It's snowing again. It snowed this morning, too, and a few times in the last week. It doesn't get old for me. Though the zero degree temperatures and wind get old, the snow doesn't bother me. Right now it's hovering at freezing, no wind, and that's totally manageable; kind of nice with the snow dusting the limbs of the larch trees and heavy stone lintels of the brownstones across the street. There's a sort of peace and coziness that comes from bad weather in my mind, validation for staying warm and calm inside. That doesn't nullify the stir-crazy I have felt a couple times in the past few weeks since moving into my lovely-but-nonetheless-210-square-foot apartment (well, if you count the sleeping loft, it's 250).
It's been a bit since I wrote anything of substance here, as I've been wearing myself out working long hours (put in 65 hours last week, bleh) and trying to settle into my new place. ( I'm not sure if this is going to count as something of substance, frankly.) It's funny how you take all your stuff for granted.. I wanted to burn all my belongings when I was moving out of Seattle (see related post), but needed it badly in my first dish- and sheet-less week at my new place out here. I chose to ship nine boxes of things out to new york, mostly impractical things like books and art for the walls, and shoes. That put me at IKEA last weekend, all alone, closing down the place late at night and signing for an order, with delivery and tax, of $759. And that didn't include any significant furniture. After years of using the same stuff, I totally took my bathroom wastebasket and hangers and cheese grater for granted. Now I don't even have a place to put a cheese grater.
Guess that's why you can have anything delivered at any hour of the day here... there's no hope of ever making baklava or ice cream or baby back ribs in a manhattan apartment kitchen, or in my case, even store the ingredients to do so. New York reminds me of Paris or Rome in that way, where socializing doesn't occur in the home, but rather in public places- cafes, plazas, bars. It seems to be a function not of specific cultures, maybe, but of density. At a certain density threshold we draw firmer lines in the sand, we turn the private more private, keeping our little homes as sanctuaries, and do more gathering out in public. Which happens a lot in my neighborhood; not only did I move into the bohemian-y hangout of the East Village / Greenwich Village, I also unwittingly landed a place around the corner from a couple NYU residence halls, I think, and my sleepy little block within the hubub of Astor Place, NYU, and the Village watering holes definitely gets a constant trickle of tipsy revelers, oftentimes hooting it up just a few feet below my window ledge. I can't complain though, the amenities here are amazing, especially compared to the uber-chic wasteland that my last place in SoHo was- I can get anything within a few blocks here (by walking, not to even start with delivery services); as an illustration, I'm pretty sure there are six or eight ice cream/frozen yogurt places within a block and a half of my place. EIGHT! I'm paying twice as much for groceries, however- my first trip for toilet paper made me weep a little as a six-pack cost me seven dollars. Cat food, cheese, soda pop- you're paying a premium to live here, and don't ever expect to find anything on sale.
I've done the bulk of my settling in- I don't have a TV nor have I decided where on the walls to hang my art, but I have finally gathered all of the necessary items. If I never have to drive another hex screw into an un-pre-drilled IKEA furniture component, I will be a grateful individual. After stripping screws driving them into the unfinished wood frame of my Bekvam kitchen cart, I was ready to throw it through my pretty picture window by the time I finished, exhausted, at two in the morning. That said, the place looks great. Two major craigslist finds of an awesome custom velvet couch and a dark low dresser and shelf/coffee table combine with my stuff (notably the gnome, thanks nana) and the ikea black-brown Gilbert chairs to make a great space. I'm trying to find the right elements of color as all my furniture in the originally exclusively blindingly white apartment are black-brown or brown-black. Minus the gnome, who has a red hat and sits on the ledge looking out the window, contemplatively holding his pipe to his lip and holding up my design books. He's currently speculating at how long the snow's going to keep up, and keeping drunk college students about on their holiday evening in check.
I intend to write about the couch-aquisition adventure of a couple of weekends ago, but for now I'm exhausted, having worked my MLK sunday (I don't even get MLK monday off, I'm just being melodramatic) and then drug my fancy stainless-steel pedal garbage can (a splurge I'm not sure I deserve) all over manhattan in the snow after tooling around in Bed Bath and Beyond for a couple hours. I had to pay four dollars for one lackluster kitchen towel. Ridiculous! You can bet I damn well I drug that thing all over Chelsea looking for the subway, and then got that thing through the turnstyles in an effort to not have to expend any more money on my fancy can and towel.
a poignant opinion blog, And the Pursuit of Happiness- an artist/designer's reflection on the inaguration.
