Yo soy una Angelena. Nacio in la Ciudad de Maria, La Reina De Los Angeles. (I am an Angeleno. Born in the City of Mary, The Queen of The Angels". ) Actually, while the idea is true, I was REALLY born in the COUNTY of Los Angeles, in the city of Long Beach. Did you know that the City of Long Beach actually owns/runs the port? Los Angeles shares it, but Long Beach calls the shots. Well, okay, the local Longshoremen Union REEEaally runs things(as any retailer of Made-in-China doodads will ruefully tell you after the last Longshoreman strike decimated their inventory). BUT I digress, and we like to let the local Harbor Master cherish his delusions of power anyway.
This sort of trivia is totally typical of a native Californian, and actually, in my cockeyed way, is the topic of this post.
I was driving home from an appointment today. Listening to the local NPR as I careened down a mostly empty mid-day freeway winding between rolling hills greened by the spring rains. As I listened, the ever-affable mid-day host, instead of tackling his usual exceedingly brainy topics of local or international import, was on an unusually frivolous call-in topic: What makes a true native Angeleno?
The usual stuff came up: knowledge of side streets that are uncrowded at rush hour, historical trivia about the city, our happy willingness to embrace new cultures (and foods! Want to move here? Bring us a new cuisine and we'll LOVE you!). Another trait that came up was our willingness to praise and appreciate other cities.
All of the above are true- and that last bit especially. Angelenos are pretty easy going about including anyone who comes along. We kind of treat newcomers and other cities/regions/countries the way a master chef treats delicacies from various suppliers.
For instance, the Midwest and Chicago is where we get lots of great stand-up comedians (and the sweet, well-mannered, aw-shucks Kansas boys are a big favorite as dating material for us local girls).
Canada? WOW those guys are nice! Like, old-school, pre-1975 California nice! But like Madame Pompador, we too, are a wee tad mono-focused about Canada, only instead of furs, we Angelenos consider Canada to exist solely to provide us with great comedians (Well, and Shatner. We certainly do love us some Shatner 'round here.). The South? Always great material there. And with those manners and that sweet accent, they're also big favorites on the "dating import" market.
New York? Sure we love New York! Seinfeld was a great show! Boffo! Tonnes of ad revenue (shame about that spin-off curse) and The Big Apple is a source of a lot of material and top-drawer writers. Besides, the stage teaches great work ethic, and skills. Broadway is a favorite place for Hollywood actors to work in between more lucrative film deals. By the way, have you TASTED the bagels? The pizza?? Wow!
For my part, I've always joked that there's two ways to be a native Angeleno: Be born here, or move here.
Barrymore or Damon- we don't care. Have a talent and are relatively nice? C'mon over here! Join the club!
But now that I am moving to Brooklyn, and getting ready to embrace a new home, I'm curious: What are the essential traits of a native New Yorker? And will I actually have to spend a good 25% of my time trying to convince people that A- Charlie (and Calafia) don't surf and B- Yes, Californians DO speak words of more than one syllable- and if you keep that up, buster, you will be experiencing the neural signals of pain caused by the impact of the ventral side of my distal phalanges with the epidermis covering your zygomatic arch. (So there, dude!)
Anyone want to tell me this one? Discuss!
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
If it ain't Broker...
(Note: Now that my brain is no longer melting in the August heat, and we've moved into our new place enough for me to find both my laptop and my underwear (didn't know they were mutually necessary, did you?) I will be posting the blogs I have been working on since our move started, in order of writing. Enjoy?)
New York Brokers. (genus "Real Eastatus, Generalus Predatus, Liarus")
Here's are some interesting general fun-facts about finding an apartment in New York:
*There is no central listing service- quite frequently, a landlord often hires ONE broker (and one broker only) to list their apartment. Or, the landlord hired several, and you'll get three brokers trying to take you to the same place.
*Brokers know NOTHING beyond the neighborhood/landlords they work with, and no way of finding you anything in another area. Hence, no motivation to help you find something outside their area.
*It's like buying a used car. You know how if you walk onto a lot and if the salesman doesn't have what your looking for, he'll stick to you like gum to your shoe and do everything possible to KEEP you in his office until he wears you down into taking something he has? Yeah- like that.
*Landlords want paperwork to PROVE excellent credit, income no less than 20x the rent they're asking, tax receipts, pay stubs, contracts, blood type, mothers maiden name, AND will STILL kick up a fuss over the damnedest things. Mathemagician had a contract from BigBrains Inc., pristine credit, money in the bank, and some broker refused to work for us because he "hadn't proven himself in The City" yet. - (So, where is one supposed to live when "proving oneself"?)
* "For Fee" brokered apartments are posted through brokers/agents who charge you up to 2 months rent for finding you an apartment. The nicest apartments in the nicest areas are generally shown this way.
* "No fee" apartments are where the landlord pays brokers to find them tenants. You CAN find a nice apartment this way, but the odds aren't good. Usually these apartments are in sketchier areas and not as nice.
*Decent apartments are usually gone in 24 hours.
*Landlords want YOU there, preferably already working in the city, and ready to sign papers within 24 hours. Seriously. There is no "well the unit will be empty next week, then we'll take a week or so to re-paint, re-carpet the place, so come by tomorrow to sign the papers." Nope. They don't HAVE to paint (hell, I don't even know if they have to clean the place- I'm taking serious cleaning supplies!) or touch up the floors. Nope. They want the old people OUT and YOU financially nailed to the floor and IN ASAP. Good apartments often have several possible tenants circling the place like preschoolers around the last musical chair at Jenny O'Hara's 6th birthday party.
*The Geneva convention's basic requirements for humane housing DO NOT apply in New York. "Bedroom" is a loosely defined term that can apply to anything from a size too small to accommodate even a preschoolers nap time mat to a decent normal size.
When TM and I went to NYC for his final interview on Mother's Day weekend, we were sure we'd have an apartment by the time the weekend was through. (HA!)
We found a broker through some personal ties ("The Brooklyn office of the same brokers who are on "Selling New York"!) and sent a detailed email (really. when a health researcher and a mathematician go looking for an apartment, you KNOW there's some serious detailed data collation here. We included a color-coded map, for pete's sake!).
Our email also included: neighborhoods were were interested in, number of rooms we wanted, and a clear warning of what we DID NOT WANT- a time-waster who couldn't give us what we wanted, but was more interested in making money off of us than helping us.
Apparently, it was "Backwards Day" in the local brokerage, because, dear lord, we got exactly what we DIDN'T want. Really. Everything we didn't want, we got.
Broker 1- showed us all over the properties he had in the skeevy neighborhood NEXT to the one we wanted, wasting the first half of our Saturday.
Broker 2- Ah yes, Broker 2. The one we were sent to by a friend. Promised to do everything possible to get us what we wanted. Spent 40 minutes on the phone with her telling her EXACTLY what we wanted before we even got on the plane. She neglected to tell us that she didn't even HANDLE the area we wanted, showed us two teeny ratty apartments in the wrong neighborhoods for enormous rents, THEN introduced us to her boss.
Oh. My. Her boss.
After a long day being taken to inappropriate property after another, and being lured out of our hotel room late in the day with the promise of "Two apartments that are just what you are looking for", we were reverentially, but without explanation, ushered into her firm’s storefront office where a fat man in a lavender sweater waited self-importantly behind the last desk in the back (imagine Mike Myers with a pillow under his sweater in a badly cut grey wig and a Brooklyn accent. Paused every few sentences for an unapologetic throat-clearing "Hurrrrrrrmmmmmph!" as if to clear out phlegm or a hair ball. Seriously. Not kidding).
This was ALLAN. From Broker B's manner, it was clear that this was no less than being ushered into the presence of Oz, The Great And Powerful. We should be very honored just to get face time with this guy. Bemused at this whole "feverent acolyte/high real eastate priest" act, we sat, and Allan began to speak...and speak....aaaand speak.
Seriously. This guy Never. Shut. Up. I mean, i KNOW my Dad and I can talk the hind leg off a donkey...but this guy could dismantle a hapless quadrup ENTIRELY with sheer, gap-free verbiage.
Topics covered:
All About Allan. Allan's philosophy of brokering "I take care of my tribe. YOU, I like. So you too, are PART of my TRIBE." (So soon? Why Mr. Allan, this is all so sudden!--Err, but really, dude, thanks, think we'll pass.)
Allan's past customers: "Lovely people. Little People. The landlord likes them and allows them to use his PERSONAL BBQ!”. I was agog to hear more on this one. I mean, were they just slightly built, or REALLY "Little people"?? I envisioned a troupe of retired circus midgets inhabiting a nearby garden apartment. Tiny beds, tiny furniture, spangled tights laid carelessly about, play bills on the walls from their circus glory days, and long summer evenings standing on milk crates to reach the top of the Landlord's huge propane grill.
Did the landlord's largess extend to other favors, like say, passing on their smaller children's lightly used clothes? Supplying built-in footstools for reaching the kitchen counters? But alas, this topic was not Allan-centric enough for the Broker to spend more time on. (Damn.)
Dazed by the combination of the day's spectacular failures and Allan's constant flow of speech, (well, okay, and bemused by vivid images of tiny circus retirees on my part) we sat passively under the spell of Allan's sheer egotism. Broker 2's verbal sycophancy/greek chorus act of eagerly jumping in to give Allan's ego a quick verbal massage between rounds. "Oh, Allan was SO good to that family!" or "You really worked a miracle with that client!" added to the hypnotic effect for the first say....20 minutes. After that, we grew restive as the act started to get old. Especially when he started to toss out completely untrue/you're being way too cheap/you don't belong here phrases like:
"I hear what you say about what you want"
(Um, no you didn't. We haven't said a WORD! and about that email you clearly haven't read....)
"We like financial responsibility. But perhaps you need to look at what the market here is REALLY like and come back to take a look"
(Again, no. Just because YOU want a bigger commission doesn't mean we're going to change our budget. Especially for you!)
"I’m not feeling the LOVE for New York from you. Maybe you should come back when you’re ready to make a commitment."
(Bite me. We have spent an entire weekend entranced by Brooklyn's charms. If you're so interpersonally tone-deaf that you can't see it, that's YOUR professional handicap, buster.)
And the last one, what our friend Mongo calls the "Take my advice. If you want to live, stop talking NOW. Get up slowly and back AWAY from the angry Calafia" moment:
"Your wife is going to get bored of sitting around watching Oprah and eating bon-bons. She'll get a job soon and you can afford a better place!"
That tears it. Waste our time. Insult our fiscally responsible budget. Brazenly show your complete unwillingness to read our carefully researched apartment search criteria emailed a week in advance (With color coded MAP!!) and refuse to let us get a word in edgewise. But imply that my long agonized-over mid- recession unemployment is voluntary laziness? Oh, it's on like Donkey-Kong, Fat Boy!!!
(Besides, I prefer SyFy B-grade movies and See's California brittle -dark with Earl grey……while I fill out my job applications and work on research grant applications, you low-rent schmuck.)
As I was raised by parents who did their damnedest to nail a veneer of well-bred manners over my notorious family temper, I let this slide with a raised eyebrow and bit my tongue. The soothing (and restraining) hand the Mathemagician laid on mine as the words left Allen's lips helped too.(Mathemagician swears that his "restraining hand" was more an imploring arm-clutch, but hey, we all remember things a wee bit differently!)
At this point, the Mathemagician spoke mildly. “Actually, we know we’re new to the area, and have a lot to learn. That’s why we sent that email ahead of time detailing what we want for our money, and where we wanted to live, so you could tell us what you have. We are looking for something in Park Slope”
Allen: “You sent an email?” (dirty look at Broker 2, who starts to look distinctly uncomfortable).
Mathemagician: “Yes. “
Allen: “I don’t handle Park Slope.”
Mathemagician: “Yes, we understand. Thanks for your time anyway.
Broker 2: (clutching at last straw)“Well, we still have time to look at that apartment in Gowanus!”
Calafia: (Politely, but with relish) “Oh, no thank you. Besides, remember the text I sent earlier? The one about just not feeling comfortable with living on a Superfund site? I really wish you’d READ it. Would have saved you some trouble. Appreciate it though.”
Exeunt stage left. Not pursued by bears, but with Mathemagician holding tightly to my arm and muttering, “Not yet…NOT YET!!” to forestall my spirited (and loud) imitation of Allen’s more obnoxious phrases and phlegmy “Hrrrrrrrrruummmphs!” until we’d reached the middle of the next block. Ah yes, we DO have such fun!
Trust me, this story DOES have a happy ending. But that’s going to have to wait for another entry….
New York Brokers. (genus "Real Eastatus, Generalus Predatus, Liarus")
Here's are some interesting general fun-facts about finding an apartment in New York:
*There is no central listing service- quite frequently, a landlord often hires ONE broker (and one broker only) to list their apartment. Or, the landlord hired several, and you'll get three brokers trying to take you to the same place.
*Brokers know NOTHING beyond the neighborhood/landlords they work with, and no way of finding you anything in another area. Hence, no motivation to help you find something outside their area.
*It's like buying a used car. You know how if you walk onto a lot and if the salesman doesn't have what your looking for, he'll stick to you like gum to your shoe and do everything possible to KEEP you in his office until he wears you down into taking something he has? Yeah- like that.
*Landlords want paperwork to PROVE excellent credit, income no less than 20x the rent they're asking, tax receipts, pay stubs, contracts, blood type, mothers maiden name, AND will STILL kick up a fuss over the damnedest things. Mathemagician had a contract from BigBrains Inc., pristine credit, money in the bank, and some broker refused to work for us because he "hadn't proven himself in The City" yet. - (So, where is one supposed to live when "proving oneself"?)
* "For Fee" brokered apartments are posted through brokers/agents who charge you up to 2 months rent for finding you an apartment. The nicest apartments in the nicest areas are generally shown this way.
* "No fee" apartments are where the landlord pays brokers to find them tenants. You CAN find a nice apartment this way, but the odds aren't good. Usually these apartments are in sketchier areas and not as nice.
*Decent apartments are usually gone in 24 hours.
*Landlords want YOU there, preferably already working in the city, and ready to sign papers within 24 hours. Seriously. There is no "well the unit will be empty next week, then we'll take a week or so to re-paint, re-carpet the place, so come by tomorrow to sign the papers." Nope. They don't HAVE to paint (hell, I don't even know if they have to clean the place- I'm taking serious cleaning supplies!) or touch up the floors. Nope. They want the old people OUT and YOU financially nailed to the floor and IN ASAP. Good apartments often have several possible tenants circling the place like preschoolers around the last musical chair at Jenny O'Hara's 6th birthday party.
*The Geneva convention's basic requirements for humane housing DO NOT apply in New York. "Bedroom" is a loosely defined term that can apply to anything from a size too small to accommodate even a preschoolers nap time mat to a decent normal size.
When TM and I went to NYC for his final interview on Mother's Day weekend, we were sure we'd have an apartment by the time the weekend was through. (HA!)
We found a broker through some personal ties ("The Brooklyn office of the same brokers who are on "Selling New York"!) and sent a detailed email (really. when a health researcher and a mathematician go looking for an apartment, you KNOW there's some serious detailed data collation here. We included a color-coded map, for pete's sake!).
Our email also included: neighborhoods were were interested in, number of rooms we wanted, and a clear warning of what we DID NOT WANT- a time-waster who couldn't give us what we wanted, but was more interested in making money off of us than helping us.
Apparently, it was "Backwards Day" in the local brokerage, because, dear lord, we got exactly what we DIDN'T want. Really. Everything we didn't want, we got.
Broker 1- showed us all over the properties he had in the skeevy neighborhood NEXT to the one we wanted, wasting the first half of our Saturday.
Broker 2- Ah yes, Broker 2. The one we were sent to by a friend. Promised to do everything possible to get us what we wanted. Spent 40 minutes on the phone with her telling her EXACTLY what we wanted before we even got on the plane. She neglected to tell us that she didn't even HANDLE the area we wanted, showed us two teeny ratty apartments in the wrong neighborhoods for enormous rents, THEN introduced us to her boss.
Oh. My. Her boss.
After a long day being taken to inappropriate property after another, and being lured out of our hotel room late in the day with the promise of "Two apartments that are just what you are looking for", we were reverentially, but without explanation, ushered into her firm’s storefront office where a fat man in a lavender sweater waited self-importantly behind the last desk in the back (imagine Mike Myers with a pillow under his sweater in a badly cut grey wig and a Brooklyn accent. Paused every few sentences for an unapologetic throat-clearing "Hurrrrrrrmmmmmph!" as if to clear out phlegm or a hair ball. Seriously. Not kidding).
This was ALLAN. From Broker B's manner, it was clear that this was no less than being ushered into the presence of Oz, The Great And Powerful. We should be very honored just to get face time with this guy. Bemused at this whole "feverent acolyte/high real eastate priest" act, we sat, and Allan began to speak...and speak....aaaand speak.
Seriously. This guy Never. Shut. Up. I mean, i KNOW my Dad and I can talk the hind leg off a donkey...but this guy could dismantle a hapless quadrup ENTIRELY with sheer, gap-free verbiage.
Topics covered:
All About Allan. Allan's philosophy of brokering "I take care of my tribe. YOU, I like. So you too, are PART of my TRIBE." (So soon? Why Mr. Allan, this is all so sudden!--Err, but really, dude, thanks, think we'll pass.)
Allan's past customers: "Lovely people. Little People. The landlord likes them and allows them to use his PERSONAL BBQ!”. I was agog to hear more on this one. I mean, were they just slightly built, or REALLY "Little people"?? I envisioned a troupe of retired circus midgets inhabiting a nearby garden apartment. Tiny beds, tiny furniture, spangled tights laid carelessly about, play bills on the walls from their circus glory days, and long summer evenings standing on milk crates to reach the top of the Landlord's huge propane grill.
Did the landlord's largess extend to other favors, like say, passing on their smaller children's lightly used clothes? Supplying built-in footstools for reaching the kitchen counters? But alas, this topic was not Allan-centric enough for the Broker to spend more time on. (Damn.)
Dazed by the combination of the day's spectacular failures and Allan's constant flow of speech, (well, okay, and bemused by vivid images of tiny circus retirees on my part) we sat passively under the spell of Allan's sheer egotism. Broker 2's verbal sycophancy/greek chorus act of eagerly jumping in to give Allan's ego a quick verbal massage between rounds. "Oh, Allan was SO good to that family!" or "You really worked a miracle with that client!" added to the hypnotic effect for the first say....20 minutes. After that, we grew restive as the act started to get old. Especially when he started to toss out completely untrue/you're being way too cheap/you don't belong here phrases like:
"I hear what you say about what you want"
(Um, no you didn't. We haven't said a WORD! and about that email you clearly haven't read....)
"We like financial responsibility. But perhaps you need to look at what the market here is REALLY like and come back to take a look"
(Again, no. Just because YOU want a bigger commission doesn't mean we're going to change our budget. Especially for you!)
"I’m not feeling the LOVE for New York from you. Maybe you should come back when you’re ready to make a commitment."
(Bite me. We have spent an entire weekend entranced by Brooklyn's charms. If you're so interpersonally tone-deaf that you can't see it, that's YOUR professional handicap, buster.)
And the last one, what our friend Mongo calls the "Take my advice. If you want to live, stop talking NOW. Get up slowly and back AWAY from the angry Calafia" moment:
"Your wife is going to get bored of sitting around watching Oprah and eating bon-bons. She'll get a job soon and you can afford a better place!"
That tears it. Waste our time. Insult our fiscally responsible budget. Brazenly show your complete unwillingness to read our carefully researched apartment search criteria emailed a week in advance (With color coded MAP!!) and refuse to let us get a word in edgewise. But imply that my long agonized-over mid- recession unemployment is voluntary laziness? Oh, it's on like Donkey-Kong, Fat Boy!!!
(Besides, I prefer SyFy B-grade movies and See's California brittle -dark with Earl grey……while I fill out my job applications and work on research grant applications, you low-rent schmuck.)
As I was raised by parents who did their damnedest to nail a veneer of well-bred manners over my notorious family temper, I let this slide with a raised eyebrow and bit my tongue. The soothing (and restraining) hand the Mathemagician laid on mine as the words left Allen's lips helped too.(Mathemagician swears that his "restraining hand" was more an imploring arm-clutch, but hey, we all remember things a wee bit differently!)
At this point, the Mathemagician spoke mildly. “Actually, we know we’re new to the area, and have a lot to learn. That’s why we sent that email ahead of time detailing what we want for our money, and where we wanted to live, so you could tell us what you have. We are looking for something in Park Slope”
Allen: “You sent an email?” (dirty look at Broker 2, who starts to look distinctly uncomfortable).
Mathemagician: “Yes. “
Allen: “I don’t handle Park Slope.”
Mathemagician: “Yes, we understand. Thanks for your time anyway.
Broker 2: (clutching at last straw)“Well, we still have time to look at that apartment in Gowanus!”
Calafia: (Politely, but with relish) “Oh, no thank you. Besides, remember the text I sent earlier? The one about just not feeling comfortable with living on a Superfund site? I really wish you’d READ it. Would have saved you some trouble. Appreciate it though.”
Exeunt stage left. Not pursued by bears, but with Mathemagician holding tightly to my arm and muttering, “Not yet…NOT YET!!” to forestall my spirited (and loud) imitation of Allen’s more obnoxious phrases and phlegmy “Hrrrrrrrrruummmphs!” until we’d reached the middle of the next block. Ah yes, we DO have such fun!
Trust me, this story DOES have a happy ending. But that’s going to have to wait for another entry….
Sunday, May 22, 2011
I'm an Alien, I'm a Legal Alien....
Sting's song started playing in my head as I hear my husband's casual words, "The interview's scheduled for next week." At the time, the possibility of leaving my native Southern California for the other side of the continent seemed an exciting, but uncertain idea. Really uncertain. Waiting for the outcome of the interview process took so long that I started to feel like I was caught in an endless loop at Rocky Horror Picture Show, screaming "Say it! SAY IT!!" at Tim Curry's leering, lipsticked face. I'm a compulsive planner, I mean nearly to the point of OCD. So between trying to figure out contingency plans for two coasts, I had one half of my brain on the East coast, and one still here in Los Angeles. It was an understatement that I was not doing too well in terms of concentration in either location. Really. I kept finding groceries put away in the oddest places (toothpaste in the fridge, anyone? I promise it's EXTRA minty fresh!) and my husband soon learned that all bets were off when it came to asking me where ANYTHING was. After a few missplaced items of a crucial nature, I soon testily informed him that I had enough trouble keeping track of my own UNDERWEAR (and that only because I had my lingerie drawers clearly labelled) so I hereby refused to be held accountable for any bits and pieces he left lying around the apartment, drat it!
But it happened! After a series of byzantine phone and in-person interviews with questions that made me think of "Harry Potter goes to CalTech" (seriously. I'm smarter than your average idiot- I once actually fooled a whole panel of real-live science professors into giving me a MASTERS.) but this stuff? The questions my darling had to answer just to have the privilege of applying in the first place were along the lines of
"Mr. Spock and Scotty get drunk and reprogram the trivia computer in the Enterprise Forward Lounge."..(wait..is referencing Harry Potter, Cal Tech and Star Trek all in the same paragraph mixing my geek metaphors?). So later, and after much Annnnticipa.......TION...(Thanks, Rocky! Oops! another one!) my husband, The Mathemagician, actually signed on with BigBrains Inc.in Manhattan. My anticipation was over, but my stress level, and excitement ratcheted up to a whole new level. WE ARE MOVING!!!
And now, a few weeks later, it feels like our June 30th move date is streaming towards us like the ground towards a skydiver at terminal velocity.
Packing, finding an apartment (more on THAT later) making plans to move our lives....there's so much to do!
I'm excited, but nervous. I've never lived anywhere but Southern California. I've lived through earthquakes, firestorms, riots, floods, and hours-long traffic jams caused by high speed chases. But actual snow, subways and living without a car- now THAT's going to be a challenge!
So, to keep my friends in Los Angeles posted as I take on this new adventure (and quite possibly amuse the heck out of my East coast family members) I have started this blog.
Will Calafia and the Mathemagician negotiate the loony bin of New York brokers and get an apartment BEFORE they move? (Or will Calafia's well-known temper prompt her to offer up a menu of "Broker Tartar" if left alone with one of those daft and devious buggers in a dark alley?). How much is enough alcohol to offer your surrounding plane passengers if the sedation you gave your (very) vocal Siamese cat starts to wear off mid-flight? How many mini-vodka bottles is is possible to smuggle through airport security, anyhow?
And, dear Lord have mercy, what happens when we GET there????
Stay tuned!
But it happened! After a series of byzantine phone and in-person interviews with questions that made me think of "Harry Potter goes to CalTech" (seriously. I'm smarter than your average idiot- I once actually fooled a whole panel of real-live science professors into giving me a MASTERS.) but this stuff? The questions my darling had to answer just to have the privilege of applying in the first place were along the lines of
"Mr. Spock and Scotty get drunk and reprogram the trivia computer in the Enterprise Forward Lounge."..(wait..is referencing Harry Potter, Cal Tech and Star Trek all in the same paragraph mixing my geek metaphors?). So later, and after much Annnnticipa.......TION...(Thanks, Rocky! Oops! another one!) my husband, The Mathemagician, actually signed on with BigBrains Inc.in Manhattan. My anticipation was over, but my stress level, and excitement ratcheted up to a whole new level. WE ARE MOVING!!!
And now, a few weeks later, it feels like our June 30th move date is streaming towards us like the ground towards a skydiver at terminal velocity.
Packing, finding an apartment (more on THAT later) making plans to move our lives....there's so much to do!
I'm excited, but nervous. I've never lived anywhere but Southern California. I've lived through earthquakes, firestorms, riots, floods, and hours-long traffic jams caused by high speed chases. But actual snow, subways and living without a car- now THAT's going to be a challenge!
So, to keep my friends in Los Angeles posted as I take on this new adventure (and quite possibly amuse the heck out of my East coast family members) I have started this blog.
Will Calafia and the Mathemagician negotiate the loony bin of New York brokers and get an apartment BEFORE they move? (Or will Calafia's well-known temper prompt her to offer up a menu of "Broker Tartar" if left alone with one of those daft and devious buggers in a dark alley?). How much is enough alcohol to offer your surrounding plane passengers if the sedation you gave your (very) vocal Siamese cat starts to wear off mid-flight? How many mini-vodka bottles is is possible to smuggle through airport security, anyhow?
And, dear Lord have mercy, what happens when we GET there????
Stay tuned!
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