A Little Light, Very Little Space

A Little Light, Very Little Space
Originally uploaded by AdiaMichelle

I'm moved! Back to Manhattan. And now that I'm moved, I can think.

The first night in my new place was a little depressing. Tiny room, nothing unpacked, missing my old place that seemed fantastic by comparison. The next morning, I walked out of the building, walked half a block, walked a north-south block, and went down into the subway and thought, "Oh yeah! This is part of the reason I moved." No more six- or seven-block walk to the subway. And yesterday, oh yesterday! I walked two blocks to Central Park to eat my bagel and drink my coffee. TWO BLOCKS. Kidlings, I am two blocks from Central Park and two blocks from Riverside Park. And all around me are one of the things I love most: beautiful buildings.

So, on the one hand, the stupid hand: mortgage-sized rent, tiny room, sharing space with another adult, not yet feeling comfortable in the kitchen and living room, side neighbors who walk like elephants. On the other hand, the pretty, sparkly, lovable hand: TWO BLOCKS FROM THE PARKS, restaurants, cafes and wine bars galore, 1 block from the subway, fire escape out which to dangle my feet in warmer weather, Starbucks, top floor apartment, and did I mention Central Park is right there? I'm in love again.

Rehearsal is going well. We definitely have a show, and it just needs some tweaking here and there. I love my cast so much. They make me laugh and they show me things in a different light and everyone is so willing to take risks and look silly and try things out and I really am going to miss them when this is over in a month. But before that's over, if you're in New York, you should come see the show!

The Less We Talk
by Alec Duffy
at the Ontological Hysteric Theatre in St. Mark's Church
April 16 - May 2, 8:00pm
www.hoipolloiworld.com

Moving Day Part 2

I surveyed my new home and took stock of what I absolutely needed that evening, then packed myself up again to hit Target.  (Major bonus of living in Brooklyn: the Target is three stops away!  It's kind of a bootleg Target, but it's still Target.)  I had budgeted way more cash than what I ended up paying the movers, including a nice tip, so I justified spending scads of money on new household goods as a necessary moving expense, and even so I held myself back.  

I got an over-the-door shoe organizer, a hanging sweater organizer (my closet doesn't have a shelf, a situation that will be remedied in the future), an ecru bath rug, a clear vinyl shower curtain and chrome rings (one of which broke immediately upon trying to open it and put it over the shower pole), a set of knives with stainless steel handles, an over-the-sink cutting board with a collapsible colander (I'm all about maximizing my small space), Method dish soap (love it because you don't need a whole lot to do a sink's worth of dishes), a kitchen utensils set specifically designed to go with my Calphalon pans, a broom, a cookie sheet...I think that's most of it.

 At this point in the day, I was exhausted.  It was almost 10pm, I'd been up since 6:30 and moving the whole time.  I hadn't eaten much so I picked up some of those Starkist tuna lunch packs and a DiGiorno pizza (yeah, yeah).  I checked out and chatted with the checkout girl about my grey hair, then I got a taxi and went home.

Once home I continued unpacking and turned the oven on to heat up my pizza.  About seven minutes later the smoke alarm went off.  

Now, this is not ordinary smoke alarm.  This is an alarm designed to wake up everyone in the building in the event of a fire.  This thing was LOUD.  And PIERCING.  I thought my eardrums were going to burst.

Immediately doors opened in the hallway and some ran downstairs.  A woman said, "Who's on fire?"  I opened my door and said, "It's me!  I'm sorry!  I turned on my oven!"  Another woman, I'm assuming through her cracked door, said, "Just let me know if I need to get my underwear and run."  I shouted, "How do I turn it off?"  Someone yelled, "Open a window!"  The young man on the stairs said, "Just wave a piece of paper in front of it."  I tried both of these things.  I opened all the windows, I dragged my desk under the alarm and waved a book at it until I was sweating and my arms were sore.  No good.  

You might ask, "Adia, why didn't you just take it down and take out the batteries?"  Well, thank goodness for safety.  This is the kind that doesn't work that way, though there is another one on the wall that is battery operated and chimed in with the ceiling alarm every minute or so, compounding the noise.  This is the kind that's wired in.  There's no turning it off until it decides to turn itself off.

The noise went on for at least another 20 minutes.  Those 20 minutes felt like hours.  I'd been in my apartment for less than a day, and I was already causing trouble.  And at 11:00 at night, no less.

I guess smoke alarms just have it out for me.

In the silence that followed, I munched my tuna and crackers and then turned in. I'd had enough for one day.

(Oh, and I realized after the alarm stopped that I'd left my broom somewhere between the checkout counter and my apartment.  Could have been at Target, could have been in the taxi.  This was especially troubling when, as I was moving two pieces of large glass to the trash, I fumbled them and they shattered all over the kitchen floor.  I pretty much put on my coat and went back to Target in hopes they still had my broom.  And they did!  They have a nifty little "Paid and Left" book that tracks things customers forget at checkout.  Yay Target!)

Moving Day

I've almost been in my new apartment for one full week.  It's a lovely place, although its imperfections are beginning to show.  I can hear when someone comes in the front door, I think my upstairs neighbor is a fitness buff who does sort of loud exercises on the floor at 6am, and my downstairs neighbor is a smoker and the lovely scent (that's sarcasm) of cigarettes wafts up through my radiator and drifts right across the place where I sit at my desk to head level when I'm lying in bed.  Awesome.  But really?  For what I get, the neighborhood I get to live in, and the fact that I get to live alone, what I'm paying is an amazing deal.

So I moved on the 28th.  I woke up at 6:30 to wash my sheets and towels and deflate my bed.  (Yup.  Still sleeping on an Aerobed.) After everything came out of the dryer I hit the subway to ride to Brooklyn and sign my lease. It's about an hour from Harlem to Brooklyn, what with waiting for trains, and transferring between lines. I signed the lease, paid my first month's rent, got the keys, made sure they worked, and ran back to the subway again to meet the movers.  I had scheduled the appointment at 1pm, but the confirmation email said that they might arrive an hour prior or an hour after that time.  It was 11:00 when I got on the train back to Harlem.

I made it back to my apartment by noon and continued packing the last little bits of stuff scattered around my room.  For those who have ever moved, have you noticed that when you feel like you're done packing, there are still little bits of bric-a-brac laying around and you have no idea where they came from but you must use them so you have to find a place to put them?  Yeah, I usually just throw them in an available bag and keep moving.  I should just throw them away or give them a proper home, but that never happens.  You'd think I'd learned after five moves in five months.  Nope.

1:00 rolled around, no movers.  2:00, still no movers.  I called the company to ask if they were on their way, and the receptionist assured me that they were, it's just that the rain had slowed everything way down.  (Oh, yeah, I didn't mention that the day was blustery and rainy.  It's absolutely beautiful outside for two weeks, and the day I move, it decides to pour.)  I assured her that I wasn't mad, just wanted to make sure that they were still on their way.

At 4:30, the movers finally came.  They were sweaty, and their English wasn't great, but they were polite and fast.  I was amazed at how quickly they were able to get all of my things out with just two men and a dolly.  In fact, the younger guy (he looked like he was still in high school) stayed with the truck and the older man moved everything out into the hall and down the elevator.  I felt a little guilty just standing there, but I was paying for them to move me.

Once my pile of belongings was gone, I double-checked the bathroom, my bedroom, and the living room for anything left behind (other than things I had intentionally left), and I headed downstairs.  I made sure they knew where they were going and hit the subway again.  This ride was a little tougher on me as it was rush hour and kids were getting out of school and being obnoxious (that's a whole other blog).  

I know I've spent too much time in the subway when I start to get irritated when someone's bag brushes me.  And this time I had my rolling cart with two bags on it, my messenger bag over my shoulder, and a plastic bag in my hand.  People don't seem to understand that when you have a lot of stuff, you need more space.  I had to push my way out of the subway car and I'm sure I smacked a few people with my bags, but when they won't move, that's their issue, not mine.

Once in Brooklyn I trucked to my apartment to wait for the movers.  In the meantime I took a few pictures and inspected the place to make sure there wasn't anything egregiously wrong.  There's a hole in the ceiling in the kitchen, and there's a strange open pipe in the bathroom that I believe connects to the tub's piping somehow, but other than that, it's fine.  

It grew darker, and finally the movers showed up.  I ran to the bank to get cash to pay them while they worked and discovered that I live on a really pleasant street, even in the rain and cold.  I was gone for about 15 minutes, and by the time I got back everything but the desk was in my apartment.  They were finished by 7:00pm; not bad.  So other than being rather late, I would recommend Olga Movers to anyone who wanted an inexpensive move across town with some non-surly dudes.  Look 'em up on Craigslist.

The rest of the Moving Day tale continues tomorrow...

It's moving day.

I'm waiting for the movers.

They're three hours late.