The Sound of Silence

Total Black: $2,051.97
Total Red: $230,820.71

[another post to come.  stay tuned]

Moving Out . . . or Up?

Total Black: $2,057.83
Total Red: $230,820.71

[post coming soon.]

It’s Only For Now

Total Black: $1,243.57
Total Red: $230,820.71

I worked tonight at New World Stages.  Saw Avenue Q.  I mentioned in Cutting Costs, Corners . . . and Concerns that the last Broadway show I saw was over a year ago, and it was also Avenue Q.  I guess the show went off-Broadway at some point.  Haven’t really heard of that happening.  But at any rate, it’s a great show, but an especially pertinent one now with the economic climate where it’s at.  The show centers around a hodge-podge collection of characters (people, puppets, and monsters) living so close to skid row that they can only afford to live in Manhattan on fictitious Avenue Q.  It’s a great quarter-life crisis show with twenty- and thirtysomethings wondering what they should be doing with their lives.  The show struck me much more than it did last year.  The opening song is “It Sucks to Be Me” and features each member of the cast highlighting why her or his life sucks.  But by the end of the show, you’ve been pulled through every emotion imaginable only to arrive at a happier place than where you started at when you sat down to watch the show hours earlier.  The finale, “It’s Only For Now,” reminds us that everything is temporary.  That sort of time-in-a-bottle theme has always affected me.  One of my favorite plays is The Shadow Box by Michael Cristofer in part because of the final scene where each cast member accepts the temporariness of life.

I’m definitely in a different place a little over a year ago when I saw the show last.  But in an odd way, I think I’m in a better place.  Sure I have less money and more debt, but I’m also freer than I was last year.  Back then I worried ceaselessly about my job, about my debts, about my sleep schedule and eating schedule and whether I got to work too late or too early and whether I should take a car home or not or stay late and order food and get fat or leave early and try to get in early the next day . . . and on and on and on.  And all that worrying didn’t bring me anything worthwhile.  I certainly don’t have anything to show for it—except perhaps a few feet from a crow.  So, the show tonight left me feeling better than I have felt in a long time.  It was a good reminder that all this debt—it’s only for now.  It’ll be gone soon enough, if not by 8/9/10.

I finally heard back from CHEST.  I didn’t get selected for the position.  There was a moment during the interview when I mentioned something that got the interviewer to pause.  He mentioned a related idea he had and said that he’d need someone for that position in a few months.  In all honesty, I felt at that moment that he had filed me away for later.  The interview went well, but I didn’t get the impression that he appreciated the added value a professional would bring.  I have to answer to a higher authority—the bar association.  I certainly wouldn’t put my license in jeopardy, so hiring me would have meant not having to worry about my behavior “in the field,” as it were.  But instead they probably went with some college twink boys.  So be it.  It does suck because there’s not many chances to find reputable work in the wee hours of the morning.  But some other gig will surface.  Perhaps I didn’t get that gig because I’m meant to be a bartender on weekends.  We shall see.

Continues to Bug Me

Total Black: $1,143.86
Total Red: $230,820.71

The counterclaims I brought against the landlord for bedbugs in my apartment are not going away anytime soon, especially not after the way the landlord’s attorney treated me today in court.  When we were called before the judge’s court attorney this morning to discuss the case, this attorney refused to shake my hand.  Refused.  As if I had done him some personal affront.  After I lowered my untouched hand, he said he didn’t shake on bedbugs.  I don’t know whether he meant that he didn’t shake the hand of someone whose apartment had bedbugs or that he wouldn’t shake the hand of someone who brought suit because of them.  I suspect the latter because he proceeded to berate and belittle me, well to attempt to—I really didn’t care and don’t buckle under such tactics.  He insinuated that I only brought my counterclaims because I owed rent money and had been having financial difficulties.  Before we wrapped up the appearance, he had us wait while he stepped out to check something.  He returned to say that I hadn’t paid December’s rent yet.  It was due today.  I informed him that I had the check with me and was going to the management company once we finished.  He replied, “Good.  That way I don’t have to sue you for December’s rent too.”  I don’t understand what logical leap he expects with this line of “attack” because unlike many other tenants in housing cases, instead of withholding rent money, I paid mine in full.  During our appearance before the judge’s clerk he also asserted that no one in my building ever complained about bedbugs, that I’m the first person to mention it.  He also said that I’ve not allowed the landlord access to my apartment either.  All blatant misrepresentations.  Exterminators have been to my apartment a few times, most recently at the beginning of November when they sprayed for bedbugs.  And my complaints started in November 2008 when I informed the prior management company—the landlord switched management companies midway through this year.  So, clearly the landlord had at least one complaint, mine—that’s why we were in court—and therefore, logically speaking his assertion was flawed.  If you find just one instance of something then “never” is no longer correct.

After a few minutes of this silly banter, the court attorney asked me what I was looking for.  I said that at minimum I wanted the entire building to be treated, not just spot treatments in certain apartments.  Just then the landlord’s attorney agreed with me, and made a big deal of pointing out that that was a point where he agreed with me because bedbugs need to be treated systemically.  He also said that what he could do for me was to let me out of the lease.  “What?!,” I thought.  “And take the bedbugs with me to my new apartment!  That’s no offer.”  And with what money would I move?  And who would take me especially now that I’ve got an active lawsuit against one landlord, and for bedbugs nonetheless?  I suspect I’m already a persona non grata with many landlords.  They search public records and run credit reports after all.

At any rate, the landlord’s attorney said he’d be moving to strike my demand for a jury trial, claiming that I waived it in my lease.  There is a provision in the lease that says we agree to waive jury trials on matters related to the apartment and the lease, so as to my breach of the warranty of habitability claim I may not be entitled to a jury trial after all.  I’ll push back as it’s just a standard lease and so I’m not even sure how well that would hold up.  But as an attorney, I’d have a more difficult time claiming I didn’t read the “fine print,” I suppose.  As to my negligence claim and my intentional infliction of emotional distress claim, I don’t see how the jury trial provision would apply.  I’ll need to research that before responding to his motion.  I’ll also have to move for discovery because I want to know how many people have complained in the past few years.

Frankly, some attorneys really embarrass me and shame the profession.  The landlord’s attorney is one such person.  That he does housing law and represents landlords in New York only exacerbates my disdain for him because he plays right into the stereotype of the slimy landlord attorney.  I don’t understand how any attorney, as officers of the court, can check their humanity and compassion at their office doors.  But I suppose that’s too much to ask for from big, bad New York lawyers.  Just makes me proud of the legal training I received.

Another Update on Efforts

Total Black: $1,316.20
Total Red: $230,870.71

I thought I’d take today, like I did back in September in Update on Efforts, to give another update on my various ventures, joint and several.  I had visit ten today for the medical experiment.  I believe there are a total of thirteen.  Two weeks separates most visits so that means another two months roughly until I earn the $540 or so.  The doctor today observed that I have “slight tremors” in my hands when I hold them out straight.  I wonder if its from stress or the drugs.  The only other complaint I have is just muscle aches and pains.  But that too can be a symptom of depression.  I’ve noticed my vision getting blurrier.  Not good, especially since I had LASIK done back in February 2008.  I wonder if the blurry vision comes from the experimental medication or doc reviewing.  Both seem hazardous for your health.

The Recession Art Sale still lingers on.  One of the artists / co-producers sued the producer for his cut.  I’ll be in court tomorrow as a witness for the producer.  This guy really didn’t do much and doesn’t deserve his cut.  He breached his contract by failing to perform.  Perhaps she could have called him on it, but there’s no requirement in the law to “remind” someone that they’re in breach or nearing it.  You can’t just sit back and collect a windfall though from someone else’s misconduct and she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She had to find others to make up for his inaction.  So silly really.  I’ll get a glimpse of Brooklyn small-claims court.

Working at New World Stages is taking off.  I’ve got about four shifts this week and a few more next week.  Looks too like there will be a number of shifts to pick up from time to time.  I forgot how loose younger people are about work.  Someone today emailed everyone in the theatre to say that she needed to switch shifts because of an invite she received to see another show.  See, that isn’t what you should tell people.  They don’t need to know and it only makes you look irresponsible and not dedicated to your job.  So, I’m keen to gobble up all the scraps thrown to the floor by eager socialite-wannabes

The twenty dollar recurring monthly donation that I set up in Change to Spare? spontaneously resumed.  I’m not sure what caused the lag over the past two months, but I’m happy to see it start back up.  I can afford twenty dollars a month to give to a good cause.

Still no word from CHEST, the Hunter College affiliate that I applied to work for.  I’m emailing tomorrow to check up on things.  It’s just irresponsible and unprofessional to not let someone know he hasn’t been selected—if that’s the case, in fact.  I also haven’t been paid yet from the colleagueI’ve been working for off and on since August.  I’m getting near the point of just writing it, and him, off.  And, of course, there’s doc review.  Ah yes . . . doc review.  Yes, the contract attorney position—thankfully—is still going strong.  Not as strong as back in October when I was making forty dollars an hour—now it’s only thirty-five dollars an hour—but it will keep me housed and fed.  Unfortunately, I missed work today because the bus back to New York didn’t arrive until about 4 p.m.  Tomorrow I’ll be in court in the morning for the lawsuit involving my landlord.  Hopefully this time their attorneys will show.

Both total red and total black are down today.  That’s because again this week I sent five $50 payments to my credit cards and approximately $500 to SallieMae.  Those payments were pulled today.  Tomorrow rent is due.  I’ll be a bit behind until I get paid again on Thursday.  But after that, I’ll have two weeks pay to finally start throwing at my bills.  As moronic as it may sound, I can’t wait!

Short Post, Long Day

Total Black: $2,419.37
Total Red: $231,219.37

This entire weekend has been daily trips to and/or from New York.  On Thursday, Thanksgiving morning, I rode the bus to my mother’s.  On Friday, I drove her car back to New York.  On Saturday, I drove the car back to Pennsylvania.  Today I drove it back out to New York and back to Pennsylvania.  It only took six hours.  I passed three separate accidents along the way.  And each time, the opposing traffic slowed to a crawl for no reason!  None.  There was nothing blocking our way except nosy neighbors.  Infuriating!  Now tomorrow I’ll make the trek back to New York, this time by bus.  Let’s just say I’m tired.  But I finally remembered to bring the paperwork I need for my meeting tomorrow with the judge.  I teased my mother and her female friends this evening over pizza, reminding them to think of me at thirty-three being so forgetful the next time someone tells them they’re getting forgetful.

Short post today.  I’m beat.  I neglected to mention in To Confess or Not to Confess that total black is way up because I borrowed rent money from my mother again.  I’ll get paid this week but it will only be for twenty-five hours since we lost Thursday and Friday due to the holiday.  But it’s back at it tomorrow . . . whenever I finish my morning meeting.  And I’ll be sure to send the money back to my mother as soon as possible.

To Confess or Not to Confess

Total Black: $2,452.95
Total Red: $231,191.81

I arrived back in Scranton just after four o’clock.  My sister had sent me a text message at 1 p.m., while I was still in New York, telling me that my mother wanted her car back by 4 p.m.  It takes about two hours or so to drive from New York to Scranton.  Her abrupt text left me just barely enough time.  So, I grabbed a big bag of laundry, hopped in the car, and drove west.  Somewhere in the middle of New Jersey a flash of white heat overtook me when I realized that I had forgotten the paperwork that I had driven all the way out there to retrieve.  I actually found myself in a cold sweat.  I don’t think that has ever happened to me before.  And frankly it’s all because of my sister.  Or I suppose I should say because of the power I give her over me.

When I mentioned the previous day that I had the chance to work a shift at New World Stages and that I’d at least earn a bit of money for the trip I had to make anyway, she was quick to reply that I was assuming I didn’t have to pay for parking, which would have gobbled up my earnings.  I replied that I’d just park on the street, to which she replied that I was assuming I’d find parking on the first few go ’rounds.  Otherwise, I’d have to pay for parking or be late to work.  While it may seem that she was just being pragmatic, she wasn’t.  Or if she was, she serves her pragmatism with a side of disdain.  Turned out she wasn’t correct.  Not entirely.  Despite the dark cloud I drove under, I invoked the powers of The Secret by Rhonda Byrne and visualized arriving at my apartment in time to drop off my groceries, find a parking spot in front of my apartment, and get changed and walk into work at 6:55 p.m.  See, I left my mother’s house just after 3 p.m. and stopped for groceries first before driving back.  That took up about an hour or so, meaning I didn’t actually start the drive back to New York until 4 p.m., giving me only three hours to get there.  I was making good time so I stopped to pick up a coffee and a few CDs.  Yes, I’ll confess to that.  It’s a thing I do anytime I drive: I stop at a bookstore, grab a coffee, and pick up a CD or two for the drive.  I’m sure some reader will crucify me for it, but then again what good is there in reading the confessions of someone who doesn’t sin.  At any rate, my visualization effort worked.  Two of my neighbor’s older sons were sitting on the stoop of the building and they helped me unload the groceries: one ran bags upstairs with me while the other hung by the car.  On their own.  I’ve never really spoken to them before.  I guess they saw I was in a hurry.  Then I quickly changed clothes and hopped back in the car, spotted a parking space on my block, not in front of my apartment though, and parked and walked over to work, arriving at 7:01 p.m.

It took a lot to get my sister’s negativity out of my head.  So today when I drove back, after realizing that I forgot the paperwork, I spent at least thirty minutes playing and replaying various scenes in my mind whereby I let my mother and sister know that I had to go back to New York again—either by bus or by car.  I mapped out all the caustic comments my sister would have.  And my mother too, I suppose, but mostly my sister.  She can be very mean-spirited and hostile at times.  I drove the last leg in this nervous state until I was about fifteen minutes away when I decided that it was silly to be so upset over forgetting something like papers.  I decided I just wouldn’t tell them.  Instead, I’d do my laundry, and then on Sunday tell my mother something about going out for the day, borrow her car again and drive to New York, grab the papers, and turn around.  Four or so hours isn’t much to be off somewhere “in town” doing something.

The drive back got me thinking about confessing.  Having been raised Catholic, we’re taught to never lie and to always feel guilty for every bad or wrong thing we’ve done.  Well, at least until we get to the confessional.  Being raised with a sense of right and wrong, and a need to confess when we’ve done wrong, makes us better people.  We’re raised with a conscience, I suppose.  But no one talks about how to monitor that learned impulse and when to seek the relief of confessing.  Confession presumes sin.  Was it a sin to buy a few CDs?  No.  Otherwise Black Friday would have sent a lot of sinners to church afterward.  Am I sinning by not telling my mother and sister that I forgot the paperwork again and will have to drive back to New York?  Trickier.  Sure it’ll mean a bit more “wear and tear” on her car, but that’s no sin.  I’ll replace the gasoline I use.  No one will be the wiser.  Another example: despite the time stamp, it’s actually just after 5 a.m. as I write this entry.  I backdated the time stamp to appear that I posted this yesterday.  Forgive the poetic license.  I was awoken by dreams of bedbugs.  I was catching them in some office / apartment I visited.  Then I saw three guys sitting on a sofa somewhere and could see the bite-marks on one guy’s leg.  It’s disturbing to dream in color, especially about something like that.  Just after waking I remembered that I never posted last night, so here I am.  I had, as least, started writing it in my head yesterday but I didn’t get an opportunity to sit at the computer and write it last night.  I washed my clothes as the family watched my mother’s DVD of “Mamma Mia”—there really isn’t much on television anymore.  Earlier we actually had “The Lawrence Welk Show” on a for a bit.  (I know, I know, but the clothes and plastic smiles are so hilarious.  I can’t imagine a time when Americans really watched that show.)  At any rate, as the night wore on, I got tired and then forgot.  But is it a sin to backdate my posts’ time stamps from time to time?  No.  No harm done.  Presumably readers take a moment to read my entries because of their content, not the moment at which they’re posted.  So, was confessing that bit of truth necessary?  Sometimes we can confess too much.

Christianity would have us believe that every falsehood is a notch on Satan’s scoreboard and another weight dragging our souls down closer and closer to Hell.  But we’re older now as a species and we can move past such childlike platitudes.  Besides, the Ten Commandments say one should not bear false witness, which presumes a legal setting of sorts, and it must be against a neighbor.  Interesting aside: the Ten Commandments do not say we cannot lie.  Of course, one can stretch this observation to it’s breaking point, which is why “sin”—let’s define it as something harmful—is the lodestar.  There’s a moment in the musical Altar Boyz when the cast reads confessions of the crowd.  As they’re setting up the scene, one character quotes Oscar Wilde: “It is is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.”  Good point.  Getting it out is what aids the soul.  And in this instance with my jaunts to and from New York, it would not have aided my soul to have sought absolution by telling my sister and mother about my slip-up.  It just took a while though to get to that moment.

Blogging From the Bathtub

Total Black: $1,029.83
Total Red: $231,341.81

Yes.  I am blogging from the bathtub.  With a bit of ingenuity, I can post via my iPhone.  The last time I had to do this, in Miracles of Modern Technology, my internet service had been suspended.  This time it’s nothing so frustrating. In fact, pay came through today, allowing me to pay my cell phone bill, which restored my service.  Without that, I might have had another day without a post.  Or not.  In New York City there are still some places where you can buy internet access.

Yes, I am in New York. No, I didn’t cut short my trip to Scranton.  I remembered as the bus was departing Newark, New Jersey on Thanksgiving morning that I had forgotten to pack the Pennsylvania bar admission paperwork.  I need a Pennsylvania judge to sign it and I had made arrangements for a judge in Scranton I interned for to sign for me.  It’s due in four days.  So I figured I’d have to hop a local day-trip bus back to the city to get the paperwork and then take it back to Scranton.  But today New World Stages emailed to ask if I could cover a shift.  After thinking it over, I said I’d do it.  So I borrowed my mother’s car, stopped at the store and bought groceries—much cheaper than in Manhattan—and drove back to my apartment.  I figured if I have to go back to Manhattan anyway why not make a little money there while I’m at it.  So now I’m relaxing in the tub after a long day.  I spent the morning and afternoon scrubbing my mother’s kitchen and bathroom floors.  She’s become a Swiffer mom lately, so I don’t want to think of when the floors last saw water.  And as she’s still recovering from surgery, I thought I’d help out.  I’ll be heading back to Scranton tomorrow afternoon.

Already today I sent another fifty dollars to each of my five credit accounts.  I also sent fifty dollars to the credit card my mother let me use to pay the New York state tax lien.  I also had to pay nearly five hundred dollars to SallieMae.  I was 110 days behind! I didn’t know it had been that long.  Not sure how they calculate such matters, however, since I sent two fifty dollar payments and a one hundred dollar payment all within the last month.  Plus my mother made a payment in October.  I’ll have to call them on that one.

For now, I’m off to soak in the tub.

Giving Thanks

Total Black: $94.05
Total Red: $231,341.81

My mother, sister, and I are all watching “Only the Lonely.”  I referenced that movie in Never Been Further Apart because the scene where the son, played by John Candy, is arguing with his mother Rose, played by Maureen O’Hara, left an impression on me.  It finally made it’s way up the Netflix queue and I decided to bring it home with me for the holiday.  That scene still affects me, and even the entire film itself somewhat, because it speaks volumes to all the different ways people live with loneliness.  Even though we’re rarely alone.

It’s a day to give thanks.  And thankful I am.  But I wondered this morning on the bus ride back to Scranton why we don’t give thanks more frequently.  I saw recently that Thanksgiving cards have sprung up, seemingly overnight.  I only noticed it the other day while looking for a gratitude / thank you card to send my mother.  I wanted to send her one of those “thanks for all you do for me” cards.  I couldn’t find one in the Thank You section so I looked around a bit more and came across a section with rows of browns and tans and oranges.  A closer look revealed those rows to be Thanksgiving Day cards.

I have to say I think it’s a great idea.  In this fast-paced, distant world, it’s important to pause every so often and let people around us know how much we appreciate them.  Their help, their kindness, their encouragement . . . and perhaps even their bitterness and resentment.  Sometimes negative emotions motivate us more than the positive does.  But giving thanks is just not something that we do all that often.  Sure we say thank you perfunctorily to the “Bless You”s and doors held ajar but how often do we really express our gratitude to each other—a postcard, a card, a quick text message or note—just a small something to let tell those around us know.  Every Thanksgiving I typically send out a flurry of text messages to all my friends wishing them a Happy Thanksgiving.  This year, with my cell phone service still suspended I won’t be able to.  And I can’t receive any of their texts either, if any were sent.  But I trust they know that I appreciate their friendship, their support, and just their presence in my life.

So next year, or even on a random Tuesday sometime soon, why not send someone a text or a pick up a quick greeting card to say thanks.  Send it to someone unexpected.  Maybe a teacher you had in high school or a friend you haven’t seen in a while.  Tell your grandparents how much they mean to you or let a co-worker know you appreciate her help.  Perhaps you can send an ex a quick note to thank them for having been there for you during a really difficult time in your life.  Or drop an extra dollar or two into your favorite barista’s tip jar at your local coffee shop to say thanks.  There’s many ways to give thanks and express gratitude and both you and the person you’re grateful for will enjoy that appreciative feeling.  And this country can surely use more upbeat feelings going around.  Feels like we’ve been at each other’s throats for years now.

This year, as we said grace, my sister and mother mentioned things they were grateful for.  It’s a nice addition to the holiday tradition that I’ll be sure we keep for years to come.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Bus Tickets and Cell Phones

Total Black: $97.22
Total Red: $231,308.15

As I suspected in Paycheck to Paycheck, this week’s pay from the temporary attorney staffing agency didn’t post today even though they had told me it would.  This agency pays on Thursdays.  I did receive the paystub in the mail today though.  At least I know how much to expect in my account.  I trust it will post by morning.

Because tomorrow is Thanksgiving, my mother wanted to know when I’ll be arriving home.  Given this bout of uncertainty, I let her know that I couldn’t be sure when I’d arrive, or if I’d arrive, what with my paycheck uncertainty and all.  So she insisted that she would put the money into my checking account for bus fare back to Scranton.  I mentioned in The Powerful Process of Gratitude that my mother had discovered a lump on her ovary.  Two days ago, she had that lump removed.  The surgery went well; she was home the same day.  But now, two days later, she was accompanying my sister, driving her twenty minutes to downtown Scranton, just to put money in her thirty-three year-old son’s checking account so he could buy a bus ticket to come home for Thanksgiving.  Of course, my mother said that she wanted me home for Thanksgiving, so it wasn’t solely for me that she provided that money.  But still . . . .

Trust me, I’m definitely thankful for her love and help.  But I’m also embarrassed.  I was also annoyed too.  I was angry with my mother for insisting on helping me.  Frankly, if pay didn’t come through and I hadn’t saved enough from last week’s paycheck—not that there was all that much left to save, but then again I didn’t have to send fifty dollars to five different creditors either—then I was content to be alone on Thanksgiving in a self-imposed punishment.  If pay had come through in time, then I’d be able to pay my own way home and wouldn’t have had to bother my mother with my worries.  If it didn’t, then I’d get to suffer alone at home.  Her loan took away the possibility to punish myself.  That emotion lasted all of a minute or so.  I was able to check it once I noticed the irritation in my own voice as I tried to end our telephone call this morning in my rush to get out the door.  She had called just before I was leaving for the temp job.  Silly.  Selfish.  I know.  But what distinguishes us from the lower animals is not the emotions or impulses we have but whether we allow ourselves to act on them.  Everyone has inappropriate or unfair thoughts.  And I’m like everyone else in that aspect.

Later today I was able to keep her love at bay, so to speak, when I declined another loan.  Sometime during the day AT&T cut off my cell phone service because I’m late paying my bill.  My mother offered to let me use her credit card to pay the bill.  She was concerned about figuring out when I arrive so that someone can pick me up from the bus station.  Not having a cell phone to call ahead would make coordinating my pick-up in downtown Scranton a bit more hectic.  It’s not like there are many payphones around these days.  Public transportation probably wouldn’t be an option on Thanksgiving morning.  A taxi would cost an arm and a leg.  But, I insisted that I was not going to borrow her credit card so that I could pay my cell phone bill and get service restored.  She’s already given more than she should.  I can acknowledge that.  But a loan to cover a bus ticket is vastly different than a loan to get my cell phone service restored.  Really, that is not critical.  I can find a payphone somewhere.

I’m looking forward to relaxing at my mother’s house.  I haven’t been back since I started this blog project.