Apparently Olafur Eliasson is installing several waterfalls in New York this summer. Very Cool. I think i might be able to see the one between Pier 4 and 5 in Brooklyn from my roof. Gothamist has more info.
Brooklyn Bridge
Between Pier 4 and 5 in Brooklyn
It’s so cold, it makes me hate America!
- African immigrant after asking me for directions.
This efficiency totally turns me on!
- Friend upon witnessing B & H for the first time.
Bummer: When the beautiful woman you made eye contact with gets off the train before you can figure out how to begin a conversation.
Damn shame: When you realize - a station later - that she got off at your stop….
My Friend Ryan is DJing his monthly set at Royal Oak in Williamsburg. He’s great, the drinks are cheap, and the company is sublime. Come on out.
My friends’ apartment is currently up for voting in Apartment Therapy’s Smallest Coolest Apartments 2007 contest. If you have an account for AT, go vote.
According to the New York Post, part of Mayor Bloomberg’s plan to create more space for housing in New York City could involve building on top of the BQE.
I live in one of the buildings behind the caption bubble.
“After you wake up, what do you do with your dreams?”
- Scribble on the outside of 11 Spring
I am actually going to get out of the office in time to go to the opening of The Girl’s Room tonight at the Jen Bekman Gallery.
According to the Dreier Project:
“The Girl’s Room” is an art show featuring work done by an international group of female artists. Each artist submitted several small pieces, each which will be framed with an 8.5×11 frame. By keeping all the work at a consistent size, we can more clearly and objectively compare the respective works, without the the messages being obscured by irrelevancies such as size and prominence on the wall. The artwork itself will be the message and perhaps it will answer some questions about the place of women’s artwork in the artworld. Questions such as: What sort of work are women artists creating? How does it differ from men’s art? Are there particular subjects, methods and materials women artists are working with? What role does gender play in artwork? And regardless of any “political” agenda, sometimes its fun to get the girls together and see what’s on our minds.
If you can’t make the opening, the show will be running through January 13, 2007 with a closing reception on the final day of the show.
As you likley know, I am a fan of Swoon who has a piece in the show. I have been lucky enough to see her work on the street. I am also excited to see work by Youngna Park whose blog I enjoy immensely, but whose work I have never seen in person.
Photo by Youngna Park
My traffic on this site doubled a few days ago. I hadn’t had a chance to dive into the stats to see what was amiss. Turns out a ton of people were searching for “mike oliver” + nypd or “mike oliver” and “police officer.”
After poking a round for a sec, I realized that this all has to do with the groom who got shot by the police in Queens several hours before his wedding. Apparently the officer who shot 31 of the 50 bullets and I share the same name.
I have been silent here for the last week or so because I was running the gauntlet that is the apartment hunt in New York City.
I started my search in the West Village where I have lived for the last three years with a roommate. I wanted a one bedroom. I quickly came to learn that brokers in the West Village use the term “bedroom” loosely, referring to any nook or cranny that isn’t a bathroom, living room, or kitchen. I saw a “one bedroom” on my favorite block in Manhattan (Leroy Street and 7th Avenue) that literally didn’t have room for my bed (I have a full size mattress).
“Was it too much,” I thought, “to be able to live in a place where one could actually wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” There was no such thing, it seemed, as a “side of the bed” (at least in my price range). In Manhattan there were only feet. Every apartment I saw in the Village required a running start and ended with a vault onto the mattress. There was no other way to enter the bedroom. I don’t know how one makes a bed in Manhattan. It must be difficult to pull off without being able to stand next to the bed.
I decided that, perhaps, I could get a large studio in my price range. Sure I would have no living room, but at least I could get out of my bed on either side. I was presented with “steals” for $1600 - $1800 dollars where I could indeed get out of bed on either side. But I would rarely be getting out of bed since there was no room for any other furniture. In these studios, the bed would become my couch, my kitchen table.
At night I drempt of my life after starting work. In my dream I would enter the apartment, loosen my tie, grab a beer from the fridge, and with a sigh, sink into a plush couch and put my feet up. I woke up feeling relaxed. Then it dawned on me that, in the real world, I wasn’t looking at anything even approximating my dream.
That day, I got up and headed for Brooklyn.
I went to Cobble Hill, I suppose, because it was the only neighborhood I really knew in Brooklyn. I felt comfortable the moment I stepped of the train. There were coffee shops everywhere. There were two movie theaters within walking distance, and there were families walking around everywhere. I dropped in on 6 brokers in my first day. Most of the brokers had little or nothing to show. I saw an apartment I would have been glad to take, but I was scooped by a woman who surely holds the world record in paperwork gathering. I thought I was prepared, but was no match for my foe who produced the laundry list below seemingly out of the ether:
Three days, ten apartments, and some tired feet later, I found myself first in line to apply for an apartment that met what I had originally thought were my reasonable expectations. As I was filling out the paperwork (and paying an application fee to ensure that no one else would be shown the apartment) a young man entered the broker’s office to inquire about an incredibly inexpensive one bedroom he heard was available in the eneighborhood (his friend lived in the building). She smiled, said sorry, and pointed toward me.
He looked dejected. I wanted to put my arm around him like the 6 year old chess prodigy did in Searching for Bobby Fisher and say, “don’t worry, you are a much stronger player than I was at your age.”
Yesterday, I got the apartment.
Brooklyn, here I come.
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