Worked late tonight, got back to Tokii's apartment and watched America's Next Top Model on the DVR. I think DVR is the best invention ever.
I was laying on my air mattress in Tokii's living room, watching the aspiring next top models bicker about petty situations and confront the challenges associated with this week's theme, all while living in an amazing house. I suppose it's easy to judge when you're laying inside an old sleeping bag atop a bubble of air, but watching girls cry in unappreciative shock and disillusioned horror as one of the world's greatest hair stylists cut and dyed their hair was oddly entertaining. One of the models looked at herself in the mirror and said, "This is just not me."
Wow, I thought, you thought you were modeling 'you'? Since when was the modeling industry about the self-expression of each individual model rather than the inspiration of the designer? Yet this seems to be a running "coming of age" theme from season to season among girls who claim to have wanted a lucrative modeling career all their lives. Is this irony or is it just annoying to watch others go through things that just aren't that bad?
And sleeping on an air mattress every night isn't that bad either, but perspective has everything to do with it. Lately, I've started missing having my own address. My old street and apartment address in North Carolina was never significant to me because it wasn't that hard to get it. Now, two months later, living in New York City, I am almost longing to write my own address on an envelope or submit a magazine subscription. The frustration of the rental market in this city has been starting to get to me, but according to some co-workers, a two-month apartment search really isn't that long in New York. What the ... ?
There are so many things you can't do without an address, but you don't really notice these things until you miss them. Like I can't get a New York driver license or a library card (the New York Public Library is strangely not unlike Fort Knox). And one of the harsher realities of New York City, which I fortunately do not have to deal with thanks to my best friend's willingness to harbor me and the 14 boxes of my former apartment in a corner of her living room: You can't get a job without an address; you can't get an address without a job. Once again, what the ... ?
In light of the cumbersome existence that I now share with thousands of others struggling for a Home, Sweet, Home in NYC, I would like to take this opportunity to pay homage to the air mattresses of the Big Apple. Inflatable beds are the best thing since sliced bread and DVR.