anonymous asked:

Hi! So my fiancée and I are looking to move to Brooklyn or Queens (we work in the city and are from Long Island). How did you find your apartment with your gf? Any apps, word of mouth, online? Currently we're using streeteasy and trulia the most. What advice would you give to a fellow lesbian couple looking for a place? Anything you wish you did looking back on it now? Thanks!

the apartment we currently live in is kind of one of my greatest accomplishments, but I don’t know how helpful my story is going to be. so my girlfriend was moving to nyc from like. the opposite side of the world, and I’d been living in a stranger’s attic for four months like some kind of horrible reverse harry potter. we n+–eeded an apartment fast, and it was up to me to find it. I’d been monitoring streeteasy and nybits for a few weeks, absolutely determined not to pay a broker’s fee, wiggling to the upper hundred dollars of our budget in my search. I was ready to jump. 

our apartment popped up in the listings on a monday, I went to view it that tuesday. my appointment was at six-thirty, the realtor took me around, and I liked it. middle of the road, “eh I can probably do better” liked it. but then I left, and as I did, two girls passed me as they came up the stairs, going to view the same unit I’d just left. there’s a feeling that’s unique to new york city, that sinking oh fuck me I’m going to lose the apartment, that just dropped into my stomach like a rock. by the time I’d walked to the subway station six minutes away, I’d texted the realtor to let him know we’d take it. after that it was off to the races, trying to get our documentation in and our finances approved, all while those other girls hung like a hiply-coiffed sword of damocles above us. to this day, I’m pretty sure we got this place by the skin of our teeth. 

(we adore it now, by the way, even if we made more money we’d really really have to convince ourselves to move to a different neighborhood)

so here’s my advice

  • have your paperwork ready. your broker/realtor doesn’t give a shit about you and will let someone snipe the place out from under you if they’re set to go and you’re not.
  • be on streeteasy and nybits every single day. you want to catch the newest listings.
  • know the handful of things you won’t compromise on. ours were subway distance, room for two PC setups, and price. everything else? be ready to send them down the river.
  • you’re fighting other people for this place: make sure at least one of you is available to sign leases or view the unit. don’t make the realtor wait until you’re out of work. everyone wants to meet him after work. call in sick for an afternoon if you can. 

good luck!! let me know how it goes! brooklyn could always use more real lesbians, not just straight girls dressing like them. 

Anytime someone tells you to be realistic, reply back, “enjoy your flight”. ✈️

Does a large, metal, sphere-like object filled with hundreds of passengers soaring at 30,000 feet above sea level sound realistic?

Today, thousands of flights will take off and land all around the globe without a hitch. It took time and effort to perfect it.

There’s no such thing as hard. You can do anything ✨

In 1995, PBS ran a lavish ten-part documentary called American Cinema whose final episode was devoted to “The Edge of Hollywood” and the increasing influence of young independent filmmakers-the Coens, Carl Franklin, Q. Tarantino, et al. It was not just unfair, but bizarre, that David Lynch’s name was never once mentioned in the episode, because his influence is all over these directors like white on rice. The Band-Aid on the neck of Pulp Fiction’s Marcellus Wallace-unexplained, visually incongruous, and featured prominently in three separate setups-is textbook Lynch. As are the long, self-consciously mundane dialogues on foot massages, pork bellies, TV pilots, etc. that punctuate Pulp Fiction’s violence, a violence whose creepy-comic stylization is also Lynchian. The peculiar narrative tone of Tarantino’s films-the thing that makes them seem at once strident and obscure, not-quite-clear in a haunting way-is Lynch’s; Lynch invented this tone. It seems to me fair to say that the commercial Hollywood phenomenon that is Mr. Quentin Tarantino would not exist without David Lynch as a touchstone, a set of allusive codes and contexts in the viewers midbrain. In a way, what Tarantino has done with the French New Wave and with Lynch is what Pat Boone did with rhythm and blues: He’s found (ingeniously) a way to take what is ragged and distinctive and menacing about their work and homogenize it, churn it until it’s smooth and cool and hygienic enough for mass consumption. Reservoir Dogs, for example, with its comically banal lunch chatter, creepily otiose code names, and intrusive soundtrack of campy pop from decades past, is a Lynch movie made commercial, i.e., fast, linear, and with what was idiosyncratically surreal now made fashionably (i.e., “hiply”) surreal.
—  –David Foster Wallace on Quentin Tarantino and David Lynch