I have enough ego to believe that I have many talents. But working with my hands, putting things together, isn't one of them. Unless it's a dirty martini. More on that in a mo'.
During the day, though, the place looks a lot like this:
I have a new inflatable bed set up, which should suit me for the time being. Luckily, I did not have to assemble the thing, just blow it up. After several false starts, my Internet was finally connected, and I set about the seemingly impossible task of assembling the desk I had ordered online from Costco. Though a large corner unit, with three sides, it arrived in a single box. With instructions which turned out to be, at least in part, designed to assemble the mirror image of the desk. Online, previous purchasers assured me that it only takes 10 minutes to assemble this thing. It took me 2 hours, but in the end, the empty corner at the huge picture window now has a lovely, full desk.
I also assembled a floor lamp. Aren't you excited? Because of all the logistical stuff which comes with opening a new branch of one's life, I have yet to do anything particularly New Yorky. Other than spend waaaaaay too much on groceries. One of the largest (and most expensive) grocery stores in Manhattan is located right downstairs, and I have been visiting it frequently. The first time I shopped there, last week, I ran into a Broadway star:
Well, when he's onstage, he actually looks like this:
I have no idea if Nick Adams, from Broadway's Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, is a tenant at Manhattan Plaza, or was just doing some shopping before his evening show, but running into him is just another illustration of the peculiarity of living in this huge city. The population here must be around 9 million, but every time I venture out, I recognize somebody.
(That's Hunter Foster, an actor and playwright who often works in DC, but is now appearing Off-Broadway. Passed him on the street.)
And as for that overpriced grocery store downstairs? I had determined not to frequent any establishment which charges $2.65 for a single roll of paper towels. But then I wandered down the salad dressing aisle. There, amidst a limited selection of cocktail olives and onions, was a jar of these outrageous "cocktail stirrers":
It had never occurred to me to put actual pickles in my martini. I'm now hooked. I don't think I care whether or not the New York apartment ever gets fully furnished. I have a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a cocktail garnish. What more do I need?