it doesn’t end there.

One day I was here at work and I got a phone call from Jesse (same one) around 4:30, 5 o’clock. He told me he had good news and bad news. I told him to give me the bad news first.

“Your doorknob fell off.”

“What?”

“Your doorknob fell off. You can still get into and out the apartment, though.”

“What’s the good news?”

“I cleaned your apartment. I got on the phone with my mom and instead of just sitting around, I cleaned. For an hour and a half.”

“Ah, uh, cool. Let me call my landlord.”

So I called and left a vou voicemail and by the time I got home from work around 9, the doorknob was back on. And, thanks to Jesse, I had a sparklingly clean apartment. Awesome!

And then there was the time I got home around 2:30 in the morning and you had locked me out of my place and you can all the way from Queens to let me in and then we discovered that I had not been given a necessary key when I moved in. And then I had a copy of the key on my counter the next day. Amazing!

Most recently, I noticed that my microwave kept losing power because I kept having to reset the clock. Then I noticed that my fridge was also losing power, which was a drag since it meant that a whole lot of food in my fridge spoiled, but that’s no one’s fault. It’s a good thing I rarely have food in my fridge. I called and left a voicemail the next morning at work saying that I think the outlet was bad, even though the breaker is not switching off. When I got home, I saw that you’d run an extension cord from the fridge to another outlet in the kitchen. Smart. And though this is all starting to sound repetitive, the next morning at 9:30 while I am getting ready for work you show up with an electrician. Who does that? Awesome. That evening, the outlet was fixed.

So, basically, what I am saying Frank is that you are awesome. I appreciate how readily you take care of problems around the building. You respond right away and you treat every issue as if it were important, even if they are relatively minor. And then not raising my rent this year? Never ever has that happened before.

Wow. I am never moving out.

Sincerely,

The Black Laser.

Get Drunk Tonight – TBD

TBD – Greenpoint, Brooklyn (Franklin & Green St)

Suppose that it is a nice day outside and you think to yourself, “What would be better right now than ruining the rest of my day by getting way too drunk after forgetting to eat anything? Oh, right. Nothing. Where to do my day drinking?!” And then you start to think of different places you might want to go have a drink or 17. Berry Park is full of shit heads. Nope. Radegast is terminally full. Nope. Ditto for Spitzenhaus. Nope. Loreley in Williamsburg is stuck under the freeway and the service sucks. Nope. Loreley in Manhattan is ok but tiny and gets packed. Nope. Züm Schneiders only has seating on the street which is not my favorite thing. Nope. The Bohemian Beer Garden is a bear to get to. Nope. Beer Island is great, but Coney Island is similarly hard to get to. Nope.

Where is a man with the desire to ruin his day supposed to go? The answer is TBD. Oh, how I love TBD on a perfect afternoon. The first drunken Sunday at TBD of the year is the sign that winter has broken and warmer days are ahead. This year it happened in April. I look forward to it.

Saddled with an unfortunate name and an even more unfortunate interior, one quick glance in the door at TBD and you might think, “No way, Get Drunk Tonight, you’re full of shit.” But trust me here. Go inside. And then go all the way to the back past the ping pong table, past the shitty furniture, past the bathrooms, and out in the glorious backyard fill with umbrellad picnic tables. It is a magical wonderland of empty tables and quiet and sunshine. It’s one of my favorite places to while away an afternoon with a couple good friends, my credit card at the bar, and a plan to be asleep at my house by 10pm.

TBD always has a good selection of interesting beers, usually one per variety so your palate will be tickled. They also have a grill in the back which is good, but can take quite a long time which is not a problem, of course, if you’re settling in to spend the next 6 hours assaulting your liver with foamy beer sodas. It’s a little out of the way for Manhattanites, but right near the Greenpoint G for those of you who live in real places. It’s never so packed you can’t find a table. The crowd is relaxed and diverse. TBD is just a great place to get your drink on. Just don’t go during the winter. The inside is the worst.

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Get Drunk Tonight – Saint Vitus

Saint Vitus – Greenpoint, Brooklyn (Manhattan Ave @ Clay St.)

I have often said about Duff’s in Williamsburg that if someone had come along and offered 13 year old metalhead Joe money to decorate a bar, that Duff’s is exactly what I would have designed: dark, red lights, tits, horror movies on the television, metal blaring through the jukebox. Unfortunately I am no longer 13 and as much as I enjoy the ridiculous stereotypical metalheadness of Duff’s, sometimes I want a place I won’t be embarrassed to take a date but where I can still listen to heavy metal. Enter Saint Vitus.

A recent addition to Greenpoint’s myriad watering holes, Saint Vitus is a collaborative effort behind some dudes from Anella and Matchless who had the brilliant idea of creating a bar that is exactly what a 28 year old metalhead me would have designed if given the cash. Saint Vitus is a metal bar for grown ups and I love it. Whether you’re there to enjoy their line-up of local draught beer (Kelso, Sixpoint, Brooklyn) or to get shit faced on one of the many drink specials such as The Pope (Coors Banquet tallboy + a shot of Evan Williams + a pickleback), this place does not disappoint.

A seasoned drinker such as myself doesn’t feel odd sitting alone at the bar enjoying a solitary drink, even when surrounded by groups of folks there with the clear intention of making a night of it. Since this place is basically at the end of the world on Clay and Manhattan, I’ve never seen it so crowded that I find it obnoxious. Yet, the neighborhood seems to be genuinely excited about its opening and you’ll find a lively crowd there even on weeknights. And they play fucking Slayer and Iron Maiden all the time?! Holy shit, I love this place. I even heard Gojira the first time I went, which, if you are a fan of metal, you will know is some heavy shit. And I mean heavy as in HEAVY and heavy as in DEEP. Go alone. Go with friends. I don’t care. Just go. And eat a pork bun while you’re at it. Just look for the unadorned black store front with no sign.

In other good news, The Black Laser is now syndicated! Go read Vox Critica or perish!

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Vinyl and Me and You and Everyone

This last weekend I officially joined the growing vinyl devolution. If you follow my Twitter, then you probably know I had been pondering the acquisition of a turntable for a little while after numerous record-shopping trips with my friend Charles. People are so excited about buying actual records these days that I couldn’t stay away from it, which I think is pretty funny. We’re seeing a backlash against the ephemeral nature of digital goods with people embracing hand-made objects, learning to repair things, the maker movement, and the resurgence of vinyl as examples. I don’t mean this in some hipster-bashing, forced-irony way either (regular readers will know that I do not endorse hipster bashing). I really think that with the proliferation of intangible digital goods people yearn to have something physical to hold on to, to touch, to embrace. Vinyl is fulfilling that need in people while also giving you some bitchin’ jams to listen to. Sure, it’s awesome to have 80 billion songs in your iPod, but there’s something much more engrossing about actually listening to a record on vinyl, cd, tape, 8-track, wax cylinder, whatever—a sentiment previously expressed by Señor Vestal.

As I may have noted here before, music really changed for me when I stopped driving. In California, I would drive all over the place, as people do all the while listening to CDs and casettes. The duration of the drives and my desire not to get into an accident while changing the music created a near optimal album-listening environment. There exists a divide between the music I listened to in the 90s while living in California, and the music I have discovered since I moved to NY in 2001. I have a better sense of the older music as a whole, as an album, if that makes sense. The songs on those older records exist as parts of a greater whole not just because I’ve been listening to them longer, but because I would experience the albums as a unit. Music since the file-based shift exists as disassociated tracks, rarely incorporated into large album groups in my musical awareness. Splintered, fractured, split, current musical acquisitions float by rarely anchored. I find that disappointing. There’s a reason your favorite musician put those tracks in that order on the album. I want to be privy to that reason.

But back to the actual purchasing of vinyl. Going around with Charles, it seemed like such a fun thing that I was missing out on for no good reason. I have always loved record shops and the act of searching for records is sometimes more fun than owning them. There is something unmistakeable about browsing through bins of music, hunting for hidden gems and surprises, never quite sure what you’re going to find. You never get that experience online. It’s too streamlined, too inorganic. But flipping through albums in the store is exciting and fun. And if you’re going to be buying music rather than just pirating it from the old interwebs, then you might as well be getting your music on vinyl. CDs kind of suck and I still refuse to buy MP3s, so where should I go? Vinyl!

But what’s a turntable without records to play? A paperweight. So what did I get? With the purchase of the turntable at Permanent Records in Greenpoint, I got three albums.

The Viking of Sixth Avenue – Moondog 2004

Permanent Records has a Moondog section. Let me repeat that: Permanent Records has a MOONDOG SECTION. It’s like they were all, “Joe, you will be buying this. We love you. We have always loved you,” and then they swallowed my soul and brought me back from the dead as a ghastly beast with a thirst for human flesh.

If you are unfamiliar with Moondog (and you shouldn’t be), then you should know that he was an avant-garde street musician in the mid-20th Century who would perform his music on self-made instruments. He was a mad genius with some whacky social ideas who nevertheless created some of the most interesting, most recognizable music of the last century. You’ve probably heard his music around but never known. For example, this piece.

Right? You’ve heard it somewhere mixed into something before.

The album is incredible. You should listen to this right now. You will not be upset by it.

Exotica – Martin Denny 1958

Martin Denny’s 1957 album Exotica is, arguably, the album that launched the whole Exotica craze in the US in the late 50s and early 60s. It certainly gave the movement a name and laid the groundwork for a highly polarizing moment in musical history. I am quite a huge Exotica fan, having been introduced to it in college by my dear friend Jesse. So the prospect of owning this record (for a mere 7 dollars!) was irresistible.

One note, I got the 1958 stereo-rerecording without Arthur Lyman who had left Denny’s band to strike out on his own swath of Exotica creation. Though Denny preferred the original monaural recording, I like the stereo a lot. Stereo was still fresh in the recording engineer’s bag of tricks and they really go out of their way to play with stereo placement which, when pumped through a 5.1 surround system like mine, sounds pretty damned amazing. There are birds all over the place.

Odessey & Oracle – The Zombies 1968

Odessey & Oracle stands next to The Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society as one of my favorite late-60s British rock albums. Every track is excellent. It was a must-own for me. I’ve purchased this album before as a double-disc CD with a bunch of alternate mixes and demo versions, but when considering which records to get initially I just sort of felt like I needed to have it in my house.

Nina also walked away from Permanent Records with a 1 dollar Village People record so she could listen to their song called “Roommate”. It was worth her dollar, no doubt.

Then on Wednesday after brunching with Nina at 5 Leaves, we had some time to kill before Cut Copy and wandered down to Sound Fix in Williamsburg to liberate myself of yet more cash. Here’s what I walked away with.

Noble Beast – Andrew Bird 2009

What can I say about this album? Most of my most regularly listened to music on my iPod has playcounts in the low teens, but this one is in the high 60s which doesn’t include the number of times I’ve listened to it at home. If you could wear out MP3s, I’d have worn out my MP3s of Noble Beast. It was a natural choice for the home vinyl collection and worth every dollar I’ve spent on it both times. This album is definitely one of my newer acquisitions that has found a root in my brain as a complete unit. If you’ve never heard Andrew Bird before, you owe it to yourself to get a copy of this one.

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea & On Avery Island – Neutral Milk Hotel 1998, 1996

I had never actually purchased either of these albums before and I felt like it was the right thing to do. Also, In The Aeroplane Over the Sea is stupidly awesome. Like, forget it, get the hell out, you’re done amazing. It was a late-90s gem that slipped past me at the time. I was only introduced to it by my brother Charlie in the mid-Aughts and was mad I’d been missing out on it for so long. A great sing-along record. Everyone should own a copy.

I bought On Avery Island because it was there even though I consider it a lesser album. Really, I guess it’s my small way of encouraging Jeff Magnum to continue doing shows because I would love to see this music played live.

Ask Forgiveness – Bonnie “Prince” Billy 2007

I bought this record for one reason: his cover of Danzig’s Am I Demon. That’s it. Well worth the price. The rest of the EP is good too, but for me Am I Demon is the star of the 8-song show.

Streetcleaner – Godflesh 1989

And sooooooo I took a turn for the heavy.

Godflesh is Justin Broadrick’s industrial project and one of the first groups to really incorporate electronic elements with crushingly heavy music. He even played drums for Napalm Death on Scum which basically makes him Grindcore royalty (if such a thing exists). I’ve never really gotten into Godflesh that much before, but when I saw this I knew I needed to take it home with me. I’d seen the “Crush My Soul” video on the old Earache My Eye tape, but never really delved too deeply into their work as a teenager. Yet, now, here I am with a much greater love of electronic music, a heavier palette, and purchasing old LPs. It seemed perfect to take home an industrial record from 1989. I’ve given it a listem and I was totally right. It’s tight, heavy, and crushing. For a fan of old school electro and old school metal, this is the perfect synthesis of the two.

Fortress – Protest The Hero 2008

I have to admit that this isn’t exactly what I wanted, but I will qualify that by saying that this is one of my favorite metal records of the last decade. No, it is not that I didn’t want to own this particular album—I did and I do—but what I really wanted was a copy of their newest album Scurrilous which just came out at the end of March. Unfortunately there is no way to get it on vinyl so I am stuck with the shitty MP3s Charlie sent me until I can get it. Bummer. Nevertheless, Fortess slays and I am glad to have it in my collection.

So there we are. That is my initial round of vinyl purchases. Will the addition of a turntable make me stop buying CDs? Probably not, but I haven’t really been buying a lot of CDs the last year and a half anyway, so it is not likely to affect something I’ve already slowed down on. Will this become a cash sink into which I throw all of my expendable income? You bet your sweet ass it will. I am enjoying it immensely already and had to fight not to order Computerwelt from the German eBay today. Keep coming back and I’ll keep posting my acquisitions as I acquire them. I hope it will be as fun for you and it is for me.

My Friend’s Mustard

Do you like mustard? Of course you do! Everybody likes mustard!

My Friend’s Mustard is a local Greenpoint, Brooklyn company (i.e., Anna Wolf) producing two types of stupidly excellent boutique mustards. Anna was formerly our favorite brunch waitress at The Habitat (also in Greenpoint) but left there a few months ago to pursue mustard making full time. Since then I’ve seen her wares pop up in all sorts of places around Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and greater Brooklyn. If you see it in a shop, get some. You won’t be mad. And if you are mad, don’t tell me about it because we’d have to stop being friends and I don’t want that.

A handful of things I am a little afraid of but want to do this summer because I am afraid of them. UPDATE: one additional thing added.

Otherwise known as, “Stop being such a fucking pussy, Joe.” This is really all a part of this whole introspection kick I’ve been on recently, so it’s not surprising to me that I feel motivated to do something with these feelings. Funny thing, I had a drink with Adam last night, who I referenced in my previous introspection post, and he answered the questions I posed at the very end of the post about what to do with all this newfound awareness. His answer? A very simple, “Have patience,” meaning to take a step back and check myself when I find myself getting all worked up about some stupid thing or worrying about nothing or whatever. I thought that was pretty good. Thanks, Adam.

Back on track, there are a few things I’d like to do this summer. In no particular order, they are:

  • Get a tattoo. I don’t have any, even though I’ve been thinking about getting one since I was 11. I think the main reason I don’t have any is that I’m a little scared of permanence. I’m not able to easily make long lasting decisions, and a tattoo, though mundane, is one of those decisions. I’ve never been able to decide on anything long enough that I wanted to keep it in my skin for the rest of my life. But, you know what? I think I’m just being a big pussy la la about it and just need to do it. I mean, why the fuck not? My body is already covered with reminders of past mistakes, so why not just make a choice and go for it?

    My friend Charles has planned a dinosaur-themed party for his birthday in a few weeks. Part of the plan is to get dinosaur tattoos. He sent me a link to East River Tattoo which is right in our neighborhood. I particularly like shop owner Duke’s work. His pieces look like old wood prints, which is a fairly different style. I think it’s real cool.

  • Ride a bicycle around NY. Let’s be honest, I don’t exercise enough. I know it. You know it. Everyone god damned knows it. And, now that I live in Greenpoint, a biking hot spot to be certain, I feel like I really want to get out there and just bicycle. Problem is I haven’t really ridden in like 16 years. I’m not worried that I won’t be able to ride a bike. I am worried, however, about all the street traffic in the neighborhood. Again, this is totally just me being a complete pussy. I have zero problem driving a car all over town, and that has a whole lot more potential for fucking things up. Buying a bike is no significant financial burden. I even have a spot to put it away in the backyard of my building.

    So what’s stopping me? The answer? Nothing. I’m just being a complete idiot about it. In the immortal words of Freddie Mercury….. (warning: naked girls on bikes in the video.)

  • Drink whiskey. I am a beer and wine man. I don’t often drink liquor mostly because I feel like I’ve fucked myself up on it so many times that my body just says, “No thanks.” Fuck you, body. Don’t get me wrong. I love beer and I love wine, but I need to stop feeling intimidated by good ol’ whiskey and just broaden my palette. I don’t want to do shots of the stuff, but I do want to develop an appreciation of it in the same way that I can appreciate a great beer or an amazing bottle of red. Stop being a pussy, Joe, and just drink the whiskey.

    I mean, what would The Clancy Brothers say? Probably this:

I bet there are some other things I’m worried about doing that I just need to get over and do, but these have been at the forefront of my consciousness recently. Do any of you feel this way about things? What have you been afraid of doing that you haven’t yet done but that you think you should? I can’t be the only weirdo out there that thinks like this.

The Joys and Pains of finding a new apartment.

This weekend I started the apartment hunt to try to find a place cheaper than my current place that is fresh and new and my own. Typically looking for an apartment is a grueling, miserable experience. You spend a hundred years on Craig’s List (have you heard of this thing?) and you call and make appointments and run all over town to see a bunch of fucking duds. It’s a drag. I have to move out of my current apartment on April 9th, which is kind of nice because it gives me a little bit of a buffer to accomplish everything I need to, painting, patching holes, whatever.

With the hell that is finding an apartment in mind, I’ve been procrastinating. Surprise! Knowing that time was finally running short, I sat down to Craig’s List (no, really, you’ve got to check this thing out) at about noon on Saturday. I did a little searching, got on the phone and started making appointments for that afternoon and Sunday.


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I had my first viewing at 1:45 on Saturday at an apartment right around the corner from where I currently live. One huge bonus right off the bat was that the place is right next door to Taco Bite, my favorite neighborhood taco joint. The best. Ask for the tortilla soup.

I meet the real estate agent, RJ, in front of the building and we go in. The stairs were nice and wide, and the hallways were spacious. He led me up five flights of stairs and into one of many doors on the fifth floor. Though nice with new appliances, exposed brick, and refinished whatever, the apartment was tiny. I mean, tiny. Like 350 sq ft. Maybe less. I was looking around and trying to use my advance, alien spatial reasoning to see how I’d fit everything into there. The only conclusion I could find was that I would have to either get rid of my desk (hell no) or get rid of the tv/sound system (also, hell no). I wasn’t sure if I could fit my bed either. It’s too bad too, because the apartment probably got really nice light and had some awesome views out the windows of the Williamsburg bridge and Manhattan on nice, clear days. But, for 1550 a month, it wasn’t worth it. Even if they knocked it down to 1450 a month, it wouldn’t be worth it. Sometimes you just have to trust your gut.

The next apartments I wanted to see were up in Greenpoint. I walked through the blinding rain a mile and a half through the neighborhood to the Realtor’s office. When I got there, my pants were pasted to my legs. God, I love flash NY spring time rain fall. It’s like, “Walk walk walk, drizzle drizzle drizzle, walk walk walk, POURING FUCKING RAIN FUCK YOU HOLY FUCK WIND AND RAIN AND OH MY FUCKING GOD.” After a mile and a half (2.4 km, for you folks outside the US) of that crap, I was pretty much over the day. But, like a good, diligent boy, I went in and saw the two apartments.


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The first place I saw was a railroad apartment that was filled with a Polish man’s belongings. I guess he was moving out but hadn’t yet. The apartment smelled like those cheap shit scented candles you get at 99¢ stores, which I think was accurate since he had about 30 of those things spread around the apartment in various degrees of burnt. It was a strange place. The apartment itself was fine. Totally regular railroad style apartment (what you southerners would call a shotgun shack), if a little small. I’m not sure that, even at 1250/month, it was worth it to be so far from the trains. Too far, too funky, too blah. I like the park right there though, but nah. Fuck it.


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The third apartment I saw that day was super awesome. It’s is also a railroad apartment, as is the style in this part of Brooklyn, but it was significantly larger than the previous one. It also has much better train access and a whole lot more fun stuff around it. The kitchen and the bedroom are both bright as hell which is amazing. Easily worth the 50 extra dollars. My only hesitation was that the building has a funky, tiny hallway with a mere 34″ of clearance and it’s going to be hard to move things in and, eventually, out. I was nervous enough about it that I told them I’d think about it.

I talked to Charles for a while and he basically told me I was being a big pussy about the whole thing. I called them back and went over to their office the next day with all my paper work in tow in case I decided to jump. I went back to the apartment and it still felt good, like the right place. I measured the hallway to discover the 34″ clearance and then measured the typically small door. I feel confident I can get my desk in, which is important, and I also feel confident that I can order a sofa with detachable legs and get that into the apartment. It’s going to be hard, but it can be done. I hope.

Either way, after about 4 whole hours, I was sick as hell of looking for an apartment so I applied for this one on Sunday. The only negative for me was the entrance way and I’ll just have to make it work. They called me today, Monday, and told me I was accepted. I just have to go up and get my keys and put the ConEd and whatever in my name. Done and done. And all without a guarantor! Lookie here, I’ma grown man now.

I’m going over there with Mike and Charles on Saturday to measure and then eat brunch somewhere, so expect photos. Fun!