After a comparably uneventful flight back to JFK, I find myself once more in the Capitol of the World. First order of business is to find a new place to live, which involves scouring the digital For-Rent pages and sending off many, many emails. To which I seem to receive only a few replies, and even fewer of those result in an actual appointment to view a room or apartment. I’m not sure why people who place an ad wouldn’t respond. Perhaps they are deluged with responses and simply select the first one. Or perhaps I write too much or too little in my correspondences—I’m not sure what the secret is. Presumably they actually have an apartment since they placed an ad, albeit a free one. Or is it simply that, like Thoreau, they take so much delight in the process that it is not necessary to actually posess a physical room to rent out?
Now that my lease has expired at the St. George, I am very grateful to my good friends Tara and Loren who have allowed me to invade their palatial (by NYC standards at least) apartment. I tell you, those kids at Columbia don’t know how good they’ve got it. However, that means hauling everything that I have in the city 45 minutes (as the subway flies) from Brooklyn Heights to the Upper West Side. Six back-breaking trips was all it took; well, that and the two trips to Tribeca to deposit school supplies at NYAA.
My quest continues… stay tuned.