Saying Goodbye/Hello.

Moving sucks. Well the actual act does, but the chance to get a fresh start in a new apartment in New York is a complete joy. Nothing sheds the old skin like packing up that U-Haul and driving towards your new shoebox.

I always find it so strange that in New York we can make do with literally no space. Paying three times as much for an apartment a third of the size you would in any other place, we New Yorkers are masters of consolidation and contentment in living conditions that people from other cities would deem “impossible.” When 400 sq. ft. is all that you have to yourself, I guess our brains just adapt to make it seem possible.

The liberation and elation that moving creates is only heightened when you are moving into your first SOLO apartment. In a city where fresh starts seem almost impossible, this act comes as the closest thing to a rebirth.

(Blaine works the five flights just for Daniel. He carried it this way all the way down. He's a Jedi master.)

After previous trysts with the experience of roommates I have come to the conclusion that for everyone’s sanity, going solo is the only way to go. Apartments have a way of ruining friendships, almost as if there are some magical creatures that suck the fun out of the relationship the minute you step foot in the door. Those creatures plant all types of things around the apartment. Dishes that no one wants to clean, hairs strewn all over the bathroom….little pieces of your brain that they rip out. You know, the fun stuff.

I know a few people that have made it past the first step and had an initial honeymoon period only to plummet soon afterwards. When the world of New York is so difficult outside, the only haven you have is a small room. For most people that haven includes noisy reminders of the insanity outside as busses hiss by. Ah, New York City.

I would like to officially congratulate my friend Daniel Keene (Mantei) on moving into his first apartment on his own. I would also like to congratulate him on ruining my body in the process. The other hell of New York is a building without an elevator. Moving from a five-floor walk up is the equivilant of going at my muscles with a jackhammer. In the unwritten code of New York friendships, you are required to climb those five flights over and over again like Richard Simmons on speed and not complain. Except on your blog of course.

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