pictures, red hot, get them.; on or around the location of here.

the following are all shots taken while driving back from Newport, OR to Portland, OR. No, I was not driving. "but they're blurry", you say. "yes", I say back. the hit-or-miss of sharp vs. blurry and the blurring effect itself would be the fun of it all.

see? motion. sexy.
some are sharp and blurry. check the trees in the background.

like this one too. Oregon trees - nice, eh?

how is it that pixels can be so mesmerizing to look at? this one feels like an album cover.
ok, I'll shut up now.

or not. see the clear cut hillside in the background? ya, it's like that all over Oregon (and Washington, and California). what you (city folk) dont see ('cause it's only visible from rural backroads) cant hurt you (until Al Gore's doomsayer's logic comes to pass - and even then, it'll be your children's problem!)

back to le blur magnifique! pay ze no attencion to le clear cut mouwten side on ze hill behine.

stop the car. I just saw bigfoot scratching a lottery ticket.

sorry, not bigfoot. we did however see the following: 2 bald eagles (no lie), deer, alpacas, seals, sea lions, rabbits and elk.
they were all sharing a minivan into town one day.

they seem almost painted. do they not?

riiiight? riiiiight?

missssssssssssssssst.

more missssssssssssssssst.

the Portland Chinese Botanical Gardens. a must-see if you're in Portland. a must see even if you're not in Portland! hay-ohhhh!

Esra likes pretty flowers. it's true. you'll see.

see? that didn't take too long.

rain. flower. rainy flower.

this photo shall remain captionless.

this looks like the back cover pic to a book on spiritual tantric zen budhist yoga cooking. namaste.

One armed photo goodness?? Ohw yeahh. I still got it.

Esra, you are so freakin' adorable.

this one was too cute to delete. (also)

a new phenomenon for me: cats in sinks. well.. the new part is my cats are in my sink. we all, of course (or should) remember the still awesome website: CatsInSinks.com In case you cant read the title of the book propped next to them, it's David Rakoff's Dont Get Too Comfortable ... it just seemed.. way too obviously appropriate.

Sun... is too... para.. lyzing... cant move... find your own... damn... sink.

this photo was taken 10 seconds before fatass hambone and his fat, fat ass tried to jump off the shelf he'd sneak-jumped his way onto... and subsequently tore down. a good thing in hindsight, I guess: I got to lower the shelf, put wall anchors in and put just enough stuff on the shelf to prevent future kitty hijinks.

Esra's friends in Brooklyn were away for a few days and asked us to house-and-dog-sit. Uhmm.. we can use the fireplace? well, well, well. It turns out, all I need to never want to watch tv again is a fireplace. and wine.

and a camera. although in this pic, I look like I'm tipping the scales at a cookie-faced 395 lbs. you know what they say: "fireplaces add 200 lbs in photos!"
Esra looks wickedly hot, as per usual.

And again. oh. see how big their frickin' apartment is? it's stupidly-ridiculous-huge. Such is the life of an artistic director of a nationally known performance group ... that performs in blue. and is a group. of manses.

fire. good.

look into the fire... my precious. join us... joooiiin ussss. ya, YOU. i'm talkin' to you. get in here.

see? wine.

Esra's great fireside pic.

a poor panorama of my new roof, with snow. from right to left. the three eastern bridges are not at all visible recognizable due to snow.

pic 2. the Puck Building to the left. on the far middle right is Nikola Tesla's old building where he invented the Tesla coil. Better pics soon.

Puck Building again and a snow covered roof. the fancy lighted space on the top right is where they have fancy-schmancy tuxedo parties.

really. better pics soon.

The USS Intrepid on it's way past the Statue of Liberty to a New Jersey drydock for 2 years of repairs.

Esra's mom, cousin Ben (son of the aunt that we stayed with in Portland) and Esra.

Long Island City, post Oscar party. the first really great snow-blanketing of the winter season.

Battery Park... this really was the first time it snowed (a little) this winter.
More Battery Park. more (slight) snow. Oh, a turkey roams this park. yep. a turkey. her name is Zelda.

Kitties in a box! what better way to end a photo set than kitties in a box! have box? will kitty.

Listicle 25.S5

ððð Hambonnnnnne!!!! not cool.

ððð Coolest new music site in the internuniverse. search for any band or any song. add it to unlimited # of playlists. save it. listen to it later. or now. rearrange the order of songs. send playlists to your friends as a simple link. it's jaw droppingly perfect for worktime music listening. I use it from the moment I get in to work till I leave. and then at Esra's. and also at my place.

ððð Damn you Saab! TOO sexy. too sexy. c'mon now. (slide the slider at the bottom)

ððð from David Rakoff's book Dont Get Too Comfortable: While we're on the subject of the horrors of war, and humanity's most poisonous and least charitable attributes, let us not forget to mention Barbara Bush (that would be former First Lady and presidential mother as opposed to W's liquor-swilling, Girl Gone Wild, human ashtray of a daughter. I'm sorry, that's not fair. I've no idea if she smokes). When the administration censored images of the flag-draped coffins of the young men and women being killed in Iraq - purportedly to respect "the privacy of the families" and not to minimize and cover up the true nature and consequences of the war - the family matriarch expressed her support for what was ultimately her son's decision by saying on Good Morning America on March 18, 2003, "Why should we hear about body bags and deaths? I mean, it's not relevant. So why should I waste my beautiful mind on something like that?"

ððð A great article on magical thinking - ..and a great book by Augusten Bouroughs by the same name (which includes thoughts on, as well, of course)

ððð Matt pointed out that the guy holding the banner actually looks Iranian. Oh American xenophobia, do the dullest weilders of thee know no bounds?

ððð I haven't seen 300 yet but Iranians are up in (facially pierced? and overmelanine-skinned?) arms about the innacuracies within. Having already known that the Persians lost the battle of Thermopylae, I had a feeling they'd exagerate the badness of the bad guys and it is Frank Miller which should be over the top to be Frank Miller-esque so... hmm - watch it with many, many grains of salt.

Moving Day - T plus 38 days and counting

---I know.. I'm lagging on the pictures, I am. I know. I've been looking forwarding to talking endlessly about the million and a quarter things i did to the place, so.. soon. for reals.

---I had a housewarming party on friday, which was cool, everyone liked the place.. but if any of you remember that rectangular silver lava lamp thing i had that wasn't really a lava lamp (it had small square metal flakes suspended in a mystery oil of some sort & they swirled around with the heat convection from the lightbulb beneath the bottle of oil/flakes - I had one of these as a kid, maybe you or one of your neighbors did?) .. I rarely used the lamp in SF and never in new york soooo... i decided to change that - I found a great spot in the kitchen for it where it lit a cool reddish light onto the kitchen for the party. On to the fun part: Despite having formerly used the lamp dozens of times and having forgotten about it a few times even (leaving it on all night) ... it seems that it chose mid-party for an excellent time for..... the oil to overheat, expand, and blast the cork and metal lid into the ceiling (with enough force to take a small chunk out of the ceiling) and somehow, shower ALL of the oil and metal flakes (they actually turned out to be transparent plastic, who knew?) ... ALL ... OVER... every-one. and everything. and every wall and every glass and dish and plate and person and flapjack. (whom we cleaned off - he was a-ok in 2 mins time). seriously. the whole event was almost more amazing than it was scary or frustrating - the uniformity of the spray, the sudden shock of it all during a party, the randomness of it choosing right then to blast off, that no glass broke & no one was injured, etc. sadly, the new paint job on the kitchen is pretty much ruined (i tried scrubbing the walls 3 times the next morning - always fun with a mild hangover) so I'll need to repaint. aside from all that.. the party and the apartment were, are, super great.

---Another fun fact: I ended up using all the crap Elizabeth and I had gotten at Ikea & elsewhere for my last apartment (mostly intended for "the office room" that never really was an office) ... shelves & such mostly but keep an eye out when i send out a link with the pics.. I'll try to note all the stuff i reused from .. i mean.. am now using, not reused. i sorta treated it as a challenge to find a perfect spot for all that stuff instead of throwing it away.

---State Of The Kitties Union: the kitties, minus the oiling, are doing super great too. flapjack has benefited much from the Iams weight control food that I've been feeding them for the past few years, hambone just eats 3 times the amount he should and remains on par to reach jabba the hut fatty burrito stages by.. oh about June. FJ has gone headbutt crazy lately.. you don't even have to be awake anymore to be forcibly prompted into paying attention to him. HB is still crack-addicted to head scratches since the whole universe revolves around any human he sees eventually realizing that scratching his head is what they really wanna be doing. i mean, really... what did I do to them to make them like this? note to new kitten owners: withhold some degree of love/attention/headscratching or your cat(s) will be touch junkies, chasing the head scratch dragon all the way to Perpetual-IndulgenceTown. other than that.. sorry, including that, they are still the same'o same'o bundles of fun and annoyance. I go from loving them unconditionally to imagining felinicide, sometimes within the space of 2 seconds. OH! they are excellent cockroach hunters (and eaters, thank you boys for not making me deal with your kills). i know i shouldn't want to have the occasional small cockroach in the apartment, but when it provides such fun for them and let's them use their hunting and chase skills, who am I to argue? let's see... what else? flapjack always seems to looks at me suspiciously. and accusingly. if you could somehow tell him to stop it, that would be great. it's weirding me out.

Random pictures that didn't get posted previously

Esra likes to give me photo discs months after she takes pictures and then I like to post those pics even more months after they were taken. towit:

A sunset in Rockport Gloucester, MA.. quaint seaside town that blah blah blah, fishermen, saltwater taffy, they filmed the Perfect Storm there.

See? Perfectly Stormy.

Saltwater taffy to the left. And the right. and .. around the corner, down the street, up the stairs, in the basement, in the post office.. everywhere.

fishermen... fisherpeople, fisherpersons.. returning from their fishering.

speaking of fishers and their catch.. this was my first full, whole, actual, formerly live lobster. ever. as you can see, i find the experience completely less than awesome and will never be eating whole lobster again ("here! dissect and eat this sea cockroach")

what's not disgusting? candy, fool! that's what! sadly, this wasn't salt water taffy but hard candy for your grandmother's hardcandy dish (think: ribbons)
saltwater, you say? sure, why not. here's some between Long Island and Fire Island, on the way to camping. 'Esra, quick, take the picture while pointing the camera at the surface of the sun'



'And another, quick! before people can see me!' Granted, I look devilishly handsome, as per usual. Much like the sun that you do not want to look directly into, my hotness can be the same way. Esra has unconsciously spared you.



Hey look! It's an Esra! you can see her even!


Maybe I spoke too soon. Or maybe I am unconsciously protecting you from my uber hotness.

Speaking of uber hot; Esra tries on the coolest hat in the universe. Salem, Mass.
Back to camping. What's camping without schmores? well.. a lot, I suppose. But really, what's camping without schmores? Ok, Ok. It's still a lot, I get it. But .... schmores! c'mon.
Speaking of schmores, I display optimum schmore technique involving no less than 27 seperate steps. Also, I confirm that the stigmata has disappeared from my hands.
Chris tries his hand at schmoring. He fails miserably, leaving some chocolate on the grill. I look on, laughing the laugh of the Roman shmore god, Shmorey.

Back to the city! To Washington Square Park.. at night.. watching the filming of the new Will Smith movie, I Am Legend. I didn't take this photo. I wish I could say I did. Cool, eh?


I didn't take this photo either. God, I'm such a cheat sometimes. Another shot of Washington Square Park besnowed with glsnowrious snow.

Esra's aunt in front of the Lower East Side / East Village "Loisaida" sign by NY-famous Chico. So famous and respected, taggers wait a few months before putting their stupid initials up over his work (usually, they leave his stuff alone all together)


Chico does lots of privately commissioned pieces too. This one's for an east village vet. Do a flikr search for Chico to see even better stuff of his.

RANT: Live music, Loud bars and Miniature dogs

live music:
Pay X amount of $ (plus the $13 service charge Ticketbastards charges) to ... stand on your feet for 4 hours, get shoved about like you're on public transit, have drinks spilled on you, yell to be heard, strain (and fail) to hear your friends, lose 20% of your hearing for the next 48 hours, pay $7 for a drink ... all for what? mostly, to be able to later tell your friends you saw a bunch of connected, lucky (mostly) males on a stage, playing instruments and sounding 35% worse than their excellent sounding IN-STUDIO sound? Guess what you guys?! they sung a few notes a little different than on their album! Oh My God, they were AMAZING! bullshit. sorry. but you are seeking admiration and envy from your friends because you are such a "super fan". there IS something to be said for being-out-with-friends-and-sharing-a-common-experience. there IS something to be said for hearing your favorite songs loudly played. there IS something to be said for people watching. All I want is for someone, anyone to join me in admitting that the last 3 things are really why you go to shows.

LOUD bars / clubs:
let's see: people go to a place that's made too loud (on purpose) to pay $7 per drink and stand around pretending to hear eachother, all the while shouting and losing their voice so that the person they're talking to can only hear .. 30% of what's said, tops... lose 20% of your hearing for the next 48 hours. If it's socialization people want, a loud bar is the exact opposite of where it should happen. people (who aren't 'single') go to bars because "that's what we're supposed to do" at our age - it's our socially-mandated, acceptable arena for drinking away from the home.

miniature dogs:
i hate them all. would it be wrong to invent a game where you have to get from one side of a big room to the other by jumping from miniaturized dog to miniaturized dog like stepping stones? wait.. strike that... instead, you jump on the faces of their owners to the faces of whatever experimenting geneticists created these abominations of nature. it's not the dogs' fault they're so fucking stupid (except for when they start doing the yappy barking thing)

Moving Day - T plus 18 days and counting

Moved.
I have moved. I am moved.
In. I'm in my new place.

ŋŋŋ The move itself was stressful, as all moves ever, are. Did cavemen stress on cave-moving day? Hopefully not so much. (sorry.. I mean cavepersons) They certainly didn't have 24 boxes (full of rocks and pterodactyl bones?). Nor did they have 6 flights of stairs to now climb. Nor the most awesome view in the world from the roof of their .. cave. (pictures soon)
ŋŋŋ They probably also didn't hire a wallpaper guy to put up super cool photomural wallpaper in the living room only to have him put up one panel upside down, panic and flee the apartment under the cover of saying he "needed to get better wallpaper glue" - before I realized what he'd done and why he'd fled.
ŋŋŋ They may have had two cats, who upon entering their new apartment cave, meowed for 5 minutes straight, then immediately hid under the couch for the next two days, only coming out after their owner sat on the floor and made the infamous cat-head-scratching-hand-gesture (ie. like repeatedly squeezing an invisible tennis ball) an act they are, of course, absolutely powerless to resist. The inner turmoil, the cognitive dissonance (if cats experience such things) visible on their little faces... hide under the couch or get head scratches... hmm. ok, it was cute and funny as hell, actually. They're mostly ok now, though Flapjack got a little bit hissy with Hambone over his territory.. which seems to be the whole apartment.
ŋŋŋ Shelves. Shelving. Shelves for kitchen stuff, shelves for clothes, shelves for the bathroom. And more shelves. Even in hindsight, just from thinking about it, I, and my cavemen ancestors, are exhausted. (You'll see in the pictures coming soon.. it's too much shelf-talk to talk about without seeing what I'm talking about).
ŋŋŋ Painting is done. If anyone needs a painter in NY for a great price who does a great job, let me know, I've got his details. He is not a caveman. He is, incidentally enough, Iranian.
ŋŋŋ Everything else is falling into place (please, no literal falling) - tv's are on the walls, most stuff is put away into as little space as I have, almost all the boxes are broken down, sold and gone. All extra furniture was given away free on craigslist (you want it free? you pick it up! Ohw yeahhh) or taken downstairs .. oh, or was sold or given away before I moved.
ŋŋŋ Basically, .. I had a vision. Of models and ninjas dancing naked with diamond unicorns who... wait.. wrong vision, sorry. It was a vision most city dwellers and cavepersons alike have shared through the ages: to turn a small apartment into the coolest, most kory-perfect, first own apartment ever. I cant speak for how my caveancestors did with their job but mine is .. hmm.. about 85% there.
ŋŋŋ I am, as of February 1st, and out of absolute necessity .... a Fresh Direct junkie. Ohh, I still loves me some Trader Joe's .. that will never ever change. But 6 flights of stairs? Umm.. yes. I'd like delivery please. I have, in fact, opted for delivery on just about everything that I could possibly get delivered. Next stop? laundry delivery. Woo Woooooo.
ŋŋŋ
ŋŋŋ Hmm. I think that's about it for now... More later next week, after the wallpaper is up and everything everywhere is put away anywhere it'll go. Or wont.

ŋŋŋ OHhhw. ALSO: It snowed. a bunch. Not so much that I can maintain a weeklong perma-smile but long enough to make me giddy for a day or two. more on that and pictures of same later.

My Fear of Spiders

6th grade camp.
Camp Marston; Julian, California: 150 or so miles outside of San Diego.

... I was already not a fan of spiders.. I'd never been one of those kids who played with bugs and due to an incident I remember vividly, in Iran (I got food poisoning, was taken to a hospital, strapped into a bed while getting an IV and watched as a spider descended from the ceiling onto a bed strapped-me, age 6) .. let's just say spiders were not my friends.
... San Diego has it's fair share of spiders. In houses, backyards, schools, wherever. It's something most people there ignore but the arachnophobic are always checking for. The fear, for me at least, was never so much based on the actual spider as it was, say.. walking into a spider web and not knowing if you'd picked up an eight legged hitch hiker that'd hide out in your hair only to crawl out onto your neck and then, somehow, who knows.. maybe straight into your brain, making you part of his zombie spider army. Or worse, he could get inside your clothes to where you'd never know if you'd smooshed him into groddy flatness or if he was setting up shop for later panicky discovery. Either way, nothing ends well where spiders and humans are concerned.

Back to Camp Marston.
... One week at camp. A week away from home. We were directed to our cabins, where we all instantly noticed the large number of daddylong legs in every spider friendly corner and bunkbed and locker in the room. No. Ohhhh, Oh No, no no no. I will not be sleeping here like this. Broom in hand, I (and I think another non-friend-to-spiders cabin-mate) set about whacking the hell out of and sweeping out as many of the bastards as we could. Especially in the bunk area, because... I get the shivers even thinking about trying to sleep with spiders all around. It was mostly a lost cause - I slept, or tried to, the first night with my sleeping bag cinched tight over my head and had constant worry that they were getting in anyway. No. I really don't think I can do another six days of this.
... I labored through the next few days trying to have fun and not think about spiders, and mostly I did.. have fun, that is. It was typical 6th grade camp stuff complete with earth ball, field games (soccer, football and such), archery, making boondoggles, field trip hikes to a waterfall / rock jump into a pool, mess hall, a dance (6th grade camp would not be complete without girls and 6th-grade-flirting), a rain drenched hike into Julian... all that part was great. Really great. The stuff that cement memories and shape personalities. And yet.. there were still spiders. Still. Spiders. Lots.
... To say that I was mostly ignoring the spiders would be outright, dangerously, irresponsibly incorrect. I was having a series of moments of intense enjoyment of 6th grade camp, where spiders were temporarily not a part of my universe, and then I was also having moments of WOAH-what-the-GET-it-AWAY-from-ME-Oh-My-GET-Me-OUT-of-AAAAH! There was no playing-it-cool. Nonchalance is STILL not at all a part of the game when it comes to spiders. I freak the fuck out, that's all there is to it. Nowadays, I can often kill them myself but back then? Forget about it. I either needed a smooshing device on the end of a large pole, or I needed someone to do it for me (and then I needed visible proof of said smooshed bastard).
... 6th grade camp. Camp Marston. Today is the day we do "art projects". Art projects, it turns out, consists of making plaster of paris molds and then painting them. All the good molds were taken so I got a horse's head. Great. 'Cause, you know.. I'm all into horses and all. I dont remember filling it with plaster of paris, I only remember sitting down to start painting it. We sat, perhaps 40 of us, at wooden picnic benches in an indoor/outdoor sort of arts & crafts room and painted away. I sat with four or five others at a table, me being closest to the wall. About halfway through painting, I felt a tickle on my knee. I was pretty focused on my plaster of paris horse head (painting a horse head solid brown requires a LOT of concentration) so when the tickle happened again, I didn't really think anything about it and just brushed at the itching again with my hand. It happened again and.. self consciousness began to retake hold of my .. spidey-senses. (sorry, I had to) I didn't want to look. And I had to look. Quickly.. but ... I really didn't want to know. I was sitting approximately two feet away from the wall and had about a foot clearance from the bottom of the picnic table to my knee. What I saw was .... a ball. a ball of heaping, interconnected, mass of spiders, all hanging on to eachother, all teeming and repositioning themselves, moving independently but moving as a collective, a hive mind that had decided... to... at that moment... connect itself to my knee.
... No.
... It happened in. a. flash. It happened.. as one fluid motion of sheer terror. My brain in fast motion, synapses firing overtime to coordinate every muscle in my body to get me the holy fuck out of there as soon as sooner than humanly possible. I got up. Screaming blood terror. And I ran. and Ran. sprinting. past counsellors, past campers, past trees and rocks and if there had been a bear in my path waiting to devour me, I would have ran past him too. It was the only time in my life where, about halfway through this sprint of holy dread, I thought to myself "I should probably stop running, I'm just going to have to walk back". But I couldn't. I kept running. I ran. kept running. And ran some more.
... When I finally made it back to camp, 45 minutes later, I was over it. 6th grade camp could go fuck itself. Seriously, I was o-ver it. Done. To the payphones. I called my parents and told them what happened. My mom put on her best aww-honey tone and did a truly great job of, I'm sure, stifling laughter but no, they were not going to drive 150 miles to come get me. I would have to stick it out for a few more days. I protested, she consoled and gave a rousing pep talk and that was that. The futility of trying to get out of there early was obvious so.. fine. I will stay. Which I did. But.. I was changed.
... To see me and my state of mind after this trauma was to witness a 12 year old Vietnam vet who'd just returned from three tours of duty and had developed a jolly good amphetamine and cough syrup habit. Paranoia was the name of the game those last few days. Violent fists of fury lashed out to destroy the bodies and souls of anything that even looked like a spider (sorry John, that punch that crushed your face really was meant for what I thought was a spider on you). It was all I could do to keep some semblance of normalcy as a front, lest I be sent to the nurse and severely medicated.
... Day 7. My parents brown station wagon never looked so good as it pulled into the parking lot. I threw my stuff in the back, hugged my parents and because I knew I'd be leaving soon, I could finally play it cool. Like it was no big deal. "Great" they said, "I understand we're doing an outdoor barbeque? for all the parents? right?" Oh. Uhm. Right. Yeah. Forgot about that. I have to ... sit outside.. on picnic benches and at picnic tables... and ... eat some damn barbeque before I leave. Why lord? you heartless bastard. you think this is funny, dont you?
... Thankfully, the day somehow, someway, finally ended and we piled in the car, heading for home. I literally had to try very hard to not answer every question of "so how was it?", "what did you do?" with something related to spiders. It was .. cool.. I said. I liked the waterfall (no spiders underwater!) We stopped at southern-California-famous Dudley's Bakery, got some delicious breads and such and continued on home, as I occasionally scanned the car with cracked-out intensity for some straggler, ninja-like, stealthy master-of-hiding. An eight legged terrorist.

Moving Day - T minus 3 days and counting

I haven't written in forever. I know.
Too many things have happened. Nothing in particular has happened. Things have soured with some. Things are sweet, mostly.

What's there to write about? well......

I'm moving on Monday.
---After almost four years in my first real New York apartment, I am moving to my first real New York apartment. My own apartment. My first.. own apartment. Yes, it's true. It seems that I have gone from the cradle to today with housemates. Be they parents, friends or girlfriends, I've always lived with someone. And now? no. Well.. ok, yes. But these housemates stand a whopping 8" high, shed a lot and demand my attention constantly. No, not Esra (and my other girlfriend)... the boys. Where are you moving, you ask? Or maybe you dont ask. Which is OK - you know I'll be telling you anyway. I'm moving to Mulberry Street between Spring and Houston.
---It's very exciting. And somewhat exhausting... for, you see, it is an apartment, the vertical location of which conjures the dreaded words that no delivery man or visiting friend or parent ever wants to hear .... "6th floor walk-up". As in "it is on the 6th floor"; As in "you must now climb 6 flights of stairs to reach me"; As in "I am sorry I did not remind you before you came over, but now, you are here and you have no choice but to get sweaty climbing stairs to see me". As seen from outer space, my apartment is exactly here. Please, do not fire laser beams or drop things from outer space on my apartment. Also, my apartment is not exactly where that green arrow is. I'm sure you can imagine, I do not live exactly on a 1 inch square at the corner of that building. If you are, contrary to my plea for safety, trying to drop objects on me from outer space, you will have to aim a little lower in that image. Facing the building, my apartment is in the top right portion.
---While the vertical location will probably have me cursing almost daily, the horizontal location on the other hand, could hardly be better. Why? Let me tell you. For those interested in star sightings, I will be able to stare creepily look into David Bowie's apartment here, from my bedroom and kitchen. My living room looks directly onto the tv-famous(?) Puck Building (where Grace of Will & Grace "worked"). For those interested in subway access (you know who you are!), I will have F/V, JMZ access and 6 train access, as well as numerous cross town bus access along Houston. Need a pool hall? Restaraunts, delis, laundry? all within one on my block. Shopping? The main shopping drag of Broadway is two blocks away. Little Italy? Two blocks south of me. Chinatown? two blocks beneath that. East Village? Technically, it's two blocks to the East. Need a gym? I'm joining a YMCA (with a pool and volleyball twice a week!) 2 blocks away. You like views? ok, who doesn't? my roof has a 360 view of all the goods - Empire State, Chrysler, downtown buildings, Brooklyn, you name it. (alright, do not name places in Europe - be serious, please.. for the children)
---As you can clearly see, I will soon be the coolest person who ever lived. While this was already true, it's even more already true simply because I say it is. Needless to say, I'm very excited.
........More later