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New York: Audit

New York has been on my mind, over the past few weeks. When things get difficult or uncertain, I do an audit, to determine whether this place is worth it. Obviously after fourteen years, the pros have won, but it has been a real struggle.

My first apartment in New York was a fifth floor walk-up, jr. one bedroom, that I shared with my former college roommate.  The building was near the UN, so technically I lived in a good neighborhood. It’s just that my building was the ragtag outlier in the middle of doorman buildings filled with diplomats and bankers. The people living in my building had jobs, just not good ones.

Strangely there was a fancy restaurant on the bottom floor of my building. Bill Clinton ate there frequently, so did a colony of mice who migrated upstairs to sample our food. I developed a tick from seeing them scurry around my apartment. Yes, I attempted to kill them, but New York mice are smart. They don’t just willy nilly walk into traps. They walk up to the traps, sample the peanut butter and then peace out back to their nest until they get hungry again. I had one walk into the living room look at me dead in the eye and then keep on moving, like no big deal. Zero fear. Long after I moved, I would catch something out of the corner of my eye and my body would involuntarily jump. People at work thought I was crazy. I guess it could be classified as PTSD.

The amenities, shape and design of the apartment was also less than stellar. The bathroom was off the kitchen. The plumbing was so bad, the toilet frequently overflowed and flooded the kitchen. I went through a lot of bleach during those years.

The kitchen was ridiculous in itself. It had a sink and about a foot of counter space next to it. The tiny stove was directly in front of the counter, which made the counter useless. The stove was only partially useful. It had four burners, but you could only fit two pots on the stove at one time. The oven was so tiny and powerless it took six hours to cook a tiny turkey. Through all those complications, I managed to become a good cook.

I still think of those years in that apartment fondly. I had a great view. Bruno, the landlord, left the roof door unlocked, so the tenants could have an outdoor space. My neighbor Adrienne and I used to go up there to get air and smoke cigarettes. On the 4th of July, we watched the fireworks crowd free.

My photography idol Gordon Parks lived down the street. I came out of my apartment building one afternoon and there he was across the street. Like someone had placed him there for me. I screamed like a crazy person “Hi Mr. Parks!!!” He turned and said “Hello” very politely. I realized in that moment, maybe I needed to find my chill. The next time I saw him a couple of weeks later, I said “Hello, Mr. Parks,” calmly this time.  I didn’t want anything from him, I just couldn’t believe my good fortune in living so close to a legend. I saw him a lot over the years. He was always pleasant and greeted me back.

While working at Time Warner, I got free tickets to a screening of the documentary Unstoppable: A conversation with Melvin Van Peebles, Gordon Parks and Ossie Davis. Mr. Parks was in attendance. After the movie, I rushed up to the stage with everyone else to finally properly introduce myself. When it was my turn to speak, He said

Gordon Parks: I remember you from the neighborhood.
Me: Yes, I am the crazy girl who screams at you from across the street.
He laughed and grabbed my hand
Me: (Nervous giggle) I am a photographer and you have always been my favorite. You are someone I have tried to emulate.
Gordon Parks: Oh Thank You!

Unfortunately, our conversation was cut short because Melvin Van Peebles Sr. asked why I wasn’t as excited to meet him. Then Mr. Van Peebles proceeded to hit on me. That’s another story for another day.

Mr. Parks died a year later, in his apartment down the street. I am grateful I got to know him, even a little bit.

As a child, dreaming of moving to the city, this is what I envisioned my life in New York was going to be. I didn’t envision the struggle, but who does.

 

Procrastination Junction/Nasty Woman

I think it is pretty well established that I procrastinate my way through life. Some would even call me a Master at it. (See any of my past posts.) My friends Viking and Maya came to NYC last week. Viking actually stayed with me for part of the time. Most normal people would start preparing for guests at least the night before. Not me. Why, when you can run around like a crazed chicken? That sounds more like me.

Viking and Maya were due to arrive at my house last Tuesday afternoon. That morning, I woke up and realized my apartment smelled a little too much like me. Not bad, just not fresh. The dishes hadn’t been done fully for the last two days and dusting was two weeks overdue. Who am I kidding, I don’t dust. Dusting is futile in New York City. The minute you open the window, the black dust of hell comes and grips onto everything you own. Never the less, I had guests coming, so I had to pretend to be more domesticated than I am.

Unfortunately, Tuesday is also the day I wash my hair. Another thing, when I said I got up in the morning, morning is relative when you work for yourself. I get up between 11am and 12pm. That means I basically had two hours to wash my hair and clean my entire apartment. Procrastination death spiral!!!

In these dark times, you have to make choices for the greater good. I got into the shower, because greeting your friends smelling is never an option. I didn’t wash my hair, because that would take 45 minutes. I managed to get in and out of the shower in 20. I put on the jeans I had been wearing for the last four days and attacked the floors in the kitchen. I immediately realized sweeping wasn’t going to cut it. There were stains on the floor, that under low light blended into the woodwork, but under fluorescent light they became scarlet letters shining for everyone to see. Now I had to mop. I mopped that floor as quickly and vigorously as I could.

When the kitchen mopping was done, I took a towel with some furniture polish and ran around the living room dusting as many surfaces as I could. If anything was not directly under a light source, I didn’t take as much care. Instead of vacuuming, I picked up all the visible pieces of paper and dust bunnies off the rug. Then I mopped around the dining room table and between the chairs. Any visible piece of hardwood, I mopped. This was no time for moving furniture. I headed back to the kitchen and realized that my white cabinets, refrigerator and oven were stained, so I cleaned those very quickly. I cleaned the front half of the stove and put clean pots on the back burners. No one is gonna lift up pots.
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The Bathroom!!!! There is no real way to skimp on cleaning a bathroom. You just have to do it. But, for times sake, I closed the shower curtain and decided to clean the tub before anyone needed a shower that night. Classic procrastination punt. I finished the bathroom with fifteen minutes to spare.

Unfortunately, I forgot the bedroom. I live with clothes on the floor. Laundry day is the cleanest day of the week in my bedroom. It’s the one day of the week, when I fold my clothes and put them away. As the week progresses, my clothes end up on the floor in piles. It is my way of keeping track of what I have already worn. Well, it was close to laundry day and my dresses, pants and shirts were all over the floor. I pile up all the wash and wears into a big ball and then all the dry cleaning into another ball and stuff them in the closet. I will deal with it later. Punt!

The front bell rang and another episode of procrastination junction is complete.

P.S. Go F*cking Vote! That is one thing this Procrastination Master/Nasty Woman doesn’t fool with and neither should you! There is more at stake than just the Presidency. Remember Congress hasn’t exactly been doing their job.