Recommendation: Apartment searching in New York

Skills Necessary to abort the occasional urge of throwing yourself in front of the F train:

1. I actually don't know. I have absolutely no idea. Here's the thing. I had the perfect place. Flawless. Great location, great roommates, an immaculate stainless steel refrigerator that made me drool, and living space galore! A back porch too. A back porch! Anyway, that all fell through last night when the girl whose room I was going to take over (non-imperialistically, of course) backed out, got cold feet, freaked out and froze, fucked up my perfect plans, shattered my hopes of wealth, opulence, and comfort; whatever you want to call it, she decided to stay put. I felt like I'd been robbed. Pickpocketed. Caught off guard. Shoved unknowingly, like a guy standing next to a pool sipping a dacquiri and just enjoying the ambiance who falls victim to that two-person gag where one person kneels down behind the unsuspecting dacquiri-drinker's knees and the third person gives a casual shove to the innocent person's chest causing him to flop awkwardly into the water before he's even quite sure what the hell has just happened. Man did I feel beat down and stepped on. I'd started to form all these expectations of what my new life would be like in this new neighborhood, and with a quick phone call, the foundation was wiped out, and I was told to start over. What lack of discipline! I just got done telling myself to build up goals, but not short term expectations. Did I learn nothing from my 10 weeks? Funny though, the first thing I thought of after hearing the news was this video with Andy Goldsworthy in which he spends hours upon hours assembling delicate pieces of natural and transient materials only to see them crumble at the slap of a stiff breeze or the curl of a wave. When these setbacks happen to him, he seems so inexplicably calm. He gives a shrug or utters a short vulgarity, then starts up all over again without lamenting what was lost. That's how I felt. At least that's how I told myself I wanted to feel.

But why is it, these days, that I almost prefer adversity to good fortune? It's a strange but wildly comforting hangover that has stayed with me from Costa Rica. My life is more exciting when there is a difficulty, a challenge, a transparent obstacle in front of a goal (they're all transparent. they blur but fail to blot out what I want)...I like the creativity that necessitates from this type of adversity. I like feeling my mind churn. I like knowing that there is still a path to my goal, but not knowing where it is or quite how to get there. I don't feel that things can't be done. I don't believe that things will work themselves out. Nothing works itself out unless you take action.

I think back to my lousy host family situation in Llano Bonito. I remember feeling so terribly uncomfortable my first night in their living room as Oscar the car-painter amused himself with my inability to understand his hillbilly Spanish, speaking faster and faster with more and more slang as the family sat there and smirked. I remember that cold feeling of unacceptance looking down at me as I got up and went away to my basement hole, realizing I would find no companionship at all in this household. I wrote in my journal - "the choice is on you; sulk or act." At school the next few days, I began to ask my students what their parents do, who their siblings are, where they live, and I told a few of them that I'd love to come by and meet their families. With a few invites on the table, I took my bad Spanish into new living rooms and was well received. I had a bad host family, but with a little initiative, I now had new families to pass the time with. Families who fed me. I had created something. I had disliked my circumstances and set out to create better ones. I loved how it felt.

I met someone today named Tarique. Tarique has been searching for an apartment for months -same price range as me, same general searching process - but somehow after months he is still searching. I got up this morning, pissed off and emotionally bruised, and set up 5 appointments. By 2pm, I was in a newly renovated 2 bedroom, awesome location near St. Mark's. I met with a stranger named Geoffry who turned out not to be a stranger at all. We almost instantly discovered that we had both grown up in the same town, same elementary school, same middle school, similar acquantances - who the hell ever would have thought?? - and now I sit here in my imperially conquered couch on the Upper East Side (thank you Lauren!!) in better spirits awaiting a phone call. This is the part that makes me pace. Makes me run my fingers through my hair too frequently. Makes me stare at things with a burning focus. This is the part where I hand it over to the jury and wait, and I realize now that this is not a strong part of my personality - this patience - this waiting. I need to act, always need to be thinking, moving, moving things, changing things, progressing and going forward.

Other Recommendations:
Book:
Birds of America, by Lorrie Moore. People unhinged, displaced. Lives misspent. Dark Laughter. I'm only 5 stories into this collection of short stories, but I'm hooked. She sees the unrest beneath the pleasantries.

Music:
Dear Catastrophe Waitress, by Belle and Sebastian. Anyone who can tastefully write a song about Mike Piazza automatically gets my vote.