Crazy Fingers

I’ll start out by saying that I’m not going to work during the transit strike. Going to work during a transit strike is what people who care about their jobs do. Since I will be “redundant” on February 28, and since I already resigned, I don’t particularly feel like exerting myself to the extent that would be necessary to get to work witout mass transit. What are they going to do? Fire me?

So I didn’t go to work. Here’s how I spent the day:

Brian and I looked at an apartment in Chelsea this morning. We liked it, but we’ll have to build a wall to make it into two separate spaces, so Brian has a refuge when he needs to get away from me. We’ll start the application process tomorrow if we decide to go forward with it.

After looking at the first apartment, Brian and I went to the gym to do cardio. I spent about 20 minutes on the Versa Climber, which gives me the most effective cardio workout I can get on dry land (as opposed to in a kayak).

I walked from the gym, at 23rd and Park, to 51st and Madison, to have lunch with my two friends from junior high school, Mark and David. I was in a cab, briefly, but he wasn’t allowed to go up Madison, and Park was totally backed up, so I bailed.

Then I walked home to 19th Street so I could get my bike, with a stop at Brian’s on 22nd Street to drop off my knapsack.

Along the way, my cell phone ran out of juice, and I was getting calls from two realtors and one recruiter (whose offer I turned down). That pissed me off, and not wanting to be out of touch, I stopped at Radio Shack at the Manhattan Mall to get emergency cell phone batteries.

My bike’s rear tire was completely flat. I took it to the Mendon garage on 10th avenue, and they were kind enough to put air in the tires. On the way to the next apartment viewing, scheduled for 4pm, I realized the tires were not inflated enough, so I stopped at the bike shop on 14th Street to get more air, as well as a strap for my right pants leg so it doesn’t get caught in the chain. I don’t normally wear long pants when I ride my bike, but it’s just so cold out today.

Brian and I saw an apartment we love, but we’re not 100 percent in agreement that we want to rent it. It’s a garden apartment, slightly below grade, and there’s a lot of space, but we’ll still have to build a door to give Brian his sanctuary, and there are dogs, which gives Brian pause. So we’ll talk later, at the gym. It frustrated me that he wasn’t able to fully talk about it, because he had to get back to work. I wonder if there is any apartment he will actually like.

Our realtor didn’t show, because of the transit strike.

After we saw the apartment, I walked him back to his office, then rode back to my apartment, played with WordPress a bit (including the new theme — did you notice that the blog looks different?), ordered Eggs Parmigiana from Energy Kitchen, spoke to the realtors on the phone about moving forward with the apartments we saw today, and spoke to a recruiter about a superficially interesting opportunity at a hedge fund (but not interesting enough to make me reconsider my decision about the offer I accepted yesterday).

Now I’m heading back to Brian’s to get my knapsack, then to Brian’s office to escort him to the gym.

Who-o what I want to know is: why the fuck is it so hard to find a two-bedroom apartment in Chelsea? How many crappy apartments are we going to have to look at before we find one we like?