Not the Big One; we've still got to flip the calendar for that one. This was of the relocation variety; more something that occasions a gripe on Facebook than a warm and fuzzy personal missive to all those known and others that could have been known better. Just put out the bulletin and see who wants a couple Friday evening beers in exchange for hauling some rice bags stuffed with hangers and neglected shoes to the fourth floor of the next place you will never truly sink into. Ah, home. Or, the best approximate for what a home could be for someone transient even by Brooklyn's loose standards.
What floor was it on? How many guys helped out? How many have you done? This sadistic act of swapping living spaces is the Big Apple's national sport. If the ancestors could picture me sweating in a stairway, laboring over a Case Magic stuffed with CDs I haven't listened to in a decade, they would've toughed out the Potato Famine. And the Bolsheviks. The reprisals after the Spring of Nations would have been nothing compared to this sad envisioning of their progeny.
This is what keeps us packing light. This is what keeps us vigilant. This is what makes us truly New Yorkers. Moving in New York is the only thing that makes you feel more naked than the day you were born. At birth, you're bald, covered in blood, slathered in acne, and more resembling a Mongolian appetizer than a living soul, but at least you haven't developed your conscience. Stand outside a brownstone next to the same flannel bedspread you used in your college dorm room brushing against the urine-soaked pavement, beside a crate full of books that include the Spanish-translated Harry Potter series, and then tell me you could possibly feel more vulnerable. Throw in the fact that it's all in a borrowed Volvo that won't start and you've just promised food to a half-dozen and things can get a little tense. Not like September's hot enough as it is. Fortunately, we're resourceful, New Yorkers that is, so we know to go down to the auto yard at Clifton and ask if they know someone with a van. He's Franky and he'll show up in a half-hour, and the next thing you know you're out $60 but it's nighttime, Evan Williams sitting beside you, and you can stare out at the bags containing everything you own, and you know that you'll unpack most of them. You might even hang one of the framed pictures. But not too many. Best not get carried away now.
Temporary digs for temporary people. People do not move to New York and have their Oklahoma Moment: stick a flag in the ground, spit against the wind, talk about where they'll milk and the strong farm hands they'll breed. This is the city for the tortured souls, those who want to treat their life like a concrete Slip n' Slide with a broken hose. They hand you beers along the way, but the only certainty after the experience is that you went on the ride and that you're somehow better off for it. It's a bit like the military, but our tattoos are not supposed to have a common thread.
Which is all to say......something, but What Exactly seems to be a bit elusive. All I really know is that I should be having Poignant Thoughts about how this will be my Final Apartment in the great New York City Experiment, but that still feels a bit too early. Or too late? By this point, I don't even know. I'll just stare at my books and think about how I really don't want to read Faulkner. I'll look at an African mask and think about how I don't want to hang it. I'll look at my sheets and think about "making my bed", but I'll just refresh the Evan Williams and give myself a mulligan. I just got here, after all. Best not to push myself too much. I'm newly born and fully exposed and feel like, for at least this night, I can be a thumbsucker once again.
For those keeping score at home
0 for 3 last week, including a Buffs loss. I didn't get laid, but might as well check to see if I got the clap by some vengeful deity anyway. Fortunately, Sportsbook.com gives a bonus registration credit and I've got $15, all of which will go to Oklahoma State (-10.5) over a shaky Arizona squad. It's still Alabama's title to lose, and this feels like the week A&M justifies its conference presence with a Solid Win over the Gators. Georgia's good, but they're consistency is in the early season choke job and that just might come at Faurot Field. Buffs, unimpressively, by 17. LSU mauls the Huskies. Don't be surprised to see Sparty fall. The game slate is shit this week, so, in other words, a great one to spend outside. You'll find me on a barstool anyway. And never, never-fucking-ever, wager confidently in the first week of the season. It's time to get professional.
What floor was it on? How many guys helped out? How many have you done? This sadistic act of swapping living spaces is the Big Apple's national sport. If the ancestors could picture me sweating in a stairway, laboring over a Case Magic stuffed with CDs I haven't listened to in a decade, they would've toughed out the Potato Famine. And the Bolsheviks. The reprisals after the Spring of Nations would have been nothing compared to this sad envisioning of their progeny.
This is what keeps us packing light. This is what keeps us vigilant. This is what makes us truly New Yorkers. Moving in New York is the only thing that makes you feel more naked than the day you were born. At birth, you're bald, covered in blood, slathered in acne, and more resembling a Mongolian appetizer than a living soul, but at least you haven't developed your conscience. Stand outside a brownstone next to the same flannel bedspread you used in your college dorm room brushing against the urine-soaked pavement, beside a crate full of books that include the Spanish-translated Harry Potter series, and then tell me you could possibly feel more vulnerable. Throw in the fact that it's all in a borrowed Volvo that won't start and you've just promised food to a half-dozen and things can get a little tense. Not like September's hot enough as it is. Fortunately, we're resourceful, New Yorkers that is, so we know to go down to the auto yard at Clifton and ask if they know someone with a van. He's Franky and he'll show up in a half-hour, and the next thing you know you're out $60 but it's nighttime, Evan Williams sitting beside you, and you can stare out at the bags containing everything you own, and you know that you'll unpack most of them. You might even hang one of the framed pictures. But not too many. Best not get carried away now.
Temporary digs for temporary people. People do not move to New York and have their Oklahoma Moment: stick a flag in the ground, spit against the wind, talk about where they'll milk and the strong farm hands they'll breed. This is the city for the tortured souls, those who want to treat their life like a concrete Slip n' Slide with a broken hose. They hand you beers along the way, but the only certainty after the experience is that you went on the ride and that you're somehow better off for it. It's a bit like the military, but our tattoos are not supposed to have a common thread.
Which is all to say......something, but What Exactly seems to be a bit elusive. All I really know is that I should be having Poignant Thoughts about how this will be my Final Apartment in the great New York City Experiment, but that still feels a bit too early. Or too late? By this point, I don't even know. I'll just stare at my books and think about how I really don't want to read Faulkner. I'll look at an African mask and think about how I don't want to hang it. I'll look at my sheets and think about "making my bed", but I'll just refresh the Evan Williams and give myself a mulligan. I just got here, after all. Best not to push myself too much. I'm newly born and fully exposed and feel like, for at least this night, I can be a thumbsucker once again.
For those keeping score at home
0 for 3 last week, including a Buffs loss. I didn't get laid, but might as well check to see if I got the clap by some vengeful deity anyway. Fortunately, Sportsbook.com gives a bonus registration credit and I've got $15, all of which will go to Oklahoma State (-10.5) over a shaky Arizona squad. It's still Alabama's title to lose, and this feels like the week A&M justifies its conference presence with a Solid Win over the Gators. Georgia's good, but they're consistency is in the early season choke job and that just might come at Faurot Field. Buffs, unimpressively, by 17. LSU mauls the Huskies. Don't be surprised to see Sparty fall. The game slate is shit this week, so, in other words, a great one to spend outside. You'll find me on a barstool anyway. And never, never-fucking-ever, wager confidently in the first week of the season. It's time to get professional.
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