Rich Kids Pay Big Bucks for Ghetto Life

Ah, yes. Yet another lovely Times article ("The Price 20-Somethings Pay To Live in the City," 11/12/10) touting the courage and steadfastness of unfortunate rich kids who must live in the city in apartments paid for by their parents. This fine piece of journalism might be a month old, but it chronicles an ongoing problem for the well-off recent grads of NYC. Their apartments (like nobody else's in New York, obviously), are pretty freaking small.

And they're also sometimes in high-crime areas. Abe Calvin Quezada, a 22-year-old interning at a recording studio in Manhattan, recently gave up his sub-par room in a loft in Bushwick for a renovated tenement near Marcus Garvey Blvd (that's in Bed Stuy), which boasts a tiny 10-by-6-foot bedroom. He thinks this apartment is nicer than his Bushwick flat, but finds the neighborhood downright "fishy," recalling gun shots outside his window and a sighting of a handgun-toting motorcycle rider on a Sunday afternoon. He doesn't feel very safe, especially since he works late.

If I heard this story from someone living in this neighborhood who grew up there, or because it was literally the only place they could afford (with a legit paying job), or because they had no other choice, I'd sympathize with their complaints. But to Mr. Quezada, who chose this spot because it was something Mom was willing to subsidize so he could keep his unpaid hipster lifestyle going, Boo Fucking Hoo.

As for further "tales from the front lines" (more on that terminology later), there's Stefan Rurak, 26, an Oberlin-educated furniture maker who moved to New York 5 years ago and currently lives in an illegal, 9-by-12-foot space in the back of a former furniture store in Greenpoint. He gains some of my favor by at least admitting he "lucked out" by finding this place for so cheap, but loses it all when he insists that the area isn't yet swarming with "college kids in tight pants," and that's why he likes it (leave it to a hipster artist to get all excited when he thinks he's still the only one in the neighborhood. It's like the thrill experienced by the first Jamestown colonist)."It's not that I like New York so much," Mr. Rurak says. "But things happen here that wouldn't happen in other places."

Yup, you're right, Stefan. Only in New York City do people like Mr. Quezada have the privilege to live in and finance tiny apartments in shitty, crime-ridden neighborhoods to fulfill their "dreams," whereas many people living there would literally kill for something better. Only in New York do privileged dweebs find immense self-gratification in downgrading their lifestyles, whereas everyone else is busting their asses to upgrade theirs. Only in NYC does someone like you, Stefan, get a flat-out burst of praise in the Times for living in an illegal room in Brooklyn, when poor families are so often being thrown out of shit holes like that for legal and monetary reasons, even while working full-time, backbreaking jobs and having literally no where else to go.

Paid work is hard to get -- I know that. If you can afford to have an unpaid internship, and if Mom is willing to pay your rent, that's seriously great. But you better feel lucky. Don't expect people to feel sorry for you because you live in the ghetto (or a window-less closet) to sustain your artsy hipster lifestyle, when you could have stayed in your parents' house or in a huge apartment back in Cleveland or wherever you're from. Cut the ego trip: you're not suffering; you're living large.

And to the folks at the New York Times, please refrain from using war lingo like "front lines" in idiot pieces like this -- I don't care if you're being "ironic." Save it for articles about actual war and global tragedy (last time I checked, you guys report on that stuff too). It's obnoxious, disdainful, and makes a mockery of just about everyone on the planet.

Article Here: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/14/realestate/14cov.html

A Man With A Big, Irrelevant Problem to Consider

Believe me, the dumb polaroid format is only the tip of the iceberg.

Thank you, New York Times. Lest I go a single day without a well-manicured interview of a self-indulgent, privileged New Yorker, you are there to reassure me that these people's random stories are not only representative of all of NYC, but are relevant to everyone as some kind of "big news." Obviously, we'd never read about the commonplace dilemma of a middle class black woman, a random old person, or a Pakistani immigrant, etc.; these people don't seem to exist at all to the Times unless there's an actual issue involved, or if one of them does something really notable, really bad, or is tragically killed. But somehow stupid, quotidian stories of well-to-do "trendy" people always get top priority, as if everyone cares. The unrelenting yuppie-pandering aspect of the Times is part of what makes today's account of one 30-year-old's very unimportant dilemma ("A Man With a Bicycle To Consider," 12/06/10) especially banal and infuriating.

Matthew McLaughlin, a sweater-wearing dude who teaches science in the Bronx (he began, not surprisingly, with Teach for America), is undergoing the very tough process of buying a fabulous apartment in the city. And so far, his prospects are pretty good. He's got a reasonable budget, "enjoys experiencing life in different areas," loves diversity, and all that jazz. The catch? He has to accommodate his lifetime companion and transportation aid, his just-trendy-enough bicycle.

Like loads of other bike-riding yuppiehipsters who just looove New York, Mr. McLaughlin takes great pride in saying that he previously lived in notorious parts of upper Manhattan like Harlem, Washington Heights, and Inwood, where each of his apartments was simply great, save for certain downfalls -- "poor maintenance, excessive noise, no view," and in one case a toddler dribbling a basketball all day long (No view?! A toddler dribbling a basketball? Boo Fucking Hoo). At the start of his recent apartment search, McLaughlin applied to live in two co-ops in Hudson Heights, but got denied (good thing, our vegetarian hero rationalizes, as the veg options are decidedly limited there). ...This speaks for itself.

If you're not already vomiting at the sheer inanity of this article (which, I remind you, is located in arguably the greatest news source in the Free World), let's read on. All would be just peachy for Mr. McLaughlin if only he did not have to accommodate his dear bicycle. Since he must be able to ride back and forth to work, he cannot live in Brooklyn (he claims it's because he doesn't want to switch schools, but maybe he's just afraid that the A-List hipsters there will rag on his bike). He simply will not tolerate a public bike room (the two-wheeled beauties must be kept conveniently stacked against the wall, in a hallway dedicated exclusively to that purpose). And he needs a suitable view so that he can "witness weather patterns developing" (as much as I'm gagging, I have to at least give the guy credit for wanting to know whether to use his water-resistant messenger bag instead of his sensible backpack).

He ends up choosing Astoria, hands-down, in an area located right across the RFK bridge from the Bronx. But the dilemma rages on. One nearly-perfect apartment has only a "partial view" of Manhattan, which is simply too much of a sacrifice for Mr. McLaughlin (what, weather patterns don't develop in any part of that vista?). Others don't have the requisite bike-leaning hallway he desires. Finally, he finds a perfect spot, where "every window had a view of Manhattan. There was a hallway for his bikes. In the living room, he could create a seating area around the television as well as a dining area with a table for six, just the right size for playing board games with friends." Not too soon after, he moves in with his cat, Parvati (please tell me it wasn't named after the Harry Potter character). To this day, he is thrilled with the place. On occasion, our hero even skips the elevator and hauls his bike up the stairs (which, he boasts, are nothing compared to the ones he climbs with his bike on the RFK bridge en route to work).

Before you get positively ill over the image of Mr. McLaughlin playing Cranium with his bearded Teach-for-America buddies or making the Everest-like trek up his apartment stairs with his bike in tow, consider this: what he loves the most, after all that biking and teaching underprivileged kids in the Bronx and eating expensive vegetarian cuisine, is seeing the "twinkling lights of Manhattan," which are far preferable to the daytime cityscape.

I'll suspend my nausea for a hot minute, as I have a definite sore spot for the nighttime skyline, too, and appreciate a guy who cares for his bicycle (plus, he's probably got great legs). But the fact that Mr. McLaughlin's disgustingly privileged and commonplace story has not only reached outside the confines of his moleskine, but has made the New York Times, fills me with nothing less than bitterness and contempt. Boo Fucking Hoo: your story is useless.

Article here:  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/realestate/05hunt.html?hp