I love my new job. One of the things I like most about it is that going to see up-and-coming work in theater and film is actually written into the job description: "The assistant to the producers will go see cool new shit going on in NYC every week and report back about what s/he sees. Also, just so you don't go completely broke and starve to death and become useless to us, we've got you covered for tickets up to $25."
My two things this week were both at the Ars Nova Theater (ANT). On Tuesday, I caught a performance by Gabriel Kahane, a singer/songwriter with some seriously kick-ass music, on ANT's Uncharted series, which gives burgeoning musicians a chance to play their original music in front of live audiences. ANT is an incredibly intimate space and feels like just the right size for something like this; you can definitely see the artists' expressions as they're playing and they feel like they can crack jokes and talk to the audience because they're literally sitting two feet away. Kahane's music felt very vibrant; imagine an eclectic guitarist/banjo player/pianist with a much more diverse set of instruments interwoven into his songs than your average John Mayer-type (e.g., sax, clarinet, violin, viola, cello, etc.), combined with strong lyrics and quirky tempos and unpredictable rhythm. He's releasing an album in September--the show on Tuesday consisted mainly of songs from this record--and I'm excited to be able to add him to my iPod.
Second and even more magical was the current feature run at ANT, Jollyship the Whiz-Bang, which I had the pleasure of watching tonight. I can't even begin to encompass the sheer entertainment value of this show in words, but it's tag-line is "A Pirate-Puppet-Rock Odyssey"--which is, unlike most marketing, an extremely apt description of the show. There are puppets (and real people), both of whom are pirates, and the music is rock, and it is a zany epic tale of alcoholic/horny/offensive pirates on the sea, searching for the ever-elusive-but-undoubtedly-whore-and-booze-filled Party Island. Most of all, however, it is just fucking hilarious. (And there is a reason why I'm not beeping out the expletive. This show deserves it.) The comedic timing of the lead--Nick Jones--alone makes this show worth seeing, but there are a ton of other elements that come together to make it something special. The drummer is awesome. The set design is clever and painstaking in its attention to minute details that bring the tiny space alive. The puppets (especially the Captain, the crab, and the cabin boy) are hysterically funny. I mean, you'd think these guys studied with bunraku masters, they're so expressive. And the costumes and props that go with the puppets will slay you.
In the coverage reports I will begin writing for work as early as this weekend, the last line always sums up the whole experience (whether it be a live event, script/screenplay, book, etc.) with a recommendation. (Translation for my McK colleagues: Key take-away.) I was flipping through past coverage earlier this afternoon and there were comments like, "Track artist XYZ" and "Second read." One screenplay had garnered a "PASS" (capital letters in original report).
My rec for Jollyship? Go see it. Tix are on sale now for $25 at Ars Nova Theater. But take note, lest you think this is some Muppet-love-fest-on-the-pretty-blue-seas for toddlers: "[Jollyship is] For Mature Audiences. This is not a kid’s puppet show. Pirates are known to invoke mature themes."
The drama surrounding the new apartment simply will not subside. Unfortunately, the latest chapter is much more sinister than my previous post about Brooklyn's opinionated but ultimately harmless architectural defenders.
We went to see the apartment again on Saturday, and as we were chatting with our broker, we learned that the owner has a wide-ranging set of investments from real estate to a nursing business that services elderly in their homes in the NY area. Coincidentally, we had found a set of articles about a man who shared the same name as the owner of our unit just a few days prior. They date back to fall of last year, when said individual was charged with Medicaid fraud by inflating the volume of services provided through a nursing service. The charges this man faces include various degrees of grand larceny, identity theft, money laundering, etc. Given how unique the owner's name is, and his ownership of a nursing business, we had no choice but to come to the conclusion that he was indeed the same man. More recent articles dating from last week indicate he has pleaded guilty to some of the charges and will go back to court later this summer, and could face up to 15 years in jail if convicted.
We asked our broker to follow up with the owner about these articles, and the owner told her that he was indeed the man referenced in them. However, he told her their content "wasn't true"--despite the AP reporting he pleaded guilty as recently as just a few days ago. Our broker also informed us that there is a risk if he is jailed or fined that the government could seize the property, at which point it is unclear whether we would be allowed to continue residing there and what would become of our lease agreement. (Does anyone know anyone who knows something about NY landlord-tenant laws and the likelihood of this actually happening?) At a higher level, there is the question of just how much sketchiness is tolerable in someone with which one has a purely financial/business relationship.
Another wrinkle to this whole issue is the role of the broker. Our broker works for one of the largest real estate firms in the area--Corcoran--and one has to wonder what sort of background checks they are running on people if an easy Google search yielded all of this information of which they were blithely unaware. The simple fact is they didn't do their homework. (Shout out to BSK for really making me realize this.) It will certainly be interesting to see how they handle the situation moving forward.
The flip side to all of this is that we really love the apartment and the neighborhood, and it is highly doubtful--though not completely unlikely--that we will find a comparable place, especially with the rental market heating up leading into June 1st. The thought of having to go back to the apartment search and start over from square one, I will admit, is an emotionally exhausting proposition. It makes me tired just to think about it. Juggling this while starting off in the new job is also not ideal, to say the very least.
It is official. I am a resident of the borough of Brooklyn.
But the hours following my last post were more drama-filled than I ever dreamed apartment-hunting could be. It all began when my roommate came upon a blog that serves as a local forum for discussing the architectural integrity of various Brooklyn neighborhoods. As I mentioned previously, the building in which we're taking up residence is pretty damn ugly. The contrast between this contemporary structure and the beautiful brownstones in the area is quite striking (nauseating to some, I'm sure); the colors and materials don't match its surroundings, it stands rather forlorn with small empty lots to both sides, it's rather oddly shaped, etc. It ain't pretty. I get it.
But I was completely unprepared for the virulently critical nature of some of the posts and discussion on this blog. There were absolutely valid points being made--for example, the presence of this building and its likely depressive effect on the value of the other real estate on this block--that if I were considering buying property in the area, would be things to take into consideration. Another interesting area of discussion was the nature of speedy development and what considerations are made about the value of a property vis-a-vis its ability to add value to a neighborhood by blending cohesively with the existing architecture--how often to developers take this into account? Are they in it to make a quick buck by building and flipping the property, at the expense of longer-term planning that keeps the neighborhood's best interests at heart? Certainly, topics of great concern and import for a forum dedicated preserving what makes Brooklyn what it is.
However, there were other posts and comments that were of a much less level-headed nature. Some called into question the structural integrity of the building, despite a lack of an architecture or construction license (though one cheeky individual posted back that people living in 80+ year old brownstones should be more concerned about what is hidden behind their own walls, which made me chuckle); others accused the owner of 'false advertising' on Craig's List when all he did was use sample photos to give an idea of what the units would look like upon completion. Another comment called the construction workers "illegal", though it appears they were inferring this from the fact that they "looked Latino." The number of unsubstantiated yet vigorously asserted comments was breathtaking; one wonders whether these people would feel comfortable making such accusations without the cloak of anonymity the Internet has to offer.
Hearteningly, there were also a few people who sought to temper the conversation. Some voices of reason queried whether the neighborhood would truly prefer the "rat-infested, trash-strewn lot" the building replaced, indicating that development, ugly or otherwise, was a good thing: the fewer empty lots, the safer the area feels. Others stated there was nothing to be done about it, because the developers were the one with the cash for investment, and the residents--despite their highly vocal indignation--were in no place to question the market at work. Others asserted that this was merely a question of aesthetic taste; some people prefer a contemporary style (both on the inside and the outside of a building), and this is simply a matter of stylistic dissonance in a neighborhood that has had a singular architectural aesthetic for many decades. The spectrum of responses (from expletive-filled one-liners to mini-treatises on the nature of development in historic neighborhoods) proves to me that if nothing else, Brooklyn truly is as diverse as it touts itself to be.
In light of these new revelations--and I will admit, completely unnerved and rather shaken by the intensity of feeling expressed towards our potential future home on this blog--I embarked on a mini due diligence to figure out what was really going on. The accusations about the structural integrity of the building were laid to rest with a call to the broker and much trolling of the NY Department of Buildings website, where it became clear the building had been inspected and signed off as sound. (I didn't have the time or energy to question the DOB process itself; that battle is for someone else to fight, on another day.) I also got on the phone with the former tenant of the unit we'd be living in to ask about their experience in the neighborhood (e.g., did the commentators on this blog throw rocks at them for residing in this architectural blemish?) and what the owner was like in terms of responsiveness, and whether there were any issues with the apartment itself. As it turns out, there were minor leaks in the upper floor bedrooms in early 2007--the owner has since re-sealed the rooftop--and we were able to write into the lease rider that we would be fully compensated for any potential water damage if this were to occur again. All in all, the former tenant was quite positive both about the neighborhood and the owner's responsiveness, and we felt comfortable signing the lease yesterday morning. Yes, we fully acknowledge the building is ugly. But we love the apartment, and love the neighborhood: every deal is a lesson in compromise.
This whole experience has gotten me thinking about the nature of blogs and the purpose they serve. Blogs are an incredibly useful way for like-minded individuals to discuss things in a forum that would be difficult to recreate in person. The blog that set all of this off, for the most part, appears both well-written and well-intentioned; it serves as a neighborhood watchdog to preserve the architecture that makes Brooklyn's neighborhoods historic and unique. That being said, the very nature of the blog and the people it attracts also has the potential to lead to a serious skewing of perspective that can quickly spiral out of control. This is especially true for political blogs, but I now fully understand that it holds for others as well. I am and will remain a huge fan of the medium; but perhaps will heap on a little bit more salt when I'm reading them in the future.
And so, having survived this trial-by-fire of an apartment search, I can now say with confidence and relief: It is official. I am a resident of the borough of Brooklyn.
I don't wish the experience of searching for an apartment in NYC upon anyone. For the past two-and-a-half weeks, it feels like I've been riding the subway for endless hours, traversing Manhattan and Queens and Brooklyn to get to various neighborhoods people tell me are great places to live. The general rule became this: if I liked the apartment, I didn't like the neighborhood. (Exhibit A: Gorgeous, sun-filled, W&D included, 1,200+ square foot apartment in Central Harlem at 135th street and Lenox. Right next to a large hospital, with a handful of restaurants in the vicinity serving only one type of food: deep fried.) And if I liked the neighborhood, what rent I could barely afford wouldn't get me a place that would make me happy. (Exhibit B: Unit on the Upper West Side at 106th street with matchbox-sized bedrooms in a building with dilapidated common areas and likely an extensive rat/cockroach infestation, and a toilet that requires the frequent use of a plunger. Also: If you're trying to get someone to take your apartment, why would you share this information with a prospective tenant?)
Suffice is to say, on my way back up to my current borrowed shelter (Thanks, Fei-chan) from Brooklyn on Saturday, I was smack-dab in the middle of "I'm never going to find a place I love and can afford" blues. As my dad pointedly told me on Skype when I spoke to him on Sunday morning, the issue is not finding a place you want to live: "I'm sure there are plenty of places you'd love to live on 5th avenue--you just can't afford them." Big sigh. Thanks, Papa/Captain Obvious. So I started out on Sunday morning with a heavy heart, to meet up with my Craigs Listed roomie in Prospect Heights and embark headlong into another day of facing the stark reality of living on an artsy salary and not a corporate one. It was a beautiful, sunny, breezy day, but I was grumpy and about ready to throw my hands into the air and drag my suitcases under a bridge in Central Park (or Prospect Park, maybe, just so I could say I live, homeless-ly, in the "it" borough) and forget about the whole mess.
The broker met us and drove us over to the first place. As we walk up the carpeted stairs to the third floor, I realize this--unlike many others in a similar price range--is a relatively well-maintained building. And it is quiet, except for the kids playing basketball in a playground across the street. We step into the apartment, and I see a long hallway extending all the way to the back of the building, and the entire place is filled with sunlight pouring in from the large number of windows. I gasp at the size of the place. It's not perfect, of course, but here, finally, after seeing what feels like dozens of apartments in various safe and unsafe, savory and unsavory neighborhoods across the city, is an apartment I could actually picture myself living in. My heart lifts a little. Could this be it?
But the good day was only just beginning. After leaving this unit in Prospect Heights, we walk across Atlantic Avenue to Clinton Hill. The area is quieter, with picturesque tree-lined streets and brownstones that make you sick with envy and desperately wish you could afford to buy a shell for $1M and gut-renovate it however you damn well please. (Millionaires in NYC, look no further than me for your future wife!) We locate the corner we're supposed to meet the broker on, and look around for the address. Finally, we realize the place is the rather ugly, modern-looking apartment building on the corner. No historic brownstone for us, apparently. Bummer. The broker arrives and we hike up to the third floor, she opens the door (the key was left on the mailbox for four days with no issues!), and we walk in.
The third floor is a living room/open kitchen layout with enough space to have distinct areas for doing things. As in, there can be separate places to eat dinner and watch TV; no need to sit on the couch in front of the TV and scarf down your meals. There's a half-bath on this floor, and the kitchen has granite countertops and one of those fridges with the ice and water dispenser thing on the front. (You know how convenient those are.) I look around for the rest of the apartment and realize the bedrooms are actually up the stairs on the fourth floor. There are balconies to walk out onto in each bedroom, and a very pretty, recently-redone bathroom in between. There's a bit of an issue with the unequal size of the bedrooms, but we are loving the place; the fact that we'd get to pick the colors of the walls because the owner is repainting anyway is also a huge plus. Then the broker points up another flight of stairs and says, "That goes to the rooftop." We freeze. Rooftop? And lo and behold, there is a terrace that spans the entire length of the building that would be exclusively for our use at the top of the stairs. "The last guy made this into a garden," says the broker. I think, "Gardens are nice, but rooftop wine-tasting sounds stellar, too."
Now, I will readily admit that this apartment will mean that I'll basically be eating home-cooked meals until I get a raise. (Hell, maybe it'll force me to learn how to cook. That could be a valuable life-skill that eluded capture throughout my McKinsey days.) It's way more than I expected to pay in rent when I first arrived to this crazy city. (I've heard this is quite the universal experience.) Yet, somehow, I believe it will be alright. People are always telling me there are great things to do in NYC for free, so I'll have a real way to test out their assertions. Yes, I've been having minor panic attacks about whether I'll be able to sustain the monthly budget I built on Google Spreadsheets--but inexplicably and in the face of all evidence to the contrary, I think it will be okay. And if it's not, well, perhaps a second job will be in order, whether it's waitressing or bartending or teaching Japanese or making Power Point pages or throwing fish during god-forsaken hours of the morning for a few hundred bucks. (Man, that was a terrible movie. But I loved it anyway.) People seem to survive doing the craziest stuff around here.
Anyway, we are meeting with the broker and the owner to sign the lease tomorrow morning. (Brief plug: Our broker is awesome. Her name is Michelle and she went to bat for us on our behalf and took $200 off our monthly rent, and she talked to her supervisor and reduced our fee from 12% to 10%. If you're looking for a place in Brooklyn, I'd highly recommend her. Leave me a comment here if you're interested.)
I won't be able to relax until the deal's done. And Day 1 at the new gig starts on Friday.
I started this blog as I was making the transition from college to the "real world" of business, living--but not always working in--Seattle as a consultant for McKinsey & Company. 125 posts later (none of which were written about my first job; the cause of this was 80% "I didn't have the time or energy" and 20% "I can't write about work because its protected by confidentiality agreements"), I'll be making another big change in direction, this time into entertainment. Last Sunday, I moved from Seattle to New York City; by the middle of the month, I'll take my first step (like everyone else in this industry, it seems) by starting work as an assistant at a production company.
As always during a time of transition, its important to take a step back and reflect on the bygone era. The good news is, I have zero regrets about having spent my last two years with the Firm (I wonder how long I'll refer to it as that? My guess: forever) as a BA and already greatly miss a lot of the people I worked with and became came to while I was there. I'll miss team room banter and ridiculous clients and extravagant boondoggles and the constant, never-ending stream of feedback that makes you simultaneously want to strangle the person giving it to you and hug them for caring enough to want to make you better; the "Oh, I'm starting to get this" moment that comes about 2 weeks into a project that finally allows you to overcome the terror of entering a completely new industry and being asked for advice from people who have as many years of business experience under their belt as the number you've been alive; the absolute feeling of accomplishment and relief that comes after a study you poured your heart and life into, helping clients who have become your friends and close confidantes, wraps up for good--and the utter satisfaction that comes from shredding all of the decks you no longer need, because they have copies of the work and it's theirs now, to do what they will with it.
In a nutshell, I'll miss the intensity of it all. It's addictive, and like any addiction, quitting will be marked by a series of unpleasant and unanticipated withdrawal symptoms. (For example, getting rid of the Blackberry and a data plan, a.k.a., the electronic leash, has already created numerous, near-fatal consequences such as ending up in not-so-savory areas of Brooklyn due to a lack of Google Maps.)
But it's time to try something else, to disembark from the intense roller-coaster of Corporate America and try a different ride in the Real World theme park. Welcome to Entertainment Land. Your first ticket is for a small Manhattan-based production company, with theme songs such as, "It's the Hard Knock Life" and "I Want to be a Producer" covered by the Underpaid Assistants, taking you through the glitz and grit of film and theater production in the insomniac city of New York. Fasten your seatbelts, keep your hands busy answering phones and your mind busy trying to remember all of the 'important' names you're supposed to recognize and don't, and above all else, enjoy the ride.
I love my new job. One of the things I like most about it is that going to see up-and-coming work in theater and film is actually written into the job description: "The assistant to the producers will go see cool new shit going on in NYC every week and report back about what s/he sees. Also, just so you don't go completely broke and starve to death and become useless to us, we've got you covered for tickets up to $25." 
