Wheels of Steel: Fortune Cookie Crumbs

Dobler and I spent yesterday in Pittsburgh apartment hunting, after a week of tension about which city we should move to. He continued to pursue the original New York plan; I pushed the Pittsburgh option. Dobler argues, however, that Pittsburgh is a waste of time and money, and while it kills me to admit it, after 13 hours of driving around the city I think my boyfriend might actually be right. Come with me as I recount another tale of apartment woe.

10 a.m.
We arrived at The Pennsylvanian in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh. The converted Pennsylvanian Railroad station is spectacular -- more of a fancy hotel than an apartment complex. Features include a doorman, reachable elevator buttons, electronic keys, breath-taking views of the Golden Triangle, dry-cleaning services, valet parking, rent that includes water and gas, an in-unit washer and dryer, walk-in closets, a continental breakfast every Monday, two bus lines outside the building and a subway stop. The location also can't be beat, as it's at the intersection of the financial and cultural districts, as well as the Strip District. The cost of a one-bedroom is $940, but after electricity, cable, internet and parking are added, the grand total is approximately $1200 per month. Naturally, it's my favorite.

11 a.m.
We then traveled to Shadyside to view The Arlington, under the management of Mozart Management. Until Thursday, the Arlington had been our leading contender. Rent is only $817 -- all utilities included in the heart of the neighborhood and near all the prissy Shadyside shoppes. My excitement about this building began to wane when I stumbled upon 101 reviews of Mozart's "archaic leases" and the Arlington's "very, very, very bad roach problem" on ApartmentRatings.com. When we actually got inside the place, I was even more scared. Accessibility-wise, the place is a nightmare. There are three doors I could never open to just get into the basement (the main entrance has steps), an unreachable intercom system, and an elevator that has five-foot-high buttons. The 1920s building also had a very old-timey feel, but with a very strong vibe of creepy. I don't know why, but the thought of being alone in those hallways terrified me, and I just kept imagining those twins on tricycles from "The Shining" chasing me. The still-inhabited apartment we were shown was beyond filthy, and the kitchen was a million years old -- although soon to be replaced. Dobler loved the floorplan, but we both knew that this place would not be an option. And this was all before an hour-long stroll through the broken-sidewalked, steps-into-everything-except-Starbucks-the-Apple-Store-and-Sephora, too-residential area of Shadyside. Oh, and the leasing agent looked like Don Knotts -- not a negative thing, but weird as hell.

1 p.m.
We made some wrong turns trying to find the Royal York in Oakland and ended up missing our appointment. Neither of us really cared, though, because we did not like the neighborhood or the building's location near nothing. I had been advised to avoid Northern Oakland because of crime and Pitt undergrads anyway, so we continued down Bigelow Boulevard and over to the North Shore's gang-addled streets.

1:30 p.m.
An hour early for our 2:30 appointment, we entered The School House apartments and encountered a huge cascading staircase leading to the fourth floor lounge. The manager, who I originally thought was a maintenance man, soon helped us with the mini elevator, then showed us a prospective apartment. Our being so early really didn't affect much, as the presence of another living soul in the building was nonexistent -- just corridors and stairs leading everywhere. It was like a motel meeting an Escher painting. We looked at what was Dobler's favorite apartment -- a two-bedroom, two-bathroom with walls of windows and lots of light. And it's literally across the street from my hospital. Although the current tenant was yet another filthy pig, the place had potential once the garbage is picked up and carpets are cleaned. The price? A whopping $1050 -- $1200 if you include parking, cable, internet, etc.

By late afternoon we had reached not one but two stalemates: (1) The Pennsylvanian -- my choice because of location, lifestyle and independence, versus The School House -- Dobler's pick because of practicality, space and two bathrooms; and (2) New York versus Pittsburgh.

"New York versus Pittsburgh? Haven't you made this decision already?" you ask, exasperated.

Yes, I have, and I've justified both cities in seemingly endless ways. Pittsburgh seemed like such a smart, safe choice until yesterday. We could find jobs and have a guaranteed place to live and save in order to almost afford a home in New York. However, while Pittsburgh is indeed one of the most livable cities, we're learning that no city is going to be cheap and meet our requirements. Sure, there are $400 apartments available, but they won't work for us. If we're going to be spending $1200 monthly on a place, why spend it in Pittsburgh? I can find a studio in Manhattan for that price ... maybe.

But I really have no idea what to do anymore or where we're going to end up. If I had to choose right now, I'd pick New York. Ask me tomorrow, though, and I'll probably say Nashville.

To sleep, perchance to dream about if the utilities are included.

At night now, I even dream about searching for an apartment.
Friday can't come soon enough. We're renting, or I'm going crazy.

Wheels of Steel: Fortune Cookie

"Greatness is inside of you. It's not based on your surroundings," he said. "It's a small-minded person who allows their circumstances to dictate their success."
Sean Jones, 28, as quoted in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review on September 24, 2006
Today I discovered an article in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review titled "Young, not restless." The piece is about 20-somethings living and finding success in Pittsburgh.

Electric City vs. Wheels of Steel(Indecision and Panic Attacks)

Before last weekend, I had planned to move out of my house by October 1. Since the NY-apartment plans have fallen through, however, the past two days have been emotionally draining for me. True, I was still exhausted from the trip, but I've also been in a near-constant panic because I still feel it's incredibly important that I leave my hometown as soon as possible. All I've really been able to think for 48 hours has been "what do I do now? what do I do now? what do I do now?" as I imagine scenarios for Plans A, B, and now, C.

Plan A: Rent in NYC.
Plan B: Establish ourselves by subletting for one to three months.
Plan C: Move to Pittsburgh for a year to work and save.

Those of you who know me well [read: at all] know that Pittsburgh has never been an option for me. Really, nowhere has ever been an option except for New York, and I like it that way. New York, to me, has always represented my ultimate success. I like when people tell me that they could never handle the city, because I thrive on being a strong person. I love knowing that I am physically weak but can still handle the city; I've done it. On Saturday I spent the majority of the time walking half a block ahead of Aaron and my mother, because I felt independent and beautiful and happy. I just wanted to be strong and by myself. At one point, I realized how confident I felt because my eyes looked straight ahead as I drove, taking in everything around me and meeting the eyes of fellow New Yorkers. I can't remember the last time I've made eye-contact here, because I find myself always looking down.

But while I know I'm mentally able to conquer the city, physically I am not -- at least not in the neighborhoods I'd be living in at first. I physically cannot handle long subway rides and hours on a bus. At the time I'll be fine, but on weekends I'll crash. I need to be able to afford a better, more expensive neighborhood for commuting's sake and accessibility's sake. I need to be below 96th Street if not in Midtown or Downtown, but I also need more money. With Plan B, I have more than enough money to sublet for three months in my chosen neighborhood, but at the end of those months, then what? What if our jobs still can't support a quality apartment? What if we can't even find an accessible place in time? Am I just supposed to give up a great city job and go home? That will destroy me, and I'm becoming more and more certain that I can't risk that happening.

Enter Plan C. I began researching Pittsburgh apartments a little over a week ago when my mother was insisting on a back-up plan. I really only took her seriously for one day, but it was enough to implant the idea in my mind. Surely I could get some job in Pittsburgh, even if it's a civil-service job as a clerk typist. Hell, I'd be making $21,000. In a year I can save 10 grand. There's also a technical writing and design firm on the South Side that looks hip and fun, and I would love to work for them. My city snobbery is influencing this decision, though, and making me extremely picky about where I want to live. I want to live in The Pennsylvanian on Liberty Avenue. For the cost of a Washington Heights studio, I can get a beautiful one bedroom in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh. If I have to postpone my dream for a year, you bet your ass I'm doing it in style. And Pittsburgh is just a way to ensure that I get the life I truly want in New York.

Electric City: Going for Broke, Part 3

The weekend in New York did not go as expected, but good things emerged from the trip nevertheless. The most important of which was a sense of clarity about what we do and do not want or need in an apartment and the realization that a change of plans isn't always a negative experience. Dobler and I continue to live in our Pennsylvania hometowns, and while it appears that we're in the same place as before we left on Friday, much has changed for the better.

We didn't get to view even one apartment. Originally scheduled to look at a studio and a one-bedroom in Washington Heights (WaHi) on Saturday morning, our plans began to crumble even before reaching Dobler's house Friday night. Jay "The Studio King" called with bad news: the one-bedroom had just been leased, and the landlord of the studio was refusing to show it until Monday. I asked the Studio King to beg the super, who refused to answer his phone, and he assured me that he was scrambling to find us something to look at. I was to call him the next morning for an update.

While waiting for the King's new findings, we arrived in WaHi via the George Washington Bridge and decided to get a feel for the neighborhood. As expected, it was largely Latino, except for the area around 168th Street, where New York-Presbyterian Hospital is located. Broadway bisects the area, with more upscale housing to the west in "Hudson Heights" and more ethnic businesses and smaller apartment complexes to the east. We viewed all of this on our 21-block walk up Broadway from 159th to 181st to meet the Studio King.

Unfortunately, he brought with him more disappointing news -- both buildings had stairs at the entrance. All was not lost, however, because we finally met in person, and he could actually see what and who he was working with. The Studio King explained the narrow market -- 1.6 percent vacancy rate -- and said he'd keep searching, even if he had have his knights scouring the countryside sending us photos via e-mail. He also said he wouldn't place us in a neighborhood where he wouldn't want his sister or mother to be, and he seemed very genuine and determined, even for a money-raping broker.

This segues into our next experience at Manhattan Apartments. As I had been warned, the agency is very large, dealing with 90 percent of Manhattan real estate, and impersonal. They sent us out with a "show-er," Donald, to look at three prospective $800 studios -- all in the same building. We had just driven more than 100 blocks downtown, only to turn around and drive 90 more back to Harlem, where we discovered that the building that we had been assured was accessible clearly was not. We spent the next 45 minutes in the car while Donald explained demanding landlords and paying $1 million in cash as a co-op deposit.

By the time we checked into our hotel, I was teetering on the edge of a meltdown which was exacerbated by disappointment, sleep-deprivation and a headache. The trip was seeming more and more unproductive -- even if there was a street fair outside the Hilton -- and I knew we were going home without an apartment. After an Excedrin, some pizza (a search which revealed how frustrated and disappointed my mother had also become), and an hour's rest, however, I was somewhat stable again, and around 6:30 p.m. Dobler and I left for the Village, where we would spend the next seven hours.

I really don't know where the time went, because we didn't do too terribly much that evening. We took the M5 to Eighth Street, and I showed him where I lived during my two summers at NYU. Then we sat in Washington Square Park for over an hour talking and trying to think of a new plan. I had to force myself to leave the park because I could've stayed for hours, but we had Thai food to eat. Kai Kai 3, the tiny Thai bistro on Carmine Street, is now under a different name, however, and the pad thai did not compare to the former's. Strangely enough, though, The Grey Dog's Coffee three doors down proved to be nostalgic not for me but for Dobler, who had visited the candle-lit coffee house on his trip to the city in 2000. Big city. Small world.

Dobler and I made our way to be bus stop, but as we waited for our ride we became distracted pointing out buildings where we'd like to live. Across the street we spotted a doorman, so we decided to indulge our curiosity. The building was a co-op, but the man sent us down the street to 45 Christopher. As we peered through the revolving door into the marble lobby, we were met by another doorman, Ken, who welcomed us into "his building." Ken is an entry in himself, but after 40 minutes of talking, both Dobler and I had a more solid, albeit idealistic, view of our future, and I have a strange optimism in his vows that we'll make it. Ken turned our trip completely around, and we left his building hoping to be as incredible of people as he believes we are.

Returning to the hotel after 1 a.m., we crashed, but were up and checked-out by 11 the next morning. Before we came home, we decide to drive through Queens to see if it -- Astoria especially -- could work for us. The borough is very nice and much more quiet and residential, but after experiencing the commute to and from Manhattan, where I'd most likely be working, I don't think I can physically handle it. The neighborhoods are beautiful, however, and if I was able-bodied, I'd have no problem residing there. But I am not, and I need the quaintness of Manhattan -- the structure, the grid, the closeness, the transportation. Driving over the Queensborough Bridge to Midtown, the city never looked so comforting and, ironically, small.

So what's our back-up plan? The one thing that's been strongly reinforced throughout this trip is the necessity of having a job before renting. But that requirement is a Catch-22: you can't afford rent without a job, and you can't find a job unless you're in the city. Tentatively Aaron and I are fine-tuning plans to perhaps sublet an apartment or room for one to three months. These months will give us time to find work without the pressure of a 12-month lease, while also giving the city a test drive. In addition, even though we will be spending a few months' rent on a sublet, our jobs will hopefully earn us enough money to break-even financially by the time we need to move, at which point we'll have the employment needed to help us rent our own place.

Electric City: Going for Broke, Part zwei

This week I've been very anxious about tonight's trip to New York and apartment hunting. Tonight we -- Dobler, my mother and I -- are heading to NYC to view and hopefully rent an apartment. My mother is being very generous by driving us to the city so that we have the ability to stay overnight. Plus, she wants to be present to "check for things [we'll] overlook" like if the toilet flushes and if the microwave works. Initially I was a bit offended by her assumption that we would forget things, but then I admitted to myself that Dobler and I are young and naive, have never rented a real apartment, and would completely be swept up in the whirlwind of Manhattan real estate. We certainly don't need to be babied, but we do need guidance and a pacifier.

Leaving once my mother gets home from work tonight, we are driving to Chambersburgh, Pa., to pick up Dobler. Chambersburg is a little less than half of six-hour trip, so after we pick him up, we plan to drive another hour or more before staying overnight in some random Comfort Inn. We plan to be in the city by 9 or 10 a.m. Saturday, and at 10:30 we meet with Jay "The Studio King" (live and in person!) to view the only two apartments that one in more than a half dozen brokers could find us. Apparently the combination of a $900 maximum budget and the need for a fully accessible building -- elevator, no steps at the building's entrance -- is a nearly impossible order.

The apartments are in the neighborhood of Washington Heights, which is in Upper Manhattan above 155th Street and above Harlem. Yes, the only "affordable" Manhattan housing is above Harlem. The studio is on 157th and the one-bedroom is on 166th, and both are in an 80 percent Latino/Dominican area. Good thing I took those six years of German in high school. Also, if we do end up with one of these places, we'll be within blocks of New York-Presbyterian Hospital/Columbia University Medical Center, and that's a big advantage come pneumonia season.

I'm trying hard not to put all my all eggs in one basket, so to speak, but it's difficult when you only have two eggs. Nevertheless, at 1 p.m. we are meeting with Manhattan Apartments, who I hear are hugely impersonal but who also have a mega-database of apartments, to discuss additional nests. I've even heard talk of an $800 studio with utilities included. If this gem exists (probably with a damn stoop rendering it unacceptable), we just may have to ditch the Studio King, who I find to be very friendly and helpful, because, well, we're poor. But we'll see. If we don't find an apartment, at least it'll be a fun day in New York, with an evening spent dragging Dobler around Greenwich Village and Washington Square Park. Perhaps we'll even partake in some Thai food.

'The Rosie O'Donnell Show' features guests from 'The View'

As many of you with active lives may not know, Tuesday was Rosie O'Donnell's first day on ABC's "The View." She replaced Meredith Vieira after Vieira replaced Katie Couric on NBC's "Today" show. Couric had signed on to replace Dan Rather on the "CBS Evenings News." But that's old news by now. We're talking about Rosie's new show.

I despise "The View." I have hated it since it first premiered 10 years ago, yet on occasion I've tried to tune in, only to find myself thoroughly disgusted and irritated at the horribly cheesy transitions during their "Hot Topic" segment, abrasive co-hosts -- the combination of Star Jones Reynolds and Joy Behar, to be specific -- and high-pitched squawk-fests that debates often turn into. Good debaters do not interrupt each other.

While I think the concept of four different women discussing their opinions is great, I cringe at how poorly executed "The View" can be. These days, since Star's departure, the talking-over-one-another annoyance has lessened. There was this gem, though, where the conservative Elisabeth Hasselbeck "loses her mind" about Plan B being sold OTC and is reprimanded by Barbara Walters for her outburst. Unfortunately, I can no longer find the original clip in its entirety on YouTube, but you get the point. Surprises such as this have made me tune in several times this summer, I'm ashamed to say.

All that said about the old "View" co-hosts, it's time to discuss Ms. O'Donnell. I like her a lot. Yes, she's loud and obnoxious -- a seemingly perfect replacement -- and constantly talks about her kids, but at the same time I find myself entertained. It also intrigues me how she's been called both the "Queen of Nice" and a crazy lesbian (paraphrase). Society doesn't like out-spoken lesbians; it's unnatural. They do like loud, New Yorker, Tom Cruise obsessed, give-away-happy, Broadway-star wannabes, though. Enter Rosie.

From my two days of watching -- Tuesday and Wednesday only, because yesterday the show was interrupted by former Pittsburgh Mayor Bob O'Connor's funeral -- I have concluded that Rosie might not be as good of a co-host as previously suspected. Rosie is simply not a CO-host kind of woman; she's a one-woman show. Already "The View" seems to be more like the old "Rosie O'Donnell Show," with Broadway-esque promos leading up to Rosie's debut, a louder, more prize-crazed audience (I heard today that the show has gained a million viewers already), and Rosie overpowering the three other women. I keep waiting for John McD to be the new "View" master.

In fact, during Wednesday's segment on kid-friendly pets, the audience and cameras were repeatedly distracted by Rosie's non-discreet attempt to stop one dog from humping another and her "rescuing" a kitten from under a display table. I don't know about anyone else, but maybe I wanted to hear about gerbils and hamsters (not really). However, the pet-expert guests and Elisabeth, who was co-hosting the piece, probably would've appreciated fewer interruptions.

While I support Rosie, her talents and her activism, I feel her character is too strong to be on a panel show like "The View." Of course, it could just be that it's her first week and the excitement is running high. I'd personally like her to stay, because I like to forget that I'm actually watching "The View," but I don't know if her head-strong co-hosts will like giving up the spotlight. And with luck, maybe Rosie's liberalism will set Elisabeth off soon. I can only hope.