The clawfooted tub on the 2600 block of Marshfield did not inspire the same romance, nor did it invoke a mediocre appreciation, as other, vintage clawfooted bathtubs might. In magazines and on cable tv, the four feet of such a tub would rise majestically from a highly polished marble floor. It would stand opposite a pedestal sink and an open organizational system for towels and toiletries.
But this tub on the 2600 block of Marshfield rose from an old laminate floor. The color of said floor was the yellow-tan tone you'd expect to see a newpaper turn following 15, 20 years of neglect. And the tub did not face a pedestal sink. There was no sink in the bathroom in the Marshfield apartment. There was no organizational storage system, open nor otherwise. Only a small toilet and a clawfooted tub, whose fourth foot was poised atop a general biology textbook.
In statues or paintings, when the subject has one foot poised atop a box, pillar, animal, or severed human head, many words come to mind, though they all have that serenely powerful connotation: triumphant, proud, conqueror. It's easy to gaze awestuck at such a figure, who cleary held mastery over something.
I sincerely doubt the tub had mastered general biology, and I say this forgetting that tubs do not invest in science. I say this with an air of pompousness: How could a tub, living in these conditions, ever improve itself to learn general biology?
Thankfully, one would not notice the textbook upon entering the bathroom. This was precisely because the textbook was from 1970--at least-- and the corner of it that was nearest the door was worn or chewed away, revealing pages that blended in perfectly with the laminate floor.
Aside from the bathroom, the rest of the apartment was in poor shape. So bad, in fact, that the bathroom seemed the highlight--which is why we started there.
The walls had holes. The wood floors collected dust balls so large, they must be considered dust rabbits, not bunnies. The dry wall rippled around the windows where water had come in and stayed. Then there was the second entryway.
The second entry was framed by an old wood trim--except, of course, where it was completely lack. Eight inched above and below the deadbolt were exposed. Where the trim began again, it was splintered and disrupted. The owner had replaced the absent accent by hammering a four-inch-long block of unfinished wood over the place where it seemed the deadbolt had plowed from its space within the frame to the inside of the apartment.
As an added sales aid, the owner took the sole lightbulb out of the main room. This gave potential renters a modified version of the "look around". It seemed that the owner believed, to view this place in its best light, required absolutely no light at all.
I hated bringing clients there. But everyone wanted to see it. It was the only apartment under $600 in all of Lakeview, and each renter wanted to believe this would be their gem--the perfect place that only they had been lucky enough to find.
Marshfield was in the database for months before I started apartment leasing in the summer of 2006. And soon I realized its usefulness. If clients had just seen an apartment they really liked, show the Marshfield apartment to make them understand just how bad the other options were. This isn't as manipulative as it sounds. It's actually doing the clients a huge service. The dumps remained available for months. But the gems--hardwood floors, eat-in-kitches, closets in the bedroom, and heat included--would stick around for a couple of hours or a day at most. As agents, we knew if a place would rent in less than a week. And if we showed a gem to clients who seemed keen on it, they'd surely be disappointed if they came back later in the afternoon and discovered it was gone.
But Marshfield was going nowhere fast.
Clients would ask me, "Would you live here?" and I would say something like, "I'd rather move back home with my nagging, coddling, nosey, controlling parents. But you don't really have any better option." I would walk into Marshfield and immediately start appologizing for the 40-year-old refrigerator and the moldy general biology textbook. I would point out the absence of the sink in the bathroom, but quickly announce that the kitchen sink is just a short trot away.
I knew I had no chance of renting it when I was showing places to a couple of college-student sisters. They were nice as can be. Fresh off the boat from Nigeria, I believe. They were used to living sparsely. They told me that they were not accustomed to air conditioning, and they were accustomed to sleeping in the same bed. We looked at the few places that were in their price range, of which Marshfield was the gem. In the end, they decided to stay another semester in the dorms.
I had only been in the leasing business for three months, long enough for my temporary license to expire. And during that time, only Marshfield was available from the start to the finish of my short career. It wasn't until Christmas time that I had gotten a call from a former coworker, inviting me out to celebrate that, in an apartment shortage, someone had finally rented the old Marshfield place.
LENT UPDATE
Four days of Lent and one Sunday: two margaritas (both on Sunday)! And I was in attendance for this weekend's mass...
Sha-Blam!
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Forty Days Dry
For Lent, I decided to give up booze. Forty days on the wagon doesn't seem like a challenge to me. I've only been drinking for the past couple of years. It's just something I do to socialize.
Why are you doing this to yourself?
Here are three reasons I'm giving up the sauce:
So I went to play a soccer game on Wednesday, and I told my cohort about my new leaf. Here are some of the responses I got:
W said:
I told him that Sundays are not included in the Lent season. (If you don't believe me, start on Ash Wednesday and count days until Easter. You'll only get 40 if you don't include Sundays. A special thanks to Vatican 2!)
"Oh," J said, "so you can just come out and meet us up at midnight on Saturdays, then."
"Yeah!" agreed M, "That makes sense!"
I tried to explain that that would ruin the whole idea. Besides, I said, I'm bothered that you guys don't think I can get by without drinking! "The point is that if I get drunk on Saturday night, I won't be able to get myself up in time for church."
"Well, why don't you just not drink on Saturdays, but still come out with us on Fridays?" asked M.
It was an uphill battle against these nonCatholics. They just don't get that Lent is supposed to be a quite, calm, and reflective time.
Jeez! Even the heathen I'm boinkin' gets that!
LENT UPDATE
Two days without any desire to drink... take THAT doubting Thomases!
Why are you doing this to yourself?
Here are three reasons I'm giving up the sauce:
- If I stay out late on Saturday night, I can't motivate myself to go to church. And during Lent, I'm going to make the good effort to go every week.
- I'm getting ready for summer, and all of those calories seem to be making my daily workouts less effective than they should be.
- I would like to spend less money. The second I leave the door and head out into the city, it's $40. A $20 cab ride out to where ever I'm going, and a $20 cab ride home--nevermind the food and booze!!
So I went to play a soccer game on Wednesday, and I told my cohort about my new leaf. Here are some of the responses I got:
W said:
- "Are you kidding me? I took off work tomorrow so we could go drinking after the game!"
- "Do you really think you'll make it 40 days?"
- "You can't be serious? What are you going to do if you don't go out drinking?"
- "Are you studying for a test or something? Why would you do this?"
- "Why don't you give up something else? Like sex?"
I told him that Sundays are not included in the Lent season. (If you don't believe me, start on Ash Wednesday and count days until Easter. You'll only get 40 if you don't include Sundays. A special thanks to Vatican 2!)
"Oh," J said, "so you can just come out and meet us up at midnight on Saturdays, then."
"Yeah!" agreed M, "That makes sense!"
I tried to explain that that would ruin the whole idea. Besides, I said, I'm bothered that you guys don't think I can get by without drinking! "The point is that if I get drunk on Saturday night, I won't be able to get myself up in time for church."
"Well, why don't you just not drink on Saturdays, but still come out with us on Fridays?" asked M.
It was an uphill battle against these nonCatholics. They just don't get that Lent is supposed to be a quite, calm, and reflective time.
Jeez! Even the heathen I'm boinkin' gets that!
LENT UPDATE
Two days without any desire to drink... take THAT doubting Thomases!
Sunday, February 11, 2007
When It Looks and Tastes Like Food: It's Done!
Most things are not as difficult as people make them out to be.
I applied for a part-time job as a barista at a coffee shop near my house. I could, potentially, hop off the train after my day job, make cappicinos for college students, and with my revenue, get $80 more drunk each week. When I go in to apply, the manager, a hippie guy who forgot to eat everyday for the past 3 years, says, "Do you have experience as a barista?"
"I have 24 years of practical experience holding cups and pouring drinks for myself," I say.
I didn't get the job...
Cooking. Another perfect example. A group of friends and I were out for dinner. A pair of them are recently married. The wife says they have appliances they do not know how to use.
"What do you do with a mixer?"
If four of us could have stacked the notes in our voices, we would have made an excellent barbershop quartet when we responded: "Mix things."
Then came the cateloging of reasonable items that require mixing. For example, any dough that is preceded by an adjective: cookie dough, bread dough... Our one friend offered the idea of mashed potatoes.
"Mashed? Potatoes?"
The girl who brought it up proceded cautiously. Was our married chum joking? This launched into a whole orated treatise on how to make mashed potatoes. First, you boil the potatoes. Ah, but how do you know when they're done? Why, you stick a fork in them. A fork! Genius! Then you put them in the mixer... Yes, yes! Go on!
I have few qualms with being a snob, so I'll just go ahead and say it: Are you kidding? Mashed potatoes is the only food where the ingredients and the preparation process are in the name!
And cooking, in general! I'm a fair cook, and the trick to cooking anything is to keep looking at it and when it looks and tastes like food, it's done. If you're cooking fish, and it doesn't look like the food you got last weekend when you ordered it from a restaurant, it's not cooked completely.
When it looks and tastes like food, it's done!
I applied for a part-time job as a barista at a coffee shop near my house. I could, potentially, hop off the train after my day job, make cappicinos for college students, and with my revenue, get $80 more drunk each week. When I go in to apply, the manager, a hippie guy who forgot to eat everyday for the past 3 years, says, "Do you have experience as a barista?"
"I have 24 years of practical experience holding cups and pouring drinks for myself," I say.
I didn't get the job...
Cooking. Another perfect example. A group of friends and I were out for dinner. A pair of them are recently married. The wife says they have appliances they do not know how to use.
"What do you do with a mixer?"
If four of us could have stacked the notes in our voices, we would have made an excellent barbershop quartet when we responded: "Mix things."
Then came the cateloging of reasonable items that require mixing. For example, any dough that is preceded by an adjective: cookie dough, bread dough... Our one friend offered the idea of mashed potatoes.
"Mashed? Potatoes?"
The girl who brought it up proceded cautiously. Was our married chum joking? This launched into a whole orated treatise on how to make mashed potatoes. First, you boil the potatoes. Ah, but how do you know when they're done? Why, you stick a fork in them. A fork! Genius! Then you put them in the mixer... Yes, yes! Go on!
I have few qualms with being a snob, so I'll just go ahead and say it: Are you kidding? Mashed potatoes is the only food where the ingredients and the preparation process are in the name!
And cooking, in general! I'm a fair cook, and the trick to cooking anything is to keep looking at it and when it looks and tastes like food, it's done. If you're cooking fish, and it doesn't look like the food you got last weekend when you ordered it from a restaurant, it's not cooked completely.
When it looks and tastes like food, it's done!
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Pre-Maturely Aging: Knitters, Cat Ladies, and Meetup.com
My page designer pointed out that when you're out of college, making new friends is like dating. You can't depend on running into someone the same time every week. When you meet them the first time, you must actively set up more opportunities to hang out. This becomes even more hazardous because dating and having friends cost money, and if you hardly know someone, you could just be spending on someone that you really could never be a good friend with. When money is tight, you just can't afford that.
As a 23-year-old woman, this is a two pronged problem: (1) finding women I might like and (2) forcing them to be my friends. So where do you find other girls?
This is how I went to my first Meetup.com event. If you've never heard of it, check it out. They have groups that meet for just about everything: investing, speaking French, playing flag football, drinking wine... what follows is my first experiment with attending a meetup.com function.
Meetup.com: Chicago Knitters Unite!
That's right. I believe in knitting in bars.
Why knitting?
I want to find people that do quiet, money-saving activities. Knitting is such an activity. Very calm. Not much in the way of dollar-dropping excitement, but you can talk while you knit. So there is that potential to meet people and decide whether you'd like to see them in other, money-spending, situations.
What's more, if you're saavy enough with a pair of blunt weapons, such as knitting needles, you can make some supa cool apparel items: shurgs, knit purses, funky hats. And, although they'll take you a million years to make, that's a million years you're sitting occupied at home, or with others, and not spending money. You see what I'm sayin'?
Is knitting really the activity for me?
Probably not. I am no professional knitter. Thus far, I've knitted two squares. I've crocheted some squares in my life too. But you're lookin' at a real-life wanna-be. And although I like to think I can be pretty artistic, I have very little pride in craftmanship.
What happens when a first timer goes to said knitting meetup?
Let's just say, whenever I'm sitting in a ten-person conversation on cats... no, not cats, kitties... I'm a little more than just a little disconcerted. Disclaimer: It's not that I don't like cats. I think they're cute, and I particularly appreciate the ones that think they're dogs, what with the fetching etc. But I've never had one of my own, and so I don't quite understand the appeal of treating them like human offspring and giving them little high-pitched voices to narrate the cat's thoughts.
So half of the group was not my speed, and unfortunately, the set-up of the room and the stationery activity that is knitting discouraged much movement. But I did enjoy working on a new square, if for no other reason than to have other people around me. And I also have high hopes that the other women and homosexual men will have something else to talk about aside from the timely topic: "Convincing your kitty to sleep in the bed you knit for him even after you move to a new apartment and the kitty says, 'I don't want to sleep on that because it smells like the old place.' "
I'll definately be trying this meetup again. But next time I'll be a little less punctual and a little more particular on who I sit near.
As a 23-year-old woman, this is a two pronged problem: (1) finding women I might like and (2) forcing them to be my friends. So where do you find other girls?
This is how I went to my first Meetup.com event. If you've never heard of it, check it out. They have groups that meet for just about everything: investing, speaking French, playing flag football, drinking wine... what follows is my first experiment with attending a meetup.com function.
Meetup.com: Chicago Knitters Unite!
That's right. I believe in knitting in bars.
Why knitting?
I want to find people that do quiet, money-saving activities. Knitting is such an activity. Very calm. Not much in the way of dollar-dropping excitement, but you can talk while you knit. So there is that potential to meet people and decide whether you'd like to see them in other, money-spending, situations.
What's more, if you're saavy enough with a pair of blunt weapons, such as knitting needles, you can make some supa cool apparel items: shurgs, knit purses, funky hats. And, although they'll take you a million years to make, that's a million years you're sitting occupied at home, or with others, and not spending money. You see what I'm sayin'?
Is knitting really the activity for me?
Probably not. I am no professional knitter. Thus far, I've knitted two squares. I've crocheted some squares in my life too. But you're lookin' at a real-life wanna-be. And although I like to think I can be pretty artistic, I have very little pride in craftmanship.
What happens when a first timer goes to said knitting meetup?
Let's just say, whenever I'm sitting in a ten-person conversation on cats... no, not cats, kitties... I'm a little more than just a little disconcerted. Disclaimer: It's not that I don't like cats. I think they're cute, and I particularly appreciate the ones that think they're dogs, what with the fetching etc. But I've never had one of my own, and so I don't quite understand the appeal of treating them like human offspring and giving them little high-pitched voices to narrate the cat's thoughts.
So half of the group was not my speed, and unfortunately, the set-up of the room and the stationery activity that is knitting discouraged much movement. But I did enjoy working on a new square, if for no other reason than to have other people around me. And I also have high hopes that the other women and homosexual men will have something else to talk about aside from the timely topic: "Convincing your kitty to sleep in the bed you knit for him even after you move to a new apartment and the kitty says, 'I don't want to sleep on that because it smells like the old place.' "
I'll definately be trying this meetup again. But next time I'll be a little less punctual and a little more particular on who I sit near.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Walter Knows What's Up
Walter is one of those people with a firm grasp on ridiculous things that come out of my mouth. He seems to pick up on the undertones of a conversation that no one else does.
One time, I asked him why that was. "No one ever picks up on these things," I told him. "No one else realizes how ridiculous I am."
"Sure they do; they just don't tell you about it," he said.
After a breif, nontechnical survey I decided he was wrong. My other friends were all baboozled by my confidence and the stern authority with which I spoke when utter nonsense fell out of my face. I was preaching gosple, and they sopped it up.
"Walter, do you have goals?" I asked over dinner.
"You mean like, 'by the end of this month' goals?"
"No. Like, 'In a year, I'll want this' goals."
"Sometimes I do. Like when I decided I was going to start running every day over 64 degrees, but then I got shin splints. Now I want to read books of the genre blank and blank and learn to play the guitar better." Walter had recently read Crime and Punishment. He was now on to War and Peace, and he had his sights set on Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility. Either or. Eventually both.
"I have no goals."
"Bullshit. You always have goals. Like that time you wanted to make out, and you made that plan. Step 1 b was to devise the plan. Or the second time you wanted to make out, and you had five different plans to get you there depending on his mood for when he came back from spring break."
"Yeah, but those goals were plans. I had a logical process figured out to get me from point a to point b."
"The process wasn't logical," Walter said. "The whole plan, the first time, was to devise the plan."
"No. That was the second step."
"Titled 1b. There was no step two," he said. Walter obviously wasn't as impressed as he ought to have been from the fact that I at least numbered the steps of my plan. No matter how silly it might have been. "That whole plan was bullshit."
"Well, I made out with him, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but not as a result of either plan."
"Fine."
"Besides, you have goals. You just decide you want something, and it's a goal."
"I want to stop being fat."
"You're not fat. But if you were, that would be a goal."
"I was thinking of joining a gym, and I would work out every morning."
"In the morning!? What time would that be?"
"I dunno. Like 5."
"Why don't you just workout at night?"
"Because I don't get home until 730."
"So? It's better than going in the morning."
"But it's not like I can just drive there from the train."
"Why no--oh... no car."
"Yeah. So I'd have to come home, eat..."
"Don't eat. Just go straight to the gym."
"But it'll be easier in the morning because I won't have to fight with John for the shower, and I..."
"But you'll go to bed at like 8pm."
"Yeah, but maybe that's a good thing, because it's not like I have anything to do at night, anyhow. Maybe I'll fight less with my mom and my brother."
"Ooooohh... this is just an elaborate scheme to avoid your family."
"No."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is. Those are your only reasons for working out in the morning."
"I have other reasons too."
"They're all just excuses. Fine. Wake up at frickin' four in the morning to avoid your family."
"Maybe I'll just stop biting my nails instead."
"That's a goal too."
"Yeah..." The waitress came by and asked if we wanted appetizers.
"I don't," Walter said.
"Me neither."
"I have big fat thighs," Walter said. "I haven't done any exercise since my shin splints came back." Walter weighed about 115 and was over 6 feet tall.
"Walter. You don't have fat thighs."
"Yes I do, and now you know how ridiculous you sound."
One time, I asked him why that was. "No one ever picks up on these things," I told him. "No one else realizes how ridiculous I am."
"Sure they do; they just don't tell you about it," he said.
After a breif, nontechnical survey I decided he was wrong. My other friends were all baboozled by my confidence and the stern authority with which I spoke when utter nonsense fell out of my face. I was preaching gosple, and they sopped it up.
"Walter, do you have goals?" I asked over dinner.
"You mean like, 'by the end of this month' goals?"
"No. Like, 'In a year, I'll want this' goals."
"Sometimes I do. Like when I decided I was going to start running every day over 64 degrees, but then I got shin splints. Now I want to read books of the genre blank and blank and learn to play the guitar better." Walter had recently read Crime and Punishment. He was now on to War and Peace, and he had his sights set on Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility. Either or. Eventually both.
"I have no goals."
"Bullshit. You always have goals. Like that time you wanted to make out, and you made that plan. Step 1 b was to devise the plan. Or the second time you wanted to make out, and you had five different plans to get you there depending on his mood for when he came back from spring break."
"Yeah, but those goals were plans. I had a logical process figured out to get me from point a to point b."
"The process wasn't logical," Walter said. "The whole plan, the first time, was to devise the plan."
"No. That was the second step."
"Titled 1b. There was no step two," he said. Walter obviously wasn't as impressed as he ought to have been from the fact that I at least numbered the steps of my plan. No matter how silly it might have been. "That whole plan was bullshit."
"Well, I made out with him, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but not as a result of either plan."
"Fine."
"Besides, you have goals. You just decide you want something, and it's a goal."
"I want to stop being fat."
"You're not fat. But if you were, that would be a goal."
"I was thinking of joining a gym, and I would work out every morning."
"In the morning!? What time would that be?"
"I dunno. Like 5."
"Why don't you just workout at night?"
"Because I don't get home until 730."
"So? It's better than going in the morning."
"But it's not like I can just drive there from the train."
"Why no--oh... no car."
"Yeah. So I'd have to come home, eat..."
"Don't eat. Just go straight to the gym."
"But it'll be easier in the morning because I won't have to fight with John for the shower, and I..."
"But you'll go to bed at like 8pm."
"Yeah, but maybe that's a good thing, because it's not like I have anything to do at night, anyhow. Maybe I'll fight less with my mom and my brother."
"Ooooohh... this is just an elaborate scheme to avoid your family."
"No."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is. Those are your only reasons for working out in the morning."
"I have other reasons too."
"They're all just excuses. Fine. Wake up at frickin' four in the morning to avoid your family."
"Maybe I'll just stop biting my nails instead."
"That's a goal too."
"Yeah..." The waitress came by and asked if we wanted appetizers.
"I don't," Walter said.
"Me neither."
"I have big fat thighs," Walter said. "I haven't done any exercise since my shin splints came back." Walter weighed about 115 and was over 6 feet tall.
"Walter. You don't have fat thighs."
"Yes I do, and now you know how ridiculous you sound."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
