Crazy Fingers

The Shire = Chelsea. I started referring to Chelsea as The Shire early this year. I want to see if I ever hear it spoken back to me by a stranger (i.e., I’m trying to propagate a meme). Feel free to play along.

From Wikipedia:

The Shire was settled by Hobbits in the year 1601 of the Third Age (Year 1 in Shire Reckoning). The Hobbits (who originally lived in the vale of Anduin) had migrated west over the perilous Misty Mountains in the decades before that, and before entering The Shire they had lived in Dunland and parts of the depopulated Arnorian splinter-realms Cardolan and Rhudaur. It has been speculated that the Hobbits had originally moved west to escape the evils of Mirkwood, and the trouble caused by the Easterlings.

Sort of like the gay neighborhood used to be the West Village, until we got priced out of there and Chelsea became the hot gay neighborhood.

Its small size, relative lack of importance, and brave and resilient Hobbit population made it too modest an objective for conquest. More important was that the Shire was guarded and protected by the Dúnedain Rangers, who watched the borders and kept out intruders. The only strangers to enter the Shire were the Dwarves travelling on the Great Road that ran through the Shire to and from their mines in the Blue Mountains, and the occasional Elves on their way to the Grey Havens.

Chelsea is, of course, in the process of being conquered by real estate developers and rich straight people, who are making it harder to live here on one or two modest salaries.

The Shire is described as a small but beautiful and fruitful land, beloved by its inhabitants.

Besides, and most importantly, I loved the depiction of the Hobbits in the first Lord of the Rings movie. I was moved by the way they all seemed to like each other and enjoy each other’s company, by the way they loved to eat, drink and party. It reminded me of Chelsea on a good day.

Redundant is apparently how people in Britain, or in its former colonies in which people speak with an accent different than mine, refer to people who have been laid off. Since they are redundant, i.e., unnecessarily repetitive, the cure is to eliminate them. Sort of like having two photocopiers when you only need one. Here’s an example of the usage, from Australia.

To an IT professional, such as myself, redundancy is a good thing. It makes systems less susceptible to failure (even if components fail).

I hate the way these Britishisms permeate the atmosphere at my company.

The Britishisms started after our acquisition from State Street in February, 2002. The Friday before the acquisition, we were normal. The Monday following the acquisition, emails and phonecalls ended with “cheers.” ICK.

The only real “insiders” are from England or Australia, but mostly England. A smarter person might have realized the company has little commitment to its operations in the USA.

I can’t wait for my last paycheck to clear, so I can mention the name of the dysfunctional mess that employs me, especially since I will not be bound by the severance agreement not to do so (since I have no intention of signing the severance agreement).

Maybe tomorrow if I’m bored I’ll give you some more details about the problems with the severance agreement, the company’s intent not to honor their own language, and the shame of the 30% of my 2004 bonus that was withheld to foster “employee retention” and which they won’t pay out unless I stay until February 28. I think the prudent thing to do was find a job as soon as possible, rather than rely on the severance, and that’s what I did. Since I am “redundant,” I’d think a menschlikhkeit company wouldn’t withhold the money I earned two years ago, but let’s remember what we’re dealing with here. I did point out today that my new company has domestic partner benefits (which these homobphobes refuse to do) and still manages to be profitable.

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?

Krispy Kreme on 23rd street closed! Brian noticed it last week.

Did they really think they’d sell donuts in Chelsea, fer crissake? I was waiting for the sugar-free, fat-free, low-carb high-protein donut.

But we still have the Ben and Jerry’s.

While trying to resolve the “there were errors” problem on Blogger today, I came across one of their tech support articles entitled “What To Do When Your Mom Discovers Your Blog.” My mom hasn’t found it yet. Neither has Brian’s mom, nor any of my current or future employers.

I can’t believe I’m worried about this at the age of 44.

(I’m going to want my mom to see some of my past posts, like this one about Faber’s, and maybe some future ones, but I’m not sure she’ll appreciate some of the other stuff I tend to write about. Maybe I can hack a mom filter into WordPress.)

But then again, my dad did read me today because of my icon on Yahoo messenger, which is a Steelie, the Grateful Dead’s logo (but what did you expect?).

“What’s with the skull,” he asked me in Yahoo messenger.

“It’s like my tatto.”

“God.”

This is the ill-fated post that Blogger wouldn’t let me publish.

That’s my cousin Greg. He’s the guy on the right. The other guy is Ben, who Greg was dating over the summer.

Greg and I went to RUB for dinner with my friend Andy, who was originally a friend of Brian’s and a member of Urban Outings, and who now works for my brother. Kevin and Paul joined us at RUB, then Andy went home and Greg and I went to four bars. I went over and settled in at Brian’s. He came home to me after spending the evening with his family.

We worked out together on Saturday, then Brian went off for brunch with friends and dinner with his mom. I went to lunch with Kevin (at The Dish), then home to get some clothes, then to the gym to do cardio, then to a couple of parties with Kevin. The second party was at Allen Roskoff’s place. Brian and his friend Steven met us there, then Brian, Steven, Kevin and I went to Diner 24. We ate grilled cheese and macaroni and cheese and jalapeno poppers. Our waiter was cute, and straight (we asked). Cute straight waiters are common in Chelsea, but lordy, do they know how to work it! Steven was into the waiter, and every time he said something about he, he walked by.

Allen’s party was interesting. Let me drop some names of the people who were there. My favorite Queer Eye Guy Kyan Douglas. Mark Green. Corey Johnson. Al Sharpton. Anthony Weiner. Doris Cohen. Scott Stringer. Tom Duane. And lots of other politicos, apologies if I forgot anyone. I was good, and did not say the word schnorer. But who did trim Allen’s tree?

It’s also notable that I got into an argument with a Log Cabin Republican at Allen’s party. The last time I encountered a gay republican in New York was at the Eagle over a year ago — some guy running for city council. We did have a gay, republican city council candidate this year (Patrick Murphy), but I’m not sure if that’s who I met at the eagle that time. In any case, the guy I met at Allen’s party was Patrick Murphy’s press secretary. Hey! What’s the difference between a Jewish Nazi and a gay Republican?

Today, Brian and I went to look at an apartment on 11th Street. It was fabulous and lofty and bright, but there was not enough segmented space so Brian and I will avoid tripping over each other. The owner’s realtor was cute (he came on his skateboard and looked hot when he skateboarded away from us after we told him we weren’t interested) (Brian thought he was dirty and needed to take a shower, and that he was a bitchy East-Village Queen, but the skateboard was a good accessory) and he recognized “Up on Cripple Creek” when I started singing it under my breath. Our realtor was a half hour late, and the cute realtor kept muttering somethign about “Sunday morning” and “he’s so unprofessional.”

We had breakfast at French Roast then hung out at Brian’s place.

I left and went to Patagonia to replace the black hat I lost last night (it was essential to replace it ASAP because Brian says I look like a cute elf when I wear it, and I get laid) then to the gym. Back to Brian’s via Whole Foods, then more hanging out. Brian is reading over my shoulder and interjecting as I write this.

We’re about to go to bed.

It’s not looking good for the place on 15th Street, but we remain hopeful. I will accept a job offer tomorrow, so more about that.

I wrote a post last night describing the weekend, with my beloved Brian looking over my shoulder and interjecting, and I would have liked to have posted it last night, when it was relevant, but NO. Blogger just sat there, saying “Publishing is in progress,” staying at 0% published, then it informed me “there were errors.”

I’ve had it with Blogger! Feh.

So this is my first post using the WordPress software, which I installed locally on my server. It was one of the easiest installations I have ever done of any software in my entire life. I was all intimidated about installing software on the web server, because it’s all Linux and PHP and shit, but it was extraordinarily easy, with good instructions. So far, my experience of using the writing and editing interface is good; if you know blogs, in general, it’s intuitive.

I encourage you to look at the entries I created using blogger. Over the next few days I’m going to investigate migrating the blogroll and the actual entries into WordPress. But for now, I can continue publishing!

Oliver mentioned that he misses summer. That post, plus some other stuff going on, really has me in a funk today.

The picture on the left is Brian in front of our house (and next to my Jeep) in Provincetown last summer. The other picture is another view of the house. It was such a great summer!

My ex reads my blog. One of the good recruiters I’ve been talking to was looking for good QA people, so I thought I could refer my ex to the recruiter so I could get the referral bonus. It turns out my ex is not looking for a job right now, but he did congratulate me about recent developments. We went on to have an interesting email exchange about The Dish. (My ex and his current, Nick, live out in New Jersey, near where my ex and I used to live. They’re among the people who use my neighborhood as a gay mecca.)

The ex: I read your blog earlier and saw the news. Congratulations. Also saw that you and Brian are looking for a place together. Congratulations again.

Me: When were you in Chelsea? I actually did sense that you were nearby.

The ex: Saturday. Had dinner at The Dish around 6, the movie at the theatre on 23rd at 7:15, and went to the party afterward.

Me: Huh. We probably crossed paths several times. I go to the dish almost every day. I was there Saturday. You know what I did Saturday, though. It’s on my blog.

The ex: The Dish is good, and the waiter we had was way hot.

Me: I love the dish. All the waiters are hot. They have that healthy menu, brown rice, sweet potatoes. They know their market. If you go in there a lot you get a special greeting from the host. The waiters are straight, though. Also, if you go in a lot, they give you free stuff. Brian and I got cheesecake yesterday.

The ex: The guy with the bars of music band tattoo is str8?

Me: Yes. He actually works out at David Barton. My bud, who’s GM at David Barton, and I are often in the dish together. The waiter wants to date the girls at the front desk of the gym.

The ex: Why does David Barton have girls at the front desk?

Brian and I loved the first apartment we saw this morning. Bright, sunny, huge living room, huge kitchen. In the heart of The Shire. We made an offer less than the asking rent. We’re waiting to hear if they accept us.

Keep your fingers crossed for us!