A prayer answered.
Sort of.
I should start by saying that, for the past few months, I've been plagued with the impossible dream of so many New York twentysomethings: home ownership. I was bitten by the bug after seeing the apartment that Liz almost bought, a tsetse fly of a 2-bedroom condo in South Slope, Brooklyn. While it was certainly out of my price range, the asking price wasn't shocking; it was a really nice apartment and even within my threshold of acceptable outer-borough living areas. (I'm not gonna live out past Greenwood Cemetary. Sorry. Not gonna do it.)
Anyway, I deluded myself for a little while that I might be able to afford an apartment, but when it came down to doing the math, the only places that came close to my price range were studios out in Bay Ridge the size of my current walk-in closet. Not gonna do it. (See parenthetical aside, above.)
The euphoria of optimistic mortgage calculating subsided, but I did keep my eye on the real estate market, for curiosity's sake, pretty much learning that the place I currently rent is a steal: what I pay for my East Village 1-bedroom (with aforementioned walk-in closet) would only rent me a small studio in even the fringiest of cool Brooklyn locales. So, while my current place is not cheap under any stretch of the imagination, I grew content with the fact that I was throwing all of my money toward rent. It is, after all, a very New York thing to do.
Today, though, my renters' malaise was reborn, chatting with a guy I know about his current Adventures in Real Estate. He lives out on Staten Island with his wife and kid, but, about 10 years ago, bought a 2-bedroom on the Lower East Side for a hundred grand through a government housing program. He lived there for a while, but ended up illegally subletting the place when he moved out to Staten Island. Long story short, he finally got busted and is selling the place to the subletter -- but since it's still part of this government housing program, the place is going for -- New Yorkers, you might want to make sure you're sitting down for this -- less than $250,000.
Which is all proof that the truly great housing deals in New York aren't found in any real estate listing.
ANYWAY, this is all exposition for the point of my story.
I had a gig in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, this afternoon, and got to the neighborhood like 40 minutes early for some reason. With the mantra Good Real Estate Happens To Good People cycling through my head, I grabbed a coffee from a bodega and decided to wander the side streets of Bed-Stuy. Now, Bed-Stuy has a reputation as being a "tough" neighborhood (read: ungentrified), but here's the thing about Bed-Stuy: sure, if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, you might be gunned down in a random act of street violence, but you're gonna slowly bleed to death in front of a really beautiful brownstone.
So, I'm ambling through picturesque Bedford-Stuyvesant, and I notice that my fellow pedestrians are all happy looking people, walking arm in arm, exuding that Brooklyn joie de vivre. I like this, and decide to follow some of these happy people to see what their Bed-Stuy destination is. I sort of tilt my chin up toward the heavens and send this thought up to the sky:
"Lord, please show me the way to some affordable housing."
I follow the happy-looking people through charming side streets lined with gorgeous old brownstones; it's quiet and lovely as we pass a little park. The happy-looking people cross one more street, and finally arrive at their destination.
It's a homeless shelter.
Thanks, God. Ask and ye shall receive. Good to know you're as much of a snarky ass as I am.
I should start by saying that, for the past few months, I've been plagued with the impossible dream of so many New York twentysomethings: home ownership. I was bitten by the bug after seeing the apartment that Liz almost bought, a tsetse fly of a 2-bedroom condo in South Slope, Brooklyn. While it was certainly out of my price range, the asking price wasn't shocking; it was a really nice apartment and even within my threshold of acceptable outer-borough living areas. (I'm not gonna live out past Greenwood Cemetary. Sorry. Not gonna do it.)
Anyway, I deluded myself for a little while that I might be able to afford an apartment, but when it came down to doing the math, the only places that came close to my price range were studios out in Bay Ridge the size of my current walk-in closet. Not gonna do it. (See parenthetical aside, above.)
The euphoria of optimistic mortgage calculating subsided, but I did keep my eye on the real estate market, for curiosity's sake, pretty much learning that the place I currently rent is a steal: what I pay for my East Village 1-bedroom (with aforementioned walk-in closet) would only rent me a small studio in even the fringiest of cool Brooklyn locales. So, while my current place is not cheap under any stretch of the imagination, I grew content with the fact that I was throwing all of my money toward rent. It is, after all, a very New York thing to do.
Today, though, my renters' malaise was reborn, chatting with a guy I know about his current Adventures in Real Estate. He lives out on Staten Island with his wife and kid, but, about 10 years ago, bought a 2-bedroom on the Lower East Side for a hundred grand through a government housing program. He lived there for a while, but ended up illegally subletting the place when he moved out to Staten Island. Long story short, he finally got busted and is selling the place to the subletter -- but since it's still part of this government housing program, the place is going for -- New Yorkers, you might want to make sure you're sitting down for this -- less than $250,000.
Which is all proof that the truly great housing deals in New York aren't found in any real estate listing.
ANYWAY, this is all exposition for the point of my story.
I had a gig in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, this afternoon, and got to the neighborhood like 40 minutes early for some reason. With the mantra Good Real Estate Happens To Good People cycling through my head, I grabbed a coffee from a bodega and decided to wander the side streets of Bed-Stuy. Now, Bed-Stuy has a reputation as being a "tough" neighborhood (read: ungentrified), but here's the thing about Bed-Stuy: sure, if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, you might be gunned down in a random act of street violence, but you're gonna slowly bleed to death in front of a really beautiful brownstone.
So, I'm ambling through picturesque Bedford-Stuyvesant, and I notice that my fellow pedestrians are all happy looking people, walking arm in arm, exuding that Brooklyn joie de vivre. I like this, and decide to follow some of these happy people to see what their Bed-Stuy destination is. I sort of tilt my chin up toward the heavens and send this thought up to the sky:
"Lord, please show me the way to some affordable housing."
I follow the happy-looking people through charming side streets lined with gorgeous old brownstones; it's quiet and lovely as we pass a little park. The happy-looking people cross one more street, and finally arrive at their destination.
It's a homeless shelter.
Thanks, God. Ask and ye shall receive. Good to know you're as much of a snarky ass as I am.
posted by Adam at 8:30 PM
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