Back in Action

I just realized that I need to update my blogger profile. This is because I no longer live in Salt Lake City. Ha. Fuck you, Utah, I escaped!

I am writing this from my new God-only-knows how small studio in Brooklyn that costs approximately double what my mortgage cost in Salt Lake City. Fortunately this is temporary housing before I take possession of my more permanent pad which, of course, will cost yet more per month. I also decided to immediately take part in the important New York right of passage: paying out the nose to a broker. Yay! Despite this, I'm feeling very good about the whole situation.

I suppose a recap is in order. When I filed my last report, there was a mention of a certain nauseating anxiety. I'm a little dense, so it took me overnight to figure out what the problem was: living in the home of a middle aged woman on the Upper West Side who changed the rent by fifty percent at the last minute and where I could not really have any friends over was what was causing the tingling palms and overwhelming sense of doom and fear. That and I did not have a job. Well, the next day both of those problems were solved. I stopped payment on the check I wrote to the middle aged temptress, apologized profusely, and cut her a no-hard-feelings check to assuage my guilt at backing out of the deal. That alone made me feel super duper. Then later that day, I got a job offer phone call. This was the company that I did have a full night's sleep prior to my interview. They made me what I consider to be a really good offer. Income: check. That just left me with the small problem that I had sold my home in Salt Lake and taken a job that was to start in three weeks, but did not have a place to land in New York!

As an aside, I realize that this chronicle-style blog is getting used a bit much. I promise to all my loyal reader(s) that I will write posts in alternate styles real soon now.

One thing I learned about getting housing in New York is that it is not worth bothering to find a place until a maximum of forty-eight hours prior to being ready to make a commitment. In other words, trying to find a place in New York from Salt Lake City just doesn't work. You have to be able to show up for an appointment the next day before people will take you seriously. I am actually fascinated by the sheer size of the housing market in New York. Just using craigslist, there are hundreds of housing listings coming and going everyday. The half-life on a listing, at my best guess, appears to be about 36 hours. If the opportunity is any good at all, more like 12 hours. Based on this newfound NYC savvy, I did not even bother to peruse craigslist until the day after I arrived in Ohio. Although I knew that this was the right move, it still yielded much nervousness. I had a truck full of my worldly possessions and a job starting in a week and a half. House or not, I had to go to New York. Long story short: the day I left Ohio I committed on an apartment that I had only seen a couple of pictures of. The next day (yesterday) I drove into the city, parked in front of the place, and signed a check. Sweet.

So here I am in my new apartment. It was rather filthy when I arrived. I used about a half a bottle of Soft Scrub to clean the bathroom and a heavy dose of Mop 'n Glo on the kitchen floor. It's now livable. Evidence for my residence here includes: milk in the refrigerator and everything else I own sitting in boxes in the studio.

Next on the agenda: get a life.

Back in Action

I just realized that I need to update my blogger profile. This is because I no longer live in Salt Lake City. Ha. Fuck you, Utah, I escaped!

I am writing this from my new God-only-knows how small studio in Brooklyn that costs approximately double what my mortgage cost in Salt Lake City. Fortunately this is temporary housing before I take possession of my more permanent pad which, of course, will cost yet more per month. I also decided to immediately take part in the important New York right of passage: paying out the nose to a broker. Yay! Despite this, I'm feeling very good about the whole situation.

I suppose a recap is in order. When I filed my last report, there was a mention of a certain nauseating anxiety. I'm a little dense, so it took me overnight to figure out what the problem was: living in the home of a middle aged woman on the Upper West Side who changed the rent by fifty percent at the last minute and where I could not really have any friends over was what was causing the tingling palms and overwhelming sense of doom and fear. That and I did not have a job. Well, the next day both of those problems were solved. I stopped payment on the check I wrote to the middle aged temptress, apologized profusely, and cut her a no-hard-feelings check to assuage my guilt at backing out of the deal. That alone made me feel super duper. Then later that day, I got a job offer phone call. This was the company that I did have a full night's sleep prior to my interview. They made me what I consider to be a really good offer. Income: check. That just left me with the small problem that I had sold my home in Salt Lake and taken a job that was to start in three weeks, but did not have a place to land in New York!

As an aside, I realize that this chronicle-style blog is getting used a bit much. I promise to all my loyal reader(s) that I will write posts in alternate styles real soon now.

One thing I learned about getting housing in New York is that it is not worth bothering to find a place until a maximum of forty-eight hours prior to being ready to make a commitment. In other words, trying to find a place in New York from Salt Lake City just doesn't work. You have to be able to show up for an appointment the next day before people will take you seriously. I am actually fascinated by the sheer size of the housing market in New York. Just using craigslist, there are hundreds of housing listings coming and going everyday. The half-life on a listing, at my best guess, appears to be about 36 hours. If the opportunity is any good at all, more like 12 hours. Based on this newfound NYC savvy, I did not even bother to peruse craigslist until the day after I arrived in Ohio. Although I knew that this was the right move, it still yielded much nervousness. I had a truck full of my worldly possessions and a job starting in a week and a half. House or not, I had to go to New York. Long story short: the day I left Ohio I committed on an apartment that I had only seen a couple of pictures of. The next day (yesterday) I drove into the city, parked in front of the place, and signed a check. Sweet.

So here I am in my new apartment. It was rather filthy when I arrived. I used about a half a bottle of Soft Scrub to clean the bathroom and a heavy dose of Mop 'n Glo on the kitchen floor. It's now livable. Evidence for my residence here includes: milk in the refrigerator and everything else I own sitting in boxes in the studio.

Next on the agenda: get a life.

Three Pronged Attack

So Pete, what's the matter? Got writer's block or what? I mean, it's been a hellofa long time since you've posted. Did life get boring, dude? You suck.

Oh contraire. Life for me lately most resembles an avalanche. Inertia builds as I snip away at my ties to Utah.

I spent Monday morning bawling on the phone to my brother because I had actually gone through with putting Mr Orange on an airplane bound for Detroit. I felt better later that day when my bro picked up the O-man safely, but saying goodbye to what at times felt like my only friend was ... incomprehensible. I miss my kitty; he's a good buddy. I got my daily updates from both the brother and the sister-in-law today. Apparently Mr Orange has already found himself a nighttime spot on the bed. It makes it a lot easier on me if I know he's happy, of course.

Tuesday I hunkered down in the war room with my real estate agent and good friend, R. We played a high stakes game of offer-counteroffer with my house on the line. Fortune smiled on me that day. With two offers, both over my asking price, it was more stressful than you might imagine. When two people are jonesing after your apartment with this much fervor, you can't help but feel bad when you put the big REJECTED stamp on one of them. Sorry baby, your sugar just wasn't sweet enough. Bottom line here: I sold my house. Yay!

Selling the house was one of three events that was to force my hand into moving. The other two were finding a place to live in New York and securing a job. Those other two are in progress. The job hunt is in full swing. Actually, it's past the hunt stage and well into courtship. You know, they are infatuated and I'm getting the sweet goodnight kisses. Unlike with the ladies, I can keep my cool with potential employers, so all indicators are that I will get an offer or two in a week or so.

As for the finding a place to live problem, that's a different story. The reason I haven't been writing here lately is because I've been spending seemingly every last minute doing two things: searching craigslist for housing opportunities and crafting careful emails to potential roommates trying to convince them that at the same time I am interesting/cool/etc. and also that I'm not a serial killer despite the fact that I'm moving to NYC out of the blue. I've got a pretty good formula for it now, but it still takes me about an hour to come up with the proper strategy for one of these cold emails. I'm getting nervous about this one. I've got four days on my upcoming pre-move trip to New York to nail down a place. It's not at all clear to me that I'll be able to pull it off. Oh well, what's the worst that could happen? I might drive into New York with a truck full of shit and nowhere to live. I wouldn't be the first homeless person in New York, right?

So my brilliant three pronged attack game plan seems to be holding up as I enter the final stretch. I've got about two weeks left in SLC, minus the four days I'm in New York. On the agenda for tonight: figure out the guest list for the "Don't let the door hit you in the ass" party being thrown in my honor.

TTFN.

Binge and Purge

Due to my upcoming move, I am forced to dramatically scale back my possessions. I am smack in the middle of this process right now.

Let's talk about craigslist. Who buys other people's junk? For real, who are these people? I say this expecting full well that this will be me once I arrive in NYC. Also, I know the answer: a dude named Mark who works for ClearChannel (a.k.a. the devil), a mormon financial planner who modifies Toyota Supras in his spare time, a dude who has his secretary handle the transaction, a chiropracter (also named Mark), and my friend Cat. With this limited sample, I conclude that the average craigslist buyer is male, professional, and named Mark.

Thanks to craigslist, I am minus three sets of speakers, a stereo, a cordless drill, and a set of golf clubs. Next on the hitlist is the guitar.

I am preparing approximately three hundred pounds of books for their exit from my apartment. If you happen to have any old textbooks lying around, I would recommend blue rectangle. They are going to take half a dozen textbooks off my hands and give me approximately five dollars per. I find that remarkable considering they pay for shipping and each of these books is at least six years old. The remainder of my collection, with very few exceptions, will be dropped off at the public library.

This exercise of purging my worldly possessions is ... pleasant. I think that's the best word to describe it, pleasant with a twinge of je ne sais pas. When you live somewhere for five years, intertia is inevidable. For me, I have even been in the same apartment for five years. Making the mental decision to leave Salt Lake City was the necessary first step. Parting with the possessions seems to be an excellent second step. Intertia being a function of mass, reducing stuff equals reducing mass yielding less intertia. In other words, all I have to do is haul off my three hundred pounds of books and in return I feel a marvelous sense of freedom. First tangible step to New York: done.

So much to do

Since I've told both of my potential readers this information personally, I am now going to spell it out for the rest of you: I have decided to pick up shop and move to New York City. My friend E. has already posted a foreboding beware of new york piece about my apparently ill-conceived plans.

At the risk of repeating what I have now told about thirty friends, I will delve into the details of this one hundred eighty degree life turn.

I have been in Utah for over five years now. My first year in Utah was quite notable. Let's go straight to the list:

• Box containing family heirloom Christmas ornaments stolen from my doorstep.
• Credit card number stolen plus subsequent fraudulent use of said number.
• The division of the company I moved here to work for was decimated.
• Two further sets of layoffs at work sent twelve months worth of friends packing.
• Carjacked at gunpoint.
• Subsequent insurance squabble caused temporary, but ugly rift in relationship with stepdad.
• Failed relationship with girl who never considered herself in a relationship with me.

One might say that from the beginning, there were some difficulties that may have affected my attitude towards Utah. But for five plus years I have stuck with it. When I chose to move to Utah, not in my wildest dreams did I imagine being here for over five years. I thought it would be a two years and out kind of situation. And the only reason I thought I would stay that long was to break even on the condo I bought!

So five years later, I have made friends. I have learned to drink socially. I play frisbee; competitively even. I am working for company number two. I have a cat. I have bought furniture. I have traveled around the mountain west. The thing about it is that I have, by many measures, succeeded. BUT, I'm still single. I'm still young. And I still do not consider myself a Utahan. So I have realized that if I do not leave Utah, I will always be here.

The thought process leading to this decision has been greased substantially by the continuing antics at fly-by-night co. I have become open to other possibilities. My recent trip to New York provided me with an excellent alternative to Salt Lake City. It was a place that clicked with me. I have not yet put my finger on the one thing that makes New York click. I believe there is one thing though. According to E., it might be the 3.2 to 1 F/M ratio. That may be it. Don't know. More on that later, I suppose. The point is that I found a reasonable alternative to Salt Lake City.

I turned down two jobs yesterday. I did this without hesitation and without regret. I did not like having to let my friend C. down because I was the guy he needed, but nonetheless, it was clearly the right thing to do. From a personal economic perspective, totally bogus. From a "wow I really do want to get the fuck out of here" perspective though, oh yeah, it was good.

What lies in front of me right now is a list of tasks that just keeps getting longer. I have about seven thousand one-hour tasks to take care of before I get on my way to NYC. My goal is to be out of Salt Lake by the end of October. I should be reading the real estate contract I have to sign or thinning out my wardrobe, but instead I'm writing this. I know what you are thinking: if he's so gung-ho about moving, why is he wasting his time blogging about it? To preserve my sanity, of course. Today I got an inkling such that I now understand what an anxiety attack is. I think I'm going to be able to manage all the excitement, but there was a moment today where I got a taste of crushing, overwhelming stress. At the time, I was looking into options for transporting Mr Orange to Ohio.

Okay, back to the grind for me. No rest for the wicked (or something like that).

The New York Post

I'm back. My first trip to New York City is now over. The withdrawal symptoms have already kicked-in.

I loved New York. As promised, it was dirty, smelly, crowded, hot, and loud. But it was none of those things to the degree I anticipated, nor to a degree that I could not tolerate. In fact, the grungy reality of New York brought a welcome contrast to the vanilla perfection that abounds in Salt Lake City. I found myself feeling more at home in New York than I ever have in Utah.

It was not just the environment of the city though, the people were different. That is really the understatement of the year. In Utah, there are two kinds of people: Mormons and non-Mormons. Everyone fits into one of these groupings. In New York, it seems, there are as many kinds of people as there are people. Maybe it is just because I want it to be this way, but it appeared that everyone in New York had an actual personality of their own. Would it be too much to say that there were real people in New York? Hmmm, that makes a strong implication against a certain demographic of Utah.

Another property of the city that I found fantastic was the smallness of it. The subways really are magic. Swipe card, enter train, get jostled for a few minutes, and shazam, you are in a totally different place. I found the whole process of going underground, shielded from a number of normal sensory cues, and then returning to the surface amongst new surroundings wonderful. It is probably pretty lame for me, as a tourist, to write about the subway at all, but dammit, I just can't get over the magic of it. This is the number one advantage of high population density, in my opinion; the opportunity for effective public transportation.

My friend, E., acted as a fabulous host for the whole weekend. Despite her lingering illness, she showed me places and introduced me to people that other outsiders would never get to see. That generosity was critical to my favorable opinion of New York. Had E. not put me on the inside track, I might have thought New York a place full of Asian tourists wearing Ohio State and Yankee hats and taking enough photos to meet and then exceed any existing stereotypes. Instead I met a Pulitzer winner, a world class chef, a journalists, Ph.D.s, and even a couple other computer geeks. This insider tour made New York a real place for me, not just a big place with a lot of action like Las Vegas or Los Angeles.

I mentioned withdrawal symptoms. New York has been on my mind pretty constantly since I returned two days ago. I am trying to flush my mind by writing so that I can concentrate on the job interview I have later today. Hopefully it works, otherwise I might not be able to dance for them. Other symptoms of New York withdrawal include not sweating prufusely and restlessness.

New York is the first city outside of Ohio where I felt like I could be at home. Let's enumerate places I've been that I've considered living: San Francisco, L.A., San Diego, Sacramento, Phoenix, Tuscon, Las Vegas, Ann Arbor, Madison, Tampa, Miami, and Boston. Even Salt Lake City has never fallen into the "places I feel at home" category. That, of course, is part of the reason I chose to live here, but it is also the reason that Salt Lake is wearing thin on me. A city like New York appeals to the aspiring cosmopolitan in me. Where better might I fit than a place where nobody is a perfect fit. Plus E. tells me that single, straight men are in short supply; that appeals to the economist in me. Who am I to deny the demand of my supply?

Did I mention the food? Even the cheap, non-exciting food was fabulous. I'm running out of steam, so let me just mention my favorite delicacy. Tomatoes. Specifically, heirloom tomatoes garnished with, I believe, just some basil and oil. Simple but fantastic. Who knew that would be it? Other top contenders include the cheese and egg sandwich which apparently is a New York staple and a delicious shepherd's pie.

That's all I have to say about New York right now.

New Clarity

Tomorrow I depart for New York City. I am traveling there to visit my friend E. and generally to experience the city since I've never been before. The game plan for the trip is loose, but there will undoubtedly be some sight seeing and patronizing local eating and drinking establishments.

Here's the jag. My friend L. lives a short train ride away in New Jersey. I have an ex gf M. who at last check lives in Brooklyn. E. also lives in Brooklyn. I found out recently from my college friend R. that she is going to be in New York this weekend. Well that's all fine and good, except that the other day I was speaking to A., who lives in California, and she too is going to be in New York this weekend. For those keeping score, that's two exes and three friends; all female.

Several inferences may be drawn from this information:

1) My exes are equally drawn to New York as they are to Maine.

2) I am an idiot for living in Salt Lake City because in New York I can get a 5/1 female to male ratio without even trying.

3) There is a divine plan to wreck my weekend by having unexpected encounters with exes at inopportune times.

4) I'm a lucky guy because I get to see my friends E., L., and maybe R.

To preserve my sanity, I choose number four. I did have a choice, right?

The circumstances leading up to this trip have been ... strange. And I have been on a personal roller coaster of sorts along the way also. I am realizing just how much growing up I've had to do in the last month and a half. It hurts a little bit. It has stung at times. There is even an uneasiness that is most similar to the way I feel after having been on a boat for several hours. But through the veil of all these ill feelings, I am beginning to see some light. I'm more of a man today than yesterday -- more of a participant in the world. And I have more clarity in my outlook on life. This has been a long time coming and I'm glad it's here. It may be one of those Chopra books kicking in.

Note to self: stretch and grow more often; it feels good.