Notice the change of the title of my blog. It is no longer "Shawno's CT Blog," it is now, "Treehugger in the Big City." Title is just as corny (if not more so) than the last, but now it is all being written from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York (and surrounding areas). Pop and I arrived Thursday after a connection in Cincinnati, and I do believe I caught some ugly germs from another passenger. I try to dismiss the sniffles as allergies, or a reaction to the air quality, but the sore throat waking up yesterday was tell-tale. Not the most opportune time to be sick, but I suppose everything else has been going so swimmingly that it doesn't matter much.
We drove to Stamford, CT to settle in to their local Super 8 Motel and upon arrival found a bus that looked like it had been on fire not 20 minutes before, right in front of the hotel. We had to take a back way to get into the parking lot. I wanted to say, "Welcome to Connecticut, Dad!" But I thought that might scare him so I stifled my laughter as we carried our bags to the fourth floor. The whole hallway smelled like weed. I looked at my dad... He looked back at me. Neither of us were sure whether we should mention it smelled like an illegal drug (who would want to admit they knew what weed smelled like to their dad/daughter?) and finally I said, "Somebody's smoking weed," and dad agreed.
Upon the uncomfortable Super 8 beds, we crashed, having been up since 3:30 that morning to catch our flight out of Seattle. The time change went almost unnoticed. Getting up much earlier than any sane person should really helped that situation.
The next morning we caught the "breakfast" they were serving downstairs and headed to the Stamford train station. That was the day we were determined to find me a place to live in New York. On the ride to Grand Central, I pointed out to Dad the place where I had gotten lost in Harlem and finally caught the train. He wasn't too pleased. I think maybe its better not to mention all the unsafe situations I was in while interning for E. What they don't know can't hurt them, right?
So, we arrived at Grand Central and I hurried Dad onto the subway to get to Brooklyn to look at our first possible option for housing. Joe answered the door. The place was filled with dust bunnies, water damage, clutter of all kinds. Not the best place I wanted my dad to see straight off. But we said thank you and moved on.
Off the 77th street stop, we walked down this beautiful, tree-lined street to find our next destination. Kids played on the sidewalk, people smiled at us as we walked by... And then we met Susanna. She came to the gate in a lime green tee-shirt, her hair casually pulled back and smile on her face. She's Russian maybe. Eastern European for sure but sweet all the same. She showed us the room available, and although it is very small, it has everything I need and it's in the middle of everything I might want. Walk around the corner and the laundromat that does your dirty clothes themselves is right there. Seems like ten million ethnic restaurants also reside in the area. Indian, Greek, Japanese, Italian, Chinese, Vegeatarian this, bakery that.... A block and a half to Starbucks, subway around the corner, and five blocks away is a waterfront park. How could I be so lucky??? After the failed Bushwick attempt, I'm not so sure.
My roommates:
A 40 something Vietnamese woman who works in the Belgian embassy
A guy who is interning at the UN
A guy who is a database engineer for Yahoo
Ashley... working toward a medical degree
A couple of Japanese women
And others I haven't heard of nor met yet.
After seeing the place and handing over money/signing the lease, I brought Dad on a boat tour.
I took him all around the city on the subway and he kept having to look at the map every time we stopped to make sure we were where we were supposed to be. But I'm glad I got to be with my dad the first time he'd visited New York.
Today Dad and I moved my stuff in, bought some groceries at the Shop Rite (terrible CT chain), and drove to the city. I navigated pretty well, keeping my sense of direction well intact. Then we arrived, piled it all into my room and went down the street to have the BEST most AFFORDABLE sushi I have ever had. No joke. Better than Wasabee, hands down. I think I'm going to like it here.
Dad and I walked around the Promenade down by the water with clear views of Jersey, Manhattan and the bridge to Staten Island. We both decided I need to go pick up Ol' Blue, as the bike trail is perfect for getting exercise down there along the water.
Dad dropped me back the house and I headed down the the liquor store (about a half a block away) to buy some wine to celebrate my new place. The guy there was SO NICE. He said hi to me, I told him I was very new in town, he gave me a card and told me they could order anything I was looking for and welcomed me to the neighborhood, all in a very Brooklyn accent. I chose what I recognized, a Stimson merlot. After contemplated buying a corkscrew, I decided, naw, they've got to have one in the house. Guess what? They didn't. And by the time I figured that out, all the stores were closed. Plan B: Google "how to open wine without corkscrew." They suggest whacking it with a shoe until the cork came out... pliers, leather shoes strings... I stuck my pocket knife in the plastic (cheap, tacky, I know) cork. Nothing. I whacked it with my polka-dotted ballet flat. Then my brown work shoes. Nothing. I tried putting the blade of my small pocket knife down and twisting it around, thinking that even if the cork fell in, that'd be alright.
Then I tried my bike key. Twisted it down as if it were a screw and pulled out. Each time, a bit more fluffy plastic from the cork, but no wine.
I looked at my keychain. Something on here must work. I'm resourceful. What would McGyver do? Just as I was leaving the kitchen with a glass, my wine and a paring knife, my new roommate Ashley walked by... It was the first time I'd met her. Very pretty, nice, asked me if I'd just moved in. But I wasn't interested in all that. "Do you happen to have a corkscrew?" I asked, pretending to be maybe madcap, saying hi but acting like I had no time for smalltalk (on the whole, RUDE as I have deduced since then). A few more whacks with the ballet flat and I was ready to give up. Just then, I saw a black screw on the floor, left over from some electrical work they'd been doing since I moved in. If I could screw that in, then with my brute strength pull out the cork, I'd be ready to celebrate. I screwed it in. Pulled. It hurt my fingers!!! Pulled a bit more, trying to ignore the pain, but ignoring the pain almost to the point of drawing blood, I decided that was about enough.
The screw was sticking out of the cork. I looked at my keychain again. I mean, come on, there's gotta be something on this ring that can help. Then I saw my fish bottle opener. Leverage. That was my answer. I hooked the fish's metal mouth over the head of the screw, put the bottle between my bare feet and pulled. And pulled. Just when I thought it wouldn't work, the cork popped out. There I was, in my corner of a room with a plastic cork with a big ol' black screw sticking out of it, barefoot, looking for my glass. But the point is, I did it.
Coming up will be actual pics of my beautiful place and a perspective on New York from a Washingtonian. You should probably read it.
Thanks,
Shawno
