I Heart NY

No matter where in the world you live, apartment hunting is a pain. It is only in a few select cities however, that your hard earned money (and that of your parents) becomes no object. Manhattan is a competitive city for rentals. The market is cutthroat, the paperwork a nightmare. When you find a neighborhood you love though, you remember why the city holds the magic it does. I've always felt that way about the West Village. From the time I was 13 through today I knew it was the place I'd felt most at home. Today, I watched my sister (and roommate) experience it for the first time. It was her "aha!" moment. The city revealed its best and greatest magic to her. From the beautiful brownstones, to the cobblestones, and the Vespas zipping down the street. It really is one of the few places in Manhattan proper where you get the sense of a small European-feeling community. Unfortunately everyone knows my secret, and is prepared to pay top dollar to experience it. Suddenly your top number gets pushed to the limit. You see places to rest your head, but not your soul. The village has its charm, but the apartments you can afford are far from charming. It's frustrating to witness such a centralized location of wealth, and see that you are just a spit in the ocean. "Humbling" does not even begin to describe it. Door-to-door we knocked, Super-to-Super we talked, freezing in 15-degree weather. Where do you draw the line on what you love and the price you are willing to pay for it? Our hearts our big, our wallets are small, but our minds are set. Wish us luck.

48 Hours of Calamity Physics

I spent the last 48 hours engrossed in SPECIAL TOPICS IN CALAMITY PHYSICS. I did have moments of "oh god, please let this end." But once I plowed through the first half of the middle (don't check my math on that), I was hooked. Marisha Pessl's research paper notations presented throughout are interesting and intellectual, without being pretentious. The characters from Gareth and Blue to the Bluebloods, each has their own specific persona. A little bit of Royal Tenenbaums mixed with a Philip Glass score. Once I hit the last page, I wanted to take the rest of the day to walk around the city mulling over what I read, then head home and read it again. The layers upon layers of story and nuance are fascinating, and a true work of art. Not to mention the real art in the form of "visual aids" drafted by Pessl.

I am depressed in knowing that I did not write a book like this first. But I am glad that someone did, because I needed a great work of fiction to discover and devour over this cold weekend.

Subway Stories

So now that I am back to the commuting lifestyle and roam beyond the confines of the UWS, I can tell you honestly that despite the fact the train is packed every morning and every evening, I do love it. I love watching the woman reading "Everything Is Illuminated," and laughing out loud. I love watching the man kiss his wife good bye when he gets off at his work stop and she continues on to hers. I love watching the young dancers from the ABT sweep gracefully into the car with their hair swept up in nice tight buns and wrapped with a hair net. I love that every one complains to no one in particular, but someone always pretends to be listening. We shuffle off of cars, through turn styles and (almost) patiently wait while the elderly person in front of us takes their time to walk up the stairs. Another world awaits us up from the underground. It always feels hopeful, full of anticipation or the promise of home. You exit, breathe the air and feel as if you are starting anew. And I will again, tomorrow morning.