kelly_chambliss (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kelly_chambliss) wrote2010-03-14 12:45 am
kelly_chambliss) wrote2010-03-14 12:45 am
Spring Break, Day 8
So this weekend, various realtors in NYC have an open house in which they let rabble like me tour some amazingly high-end properties, the kind of residences where the doormen (who are virtually always men and mostly white to boot, which suggests what a genuinely lucrative/desirable job door-manning is) barely deign to notice you even when you're standing at their desks. My partner, a former architect, adores looking at buildings and can tell you the cost and quality of every piece of hardware, every countertop, and every appliance. She wanted to go look at some of these apartments, and the Child and I were nothing loath. (Of course, la-di-da Scandinavian appliances are wasted on me; I don't even know the cool brands, but my partner understands them all.)
So we set off for a newly-developed complex called Chelsea Enclave, which is built around a lovely old Gothic seminary. (That's right! Your apartment comes with its own church!) It's the sort of place that brings out all my socialist rage and all my capitalist avarice at the same time. I deplore it and want it both.
We first looked at the four-bedroom (in NYC, mind you!) suite with terrace, which, at nearly 3200 square feet (295 square metres) is more than twice the size of my entire house and retails for a mere $5,800,000 (about 4,216,000 Euros). The bathtubs (there are four; and four separate showers) were about three feet deep. There was a built-in, temperature-controlled mini-wine-cellar. And a butler's pantry. The fixtures tended toward the slab-like and aggressive and manly; my partner speculates that the properties will be mostly bought as investments and rented to well-to-do gay men, Chelsea being the current center of the gay community in NYC. The smaller apartments (you can get a 900-sf one-bedroom for $1,325,000) were not as breath-taking, but they were still great fun to see. Like a theme park.
We would have gone to other buildings, but it was sheeting rain so hard all day that we simply couldn't stand it any longer and had to go have lunch and then come home and sit in a hot bath. It was the sort of rain that makes unbrellas useless; the wind blew so hard that we were drenched, unbrellas notwithstanding. Every street corner was flooded; the drains simply couldn't keep up with le deluge.
I was wearing these clunky, old, very comfy black suede boots that are my footwear of choice for walking in NY in winter, and I'm not kidding, the rain actually soaked through the tops of them. I have never had this happen with any shoes before. My socks were literally wringing wet, and yet there are no holes in the boots.
But brunch was lovely. I was tempted by the savory bread pudding with fennel sausage and herbed eggs, but in the end, I had a spiffy grilled cheese sandwich made with lots of really sharp cheddar, apple slices, ground mustard, and candied pecans. On really good, crusty bread (At Hundred Acres this was,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
woldy). If I had to choose only one food to eat from now until the day I die, it would be cheese. So I was happy, if wet.
When I got home, though, I looked in the mirror and burst out laughing. My hair is a frizz-fest at the best of times, and today, with its Noah-like downpour (it is STILL raining), isn't even close to the best of times. After our humid trek to Posh Land, my hair set a new record for bushiness; I looked like one of those cartoon characters who sticks their finger in a light socket. Bzzzzt.
But all in all, it's been a great day. I'll be heading home tomorrow, provided the airport hasn't washed out into the Hudson.
And yay! The US goes on Daylight Savings Time tonight.
So we set off for a newly-developed complex called Chelsea Enclave, which is built around a lovely old Gothic seminary. (That's right! Your apartment comes with its own church!) It's the sort of place that brings out all my socialist rage and all my capitalist avarice at the same time. I deplore it and want it both.
We first looked at the four-bedroom (in NYC, mind you!) suite with terrace, which, at nearly 3200 square feet (295 square metres) is more than twice the size of my entire house and retails for a mere $5,800,000 (about 4,216,000 Euros). The bathtubs (there are four; and four separate showers) were about three feet deep. There was a built-in, temperature-controlled mini-wine-cellar. And a butler's pantry. The fixtures tended toward the slab-like and aggressive and manly; my partner speculates that the properties will be mostly bought as investments and rented to well-to-do gay men, Chelsea being the current center of the gay community in NYC. The smaller apartments (you can get a 900-sf one-bedroom for $1,325,000) were not as breath-taking, but they were still great fun to see. Like a theme park.
We would have gone to other buildings, but it was sheeting rain so hard all day that we simply couldn't stand it any longer and had to go have lunch and then come home and sit in a hot bath. It was the sort of rain that makes unbrellas useless; the wind blew so hard that we were drenched, unbrellas notwithstanding. Every street corner was flooded; the drains simply couldn't keep up with le deluge.
I was wearing these clunky, old, very comfy black suede boots that are my footwear of choice for walking in NY in winter, and I'm not kidding, the rain actually soaked through the tops of them. I have never had this happen with any shoes before. My socks were literally wringing wet, and yet there are no holes in the boots.
But brunch was lovely. I was tempted by the savory bread pudding with fennel sausage and herbed eggs, but in the end, I had a spiffy grilled cheese sandwich made with lots of really sharp cheddar, apple slices, ground mustard, and candied pecans. On really good, crusty bread (At Hundred Acres this was,
woldy). If I had to choose only one food to eat from now until the day I die, it would be cheese. So I was happy, if wet. When I got home, though, I looked in the mirror and burst out laughing. My hair is a frizz-fest at the best of times, and today, with its Noah-like downpour (it is STILL raining), isn't even close to the best of times. After our humid trek to Posh Land, my hair set a new record for bushiness; I looked like one of those cartoon characters who sticks their finger in a light socket. Bzzzzt.
But all in all, it's been a great day. I'll be heading home tomorrow, provided the airport hasn't washed out into the Hudson.
And yay! The US goes on Daylight Savings Time tonight.
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That savoury bread pudding sounds amazing. Like toad in the hole but healthier; I may have to try making a veggie version.
Thanks for the reminder about the clocks!
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Lovely neighbourhood, too. Had to laugh at the picture of that so-called bakery - the model that's in it is so painfully thin that she can't have eaten bread for years.
Reminded me of that scene in The Devil wears Prada, where one of the girls says "You eat carbs!" in tones usually reserved for "You're a serial killer". That poor skeleton in the picture hadn't killed a cereal in her life.
Cheese sandwich sounds great. Share the feeling about cheese as a 'what's the point of a world without it' food.
Have a wonderful trip home and thanks for the incredibly quick feedback!
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Re DWP -- my favorite line is when Miranda/Meryl looks at Anne Hathaway (thinner than most women, but not model-emaciated) and says, "I said to myself, 'I'll take a chance. I'll hire the fat girl. . .'"
That poor skeleton in the picture hadn't killed a cereal in her life.
Hahaha!
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The only thing keeping me from the Bzzzt-Do these days is the length! If I cut it again, I'll be right back to Electric.
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*BRRRR*, what terrible weather! Here it is still cold and unfriendly overcast, but at least dry (in the wine growing region where I spent the weekend in the youth-hostel; kids' feed-back: we have been too strict... no alcohol, no locking their rooms.....)
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Looking at posh places first hand sounds great, I'd love to do that myself. The only time I get to peek behind the curtains is in those re-decorating TV shows, but it must be much better in reality.
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