Summer and a blog retweak; mold farm revisited; the man upstairs and the coop wars.

Do I win a prize for having the longest post title? And covering the most amount of subjects in one post? I wrtote this post as an alternative to the one below. But I would love people to read it.

I live for summer; I do. But I have never been blog obsessed before. I think of it as a good compulsion because it forces me to write and that’s always good for my psyche, except when it’s depressing like the post below. Which was something I had to write in order to explain what comes next. And maybe what will come before.

Yes IECNYTBA, even I know that things are supposed to have a beginning, middle, and end. The person I just addressed claims to read this blog and should understand what the initials stand for. If not…I’m not going to explain.

I know; I know everybody wants sumer lite all year round now. According to technorati this is the number one blog right now. Okay, he’s a WordPress developer. Have to admit that I didn’t understand the significance of linking when I first got WordPress this past winter. Do love it, and am sorry that I took Mike’s link out but I had no idea how to play the blogging game. Still don’t really. I think of Courting as a slightly edgy indie film with some mass market appeal. Kind of like Sideways or anything with Parker Posey or Chloe Sevigny.

In my dreams or delusions. But what’s the point of living without a few delusions? GW Bush has them everyday. Works for him.

Lisa from EWebscapes has been invaluabe to Courting’s growth. And now I have found Flickr; once I understand exactly how to transfer pictures will put in many more.

My problem with photography is that I get so immersed in it, I forget to memorize the details of the landscape in my head so that I can verbalize them. I’m a word person. While I know that it would be better for my internet popularity if I told quick funny stories with a hook so that people could easily comment, I find myself writing longer and longer posts on subjects that feel right to me.

I love the feedback; it helps my writing immensely. As a slightly edgy indie I can let the pressure slide off me. I can dress my blog my way; and maybe I really can take the weekend off. But read the story below; some people think that I felt guilty because I left. No, I’m just normally guilty. I had a knack for becoming immersed in the lives of seriously disturbed people and then a self-survival mechanism would kick in.
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It’s the unofficial last ten days of summer and that’s very depressing to me. I always go away now, but I thought that it would be fun to be in Manhattan while it’s relatively empty, and it is, but I need another vacation already!

It hasn’t rained in awhile and I have been smelling mold ever since the man upstairs began thumping, puking, and making animal sounds at 6 this morning. I will never need an alarm clock as long as he’s gainfully employed and needs hours to prepare after the prior night’s hangover. Since the people who live below me have a summer home that they live in until December, and nobody else can hear me, unless they’re standing out in the hall and making a concerted effort to, I have been playing music loudly until I go to sleep so I no longer hear the man upstairs fall as he tries to maintain some degree of sanitary health before going to bed. I’m still in awe of how much he can puke; I would have no esophogus by now.
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I’m not enamored with this building which is a shame because it’s a good one. perfect location, perfect location, perfect location; well maintained; pretty in its own way. Even the massively expensive lobby renovation looks decent now that there are pictures up. My tax rebates plus more of money went for thet renovation so i feel that I have a right to bitch if I want. If I were rent stabilized I would have payed nada; but I am an owner so the building owns my soul.

The other day i passed the former Board of Director who told us that we’re too immature to know what’s going on. I smiled at her. Let bygones be bygones and all that. I’m told that my smile is infectious. In this case it was similiar to infecting with avian flu. She had scowled when she saw me; after I smiled her scowl turned to a bigger one and her face turned beet red. Excuse me for being polite.

Fernando came to greet me. As he took my packages I said “why….?” He know I was talking about she who decided that the coop owners shouldn’t be allowed to know about litigation and other matters we hae to pay for.
“The shit’s about to hit the fam. Pardon my French and don’t tell a soul, nobody’s supposed to know. X is coming back.”

X is the fired doorman. A resident tried helping him with his arbitration and ran for the board. They laughed at the resident; just y’all wait until next May. Today the building sent a memo to all residents saying that X will be back. My sister can visit again; fave-niece won’t cry because the new Sunday doorman doesn’t remember her from the time she was three–she’ll be eleven. Fave neice is sentimental; I feel great happiness because she doesn’t remember life in Battery Park City, they moved to the Island when she was two. Not a normal thing to feel happiness about, but what’s normal these days?. They lived in the closest building to The Financial Center; she turned seven the next week, and her parents were able to shield her from something that would have been too real.
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Our ccop board is pompus, arrogant and idiotic–save one man who came up to after the meeting and told me that I should have talked as i looked so desperate to, but understood when I replied: “you wouldn’t be given a chance to answer me. it was hopeless..” They say that anybody can become elected to the board. Sure if you own the penthouse and we’re paying for the renovation under the guise of needed repairs. Oh well the woman who owns it is pug faced, ugly, fat, doesn’t dress well and her hair is five shades too blonde and the ends are very frizzy. She also only speaks to people who are on the board or live in the large apartments. In this city you can buy a penthouse, but you can’t buy class. You really can’t. It’s the little details that matter–being nice to the “help” is a big one.

She lives alone. So do I; so do many people in this building. We might need the doorman’s help one day, and what if the doormen see her light blinking and walk slowly toward it too late to help her from chocking on a tuna fish sandwich?

Doormen are invaluable in Manhattan. Besides opening the door, taking packaes, calling to let you know you have a visiter, or food delivery or both, they watch kids grow; they’re sounding boards for ideas and complaints. They listen so that your spouse, kid, parent, friend, doesn’t have to. Gawd when I put it like that it becomes a more important job than one of a therapist.
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The penthouse in the picture in flcker is in the building next door.