Hi-diddle-dee-dee...

I get this a lot:


person: So, what do you do?

me: Oh, I'm an actor.

person: Oh, cool, like in the movies? like what have you been in?

me: Well, I'm just starting out, but most of my experience has been on stage.

person: Oh, I see. So you want to do Broadway?

Me: Ha...well, eventually, maybe, I'm not sure, I hope...heh....



Then the conversation usually comes to a dead end.

It's a difficult profession to talk about, though it seems it would be easy, right? It's exciting, fairly interesting and fun. Most people come into contact with some form of actor every day, but the intricacies of the business are difficult to explain, vague and often times obscured (on purpose).

I thought about writing out the hows and whys of acting in New York, but to be honest, there's just too much. It would either overwhelm or bore you. I'll explain it to you over a cup of coffee one day, if you are still interested.

So, until then, I'll give you my take on acting in New York City from a BEGINNER'S perspective. Let me stress beginner, please.

A Beginner's take on Acting in New York City


I arrived in New York ahead of the game with almost 8 years in training, gathering experience as a performer, now with two degrees to my name. I've been in more than 20 plays, several short films a few commercials and some radio. But one thing that you learn, or you just know, is that when it comes to being an actor, there's New York, L.A...and then everything else.

So, in some ways I am very experienced, but in other ways I am as new as new can be. And that can be good, a lot of times fresh faces are the ones who get the most attention in the city, but there's also the pernicious question "Well, what have you done?"

And where am I headed? What do I want out of this? Do I want to be on TV/Film? Do I want to do theatre? commercials? Broadway? Hollywood? what's the ultimate goal? a Tony? an Oscar? These are fantastic questions.

I think it's important to have goals in this business, as difficult as that can be. They really seem so far away, as far as the moon, but all you have to do is look up to see them and they keep you going; tell you where your next step is.

A dream situation would be...(and I hesitate to write this because of fear of none of it coming true)

Get cast in something in the city, something small, probably no pay, maybe just a reading, but exposure none the less and some decent performance challenges. Once I'm actually performing, I can submit to agents, do an interview and let them know that I'm performing in something in town. Then, hopefully get signed, start doing paying work, TV, commercial, film, off-broadway theatre. Then my career could take several different paths, commercials, TV and Film would draw me to California, where most of the work is. This could happen if I were cast in a  TV show that was filming in LA and I had to go out there to do it. Or, I could stay in New York and do as much stage work as I can, get my Equity card, do off-broadway, regional theatre and eventually...The Great White Way itself.

Now, a lot of this path of success depends on when I "go Equity" or, when I am unionized according to the Actors Equity Association. Equity used to be the only real way to go to get a job as an actor on stage, but in recent years it's become a double-edged sword, because the fact is that when you go Equity, you can't go back. The benefits are: standardized pay, rules for rehearsal/performance, health insurance, in general preference, its the mark of a professional actor. The negative side is that once I go Equity I am no longer eligible for non-equity work (which tends to be more frequent, but much less consistent). If you ask me, non-equity work is something I will not be pained to part with. But I see why people hesitate to join the union. Once you're in the union, the jobs are fewer and the competition greater, the opposite is true when you are not.

Another VERY important aspect of this business is who you know. That makes careers. Just about everyone you see on TV and in the movies got to where they are because they knew someone who could get them there. Not from birth, I'm sure they met them along the way, but it highlights a key component in the climb to success as an actor and that's making connections socially. Oh, you knew so-and-so? He was my D.P in blah blah blah...let me get him on the phone...and then you've got a job. And on and on. Everything is so interconnected, you HAVE to be willing to talk to people. Meet them. Find out who they are/what they like....and on the opposite end...this is CRUCIAL....You cannot burn bridges. No matter how infernally irritating or rude or just plain stupid people are, you have to be patient with them, let them go. They will eventually aggravate the wrong person and their career will be through, but if you instigate it or if you give them reason to think of YOU poorly, then you can get blacklisted so fast it will make your head spin. You never know who you might be working for either, so it's always important to be exceptionally nice to interns and assistants.

So what am I doing RIGHT NOW?

I'm going to auditions. As many as I can scrape up. I'm sending headshot/resumes to every theatre holding auditions for a part that's even near my type. You gotta get yourself out there, you have to wade through it. For now, the skills I need to master are those of the audition. Because once I get a job, I can handle it. It's the getting that I need to have gotten.

But one of the most important things I'm wishing to communicate with this post, happens to be the toughest part of this whole thing.

It will take time. 


Now, I'm obviously very young and relieved about having a lot of time, but it's not easy for my generation to comprehend the concept of waiting. As my good friend R. Wilkerson said: "It feels like running a marathon, but you're running in place." And it will feel like that for quite some time, I'm sure. Most people say 3-5 years before you get your footing in a city like New York.

So sit back, relax? No. Of course not. It's work, work, work, and work. If I have the immense pleasure of winning an award for my craft, bestowed by peers or audiences, or whoever...or I simply look back on a career that I can be proud of, I hope I owe it to the hard work I'm doing at this very important, foundation laying period.

Every day I'm hustling. Every day I'm looking. Every day I'm smiling. No matter what, I'm living the dream.

Hurricane Irene (A Sort of Survival Story)

Hurricane Irene wasn't quite as kind to a
 neighbor of ours as she was to us. 

In August of 2005 we learned to take hurricanes and hurricane warnings very seriously.


I mean, you only need to go without running water and electricity for days once in your life to learn that hurricanes can really mess up your day. (Point proven in picture to the left.)



With that being said, we were very aware of Irene creeping her way up the Atlantic coast toward NYC.

Hurricane's a comin'

We were very aware of it on Tuesday when both Alex and I worked until after 9 pm. We were very aware of it on Wednesday when we were both out of the apartment for 14+ hours. And we were very aware of it on Thursday when Channel 7 Eyewitness News started warning New Yorkers of an approaching category 3 storm on our doorstep.  We were aware of it. But we didn't have time to do anything about it.

Until my dad called.

My dad is a very level headed man. He doesn't panic, he doesn't take media hype and run with it. So, when my dad called on Thursday night and told me to get to the store right that minute and buy supplies for the weekend...I listened. Alex and I went to our local (and very expensive) grocery store and bought peanut butter, granola bars, pasta, crackers, and chips. Things that wouldn't need refrigeration but things that we would also eat under normal circumstances.

Friday morning, Alex went and bought water and candles while I was at work educating tomorrow's world leaders.

Friday afternoon we had a staff meeting with an update at the possible severity of the storm and that our building would be closed for the weekend.

Friday night our friends from Manhattan came over but left in time to make sure they wouldn't get stuck here with MTA shutting down service.

Water was everywhere. But thankfully,
only in increments of one to two inches.
At least in our neighborhood. 

Saturday morning Alex and I got up and assessed the weather. Very grey, rainy, and windy but no hurricane conditions quite yet. There were many people moving on the streets in our neighborhood (more than usual, actually, due to the total shut down of NYC subways) so we took Maggie May for a quick walk and then decided to go out to breakfast. Our logic being that we were about to be shut up in our 475 sq. ft. apartment for 24 hours so we deserved a morning out. (By the way, the resulting breakfast at aBistro on Dekalb was some of the best we've had...ever!)

After breakfast things hadn't picked up that much so we decided to make a dash down to Starbucks so I wouldn't be out of my iced coffee during the storm. There is only so much a girl can live without, after all.

Sadly, Starbucks was closed. The sign said something that made me think that Starbucks Corporation felt the immediate safety needs of its employees outweighed the caffeine needs of the addicted. I'm still not sure how I feel about that one.

While we were in the Atlantic Terminal area, though, we decided to take a peek into Target.

We expected absolute mayhem. What we found was absolute calm. At this point, it was already after 1 pm and the panicking crowds had been out earlier that morning. We browsed Target with less crowds than we had ever seen. We bought a few items, tea candles, batteries, and the such, and walked home...in the now pounding rain.

A bit of Ft. Green Park flooded with
 about 7 inches of water. Maggie really enjoyed
the impromptu swimming hole. 

The next 24 hours were uneventful...really.




Rain, wind, power (yes, we had power throughout the whole storm), snacking, wind, lots of rest, minor flooding, Mad Men, trees falling, lesson planning and, have I mentioned rain?




Mercifully, Ft. Greene Brooklyn seemed to have made it out with very minor damage and a blast of wonderfully fall feeling weather.

New York City has such a reputation for being bold, arrogant, and tough. I guess Hurricane Irene just wasn't up to the challenge.

After the storm. 

And thank goodness for that. 

When it Rains...

It's been a common piece of advice from New Yorkers we knew that on some days you win and some days the city wins. Well, today, the city got a handsome tally mark. 1-0.

To begin, one thing you must know about the city is that the elements have to be dealt with differently here, especially rain. The rain compounds every difficulty you might have, moving is a hassle, you are constantly wet, visibility is low, people are grumpy. And it's not like it just sprinkles in New York City, no...when it rains, it pours. It pours. Torrents. Gallons.

So last night, the rain began after we were snuggled in bed, somewhere close to 1am. Bonnie and I were playing host to our friend Faith who was occupying the air mattress in the living room. At about 3 am, I was woken by a sprinkling on my face. My first thought was "Wow, the air conditioner is spraying water really far" It took several good droplets before I realized that the ceiling was leaking. It wasn't a gentle drip either, there was a crack about a foot long and in several directions.

So once identified, we sprung into action! Ok, not really, I shook Bonnie awake, she didn't believe me, then she felt the water herself. So we did the sensible thing. Pad the head of the mattress with sweat shirts and get a bowl to catch the water (pretty shallow bowl too). Once the water was being received by some agent, Bonnie mumbled something about sleeping on the couch and I nestled down on the floor at the foot of the bed, putting my cell phone on the chest next to the bed. This was 3:15 am.

I heard the dripping for a while, my head swimming with questions: What are we going to do about this leak? are we going to have to move our bed? (this seems like a simple thing, but its not with our loft bed) is this going to be the only leak? how long will this last? I drifted off.

I was awoken once more by water splashing on my face. This time, it was coming from the mattress itself. I recovered my phone, getting damp, but still working, 5 am. The mattress is gushing water. The MATTRESS!!! I don't have time to question what's going on. I turn the light on, wake Bonnie up and we remove the mattress, tip it over off the bed frame and away from our clothes, and I stagger to the living room, deliriously fall asleep and hope, in vain, for the best.

9 am. We wake up, rain-a-fallin. The leak had stopped, but we still had to figure out what to do, our mattress soaking with water. Then, when going over emails, the air-conditioner sputters to a stop, the fans slow to a halt...the power went out. This could be a problem.

The entire day was like this. We realized that we were the only apartment without power. Our Super shows up, but doesn't know what to do. He says he'll check the breaker, but the leak was going to take a few days to fix. By 6pm, the power was still out. We'd placed an order with ConEd, but since the meter was reading for the rest of the building, they assumed it was a wiring issue maybe stemming from the massive water flow coming through the ceiling and walls. But if it was wiring, it would take a long time to fix and we might be without power for...well...we don't know!

So, while plugged in at Tillies, the coffee shop across the street, wondering what to do, hitting dead ends with our Super, we were reaching a state of desperation. It was a feeling of helplessness. We had no idea what to do, where to begin, how we were going to deal with the leak, with the power outage. Our hands were tied, mouths agape, staring helplessly out at the coffee shop walls.

Then the ConEd man showed up, he mulled around the basement and flipped one breaker switch and we had power again. We went from the bottom to the top in 5 minutes flat. Of course, being the man, I felt silly. THE BREAKERS! Why didn't I check that? The super said he had done it...maybe that was the reason. Feeling a little embarrassed, but overall relieved, we had a General Greene comfort food dinner and  headed back up the 67 steps to our apartment, lights shining bright.

Not that everything has to be wrapped up, but this very long day was another reminder of how quickly things change for you here, why it's always best to check and double check yourself and to never take the rain lightly. Especially when it drips on your face in your bedroom in the middle of the night. The city may have one today, but I think we got the night.

Adventures of Honey the Abandoned Dog

Looking back to last Monday I wonder where my head was. Its not an unusual thing for me to think with my heart instead of my brain when animals are involved but, really, what was I thinking?

I had met my neighbor in Ft. Greene Park so our little dogs could play together during off leash hours. She's a kind person who is originally from Israel which fascinates me. As she says, I'm from the "real" America which fascinates her. Our dogs fascinate each other so it all works out beautifully for a puppy play-date at the park.

On our way out of the park, a man came to the sidewalk and started shouting "Is this anyone's dog?" My new friend, two other dog walkers, and myself went over to see if we could help locate the owner. As we approached the dog the man said (notice the quotation marks-this is exactly what he said):

"I seen this dawg runnin' in the street and I almos' hitta. So I stopped and put her up in ma caw. An, an, look, where she was sittin' she had this big bowl and this bag of food. Looks like someone musta dumped her. Now, that Science Diet, thas expensive food! Awright, awright, yous seem like nice people. I did my duty. Got her outa the streets." And with that, he jumped in his car and drove off with this little pitbull mix whining after him.

After this man so obviously dumped his dog on us, the four of us good-dog-samaritans didn't know what to do. Someone brought up shelters but they were all closed for the evening. As she was a gentle, sweet, and submissive dog, somebody stated the  obvious, "Well, someone is going to have to take her home. At least for the night." Absolute silence. Creepy silence. Where everyone thinks that everyone is waiting for them to say "I'll do it". Which, actually, is exactly what everyone is waiting for.

I've always been the type that cannot handle the idea of leaving a poor helpless dog on the streets. She was clean, she and Maggie got on gangbusters, and she needed shelter. So, after what felt like an hour but really was only about 10 seconds I volunteered and the stony awkward silence was broken with intense relief.

One of the dog owners ran home and brought me his old leash so we could walk her home. My friend's husband came to help us walk the (now three) dogs back. My friend helped carry the food and bowl up my 67 steps and I walked Maggie and the new dog to my apartment. We gave her a bowl of water, she drank as if she hadn't had a drop of water in days, and then she set about exploring her temporary foster home.

Maggie May did splendidly throughout the week. It can't be easy for a little spoiled dachshund who is used to 100% of her parents' attention, plus that of all of the visitor's to her home, to suddenly be sharing the spotlight.  Honey (the name I gave to the pit because she is that sweet) is a love bug. She wanted to follow me everywhere I went. I get up to get water, Honey's right behind me, I sweep the floor, she's getting entangled in the broom, I go to the bathroom, well, you get the picture. She wanted to be in my lap, at my feet, staring into my eyes, and getting love 24 hours a day. This, of course, made Maggie jealous. But, instead of getting possessive over me, she only got possessive over her food. And anytime I was showing Honey the least bit of love and affection Maggie May would very slowly and very dramatically walk to her kennel and lay with her back to us. Broke my heart every time (which was obviously Maggie's intention) but Honey (who, by her sadly submissive behavior) had obviously been abused, abandoned, and needed some lovin'. I loved her. Maggie May dealt with it.

Getting Honey a permanent home became the number one priority in my week.  First of all, because all of the "no kill" shelters were full. Secondly, because she needed some consistency in her life. Lastly, because cleaning up a 40 lb. dog's "business" on the street is way nastier than cleaning up an 11 lb. dog's "business".

The best part was that I was not in this alone. The three other dog owner's who were with me when she was dumped helped raise the alarm. She was put on blogs, craigslist, Petfinders, and email lists galore.


Responses were pouring in from all over our neighborhood. People were so appreciative for us rescuing her. Some offered to help foster, some offered to help walk her, some offered money, some offered compliments and encouragement. Through these email chains, I met another neighbor who was instrumental in the whole process rehoming process.

Diane is a pregnant actress who lives with her husband one block away from me on the same street. She is very kind and has the same bleeding heart for animals that I do. She picked Honey up to take her to the vet for a checkup.

The vet tech fell in love with her. We all knew Maggie and Honey were a match made in heaven. It was love at first wag.




Good luck, Honey and Maggie. May your life be as full and happy together as petly possibly.



So, how do you meet new friends in a big city?

                                                      

 Rescue a dog. 

The silver linings of : beach, burned, and bummed

"I'm from south Texas. It's over 100˚ regularly. I lived in Mississippi. It's the upper 90˚s and humid as all get out almost every day. I lived in Virginia. The mountains block the breeze and creates a gourmet cafe for mosquitoes.  I can handle New York City and its 85˚. Bring it on." 

Jeez, I can be dumb. I thought the heat in this city would be nothing compared to what I'm used to. Honestly, I am from south Texas where it is over 100˚ on a regular basis. There is one essential difference between south Texas, Mississippi, Virginia and NYC, though. Two words. Central Air. I never knew how dear, how wonderful, and how special this gift of modernity was until I had it no more.  Window units are more of a tease than a luxury. 

When you first walk into my apartment after the 67 steps it feels amazing. "Ahh, AC!" And then you close the door, get yourself a nice cold water or an iced tea, have a seat, and realize the coolness you felt upon entering has somehow mysteriously disappeared. Where did it go? I'd love to find out and move there. 

To beat the heat, one might think one can go to any local coffee shop or restaurant. WRONG. Many places in Ft. Greene, Brooklyn, seem to think that AC is only for the weak or the tourist-at-heart. So, I'm stuck in my blazing apartment or stuck outside under a tree pretending I feel a nice and cool nonexistent breeze. There has to be another way to cool off in  the most happenin' city on the planet. 

There is. 

BEACH.

It's called Robert Moses Beach and it's only an hour and 15 minutes away by train on the Long Island Railroad. 

My co-worker from William Perry (my wonderful school that I taught at in VA) is originally from Long Island and she invited me to go to the beach for the day with her and a friend. I was ecstatic to get out of the city, have a normal day of summer vacation, and see a friendly face. I hopped on the train and had an enjoyable ride venturing deeper into Long Island than I had ever gone before all the while getting lost in a good book.  I got to the station, Katie picked me up, and off we went. 

The beach was especially relaxing due to the clouds, the crashing waves, and the comfy beach chair I planted myself in as soon as we hit the sand. There was conversation, laughs, reading, and contented silence. I ventured into the water once and was knocked on my fanny by the strong waves after only being in about a foot of water. So, after cooling off (I mean, I did fall on purpose....) I went back to my chair and didn't get up again. 

 BURNED.

After a joyful day of reading, people watching, and relaxing, I headed back to the city cool, comforted, and tired. The train ride home wasn't quite as nice as the one going out, though. 

My skin felt all stuck and dry and scratchy. 

Yup. I got burned. Boy, did I get burned. 

 The greatest part was that I was burned in the irregular and comical patterns of someone who put on sunscreen but put it on very lazily. A white patch here, a red patch there, I look like a picnic blanket.  At least on my walk home from the subway I bought some aloe-vera gel (I hate it when drug store clerks look at the gel, look at your burn, and say "Got burned, huh?" It makes me want to say "DUH!") I got home and immediately put it in the fridge so it could get icy.  The freezing gel on my sizzling skin feels so nice. It makes me feel like it is almost worth the burn just to have the relief from the gel. Coincidentally, the cold gel is also a nice way to stay cool in my lukewarm apartment. 

BUMMED. 

Friday morning bright and early I took my little sunburned-self to Penn Station to catch a Bolt Bus to DC where I would catch a train to Charlottesville where I would catch some last goodbyes with friends and catch Alex's show The 39 Steps. 

 

The bus rolled in 7 minutes late (which is the only reason I made it) , we were all boarded and ready to go within minutes. All except the driver. Oh, no. He took his sweet time getting a snack, talking to the Bolt Bus representative on the sidewalk, and stretching his legs. 40 minutes later, we were on our way. About 40 minutes after that the beautiful central air on the bus decided it needed a nap and fizzled out. So, a bus full of hot, stuffy, and grumpy passengers were all hoping we could get to our destination without a further hitch so we could get out of the Sahara and get on with our lives. 

 We hit traffic in NYC. We hit traffic in Delaware. We hit traffic at the rest stop. We hit traffic in DC. And the AC was nowhere to be found. 

Needless to say, I didn't make my train to Charlottesville. With no way to get to Charlottesville within 24 hours, I had a choice to make. 

Pay for a hotel, spend an entire day stuck in DC by myself for only 12 hours in Charlottesville? I don't think so. I'm burnt to a crisp, crushed because I don't get to see my husband's show, and am now headed back to NYC where I just left. And for what?  A peek at Union Station in DC. Oh, joy. 

Silver lining from my train last night.  Literally. 

13 hug-less and husband-less hours later, I walked back into my tepid apartment and was thankful that I didn't have to spend the night in a hotel and that I got home safely. I'm thankful that  I have a sweet little dog who was so excited to see me you'd have thought I'd been gone for years rather than hours. I'm thankful I now have time to hang my curtains before my job starts on Monday. And the brightest silver lining to all of this is that Alex comes home tomorrow. 

And yes. There is a silver lining to the heat. Its called "I've been sweating so much from walking, stair climbing, and subwaying in this heatwave that I've lost 7 pounds". It's like living in a Bikram Yoga studio. 

In the end, the best way I've found to stay cool and have a little peace, ease, and comfort is to have a seat, have a glass of sweet tea, and look for that silver lining...just look for it wearing sunscreen that you've applied in a consistent and complete manner.

Brooklyn IS New York City....No, really!

Let me just start by saying it doesn't bother me when people say, "How's New York City? Oops, I mean Brooklyn?" There is actually a lot of truth behind this incorrect statement. Brooklyn is a different world. When one feels drowned by the vast amount of people and pigeons and flashing lights in Time Square,  or incredibly angry taxi driver's honking at old pedestrians just trying to cross the street, or even delivery trucks emitting their horrible fumes out into the fish-flavored-streets of China Town, one only needs to hop on the Q, R, F, 4, 5, 6, C, or A trains and sail into the wonderful fresh-air-filled-Brooklyn. Brooklyn is city heaven. Yesterday after spending an entire afternoon in Time Square with my wonderful friend, I stepped out of the G train into my wonderful neighborhood and felt a tightness in my chest  I didn't know I had totally evaporate. Trees! Dogs! Families! The sky! No fish smell! HEAVEN!

So, knowing that I LOVE Brooklyn so much and would be totally proud for it to be a city of its own, why is it important for me to set the record straight? In the words of Wheezer from Steel Magnolia, "I don't know why, its just what I do".  So, here it goes.

http://residentialnyc.com/borough/borough.html 

New York City is split into five sections or boroughs.  The boroughs are similar to counties but they all stand together to make up the most exciting and culturally diverse city in the world (opinion, I know, but who would argue with it?)

Traditional Time Square
photo of Alex and I from our first visit
to NYC together back in Jan. of 2008

Manhattan is the oldest borough and is generally what one thinks of when the name New York City is heard. It is home to Time Square, Central Park, Wall Street (the the big bronze bull and all), China Town, Little Italy and the list could go on forever. It is the geographically smallest of the five boroughs. It also has the least amount of grass, trees, free standing homes, and gets the hottest due to the extremely tall buildings everywhere that may give shade but certainly don't provide a breeze or oxygen.  All in all, though, its an amazing place with an "I can do anything and be anything and accomplish anything" feel. You must explore this borough and be prepared to give it a lot time and detail. You won't regret it.

http://nihilobstat.info/2008/09/23/the-yankee-cathedral/ 

The Bronx is the city's northern most borough and is home to Yankee Stadium, the Bronx Zoo (which, by the way, spans 265 acres) and Sarah Lawrence. I've heard wonderful things about the Bronx and can't wait to go. I'll give you my own opinion when I do.

Queens is the largest borough and is statistically the most ethnically diverse in the United States. It was founded by the Dutch (what wasn't?) and historically was a collection of small towns and villages that NYC started to gobble up with population/acre growth. Queens can hold its own in the area of professional sporting events. It is home to Citi Field (stadium for the New York Mets) and it annually hosts the US Open Tennis Tournament. I have also never been to Queens. I don't know when I'll go but I'm sure I will...eventually.

Staten Island Ferry- photo curtsey of Collier Lumpkin
(taken on our day trip to Governor's Island)

Staten Island is the most suburban of the five boroughs. I don't know much about it except what I just read on wikipedia. I did discover that is has over 28 miles of hiking trails and one of the last undisturbed forests in the city. The Staten Island Ferry is one of the most popular tourist attractions because of the incredible views it offers of lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. One of my literary heroes, Frank McCourt (author of the Pulitzer Prize winning book Angela's Ashes) used to take the ferry everyday to his first teaching gig on the Island. So, I will be doing this sometime soon!

Full moon rising-
 Ft. Greene Park, Brooklyn

Brooklyn, ah, Brooklyn. What can I say that would sufficiently detail the beautiful brownstones, the incredible trees, the friendly and unique blend of people, dogs, and calmness?  Brooklyn was an independent city until 1898 and is the only borough besides Manhattan with its own distinct downtown district. It is known for its cultural diversity, independent art and food scene and just being awesome. Also, its known world wide for the fact that recently two Grubbs and a dog moved there making it one of the most happenin' places in the city.



I hope you enjoyed your geography lesson as much as I enjoyed websearching it. (Special thanks to wikipedia for all of the quick and hopefully accurate information...)

It makes sense that in a city of over 8 million, one needs to find the right neighborhood niche. Thankfully, I've found Brooklyn.
 "How's New York City? Oops, I mean Brooklyn."

Brooklyn is fantastic, thanks.

BMW? I'll hit that, thank you.

After the grueling Saturday move-in-marathon our day was far from over. We had to make a trip to IKEA (a store that takes about a month's worth of energy to navigate on the best of days) and we were both totally taken aback by the amount of people, who, like ourselves, thought a Saturday IKEA trip would be a good idea. There were pregnant women searching for nursery options, new city folk like us hoping to find cheap and space efficient furniture for new apartments, internationals galore speaking in so many languages and wearing so many improperly spelled English T-shirts that it made my eyes water, and, my favorite, a local Brooklyn kid who took a seat next to Alex and began to explain to him how he and his mom had taken this train to that train and so on and so forth and how he couldn't believe how many people were shopping at IKEA anyway. Like the kid said, "It's crazy, huh?"

Forhoja by IKEA 99.99$
and worth every penny. 

Our IKEA trip went fine despite the low energy and tired feet and we loaded our new purchases (some shelves, two area rugs, a kitchen counter/island, a coat hook, two lamps, and a few smaller odds-and-ins) into the now empty moving truck and started the relatively short drive back to our neck of the borough. 

We decided to be adventurous and instead of taking the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway back we took Clinton St. (not to be confused with Clinton Ave which is where our place is located). Clinton St. is a beautiful brownstone-tree-stroller-lined street that goes through Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill which are both swank and wealthier neighborhoods. As we were driving up this street in our large 16 ft. Budget moving truck we noticed a disturbance ahead. There was an ambulance parked in the street and the medics were apparently knocking on doors trying to find the person in need of help. One of the medics walked in front of our path and Alex expertly and calmly swerved to miss this civil-servant-pedestrian. Distracted by the swerve and the obviously missing injured or ill person, I wasn't paying much attention to the side of the street that we swerved into so when I heard a strange crunching noise followed closely by a man pushing a stroller staring at us with open-faced aghast shock I knew we had done something horrible. In the whole swerve-to-miss-the-medic-maneuver we had hit a car. Yup, our first NYC traffic accident. 

Alex and I looked at each other for just a short second with panic reflecting in both our eyes and then I hopped out of the truck to try and assess the damage and find the vehicle's owner. Unfortunately, by this time, the ambulance had realized it was on the wrong street entirely and the medics jumped back in and wanted to speed off to actually find and help the intended person. This meant  that I was on the sidewalk and Alex was in the truck which now needed to be moved so that the ambulance could redeem itself and go save a life. So, off went Alex and the moving truck. Off went the ambulance. And off went the man with the stroller who was still staring at me like I killed Lassie. 

This. Only Green. 

I walked to the side of the street to find the car we hit to look at the damage. And my heart stopped and didn't feel the need to start beating again for what felt like an hour. 

We had hit a BMW. 

A shiny and beautiful forrest green BMW SUV that was just parked on the street minding it's own business. I quickly began thanking our lucky stars, common sense, and bank accounts because we had opted to get full coverage on the truck. That would cover damage to a beautiful and new BMW, right?? RIGHT??

Then I noticed something spectacular. The BMW seemed fine except for the driver's side mirror which had the black frame hanging off and was pushed back. Well, that looked a lot better. Mirrors, even BMW mirrors, couldn't be that expensive to fix, surely. Looking around to see if anyone who seemed like a BMW owner was out on the street yet, I decided to go ahead and see if the mirror could still move. I pushed it back and saw that it wasn't actually broken at all. Thank goodness for whoever invented the hinge on the side mirror that allows it to be pushed in the wrong direction. I simply pushed it back in place and felt that I was brilliant. Back in the right place, I saw that now the only thing wrong with the mirror was the black frame that had popped off. Well, the judger-with-the-stoller was gone so I decided to see if I could just pop it back on. 

And you know what? I could. 

It was like putting the last piece into a very large, very shiny, and very expensive puzzle. It popped back in place with the most glorious and satisfactory sound and I knew we were home free. I double checked the side of the car, the back of the mirror, the tires, and just for good measure the plates. All fine. All clean and shiny and expensive without a Budget Truck smash mark anywhere. 

At this point, I saw the Budget Truck come rambling back down the very-absolute-center of the street (to avoid more BMW incidents) and as Alex slowed down I jumped in the cab smiling. I related the jigsaw triumph and we drove off laughing, breathing a sigh of relief, and only trembling very slightly from the absolute dread-to absolute relief sensation of it all. 

We hit a BMW. I fixed a BMW. 

We're real New Yorkers, now. 

67 Steps

Well, it's done. The nastiest little move-in ever recorded in the history of man. Think I'm being dramatic? Think again. Imagine this: it's a picturesque day in Brooklyn, NY. The birds are singing, its a beautiful (and to us Southerners cool) 85ºF without a cloud in the sky or a hint of bad weather in the vicinity. We rolled up to the curb outside our pre-war apartment building to people riding their bicycles to the farmer's market, kids playing hopscotch on the sidewalk and a fat cat lazily swatting at a fly. We had that overwhelming sensation creep up on us: we were home. We'd work for one solid hour unloading and by noon we'd be in The Brooklyn Public House having a cold drink and congratulating ourselves on a job well done. After all, how hard of a hurdle could 67 steps actually be when they were all that stood between us and "home"?

Oh, the blissful ignorance of us before the move-in actually began.

Our first trip up the stairs to unlock the doors for the first time (and for Alex to actually see the place for the first time as I found it on a solo NYC trip a couple of weeks ago) and to deposit Maggie in a corner didn't seem that bad. The 5th floor seemed to pop up quickly and easily and we optimistically brushed off the heat in the unventilated hallway, opened the windows in our place and dashed back down the narrow stairwell to start bringing in our stuff that had made it through the weeks of carefully planned Goodwill trips.  Alex and Tom (and incredibly kind friend of Alex's from UVa who graciously volunteered to help us unload) made the first trip while I stayed with the truck (which was, obviously, illegally parked in a fire lane). They came back a little red in the face but I was ready to join the fight so I grabbed several boxes (maybe just one too many...) and began at a quick pace up the stairs. The first two flights came pretty easily. By the middle of the third, though, I began to feel very hot and a little dizzy. And at the start of the fourth (contrary to my first belief, we've actually only got four flights to climb because level one blessedly happens to be on the ground with no stoop) I just knew I would never make it. By the time I got in my door I felt sick and stupid and totally energy-less.  Skipping breakfast that day was so not a good idea. So, after shoving a granola bar in my mouth and downing a bottle of water, I stayed with the truck for the next few trips and after that we tried to rotate rest "truck" breaks.

Our "solid hour" turned into four that at the end produced three extremely hot, tired, and hungry movers. Never again will I laugh off ANY amount of stairs when carrying heavy things up, up, and up into the heat and stuffiness. Four flights of stairs sure didn't sound like a lot. It's only 67 steps, after all.  It turns out that 67 steps is a lot. A whole lot.

What made it worth it at the end of the day? A cold drink at a comfy local pup and our own spectacular view of Downtown Brooklyn and Manhattan that only a 5th floor walk-up could provide.

Cheers, y'all.

From Here to There

We are not there yet. Let me be clear. We do not live in New York yet. But the boxes have been packed and the things have been given away or sold and our patience and grace is evaporating like spilled wine. Our fingers are reaching in anticipation. We. Are. Close.

But we're not there yet.

Let's go back a bit. Bonnie got a job in February and by then we knew we were moving without a shadow of a doubt. We used to curl up on the couch around our computer and gleefully wish and imagine getting an apartment in New York City. But we soon realized that you don't just stroll up and "get" an apartment in New York. It's a trial by fire, an endurance test that could challenge the patience of a saint. We really had no idea what we were getting into. In April, Bonnie and I made our way into the city for a few days to do some preliminary scouting. We thought that having a heads up, walking around neighborhoods, seeing Brooklyn up close would help us--and it did. But nothing was really learned in that trip other than where to park.

The thing about NY real estate is that the turn over rate is so incredibly quick that you can't really start looking until a few weeks before you are prepared to move. Everything that's open gets snatched up before you can really do anything about it. And we had those moments. Several promising apartments in good locations were snatched up before we could inhale to consider them.

Then we made a trip in early June for a few days, intent on putting down a deposit, pouncing on an opportunity, leaving with an idea about where we were going to live for a July 1st move-in date. Well, we found a place. No fee, good price, decent neighborhood, kinda small (but what isn't in NY, right?) and we were ready to move on it. After some consideration and looking at other, much more expensive locations, we decided that this was the place for us. So we put a deposit down, filled out the application. We were told promising things from 2 different realtors of this property that "Yeah, you guys should be good." There was, however, a question about our dog. For those of you who dont know Maggie, she is a miniature dachshund. Less than 10 lbs. The least imposing dog you'll meet. Unfortunately, this landlord had apparently laid down a mandate against heart-stopping cuteness. Our realtor was ignorant of this and led us on. We were denied the application and found ourselves right back where we started from.

Fortunately, I have wife who is gifted in the art of boldness. She barreled into NYC 10 days later, founda better apartment in a better neighborhood and even talked the owners down $100 off of the original price. On June 22, we were approved and finally had a place to roughly a week before we were supposed to move in.

288 Clinton Ave.
(more on this place later)

So we then began the tumultous tempestuous tempermental tiresome trial of packing our belongings in a week's time. The truth is, we didn't have much to pack. We had been practicing for the past 6 months to throw away anything that wasn't absolutely necessary and this act was further amplified when we saw the square footage of our apartment. So in the last week, it's likely that we contributed to roughly 1/3 of Goodwill's overall inventory. This was also tricky since we had to work minutely around my rehearsal schedule for "The 39 Steps" which had me in rehearsal on the day we were supposed to move in (today). But as you could guess, tragedy struck.

The moving truck that was supposed to be there, wasn't. They didn't have our reservation. Even worse...there were no trucks available for days. So we were stuck. We had to think fast. We tried to find another truck...could we go in a caravan? But we had big furniture...should we get rid of it? What were we going to do?

So we ultimately had to delay our move. Just a week. Bonnie is going to make her trip this week to Mississippi to sell the car, fly to Texas to see our newly born niece and then meet me back in Charlottesville for the move this coming Friday. I've got a week to get everything in order, prepare prepare prepare and CONFIRM all the reservations. We'll be better this time around.

There's a lesson to be learned here. I'm not sure exactly what it is. It might not be so transparent. Maybe not a "this" or "do better next time" thing. Maybe it's learning to deal with things when they come up. Being patient. But we better get used to it. Because if there's one thing I know I'll get out of the city, it will be experience. Everything is a lesson to learn and you get better and smarter the longer you live there. That's what I love about it. That's what excites me. When I go to visit, I feel like I participate in a small way in that experience, in that energy. It's been going a long time before me and it will keep going way after I am gone.

So we're closer now than we were before, but we aren't there yet. And I can't stress about it. I've got to be ok with that. I know we are getting better. Little by little, step by step.