November 1, 2011

Trivia Blog: Sleepless in Apartment 3B

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

The pipes, the pipes are clan-ging…

My favorite trivia-goers, I apologize in advance if I happen to pass out tonight, mid-question, and fall into one of your pitchers or plates of delicious, delicious nachos.  I’m currently riding a five-day stretch of getting close to no sleep due to the steam pipes in our building having some sort of seizure or conniption fit that can only occur between 2:00 and 7:00 in the morning.  It’s awesome.  Forget the whales or the rain forest or kids with some sort of lung disease, someone organize a fundraiser to help exorcise the asshole demon living in my building’s steam pipes that gets off on depriving fine people like myself of much-needed sleep.

I’ve felt, at times over the last few days, like some sort of tortured war vet.  I have the far-away stare, the painful flashbacks to being jolted awake by constant banging sounds, the crying in the corner while hugging my knees…  Whenever I mention the phenomenon to other people who’ve suffered the same sort of pain, this look of familiar pity and understanding passes over their face, a single tear rolls down their cheek, and we hug, brothers in arms.  Where’s OUR movie, Oliver Stone??

This is how it usually goes down…

2:09 am – The first of the banging starts, waking us up.
2:40 am – The banging continues; earplugs go in.
3:23 am – Somehow I’m still awake, plotting the death of my super.
4:02 am – I’m jarred out of sleep by a particularly loud bang.  Cry.
4:51 am – I can see time.
5:27 am – I’m jarred out of sleep once more.  Cry again.
5:59 am – I start to think that there should be MORE Alvin and the Chipmunks live-action movies.
6:30 am – Sweet, sweet sleep.
7:00 am – Alarm.  Cry.

Why do we accept this as New Yorkers?  Why do we just assume that on top of obscenely high rent payments, dealing with things like clanging steam pipes or roaches or happening upon hobos receiving blowjobs in our entryways (happened to me in the East Village) is just part of living here?  Thankfully, there are things like 3-1-1 and ways to screw over a shitty landlord by legally not paying rent; we were allowed to keep 5 months worth of rent because our last landlord had so many violations (don’t EVER rent a property from Ray Bari, btw).  But still, it makes me long for the days of $525/mo., 2-bedroom, 2-bath, 1,250-square-foot apartments in Ohio.  Almost.

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