Unimportant Observations

This is a serious city, and the people in it are serious.  Serious about their work.  Serious about their apartments.  Serious about getting to the train.  People walk with purpose here, and anyone left lollygagging through midtown is either mowed down or evangelized.  I knew all of this prior to moving here, but even so, nothing prepared me for the seriousness that is 80s dance night. I thought I had been prepping my entire life for an event like this, but even I (a girl who spent her formative years rehearsing choreography to Billy Joel’s “Uptown Girl”) was a mere amateur compared to the superfreaks who gathered in the east village that night.  When my friends Holly, Mallory and I arrived at the Pyramid club, the place was only half full.  Most were grouped up front at the bar, and although a drink or two was of necessity (so we thought) to make our dancing debut, the smoke machines and compelling sounds of Human League drew us quickly toward the b...

August is by far the worst month of the year.  I've thought this every August of my existence, and I started saying it out loud at least twenty years ago.  Some people like to remind me of some "positive" things about this month (like the birthdays that fall in August), expecting me to retract my statement, but I never do.  My own birthday is in March, and I'm not   that fond of that month either.  August birthdays are fine, and I bet some fun partying happens when those birthdays come along, but all I can think of is those who have gone before me and given birth in August and my hatred is reinforced on their behalf.  Why do I hate August so much, you ask?  Because it's so...August. There are very few redeeming qualities about August; in fact, I'm having trouble thinking of one.  Well, school supply shopping can be fun. For me, August has always marked the end of life-giving things like vacation and breathable air.  August in New York ...

I've been a New Yorker now for two full days, so let me know if you want any pointers on living in the city. I moved to 22nd street in Park Slope, a neighborhood in Brooklyn.  A few months ago, Bliss and I frantically searched online for a place of our own here.  We finally landed on the idea of subletting so as to avoid paying large sums of cash in deposits and broker's fees, only to arrive and find ourselves living on the set of Angela's Ashes.   So that's what we did -- we found an affordable apartment in a good location with a renter (I'll call her "H") who was leaving for South America for a couple of months.  Perfect! H wrote to Bliss and me via email several times to give us the low down on her place.  She seemed funny and charming...and she even knocked a couple hundred bucks off the rent each month if we agreed to care for her cat while we were here.  While neither Bliss nor myself were particularly thrilled at the thought of kitty litter mainte...