Where I Live Now

Moving is such an unbelievable pain in the ass. By the end of this week, give or take a few days, I will be out of New York for good, which, although I’m doing it for reasons that have nothing to do with the city per se, still feels like a betrayal. And I’m really gonna miss my house, a completely illegal NYC real estate anomaly that I landed in by pure happenstance, the details of which I will withhold for the sake of my housemates. (Yeah, Aubergine!) Suffice it to say we lucked out big time, those of us fortunate enough to set up camp in that huge old manse in Morningside Heights.

The house has been compared by many visitors to the one featured in The Royal Tenenbaums, and it bears a similarity. It is full of books, old furniture, and unexpected nooks and crannies (there are multiple rooms I've never been in), and it has a bright color scheme. (Furthermore, many of its residents, like the characters of that movie, seem to have a suspiciously large amount of time on their hands.) My room is on the second floor, overlooking the stoop. When I arrived, I spent the first three days of my tenancy painting it dark green and removing a spidery light sculpture that its previous resident had screwed to the wall. The radiator’s clang kept me up at night, but I fixed that, and once I had my bed, my couch and my books set up, I felt at home. It hasn't all been blissful and rosy, but it's certainly been affordable. Again, I won’t go into the details of the place, but I will say that some of the bedrooms are double the size of some one-bedroom apartments in this city and, by New York standards, we pay practically nothing. I mean, really, why the fuck am I leaving this place?

By comparison, I expect LA to be pretty pricey, and I know I'll have a lot of miscellaneous expenses to look forward to that I never had to deal with in NYC, from gas to health insurance to minor plastic surgery and teeth whitening (when in Rome, etc). Nevertheless, it feels like the right thing to do. I'm ready to be a little more ambitious. Oh, and I think the cross-country drive will be fun. It promises the chance to see the London Bridge in Arizona (I’m not making this up) and I'll be able to catch up on my podcast listening (unfortunately, I’m not making that up either). Ultimately, it's the opportunity to do film that’s really the impetus behind the move. Otherwise I never would decamp from the felicitous (cheap) housing arrangement I now enjoy. Whatever. I'm fine with it. Really, I am. I've no doubt the next few days will pass languidly, in a drunken stupor, enhanced by a slow motion slide-show of my life's possessions as they march slowly into a dozen cardboard boxes which will then be closed, taped, labeled and shipped to an undisclosed west coast address.

I’m looking forward to experiencing my first earthquake.

One more thing about the house. Last night Dave divulged its final secret to me. While we crossed Fifth Avenue and 13th Street, I asked him how much the current rent is for the whole house. He told me the number; I asked him to repeat it and he did. I was then promptly hit by a flatbed truck and declared dead.