Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Last Thursday I wrote about my upcoming weekend move to Little Italy. Friday night, before I went to bed, I shut my computer down and would not check it again until late Saturday night. However, from the time of my Thursday post until the time I packed up the computer on Friday night, I got emails from you all covering the following:
- several emails from Chipotle fans (including how asking for two tortillas can get your burrito "at least 30% larger")
- "Dude, did you see the Paris Hilton Carl's Jr. add?"
- a transcript of an IM conversation two people had about me (both guys, nothing sexy, mostly saying that they feel better about themselves because I suck so much)
- a woman who sent me very uncomfortable pictures of her that made me blush
- "I'm moving to NYC and would like to move in with you and Brian" (a guy)
- a girl from South Dakota telling me "nothing's funny in South Dakota"
- a shitload of emails from people telling me their favorite restaurants in Little Italy
- tons and tons of spam
And that's all well and good. But do you know what email I did NOT get from anyone after my "I'm moving to Little Italy this Saturday" post? Something like:
- "Hey, you shouldn't move to Little Italy on Saturday because every weekend in summer they shut down the whole fucking street and it's blocked off and impossible to move your body let alone a 17' U-Haul and there are tourists and Chinese people everywhere and it's a total clusterfuck. So move in during the week when it's less crowded."
Yeah, so thanks for that everyone. I know well enough now not to ask you people for money, sexual favors, recommendations, blood, etc, but to not send me a heads up on this? Ouch. I'm sure at least a handful of people who read this knew about the Little Italy shutdown, and nothing? Thanks. Thanks a lot. Let's just move on before I say something I might regret.
When my family and I went down to the new place on Friday night to drop some stuff off, I noticed the street was blocked and there was some sort of street fair going on. I thought to myself, "Sweet mother of god, I hope this is just a Friday night thing, because if not I'm just going to flip the fuck out." I saw a cop nearby and approached her and my worst fears were realized: every Friday night, and from 11 to 11 on Saturday and Sunday the streets of Little Italy are blocked off. Fuck.
(I bet you thought I was going to say that my worst fear was getting attacked by blood-thirsty and lusty werewolves. Well, though still my worst fear, it doesn't really work here, so I went with the streets being blocked off. Just roll with it, ok?)
The good news is that in addition to being kinda cute, the cop was very helpful and said that if we could get there early enough it'd be ok for me to move the barricade and put the U-Haul outside my door. Like I mentioned before, my new apartment is not on the main street (Mulberry Street) of Little Italy, but rather on an intersecting street, so though still crowded it's not nearly as bad as Mulberry, which has sidewalk tables and vendors galore. And no, I'm not going to tell you which street I now live on, because I don't want you showing up at my door at all hours of the night to see if I'm really as bad as I say I am. Of course I'm not. Assholes.
And so we (or more specifically, Brian) got up at 7am on Saturday to get the U-Haul truck. I rolled out of bed at 8am and decided to tackle the most important thing first: ordering bagels and coffee for everyone. I can say without reservation that this was the most helpful thing I did all day.
Not surprisingly, the move was a nightmare. I have to admit though, it wasn't as bad as I thought. After being in Little Italy Friday night and seeing the look of pity on the cop's face when I told her I was moving in on Saturday morning, I expected the worst: traffic, crowds, heat, and of course, ninjas (or are ninjas Japanese?).
But that's not to say that it wasn't bad. Though there weren't any ninjas, there were tons of people everywhere. Not only were there a lot of people, but I'd say the crowd was 60% tourists, 40% Chinese. I love tourists as much as the next New Yorker - if it wasn't for their spending, the city wouldn't be as prosperous, and if it wasn't for the proclivity of their womenfolk to get scared and confused so easily at 3am in the basement of a Lower East Side bar, I'd never get laid - but non-New Yorker crowds lack the perspicaciousness and (dare I say) tenacity inherent in New Yorkers. Meaning, while I'm standing behind a couple from Missouri carrying a 75 pound couch sweating my balls off, six minutes away from heat stroke/heart attack/total physical collapse, they're strolling along, looking wide-eyed at the shops and restaurants, taking in all the "majesty" of Little Italy. Excuse me but GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY BEFORE I PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING THROAT. And welcome to New York City.
The Chinese crowds were similar to the tourist crowds in their passiveness to my situation, but for different reasons. While a tourist couple from the Midwest might not get out of my way because they're clueless and content to amble along, a 60 year-old Chinese lady doesn't move out of the way when I'm carrying an air conditioner because, hey, fuck it. She's thinking to herself [translated from Chinese], "I don't speak English, I'm old as shit, and I was here first. Just because some fat kid with tits behind me is whimpering because he's too weak to carry a 5000 BTU air conditioner doesn't mean I'm going to get out of his way. Man, I can't wait to get home to make some really smelly food that will stink up my entire building."
And so the story of the move was of carrying heavy objects through indifferent crowds of people. The good news is that Brian's dad and brother made a guest appearance so that there were a bunch of us carrying stuff and we made relatively quick work of it. It's funny, I write "we made relatively quick work of it" now, with the benefit of hindsight, in an air conditioned room, comforted by the knowledge that it's over. If you had asked me at the time if we were making "relatively quick work of it", I would have stared at you, pulled down my pants, shit in the middle of the street, pulled up my pants, stared at you, and then walked away. Or something like that.
Though the heavy lifting part is over, it's still not over over. My living room, bedroom, and bathroom are filled with boxes as we continue to figure out what to do with all the crap we have. Making it more difficult is that fact that we moved from a very large apartment with two bathrooms and oodles of cabinet space to a medium-sized apartment with one bathroom and not-so-much on the oodles of cabinet space. Translation: I'm going to be living out of boxes until at least Christmas.
But my bed, internet, cable, and refrigerator are all set up, so I'm happy. Also, I was on the subway platform at 9:22 this morning and was at my desk at 9:33. I think I can deal with spending twenty minutes a day on the subway. That's not going to be a problem.
But if any of you have any downtime over the next couple of days, please let me know. Maybe you can come over and help unload some of these boxes, meaning I'll lay on my bed and bark orders while eating a pizza and you'll do everything while I occasionally hit you with a piece of wood. Any volunteers? (Please not all at once - I don't want my inbox to crash)