"Gentrification"

I will admit first and foremost that I live in Hollywood, which I characterize as seedy, yet safe. Seedy in that it features a sizable population of down and out folks including homeless people, folks with substance abuse problems, folks who have come here to "make it" but currently have next to nothing, and others who are generally just trying to fly under the radar of society in a way that can really only be done in seedy places with "hotels" that rent rooms by the week on a cash basis. But safe, because since it is cheap, it also features a fair number of working-class immigrant families, and also because Los Angeles is heavily invested in keeping its #1 tourist attraction safe for the out of town buck, so there are cops all over the place.

So when I started looking for an apartment here, I knew I wasn't going to be living in the lap of luxury, which was completely fine with me--I'm generally uncomfortable in unfamiliar laps, especially luxurious ones. As a law student going to school at UCLA with a significant other working in downtown and living in Orange County, Hollywood was perfect: cheap but not dangerous, easy public transit commute to UCLA, and easy public transit commute to downtown and Union Station (and hence Orange Country via commuter rail). I was hoping for a decent place with a minimum of sketchy people, no bugs, no foul odors, and doors that lock.

Happily, I was quickly quite successful. My roommate and I found our current place in a small building. It's a small two bedroom (AND two bath...unexpected bonus), there's a cute little courtyard with lots of plants and a pool (which is almost never open, but at least it's nice to look at); the apartment had been completely redone since the previous tenants with new fake-wood floors & fresh paint; it didn't smell; and the building, with a mix of studios and 1 & 2 bedroom places, was a mix of mostly working class Latino families--some of whom had been there many years, a few solo older folks, a few younger white couples, and one unit occupied by someone who I think just uses it as their weekend affair pad (read: really fancy car only shows up on weekends once or twice a month); and the big coup for Hollywood: TWO PARKING SPOTS.

For the most part, I have liked it here. The apartment has been exactly what I've hoped for--cheap, utility apartment where I've been able to get comfy, easy transport around town.

But...

About a month or so after I moved in, things got weird. The apartment manager changed, and instead of the younger, tattooed couple managing the place, we got this awkward, skinny, older white guy. At the same time we all got letters announcing that there was to be no more hanging towels on the balcony railing to dry, no more bikes kept in common areas outside of apartments, typical attempted-gentrification-type stuff. Can't have this place looking low-class now, can we.

Then a few months in, said weird apartment manager approached me in the laundry room one day. He asked if I would be willing to testify against my neighbors, a Latino family with 3 kids, to get them evicted on account of noise. Keep in mind, I had not once complained about noise from this family. Yes, they generate some noise, but THEY ARE A FAMILY. And the building isn't exactly soundproof, so I can hardly blame them if their typical family noise travels into my apartment. Not only had I never complained about the noise, but it had never crossed my mind to do so. They never bothered me.

Being do-gooder law students, my roommate and I talked to them, and we heard the story we were afraid of. Most of the Latino families in the building were being harassed, bugged about things they had never been talked to about before in years. And one by one, we started to notice turnover, and a higher number of white residents and fewer Latino tenants.

We were bummed to realize that we ourselves were part of a wave of gentrification which was hitting the building.

In a society where people automatically view a high concentration of non-white people as a sign of poverty and lower class, naturally a high population of white people must be a sign of safety, higher class, and a more desirable place to live, right?

So let's see what this gentrification has gotten us.

Many of the young white folks that have served as part of this wave are young kids trying to get into "The Industry"...those people I mentioned before who are trying to make it but currently have next to nothing. I don't have anything against them for that. What I do have against them is that they play music all the damn time (both listening to it and playing it); they stand in common areas talking on their cell phones or to one another ridiculously loudly; they loudly bring equipment in and out of the building at all hours of the day; they have more late night get togethers; they smoke a variety of things in common areas of the building and leave their cigarette butts scattered about; they prop the secure outside doors open so they don't need keys; there is a markedly higher number of strange people I don't recognize coming and going through the building; while I haven't seen any critters, I just received notice that they are coming through to do a pest control spray, because one of the units now has bugs.

In general, it's just a less pleasant place to live. And Mr. Manager, the guy who was so concerned about the noise from the family next door (who thankfully is still there)? I asked him the other day about some of these issues. He said he was too busy to be "policing" everyone all the time, and I would just have to deal with it myself.

Yes. Gentrification. White is better, of course.

And certainly, we are in a post racial America.

State of Affairs

In making this big move to the left coast, I thought I was going to be presented with an interesting shift to this blog--from introspection/commentary to news delivery. I'm doing my darnedest to keep in touch with all the folk back east, but as you can imagine law school keeps one a bit busy, even when not combined with moving across the continent. So, I really started feeling the need to put some basic, bald news up here. That posed a problem on several fronts, 1) I feel like it puts me in danger of feeling less responsible for communicating with people directly, 2) it's not the purpose of this blog, and 3) if I spend all my time trying to communicate daily (weekly, whatever) news, I risk losing the random ruminations on thins, which I really like doing.

A week into law school, though, I am realizing that this won't be an ongoing problem. "Why?" you ask. Well, let's put it this way: as far as straight news goes, while the last couple weeks have been an absolutely thrilling whirlwind of activity and goings on, there really won't be a whole lot to say about endless hours spent in a law school library. It's not exactly gripping reading.

So, for now, I will do what I can to balance the newsy and non-newsy pressures.

For the news, last Tuesday my roommate, SL, and I got all moved into our apartment, which is really very cool. It's pretty big and seems to be very well maintained--the guys did a more thorough job of patching/painting/cleaning than anywhere else I've ever lived. It's also in a much older house than I expected to find in this area. I think it was built in either the 10's or 20's, and as a result has a lot of really neat built-in details and considerations that you don't generally find in your usual house built these days--cupboards built into the walls, decorative edging, etc. The doors that open out onto our little balcony are very distinctly not-modern as well, and the wooden window and door frames are incredibly well preserved.

Unpacking has progressed at a ridiculously slow pace for me. Last week didn't really afford much time, what with trying to get situated, actually moving in, starting classes, etc. Over the weekend I had intended to do much more than did, but in the end after the insanity of my last few weeks at work, driving across the country, etc., I just took a couple days and let my mind vegetate. This coming up weekend is a long weekend, so even if I don't make much progress again through this week, come next weekend I won't have an excuse!

There is also the minor news detail that, oh yeah, I started law school, but my reading assignments call so you'll just have to wait for any real info on that one. Suffice to say, "I started law school."

Two fantastic factoids about where I'm living that I will close with, to satisfy my love for imparting completely un-newsworthy things:

1) I live on the 2nd floor, with entry doors at both the top and bottom of my stairs. At the top of the stairs is a handle sticking out of the wall. If you pull the handle, it actually closes the door at the bottom of the stairs. So, if you come home and have a big armful of groceries or whatever, you don't have to try to juggle everything to close the door. Go upstairs, put the stuff down in the apartment, and pull the handle. (In the interests of full disclosure, I must admit that we can't practically use it--the door at the bottom of the stairs is the main secured entrance to the apartment and it locks by deadbolt, which the handle can't help you with. All the same, I think this handle is the funnest thing ever.)

2) I live in the heart of LA. On a residential street, yes, but still in the middle of a primarily concrete jungle, buildings lined up like sardines, on street parking maxed out on most streets, the middle of one of the biggest cities in the country. Of all the things I expected to encounter in this environment, a rooster certainly was not one of them. And yet. It's far enough away somewhere that it doesn't wake me up, but days when I'm up already I'll hear that unmistakable crow.

Sounds Like a Challenge to Me

Your task (well, OK, my task):

Pack for a 2 1/2 week vacation. You have the following constraints:

1. You must have attire, equipment, and other items required for the following tasks and events:
   
   
   • caring for your pet cats
   • time working in an office (I know, I know...just go with it)
   • time working at an animal shelter
   • apartment hunting
   • an out-of-town wedding
   • softball game(s)
   • staying at an air conditioned house
   • staying at a non-air conditioned house
   • staying at a hotel
     
   • at least three trips to a bar for various farewell parties
   • summer in Pittsburgh
   • two moving days
   • a four-day drive across the country, with cats
   • summer in Los Angeles
   • handling administrative tasks related to leaving a job, starting school, and moving with an uncertain forwarding address
   • the possibility that it will be more like a month-long vacation with law school classes


2. Everything you pack must fit in a small-sized sedan.


3. You cannot afford to eat out every meal.

And oh yeah...it's not really a vacation, so much as you just being homeless.

Best of luck!

Doug 2007!

Q: What do I do on a December Sunday when I know the Steelers are getting their butts handed to them?

A: Put up my Christmas decorations!

Back in an easy-access apartment, yahoo for being able to get a real tree again! (Douglass Fir...funny how they all end up being named Doug.) So now I'm happy, it finally feels like the holidays. I'm a big fan of the holidays. Not religiously, certainly, just culturally. It's really the one time of year that people of so many different cultures have a big celebration, and something about big celebrations in the middle of cold and snow just makes one feel warm and fuzzy.

Actually, as much as I love my own decorations and Christmas tree, one thing I really love about Squirrel Hill is that's it's one place that you really have the warm and fuzzy holiday feel, but it's not just Christmas shoved down your throat. I'm sitting in my office right now (Blogging at work? Shh...don't tell!) with the office Christmas tree, Santa Claus everywhere, and an explosion of red and green cube decorations. I'd much rather be at CTR or the library in Squirrel Hill, where it feels festive but not so exclusive. Not to say that people who've grown up celebrating Christmas shouldn't do so (my own cube has red tinsel), I just like being in an environment with more of a mix of people who celebrate a whole range of things.

Is Three Times a Charm?

Plant attempt #1 didn't have a name or a chance.  I'm not even really sure what kind of plant it was...whatever it was, it's fate was brutal and short.  It was a housewarming present, alas it did not find my house to be warm.

Plant attempt #2, Spike, was an ornamental pepper.  Spike was gone within a month or so, I think.  I made a last ditch attempt to save hyr by shipping hyr off to LT's apartment where ze might be able to get more sun, but alas it was no use.  LT does insist that the blame is partly hers, as Spike was transported to my apartment in her backpack.  But I think that's kind of like a dockworker taking credit for deaths on the Titanic because he broke a lifeboat oar.  There were just too many things fate had in store for that to make a difference.

So now I've moved down a level in the plant-care ladder to bamboo.  The Twins, Thing 1 and Thing 2, share a little decorative mug on my window sill...LT claims that they are virtually impossible to kill, to which I say, "Sounds like a challenge to me."

Augh!  That damn JB Robinson commercial is on again!

Ikea Tests My Love

For the most part, I usually think Ikea rocks. It's just a fun place, some decent stuff, reasonable prices. In addition, I've also been impressed with the emphasis they put on reducing waste, using recyclable materials, etc. But they are testing my love at the moment.

I have a glass-top table that MD and I bought there when we moved in together. The glass was an unfortunate victim in my move to Regent Square, and replacing it has finally moved to the top of my long to-do list. I figured it wouldn't be a big deal; Ikea probably just has a parts replacement system and I can buy a new top for it.

Nope.

I have to buy a whole new table. I've talked to people at the store, people on the phone, people on the customer service "live chat" thing, and sent them an email. The table top is packaged and handled separately; the infrastructure is entirely in place for them to sell just the top, but they just won't do it. I'm a little irritated about the cost, but really, why force people to waste perfectly good furniture pieces? Considering that most of their stuff is in pieces, I'm very surprised and disappointed that they don't have a better parts-replacement system.

Oh, and they do have another line of glass table tops that you can buy seperately, but in one direction it is 3/4" off in length. Really? How hard would it be to make them the same size??

It's still cheaper for me to buy the whole new table than to get replacement glass from a different store, so I'm going to do it. But I'm just going to leave the base at the store--I'll be damned if I'm going to deal with the hassle of getting rid of an extra table base, and I'm sure as hell not going to just throw it out.

Dave Comes to Regent Square

Surprise, surprise, a fair amount of explanation for a small bit of fact, but it's an important bit to me so I don't care.

Some backstory for the benefit of those unfamiliar with Dave, a friend of ours from the restaurant. He ate at Pamela's just about every day and was simultaneously a voice of wisdom and a good-natured troublemaker; he was our Yoda. Sadly, Dave died in May 2006 after a yearlong fight with cancer.

After he died, MD and I each got to pick out photos from a huge collection of ones that he had taken and his wife had mounted; we each picked two. In the old apartment we had all four photos hanging together. When I moved, I took the two that I had picked, and have been trying to decide where to hang them. There were spots in my TV nook that I liked, but I have candles around there and I was very afraid of the heat damaging them. Nowhere else in the place has really felt right for them, so they remained unhung.

Last night I was lighting the aforementioned candles, and just happened to look up at the panel of wall up above the TV nook, and for the first time noticed two nails already in the wall. They are positioned perfectly to hang the two photos, one of which is tall and thin, the other short and wide. As far as I've seen, they are the only two nails left over from a previous tenant in any wall in the apartment. In an odd way, I'm not at all surprised. It might seem spooky to some people, but it gives me a smile to think that maybe Dave is still up to a little subtle mischief. I'm happy to welcome him into my new home.

I guess I could go for a hobble

Alas, a horrible fate has befallen me on this day. Since I've moved, every day I've been out and about doing stuff in some form or other. Biking around, taking walks, running errands sans vehicle, going to play in Frick. I've even been doing a touch of running, which comes as a great surprise to everyone including myself due to my long history of stress fractures and bad knees. (I can't explain it--it's like living here has infused me with some magic strength that has reinforced my shins or something. But just wait for the post where my legs have snapped in two.)

Well, over the weekend I was camping down in Cinci, and at some point (I think during a romp through the woods with four other people on a single ATV, but I'm not sure) I bummed my foot out pretty good. I can still get around, but I pulled most of the muscles and tendons on the bottom and outside of my right foot. So pedestrian exercise is out for me for a little bit. But, I still have my bike--I can ignore whatever aggravation of the injury happens when I pedal. No biggie, my outdoor and exercise addictions are still sated.

Sadly, today my bike got sick and had to go to the bike doctor. Which means tomorrow I have to drive to work. And drive home. And there isn't a whole lot I can do as far as getting in my daily fix for out-and-about-ness unless my foot makes a dramatic recovery. The two-wheeled bumblebee is supposed to be fixed by Friday, but you never know sometimes.

I've been in this apartment just long enough to realize that my dream of constant outdoors and exercise truly is everything I ever thought it could be...only to have it mercilessly ripped away! For a day or two anyhow. But what if it's two?? Or worse yet.....THREE??? If worst comes to worst, I still have my old crutches.

My Paper Clip Crisis

In order to save some space at my new digs I've decided to forego an actual desk; for now I have an old PC that I can work from my couch thanks to the miracle of wireless crap, and eventually I'm getting a new laptop. On the one hand I really like it because the apartment just isn't that big so it frees up more space, and it also eliminates one of those typical places where clutter and crap builds up easily.

On the other hand, I've found that I'm having an existential desk crisis. The cause: A deeply-rooted obsession with office supplies.

Yes, office supplies.

I love them. I admit it. I get jealous when my friends go to Office Depot, OfficeMax, or Staples without me. I love wandering around looking at all the clever organizational gizmos. There are few things I hold onto more tightly than a really good pen. Ah...composition books, thick markers, label makers, filing cabinets, binders, and of course paper. Oh, the aisles of paper. And don't even get me started on calendars. If you've been to my place you know my dirty secret about calendars.

Well, in losing my desk, I'm losing my home base for questionable purchases of frivolous office supplies. It becomes a lot harder to justify buying stuff when you've lost the obvious place to keep it. I still get stuff of course, but not as much, and it has to live in a bookcase which is just not as much fun.

Sometimes I think, why lose the desk? Do I really need that table? Can't I just stack my clothes in laundry baskets? Would a bunch of pillows really be less comfortable than the couch? Ultimately sanity returns and I realize the desk was the right choice to go, but my heart cries a little.

Surreality

It's weird to look around at what have been the artifacts of your life for several years, and know that they will no longer be. The apartment and the things in it will continue to be part of someone else's life, someone who I will always know and love very well, but no longer mine. If anything, knowing those people so well makes it even weirder. These objects which I once thought would be an integral part of the rest of my life--silly collected items, photos, gadgets, toys, decorations--are relegated to the periphery. They will still be present to me, but now distant and unknown in a certain way.

So in case you couldn't tell, I've moved, and the final packing and stuff-dividing was very strange. Certainly, the things that were hers before we met continue to be hers, but I had also come to know them as part of the setting of my life, which they no longer are. Stranger is the division of the myriad items acquired during the course of three shared years, reminders of happier times and strong emotion. What is more sad, when she wants something and you lose that physical reminder of happy memories, or when she doesn't care about something and you wonder if the meaning was as strong as you thought?

I don't want anyone to get the idea from this post that I am very materialistic, that I'm blown away by the loss of things. Little could be farther from the truth. But I guess for me, the removal of those physical objects represents that final, complete separation. Of course, I also don't want anyone to get the idea that I wish the relationship was still intact. Since we split, the separation was always there, always good, and always undeniable. Now it is just final. And man, when you spent that long assuming your life was following a certain path, the final erasure of that path is weird, no matter how good and necessary it is.

OK to go

(You waited all that time to see the aliens and it was her damn father!)

Oh...um, hi. Today's Tuesday, which was supposed to be moving day, but moving day got moved. So moving day is Thursday. But this time it's definite. The carpet is in, it's not supposed to be hot as balls, and I actually should be able to breathe long enough at work to get the day off. Woot woot.

And, the good Comcast folk are supposed to come on Friday to hook up the cable and internet. Looks like my camping days are almost over. Oh well...I'm getting tired of sleeping on the floor. Wow, I really am on the verge of trying this whole "living on my own" thing again. We'll see how it goes.

And I don't know why I feel compelled to share this, but not only did the carpet guys leave a nicely installed new carpet, but one of them also decided to take a leak in my toilet and not flush. Strange man pee smelling up my bathroom. I know you'll sleep better tonight knowing that.

Camping in

I camped at the new apartment last night--first night there! Camping, you say? Yeah! Think about it...I don't have much there, so it was pretty much indoor camping. Sleeping bag and pillow, a little light and a book (not quite a flashlight and book, but close). No TV or internet. No furniture. Whatever clothes I remembered to stuff in a bag. Limited uninvolved food and beverage options. Bathing with the typical travel shower kit.

Camping!

The only thing that was missing was a fire and s'mores. I thought my neighbors might frown on me starting a fire in the building my first night there. I do love s'mores though....mmmmmm....

But I felt like an asshole staying there while Tiki and Whiskey were at the old place. I felt like I abandoned them a bit.

So, cross your fingers--the carpet is supposed to go in tomorrow (Monday), and it better happen because I'm scheduled to haul some furniture Tuesday.

Keys!

Got the keys to my new place today (finally). I let the apartment people have it, and of course true to form felt bad afterwards. Because I'm a sap. But we got things smoothed over, and as an added bonus I found out they're putting new carpet in the living room. Score.

So, having been at the place again, my excitement at moving there is somewhat renewed, but the nerves remain.

And am I the only one who thinks that a vacation day is cheapened when you have to stay at work until 11:00 the night before in order to get far enough ahead that you can take the next day off?

Lots of weekend

Let's see...

Went to the wedding of an old friend from high school. The wedding was beautiful--she and her new hubby have been together 10 years and are such a great couple. I had been very close to her family in high school, then some bad juju came about and I didn't see them too much. I was a bit surprised that they recognized me; not just the fact that it's been about 12 years, but I also didn't exactly look like this back then. It was really great.

Went to my first Pittsburgh Passion football game. They kicked ass to advance to the semis and I was damn impressed with the play on the field. Very happy that the next round of playoffs will be in town, too. And, went with some new friends--new friends are cool.

I was supposed to pick up the keys to my new apartment today, but the property manager never called me to schedule an appointment and the office is closed on weekends. I was told repeatedly it would still be today even though it's Sunday. They are DAMN lucky I'm flexible with leaving my current apartment. Someone is going to be read the riot act tomorrow if these people don't remove their heads from their rear ends.

Once again one of my sister's kids surprised me when I was feeling a bit down--my oldest niece is visiting her dad and brother in Georgia and gave me a surprise phone call out of nowhere. It was very sweet and made me smile.

Mentally preparing myself to see a new doc on Tuesday. I hate new docs. Very exhausting. Also mentally preparing myself for the new apartment; it's a weird time in that all my closest friends are either out of town or very busy right now. But I guess I need to be able to get in before I can move in.

Went golfing for the first time ever. Well--swung a golf club in earnest for the first time at a range and a pitch and putt. I was only a little nervous at the driving range (if you know me you likely know that backstory and have felt the dent in my jaw). Even managed par on one hole of the pitch and putt. Better lucky than good--it's like goals in hockey: nobody asks how, they only ask how many.

I took a vacation day to go shopping?

Yep. I took a vacation day today, and spent most of my hard won freedom shopping in Robinson. Nope, it's not a ridiculous head start on Christmas, it's moving out. There's something weird about walking into a store, asking, "What do I need?" and answering, "Um...pretty much everything."

Indeed, four months after the breakup that hit everyone else a lot harder than it hit us, this is the second time in five years that I've re-outfitted my entire existence. Well, that's not entirely fair this time around; I do have a fair amount of stuff. Last time, I pretty much had my clothes, $50, and my job...and shortly thereafter a credit card bill. This time is not nearly so start-from-scratch.

But it makes me think--these days, wedding registries and housewarming parties are useless. When two people get hitched, they likely already live together and have their place furnished, or live on their own and have two of everything. What we really need are breakup registries, because THAT's when someone needs to buy everything under the sun. Maybe I'll pitch that idea to Target and Amazon and see what they think.

Bring on the elements

I'm moving in two weeks to Regent Square, and have set myself the goal of barely using my car unless I really really really really really have to. I'll be about two miles from work, and between the Square, Point Breeze and Squirrel Hill, I'll be near all kinds of stores, restaurants etc., not to mention I'll have Frick and Schenley to go play in. I am excited to maintain as much of a car-free existence as possible--I've wanted this for YEARS. All of this, of course, is a huge reason why I chose to move there.

I'm so excited, in fact, that I started early. It's not feasible for me to go to full time bike transportation from my old apartment, but I've taken to bringing my bike to work and using it to run errands from my office. Of course, my last two times out have been less than smooth...witness my torn up leg last week (many thanks to my Pamela's family for letting me patch myself up) and now today, getting nice and drenched in this evening's thunderstorms.

Oh well. There's something bad ass about walking around with a blood-soaked makeshift bandage (still got that haircut goddamit), or realizing there's no point in hurrying because you're gonna get drenched anyway.