|random thoughts and thoroughbred selections|
|"All life is 6-5 against" - Damon Runyon|
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Craig, I Owe You a Beer...
Apartment hunting around these parts has been rough.
My old place in Michigan was $585/mo (plus about $100/mo in utilities I had to pay back to the landlord), and around here that may not get you a roof.
Yesterday I took off from work to see an apartment in downtown Easton. It had a lot going for it. Brand new everything in the place, the owners were rehabbing the entire building and it showed. The floors were sparkling hardwood, the kitchen had stainless steel appliances, the walls had wainscotting (I think that's what I mean) and a rich green color, and the stone bar bordering the kitchen was impressive.
It was small though, third floor. No onsite laundry, no off-street parking. Oh, and it was above a bar called "Drinky's."
I wish I were making that up.
$900 a month, but I can't see myself lugging my ass to a laundromat weekly. Not only that, but I'd have to walk my dog three times a day.
The second place would have been laughable, were it not so freaking decrepitly sad. $650 got you on the bad side of town in a tilting slab shack with sloping floors and a thin veneer of filth caking the walls from ceiling to floor.
The third was in downtown Bethlehem, which was a plus. $900 got me the whole two bedroom house. Really? Okay, but it was a matchbox two-story sitting almost as an afterthought crammed into available space in an alley. The previous renters didn't get all their shit out, and had painted a wall fire engine red without the benefit of primer. The kitchen had a sloping floor, and the back door opened to three foot tall weeds that would be a flea and tick nightmare for my little dog.
I drove around a little more this morning, and hit a couple apartment communities. Bah. Don't try to sell me on your clubhouse, I really don't fucking care.
So today around 1130AM I put this up. As of right now I think it's the only post on Craigslist nationwide that doesn't feature a picture of a penis, but I thought I'd give Craig a shot at helping me out.
Ninety minutes later, I get this:
Please call me. I have exactly what you want. Entire second floor of this house. 2 BR, 1 Bath, large living room, lots of storage. Hard wood floors. Just painted. Cedar closet. 7 x 35 ft attic. Half of the basement. All appliances including washer & dryer. Location is 5 miles north of Rt 22 on Rt 309. Approximately 12 miles from Trexlerstown. Rent is $750 including electric, heat, basic cable. Call me at ___. I am at the location TODAY to show it to you. Available next week. I am on the first floor only 7-10 days per month. It is essentially a private house. 1 year lease, security and pet deposit.See it here. It's on a busy street in a little burg, but it's quiet, it's clean, it's not a fucking dump, and it's only $750 a month. I took the dog over, we both hit it off with the owners, and assuming they don't find anything odd in my background (they shouldn't), I'll be signing the lease in the next week.
Jesus, I feel like I should send Craig $100.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
In case you were wondering, Too Drunk To Call ran today at Belmont. Not so good when your chart says nothing but "Tired."
Too drunk to run.
I'm drinking too much lately.
Bottle of wine killed on Sunday, another last night, dotting the interspersal evenings with beer and more beer.
I'm four or five days or something into my prison term at the Staybridge Suites and all I want to do is have a beer and another in this joint.
There's nothing fundamentally wrong with this place.* It's clean, it feels newer rather than old, there's plenty of channels** on the TV to rattle through.
Then again, the net connection in this joint knocks in and out, so playing poker is pretty much out. I tried, I'm frustrated. Then again, I haven't played much online over the last two months.
You know, with everything else going on in my head.
*Except in their selection of cookware. I have a big pot for pasta, and, inexplicably, a double-boiler. I guess they imagine their guests will spend their lockdown moments crafting delicate emulsions in the kitchenette.
**The tuner goes to 120. No Comedy Central. Huh?
I miss my rut. It was a rut, it was non-productive, but it was my rut. Get home, take the dog out, make dinner, surf net, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
I worry about the dog a little. He seems fine. No lack of energy, he's eating, as playful and friendly as ever. But if he's adjusting as poorly as I am...
There's a corporate pizza bar in the parking lot here called "Boston's," and I'm glad I brought a book. The TVs were sports-oriented, but the blaring overwash of pop hits from the last two decades made me wince despite the NFL Films "Fat Guys Who Recover Fumbles" playing on one of the array.
I saw Cortez Kennedy exchange a three-step handshake with Jeff Feagles. And the beer was $1.50 a pint. You figure out which was the highlight.
Today around noon marked the longest I've consecutively been onsite at the Allentown client since this whole thing commenced and I celebrated with a turkey sandwich and a small salad. The cafeteria was great when the company was buying my meals, it's overpriced and too enticing when I'm left to my own wallet. Cold fusilli and cheese (dressed with balsamic vinegar and oil) yesterday ran me $4. Ingredients alone indicate about $.22 worth of food, and I missed the shaved truffles and foie gras on the salad bar.
I'm slowly getting the knucklehead stuff off my plate, which should free me to my dictatorial devices. They've given me the run of things, and I carry it with a swagger. The suppliers I manage are prone to push their edges, and my predecessors weren't smart enough not to let them get away with things. Unfortunately, I was on their side of the fence once, and I'm nowhere near as dumb.
I'm really good at this high-level stuff, I am simply losing my patience for the little things.
I need a staff. Someone to handle the bullshit at work, someone to rub my shoulders, someone to hang with my dog all day and do my laundry.
Winning the lottery has become a near-necessity.
I knew I had to leave Boston's when "Mony Mony" was followed by "Unbelieveable." And I've said it before, but that fucking Kraft "Crumb-believeable" commercial makes me want to nuke Chicago.
My mood today is "punchy."
Bill Simmons @ ESPN
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