This is a saga about finding and living in an apartment in New York. I guess you get what you craigslist for and I craigslisted a cheap apartment downtown. Now I had to be out of my place August 1st and started looking for places the month before.
I thought I had found the perfect place: East Village, under $800 a month in rent, and I could walk to work!
This was great, I had two meetings with various roommates and was all set to move in! I wrote back and forth with the one of them about costs and deposits. She said I should pay my deposit to the outgoing roommate (a common apartment practice) and 1st month's rent to the landlord. I wrote a check to the roommate, typed up my receipt - using as much legal jargon as I could - and was all set to go. Dropped the check off with the girl and waited to hear back from her.
I did hear back. She said the outgoing roommate wouldn't take a check. He would only take cash. That was a huge red flag for me and I said I wouldn't give him any money without a papertrail. I wanted evidence of this transaction.
So I had a bank check made in the sum of the deposit - and both sides would be happy with that. The day I was scheduled to move in I got a message from the girl roommate saying the outgoing roommate's last rent check had bounced and I shouldn't give him any money until they figured everything out.
Fine, but I had to move in! I loaded up all my stuff in a taxi (and I don't have a lot of stuff) and headed to the new place. As soon as I got there the old roommate was standing in the doorway. No hi, hello, how are you and certainly not a welcome - the guy said "Are you Caroline?" and I cringed. He continued,"Do you have the money, I'll let you inside if you have the money?"
So after an hour of weird threats and solutions that didn't make sense this guy disappeared, I cleaned my room, moved in and swept the hallway.
I really like the place! It's going to be such a great apartment, I can tell already...but until things are settled I know I'm going to be unsettled.
Cleaned half the kitchen last night! Am maybe going grocery shopping tonight - pasta, garlic, butter, cheese - what more does a girl need?
Can't wait . . .
Strange days are ahead.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
dance party!
this afternoon, sitting at my desk i heard the jingle jangle of bells approach and thought it was an avid indian music lover cruising broadway in their car.
But oh how wrong I was.
after the music didn't subside for about 20 seconds I jumped to the window and threw up the sash. (aforementioned sash was down because constant sun streaming through our giant windows make it kind of toasty in the office in the afternoon)
a small procession accompanied the lively music of drums and tamborine. about 7 or 8 men dressed in white, orange or yellow in two lines walking north on the sidewalk opposite my building. they stopped outside the guess and a couple bystanders participated in a brief dance circle.
and it was nice to see other people (even harry krishnas) just plain excited to be in the city
But oh how wrong I was.
after the music didn't subside for about 20 seconds I jumped to the window and threw up the sash. (aforementioned sash was down because constant sun streaming through our giant windows make it kind of toasty in the office in the afternoon)
a small procession accompanied the lively music of drums and tamborine. about 7 or 8 men dressed in white, orange or yellow in two lines walking north on the sidewalk opposite my building. they stopped outside the guess and a couple bystanders participated in a brief dance circle.
and it was nice to see other people (even harry krishnas) just plain excited to be in the city
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Squeegee
Found out June 30th that I would have Friday and Monday off and thus have a 4 day weekend (that I kept accidentally calling a 5 day weekend -worrying my employers that I would take an extra day off). So, after hearing from my dad that they would probably not be able to have vacation in Jersey this year I decided to explore the options of going home that weekend. Two days later I was on a plane home!
Twas a grand, great, magical, stupendous weekend.
And I'm very glad I went.
On the return journey I was waiting for my shuttle to arrive at LGA when a janitor came over and started to move a bench that was against a window. I thought he was about to mop because from his cart he took out a long thin mop but the handle was too short. He took this cleaning wand and began swishing and wiping it across the window. The suds formed great big infinity signs as he made practiced figure-eights with his wrist. Carefully stepping to his right he made sure the expanse of the six-foot long window was covered in bright sparkling soap. He took a step back inspecting his work and satisfied, he moved on to changing instruments to a great big squeegee the size of my leg. Pulling the blade down the glass carefully he made sure not to miss an inch of glass.
Once he was done he returned to his cart and began to move on. Something stopped him, though, as he was about to move on. A smudge, only detectable to the eyes of someone who looks at the glass and not through it, was making a stand against cleanliness and refused to move its oily imprint from the window. The janitor took out his big guns, paper towels and generic windex, and gave the smudge a once-over. When nothing happened, instead of moving on to the next window inside the janitor disappeared.
I lost myself in staring at this smudge thinking about how no one would notice it except this man. How many hundreds of people trudge their traffic through that area every day? How many of them, travel-weary and worn, red-eyed and economy sized, are going to notice, let alone care, about a smudge on that window? I hadn't even thought about the upkeep of the airport until the older Indian man in his blue shirt and reflective vest had come over and started washing the window. A family of four stood nearby, from Tennessee as their sweatshirts boldly proclaimed, and I wondered how their lives would be different if no one cleaned the windows. Probably none at all.
Then I saw him again, on the other side of the window swishing and swiping his baton of cleaner, the janitor washing the outside surface of the smudged panel. He inspected carefully. The smudge was not gone. So back inside he went.
This time he put a bit more elbow grease into the spot-cleaning and soon enough the stubborn smudge was gone.
My shuttle arrived and I spent a good part of the time chatting with a woman in town on vacation from Alabama. The rest of my ride back I thought about the guy who took such pride in such a simple job that he made sure he did everything he could to do it right.
And now that's how I want to approach my receptionist job. I take on simple tasks at my job like making copies, faxes, switchboarding, message taking, package delivering. I'd like to take a page out of that custodian at LGA's book and do these simple tasks well. Maybe I'll do them well enough that someone will give me more windows to wash and I'll be thankful I took pride in my job so early on.
Twas a grand, great, magical, stupendous weekend.
And I'm very glad I went.
On the return journey I was waiting for my shuttle to arrive at LGA when a janitor came over and started to move a bench that was against a window. I thought he was about to mop because from his cart he took out a long thin mop but the handle was too short. He took this cleaning wand and began swishing and wiping it across the window. The suds formed great big infinity signs as he made practiced figure-eights with his wrist. Carefully stepping to his right he made sure the expanse of the six-foot long window was covered in bright sparkling soap. He took a step back inspecting his work and satisfied, he moved on to changing instruments to a great big squeegee the size of my leg. Pulling the blade down the glass carefully he made sure not to miss an inch of glass.
Once he was done he returned to his cart and began to move on. Something stopped him, though, as he was about to move on. A smudge, only detectable to the eyes of someone who looks at the glass and not through it, was making a stand against cleanliness and refused to move its oily imprint from the window. The janitor took out his big guns, paper towels and generic windex, and gave the smudge a once-over. When nothing happened, instead of moving on to the next window inside the janitor disappeared.
I lost myself in staring at this smudge thinking about how no one would notice it except this man. How many hundreds of people trudge their traffic through that area every day? How many of them, travel-weary and worn, red-eyed and economy sized, are going to notice, let alone care, about a smudge on that window? I hadn't even thought about the upkeep of the airport until the older Indian man in his blue shirt and reflective vest had come over and started washing the window. A family of four stood nearby, from Tennessee as their sweatshirts boldly proclaimed, and I wondered how their lives would be different if no one cleaned the windows. Probably none at all.
Then I saw him again, on the other side of the window swishing and swiping his baton of cleaner, the janitor washing the outside surface of the smudged panel. He inspected carefully. The smudge was not gone. So back inside he went.
This time he put a bit more elbow grease into the spot-cleaning and soon enough the stubborn smudge was gone.
My shuttle arrived and I spent a good part of the time chatting with a woman in town on vacation from Alabama. The rest of my ride back I thought about the guy who took such pride in such a simple job that he made sure he did everything he could to do it right.
And now that's how I want to approach my receptionist job. I take on simple tasks at my job like making copies, faxes, switchboarding, message taking, package delivering. I'd like to take a page out of that custodian at LGA's book and do these simple tasks well. Maybe I'll do them well enough that someone will give me more windows to wash and I'll be thankful I took pride in my job so early on.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
A Nice Guy by any other Name
So all my life I've been fighting one of the most difficult battles in all the world: keeping people I just meet from calling me Caroline. Carolyn, I know, is close to Caroline but at the same time so different. The "lyn" adds a bit of Arthurian flair to it, makes it more graceful, more soft, more awesome. The "LINE" at the end of She-who-should-not-be-named name is harsh and recalls a more rustic kind of attitude and lifestyle. Even Neil Diamond had to add an adjective to soften the name for the title of his song "Sweet Caroilne."
Anyway, I make sure that people know my name is NOT Caroline and can get very touchy about it very fast. So I of all people should understand the plight of someone with a unique, atypical name. Taking this receptionist job has meant that I butcher names left and right. Marks become Mikes and Jens become Janeanes and I end up looking like an ass. I'm so sorry other person on the phone, but I can't hear you! Speak up and speak clearly! I don't know you, I've never met you and I'm sure if I did we'd be best friends forever. But it's just this short mini conversation we can have over and over again if you're not eloquent!
Me: Good Morning Our Company's Name!
Person with cottonballs in their mouth: So and so please.
ME: Who can I say is calling?
Person who managed to put more cottonballs in their mouth in the meantime: It's sjleon.
Me: I'm sorry who?
Person:Sjleon.
Me: I'm so sorry I'm having trouble hearing you. What did you say?
(this is the point where some people have hung up on me)
Person: SEAN.
Me: Ahem. Sorry. Where are you calling from?
Person: Bezzex.
Me: Bezzex?
Person. NO, Bezzex.
Me: Sean from Bezzex.
Person: Bus i ness X.
Me: Thank you hold on one moment.
Granted this has gotten easier over the past week as I begin to recognize the same people calling over and over. Except for the Myserious Brother. Someone kept calling for one of the partners here and I kept thinking they were saying it was their brother. Turns out his name is Butter. And turns out that I've been getting his name wrong since I've been here. And he came in today and introduced himself. Very nice guy and I couldn't have apologized more. We had a short conversation and I think I apologized for butchering his name eleven or twelve more times throughout.
I felt sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo bad. And I thought I'd been championing all my life against Caroline. To think what this guy's had to go through.
Just goes to show, don't judge a person by their phone conversations.
Anyway, I make sure that people know my name is NOT Caroline and can get very touchy about it very fast. So I of all people should understand the plight of someone with a unique, atypical name. Taking this receptionist job has meant that I butcher names left and right. Marks become Mikes and Jens become Janeanes and I end up looking like an ass. I'm so sorry other person on the phone, but I can't hear you! Speak up and speak clearly! I don't know you, I've never met you and I'm sure if I did we'd be best friends forever. But it's just this short mini conversation we can have over and over again if you're not eloquent!
Me: Good Morning Our Company's Name!
Person with cottonballs in their mouth: So and so please.
ME: Who can I say is calling?
Person who managed to put more cottonballs in their mouth in the meantime: It's sjleon.
Me: I'm sorry who?
Person:Sjleon.
Me: I'm so sorry I'm having trouble hearing you. What did you say?
(this is the point where some people have hung up on me)
Person: SEAN.
Me: Ahem. Sorry. Where are you calling from?
Person: Bezzex.
Me: Bezzex?
Person. NO, Bezzex.
Me: Sean from Bezzex.
Person: Bus i ness X.
Me: Thank you hold on one moment.
Granted this has gotten easier over the past week as I begin to recognize the same people calling over and over. Except for the Myserious Brother. Someone kept calling for one of the partners here and I kept thinking they were saying it was their brother. Turns out his name is Butter. And turns out that I've been getting his name wrong since I've been here. And he came in today and introduced himself. Very nice guy and I couldn't have apologized more. We had a short conversation and I think I apologized for butchering his name eleven or twelve more times throughout.
I felt sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo bad. And I thought I'd been championing all my life against Caroline. To think what this guy's had to go through.
Just goes to show, don't judge a person by their phone conversations.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Fairy God-Hypothesis
Hypothesis: Moving to New York will bring more opportunity to learn about and work in the film and television industry, give me more inspiration and encouragement to write and be read.
When I was little I used to believe in very different kinds of things than I do today. I believed that fairies lived in my backyard. I believed that my parents knew everything in the world that there was to know. I believed that Santa Claus brought me presents every December. I believed that if I ran fast enough I could hold my arms out and fly. I believed that every night as lay me down to sleep if I prayed hard enough and for the right reasons God would answer, that He had a special angel whose mission was to watch over me (this sparked a whole series of late-night imagined skits between my straight-laced guardian angel and kooky fairy godmother).
On second thought, I don't know that things have changed all that much. I still believe ridiculous implausible things are possible. Becoming a writer. Becoming a credible television critic. Becoming a real non-student person. Earning a decent living. One day having time and money enough to cook all the recipes I want to try. Pay my parents back. Being someone who regularly exercises. Afford an iPhone. Read for pleasure all the time. Be able to walk in heels for more than two minutes. Get married. Raise a family. Speak french. Live in France. EGOT. Donate a million dollars to Cucalorus. The dreams kind of spiral into insanity from there (including buying Rolling Rock and moving it back to Latrobe, being on SNL, being US ambassador to France and inventing the best dessert since the chocolate chip cookie).
But I think some famous smart people have said things about how the idea has to come before the reality, the concept comes before the result and the hypothesis before the experiment. But I kind of think of all those dreams, goals, ambitions or desires were really the hypothesis to my life after graduation. I was a Film Studies major so I'm a bit rusty on the steps to the scientific method. But if memory serves me correctly then the next part is the methods or plan of attack. And that's where New York comes in.
There were a lot of reasons for me to stay in Wilmington. Friends, family, a network of people I knew and loved and worked with and studied with, and the big one: Cucalorus. It was a hard decision. But the more I thought about it the more it became clear. I'll always miss Wilmington, but like a good friend of mine said,"You can always come back." And I will come back, whether it be to visit or because I never made it here or to retire and start my chocolate mousse popsicle sandwich business.
But I had certain predictions for myself in Wilmington or at my parent's house. I would become frustrated, lazy, mean and less and less likely to actually pursue new opportunities. So to cut a long research process of this scientific inquiry short, I decided to move to New York as soon as possible.
Almost two weeks ago I shoved as much of my stuff as possible into two enormous suitcases, lugged them and my very sleepy family to the airport and said a teary temporary goodbye to my family, Cary, and Wilmington. Thus began the great New York Experiment. I know that all my beliefs will evolve and change like they did between age 5 and age 21. I know there's a great possibility of coming here and falling flat on my face, hating it here or never getting my foot in the door. I know, too, that the possibility of failure is even greater if I never put those beliefs to the test. You can't hit a target without aiming and firing and (to keep up with the whole science theme) you can't get results without a hypothesis and an experiment.
So this bloggity blog blog blog is to record, document and detail the different experiences, successes and failures alike, that I encounter here. So far the first two weeks have brought endless hours of job-hunting, two interviews, expensive groceries, 39 cent yogurt, great old friends from high school, new ones from down the hall, a couple of great film screenings, new love of the institution of brunch, a growing understanding of the metromaze, viewing all five seasons of weeds, a free espresso machine, and a new library card!
Details of those exploits in posts to come.
P.S.
(I still may or may not believe that if I run fast enough I can hold my arms out and fly.)
When I was little I used to believe in very different kinds of things than I do today. I believed that fairies lived in my backyard. I believed that my parents knew everything in the world that there was to know. I believed that Santa Claus brought me presents every December. I believed that if I ran fast enough I could hold my arms out and fly. I believed that every night as lay me down to sleep if I prayed hard enough and for the right reasons God would answer, that He had a special angel whose mission was to watch over me (this sparked a whole series of late-night imagined skits between my straight-laced guardian angel and kooky fairy godmother).
On second thought, I don't know that things have changed all that much. I still believe ridiculous implausible things are possible. Becoming a writer. Becoming a credible television critic. Becoming a real non-student person. Earning a decent living. One day having time and money enough to cook all the recipes I want to try. Pay my parents back. Being someone who regularly exercises. Afford an iPhone. Read for pleasure all the time. Be able to walk in heels for more than two minutes. Get married. Raise a family. Speak french. Live in France. EGOT. Donate a million dollars to Cucalorus. The dreams kind of spiral into insanity from there (including buying Rolling Rock and moving it back to Latrobe, being on SNL, being US ambassador to France and inventing the best dessert since the chocolate chip cookie).
But I think some famous smart people have said things about how the idea has to come before the reality, the concept comes before the result and the hypothesis before the experiment. But I kind of think of all those dreams, goals, ambitions or desires were really the hypothesis to my life after graduation. I was a Film Studies major so I'm a bit rusty on the steps to the scientific method. But if memory serves me correctly then the next part is the methods or plan of attack. And that's where New York comes in.
There were a lot of reasons for me to stay in Wilmington. Friends, family, a network of people I knew and loved and worked with and studied with, and the big one: Cucalorus. It was a hard decision. But the more I thought about it the more it became clear. I'll always miss Wilmington, but like a good friend of mine said,"You can always come back." And I will come back, whether it be to visit or because I never made it here or to retire and start my chocolate mousse popsicle sandwich business.
But I had certain predictions for myself in Wilmington or at my parent's house. I would become frustrated, lazy, mean and less and less likely to actually pursue new opportunities. So to cut a long research process of this scientific inquiry short, I decided to move to New York as soon as possible.
Almost two weeks ago I shoved as much of my stuff as possible into two enormous suitcases, lugged them and my very sleepy family to the airport and said a teary temporary goodbye to my family, Cary, and Wilmington. Thus began the great New York Experiment. I know that all my beliefs will evolve and change like they did between age 5 and age 21. I know there's a great possibility of coming here and falling flat on my face, hating it here or never getting my foot in the door. I know, too, that the possibility of failure is even greater if I never put those beliefs to the test. You can't hit a target without aiming and firing and (to keep up with the whole science theme) you can't get results without a hypothesis and an experiment.
So this bloggity blog blog blog is to record, document and detail the different experiences, successes and failures alike, that I encounter here. So far the first two weeks have brought endless hours of job-hunting, two interviews, expensive groceries, 39 cent yogurt, great old friends from high school, new ones from down the hall, a couple of great film screenings, new love of the institution of brunch, a growing understanding of the metromaze, viewing all five seasons of weeds, a free espresso machine, and a new library card!
Details of those exploits in posts to come.
P.S.
(I still may or may not believe that if I run fast enough I can hold my arms out and fly.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)