Our building is (99% sure) not rent-stabilized, which actually means that yes, our landlord can very well raise our rate 15%. However, thirty days notice must be given, not fifteen. However, they can evict us with a short thirty days notice also. And 1,500 is still probably way under the fair market price for a three bedroom in Williamsburg, so we couldn't disupte it that way.
Our lease was up at the end of August and they have been saying that they would sign a new lease with us soon, but that does nothing for us in this current situtation which makes us month-to-month tenants, meaning that they could kick us to the curb anytime they felt like it with just thirty days notice. If only, we had been more insistent about getting a new lease signed two months ago, we would not be in this boat right now.
Jillian's boyfriend, Josh, has been sleeping here every night for the past couple months. He has an apartment of his own, but appearantly our landlord thinks he lives here, because she has a camera set up at the door downstairs and appearantly watches it all the time. However, legally we can have an extra roommate according to Tenant.net, but that is not really going to help our case when we have no leverage to say we are not paying this much. I thought we had some more leverage before my research this morning, and thought we could make demands that would make them change their minds about charging so much: the installation of non-peeling floors, door handles (habitability laws require these), and mailboxes (which is required in an apartment with at least three units). But we really are not in a position to haggle with them when they can just say no, and give us a month's notice to move. There is a law against retalitory evictions, but I'm not sure if that will help us much since we are considered month to month tenants.
Did I mention that our landlord doesn't speak English, is partly deaf, and yells a lot? We are supposed to meet with her today and convince her not to raise our rent.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Friday, October 15, 2004
Looks like we will be talking to the legal aid people about suing our landlord too
Oct. 15, 2004
To: Tenants
The rent is being raised starting on Nov. 1, 2004. The rent will be raised to $1,500. The rent is to be paid on the 1st of every month NOT 15 days later. The latest 5 days later. The reason for this is because, there is one more person living in the apartment. And Because, of the lateness of rent every month.
PS: If you have anything to discuss with me about this come and talk to me. NOT my daughter because, she is no the landlord I Ada Acostsa is the landlord. You can come Saturday when my granddaughter will be here. Or just call me
718.486.0435
Ada Acosta
To: Tenants
The rent is being raised starting on Nov. 1, 2004. The rent will be raised to $1,500. The rent is to be paid on the 1st of every month NOT 15 days later. The latest 5 days later. The reason for this is because, there is one more person living in the apartment. And Because, of the lateness of rent every month.
PS: If you have anything to discuss with me about this come and talk to me. NOT my daughter because, she is no the landlord I Ada Acostsa is the landlord. You can come Saturday when my granddaughter will be here. Or just call me
718.486.0435
Ada Acosta
i dreamed a song called "up in the old tornado." megan's boyfriend was going to war.
I heard the expression dove gray lately, read it in some British novel I think, and the phrase was so perfect. I think of it today, looking outside at the dove gray sky, wanting to curl up in bed and read all day long, but knowing I can't, knowing that I have to go work in a short half hour, and also thinking how there will not be any of these lying in bed days for about a month. On my days off, I am going to be working at the Princeton Review for a few weeks, running tests through Scantron machines, doing this for fourteen dollars an hour, making money to help pay some bills. Tomorrow will probably be last day off until mid November.
I think it is supposed to be bleak weather tomorrow and that has me happy. My daytime will be spent doing nothing, maybe protesting, but probably not. Then some openings I am really excited about. Virgil Marti. Yayoi Kusama? (Or did that happen last night?) Then something to celebrate Niki's birthday, something that will probably not be the Faint since I think Christy is still in VA and the tix are in her name. I have to make tomorrow so special since it will be my last free day for a while, have to stand still and make it last.
Last night, I watched Gumnaam with Ethan at his place in Park Slope. Park Slope is beautiful. I think this everytime I am there, how nice it would be to live there. It reminds me of neighborhoods in DC, of even Alexandria a little. Tree lined streets, a dark night beyond the glow of streetlamps, no light haze from the city, from the BQE. I think someone shat/puked/pissed (all three) right by the entrance to my subway. It has smelled like an awful combination of all three right by the entrance to the Lorimer stop for the past few days. On the ride out to Park Slope on the Q, there was a homeless man passed out who smelled equally pugnent, so getting off at the subway stop, seeing trees, smelling them - God, I cannot tell you with what relief I inhaled the air there, thought about how much I do like clean air, respite. My mom bought me a plane ticket to come home for Thanksgiving and I am so happy, so excited, am basically holding my breath while I swim underwater to that side of the pool, will be so happy to come out and take in deep breaths.
I think it is supposed to be bleak weather tomorrow and that has me happy. My daytime will be spent doing nothing, maybe protesting, but probably not. Then some openings I am really excited about. Virgil Marti. Yayoi Kusama? (Or did that happen last night?) Then something to celebrate Niki's birthday, something that will probably not be the Faint since I think Christy is still in VA and the tix are in her name. I have to make tomorrow so special since it will be my last free day for a while, have to stand still and make it last.
Last night, I watched Gumnaam with Ethan at his place in Park Slope. Park Slope is beautiful. I think this everytime I am there, how nice it would be to live there. It reminds me of neighborhoods in DC, of even Alexandria a little. Tree lined streets, a dark night beyond the glow of streetlamps, no light haze from the city, from the BQE. I think someone shat/puked/pissed (all three) right by the entrance to my subway. It has smelled like an awful combination of all three right by the entrance to the Lorimer stop for the past few days. On the ride out to Park Slope on the Q, there was a homeless man passed out who smelled equally pugnent, so getting off at the subway stop, seeing trees, smelling them - God, I cannot tell you with what relief I inhaled the air there, thought about how much I do like clean air, respite. My mom bought me a plane ticket to come home for Thanksgiving and I am so happy, so excited, am basically holding my breath while I swim underwater to that side of the pool, will be so happy to come out and take in deep breaths.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
test
Does this show up on Friendster?
I might have a new job in addition to the Strand for three weeks. Fingers crossed. Should know tomorrow.
I might have a new job in addition to the Strand for three weeks. Fingers crossed. Should know tomorrow.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
1.
Last night, I bought #4 non-bleached expensive coffee filters after I got off work. I picked up a thing of milk also, excited about making coffee the next morning. I got on the subway, listening to Jesus and Mary Chain, so happy, rocking out. I heard a man behind me on the crowded train saying "Excuse me," heard it muffled through my headphones. I stepped aside and turned to see who said it, and I know I let out a audible sigh of anguish as soon as I saw him. I was embarrased about this, but I don't think anyone else on the train noticed because everyone else looked equally horrified and glum. He was holding a laminated piece of newspaper, asking for money, the headline obviously concerning him: "Man Attacked with Acid." This man's disfigured face cannot leave my mind. I fell asleep to it. Jesus and Mary Chain suddenly seemed less rocking, the world seemed so much sadder. This man looked like something out of a horror movie. His ears had basically melted off. His eye sockets sagged like melted wax, charred eyeballs appearantly still able to see. I am so glad I did not have any money in my wallet because I felt so guilty and would have readily emptied my wallet in his hands. Everyone else on the train seemed to feel the same way. People were opening up their wallets like you've never seen them do before, all eagerly giving money - secretly hoping (I think) that the man would hurry and move past them, so the image could start to fade from their mind.
2.
This morning, excited to make coffee, I realized that I bought filters that don't even fit in my coffee maker, that I needed #2 filters. I cut and folded the filter, a junkie improvising, needing my fix. Now I will have to buy another expensive box on non-bleached filters.
3.
A while ago, I read Russell Banks' The Darling, and the main reason for doing so was that I had planned on writing a review of it. I had so much time to do so, but every time I sat down to try to write something, I failed miserably. I was real good at doodling on a piece of paper, sketching out various themes I wanted to address, but when I sat to write, I was always tripped up on the first sentence, never finding one that gave me enough momentum to carry onwards. And so this morning, I saw that there was a review in the NY Times, and I clicked on the link, saying to myself that if Michiko wrote this review I was going to scream. I didn't scream. But, she did write the review, and wrote it with a nice crisp opening sentence that made me say, yes, this is what I wanted to do. This is good. She is pretty amazing, not for her quality of writing, but for the volume of it. She reviews at least one book a week, sometimes two. And I think I am going to go look at the horrible draft I wrote and learn how to do it better, look at exactly what Kakutani did, at what she didn't.
Last night, I bought #4 non-bleached expensive coffee filters after I got off work. I picked up a thing of milk also, excited about making coffee the next morning. I got on the subway, listening to Jesus and Mary Chain, so happy, rocking out. I heard a man behind me on the crowded train saying "Excuse me," heard it muffled through my headphones. I stepped aside and turned to see who said it, and I know I let out a audible sigh of anguish as soon as I saw him. I was embarrased about this, but I don't think anyone else on the train noticed because everyone else looked equally horrified and glum. He was holding a laminated piece of newspaper, asking for money, the headline obviously concerning him: "Man Attacked with Acid." This man's disfigured face cannot leave my mind. I fell asleep to it. Jesus and Mary Chain suddenly seemed less rocking, the world seemed so much sadder. This man looked like something out of a horror movie. His ears had basically melted off. His eye sockets sagged like melted wax, charred eyeballs appearantly still able to see. I am so glad I did not have any money in my wallet because I felt so guilty and would have readily emptied my wallet in his hands. Everyone else on the train seemed to feel the same way. People were opening up their wallets like you've never seen them do before, all eagerly giving money - secretly hoping (I think) that the man would hurry and move past them, so the image could start to fade from their mind.
2.
This morning, excited to make coffee, I realized that I bought filters that don't even fit in my coffee maker, that I needed #2 filters. I cut and folded the filter, a junkie improvising, needing my fix. Now I will have to buy another expensive box on non-bleached filters.
3.
A while ago, I read Russell Banks' The Darling, and the main reason for doing so was that I had planned on writing a review of it. I had so much time to do so, but every time I sat down to try to write something, I failed miserably. I was real good at doodling on a piece of paper, sketching out various themes I wanted to address, but when I sat to write, I was always tripped up on the first sentence, never finding one that gave me enough momentum to carry onwards. And so this morning, I saw that there was a review in the NY Times, and I clicked on the link, saying to myself that if Michiko wrote this review I was going to scream. I didn't scream. But, she did write the review, and wrote it with a nice crisp opening sentence that made me say, yes, this is what I wanted to do. This is good. She is pretty amazing, not for her quality of writing, but for the volume of it. She reviews at least one book a week, sometimes two. And I think I am going to go look at the horrible draft I wrote and learn how to do it better, look at exactly what Kakutani did, at what she didn't.
Saturday, October 9, 2004
Why didn't I think of this earlier? And, WTF? I am connected to him through Anna-Maria. Anna-Maria is friends with Hernan Bas! I am going to become his offical stalker.
Last night, I lay in bed feeling too drunk, that feeling where you feel like you will spew if you move too fast, or turn over on your side, where you are trying to stay as still as possible to prevent your belly from exploding vomit everywhere. But last night, I did not drink anything. No, I was drunk on cheese. I ate half a huge log of fresh mozarella for dinner with tomatos. And then as a pre-bed snack, I ate a half a tub of goat cheese. And man, let me tell you, I will not be doing that again anytime soon. I felt so ill. I also had had coffee way too late and so I almost had a panic attack when I forgot how old I was, when I said, "Wait, I am 23 right? Right? Wait, how old am I? Am I really 23? Yes! Ahhh, I am 23 years old. Oh my God, I am so old and at a point that I should be well beyond by 23! 23!" And then I was real sad and somehow managed to fall asleep, but did so thinking something had to be done.
Last night, I lay in bed feeling too drunk, that feeling where you feel like you will spew if you move too fast, or turn over on your side, where you are trying to stay as still as possible to prevent your belly from exploding vomit everywhere. But last night, I did not drink anything. No, I was drunk on cheese. I ate half a huge log of fresh mozarella for dinner with tomatos. And then as a pre-bed snack, I ate a half a tub of goat cheese. And man, let me tell you, I will not be doing that again anytime soon. I felt so ill. I also had had coffee way too late and so I almost had a panic attack when I forgot how old I was, when I said, "Wait, I am 23 right? Right? Wait, how old am I? Am I really 23? Yes! Ahhh, I am 23 years old. Oh my God, I am so old and at a point that I should be well beyond by 23! 23!" And then I was real sad and somehow managed to fall asleep, but did so thinking something had to be done.
Friday, October 8, 2004
love
I went there again today. I couldn't help it. I was in the city to get my paycheck and I had to see the paintings again. I hopped on the crosstown bus across 14th Street, rode it to the end, and walked up to Daniel Reich Gallery to see the Hernan Bas show again. It's weird when you revisit something that you loved so much on first viewing and just sort of expect there to be that same reaction. There wasn't that same sense immediately, but soon it came to me again, thoughts of high school, of restlessness, wonder, and violence. God, what these painting do to me! I read the artist statement and it was so cute, talked about love, and I want Hernan Bas to be my boyfriend. It was inspiring (not jealousy inducing, as it most times is) to see one of my peers, a homo my age making such lovely paintings that resonated with me, making art that represented a time, a feeling that I have been waiting to see done in writing form, but that I only find in the visual arts. And so fuck you Jerry Saltz for claiming that Bas is derivative of Elizabeth Peyton. Fuck Peyton and her cutesy, starstruck portraits. I hate Peyton. Their subject matter is totally different, and besides the fact that both look sort of like amateurish painting, they don't even have similar painting styles. Bas has explosions of strokes, uses glitter. They are nothing alike! Bas is awesome. I am going to write a love letter to him.
I then wondered around and looked at more galleries. At Kashya Hildebrand, there are disappointing, didactic oil filled sculptures by Andrei Molodkin, but there are mesmerizing photos by Arsen Savadov that totally rescue, and in fact are the show. They are photos of miners covered in soot, wearing tutus or nothing. And they are amazing.
I then went to David Zwirner where there is an amazing show of On Kawara's work that totally changed the course of my day, and hopefully I can remember the lessons learned, and have it change the course of my life. It is a beautiful show. I have only see two of his pieces side by side at MoMA, and that effect made me wonder about the difference between the two dates, about what the possible significance could be. Seeing all of these works grouped together provokes a totally different feeling, a better one. Each of these works painted with the date it was made, going back the last forty years, that this is dedication to art, that it should perhaps be something you make a habit of, rather than a hobby of. That each day you have to devote yourself to creating art, that it is a methodical process.
Between two of the paintings I was born. A large portion of them, I wasn't even alive yet. This show amazes me so much. When I signed the guestbook as I was leaving, I noticed that Kiki Smith was the person who had just signed it, that she was probably just in the gallery with me, and I did not notice it because I was so wowed by the work, so in love with its message, agreeing to myself I had to change, a pact for the future being made.
I then wondered around and looked at more galleries. At Kashya Hildebrand, there are disappointing, didactic oil filled sculptures by Andrei Molodkin, but there are mesmerizing photos by Arsen Savadov that totally rescue, and in fact are the show. They are photos of miners covered in soot, wearing tutus or nothing. And they are amazing.
I then went to David Zwirner where there is an amazing show of On Kawara's work that totally changed the course of my day, and hopefully I can remember the lessons learned, and have it change the course of my life. It is a beautiful show. I have only see two of his pieces side by side at MoMA, and that effect made me wonder about the difference between the two dates, about what the possible significance could be. Seeing all of these works grouped together provokes a totally different feeling, a better one. Each of these works painted with the date it was made, going back the last forty years, that this is dedication to art, that it should perhaps be something you make a habit of, rather than a hobby of. That each day you have to devote yourself to creating art, that it is a methodical process.
Between two of the paintings I was born. A large portion of them, I wasn't even alive yet. This show amazes me so much. When I signed the guestbook as I was leaving, I noticed that Kiki Smith was the person who had just signed it, that she was probably just in the gallery with me, and I did not notice it because I was so wowed by the work, so in love with its message, agreeing to myself I had to change, a pact for the future being made.
Sunday, October 3, 2004
I am covertly updating at work while I man the information desk here at the Strand. The internet has been cut off at my house until we pay the 150 dollar bill from the past few months, and that brings up the item of money and my lack of it, which seems to occupy too much of my mental energy as of late. I made copies of my resume and tomorrow morning I am going to the temp agency. If I don't, you all have encouragement to beat the hell out of me. Dave, this is directed at you.
I have been listening to the Beatles all weekend because that is all Q104.3 has been playing in tribute of Scott Munie (sp?), one of their djs who just died. It has been making me so happy. I have been reading Vanity Fair, which has also been making me so happy.
I like being happy. Things that lead to this state: cute boys, Beatles, that sassy Becky Sharp, being sober, tea, Interpol, daydreaming about cute boys, imagining old men on the subway naked, my headphones, the weather that makes me appreciate my down blanket so much, the cold space between my body and my covers that is only overcome by snuggling, snuggling late at night and longing for boys of my past, thinking about what great fiction should be, thoughts of moving, loud music, soft fabrics, a clean sink, lonliness.
And these things should outweigh, should do so easily, stress about monetary matters, but I can admit, it is not always the case.
I have been listening to the Beatles all weekend because that is all Q104.3 has been playing in tribute of Scott Munie (sp?), one of their djs who just died. It has been making me so happy. I have been reading Vanity Fair, which has also been making me so happy.
I like being happy. Things that lead to this state: cute boys, Beatles, that sassy Becky Sharp, being sober, tea, Interpol, daydreaming about cute boys, imagining old men on the subway naked, my headphones, the weather that makes me appreciate my down blanket so much, the cold space between my body and my covers that is only overcome by snuggling, snuggling late at night and longing for boys of my past, thinking about what great fiction should be, thoughts of moving, loud music, soft fabrics, a clean sink, lonliness.
And these things should outweigh, should do so easily, stress about monetary matters, but I can admit, it is not always the case.
Friday, October 1, 2004
nothing is going my way
Fuck this shit. Today is not going so well. I just wrote a terribly long entry here at El Stupido Times Square Internet Shithole, and this stupid computer logged me the fuckoff with like a ten second warning. I tried hitting post as fast as I could but it was not fast enough. This always infuriates me, the feeling of wasted effort, and not wanting to take the time to retell things. So here in outline format is what I wrote about:
-How on my way here, the subway was stopped in the tunnel because of an investigation on the track. A women went into a crazy relgious spell, had happy eyes.
-Happy eyes of children on subways. A young boy this morning. That Wordsworth quote: "The son is the father of the man." How I still don't understand it, how on the Brian Wilson's Smile album, there is a song called "Child is the Father of Man." Wonder, children's eyes, unguarded stares, how to reach that state, what happens to change it.
-Public Transportation. Riding the Staten Island ferry yesterday. Gorgeous, cloudy weather over the water. Staten Island thrift shops. Outrageous new clothes. Seeing things Bonnie would wear. Nostalgia. Nostaliga for high school, buying clothes that the type of person you want to be would wear. Willing change through purchases. Layout of Staten Island. A drive-thru Taco Bell. Absence of drive-thrus in New York. More thoughts of high school.
-Watched Debate with Beast, cheese, crackers, duck sauce, and good friends. Laughed a lot. Hole afterwards with Peter. On the way home, harrassed twice! Called faggots. Both times running back and asking the asshole what they just said. First time, two big burly guys that could have kicked my ass blindfolded demurred and said that they didn't say anything. Second time, drunken floozy had to be restrained by her friends as we yelled insults at each other on Second Avenue. But yeah, no taking shit. Raising that Queer Fist and shutting you up.
-That's when the computer ate it. Now, Post.
-How on my way here, the subway was stopped in the tunnel because of an investigation on the track. A women went into a crazy relgious spell, had happy eyes.
-Happy eyes of children on subways. A young boy this morning. That Wordsworth quote: "The son is the father of the man." How I still don't understand it, how on the Brian Wilson's Smile album, there is a song called "Child is the Father of Man." Wonder, children's eyes, unguarded stares, how to reach that state, what happens to change it.
-Public Transportation. Riding the Staten Island ferry yesterday. Gorgeous, cloudy weather over the water. Staten Island thrift shops. Outrageous new clothes. Seeing things Bonnie would wear. Nostalgia. Nostaliga for high school, buying clothes that the type of person you want to be would wear. Willing change through purchases. Layout of Staten Island. A drive-thru Taco Bell. Absence of drive-thrus in New York. More thoughts of high school.
-Watched Debate with Beast, cheese, crackers, duck sauce, and good friends. Laughed a lot. Hole afterwards with Peter. On the way home, harrassed twice! Called faggots. Both times running back and asking the asshole what they just said. First time, two big burly guys that could have kicked my ass blindfolded demurred and said that they didn't say anything. Second time, drunken floozy had to be restrained by her friends as we yelled insults at each other on Second Avenue. But yeah, no taking shit. Raising that Queer Fist and shutting you up.
-That's when the computer ate it. Now, Post.
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