Reasons I Love This City: No. 1

From Gothamist:

A Brooklyn resident was arrested for plotting his wife's murder. The police are pretty sure Rockefeller Auguste was trying to kill his wife because he paid $5,000 to an undercover cop posing as a hit man. Captain James Coan explained, "He felt he had been wronged, and he wanted the 'hit man' he hired to follow his exact instructions - and gave him a samurai sword to be sure." According to the Daily News, Auguste "roughed up" his wife because he thought she was cheating, and when she "reported him for domestic abuse, and Auguste became enraged that she would turn on him." Auguste had requested that the "hit man" bring back her ring as proof she was dead. The wife has gone into hiding.

In related news:


Funnily enough, this is the second time I've tagged something "turning japanese."

Newegg Lets Me Cheat On My Taxes Again

Just got an email from the internet version of Best Buy, Newegg. Previously, and by that I mean for like six weeks, they'd been charging sales tax on all NY-based purchases, in accordance with a new state law that I assume means everyone has to pay sales tax on stuff they buy over the internet. If it's anything like the other state I lived in with a similar law, they ask you on your tax return if you bought anything. Newegg was applying the tax on their own, rather than leaving it up to the buyer to report (or not) the purchases on their tax return at the end of the year. The law went into effect June 1, and as of August 21, Newegg has decided to listen to their customers and ignore it:

As a result of recent changes in New York State tax law requiring certain out-of-state retailers to collect and remit sales taxes to the State of New York, we began collecting applicable sales tax for all orders shipped to New York addresses starting June 1, 2008.

After careful review and consideration, we are pleased to inform you that we have stopped collecting New York sales tax, effective August 21, 2008. This decision was driven by your direct and candid feedback and our continued commitment to you as our valued customers.

This is a win for tax cheaters everywhere. We need a shredded-receipt parade.

Joe Torre on Moving West

This blog is a about moving east. Well, technically north, but I'm a west coaster by childhood. A lot of what I've been getting used to, Joe Torre, a native New Yorker moving to LA to coach the Dodgers, has been doing in reverse. In his third post, he talks about getting used to driving, which when I first read it I found funny until I realized I spent my first two months here marveling at life on foot.

His best observation about life on the left, though, is one about pocket dogs:

Here's an interesting tidbit about LA culture. It's not just a TV cliché: People really DO carry pocket dogs around with them wherever they go. I have no idea where you'd put these little yip-yaps when you go to the restroom, or even why they're such a hot accessory; then again, I just moved from a town where people buy color-coordinated pepper spray cans. But I do know it's a real phenomenon; I learned about it first-hand when I found myself walking down Rodeo Drive with this little white Maltese or Pomeranian named Butch under my arm. The funniest (or saddest) part was that I didn't look one bit out of place. Hey, if that's all it takes to fit into LA, I'm in--at least the white fur will match my uniform. Maybe I can get a gray one for my away games.

At least some things are the same in NYC and LA.

Helpful Hint: Spotcrime New York

When I was apartment hunting, I spent a lot of time fretting over which areas were "good" or "bad," and since everyone I asked had differing opinions on what good and bad meant, I ended up visiting prospective neighborhoods at night and hoping for the best.

(What I eventually found was any area with an average rent within a few hundred bucks of what I was able to spend were well within my comfort zone. And this isn't very surprising, since I'd imagine anyone in any socioeconomic situation would feel about the same.)

However, toward the end of my apartment hunt, I found Spotcrime.com's New York section, which mashes up with Google Maps to list the crimes reported in an area. Just enter your zip code, and away you go. The site pulls its data from a number of blotters, one of which is Twitter-based, so take that for what it's worth. It's probably not the most accurate, but it's a good tool to have in your relocation utility belt.

For instance, in my neighborhood there's been a rash of muggings, probably because more yuppies and hipsters are heading eastward into Bushwick and are making for soft targets. This is why I walk around with a samurai sword at night.

No One Knows Who They Were Or What They Were Doing

The Druids ... were seen in a Brooklyn neighborhood called Cobble Hill earlier this week.

From a blog of a blog of a blog:

Last night I was walking on Court Street near Union Street with Stephanie (”Stiff”) and there were two ladies walking in front of us wearing long, flowing, huge robes with hoods (though the hoods weren’t up), not unlike the robes of a monk, wizard, or witch. They were carrying flashlights, and had an air of authority about them. Okay, what is that? Did Halloween come early? Does this have something to do with that Twilight book? Is there some sort of neighborhood watch I should know about? Until more information comes in, I’m going to call them the Cobble Hill Werewolf Patrol.

No word on whether or not they were in danger of being crushed by a dwarf.

First Great Tragedy

With the new apartment and all, I've been planning on throwing a housewarming party to break in the new digs. I was gonna theme it "Mint Julep Night," in honor of the party my friend and I put together on two hours' notice. My plan was to invite everyone over and pour mint juleps and mojitos using a recipe an old editor buddy and I figured out a couple summers ago.

However, when I went to check out the liquor store nearby, they didn't have the proper bourbon, Old Forrester, which is by far the first great tragedy of my New York experience.

What makes Forrester great is it's $15 a fifth but tastes as good as the higher-grade bourbons (pro tip: When you're at a bar, order bourbon rather than any whiskey - thanks to strict distillation requirements, even well bourbon is better than Jack), assuming you don't bother with Makers, which you shouldn't unless you have your name on a barrel anyway. And they don't have it within walking distance. Clearly this means I need to take my search to the metropolitan area. Mint Julep Night must go on.

My Bike Route

I mentioned buying a bike in an earlier post, and since I picked one up, I've been riding back and forth to work. I just keyed a rough estimate into Google Maps and found out it's about 12 miles roundtrip, including a stint over the Williamsburg Bridge, my little version of hell in fifth gear. Since I haven't been able to get a free weekend to ride around lately, I figured I'd share my Google Maps route with you and talk a bit about what it's like to commute via bike in New York.

First, my commute:



I cut off the start and end points because the internet is scary.

Anyway, the real meat of the trip begins at the Williamsburg Bridge. It's really long and steeper than it looks when you're in a car, but otherwise it's a model of bike-friendly engineering. On either side of the bridge there's a two-lane mini-road on which bikers and walkers can cross without having to deal with cars. All the bridges I've ridden over have something similar, but what's strange about all of them is they want walkers to walk on the left and bikers to bike on the right, meaning you're face to face with people coming on foot in the opposite direction. I guess it's a safety thing, but it's disorienting the first time you go over.

After that, it's a couple quick turns to the worst part of my trip: Houston street. Houston is the last major street before the avenues start, and it's a goddamn death trap. The road's poorly maintained, and since there are work crews out there every day, there's no shoulder escape route, since they have barriers up everywhere. This is the only street where people honk at me for being in the way. It's also the only street where I scream "fuck" at people.

From Houston it's pretty smooth sailing up Sixth, since it has a bike lane, which is absolutely awesome. It's on the left side of the street, so you don't have to tangle with buses randomly moving into the shoulder (buses LOVE to fuck with bikers otherwise - everyone in the MTA is a serial killer), and unless a rogue cab decides he absolutely needs to pick up someone on the left side of the road in rush hour traffic, the only drivers I have to contend with are delivery truck drivers, who at the very least are professionals and have made careers out of staying out of accidents.

From there I'm pretty much at work. It takes me about 40 minutes door to door, which is actually less than it takes me on the subway on bad days. There's also the added exercise benefit, and I know the Lower East Side like it's my job. Or at least my hobby.

To Contradict My Previous Post

To prepare for my girlfriend's arrival, I've been trying to get a read on stores in the neighborhood she'd like, since she's way more particular than I am with pretty much everything.

Anyway, I was walking down Grand after hitting up my new favorite bar in the world, and I saw a kickass produce place that was selling all varieties of fresh fruit and veggies for super cheap. Like, cheaper-than-Target cheap. You can get six artichokes for $1. That's of the I'm-so-crazy-come-on-down pricing model. This solves the Fresh Direct Produce Problem of '08, tosses some money into the small business economy in the area and lets me continue buying non-perishables at a low cost without incurring the wrath of the domestic partner.

I'm beginning to understand why people get so happy about walking a mile for groceries.