OK, I’m a lot calmer now, thanks. No more undignified outbursts for a little while more, at least. (By the way, thanks for all the love, gang. It helped more than you may ever realize.) Yesterday was a pretty damn stressful day, spent worrying and panicking and running around trying to figure out what is going on with this big crackdown on artists’ lofts here in Brooklyn. There was a big community meeting about it last night (which I missed) and another one tonight (which I damn well won’t miss), so people are up in arms and on top of the situation, which is good. The people in my building met last night and we got ourselves organized so we can avert catastrophe by making a preemptive strike at getting things up to snuff around here before any inspectors come by and try to claim it’s not safe here. We even coined a plucky name (EWAC! The East Williamsburg Artists Coalition), set up a web page and an listserv, and started imagining how fun it would be to weld artwork to the outside of the building to baricade ourselves in if the bastards try to kick us out. Never say that activism doesn’t have room for a little goofiness.
The meeting really helped calm me down and realize that there are steps we can take to avert gettin’ the boot. Now that they’ve evacuated a few buildings and created such a fuss, the city agencies involved say that they would only evacuate buildings in imminent danger (a very sketchy evaluation, from the sound of it), and try to fine or warn the rest on the list of 121 targeted loft buildings. Presumably the political pressure now is for them to avoid kicking anyone else out into the streets around Christmas, so we’re counting on the inspectors to look favorably on anyone’s attempts to make sure their buildings comply with the fire code. That’s why we’re springing into action to make sure our building is OK before anyone gets in to look around. My building isn’t as raw as it looks, so things may not be so tenuous. The thing is, we want to know for sure before we take any chances. That’s why we’re all springing into action today — keeping exits clear, getting smoke detectors and fire extinguishers, taking care of any flammable materials we may have around our pads.
These aren’t all temporary measures to avert this catastrophe, even if that’s what has sprung us into action. We want the building to be safe. One of the things you can’t take for granted when you live in an artist’s loft is that everything is safe and honky-dory all the time (especially when the owner is a notorious loft slumlord). Also, we want to pull together as a building and a neighborhood of people with the same concerns about the life we’re trying to carve out here in the hinterlands of Brooklyn. So this organization of ours will hopefully live on past this dilemma and allow us to continue and improve our lot in life. Besides, why waste the snappy acronym?
Also, I’m glad that something has spurred me to getting to know my neighbors after living here for well over a year. One of the problems of life in New York, and this neighborhood in particular, is that it’s really easy to just hole up in your cave and never get many chances to know the people living mere feet away from you. It’s worse around here where there are no public places to congregate and mingle. I’ve said hello to plenty of the folks around here, but I now realize that I actually like everyone. Pretty much everyone in my building is really good-looking and hip, too, so that helps.
And, Dori, this is SO not Bushwick out here. I’ve lived in Bushwick, so trust me. I’m very happy to be on the East Williamsburg side of Flushing Ave., where it’s at least 20 percent less bleak.
God, I can be such an insecure freak sometimes. This isn’t helped by my occasional inability to make sense of a situation when I like a guy. Usually, it’s no problem for me to figure out the who-likes-who dynamics of a situation, but with this one I’m just lost. It’s happened before: I know I have an interest in things working out, so I just can’t make heads or tails out of the situation if it doesn’t all happen easily. Good grief. Just when I was convinced that he was trying to butter me up for the brush off (the infamous “You’re the nicest guy ever” remark was my tip-off), he calls all happy to talk to me and asks me to dinner.
Never, NEVER underestimate the importance of having a good, full-size hammer around the house. In a pinch, even a decent ball-pean hammer will do. Some day you’ll need to hang a picture, loosen an old valve on a water pipe, pull out a nail where a picture used to hang, or something else that will require something more efficient than the heel of your shoe.
Slip-joint pliers are universally handy. Purists will say that everything they’re useful for is the wrong way to use them, but that’s all horsecrap. Got a bolt to tighten or loosen? Plier it, baby. Missing a knob on the stove? Fire it up with your friendly pliers. That showerhead leaking again? You know what to do. You can tell if you’re using pliers for the wrong thing if it seems like it takes too much hand strength to get a grip on something, but the beauty of pliers is that they’ll still get the job done if you work at it. And get a pair that can also be used as a wirecutter.
Of course, we can’t forget our trusty friend the adjustable monkey wrench. This is the one that you should be using all those times when pliers don’t seem to work well. If you have a bike, for instance, you probably already know that a monkey wrench and one or two Allen wrenches (see below) are your magic best friends at tune-up time. You can think of this as a hardcore pair of pliers. If pliers can grab it, a monkey wrench can grab it better, and give you more leverage. I suspect that when I eventually start to learn car repair, I’ll develop a whole new appreciation for the monkey wrench.
No party would be complete without the amazing staple gun. Maybe 
This may seem a little more special-interest, but a set of Allen wrenches will make you very happy if you own a bike or any piece of do-it-yourself furniture from 
It’s not everyday that you find yourself sitting around with a group of friends gabbing when you come in on a conversation midstream to hear a woman you know say, “So I said to Madonna, ‘You gotta get out!’” True story. Apparently Madonna had sublet a room in Mimi’s apartment back in the early days when they were both struggling dancers, and Madonna had this thing for wandering around the place naked after she showered. Mimi asked her to knock it off while her mother, who was freaked enough about her daughter living on the mean streets of New York, was in town. Well, Madonna still let it hang loose — hairy pits and all — so Mimi decided to give her the old heave-ho (so to speak).
It was a moment of jaded, insane name-dropping that could have come directly from 