Giving Notice

- 4 minutes read - 666 words

Yesterday we gave notice to our landlords of intention to vacate. While it’s hard to believe, New York is the longest city Lauren and I have lived in and this apartment is the most enduring apartment we’ve been in.

  • We moved here two jobs ago for me, one for her
  • We decorated and even hung wallpaper
  • We bought blinds and storage
  • We had a one-year old dog, he’ll be seven tomorrow
  • We were unmarried when we moved in, we got engaged and married in the time we were here
  • We survived a year of a pandemic here
  • We survived the misrule of a prevaricating, orange would-be strongman

For all the flaws of dealing with NYC landlords, it’s been a good decent Manhattan apartment and I’ll miss the giant picture frame window in the bedroom that looks out across West End Avenue and Riverside Drive into the Hudson. That view has seen fog and snow and rain and sunshine and the Hudson’s watery systole and diastole has made me feel rooted in this island.

Our view, in snowfall
Our view, in snowfall

It was home.

Byron the poodle in front of a Christmas tree
Christmas 2020

But with the pandemic, Manhattan has turned into a renter’s market (for the moment) and we can lock an agreeable rate, for more apartment (we think), with better amenities (for sure). It also seems we need to reckon with the reality that there will likely be two of us working from home for another 6 months to a year and room for another desk or a longer floor plan might be wise.

There are a number of good options here in the same neighborhood so we’re leaping and scrambling to find a place to land. While this might sound insane, this is What is Done in New York. Every 30th to 2nd looks like fruit-basket turnover as the city’s native tribe, strivers, look for that next iota of optimization.

Look out, Weezy, we’re movin’ on up.

“Quirks”

Something particularly amusing about this apartment were some of its “pre-war charm” quirks.

None of the doors shut. Layers of paint (upon layers) have been applied (I gather) on top of the (surely leaded) paint from 1920. Doing the work to strip and re-paint would probably trigger an NYC Housing event that would require bringing the unit up to code across 100 or so years and no Manhattan landlord seeks that out — unless they’re aiming to go condo.

The walls were hand-shaped by artisans. As a result, the holes the windows sit in are not true. We once went to buy blinds, and having cut them and brought them home, we found they were just right at the top (where we’d measured) but about an inch too narrow in spots toward the bottom.

The floors are not true either and tilt down along the sides of the walls. This slow shifting has served to torque the doors on our cabinets in our bookshelves. It also meant that our grandfather clock started turning an arc as the pendulum’s motion pivoted it about on a vertical axis.

Upsides

Our building, in snowstorm

The upsides of pre-war: the walls are thick. Our neighbor runs a personal training studio next door with a considerable sound system. We feel a dull thud but aren’t particularly disturbed by it. Walls like this are how the myths around people in Manhattan having pet alligators or dismembering clowns unnoticed become reality.

Another upside is a 1920’s grade-boiler that gets the radiators to a comfortable warmth and even overheats in winter. We’ve never been cold. Radiators this ferocious are how the Manhattan stories around finding dead, dessicated, mummified residents on their immaculate furniture years post-mortem happen.

Our super had been, groan, super. An immigrant from the Caribbean, he’s undone 1920’s wiring for us and re-wired, turned a lamp into chandelier, fixed drains and sinks, and salted walks. He even won over Byron — not that the latter gives him any relief when he comes through the hallway.

Conclusion

Well, so that’s a half-decade here. Onward!