Here is installment one of a brief recap: A bit ago I went to NYC for a week to look for an apartment. I stayed with my lovely college friend Ed who always shows me a spectacular time and chats with me for hours about all the sort of musings that I love. I had a great time but unfortunately did not end up signing on anything. I found a beautiful, wonderful apartment in Parkslope, Brooklyn with a rad chick from Cali who writes screen plays and puts on Burlesque shows. Under Ed's wise guidance I decided that the commute would be too long to campus in Manhattan from Parkslope (a good 45min). No luck the first round in finding digs, however all was not lost. What made it all worth it was having some of the most spectacularly socially awkward, strange experiences in apartment hunting, going to roughly three different apartments a day for an entire week and meeting strangers who might let me live with them. My personal favorite apartment hunting experience was one loft I saw in the outer edge of Willamsburg, Brooklyn (ie the ghetto). There, two women, one an artsy Asian and the other an apparently mute French girl who gave me the "eye" and refused to shake my hand, greeted me at the door. A carefree artsy guy kind of joyfully saluted me as he hung from the rafters ADD style. The girls chastised me (only words out of the French chick- the rest was the up and down eye movemnt for the next 10 minutes) for being five minutes early and the Asian chick proceeded to skeptically ask me if I knew what living in a loft was like. I paused, confused, and deciding the right answer was "no" said so with a smile to appease her and she answered, "Well, to live in a loft you have to be VERY open minded". Obviously, I had been deemed as not open minded over the past 30 seconds. If by being open minded she meant being OK with the fact that the make shift second floor might cave in at any second, call me straight laced but I truly was a little scared. I climbed the "stairs" (ie slats of rotting material, could have been wood, maybe not) to see my prospective "room". The "door" to the "room", which was no more than a piece of wood stuck into a gap between a hole in dry wall, left a good window to the hallway overlooking 1st floor below. In the room I found a girl with tats from head to toe, dressed in all black. She gave me a sisterly heart-to-heart gaze and warned me that when the house mates smoked pot, which was normally as frequently as all day long, it seeped through the slats and filled her room with its skunky aroma. I asked her if their partying was a problem- and she answered with a firm "yes...that's why I'm leaving" and this girl didn't look like she was too shy herself of a drinking a Colt 45 and a taking a line or two. When I returned down"stairs" to the glaring French girl and pretty, but personality-challenged Asian girl, the later began an intense interrogation process. She asked me if I had any "habits" she should know about. At that moment I would have killed for some track marks that I could shove in her face or at the very least a crack pipe to pull out of my pocket. Once I offered my reason for moving to New York she informed me that she was ALSO a Parson's student "BUT in graphic design". She proceeded to "let me know" about the Parson's fashion design program, asking me if I was aware of how cut throat it was and what "type" of people attended.... Apparently she had some issues with my future department. She ended our conversation with, if you don't have any more questions for me "you can take off" and take off I did indeed. As I scurried out of the loft, I mused about what it had to offer- all that physical endangerment, tormented female drama (I kind of got the vibe they were both sleeping with Mr. ADD hipster weirdo and were a little threatened that I might want to become numero cuatro in their love fest: no worries there girls- one man has always been plenty enough for me to handle much less two bitchy chics thrown into the mix) and no sleep because the roommates party all the time: all for a sweet price tag of $1000 a month. Happy Day! My friend Stan, who had bravely accompanied me this fine day and had stood beside me, silently, like a rock withstanding the indignity that is NYC apartment hunting, whispered even as we were pretty far away from the building, "Those were caricatures of people". I laughed and agreed...or, I thought to myself, just mid-20-somethings living in NYC: a breed of their own I was beginning to think after this past week of meeting a large random sampling in their own habitats. Scary. I can't wait to get here. The scarier thing is I am not being sarcastic. Tweet
6.16.2008
NYC Apt Hunting: Installment I
I have been admittedly absent from this blog lately and - as my mother pointed out to me yesterday- my absence has been during a time when I should be writing the most! Life has been busy, crazy and in upheaval. But I guess what's been keeping me from it is that I've been going through a lot of different things and it is hard to decipher what is blog material and what should be left for my personal diary! I certainly don't want this blog to be a journal- I am a little too private for that and besides, my innermost personal musings are in actuality probably pretty boring . But surely I have many observations and anecdotes that are universally amusing and that I should share with you as I travel on this voyage of my mid 20s emancipation.
Here is installment one of a brief recap: A bit ago I went to NYC for a week to look for an apartment. I stayed with my lovely college friend Ed who always shows me a spectacular time and chats with me for hours about all the sort of musings that I love. I had a great time but unfortunately did not end up signing on anything. I found a beautiful, wonderful apartment in Parkslope, Brooklyn with a rad chick from Cali who writes screen plays and puts on Burlesque shows. Under Ed's wise guidance I decided that the commute would be too long to campus in Manhattan from Parkslope (a good 45min). No luck the first round in finding digs, however all was not lost. What made it all worth it was having some of the most spectacularly socially awkward, strange experiences in apartment hunting, going to roughly three different apartments a day for an entire week and meeting strangers who might let me live with them. My personal favorite apartment hunting experience was one loft I saw in the outer edge of Willamsburg, Brooklyn (ie the ghetto). There, two women, one an artsy Asian and the other an apparently mute French girl who gave me the "eye" and refused to shake my hand, greeted me at the door. A carefree artsy guy kind of joyfully saluted me as he hung from the rafters ADD style. The girls chastised me (only words out of the French chick- the rest was the up and down eye movemnt for the next 10 minutes) for being five minutes early and the Asian chick proceeded to skeptically ask me if I knew what living in a loft was like. I paused, confused, and deciding the right answer was "no" said so with a smile to appease her and she answered, "Well, to live in a loft you have to be VERY open minded". Obviously, I had been deemed as not open minded over the past 30 seconds. If by being open minded she meant being OK with the fact that the make shift second floor might cave in at any second, call me straight laced but I truly was a little scared. I climbed the "stairs" (ie slats of rotting material, could have been wood, maybe not) to see my prospective "room". The "door" to the "room", which was no more than a piece of wood stuck into a gap between a hole in dry wall, left a good window to the hallway overlooking 1st floor below. In the room I found a girl with tats from head to toe, dressed in all black. She gave me a sisterly heart-to-heart gaze and warned me that when the house mates smoked pot, which was normally as frequently as all day long, it seeped through the slats and filled her room with its skunky aroma. I asked her if their partying was a problem- and she answered with a firm "yes...that's why I'm leaving" and this girl didn't look like she was too shy herself of a drinking a Colt 45 and a taking a line or two. When I returned down"stairs" to the glaring French girl and pretty, but personality-challenged Asian girl, the later began an intense interrogation process. She asked me if I had any "habits" she should know about. At that moment I would have killed for some track marks that I could shove in her face or at the very least a crack pipe to pull out of my pocket. Once I offered my reason for moving to New York she informed me that she was ALSO a Parson's student "BUT in graphic design". She proceeded to "let me know" about the Parson's fashion design program, asking me if I was aware of how cut throat it was and what "type" of people attended.... Apparently she had some issues with my future department. She ended our conversation with, if you don't have any more questions for me "you can take off" and take off I did indeed. As I scurried out of the loft, I mused about what it had to offer- all that physical endangerment, tormented female drama (I kind of got the vibe they were both sleeping with Mr. ADD hipster weirdo and were a little threatened that I might want to become numero cuatro in their love fest: no worries there girls- one man has always been plenty enough for me to handle much less two bitchy chics thrown into the mix) and no sleep because the roommates party all the time: all for a sweet price tag of $1000 a month. Happy Day! My friend Stan, who had bravely accompanied me this fine day and had stood beside me, silently, like a rock withstanding the indignity that is NYC apartment hunting, whispered even as we were pretty far away from the building, "Those were caricatures of people". I laughed and agreed...or, I thought to myself, just mid-20-somethings living in NYC: a breed of their own I was beginning to think after this past week of meeting a large random sampling in their own habitats. Scary. I can't wait to get here. The scarier thing is I am not being sarcastic. Tweet
Here is installment one of a brief recap: A bit ago I went to NYC for a week to look for an apartment. I stayed with my lovely college friend Ed who always shows me a spectacular time and chats with me for hours about all the sort of musings that I love. I had a great time but unfortunately did not end up signing on anything. I found a beautiful, wonderful apartment in Parkslope, Brooklyn with a rad chick from Cali who writes screen plays and puts on Burlesque shows. Under Ed's wise guidance I decided that the commute would be too long to campus in Manhattan from Parkslope (a good 45min). No luck the first round in finding digs, however all was not lost. What made it all worth it was having some of the most spectacularly socially awkward, strange experiences in apartment hunting, going to roughly three different apartments a day for an entire week and meeting strangers who might let me live with them. My personal favorite apartment hunting experience was one loft I saw in the outer edge of Willamsburg, Brooklyn (ie the ghetto). There, two women, one an artsy Asian and the other an apparently mute French girl who gave me the "eye" and refused to shake my hand, greeted me at the door. A carefree artsy guy kind of joyfully saluted me as he hung from the rafters ADD style. The girls chastised me (only words out of the French chick- the rest was the up and down eye movemnt for the next 10 minutes) for being five minutes early and the Asian chick proceeded to skeptically ask me if I knew what living in a loft was like. I paused, confused, and deciding the right answer was "no" said so with a smile to appease her and she answered, "Well, to live in a loft you have to be VERY open minded". Obviously, I had been deemed as not open minded over the past 30 seconds. If by being open minded she meant being OK with the fact that the make shift second floor might cave in at any second, call me straight laced but I truly was a little scared. I climbed the "stairs" (ie slats of rotting material, could have been wood, maybe not) to see my prospective "room". The "door" to the "room", which was no more than a piece of wood stuck into a gap between a hole in dry wall, left a good window to the hallway overlooking 1st floor below. In the room I found a girl with tats from head to toe, dressed in all black. She gave me a sisterly heart-to-heart gaze and warned me that when the house mates smoked pot, which was normally as frequently as all day long, it seeped through the slats and filled her room with its skunky aroma. I asked her if their partying was a problem- and she answered with a firm "yes...that's why I'm leaving" and this girl didn't look like she was too shy herself of a drinking a Colt 45 and a taking a line or two. When I returned down"stairs" to the glaring French girl and pretty, but personality-challenged Asian girl, the later began an intense interrogation process. She asked me if I had any "habits" she should know about. At that moment I would have killed for some track marks that I could shove in her face or at the very least a crack pipe to pull out of my pocket. Once I offered my reason for moving to New York she informed me that she was ALSO a Parson's student "BUT in graphic design". She proceeded to "let me know" about the Parson's fashion design program, asking me if I was aware of how cut throat it was and what "type" of people attended.... Apparently she had some issues with my future department. She ended our conversation with, if you don't have any more questions for me "you can take off" and take off I did indeed. As I scurried out of the loft, I mused about what it had to offer- all that physical endangerment, tormented female drama (I kind of got the vibe they were both sleeping with Mr. ADD hipster weirdo and were a little threatened that I might want to become numero cuatro in their love fest: no worries there girls- one man has always been plenty enough for me to handle much less two bitchy chics thrown into the mix) and no sleep because the roommates party all the time: all for a sweet price tag of $1000 a month. Happy Day! My friend Stan, who had bravely accompanied me this fine day and had stood beside me, silently, like a rock withstanding the indignity that is NYC apartment hunting, whispered even as we were pretty far away from the building, "Those were caricatures of people". I laughed and agreed...or, I thought to myself, just mid-20-somethings living in NYC: a breed of their own I was beginning to think after this past week of meeting a large random sampling in their own habitats. Scary. I can't wait to get here. The scarier thing is I am not being sarcastic. Tweet
