Why hasn't Pawlene been blogging lately?
Have you heard about the summer weather we've been having? It's all I can do to drag myself from under the bed to the tiled bathroom floor to find a cooler place to lay my belly. The only respite we've gotten has been LOUD thunderstorms and brief but torrential rain showers. The latter occur only when there is some music-related event happening in Central Park. Erika has planned and cancelled TWO picnics now. The last picnic wasn't technically cancelled, it was just moved indoors. Instead of listening to the New York Philharmonic perform Mendelssohn on the Great Lawn, we blasted Beethoven's Ninth on the stereo in the living room of our apartment with various assorted good-natured friends. At least Batch 2.0 of the S'more brownies did not go to waste. They aren't *quite* the same as Citizen Cake's addictive (and pricey!) morsels, but they are darned close. More experimentation is necessary as soon as Erika and Martin drop the 5 lbs they gained from the first two batches. This week, it's hummus. Just dry cat food for me, thanks.
Erika and Martin found an ideal way to beat the heat on Sunday - after lazing around Central Park and catching up on phone calls, they spent 2 delicious hours at the well-air-conditioned Ziegfield Theater watching Ratatouille. The movie was delightful (despite the slam on the French), but the Ziegfield was out of this world. *Friendly*, charismatic ushers! *Good* popcorn! Acres of seats! A tiny personal sink in each ladies' bathroom stall! Ok, it's the small stuff but WOW, Erika had forgotten that movies used to be like this. Does anyone remember the good old Varsity Theater in Palo Alto, BEFORE it turned into a chain book store? Now THAT was a Movie Theater. Poor Martin didn't even know about pre-movie organ music. Is the Stanford Movie theater still open? They sure don't make them like they used to...
Monday, July 16, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
You're a Kitty!
In honor of my birthday (yesterday - I turned 7), here is the cartoon that had Erika, Martin, and Andy in stitches the other night. Personally, I don't get it.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Guest Rant: Erika on the PATH train
Happy Birthday, Martin!!!
Pawlene is still recovering from last week’s bath, and has kindly agreed to let me use this space for a rant that has been slowly building for the past 2 weeks. 2 weeks and 2 days, to be exact.
I hate the PATH. For the uninitiated, the PATH or “Port Authority Trans-Hudson Corporation” train, is the fastest, cheapest way to get from Manhattan to New Jersey. It’s an underground subway system, much like the New York City subway, that travels under the Hudson River. Now, I *adore* the subway – it is often faster than taking a cab, I love the folks who sing and play music in the stations and sometimes on the trains, I love how frequently it runs, I love the choreographed chaos at the big stations like 42nd Street where thousands of New Yorkers expertly thread through and around each other as they rush forward to make their transfers. I really love those infrequent conductors who personalize their spiel with an addendum to their announcement: “Now arriving 34th Street: Penn Station, Madison Square Garden, Home of the World-Famous Knicks!” I even love the rats – I once counted 9 separate rats frolicking and foraging between the rails at Penn Station. Rat-spotting is my favorite past time while waiting for a train. But I digress. This rant is about the PATH.
After just a few days of taking the PATH train consistently to and from work and various Manhattan-based appointments, I noticed a steadily building feeling of resentment and distaste for my daily commute. I decided to analyze the problem, briefly querying Martin, who also hates the PATH (to the point of being willing to spend over 3 times as much to take the ferry). No, it’s not just because the PATH goes to New Jersey, or because it happens to carry us to our j-o-bs. In order to figure out why I hate the PATH so much, I decided to compare the PATH with my beloved subway. What is the difference between the PATH and the subway?
1. The Stairs vs. The Conveyor Belt
To access any subway station in New York City, you must use stairs. Yes, of course there are elevators for those who need them, but really, everyone uses the stairs. Sometimes there are a LOT of stairs, but there are always landings to rest on, large expanses to cross in between, turns to break it up. Sometimes you will have to go down the stairs, only to go up more stairs (and down still MORE stairs) before your reach your platform. This may seem inconvenient, but it’s great exercise, and it’s all part of the commuter ballet and the novelty of utilizing a mode of public transportation that has been in existence for over 100 years.
In contrast, when you reach the Exchange Place station in New Jersey (re-modeled in 2003), where Martin and I both exit the PATH train, you have a choice of taking either the elevator or the escalator. There is one set of stairs, but it is the longest stretch of unbroken stairway I have ever seen. It’s daunting just to look at, and this is coming from someone who used to choose to get up at 0 dark 30 every Tuesday just to run up and down these things in NW Portland. And so we go from horizontally speeding mechanized metal box to vertically elevating mechanized metal box. This has the unnerving effect of being completely out of control of one’s own destiny. The escalator is slightly better, because we can choose to take the passing lane and hike up the escalator, but I still get that “lump of meat on a conveyor belt” feeling. It’s very futuristic, I suppose, to just shift yourself from one moving box or belt to another until you reach your destination with very little actual effort on your part, but I like the novelty of moving at my own speed up and down stairs. The feeling of insignificance is intensified when we leave the station and walk along the waterfront to our respective workplaces because the scale of the buildings in waterfront Jersey City is designed to impress (they are Powerful Financial Institutions), and make you feel small. Not to mention the TWO depressing memorials we pass in less than a quarter of a mile. One, honoring the victims of the Katyn Massacre (a Polish massacre by Soviet troops in 1940) dramatically and hugely depicts a man in the moment just after he has been stabbed in the back by a bayonet. But Jersey City itself is another rant.
2. The Clientele
The most noticeable difference between the New York City Subway and the PATH is the clientele. Between Jersey and New York, you get pretty much one type – professional commuters, en route to or from their white-collar office jobs. Men with short hair cuts in blue shirts and khakis, women in flip flops with enormous purses. No harmonizing crooners. No pan handlers with tales of woe. No smelly bums [Ok, Martin just contested this myth with a truly terrifying tale of Stench]. But definitely no hipsters. And no fashionistas to remind us why we are grateful that the 80s are over. Again, this may sound like a good thing to many of you, but I miss the eye candy. The main reason for the homogenous clientele is the limitations of the PATH train routes. It’s only 13.8 miles and it only goes to 4 places, and you can’t get off and walk if you don’t like it, unless you’ve brought your SCUBA gear. The NYC Subway, on the other hand, is comprised of 842 miles of track. So many places to go! The possibilities and permutations are endless…and YOU are in control of how you reach your destiny. More than on the PATH at any rate.
3. The Stations
There are two kinds of stations on the PATH – large, modern, recently re-modeled stations (Exchange Place) and tiny, cramped, ancient stations. The ancient stations in New York City make me think of either bygone eras when people actually cared about (and for) their surroundings (beautiful tile mosaics) or the fact that nobody really knows where all of these tunnels go, how they connect, or what is living in them (bizarre stalactites of some unidentified calcified mineral leaking from the roof, The Mole People by Jennifer Toth). The older PATH stations, in contrast, just make me vaguely claustrophobic and depressed. I always feel like I’m going to hit my head on the ceiling in the Pavonia station, and then I start to wonder what exactly is coating the ceiling – whether it was an intentional “granite-like” texture that some mis-guided interior designer decided to spray on, or if it’s just grime that has gotten caught in an impossible-to-clean layer of asbestos. The “décor” is invariably generic and utterly without charm or aesthetic value. And, there are no trash cans. The PATH stations were clearly not designed with the customer in mind.
4. The Wind
Any rant about the PATH would be incomplete without mention of the winds that rush forcefully through every station. It has something to do with the design of the tunnels. In the New York City subway system, there are tunnels upon tunnels leading and merging in and out of other tunnels. The strange effect that this configuration produces is that of “leftover air”. In the underground, the temperature is almost always what it what above ground the day before. So, if it was 90 degrees in Manhattan on Monday and 70 degrees on Tuesday, it will be 90 degrees in the subway station on Tuesday and 70 degrees on Wednesday.
PATH tunnels are designed differently, and produce an entirely different effect. According to the badly written Wikipedia entry for the PATH: “The tunnels are separate for each track, which enables a better ventilation by so-called piston effect. When a train passes through the tunnel it pushes out the air in front of it toward the closest ventilation shaft it front, and "sucks-in" the air to the tunnel from the closest ventilation shaft behind it.” At any rate, the effect is that of standing in (or fighting against, if you are trying to leave the station) a gale-force windstorm while you are waiting for your train. Try that in a dress, with long hair, wearing sticky lipstick, and attempting to read the paper. It’s hard, and creates additional undue stress in my commute.
In Sum
I love New York City because I can choose to do, see, eat, and experience (almost) anything I want, whenever I want. I value diversity and freedom of choice. It’s why I don’t go to Starbucks (yet another rant). The PATH train reduces my options in many ways, and forces me to travel in a claustrophobic, boring, uncomfortable little box instead of meandering through the streets, admiring the wonders and humanity of this amazing City on my way to work in another boring little box.
Pawlene is still recovering from last week’s bath, and has kindly agreed to let me use this space for a rant that has been slowly building for the past 2 weeks. 2 weeks and 2 days, to be exact.
I hate the PATH. For the uninitiated, the PATH or “Port Authority Trans-Hudson Corporation” train, is the fastest, cheapest way to get from Manhattan to New Jersey. It’s an underground subway system, much like the New York City subway, that travels under the Hudson River. Now, I *adore* the subway – it is often faster than taking a cab, I love the folks who sing and play music in the stations and sometimes on the trains, I love how frequently it runs, I love the choreographed chaos at the big stations like 42nd Street where thousands of New Yorkers expertly thread through and around each other as they rush forward to make their transfers. I really love those infrequent conductors who personalize their spiel with an addendum to their announcement: “Now arriving 34th Street: Penn Station, Madison Square Garden, Home of the World-Famous Knicks!” I even love the rats – I once counted 9 separate rats frolicking and foraging between the rails at Penn Station. Rat-spotting is my favorite past time while waiting for a train. But I digress. This rant is about the PATH.
After just a few days of taking the PATH train consistently to and from work and various Manhattan-based appointments, I noticed a steadily building feeling of resentment and distaste for my daily commute. I decided to analyze the problem, briefly querying Martin, who also hates the PATH (to the point of being willing to spend over 3 times as much to take the ferry). No, it’s not just because the PATH goes to New Jersey, or because it happens to carry us to our j-o-bs. In order to figure out why I hate the PATH so much, I decided to compare the PATH with my beloved subway. What is the difference between the PATH and the subway?
1. The Stairs vs. The Conveyor Belt
To access any subway station in New York City, you must use stairs. Yes, of course there are elevators for those who need them, but really, everyone uses the stairs. Sometimes there are a LOT of stairs, but there are always landings to rest on, large expanses to cross in between, turns to break it up. Sometimes you will have to go down the stairs, only to go up more stairs (and down still MORE stairs) before your reach your platform. This may seem inconvenient, but it’s great exercise, and it’s all part of the commuter ballet and the novelty of utilizing a mode of public transportation that has been in existence for over 100 years.
In contrast, when you reach the Exchange Place station in New Jersey (re-modeled in 2003), where Martin and I both exit the PATH train, you have a choice of taking either the elevator or the escalator. There is one set of stairs, but it is the longest stretch of unbroken stairway I have ever seen. It’s daunting just to look at, and this is coming from someone who used to choose to get up at 0 dark 30 every Tuesday just to run up and down these things in NW Portland. And so we go from horizontally speeding mechanized metal box to vertically elevating mechanized metal box. This has the unnerving effect of being completely out of control of one’s own destiny. The escalator is slightly better, because we can choose to take the passing lane and hike up the escalator, but I still get that “lump of meat on a conveyor belt” feeling. It’s very futuristic, I suppose, to just shift yourself from one moving box or belt to another until you reach your destination with very little actual effort on your part, but I like the novelty of moving at my own speed up and down stairs. The feeling of insignificance is intensified when we leave the station and walk along the waterfront to our respective workplaces because the scale of the buildings in waterfront Jersey City is designed to impress (they are Powerful Financial Institutions), and make you feel small. Not to mention the TWO depressing memorials we pass in less than a quarter of a mile. One, honoring the victims of the Katyn Massacre (a Polish massacre by Soviet troops in 1940) dramatically and hugely depicts a man in the moment just after he has been stabbed in the back by a bayonet. But Jersey City itself is another rant.
2. The Clientele
The most noticeable difference between the New York City Subway and the PATH is the clientele. Between Jersey and New York, you get pretty much one type – professional commuters, en route to or from their white-collar office jobs. Men with short hair cuts in blue shirts and khakis, women in flip flops with enormous purses. No harmonizing crooners. No pan handlers with tales of woe. No smelly bums [Ok, Martin just contested this myth with a truly terrifying tale of Stench]. But definitely no hipsters. And no fashionistas to remind us why we are grateful that the 80s are over. Again, this may sound like a good thing to many of you, but I miss the eye candy. The main reason for the homogenous clientele is the limitations of the PATH train routes. It’s only 13.8 miles and it only goes to 4 places, and you can’t get off and walk if you don’t like it, unless you’ve brought your SCUBA gear. The NYC Subway, on the other hand, is comprised of 842 miles of track. So many places to go! The possibilities and permutations are endless…and YOU are in control of how you reach your destiny. More than on the PATH at any rate.
3. The Stations
There are two kinds of stations on the PATH – large, modern, recently re-modeled stations (Exchange Place) and tiny, cramped, ancient stations. The ancient stations in New York City make me think of either bygone eras when people actually cared about (and for) their surroundings (beautiful tile mosaics) or the fact that nobody really knows where all of these tunnels go, how they connect, or what is living in them (bizarre stalactites of some unidentified calcified mineral leaking from the roof, The Mole People by Jennifer Toth). The older PATH stations, in contrast, just make me vaguely claustrophobic and depressed. I always feel like I’m going to hit my head on the ceiling in the Pavonia station, and then I start to wonder what exactly is coating the ceiling – whether it was an intentional “granite-like” texture that some mis-guided interior designer decided to spray on, or if it’s just grime that has gotten caught in an impossible-to-clean layer of asbestos. The “décor” is invariably generic and utterly without charm or aesthetic value. And, there are no trash cans. The PATH stations were clearly not designed with the customer in mind.
4. The Wind
Any rant about the PATH would be incomplete without mention of the winds that rush forcefully through every station. It has something to do with the design of the tunnels. In the New York City subway system, there are tunnels upon tunnels leading and merging in and out of other tunnels. The strange effect that this configuration produces is that of “leftover air”. In the underground, the temperature is almost always what it what above ground the day before. So, if it was 90 degrees in Manhattan on Monday and 70 degrees on Tuesday, it will be 90 degrees in the subway station on Tuesday and 70 degrees on Wednesday.
PATH tunnels are designed differently, and produce an entirely different effect. According to the badly written Wikipedia entry for the PATH: “The tunnels are separate for each track, which enables a better ventilation by so-called piston effect. When a train passes through the tunnel it pushes out the air in front of it toward the closest ventilation shaft it front, and "sucks-in" the air to the tunnel from the closest ventilation shaft behind it.” At any rate, the effect is that of standing in (or fighting against, if you are trying to leave the station) a gale-force windstorm while you are waiting for your train. Try that in a dress, with long hair, wearing sticky lipstick, and attempting to read the paper. It’s hard, and creates additional undue stress in my commute.
In Sum
I love New York City because I can choose to do, see, eat, and experience (almost) anything I want, whenever I want. I value diversity and freedom of choice. It’s why I don’t go to Starbucks (yet another rant). The PATH train reduces my options in many ways, and forces me to travel in a claustrophobic, boring, uncomfortable little box instead of meandering through the streets, admiring the wonders and humanity of this amazing City on my way to work in another boring little box.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
State Cat
"The Way Life Should Be" appears to have won out over Maine's OLD official state motto, which was "I Lead". We know this because it was on the sign Martin and Erika drove past when they crossed the border from New Hampshire. They were up there or "down east" as they say in Maine, over Memorial Day weekend to celebrate their 1-year wedding anniversary (yay!). Erika decided to do a bit of research into the slogan, and made an Important Discovery along the way. The coolest thing about Maine is that they have, along with a state motto, a state flower, and all that other stuff that you have to memorize in junior high - a State Cat! Yes, the Maine Coon Cat is Maine's Official State Cat. As far as Erika can tell, Maine is the only state with an Official State Cat. From the Maine Secretary of State's page: "Maine Coon Cats are tall, muscular, big-boned cats; males commonly reach 13 to 18 pounds, with females normally weighing about 9 to 12 pounds. Maine Coons don't achieve their full size until they are three to five years old. Their voices set them apart from other cats; they have a distinctive, chirping trill." THIS IS SO *ME*!!! I must be part Coon! Tall? Yes. Muscular? Well, sort of. Big-boned? ABSOLUTELY. Plus, I chirp. I also bark upon occasion, but that is another blog post.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
We love visitors!
Erika's parents just stayed with us for a few days, and it was delightful. Mostly because I got all of that extra attention, but Erika enjoyed it not only because she actually likes spending time with her parents, but because she got to do all of those things that we only do when tourists are in town.
Mostly we just went from meal to meal - there is nothing Erika enjoys more than partaking in and showing off the bounty, variety, and high quality of eating out in New York City. After a valiant effort to cook and stay in on Saturday (with the exception of a brief visit to Katz's Deli for a pastrami sandwich), the rest of the visit was about eating out. Starting with Jack's coffee and delicious muffin/bagel/scone/pain au chocolat almost every single morning. On Sunday we had Dim Sum at our new favorite place (Ping's - thanks Wendy) followed by green apple, grapefruit, and ginger gelato at Il Laboratorio del Gelato AND a Viennese torte with plenty of whipped cream at the Neue Galerie to fill in the gap before an amazing dining experience at Gramercy Tavern in honor of Erika and Martin's 1-year wedding anniversary (thanks Parents!). Erika's favorite part of that meal - the diminutive "pre-dessert" serving of panna cotta with fresh nutmeg and rhubarb. That was the course BEFORE the main dessert and the "post-dessert" truffles. Monday we restrained ourselves and just grabbed a burrito during a quick lunch break from shopping at Century 21. In reality, we were saving ourselves for the Best Steak Ever at Peter Luger's in Brooklyn. That place knows how to cook meat like nothing I've ever tasted. By Tuesday we were looking for something a little lighter, so we stopped by the Dosa Man's cart in Washington Square Park for a little al fresco south Indian dining. At dinner we showed equal self-restraint, dining in the garden at our local southeast Asian place - Cafe Asean.
There was art, too! We didn't just eat. The Tiffany show and "From Gaudi to Dali" at the Met - always a treat. Van Gogh and his Austrian counterparts at the Neue Galerie - equally fantastic. And we fit in a few galleries as well. Erika's favorite was Tim Hawkinson's brilliant, funny and whimsical works at Pace-Wildenstein. That guy never ceases to amaze and elicit a giggle or two. And, of course, there was shopping. Erika introduced mom to H&M - her wardrobe will never be the same.
So, consider this an open call for visitors! We need an excuse to go to the top of the Empire State Building, take the free ferry to Staten Island, see a show or two...and, as Erika is starting her New Job on June 4, I will need extra attention to make up for being alone all day long. Summer is a lovely time to be in New York City - we look forward to more guests.
Mostly we just went from meal to meal - there is nothing Erika enjoys more than partaking in and showing off the bounty, variety, and high quality of eating out in New York City. After a valiant effort to cook and stay in on Saturday (with the exception of a brief visit to Katz's Deli for a pastrami sandwich), the rest of the visit was about eating out. Starting with Jack's coffee and delicious muffin/bagel/scone/pain au chocolat almost every single morning. On Sunday we had Dim Sum at our new favorite place (Ping's - thanks Wendy) followed by green apple, grapefruit, and ginger gelato at Il Laboratorio del Gelato AND a Viennese torte with plenty of whipped cream at the Neue Galerie to fill in the gap before an amazing dining experience at Gramercy Tavern in honor of Erika and Martin's 1-year wedding anniversary (thanks Parents!). Erika's favorite part of that meal - the diminutive "pre-dessert" serving of panna cotta with fresh nutmeg and rhubarb. That was the course BEFORE the main dessert and the "post-dessert" truffles. Monday we restrained ourselves and just grabbed a burrito during a quick lunch break from shopping at Century 21. In reality, we were saving ourselves for the Best Steak Ever at Peter Luger's in Brooklyn. That place knows how to cook meat like nothing I've ever tasted. By Tuesday we were looking for something a little lighter, so we stopped by the Dosa Man's cart in Washington Square Park for a little al fresco south Indian dining. At dinner we showed equal self-restraint, dining in the garden at our local southeast Asian place - Cafe Asean.
There was art, too! We didn't just eat. The Tiffany show and "From Gaudi to Dali" at the Met - always a treat. Van Gogh and his Austrian counterparts at the Neue Galerie - equally fantastic. And we fit in a few galleries as well. Erika's favorite was Tim Hawkinson's brilliant, funny and whimsical works at Pace-Wildenstein. That guy never ceases to amaze and elicit a giggle or two. And, of course, there was shopping. Erika introduced mom to H&M - her wardrobe will never be the same.
So, consider this an open call for visitors! We need an excuse to go to the top of the Empire State Building, take the free ferry to Staten Island, see a show or two...and, as Erika is starting her New Job on June 4, I will need extra attention to make up for being alone all day long. Summer is a lovely time to be in New York City - we look forward to more guests.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Step Two
So, we were quite excited to move into our new apartment AND get all of our boxes of Stuff from Portland, but then we realized that we had gotten rid of all of our furniture and had nothing to unpack the boxes *into*. And so began step two of the move: The Grand Furniture Acquisition. I have already found my favorite spot, in the corner of the bedroom, overlooking Jefferson Market (see pic). Nothing much has changed in my corner besides the addition of some cat grass (Erika decided I wasn't getting enough roughage in my diet). However, the rest of the apartment now looks completely different than it did a week ago. We have a new pot rack, sofa, reading chair, desk, dresser, kitchen island (still needs to be assembled), and while Erika was out assisting at the culinary school last weekend, Martin painted 2/3 of the apartment yellow. By the time Erika's parents arrive on Friday, we are hoping to have 90% of the boxes unpacked, the art hung, and maybe even a new coffee table or lamp. It's starting to look like home. Erika cooked our first meal chez nous last Saturday - steak, asparagus, and new potatoes, all from the Farmer's Market.
In employment news, Martin has found some new and interesting challenges at work, which has him smiling a little bit more as he hops on the PATH train to Jersey City each morning. Erika has been thoroughly enjoying working at the culinary school office and occasionally in the kitchen (Chocolate! Bisteeya! New Basics!) but this, like all good things, must end. And rather soon, it appears. She has received a bona fide Job Offer for a job that actually pays money, instead of just rewarding her with all of the free cooking classes she could ever possibly want to take. Ironically, this company is located just a few doors down from Martin's building in Jersey City. On the good side, it appears to be a job that she will not hate. It even boasts a fancy new title: "Relationship Manager". On the very good side, this particular Fortune 10 company has offices in 130 countries, including the Czech Republic! Stay tuned...
For those of you who have been wondering what happened to the plans of raising goats on a communal farm somewhere far away from subways and taxi cabs, fear not. We are still on this path (and I don't mean the train to New Jersey). It's just been moved out a few years, in the interest of earning some money to fund this lovely rural dream. Erika is busy taking lots of food business classes and getting to know the farmers and foodies of the Hudson Valley to figure out where the gaps are. Martin is circling in on his Plan B, which this week involves a school house in a small town where local teenagers learn how to divide 307 head of cattle into equal parts.
Oh - the best thing about our new apartment (besides the fact that we no longer need to own a clock): Lassi, the Indian take-out shop located IN our building, run by a delightful former pastry chef.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Home!
After MUCH drama, we have arrived in our new home in the West Village, and it appears that our things will arrive from Portland at the end of this week. PHEW!
The timeline went something like this:
4/26: Erika tries to pick up the keys and is told by the super that the apartment will not be ready for "2 or 3 months". Panic ensues.
4/27: Building owner and super cannot agree on our move-in date. Building owner refuses to sign our lease. We are told to call back on Monday (4/30 or the last day of April) to find out if we can move in on 5/1.
4/28 - 4/29: Erika and Martin tour Brooklyn, find a *lovely* home in Clinton Hill for 2/3 the West Village rent, find decent BBQ in Williamsburg (Fette Saue) and feel slightly better with Plan B in place.
4/30: After some wavering over whether or not we even want this West Village apartment, Erika and Martin venture down to the leasing office to get the news. Building owner calls super and confirms that we can move in to the West Village apartment and signs the lease at the end of the day. We pick up the keys from the super that evening and all is well. We spend the night at a sublet in the East Village after Erika, Andrew, and Martin make a few trips up and down the 5-story walk-up to move our few things in to the apartment.
5/1: Erika moves me and my things into the apartment, getting a parking ticket in the process, and promptly locks herself out. The super's wife cannot open the door. The handyman cannot open the door. The property manager cannot open the door. I panic, hearing Erika on the other side of the door, and begin meowing desperately, which makes everything worse. Eventually, after many trips up and down the 5-story walk-up to retrieve various sets of keys, the handyman goes up on the roof, down the fire escape, through the window, and opens the door from the inside. Erika bursts in, relieved, until she realizes that I am nowhere to be found and the window is wide open. Real panic ensues, with Erika, the property manager, and the handyman racing all over the house trying to find me. Just as the handyman is climbing out onto the fire escape, Erika opens the cupboard door under the sink to find me cowering silently in the corner. The property manager had inadvertently closed the cupboard door as I hid.
All in all, the apartment is lovely. It is a corner, top-floor unit that receives an abundance of sunshine. The clock tower on what we call the "courthouse" (apparently this building (Jefferson Market) has served as a courthouse, branch library and even a women’s detention center at one point in the early 1900s) is visible from every room, so we always know what time it is. The building itself is set back from the street, so we get very little street noise. The noisiest thing around is the birds who inhabit the trees that grace each window. The five flights of stairs will take some getting used to, but Erika and Martin needed some sort of fitness regimen anyway. All we really need now is furniture.
The timeline went something like this:
4/26: Erika tries to pick up the keys and is told by the super that the apartment will not be ready for "2 or 3 months". Panic ensues.
4/27: Building owner and super cannot agree on our move-in date. Building owner refuses to sign our lease. We are told to call back on Monday (4/30 or the last day of April) to find out if we can move in on 5/1.
4/28 - 4/29: Erika and Martin tour Brooklyn, find a *lovely* home in Clinton Hill for 2/3 the West Village rent, find decent BBQ in Williamsburg (Fette Saue) and feel slightly better with Plan B in place.
4/30: After some wavering over whether or not we even want this West Village apartment, Erika and Martin venture down to the leasing office to get the news. Building owner calls super and confirms that we can move in to the West Village apartment and signs the lease at the end of the day. We pick up the keys from the super that evening and all is well. We spend the night at a sublet in the East Village after Erika, Andrew, and Martin make a few trips up and down the 5-story walk-up to move our few things in to the apartment.
5/1: Erika moves me and my things into the apartment, getting a parking ticket in the process, and promptly locks herself out. The super's wife cannot open the door. The handyman cannot open the door. The property manager cannot open the door. I panic, hearing Erika on the other side of the door, and begin meowing desperately, which makes everything worse. Eventually, after many trips up and down the 5-story walk-up to retrieve various sets of keys, the handyman goes up on the roof, down the fire escape, through the window, and opens the door from the inside. Erika bursts in, relieved, until she realizes that I am nowhere to be found and the window is wide open. Real panic ensues, with Erika, the property manager, and the handyman racing all over the house trying to find me. Just as the handyman is climbing out onto the fire escape, Erika opens the cupboard door under the sink to find me cowering silently in the corner. The property manager had inadvertently closed the cupboard door as I hid.
All in all, the apartment is lovely. It is a corner, top-floor unit that receives an abundance of sunshine. The clock tower on what we call the "courthouse" (apparently this building (Jefferson Market) has served as a courthouse, branch library and even a women’s detention center at one point in the early 1900s) is visible from every room, so we always know what time it is. The building itself is set back from the street, so we get very little street noise. The noisiest thing around is the birds who inhabit the trees that grace each window. The five flights of stairs will take some getting used to, but Erika and Martin needed some sort of fitness regimen anyway. All we really need now is furniture.
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