Breakfast with Fred

As you know by now, we have a kitten. He's curious and rambunctious, if rambunctious means "a klutzy spaz and a pain in the ass." It makes working from home, or other household projects, somewhat of a challenge. For example, last night as I was sweeping up the bathroom debris, Fred decided to attack first the broom bristles, and then dive head-first into the broom receptacle.

Fred's favorite toy is his little blue mouse. It came in a 3-pack with a pink and yellow one, but the blue one's his absolute favorite. He carries it around in his mouth and batters it around at all hours.

time to retrieve it from under the dishwasher

 Last night as I was getting ready for bed, I head the unmistakable whump that indicated Fred pouncing headfirst into the bedroom door. There is at least a 1 inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the door, and I saw the little blue mouse laying there in the room. I then saw Fred's white paw slowly reach out, set down on its tail, and pull it back under the door.

Fred basking in the just-cleaned windowsill moments before stretching, flipping onto his back, confusing himself, getting scared, and running off the window, knocking those glass hanging orbs over.

Fred was being particularly bad yesterday. Here is what happened in a ten-minute window:

1) Fred eats from Tim's bowl of milk and cereal that he left out on his desk, we discovered after the fact.
2) I feed Fred his wet food as scheduled.
3) I hear a strange noise, pop my head into the kitchen, and see that Fred has thrown up maybe a pound of stuff onto the fringes of the rug we washed the day before.
4) 30 seconds later: Fred goes to throw up again, this time directly onto the rug. I move him in time and it gets on the tiled floor that we hate anyway.
5) We clean up the puke and Tim mops the floor.
6) We get something from the bathroom, and Fred dashes in and runs directly into the wet paint tray.
7) We hold Fred to quickly clean his paws, and he thrashes around.
8) Fred throws up on the floor.
9) Fred takes a big dump in the litterbox.

Lastly, a 2-minute video entitled, "Why I Can't Get Work Done," taken this morning.

Weekend Activities

Ah, Ikea. The unanimous relationship-tester. Tons of screaming kids, confused tiny people with giant carts, and aggressive New Jersey natives vying for the attention of the overworked, overmeatballed Ikea employee. 

Ours was no exception, and we very nearly murdered each other after spending hours wandering Ikea and Home Depot. Rest assured that I would have written here about murdering Tim or being dead. 

Can't start my day without a wholesome box of Dryck Flader, which I believe is Swedish for "gross flower juice." I blame this juice for our bad day.

I had a carefully-planned list for each store and each item I needed for our projects. The problem is, Ikea and Home Depot are roughly the size of airports, meaning that accompanying parts are thousands of miles apart. Tim, who already didn't want to be there, gets cranky when we have to wander around in search of help. I get frazzled in stores very easily, so my body kind of does me a favor and lapses me into this zombie-like trance. My friend tailed behind me in Target for ten minutes before I noticed. I think I was somewhere between dishwasher liquid and lightbulbs.

Yesterday, I painted the bathroom. I figured half-walls would be a good way to start. I took all of the hardware down, spackled all of the gaping holes in the crumbling drywall, and peeled away a bunch of paint before wondering whether or not I should be doing that.

Before

After 

The pictures aren't that great, but basically I installed 3 shallow glass shelves, and replaced the rattly, coming-out-of-the-wall plastic towel rack with 2 brushed nickel hooks to save space. The new wall color is a nice desaturated ocean-y blue that matches the tiles and looks better in more light (I'll post a better picture later). I re-installed the big wall mirror that was here when we moved, and took down that ridiculous desk lamp. The mirror weighs more than 10 pounds and it was fun to see that the nailed-in hanger hook fell right out of the wall when I took down the mirror.

We are in talks with our landlady about replacing the overhead light fixture for something that lets in bright white light. I have yet to install our big circle mirror behind the door (so we can see the backs of our heads for hair trims, very important...) and a couple pictures on the walls above the toilet. 

I've spent a lot of time online looking at moms' DIY blogs to see where they got their inexpensive shelving/lights, because if you just search "storage solutions for small bathrooms," you're going to get some unrealistic bullshit. Why? Because first of all, the articles are written by HouseBeautiful, Better Homes and Gardens, or Martha Stewart's Commode or something, and their "problematic bathrooms" are always bigger than my entire house. These assholes looking for a spot to store their monogrammed washcloths could probably just buy another bathroom and solve their problem.

Man, look at this tiny bathroom! It's so dark!

My god! Is it night or day? I can't even tell!

I bet this green paint looks better in the daylight!

Lol this underwater bathroom is sooooo cramped!

I bet the door's against their knees when they're sitting on the toilet!

LOOK AT THIS PORT-A-POTTY

On a more positive note: Taco Night!

Tonight I made tacos, because we've been craving Mexican and it's unfortunately very expensive cuisine here in Montclair (I'm talking $15 fish tacos here).

Here is a good recipe that's easy and fast, from my favorite recipe book "Easy Meals in Minutes." Put on some Mambo Tropicana and you're in business!

Beef Tacos with Fresh Salsa

4 servings

Ingredients:
1 small onion
3 tbs olive or other vegetable oil
2 cloves garlic, minced or crushed through a press
1/2 lb lean ground beef
Half a 14 1/2-oz can stewed tomatoes, drained
Half a 4-oz can of chopped mild green chiles, drained
2 tbs chili powder
1 1/2 tsp cumin
1 tsp oregano
Pinch of cayenne pepper
1 small green bell pepper
1 medium fresh tomato
3 scallions
1/4 cup cilantro sprigs (optional)
2 tbs red wine vinegar or cider vinegar
1/4 tsp black pepper
3 drops hot pepper sauce
2 cups shredded Romaine lettuce (about 6 leaves)
12 taco shells

1. Coarsely chop the onion.

2. In a large skillet, warm 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking. Add the onion and garlic and cook until the mixture begins to brown, 3 to 5 minutes.

3. Crumble in the beef and cook, breaking up the beef with a spoon, for 2 to 3 minutes.

4. Add the stewed tomatoes, green chilies, chili powder, cumin, 1/4 tsp of the oregano and the cayenne, breaking up the tomatoes with a spoon. Reduce the heat to low, cover and simmer while you prepare the remaining ingredients.

5. Coarsely chop the bell pepper, fresh tomato and scallions. Finely chop the cilantro (if using).

6. In a small bowl, combine the bell pepper, tomato, scallions, cilantro, the remaining 2 tablespoons oil, the vinegar, the remaining 3/4 teaspoon oregano, the black pepper and hot pepper sauce.

7. Shred the lettuce.

8. Fill each taco shell with 1/4 cup of the beef mixture and top with shredded lettuce. Top the tacos with salsa or serve it on the side.

Do-ahead: The beef mixture and salsa can both be made ahead.

Values are approximate per serving: Calories: 446 Protein: 12 gm Fat: 29 gm Carbohydrates: 36 gm Cholesterol: 43 mg Sodium: 316 mg

Talking About Bad Fred, Dreams, and Money*

I'm exhausted, and it's only 10am. I've spent the entire morning at odds with Fred, still trying to teach him not to jump up on my desk. The worst part is, he knows he's not supposed to be up there, but he's got this FTW attitude about it apparently. Even if I spray him with water, he just sits there and crunches up, looking disgruntled. Making matters worse, I recently resumed my daily workout routine, which has me completely stiff and sore. I couldn't even cross my leg over my other knee this morning. So I keep getting up out of my seat like an ancient crone to discipline Fred.

Reasons why Fred should not be on my desk:

1) Fred is a klutz. I don't think he knows how to gravity. He tries to leap across things he's not supposed to be on, like my laptop, but misses every time. A small part of me dies whenever I hear his claws scrabble across my keyboard. Alternately, he sits on my keyboard and minimizes/opens programs/switches language with a single touch of his butthole.

2) Fred is curious about cables. In a sort of destructive way. He bit through my newish earbuds cord on his first day, but luckily they were inexpensive to replace (another reason why I never spend more than $10 on headphones). Since he's been allowed free reign at night, we haven't found anything else destroyed. Still, it would just take one shot at my Cintiq cables to put me in a world of shit.

3) He likes to wedge himself in the tight spaces, as though this makes him invincible.

4) He likes to batter around at the bubble wrap I lay on top of my laptop at night.

5) He likes to hide under the curtain I drape over my Cintiq at night. Where all the cables are.

6) Fred's new interest is in investigating/drinking out of our glasses of water. It's only a matter of time before he knocks a full glass over onto my laptop/cintiq/hard drive/GotY Oblivion

7) I'm TRYING TO WORK, GOD DAMMIT!

Fred's favorite spot to snooze while I'm working

Or in this blankety box on the floor between our desks

I've been having a lot of strange, memorable dreams since moving here, and I heard that happens when you're in a new place or on vacation or something. The other night I dreamt that I was in the game Slender, though it wasn't in a woods-room, it was in an open industrial environment like the surface in Silent Hill or outside Dwarven ruins in Elder Scrolls. I was running from Slenderman nonetheless, and I kept checking behind me and would see him following. I wish I could have lucid dreams, because then I'd transform Slenderman into a Johnny Depp/Hugh Jackman as Wolverine hybrid (chase me!), but the most lucid I get is thinking to myself, "Okay, this dream is scary, I've had enough and I'm going to wake up now." I never fly in my dreams, and usually it's like I'm a 3rd person watching a movie.

Talking about dreams on a date is a last-ditch effort to seem interesting. Tim and I have witnessed it, and it's painful. Opening with "do you ever have dreams?" is not going to make the girl bang you for your intellect. She's probably too busy checking out pictures on Facebook anyway.

Last night while brushing my teeth, I started thinking about money. This is kind of a funny statement, because I don't really "start" to think about money. It never really began, and it certainly hasn't ended. I hope someday that I won't have to stress about it so much, because given how short life is, it's a shame. I think I read that you get to stop thinking about money around a $70,000 yearly income.

My family was poor, and I am poor now. This means that, growing up, we didn't do anything extreme and entire years of my life are gone from my memory. This also means that, as an adult now, I'm happy with what I have, guiltily aware that I have much more than others in need, and I stay optimistic about the future. But I'm really fucking sick of "splurging" on a $5 item at the grocery store. I'll never forget how, in school as a youngster, there was this group of preppy girls that I used to be friends with, and seemingly every week they would gather around each other before class and look at their stacks of photos taken on Block Isle or something. It wasn't until I think last year that the revelation hit me: oh, their families had money! That's why they went skiing every weekend (I've been skiing twice in my life, both times as part of a school trip. I am from Maine, and there are 2 ski resorts alone near my town). That's why they had really pretty jewelry and L.L. Bean fleeces and hair highlights.

But anyway.

There's this vicious cycle of needing money. You want to do things in your life, take up hobbies, keep a relationship fresh, go out with friends. Most activities require money. Little, little expenses (or big ones, like traveling) that all add up and make my blood drain when I look at my bank statement. I think about the things I spend money on and know I could do better. I justify to myself, thinking "well, some people go out to the bar and drop $30 or more per night! I don't do that!" or "this move getting a cat and apartment fixup cost a lot of money initially, but it's just a big chunk I have to spend once." It's awful. While I'm certainly more frugal than other people I know, and I make every effort to conserve and buy store brand or on-sale groceries, it's still never enough.

I thought about the things I own, and how necessary they may be. I thought about what I think about it. I feel as though my desires and expectations in life are realistic. I don't need a smartphone or the newest computer. Yes, I want a new computer, but that's because juggling 90 gigs of space for the last 5 years has been a major problem as an animator. I don't need the best-of-the-best. I don't need a house from a magazine (just the kitchen). I don't need a $2200 brown purse with Cs on it, I don't need brand-name clothes, a fancy car, and I don't need a $500 Crate and Barrel end table when I could just buy furniture from the thrift store and repaint it (that's more fun anyway).

I wondered to myself if I'm a consumer in the brainwashed American consumer sense. I definitely enjoy buying things, and get a real sense of satisfaction when I buy something on sale. I then wondered if that's not the product of being poor/frugal, or perhaps my own personality. If I had tons of money, I would buy gifts for people constantly. I see things in stores or wherever that remind me of the people I know, their tastes, or our inside jokes. I love Christmas because I like choosing special gifts for my friends and family and wrapping them up to look attractive. It makes me feel good to give gifts, but then again what if that's another subliminal product of consumerism and the holiday shopping attitude??

I really like fixing and improving things, especially around the house. The things I've been buying recently have been in that spirit, and it makes me feel like the money I'm spending is going towards something useful and more long-term than, say, an expensive meal out or concert tickets or something. It makes me feel really good to improve things. For example, the other night Tim woke me up in the middle of the night probably ten times, asking what time it was. He's so damn paranoid about oversleeping and being late for work that he can't even sleep through the night. The next morning I looked on trusty Amazon for a large digital wall clock, with nice neon red numbers that Tim can see when he sits up in bed in the middle of the night. He will be reassured, I will be sleeping, and everyone will be happy. Improvement. However, the digital wall clocks I found on Amazon all ran about $30, and if you think I'm going to spend that kind of money on a clock then, well, you're not giving me enough credit. So that idea is on hold for now, until I find something cheaper. Until then, it's half-our wake-ups for me every night.

I will readily admit that I have too much stuff. Before we moved, I really tried my best to downgrade. I'm severely jealous of the people who have a mere roomful of stuff and can move out with a small truck or their parents' trunk. When I think more on this, I could say that I'm trying to move on or separate myself from this "college student lifestyle." Yes, I want my home to consist of more than a dresser and a TV. I want my home to look "grown-up." I can also say that I have enough, meaning that I have the supplies or equipment necessary to facilitate everything I do regularly. All my hobbies, all my work needs, appearance/clothing needs, cat needs. I felt that I had enough 2 years ago. But I know that it's all just stuff, and that if a fire or something destroyed all of it, it would just be a pile of once-stuff. Maybe having these things, and trying to make our home as attractive as we can, is a denial/coping mechanism for being poor? Like an illusion? Tim and I both have the same attitude of wanting to leave behind the "crappy college apartment" vibe. Sure, he couldn't care less that the new shoe rack is made of cedar (and only cost $10!), but he is happy that we have one because now our shoes won't be thrown into a pile, college-student-style. It's grown up to have a shoe rack. It's grown up to have a Brita filter. That, and we undoubtedly have lead pipes (good thing I'm not getting pregnant anytime soon).

It's tough getting rid of things when you're an artist, and when you're poor (usually goes together). Supplies are expensive, especially glass supplies. But the reality is, I do 90% of my artistic work on the computer. Since school, I've either sold or donated the inexpensive supplies, and stored the more expensive supplies in Maine. When we moved, I tried to get rid of things that I hadn't used in 2 years, as well as things I didn't need that could be inexpensively replaced. I sold or donated things that could be used by other people. I donated perfect-quality, brand new books worth $25 each because to sell them online would have been a pittance. They're worth more as a tax break than actually selling them. And, you know, maybe someone in Allston wants to learn how to solder dogtags and stamp metal.

When it comes to cookware and appliances, which I have a lot of, I try to replace/upgrade things. No multiples. I buy things that I'm going to use often. And I do use my things often, but it still feels like too much. I'm taking this move, and then the full organization of our apartment after painting, as a chance to trim down some more on what I don't need. For example, a relative gave me a nice lemon zester we bought on the family trip last summer. I took it because it was brand new, nice design, and I didn't have one. I didn't want it to go to waste.

I hate lemon zest. I always omit it from recipes. What is my problem.


TL;DR: Fred made two stinky poops last night in quick succession.

*I realize that saying "poor" is relative. I'm painfully aware that there are people--kids--who face each day in a war-and-famine-ravaged country. There are people wondering if they'll have a limb blown off today, and I'm complaining about finding a good job. I am fortunate for what I have, and I berate myself daily for feeling bad about aspects of my life. While I'm not completely first-worlding it by complaining about lack of parking at the gym, I also don't want to sound like an ungrateful, oblivious asshole.

Update on fixing up the apartment

The other day, I looked out the window to check for packages and noticed this nightmare insect chilling on the screen.

Praying Mantis

"Psst, hey. You're dead."

Fred is doing well, and we're about to start toilet-training him. His new flushable cat litter is made from wheat, so we can also make bread while we're training him.

Fred, meanwhile, has been containing himself well.

The apartment. These past two weeks we've lived here have crawled by, and the next two days are going to crawl even longer. We plan on renting a car and hitting up the nearby Ikea and Home Depot in one fell (fell means expensive, right?) swoop for our fixing-up supplies. This includes housepaint and lumber for shelves.

Things that suck in an old house: Besides the good chance that it's haunted, the plumbing always sucks. The outlets are 2-pronged and spaced 80 feet apart. Same with studs. 

Like any girl, I was thrilled to receive my new magnetic stud finder in the mail. I scanned through three entire rooms and didn't find a single one. That means I'm crap out of luck, and when it comes to installing things like my pots and pans pegboard, I'm going to have to use mountain climbing gear to get it to stay up in the drywall. 

Below is a pictoral saga of everything that's wrong in the apartment, and in some cases, how we've overcome them.

We had a hefty power strip with a long enough cord to wind around the wall from the outlet to beneath Tim's desk.

This radiator. These walls. What degree of angle is this? Why is there an outlet there? Fortunately we plan on putting the microwave and other small dining appliances on a shelf there, where it'll fit perfectly and we'll be able to make use of that outlet.

Today Fred has been my little hardware helper. He played with the bags I was organizing, he helped me wedge pencils under the fridge, and he helped jump in the boxes I was trying to tape up. Here he is gnawing and killing a small strip of cardboard. Don't spend money on cat toys, is the lesson here.

Like my mother, I am a mug aficionado. This is moronic, as I don't even drink coffee. These already-here hooks and shelf are helpful in that they save cupboard space, but unhelpful in that I have to choose which mugs I'm going to use forever.

This is our kitchen. 

It's small and horrible, and I say that not only because it obviously is, but because it's an immense downgrade from our previous kitchen, appliance-wise, space-wise, and accessibility-wise. Our old kitchen can best be described as "boss," and I miss it sorely. I love to cook, and I have a lot of utensils and gadgets to facilitate that. I don't mess around. The fact that I need to buy WD-40 to open the oven door is a major bummer.

I'd also like to point out that I did not use a garbage disposal until my first apartment as a sophomore in college. At the time, it was filled with the previous tenant's rice and was broken. I consider garbage disposals "fancy" and "for rich assholes." That being said, having one was really convenient and awesome, and saved a lot of veggie-prep time. I would definitely opt for one if I had the choice.

This kitchen does not come with a microwave. That's where I draw the line. I don't eat microwave meals, but I don't wait 40 minutes to heat leftovers in the oven either. Especially with this oven, which can be carbon-dated for the most part. And I cook toast in the oven. I have never owned a toaster of my own. I would probably never stop eating PopTarts if I did.

We have Tim's microwave from college, which has spent 6 or 7 years collecting spiders on his parents' porch. Needless to say, we sprang for a $40 microwave from WalMart, which was made this decade and doesn't require Herculean strength just to pry the damn door open. 

Here we come to Glaring Problem Number One: Kitchen Outlets. Where are they, you may be wondering? I'll show you, through the magic of photography.

Here, at eye level on this wall:

And here above the sink (which is watery in case you forgot), out of reach of any nearby counter space.

Helping add to counter space is this portable dishwasher, which we bought off of the previous tenant and have run a few times so far. It's fine, but when it runs it sounds like it's evoking the rage of Poseidon. It's got wheels, but so do Wal-Mart shopping carts, and those suck too. I am grateful for the added dishwasher, counter space, and portability however.

I mentioned earlier that I forgot to take some before-and-after pictures of cleaning the kitchen and bathroom. The other night I was playing on the kitchen floor with Fred when I glanced up and emitted a Hank Hill-esque yell of horror. Here, below the kitchen cabinet, is a yummy peek into the kind of work we had cut out for us.

Now on to some improvements I've made thus far:

Bought and installed a little inner-cabinet caddy for foil and wrap. Our old apartment's kitchen had AWESOME storage, and I kept this stuff in one of the drawers that was shallow in height but deep in the counter. It was perfect.

These pots and pans are going to be hung up on a pegboard on the wall, but in the back is a simple box shelf I made out of a moving box, because I'm tired of spending money on wire storage. I'm hoping it will help keep things organized in the giant open space under the sink. Considering the amount of mouse turd I cleaned from under there, I'm reluctant to leave our cooking supplies exposed and jumbled down there.

Another storage box, using the open slot to our advantage in terms of being able to grab sandwich and trash bags. It also has our frequently-used cleaning spray and cat litter bags.

Yum.

The stove hood. Also yum.

What's this random metal flap doing on the wall next to the door, you ask?

Why, it's a portal to Disgusting! And don't worry, because it doesn't stay closed and the turny knob doesn't turn and lock it! Lol!

We hope to repair the cracks in the walls like this when we repaint. Apparently this paint was frosted on.

This picture is blurry, but I'm here to tell you that this is ketchup or some other form of dried condiment. This is above the doorway's molding in the kitchen. This is 9 feet high. My camera even recognized the stain and focused in on it with a little red square.

Off of the kitchen is a small little pantry-hallway thingy. Fortunately, the door sticks on the ground, but the real kicker is inside the pantry.

I am waiting for an over-the-door pantry shelf to arrive in the mail, and then I can put most of our dried food items on it and save some much-needed space.

This screenshot from the show "Hoarders" exemplifies the sad state of the pantry/linen closet/suicide hotspot. Each shelf seems to have been bought and installed separately, by a 4th grader who failed basic math. Each shelf is a different length, height, and width, so you never know what's going to fit! The interior of the closet is also triangularly-shaped, which means that the door won't close if something's placed on the edge of the shelf (like where the sewing basket is, for instance).

Next is the bathroom. The bathroom, the bathroom. 

Our window looks directly into the kitchen/dining room of the neighbor. 

The showerhead is too small and feeble to house our shower caddy, but this trusty Random Screw has saved the day! Problem solved!

This built-in soap dish, which used to be orange, touches my butt.

That's right, that's not an illusion. The showerhead is zip-tied to the curtain rail.

One of the first things Tim did when we started to clean was remove this showerhead and run it under scalding water. We have an awesome showerhead from a previous apartment, but naturally the threadings don't match up. We hope to remedy that this weekend.

Moving down the shower pipe. This looks like tightly-wound plastic bag, but what do I know?

The knobs, way at the bottom of the tub. This means that, if you are showering and you don't want to get your hair wet, you get to lean directly into the shower water to turn it off. It also means that, if the water is Inferno-hot, which it is naturally, you get to lean directly into the shower water to turn it off.

Whoever invented this dirt-and-pube-catching concept can go directly to hell. These are attached to the floor tub, and were brown when we moved in.

At least there's ample storage space under the sink, right?

Wrong. Hot, rusty, melty pipes instead!

These tiles in the bathroom are over a hundred years old. I believe it. 

And finally, the bathroom's coup de grace: the desk lamp wedged onto the top of the mirror.

The switch to turn it on.

HouseBeautiful called.

This depressing little fixture bathes the bathroom in sad, yellow light at night. The quiet hum of the vent is similar to that of a light plane's propellor.

Fred doesn't care about privacy: he poops in a box.

This right here is the carbon monoxide detector, at knee-height in the pantry area. At least it works.

There are two empty smoke alarm holders in the ceiling of our apartment, and apparently I didn't get that it was a BYO smoke alarm. It's also, we learned, under the "Cheap Bastards" clause of New Jersey rentals, not the responsibility of the landlord to provide a fire extinguisher, as it is in Massachusetts.

 

The bedroom. Still a mess from unpacking.

There are 2 doors leading to the bedroom. This one sticks, as you can see by the aged furrows in the wood.

This paint-and-spackle job reminds me of Mission Hill apartments.

A gimp-in closet. The sloped ceiling really plays into my terror of small spaces.

This cute exposed bulb fixture in the closet helps us feel like we're in a Nine Inch Nails video as we're dressing.

Every doorknob in the apartment was fashioned by Geppetto of Pinocchio fame.

This was another major problem: A radiator with some kind of homemade shelf thing over it. In terms of configuring the bed and side tables, this threw that notion completely out the window.

A nice fly corpse collecting light

Ethernet boxes like this make it impossible to push furniture flush against the wall.

This is the front door. In Boston, one would immediately think, "This apartment has been broken into before." But I guess this is just door maintenance? (Believe me, we asked).

This dirty lightswitch next to the door makes an alarming electrical buzz for the first five minutes it's on. Or rather, switched "off" (even the switch positioning's wrong).

A closeup of what is keeping murderers from entering our home.

The living room. I love it. It's spacious and bright. It's going to look great once the walls are painted, things are unpacked, and everything's arranged.

Same with this room, which we were able to combine into a dining and office area. My new desk is awesome. 

I will be posting more pictures once the rooms are repainted, which will be happening next week, and I can't wait to finally organize everything and feel less cluttered.

We are really determined to make this apartment work, since the location is phenomenal: close to NYC train, restaurants, grocery store. And it's a very safe area. Our upstairs neighbors and nice and welcoming and they even like Zelda too! This has been a real challenge so far, but I love a good home improvement project as much as the next gal.