No, but, really?

Tripp?

I guess the habit of naming children bizarrely is genetic. Uncle Trig and Nephew Tripp. How... adorable.

Sigh...

Protest leader Chamlong Srimuang and airport officials warmly shook hands and Chamlong bowed toward a Buddhist shrine featuring a portrait of the country's revered constitutional monarch, King Bhumibol Adulyadej.

The two sides embraced and shouted, "Long Live the King."

Only in Thailand...

Dixie!

So three weeks ago, we got a cat for my birthday (I've been trying to post video of her, but it's taking too long to upload... Soon!). She went sans name for a couple of weeks. The past few days, we were playing with the idea of naming her Dixie, which I came to after going through the beers I've drank in my life and travels (seriously). While I'd love to call her Beerlaos, it doesn't sound all that nice, but Dixie, a beer from New Orleans, where Karel lived for a while, does.

Meanwhile, the cat, while she purrs incessantly, just does not meow. I've heard her meow once the whole time we've had her. So imagine our surprise when, today, she issued a meow and tried to climb up my leg to check out what I was drinking. Which happened to be a Dixie beer.

The cat apparently agrees with her new name, so it is now official: new kitty is now Dixie kitty.

Awesome...

Oh Tufts, you make me proud.

Maybe, in light of this new development, I should put that article I wrote for the Daily a decade ago on my resume?

An update

So the great carnivore project keeps making me sick and has been scrapped.

I am curled into a ball on the couch dreaming of tofu right now.

Perhaps I was just not meant to eat meat.

Happy birthday to me!

My birthday present to myself? Well...

Let's first revisit a very prodigious decision I made in 7th grade at 12 years of age. Back then I was reading Anne of Green Gables, dreaming of living on Prince Edward Island and owning lots of horses and dogs. We were up to 4 cats (I'm pretty sure) and a dog at home, and I may have had a hamster at the time. Obviously I was quite the animal lover. I was also reading PETA. And thus, at the tender age of 12, I decided to go on a solo quest to save the animals. I would stop eating meat.

Somehow, my Mom, the saint, decided to go along with the whole thing. An animal lover herself, she wasn't too far from making the decision to go veggie either. Still, there were 2, at times 3, when Dave came home from college, other people in the house, all of whom were carnivorous males. So thanks, Mom, for entertaining my whims.

Fast forward seventeen years. Somewhere in there I was a vegan, which had the unfortunate result of forever changing the proportion of my body, and later on began eating fish again in the hopes that it would increase my energy level (which has always lagged behind that of normal people). Still I never really questioned my decision, basing it on my belief that I'd like to keep my karmic footprint as small as possible-- I'd like to get through this life taking as few lives of other creatures as possible. But. I wear leather (not blatantly-- no leather coats-- but leather shoes, yes, and bags). I eat fish. I call for the execution of cockroaches. These things have started bugging me a bit (well, not really the cockroach thing, no); I've started worrying about my authenticity to myself. Should I be all or nothing?

And then there is the unfortunate thing called alcohol. Sometimes, after a couple of beers, when I am really hungry, I become lustful for others' meat. And that is meant in the least-dirty, most-literal way possible. It all started last Christmas. Karel and I were out with Ed and Elizabeth, two friends from home, in Providence, at a friend's restaurant. The kitchen sent us out a charcuterie platter. As Ed, Elizabeth, and Karel raved on and on about the wild boar and the sausage, I munched on my gherkin. Finally, it just got to be too much. I threw my hands up in surrender and then dove right in to the wild boar. It was delicious.

The second time was this past Tuesday, in the midst of election madness. The bar where we were was pretty packed, and the outlook for ETA on food was pretty dim, so we went down the street to Crif Dogs, sort of like Spike's, for all you Rhode Islanders, but with a phone booth with a fake wall that leads to a speak easy. Really. I love New York. Anyway, Karel ordered his chili dog and I ordered my veggie dog. I got a plain dog on a plain bun with cubed cucumber. It tasted like... well, nothing. Karel got a plate full of pure deliciousness, apparently. After he took a couple of bites, he grew distracted by the Galaga game next to our table. I took advantage of his distraction and pounced. I ate half of his hot dog. His chili hot dog, mind you. Double meat.

Obviously, something's gotta give. I am a much different person than I was at 12 years of age -- somewhere in the past 17 years I became an angst-filled teenage bitch, started my own online 'zine back when AOL was an infant (ah, the early days of internet. I was truly a pioneer.), worshipped Trent Reznor, lost my religion, found it again in a completely different form, went to college, ran naked across the Tufts campus in the good old days before YouTube, shouldered the responsibility of teaching and mentoring our youth for a while, almost died, got lipo, traveled around the world, and moved to New York City. And those are just the highlights.

This exhausting reflection on my vegetarianism and my teens and twenties does lead to something: my birthday present to myself. Which is meat. And lots of it. For two weeks. After 17 years of unquestioned discipline, I owe it to myself. After those two weeks, I will revisit the decision I made at 12 years of age and determine what to do next: carry on as before or make some changes.

So, the menu so far, apart from the aforementioned wild boar and chili hot dog: pepperoni in the form of a stromboli, chicken breast, speck (smoked prosciutto), a pork dumpling, and curried turkey. Still no beef. I'm in the middle of An Omnivore's Dilemma (thanks Bennett!!!), which makes this whole turn of events all the more amusing, and also means I may not ever in the next 2 weeks bring myself to eat beef. Just read the first 100 pages if you want to see what I mean.

It's been odd so far. It feels somehow very counter-evolutionary to me and grosses me out somewhat. Which probably means that, once the 2 weeks are up, I will run away and retreat into the comfort of my semi-vegetarianism again. Which, apparently, will make some people very happy. It's funny the resistance in the form of, "No! Don't do that! You're so healthy!", I'm getting from (carnivorous) friends. :) Thanks, guys. I love you, but this is a decision I need to make for myself. I'm sure I'll make the right one.

In the meantime, tell me, what have I missed in the past 17 years? What must I be sure to not miss these next 2 weeks? (And please no Big Macs-- I still intend to go as humane and natural as possible!)

Oh, you haven't cried enough this week?

Ok, then, here you go.

Where I was when history took place

Thank god for YouTube as my camera was acting up and we didn't manage to get pictures of the post-election festivities on St. Mark's. Anyway, here is some random person's video of where I was after the election:



I think there's sound but I'm not positive as my BRAND NEW COMPUTER DOES NOT WORK CORRECTLY!!!!

Pictures of the night to follow tomorrow.

And Indiana went BLUE!

I am so proud!

Yes we did!

It's nice to be a part of history.

My vote is cast!

I spent the morning checking my usual political blogs, reading the stories and comments from readers about their polling experiences. Four-hour waits or more in Park Slope and downtown Brooklyn. Lines extending around a whole block. Well, looks like we should pack a bag: cards, a book, iPod, magazine. Just need some breakfast and coffee and we'll be good to go.

After breakfast at the local diner, Karel and I headed to the vocational high school a few blocks west of us to cast our vote. The line, at around 11:30, was about 60 deep, and we ended up leaving the polls after an hour or so. We were lucky compared to other polling locations. Everyone was cheerful, in high spirits, generous, friendly, talkative. The energy was overwhelmingly positive. The woman behind us in line said she had voted in every election, presidential or otherwise, since 1968, the last decade in this neighborhood, and had never encountered a line, never mind one 60-deep. Her sentiment was echoed by a few others. It feels nice to be taking part in a positive part of history.

I had anticipated tearing up a bit when I cast my vote for Obama. I always get a little nervous before I vote for some reason. The polling machine was the type I remember from accompanying my mom when I was a little girl: the kind where you pull the big lever to one side, flip the switches horizontal for whomever you want to elect, then pull the big lever back. I was so concerned about not casting my vote for the wrong person (RI ballots now are the paper kind where you link the 2 sides of the arrow, so I'm not used to this newfangled-- well, oldfangled?-- stuff) that I had no emotional reaction whatsoever.

And that was that. History is already being made with voter turnout. It will be made later tonight (well, let's hope tonight), regardless of the winner. I hope we continue making history for the next 8 years. Plus I really hope to be able to afford health insurance in the near future.

Now I'm watching footage of Obama at polling stations in Indianapolis and wishing, for once, that we were still there. Bah!

At any rate, anyone reading this from the New York City area, look forward to seeing you tonight at Hop Devil, at St, Mark's and Avenue A, from 7 PM on!

So excited!!

Feel like it's long before dawn on Christmas morning, when the anticipation is nearly making my heart burst.

Is it cheesy to say I anticipate getting emotional as I cast my vote?

In case you haven't heard about it yet...

Brilliant. Gullibility is just so charming a trait for a Vice President, non?

Transcript is here.

Unsubtantiated, non-documented drivel and conjecture that has already been proven false

Ugh.

This guy went to the same high school I did. His brother called himself "The man. The myth. The legend." No joke.

Apparently his "columns" have been published in some newspaper in Attleboro.

I am in the process of taking him apart, point by point. Proving more difficult than I first thought as I have no idea where he got some of this stuff, seeing as he backed up absolutely nothing with documentation or links. Come on, we went to the same high school. Mr. Gagnon? Primary sources? Hello!

Obama Nation Election and Birthday fiesta

For those of you who haven't gotten the memo, I, along with my friend Dave, who is turning the big 3-0 on the 5th, am having a little birthday shindig (my big day, my 29th, is the 10th) on Election Night to, hopefully, celebrate the return of sanity and rationality to the American political process.

If you are in the New York City area, please join us. We'll have a projector set up for the night's coverage, $1 tacos, $13 steins, and happy-hour prices all night. The festivities will go down at Hop Devil, on St. Mark's and Avenue A, from 7 PM until they kick us out. For more info, go here.

And if, buddha/god/allah forbid, the Republicans figure out how to steal this one too (and please check out that link, btw-- very important), well, at least we can all drown our sorrows and plan where we'll be moving together.

Thanks, and go Barry!

Fun new gadget!

Thanks to Adrian!

At the bottom of the page is a map showing where my visitors are viewing from. So now I can tell if my brother in Alaska has read my blog (not yet...) I can also see how many visitors I have, which will probably prove to be somewhat depressing.

It also opens up a new realm of curiosity-- who are these viewers reading from Canada? Hello!

Karel...

...has a blog now. We'll see if he uses it. There's nothing there yet, but he promises to write something when I go to work tonight.

Update: Nothing yet.

No time for peons.

The man won't even support the little people working on his own campaign. Do you really think he'll support you?

From the NY Times:

"Some leaders said they had been stymied in their efforts to get help from the McCain campaign, though they said that was now beginning to change.

'I did have and do have a frustration about getting people here to keep South Florida in the thick of things,' said Chip LaMarca, the Republican chairman from Broward County. 'We had numerous telephone conversations and conference calls. We look forward to having more support here.'"

Read the whole article, discussing Florida's position as a battleground state, here.

On the other hand...

... there's this:



...which, after watching Tracee, helps rebuild my faith in reason.

Read more here and watch more here.

THIS should get to everyone:

From Dave:



Do people like this woman understand that they are just as bad as the Muslim fundamentalists they fear?

Also, Obama belongs to the same branch of Christianity that my grandmother belonged to, so when this ignorant piece of ... Tracee says, "The church they were members of? That's not the Christianity I know. That's not the Christianity that's in the bible," I take personal offense. If anyone who has walked this planet knew the bible, and understood the life of Christ, and lived in a manner that he would have applauded, it was my grandmother, so sit down, Tracee, and learn something before you open your mouth. Here's a piece of advice: how about you read the bible, and figure out that the intolerance, hatred, and bigotry you spew forth are exactly the things that Christ condemned.

You are most certainly not an example of the Christianity that I know.

Musings on debate round 2

* Anyone else notice McCain immediately start scribbling notes as soon as he had entered and sat down? I wonder what important things he was reminding himself... "Things to not forget: My... name... is... John McCain. I... am... a POW."

* I've been hearing that the mortgage buyback plan McCain proposed (which is, number one, expensive, and, number two, incredibly leftist) was apparently already proposed by Obama. Can anyone confirm?

* So, for Treasury Secretary, McCain would consider Meg Whitman, who ran eBay... which laid off 10% of its staff yesterday. Either her or the guy that is one of Obama's main economic advisers, Warren Buffett. Yet Obama's economic plans are unsound.

*Love how McCain corrected the audience member, saying the bailout plan was actually a rescue. Which is what Bush has been calling it...

* Also love how McCain faulted Frannie and Freddie as the catalyst for the economic implosion. I worked in mortgages for 2 weeks (Really. They hired me to be a translator, as a number of their clients spoke only Spanish (!), but then had me cold calling. I quit promptly), and I tell you, the predatory lending going on was insane. Not only were we providing adjustable rate loans with lots of fine print to people who were getting in way over their heads and couldn't even read the fine print anyway, I was also calling up economically stable people with decent fixed-rate mortgages, nearly paid off, trying to get them to take out a line of credit against their equity and refinance at an adjustable rate that was presently lower than the rate that they were at, but which would balloon in a few years. But, hell, by then they could just refi again! The problem was not Freddie and Fannie. The problem was human greed on an individual level. The problem was the arrogant guy pushing people who did not know enough and who didn't know where to go to find important info to get in waaaaaaaaaaaay over their heads just so he could afford a shiny new Vespa.

*My friends! I reach across the aisles! I have a clear record of bipartisanship! My friends! Aisles! Records! Take on leaders! Friends!

* I love how, when Brokaw asked how the candidates would rank energy, healthcare, and entitlement in order of priority, McCain needed the issues repeated. I also love how he claims he can work on them all at once. Because he knows! He knows my friends! He knows where bin Laden lives! That bump on his jaw is actually a source of nuclear power that will provide us with all of our energy needs for the next 1000 years! He single-handedly will see to all of our health needs! He will perform surgeries, colonoscopies, and teeth cleanings! Also, free lobotomies for everyone!!

* For real, though, now is the time to face up the fact that we are going to have to make some sacrifices, my friends. And I do think a lot of us are hungry for it. We are feeling helpless, at a dangerous crossroads, and we can do nothing. I, for one, feel like I need to do something. I do really like Obama's call for a national volunteer peace corps. That idea relates a bit to this. (Thanks Dave)

* M: "I'll answer the question. Heh heh heh..."
Brokaw: "And Medicare?"
M: "I'll get to Medicare in a second."

* M: "Look at my records! Listen to my vision of the future!" Which is...?

* Obama: "For 30 years, the Senate hasn't done anything [about environmental issues]. McCain was there for 26 of them!" Sweet!

* Anyone else notice Obama didn't get a chance to partake in the 1 minute discussion period after the environment question?

* Screw McCain with the hair plugs jab. Not only was it irrelevant (shock, I know) and incredibly rude (particularly as Biden was burying his mother-in-law that day), the joke FAILED! And if you want to point fingers about plastic surgery, McCain, start with your wife!!!!!

* M (mockingly): "All small businesses want to give their employees insurance!" Oh really? Because, from experience, I beg to differ. As would many in this city. Say it ain't so, John! There you go again, underestimating the reality of human greed.

* First of all, the idiom is "Speak softly and carry a big stick." Also, Teddy Roosevelt's famous turn of phrase referred to the practice of diplomacy and negotiation backed up with the threat of military power, if need be. "Speaking softly" does not refer to not announcing one's intentions, but to practicing exactly that type of diplomacy Obama supports.

* We need to get the support of the people in Pakistan! Just like we did in Iraq!

* Favorite part of the night: Obama referring to McCain as somber, McCain interrupting with "Thank you very much. Har har har" and Obama shutting him up with "This is the one who said 'bomb bomb bomb Iran' and then wanted to destroy North Korea." McCain, as your supporters are so fond of saying, sit down, boy.

* Lastly, is Brokaw Republican? Say it ain't so, Joe!

That gosh-darn New York Times!

I'm enjoying how, over the past couple of days, Sarah Palin in Florida on the stump and with reporters, has been sure to talk about reading the New York Times (CNN, Washington Post)*.

Damage control to make up for her not being able to name one single magazine or newspaper in the Couric interview?



*These articles are disturbing on lots of different levels, and I feel slightly irresponsible focusing on fluff, but that's the observation I wanted to make for now, pre-coffee. Be sure to read them.

Sarah Plain loves Israel...

...her church does not.

McCain wins debate!

Even though, until this morning, he was still trying to shirk out of it.

Check the ad already running in the online edition of the Wall Street Journal. For commentary, see here.

Hey, McCain invented the Blackberry-- I guess he invented a time machine as well.

If you say something enough, people will believe it, no matter how far removed from reality it is.



*Yes, this could be a photoshop, and if it's not, it's probably the WSJ's fault for running it early, but it's still funny, nonetheless.

America the beautiful

One of my favorite parts of the day, if I happen to be home for it in the evening, is the daily call to prayer at our local mosque. The sound carries easily to our windows on the top floor on a block of brownstones. As I sit curled onto the couch or putter around trying to organize this apartment, the haunting echoes of the somewhat melancholic wail of men being called to worship one of the most important aspects of their lives stir me. In an unconscious reaction, I draw up my shoulders, sigh deeply, and smile. In a way, the song of an unfamiliar religion sung in an unfamiliar language by people from unfamiliar cultures makes that part of my afternoon feel like home.

I smile and sigh not only because the song is beautiful and its tone stirring, but also because of what hearing that song means. It means freedom-- the freedom to practice one's religion without persecution, the freedom to come to a new country (most of the Muslims at this mosque are West African immigrants) and make a future for oneself and one's family, the freedom to find comfort in speaking the words of one's native tongue with fellow immigrants and then, switching fluidly to English, to converse cheerily with the Catholic Ecuadorian, the Buddhist Tibetan, and the neighborhood-born-and-raised African-American gathered on the sidewalk, all hard-working entrepreneurs who own their own business on this short block, once a haven for crack dealers, now the home for successful mom-and-pop-type restaurants, hardware stores, organic health food stores, bodegas, barber shops, as well as a mosque.

This is New York. This is America. This is beautiful.

And then, recently, I get angry. Because no one has any right to threaten this. Fundamentalism is fundamentalism, no matter which way you paint it-- it is intolerance, it is dangerous, and it stands against everything upon which this country was founded. There should be no place for it in the US government.

Well, there's one good thing...

From Katie Couric's interview with Palin, regarding Afghanistan:

"Katie Couric: Why is it much more challenging there [in Afghanistan]? Can you explain that?

Sarah Palin: The logistics that we are already suggesting here, not having enough troops in the area right now. The… things like the terrain even in Afghanistan and that border between Pakistan and Afghanistan, where, you know, we believe that-- Bin Laden is-- is hiding out right now and… and is still such a leader of this terrorist movement. There… there are many more challenges there. So, again, I believe that… a surge in Afghanistan also will lead us to victory there as it has proven to have done in Iraq. And as I say, Katie, that we cannot afford to retreat, to withdraw in Iraq. That's not gonna get us any better off in Afghanistan either. And as our leaders are telling us in our military, we do need to ramp it up in Afghanistan, counting on our friends and allies to assist with us there because these terrorists who hate America, they hate what we stand for with the… the freedoms, the democracy, the… the women's rights, the tolerance, they hate what it is that we represent and our allies, too, and our friends, what they represent. If we were… were to allow a stronghold to be captured by these terrorists then the world is in even greater peril than it is today. We cannot afford to lose in Afghanistan."

Since Palin doesn't believe in those qualities she outlined herself, I guess maybe that means the terrorists will stop hating us after all...

So, Palin thinks that being able to see Russia from a far-flung island in Alaska (which she has most likely never even visited) qualifies as foreign policy experience, and McCain thinks that Spain is in Latin America and Putin is the president of Germany*. Seriously. Observe:



And the McCain camp has the gall to question Obama's handle foreign policy?

*To be fair, the journalist who interviewed McCain at El Pais believes he was just trying to avoid the question, and the Putin comment was most likely a verbal gaffe. (Though, really? That's a pretty awful gaffe. Mistaking the name of Putin, of all people, for Kohler, the actual president of Germany? I know how easy it is to say the wrong thing as your background thoughts distract you when speaking publicly. I just don't want a potential future president making a gaffe that blatantly ridiculous.) At any rate, regardless of how these two incidents can be spun, if they play dirty, then so can I.

Wow. Just... Wow.

John McCain apparently thinks Spain is in Latin America, even after being corrected 3 times by a journalist from the Spanish newspaper, El Pais.

Details are here. Basically, during the interview, McCain is asked if he would invite Spanish president Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, and McCain abruptly starts talking about Mexico and the Mexican president, and how he proud of the work president Calderon has done with the drug cartels... And it gets worse. The link above has the transcript, as well as some audio. Just read it. Because, wow...

Tina Fey is dead on!

Everything Hillary wishes she could say? I think she should have whacked Palin with the piece of wood at the end.

I wish everyone read the NY Times

In case you missed them, a few important columns:

An in-depth look at the shady way Sarah Palin has managed her executive duties thus far. After the Bush years, everyone is eager for fewer closed doors in government. Look like we won't be getting that under McCain-Palin. Nevermind the blatantly two-faced manner in the way Palin presents herself versus the way she acts, but we're used to that from Republicans anyway, right?

And here, a look at the distortions, misrepresentations, and outright lies being promoted by McCain.

Finally, Thomas Friedman, author of The World is Flat, has his say about the idiocy and irrelevance of the McCain campaign.

Enjoy!

Watch this video. And the second one too.

I know that, to the few readers of this blog (if you still exist after my having taken such a long hiatus), I am preaching to the choir with all of these political posts. Furthermore, the political climate in this country is so divided that I doubt I can convert most intended McCain voters anyway. Still, I feel that, for fellow Obama supporters, it is important to have some ammunition and to be aware of the smears, lies, and misrepresentation out there so that we can hopefully correct the perceptions of someone who has been misled in this campaign season, even if we don't change their vote. A vote should be cast in light of issues and facts, not a "blizzard of words" (what Palin gave during the ABC interview, the transcript of which you can read here) meant to mask ignorance of the important issues and make people vote on emotion.

One thing that has amused me, for lack of a better word, during this campaign, is the way that McCain's camp and Republican pundits have changed their tune when it suits them, lambasting Hillary Clinton, for example, for speaking out when people assaulted her campaign on the basis of gender, while turning around and pointing fingers and hurling insults whenever Palin's gender was mentioned. Relatedly, of course, there is the whole lipstick debaucle, when the McCain camp jumped on Obama for using the saying that the idea of change under a McCain regime would be like putting lipstick on a pig (hopeless and wouldn't change a thing). Now the McCain camp is saying that Obama called Palin a pig. Obama wasn't even referring to Palin; he was using an old expression he'd used before. McCain himself used this same exact expression when deriding Hillary Clinton's healthcare proposals. Was it sexist then? No. Did the Democrats ever try to paint it as such? No. But, apparently, because Palin referred to herself as a pitbull with lipstick during the RNC, it's sexist now. Republicans get away with this flip-flopping of rhetoric all the time.

Anyway, on to the video that you should watch, because, for one, it's hysterical. Also, it is completely on point. Jon Stewart addresses the Republican practice of turning rhetoric on its head. It is a must-watch.



Another important example of Repubs changing their tune is found here on the Huffington Post, a highly biased, left-leaning political blog, it should be noted in case you've never heard of it. Still, the video is there, and you can see for yourself that McCain's words are his own. Facts cannot be refuted.

Obviously, politics is a shady game. Anyone in the running for president has not gotten there by wearing his heart on his sleeve all the time and always speaking his own thoughts truthfully and straight-forwardly. Campaigns are run to be won. However, the misrepresentations and about-faces of the McCain campaign have gotten to be too much. As Barack Obama said, "enough!" McCain always talks about putting country first. The one thing I have garnered from his campaign is that the well-being of this country, as a priority, falls well behind his own personal ambition-- himself as president, whatever it takes and whatever the ultimate cost.

ENOUGH with the demonizing of Russia!!

Say what you will about the Russian government. I am not personally a fan of Putin, though the new president, Medvedev, has had some good zingers when McCain tried to posture and call Russia out on some hypocritical BS, saying Russia should not be allowed to participate in the G8 due to their human rights record... Hello Gitmo? Oh, that's right, they don't matter, they're all terrorists.

At any rate, I am sick and tired of people (the current government, the McCain campaign, Palin in today's ABC interview) pointing fingers at Russia and the situation in Georgia and using it as a rationale for starting a whole new course of aggression (because we have the means to do that right now...) This is dangerous territory, and needs to be closely examined.

The fact of the matter is that this whole thing started as a situation between South Ossetia, a region of Georgia considered autonomous since the mid 90s, and Georgia. Each side blamed the other. It escalated into Georgia attempting to forcefully bring South Ossetia into the Georgian fold. Russia, in the meantime, appealed to the UN for support of South Ossetian civilians caught up in the mess. They ultimately came to the aid, through force, of the South Ossetians.

You can read about the initial attack between Georgia and South Ossetia here. I concur that, ultimately, Russia reacted in an overly-forcefully, unilateral manner, but the issue is not as cut-and-dry as the media and as the McCain campaign would like us to believe. And it is certainly not a reason for the US to call for Putin's head and set itself on a course for disaster.

Palin, in her ABC interview today, engaged in the following dialogue:

PALIN: And we've got to keep an eye on Russia. For Russia to have exerted such pressure in terms of invading a smaller democratic country, unprovoked, is unacceptable and we have to keep...
GIBSON: You believe unprovoked.
PALIN: I do believe unprovoked and we have got to keep our eyes on Russia, under the leadership there.

Here is the Republican party line on the matter. Two things blatantly stand out.

1.) As is examined above, Russia was not unprovoked. Russia has for ages been an outspoken supporter of the pro-Russian South Ossetia. They were protecting the civilians from Georgian shelling. Again, the scale of that protection may have been out of balance, but not unprovoked. Our aggression towards them is, however, unprovoked, no matter how close the potential future president (excuse me while take a second to vomit) lives to Russia.

2.) I do enjoy the blatant hypocrisy of Palin's first statement (minus the democratic part). If she wants to have a dialogue about invading a smaller country unprovoked, I suggest she check out Waiting for an Ordinary Day by Farnaz Fassihi, in order to best understand what that means from a civilian perspective.

At any rate, enough posturing on my part. I will leave you with this tidbit, again from today's ABC interview:

GIBSON: What insight into Russian actions, particularly in the last couple of weeks, does the proximity of the state give you?

PALIN: They're our next door neighbors and you can actually see Russia from land here in Alaska, from an island in Alaska.

Brilliant.

Another unwanted New York experience

Since the cockroach post seemed to be a hit, I've decided to revisit the topic. I am happy to report there have been no other unwanted visitors in the apartment, so you are safe to come and stay, Michelle. (Though, watch, I will see one tonight now.) I do have a highly amusing tale to tell about work, though.

Rest assured (though, actually, you most likely will not ...), any restaurant you've ever visited, no matter how clean or upscale it was, has a problem with critters. It just happens. Garbage, consisting of lots of food scraps, accumulates. Fruit, vegetables, fish, and meat are shipped in cardboard boxes (roaches eat cardboard) from exotic locales (where cockroaches are as common as ants). There are many dank, dark places for things to hide. Hundreds of customers come and go daily, tracking in who knows what from their home or their subway jaunt. (As a side note, for this reason, we have instituted a no-shoes rule in the apartment. Roach guts and dog poo stay OUTSIDE.) Restaurants are the playground of insects and rodents; there is no preventing it. You, most likely, have been fortunate enough to not witness this first-hand, as any restaurant with credence will dedicate a substantial part of its budget to pest control. Just because it happens doesn't mean it's ok. The downside of this is that, after a restaurant has been sprayed, the roaches typically come out into the open to die.

Which all leads to the following.

Friday night. I'm working the bar. It's around 9:30 PM. My co-bartender has gone home because we weren't too busy, but, of course, as soon as he leaves, the whole restaurant and my whole bar fills up. It's packed. Every barstool is taken by people eating and enjoying their pricey cocktails. I'm over towards the service end of the bar, asking the manager a question. The palm of my right hand is itchy. I lift my hand and turn it palm-up to scratch it. You know what's coming.

Another giant mutant roach (why do they always have to be HUGE?!) has come out to die. On my palm.

I scream.

And flick my hand so the roach goes flying through the air down the bar.

Somehow, miraculously, it stays inside the bar and lands on the mats where I stand. Also, it's loud enough in the restaurant that only the couple at the very end of the bar even bothered to look up from their conversation.

Still, my manager flips out.

"What are you doing? You can't do that! " he hisses. " Where did it go?"

Shaking like a leaf, I point at the roach now crawling lazily along the bar mat.

"Stop pointing! Now you have to go kill it."

"I can't do it. I can't! Can't you take care of it?" (He is well aware that I am HUGELY afraid of cockroaches.)

"No, Allison. You have to do it."

Dude, you're not my brother. Still, not wanting this to become more of a scene, I know I will have to kill it. I walk over to the waddling object of my nightmares and step on it.

It pops.

I stifle the urge to projectile vomit while jumping up and down and shaking my arms like a crazed chicken.

The majority of humans attract mosquitoes or bees. I attract cockroaches. Lovely.

He doesn't even make sense!!!

Check it.

Being right on energy qualifies as national security experience? And it's ok for Palin to charge taxpayers for 312 nights spent in her own home as long as she fired the chef (yet another unemployed American) and sold the jet?

The overarching theme throughout this video is McCain's difficulty in straying from the set script... He stutters and garbles and becomes incoherent as he brings it all back to some completely irrelevant topic, because he can't think on his toes. And a large portion of this country thinks he is fit to lead? If he can't make a split-second decision about rhetoric, what would he do if confronted with a 21st century version of the Cuban Missile Crisis?

Meanwhile, Bushie's onto attacking Pakistan, even while "[i]t is unclear precisely what legal authorities the United States has invoked to conduct even limited ground raids in a friendly country." Because, well, why not?

W. T. F.

I am afraid that we will lose because there are enough stupid people in this country to believe something like this.

Hypocrisy

Following news of Russia's attack of Georgia, which occurred after Georgia attempted to re-take by force the capital of South Ossetia, a pro-Russian region that won autonomy from Georgia in the 90s, Bush issued this statement:

“Georgia is a sovereign nation, and its territorial integrity must be respected. We have urged an immediate halt to the violence and a stand down by all troops. We call for the end of the Russian bombings.”

Like we have any credence.

Strategy

Am I being an overly-pessimistic, anti-administration, conspiracy theorist, or does anyone else think the announcement of "ambitious" troop withdrawals from Iraq reeks of opportunistic political strategy? Of course, July's death count of invading forces is quite low (and what of Iraqi deaths I wonder?) and we do "need" more troops in Afghanistan now that the Taliban is coming back with a vengeance (there's also the whole Iran pink elephant), but it is quite convenient, is it not? Not only will the announcement (regardless of actual reality) create the impression that the "plan" (or, really, complete lack there-of) is working and bolster votes for McCain, if it actually does happen as announced, Bush maye even be able to leave office with an "I told you so!"

Check it.

A New York Experience-- #1 in a series: On the bed, on the floor, on a towel by the door, in the tub, in the car, up against the mini-bar

Most creepy-crawly things instill in me a sense of curiosity. Thanks to my brother Dan, I have no problem picking up (small) house spiders, and went chasing after tarantulas in both the Australian Outback and Costa Rica. I love snakes and took pride in handling mildly poisonous species in Malaysia.

Show me a cockroach, though, no matter the size, and I break into a spontaneous and unstoppable dance, whereupon I flap my hands like a crazed chicken and hop from one foot to the other all the while exclaiming, "Ew ew ew ew oh my god ew ew ew ew." And, of course, here in New York, cockroaches are the fabric of our lives. I was warned as such, but never did I imagine how intimately they would become entwined with my daily activities. I step over them on the way to the subway as they sidle along lazily (New York cockroaches, in the summer at least, are not really into the whole scurrying thing). I check the railing before I put my hand on it at work at the restaurant, due to prior unfortunate incidents. I go running out of the conference room as I discover a dead one in front of the TV at my other job. I pause in my sushi eating and jump quickly onto my chair during lunch at Wholefoods (a New York experience to the nth degree-- a celebrity spotting-- Miranda from Sex and the City-- followed by a gigantic cockroach sighting). They are so ubiquitous that everytime I see one I get that Sarah Silverman song, the lyrics of which grace the title of this post, stuck in my head, except instead of f-ing Matt Damon, I'm cursing f-ing cockroaches.

Still, though, I bragged to my coworker one Friday night, my apartment is a haven. A fairly modern, clean brownstone, not some huge pre-war apartment building with decades-old heating ducts. No restaurants anywhere on the block. A well-heeled, young landlord and young, professional tenants--none of whom would put up with a roach infestation. I scrubbed the place from heating duct to depths of cabinets to behind the toilet (having time to do so was one positive of waiting forever for our stuff to get here)-- no evidence, ever, of roaches.

The thing is, though, you really shouldn't brag about these things. That same night, after bragging to my coworker, while lying in bed, I glanced over to the bookcase.

"Oh my god. Karel. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god."

"What?"

"Oh my god. Bookcase. Look. Oh my god."

There, on top of the bookcase: a gigantic mutant cockroach, 2 inches, huge enough to make its Southeast Asian cousins proud (had it in fact been incubating in my backpack since Vietnam??), just hanging out, enjoying the breeze from the fan as its antennae waved in circles around its head.

Karel jumped up, ran right by it (causing no movement on the part of Giganto-Roach-- these roaches are lazy and have no fear of humans), grabbed a paper towel and flushed it.

I cowered in the middle of the bed, afraid to touch the walls, the sheets, the pillows.

Ok, on the plus side, the bigger the roach, the less likelihood of infestation. Maybe it just came in the window. Let's hope they didn't get into our stuff while it was in storage (one less f--- you from the lovely folks at SAM). I decided to give it a few weeks, if we didn't see another, it was probably just a random roach drop-in.

Fast-forward to this morning. I get out of the shower. I grab one of my two bathrobes hanging from the door and put it on. I hear a distinct buzzing of wings to my right, something land on my shoulder for a moment, and then buzz back to the door. Please let that have been a hornet or something. I look over at my other bathrobe. Gigantic mutant FLYING cockroach, crawling right up the inside of the other, lighter bathrobe I almost put on. Why can't we just have nice, normal, non-flying cockroaches like everyone else? Oh my god, maybe there are more. I rip the towel off my hair and the bathrobe off my body and run, screaming and buck naked, into the bedroom, where I abruptly rouse Karel from his just-a-half-hour-before-I-have-to-get-up-and-I-just-need-a-bit-more-time sleep.

"Giant cockroach giant cockroach giant cockroach! Landed on me! Kill it kill it kill it!"

Whereupon a spray-and-hide-and-seek game ensued in the bathroom, with the roach almost escaping into the heater after pulling a disappearing act from the bathrobe to the inside of the tub and then back out. Fortunately, Karel won. What would I do without him?

This was, of course, followed by a rat scurrying across the stairs in front of me as I emerged from the front of our brownstone.

Ah, New York.

Swallowing my pride (dedicated to Adrian :) )

I am a 28-year-old intern. As in, I am doing the thankless work usually relegated to those 22 and under (aka, my former students' peers). For free.

And while I have to swallow my pride and giggle slightly ashamedly when my... what do I call them? Coworkers? Mentors? Masters?... ask me about my background and I watch the concerned surprise manifest in their eyes, it's honestly not that bad. It's a great, small company, and I'm getting a lot of hands-on work and exposure. The bad part, however, is the fact that, as I am unpaid and as we just moved in (lord, now THAT'S a story) to a very expensive apartment, this will be a very busy summer of trying not to fall asleep in front of the copier in the morning and slinging drinks behind the bar at night and on the weekend (yes, I have actually gotten good enough behind the bar that they have promoted me to a few primo shifts). But, hey, in the past 24 months, I have worked about 5, so I obviously have zero to complain about.

The eternal teacher, however, I want to use this as a teachable moment. Kids, always follow your gut instinct. The funny thing about me and Karel is that, among our many similarities, we chose not to pursue what interested us at an early age and spent a good amount of time being aimless before finally settling into what we really have wanted to do since we were kids. Karel always loved to cook. When his father suggested applying to cooking schools as he prepared for college, he laughed him off, saying, "Dad, I want to work in an office when I graduate. I want to wear a suit. Besides, cooking's not serious." (I swear, that's really what he said. Fortunately, he changed.) After graduating with a degree in economics and spending some time in San Diego working with sailboats, he finally decided to listen to his father and his gut and go to culinary school. As for me, my mom can testify that I've wanted to be a writer my whole life. Yet in college, I thought Communications was too frivolous a major. So I studied... International Relations. And... Wait for it... Anthropology. Obviously highly useful. I should point out, however, that at Tufts at the time, Communications as a major was only offered through the Experimental College. Would you have been comfortable with a degree from the Experimental College? Don't they train clowns there? Instead, I experimented on my own, teaching (which I did love, but not as much as writing) and traveling, before I finally came here to New York and decided to try out the whole thing for real. My internship is at a book publishing house, which is not exactly writing per se, but it's books, and I love it.

I am, however, very poor. And very over-worked. And very tired. Especially this week, after Tuesday night's game (yay Celtics!). So, kids, learn from me (perhaps your former teacher. Any former students out there? Hi! Miss you guys!) and follow your gut. Unless you, too, strive to one day be an unpaid intern pushing 30.

The frustration knows no bounds

New York strikes again.

I feel like every post on this new blog has so far been me complaining, but, really, this is all getting to be a bit much!

When we were moving from Indy, we decided to go with one of those store and move companies, specifically SAM. The deal is that they deliver a storage pod which you pack yourself, they store it, then move it and deliver it to your new location. We chose it as a middle ground-- not as expensive as a full moving company, not as inconvenient as packing a van, unpacking it into a storage locker, then packing and unpacking it all again a few months later, especially as we had 2 cars with us out in Indy and would have either had to trailer one or have someone fly out to drive it back. After LOTS of research, we chose SAM as it offered service in both Indianapolis and Brooklyn.

Unfortunately, they did not say ANYWHERE when we selected them back in December that they are not allowed to deliver a storage container to an on-street location anywhere in Brooklyn, even though the company fully knew that our final location was going to be Brooklyn.

So, we now must find an accessible driveway nearby (unlikely), or, we'll have to end up renting a van, unpacking the storage container, loading the van and unloading it at the apartment. Which defeats the entire purpose of having used a SAM to begin with and with results in us having, essentially, wasted about 1000 bucks.

I'm already pretty much all set with this city and we haven't even officially moved here yet.

Of lucky cats and lottery tickets, or: How we managed to (finally) find our Brooklyn apartment

Last weekend. Impending homelessness: 2 days away and counting. We were down to the wire. Saturday was slightly, and disappointingly, non-eventful. None of the apartments we saw were particularly awful, but none particularly appealed to us either. Saturday's moonrise brought another sleepless night, another morning on Craigslist before dawn.

Sunday started out worse. We were piloted by a Hasidic man* with a bluetooth earpiece in a minivan to 3 of the worst hovels we'd seen so far. I'm talking about holes in the floor, below which cockroaches lay in anticipation for the dark, when they could emerge in droves, floors so warped I was afraid they would collapse soon, layers of plaster missing from the walls, decades-old refrigerators and stoves whose metallic surfaces had long since yielded to oxidation... Maybe we should just suck it up and offer a whole year's rent to the management company that rejected us with 6 months up front, if these places were the alternative.

With a heavy heart, we sat in a local cafe waiting for 1:30pm, when we were meant to meet with our broker, Jaime, who claimed he'd found us the "perfect" place... for only $1875 monthly... Seeing as 1) the place we last applied to through him in this neighborhood rejected us, and that place was "only" $1800, 2) that extra 75 bucks may not seem like much, but it was frankly beyond our budget and 3) it was in a less-savory part of town, we did not hold up much hope.

I remembered seeing on Craigslist the day before a listing for an open house for a by-owner apartment in the neighborhood at 1pm. We decided to give it a shot, even though with previous by-owner apartments we'd either been disappointed (cockroaches in the tub and such) or beaten to the punch. We met Ron, the owner, and he brought us up to the top floor of the 4-story walk-up. We were immediately attracted to the idea of Ron as a landlord: in his 30s, I suspect, he'd bought the brownstone and done much of the renovation on his own. He seemed genuine, helpful, reasonable and down-to-earth. We established a good rapport, especially after I learned he was a fish-eating vegetarian as well. And the apartment: hardwoods, massive closet space, sunny, gas stove, decent-sized kitchen, large living and bedrooms. And a roof deck. A block from the train. We loved it. We asked for an application, promised to fax it along with all the necessary paperwork that afternoon, and emerged, slightly crestfallen when we saw another young-ish couple waiting outside for a viewing, complete with adorable small dog."At least it's not a baby," I said to Karel, alluding to the way an owner had fawned over one at an open house the day before, after which we joked about renting one for the day. I think Tate would actually be able to turn on the charm for us very well. What do you say, Dave and Michelle? Although, not being married, that may turn out to actually work against us...

At any rate, we walked down the block, virtually skipping, wondering about the next step. Do we wait? Do we meet with Jaime anyway? Jaime was planning, the next morning, on approaching the management company for that apartment where we offered 6 months up front again, trying to re-apply now that I had a job (they rejected us before they took a look at my employment letter). Do we have him do that and also apply for Ron's spot? If we got Ron's spot, I'd prefer that: same neighborhood, no broker fee. However, that certainly was in no way a guarantee, regardless of our rapport. On the other hand, if we did re-apply to the former spot, we'd lose a $900 good-faith deposit if we later decided found out we did, indeed, get Ron's spot.

Our course of action, we decided (thank Buddha Karel was with me for this round of apartment viewing), would be this: cancel the appointment with Jaime, photocopy the necessary documents and deliver them, along with the application, to Ron in person, and play the waiting game with the other apartment. Jaime wouldn't renegotiate without our final ok, and it had already been on the market for a while; we figured it was worth the gamble.

So it was off to the corner shop for some photocopy mania. This being Mother's Day, one local mother was treating herself to some lottery tickets. Winning $10 on the first one, she bought a couple more. Before she left the store, she had won $110. I needed some of her luck! I told her such, and she rubbed some off on me. Karel and I crossed our fingers that it would work.

After delivering all the paperwork, it was the waiting game, along with 2 doubles in a row at the new job, concurrent with having to relocate to Pete's apartment as Ramin, who we'd been subletting from, had returned. It was not the easiest of days. Ron called Monday: he was wondering if we could send him proof we had some money in the bank, understandably so since our jobs were both so new. I spent an hour before work Tuesday morning partaking in faxing mania again. On edge and not looking forward to the second half of my second double in a row, I took a walk to help my nerves, and happened to pass by a Japanese gift shop.

One thing you should know about Karel and I: we are obsessed with those good-fortune cats, the kind you see in every shop and restaurant in every Chinatown and in every Asian country (at least Southeast Asian). You know: the gold ones, with the rocking hands? We have 3. They are meant to disperse, well, good fortune. The little Japanese gift shop had some, done, however, in the Japanese style: good fortune Hello Kitty. They came in different colors, and depending on the color you chose and where you placed them in your house, they brought you different kinds of luck. There was no color that was geared particularly toward the homeless, so I decided to go with the red one, who promised a good job. As I had not done a particularly good job at the new job the night before, and as a good "real" job was the next step after procuring a homestead, I figured this was a good choice.

With my red hello good fortune kitty stashed safely in my locker, I completely rocked it at work. Perfect flow, no rookie mistakes, great tips. Thanking the kitty as I left work, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket: a text message from Karel. We got the spot! We can't move in until June 1st, but still, clean, owner-occupied, huge closets, and a roof deck. You can't get much better in Brooklyn. Of course, hello kitty will inhabit a place of honor.

And that, my friends, is how we finally managed to procure an apartment in New York City.



* I mention his religion only because the physical juxtaposition was incredibly amusing: the long overcoat, the top hat, the curls framing his face... And then the bluetooth earpiece. It just didn't jive easily perceptually.

I love NY???

I'm sorry to be questioning my love for this city. I really DO love New York, the problem is that I think the relationship is one-sided. Dr. Phil would not approve. I am a love-sick puppy, begging for New York's approval and love, and, instead, all it is showing me is ambivalence, at best, disdain more usually.

There's a parking lot I walk by on the way to the nearest subway station. Every time I walk by it and look in, there is the same black and white cat sitting there, washing its butt. Really, every time. I feel it is a very apropos metaphor for New York's feelings for me. In New York's eyes, I'm just something that it needs to lick off its butt.

There are, of course, the myriad superficial inconveniences, like how my computer absolutely refuses to befriend our subletter's wireless internet, even when I use my own router and the signal strength is full, or how we weren't able to figure out how to make either the TV or our subletter's desktop work so we could watch a movie for a while... The eject button for the DVD drive is on the keyboard of Macs? Who knew? Then there are boots springing sudden leaks during rainstorms, trains perpetually just missed, et cetera, et cetera. But I think the biggest proof, by far, of New York's seemingly flat-out rejection of us is its absolute refusal to offer forth any opportunity for a permanent place to live.

When we first arrived, everything went so perfectly and smoothly. We found a great sublet in a fun, funky part of town on the first try, Karel landed the first job he interviewed for, I receieved a job offer a day after applying... We obviously belonged here. But, then, we moved into our sublet and the cat started perpetually licking its butt and everything started to unravel. The job offer ended up being far short of what I was looking for. While Karel's job is great, it doesn't pay as much as we had hoped. And then the apartment search. Man.

Multiple people (everyone you know who lives in or has lived in New York, actually) can tell you over and over how crazy it is to find an apartment in this city. We knew it would be nuts. We knew we weren't entirely prepared. Still, between the two of us, we have rented apartments in Providence, Pawtucket, Boston, San Diego, New Orleans, Buffalo, Barcelona, Florida, Indianapolis and Andorra. How bad can it be? Uh, yeah.

New York is expensive. Not just Manhattan. Brooklyn and even Queens now is being priced out. Sure, there are black Amex cards aplenty in this city, but, still, not many people can afford to buy. So take the insanity of a real estate market, multiply it 100-fold to reflect the fact that said market is in NYC, and then transfer all that stress and craziness to a rental market, as that's where most of the real estate wheeling and dealings are happening. And you still aren't close to describing how it feels to rent an apartment in New York.

First, there are the apartments themselves. We have applied for 4 so far. We have seen nearly 100. When you see an apartment you are vaguely interested in here, thanks to the enormous level of competition, you have to jump on it. So out of all the apartments we have seen, only 4% of them we have considered inhabitable. Scary (really scary) neighborhoods. Cockroaches in bathtubs. Mice. Rats. Stairs about to collapse. Paint (probably lead) falling off the ceiling. Bathrooms in the middle if the kitchen. As in, without a door. Just in the kitchen. No ceilings. No walls. A one bedroom where the bedroom wouldn't even fit a twin bed. Probably not even a desk. College-style mini-fridges. No closets. No doors. Bear in mind our max is $1800 monthly; that should get us SOMETHING acceptable. Still, these are the things we see. And this is Brooklyn. I met someone who has a "great deal" in the West Village. I think it's $2800 for a 2 bedroom. She has a roommate. They have one of the bathroom-in-the-kitchen deals. They string a curtain around the toilet and shower.

Then, when you do find a potential apartment, there are the documents. With each apartment we apply to, it seems, the list of required documents seems to grow. What we have submitted so far: IDs. Reference from previous landlord. Verification of employment letter from employer. Last 3 paystubs. Makes sense so far. W2s from last 3 years. Tax returns from last 3 years. Bank statements from last 3 to 6 months. Last 4 cancelled rent checks. 3 recent electric, gas, phone, cell phone, cable and internet bills. Employment history from last 5 years. Rental history from past 5 years. 2 personal references from each applicant. Photocopies of passports. Proof of other assets. I am waiting to be asked to supply my journal from 7th grade and report cards from kindergarten on. And then there's the 60 to 100 bucks each for a credit check and "processing fee".

Also, owners/landlords/management companies want to see a tenant making 40 times the monthly rent in a year (before taxes) to consider the tenant qualified. So, in order to get into a lease for $1800 monthly, you need to make $72,000 gross. Normally, with 2 people, no big deal. I'd need to make much less than $30,000 for us to be qualified. The only problem is that I have no idea how we'd be able to look for apartments if I were employed full time. Apparently, however, you are a more qualified candidate if you are currently homeless, as long as you have a job.

If you're not financially secure enough for the owner's liking (as in our case), each applicant will need a guarantor. Not all places accept a guarantor; some places require them even if you meet all criteria and then some. A guarantor needs perfect credit and, if you as an applicant don't make 40 times the rent, they need to gross 80 times the rent. Each guarantor needs to provide proof of income, last 3 bank statements and last year's W2s as well. And then there's the credit check and processing fees for each of your guarantors as well, so just applying for a place can cost you $400, which you don't get back even if you're rejected. And let's not forget about the very sensible broker's fee, 12-15% of a yearly lease. Which means, when renting a place for about $1800 monthly (and that's a reasonable rent for a 1 bedroom, unless you want to be out in the boonies), you cough up upon signing a lease about $2500 for nothing, and you never see that money again.

We have applied for 4 places so far. The first one rejected us straight-out as Karel's credit is "recovering" and I didn't have a job. The apartment, which had a yard but didn't have a door to the bedroom (which was more the front part of a double parlor than the bedroom-- this is very common in the many "railroad apartments" in this city), closet space or windows in the living room, was apparently priced at $500 under market value. For this reason, the landlord didn't feel as though she should have to go through the "hassle" of having a tenant with guarantors. First, the hassle isn't hers. It's ours-- we contact, beg, write our own letters of recommendation for people to sign as it's a pain enough for them to have to sign them and fax them (most New Yorkers don't realize that not everyone has immediate access to a fax machine), locate records from 12 years ago, try to find a place to fax from, make parents travel an hour away so they can find a place to fax from... She doesn't even look at the paperwork-- the broker does and then explains it to her. Secondly, if I had perfect credit and were making bank down on Wall Street, I would want a door on my bedroom. And windows in my living room. And a closet I don't have to buy from IKEA. And, yeah, there's a yard, but it's all dirt, and you'd prefer a tenant who would spruce it up a bit. Sorry, but I work 80 hours a week. I don't even have time to grill a meal outside, nevermind grow a garden. Anyway, I make enough to qualify me for the much nicer place up the street going for only $500 more, spare change for me, so, thanks but no thanks. Yeah, good luck lady.

The 2nd place we found was being rented directly from an owner, which is much better, as you avoid the whole broker fee BS and get to interact with the owner directly, making things much more human. Unfortunately, the competition for owner-rented spots is even steeper than the competition for the rental market in general; you really need to know the owner in such cases. In that case, someone unfortunately beat us to the punch.

We were really excited for the 3rd spot. Great part of town, accessible to Manhattan, nice new kitchen. It was small, but not stupid-small and made a nice use of the space it did have. The fire escape was even a large one! We went back to our broker's office, got all our paperwork in order, went through the whole mad process of contacting people and begging for documents we didn't need for the last application and then all the faxing mania. We were on the edge of our seats. And then we got the call. The brokerage, upon callng the management agency, found out that the apartment had just been rented that day. It was back to the drawing board. At least we got our $400 back.

And then, the next day, after seeing 7 other apartments with Jaime, our broker who by this point was as concerned about finding us a place as we were, I found it. The spot. The one place out of the nearly-100 I've seen that I walked into and thought "This is it," with zero reservation. No thinking that it was in the wrong part of town, too small, or the bathroom too dark, or the stove electric, or wondering if the bed would fit into the bedroom (which has a door, and a large closet). Usually I take pictures of the places I check out, as I'm often alone and need to show Karel what the place looks like, if it's a place I'm considering. I didn't even take any pictures; it was the first maybe that was absolutely a definitely. I was so excited I was shaking.

And it was back to the broker's office, all the papers in order by now, everything I could possibly need. Guarantor information ready to be provided and all.

Then the bad news. The management agency doesn't accept guarantors. As we didn't make 40 times the monthly rent (yet) and Karel doesn't have great credit, the only bargaining option we could use, the brokerage informed us, was having 6 months' rent up front. Which, sadly, after our latest adventure, I no longer have in the bank.

I walked out, dejected, ready to cry, wondering how in the world I'd go back and do this all over the next day. It's tiring, running around the city all day every day, on and off trains, walking miles and miles, checking out anywhere from 5 to 10 apartments a day, researching craigslist with a fine-toothed comb, calling strangers, making more appointments for the next day.

It's also sad and draining, being 28 and 35, two people with a steady employment history and more money saved up in the bank than a lot of our friends, and still not being able to find a place to live. I feel like a loser. Like we're the most unreliable, financially irresponsible people in the world. It doesn't help when you have to lean on parents for help. I know I am very very lucky to be in a situation where I can do just that. But, still, it does not do wonders for the self esteem.

Still, thanks to financially responsible and incredibly charitable parents, I am fortunate enough to be in a position where we can offer the 6 months up front. It was back to the broker's office to fill out the application and now more fax mania. I did everything I could to show some sort of income--letters showing I bring in money tutoring and selling photographs. And then, within one week, I had a job as a bartender and a waitress. You want income? Fine, look, I can land a job in a week. And I'll pull in 600 bucks weekly, after tax. So, $12,000 up front and a job for me. That has to be enough, no? No. After stringing us along for a week (a week during which we missed out on looking at more apartments as we couldn't really jump on anything anyway), they rejected us.

And now our subletter comes back Monday. As in the day after tomorrow.

So, after a very expensive education at Tufts, where I graudated with honors, after a solid 5 years of teaching, after nearly dying in a car accident, after nearly 2 years of traveling around the world, after shooting to the top and becoming one of the restaurant's best servers months after being hired at my first restaurant job ever, after later being promoted into essentially a management position created just for me at that same restaurant, after landing a job in New York City less than a week after I even started trying to look for a restaurant job (thank you Pete!!), I am now, officially, a homeless bartender.

Hurrah. I love New York.

Some say he world will end in fire, some say in ice... I say it will end in drunken debauchery

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/17/business/worldbusiness/17warm.html?hp

A 6-year long drought in Australia, which many believe is a result of climate change and a sign of patterns to come, has led many farmers in the country to turn from growing rice to growing grapes for wine, as grapevines require much less water.

Hence, while we are collectively meeting our demise from starvation / violence due to food or fuel shortage / drowning as water levels rise / dying in some horrific weather event, at least we can be wasted in the process.

Mushy brains

Last week, while reading The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat, I took comfort in the fact that Oliver Sacks attributed the visions of Hildegaard, a religious mystic from the 12th century, to migraine headaches. I took comfort as this was evidence that I am not the only migraine-induced freakshow.

Behold, a dream I had when I managed to fall asleep for 10 minutes during my last migraine:

I'm walking down a hallway, with windows to my left and a wall to my right, with a middle-aged woman, telling me that today is my lucky day as I am in for a real delicacy: we will be having brains for dinner. Human brains.

We enter a room. To the left, in a chair, is a man with a giant fly for a head. Except the giant fly isn't his head. It's, actually, eating his head. Well, no not so much eating. As my hostess explains, the fly isn't so much eating man's head; it's more like the fly is sucking on his head. Apparently, the juices the fly excretes as it sucks on the man's head makes the man's brain mushy, and the mushiness is what makes human brains so delicious.

Meanwhile, the fly has somehow detached itself from the man's head and the latter is walking, stumblingly, around the room, saying, "I'm not mushy enough yet. I don't think I'll taste good."

My hostess takes the man by the elbow, leading him back to the chair, insisting that, yes, he is plenty mushy enough, and he'll taste just delicious.

Unfortunately, I woke up before I was able to determine that myself.