This time around, New York feels different. Definitely hotter, more crowded, a little spastic. Or maybe that's just me because I feel like I can't focus. Everything is a bit hazy. (Not literally, the weather has been great.) I haven't found my groove yet, and I'm a little worried it's not coming soon. Last November I hit the city running and was in a controlled rush to do it all. Now I'm trying to flag down the muse but it looks like she's run off to the Hamptons. Flighty bitch.
I'm bunkering down in the Lower East Side for about two weeks, renting from a website that is now one of the hottest startups in the Bay. I interviewed with them when they were still a four person company and thought I'd be a shoo-in for the job. Obviously not. Now I read about them all over the interwebs and find out how much funding they're receiving. What if I had (gotten and) stuck around with that job, would I be totally balling and moving on up? Who knows.
The apartment I'm staying at is a fifth floor walkup, advertised as being in LES but really more Alphabet City. I'm two blocks away from the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, which I'll have to visit soon, even if it's been subpar recently. For the daily cost, this place is much cheaper than a hotel but you lose certain amenities. For one, the shower is fussy. Lava jets out every few minutes so you have to be ready to step away at any time. The entire apartment floor slopes down yet the cabinets are ramrod straight because they are built with a counter wedge riser on the bottom. I can't figure out why they didn't just correct the lean before constructing the apartments here. I keep imagining what New York would look like if they blasted all the decrepit buildings and rebuilt them to have proper plumbing and modern alignments. People would probably go crazy at the loss of "charm." I'm not sure when "old" becomes "charm" but I say to hell with it and wrecking ball away.
My unseen host left three sets of sheets, four brand new towels, plenty of toilet paper, drawer space galore, and a lonely Red Stripe in the fridge. What she did not leave behind was wifi. I should have checked for wifi in the ad -- I thought I did -- but it's not available and that has upended my early week rooming situation. Victor was forced out to Chelsea as I bounced back and forth trying to snag any wifi time I could. I have only myself to blame for the incredible oversight. I only need one thing to live anywhere, and I forgot to check for that one thing.
In related news: I've been highly productive writing at night without the distraction of the Internet. This is the double edged sword people are always talking about. Inspired by reading online but constantly derailed from productivity by that very same reading. Oh the drama! A writing app called Freedom allows you to set a timer to cut off Internet access for a pre-determined length of time. I thought it was the dumbest thing I'd ever heard of but after this wifi-less week, I see its utility. The makers of Freedom clearly knew that human willpower was too weak to resist Google. The initial name for the app had to be "Discipline," before the marketing people got around to it.
The girl who lives in this three hundred square foot palace is a Russian model -- I maybe Internet sleuthed her -- and has an affinity for bad Scarlett Johannson movies and a subscription to Vogue. There's one painting, one poster, and a map of the transit system. Other personal affects are limited to a basic television and two stuffed animals. The mirror that hangs over the bricked in fireplace, filled with dilapidated candles, is much bigger than usual. I hope it was a tax write off.
I try to imagine this model coming back from international shoots or epic Manhattan parties, peeling open that one beer, and then passing out before showering because she's too tired to risk scalding her valuable skin in flame water. I can't tell if I'm jealous this is her life or sad that this counts as making it in New York. The rent for this place must be tremendous.
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