The Rumor About the True Things

muh. Terrible few days of a fever that morphed into a throat infection that morphed into a cold. But three house-bound days with a healthy dose Battlestar Galactica and Daily Show reruns seem to have been quite the cure. Still frustratingly unable to hop on the bike, but what are you going to do?

Anyway, living in Bedford-Stuyvesant for the past month has been an adventure. In the world of New York real estate, where trendy white neighborhoods expand their boundaries, quite literally, as real estate agents start establishing "East Williamsburg" and push Clinton Hill across Classon Avenue, I've become very cognizant of the fact that, after my stop, there are usually no white people left on the train. In the very way I live, I'm living on an edge of sorts: I only go east of Bedford Avenue when biking to Bushwick.

I've been exploring my own neighborhood, the little corner of Bed-Stuy that's become home, and I like it a lot. Tons of families out every day, a School and a Library right across the street, I've a downstairs neighbor who's director of a marching band and whose two-year old son is learning the drums (with a full kit(!)).

And the apartment itself is coming together pretty wonderfully. Elias and I have two big common rooms, one of which has a couch and a big computer/movie setup and a drafting table, the other of which is turning into a study. We just finished painting it today... it's where a newfound 1940's era radio console sits, as well as my desk and as many bookshelves as we can find. Between the painting and the writing desk I built last week, its all very reminiscent of a long conversation Kay and I had while we were both sick and house-bound... when you build the things you use with your own hands, you feel so much more on top of your life and in control of situations. And as I look around my newly painted study with my newfound health, I'd say that's a pretty accurate description.