OTAS, you found it

I’m secretly happy have to see this White House squirming. Pundits say it’s typical of a second term president; but I would like to think people – even of his own party – are sick of his running this country like a fraternity. (I’m surprised he didn’t nominate his stock broker to head the Federal Reserve.) I’m still waiting for the White House to begin wearing water buffalo hats and start referring to Bush as “The Grand Pubah.”

The smart ones knew what they were getting themselves into and got out during the first term, but the ones staring at the Bush presidency like deer in headlights are beginning to get hit. Farewell: advisors to Cheney, FEMA chiefs, and Justice nominees. (The American people have given him the chances the didn’t deserve – and now we’ve learned.)

The Iraq war notwithstanding, are any of these things THAT big of a deal? Probably not. This is certainly not the first time a Supreme Court nominee was rejected; this whole thing with Libby is no Watergate; and Katrina, well, let’s just say the local and state governments should have had the good sense to keep their 20-foot-below-sealevel-city safe from storms.

It’s all politics. And the Democrats are just as dirty and crooked as the Republicans – all of them are a bunch of winy, power-hungry pigs. Their only distinction is their constituents: unions and minorities on the one hand, businesses and Jesus freaks on the other. And they’re all in Washington, for Gods sake: a spade’s a spade.

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On a less jaded note, I see La Cenerentola tonight with Max and his mother. I know what you’re thinking: “Didn’t you see that in Chciago?”. Yea but the Chicago production had a great tenor singing prince charming; the Met’s production casts Olga Borodina, a famous mezzo that’s been reigning supreme in the Bel Canto rep. I’ve got to compare and contrast –that’s one of the fun things about this art.

Last night was my encounter with Mozart at the Metropolitan Opera; the performance, Cosi fan tutte (“Women are always as such”), was conducted by none other than James Levine himself. Since the only brush I had with this opera was the old Schwarzkopf recording from the 60s, seeing it staged was a priority for this season.

It was wonderful. There are those works of music that were composed for the Diva (Tosca, La Traviata, etc.), then there are those works of music that need no great singers to make them exciting. This opera was the latter: Mozart can keep his audiences entertained with the sheer genius of his music without the need of a high-flying aria (though, to be fair, operas highest flying arias were composed by him). That’s not to say the Met didn’t put its best foot forward with its casting: Frittoli, one of the most beautiful soprano voice of today, sung along side with a beautiful tenor, Matthew Polenzani, and other great cast members.

You would think an opera in New York would produce some of the most unfriendly people – New Yorkers, rude; operagoers, snobbish – but I’ve never found that to be the case. I sat next to a friendly older gentleman and a military man. The older gentleman seemed to be a Met regular, pointing out the opera club area, why the Met uses a prompter in the center of the stage, and details about the production. He was, as I’ve found time and time again there, an extremely friendly and inviting person.

One of the problems with Mozart’s operas is that the acts are long. Cosi, for example, is just over three and a half hours long, but only one intermission: so you sit through two acts that are over an hour and a half each (the first act, I’m generally fine; the second gets a little rough) and by the end of the night you’re pretty tired.

For some strange reason it makes the whole experience better: you’re willing to suffer a bit, making the opera all the more telling. It's all part of "The Opera!"

(I think I can hear you groaning from here.)

Despite the fact that I’m completely broke, I decided to go ahead and make the most of my New York experience with, you guessed it, opera. So this Tuesday I’m going to see Mozart’s Cosi fan tutte, next month I’m to see Grounod’s Romeo et Juliet and in December – how can I resist – I’ll be able to hear my favorite Mimi (Hong) in Puccini’s La Boheme. In January I’m to see Mozart’s Die Zauberflote –Bring on those six high Fs!

As if that weren’t enough, my parents are coming at the end of January fully intent on gorging themselves: Cyrano de Bergerac, La Traviata, Aida, Die Zauberflote, Rigoletto. You got that right, opera five nights in a row (make me look like a dilettante – I’m only joining them for three of them). But I’m also exploring contempory work with the thriller-opera, The Mines of Sulfer at City Opera.

I’m excited as I have my convoluted reasons for seeing all of them, which I will spare you. As you know, you’ll get the review here (Cosi is tomorrow night).

Work has, for the first time in a while, preoccupied my mind almost day and night. They’ve hired me to do more serious analytics on their workforce here and, I have to say, I understand why: The work that they’re doing in this area is laughable. So for the last few days I’ve been trying to figure out how to convince these people to make some sort of investment in the type of technology they will need to do something serious. I’ve got my work cut out.

But enough about work. . . it’s Friday for god’s sake.

On the home front, the apartment is really coming together. I bought some drapes yesterday and hung most of them (stopped at 10:30 last night for a beer and, well, you know how that goes) and also managed to get my things unpacked and put away. It’s beginning to really feel like home, now.

So another weird thing is happening – a budding friendship with the ex. Wonders never cease. Last weekend we hung out together and it seems like we’re going to be doing more and more together. I’m not sure if this is dangerous (seems like it) or it’s healthy (doesn’t seem like it) but fences are being mended.

As if there wasn’t enough other shit going on, this whole scheme to inseminate my cousin’s girlfriend has taken another step: she went in for her insemination last week (twice, actually), so I’ll know pretty soon if I’m going to be a --- eeeeerrrr --- DADDY. If not, we'll try again next month.

How do I get myself into these things?!!

I Finally made it to the Big Apple. The travels weren’t without trial or tribulation: coming to New York during a Biblical rain storm, movers from hell that charged me through the nose, a cell bill that will bankrupt me, and starting a new job without a phone or computer.

But I’m a new Yorker now –I’m tough. I managed to live through the white knuckle flight that made my arrival seem more like Othello’s arrival into Cyprus than a triumphal return. The movers eventually came and I was able to get my apartment together in a couple of days. The new job, so far, is relatively cool. . . there’s a lot of work to do and I will eventually be doing a lot of it.

And now that I’m on the Upper East Side, I was able to go for a job in Central Park over the weekend. Running by the Great Lawn, little bridges, and lakes with the skyline over the horizon I thought to myself: “I’m finally here – back in New York.”

Over the weekend I went out to the great Metropolitan Opera with Max and his mother to see Verdi’s Falstaff, which was fantastic. Afterwards Max and I met up with Rob for drinks and dancing in the Village. We had a ball. The following day I went out for brunch with Sonya then to the Village again with Rob. This city just keeps ya pumpin’!

And now, with this return, I’m able to change this blog to something a little more New York.

NEW YORK

It was quite a weekend of apartment hunting. Flew into the Big Apple on Saturday morning, checked into a hotel, and hit the ground running with the apartment search. I was determined not to pay a broker’s fee – which in New York averages 15% of the total annual rent – so I had some work to do. (That fee is nearly two months rent. . four thousand dollars just to be shown an apartment. Fuck that.)

In preparation, I did a lot of internet searching and making phone calls directly to buildings’ owners, but also called brokers as well (just in case I couldn’t find anything.) To my surprise I was able to find some nice apartments. But, as nice apartments go, I was competing with someone else to get it, of course. Fortunately, I was able to turn on the charm, have all my ducks in a row for the application (W2 forms, bank statements, letters of employment, etc.) and get my application in. I must wait and see. . . but didn’t want to put all my eggs in one basket.

Later that day I went around town with a broker; this hard core bitch who showed me, perhaps, the most depressing places in Greenwich Village AND more expensive then my Upper East Side finds. For God’s sake, I don’t need to live in the Village that bad.

My final destination for the day was an upscale building at, of all places, Wall Street – right around the corner from the New York Stock Exchange. They had a cute studio available next month. Impressed with lobby, doorman, gym, game room and outdoor patio, I decided to put an application there as well..

So it was time to reward myself with some R&R and watched the Fantastic Four, grabbed something to eat, and met Rob out for some drinks later that night.

Sunday I awoke to another broker appointment on the Upper East Side. He was really cool, actually, and showed me some nice apartments, but none nicer than the ones I’d put an application on, and none worth paying that fee for. Nice try.

Sick of walking, I went back home to relax. I got a call that the apartment I wanted and put an application on in the Upper East Side went through and they wanted me to come in and sign the lease. So this morning I went to the bank, got the check, and signed the lease. Now all I have to do is have the landlord sign, and I’m in there like swimwear.

Now all I have to do is move.

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So the gravity of this move is apparent. I couldn’t be happier to move back to New York. But after a big reunion with old friends in Chicago and making a great new friend, Anthony, this change is bittersweet.

But who am I? Well, I have to say, though I grew up in Chicago, my adult life was spent in New York – in a sense, I grew up there and the taste for the things I like to do now were developed there. And I have good friends there, too. Dear God, I endured some of the best of worst times of my life there. I’m a New Yorker. I guess it took moving to Chicago to realize it.