Norfolk VA: Happy Second Anniversary

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, COOL CATS! Two years ago on January 15, I departed the great & powerful New York City to launch a new life chapter in Norfolk, VA. The crazy cool Frank Lloyd
Wright-inspired home that beckoned me here offers joy every morning as the sun bursts into my bedroom, while I raise a glass daily to sunsets on the patio.

I’ve planted a hundred bulbs and sunflower seeds. I’ve hung a thousand lights on trees. I relish visits to Home Depot and paying less than $5 for eggs at a huge supermarket. No more quarters to do laundry! I even get to drive a car again. Yeah, being a suburban dwelller is mad fun!! Two years (and counting) of inspiration and bliss.

Adding to the aesthetic at home, I have replaced the HVAC and 18 windows & sliding doors, filled in a decrepit pool, gutted 2 full baths… and this month begin renovating my kitchen with respect for its midcentury modern imprint. I spent 13 years renovating my Brooklyn apartment: Can you tell I love a project?

And there’s more. In November 2014, I began hosting guests here via airbnb. Who knew what a joy (and a boon) that would be, with 200+ folks & families sharing in this space since, providing companionship from all over the world: British, Austrian, South African and Parisian families; brilliant Asian and Indian college students; a black bachelorette party (oh, the stories!); gorgeous weddings; southern evangelicals (true accepting Christians, the way we were raised); and so many individuals from whom I've learned so much. Here, I have perhaps absorbed more diversity—more intimately—than during 18 years in the big city.

My greatest trepidation in leaving NYC was that, as a freelance journalist, the work would cease. As if location matters in today's connected universe. I’m still writing like a madman, continuing to earn a living… but now with a lake view instead of a Brooklyn brick wall. So all’s well that end$ well.

Two years. Life has profoundly changed, for sure. The question I am most often asked: Do you miss New York? Of course I do. But by the time I departed January 15 2014, the NYC that treated me like a king had already deflated. Thankfully, I recognized when it was time to turn the page, instead of trying to hold onto or recreate an era whose time had passed.

This is where I’m supposed to say the best is yet to come, right? Oh, please. I’m 50+ and I’m hardly that naive. How’s about: Today is real good. With another sunset on the patio tomorrow, we’re looking just fine.

ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY IN NORFOLK! Part Three (Finale)

"Luck in life is an engineered effort."

And now the final chapter in this trilogy regarding my mid-January exit from NYC to VA amid a most egregious effort to get the hell out of New York City. See previous posts HERE and HERE.

So here we are, in the midst of the heinous, blustery, truly unpleasant two-and-a-half-hour closing for my Brooklyn Heights apartment… as buyers’ attorney deemed Dick (by my attorney) is interrogating me—in condescending fashion—about electrical non-issues that the buyers' Corcoran agent “discovered” during walk-through.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the attorney representing my coop announces: She has received an “addendum” from my Montague Street building’s Managing Agent. Huh?? In the midst of closing?

It states that the Board is not convinced that the four days I spent rebuilding my kitchen after it flooded—uh, utilizing the contractor THEY HIRED to do the work—is up to par. They're apparently concerned there may be moisture remaining in the ceiling and so… despite repairs for which I laid out major ca$h (which succeeded 100% in drying all moisture and properly sealing & repairing damage caused by my neighbor above's burst radiator pipe)... hey, you know what… We might tear it all apart!! And guess who pays for the “pre-existing damage”? Yep. Of course. Me.

No one at the table saw this one coming. After I had frantically and successfully rebuilt my kitchen after a waterfall decimated the drywall four days before closing, here we are with a last-minute notice from my coop saying, “No deal unless Chuckie understands that it might be fun to tear it all apart—on his dime."

Buyers’ attorney Dick eventually negotiated with my attorney Z to place a shitload of my money in an escrow account so we could all just get the hell out of there and close the deal—allowing the poor blindsided couple buying my apartment to take possession of their new home, while allowing me to just get out of town. (I can imagine how happy my buyers—with a 1-month-old infant—were really looking forward to the coop coming in & tearing apart their brand new kitchen...)

So ultimately, I was forced to leave $5,000 in escrow for 1) the previously described bogus electrical repairs and 2) potential demo of all the kitchen work I had just completed.

And then, at long (long) last, I was able to sign the last of 873,892,759,847 documents, and close on my apartment. Outside, as it poured rain, I had a sweet moment with the new owners of my home, wishing them happiness there.

At 5:30p, once I arrived home to spend my last moments in the apartment that I had nurtured for some 13 years, you might imagine that I might like to spend an hour reflecting, reminiscing and bidding a sweet farewell.

Honestly, after such a sullied closing, I pulled my new Ford Focus in front of the building and decided that despite it was the midst of rush hour, I’d rather sit still in traffic than wait for a single overhead light bulb to potentially burn out in the apartment—because, for sure, the buyers’ Corcoran agent would pound on the door, swearing the entire apartment was miswired.

My exit from the HOME that I bought in 2000 and transformed from a dump into a palace was, in that moment, so very bittersweet. I made a final hasty walk through each room that I had lovingly renovated over the course of 13 years and then said out loud, “G’bye.” And I closed the door.

The next turn of our story doesn’t get much better, I’m afraid. As I motored down Brooklyn’s BQE, traffic moved at a clip. Hurrah! Abby & Spencer were relaxed and dozing in the front seat next to me. But as I passed one annoying toll road after another (Verrazano Bridge, Goethals Bridge, New Jersey Turnpike, Delaware Memorial Bridge), I drove

past the rain… and right into dense, impenetrable, thick-set FOG!! Seriously?

For five hours I pretty much could not see 20 feet in front of me… roaring forward every time there was a vehicle in front of me on what turned out to be deserted coastal roads... just to follow in their taillights, until they ultimately turned off the road, leaving me anxiously slowing down at some points to 30 mph. All the while, I'm pondering my epitaph: “Poor guy. He moved out of New York City and drove off a bridge on the way to his new house…” Honest to god, it’s as if I were driving through cotton candy for 5 of the 7-hour journey.

And that’s where this long-winded tale reaches its blissful end. As I crossed the

Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel just after midnight on January 15, 2014, I exhaled that I had survived one of the cruelest days of my life. And I inhaled with gusto for all possibilities of this brand new chapter.

As I write this, it is now my two-month anniversary as a resident of Hampton Roads, Virginia.

An NYC pal asked me on the phone last week, “What do you miss most about New York?” I paused and responded: “Except for the people… not much of anything. Actually, nothing."

I was ready. It was the right move at the right time. And here we are. The page has turned and the colors on this side are as bright as could be.

Hey, and Spring is allegedly coming (following the cruelest winter the East Coast has seen in 30 years), so I will have an entirely new & colorful world to discover beyond the doors of this wowsah property in Norfolk, Va., that I have been fortunate enough to make my home. I am blessed, I am a lucky man and I wake up every morning recognizing the bounty before my eyes.

P.S. Thankfully, I got the ENTIRE $5,000 returned from the escrow account (cool cats, that's why it took me 2 months to post this: get it?). Obviously, those electrical issues turned out to be bogus. And thankfully, either the coop decided not to decimate the new kitchen—or the new owners refused to let them tear apart my beautiful work.

P.S.S. Har, har, har... And yet it's not over yet. The coop decided in February that the building is not responsible for the damage that occurred between walls (they are, via the bylaws) and are now leaving it up to me to have my homeowner's insurance company duke it out with the coop—which, mind you, I, of course, CANCELED at the end of January. Guess who is going to end up ponying up more cash months after getting the hell out of BK?!

And herein is my great lesson learned: Enduring luck in life is an engineered effort. I am a fortunate man, feeling lucky once again. *

Zillow: As Usual, As Accurate As A Ouija Board

Har, har, har... I was always amused watching Zillow's "Guesstimate" value of my former Brooklyn Heights apartment skyrocket... and then plummet, for no reason. Just got an update on the current value of my beloved home, after selling it for $816,000 in January.

Not only is its "estimated sales value" now posted at a laughable $513,000, but it is also reported as sinking $24,446 over the last month—uh, just as it sold for more than $15,000 over asking price.

In a neighborhood like Brooklyn Heights, there are hardly standard "comparables," with so much variety in terms of space, views, condition, building amenities and the like. So what does Zillow.com base its zig-zag figures on?

I stand by the fact that the buyers of my apartment—who purchased in a time when there were all of four comparable properties in the entire 11201 zip code—did just fine.

God forbid that anyone actually takes Zillow seriously... Not only is its information inaccurate, but imagine if I was in the process of selling the apartment now, and someone considered this data credible. This is actually harmful to the real estate market and a disservice to both sellers and buyers. FAIL! *

ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY IN NORFOLK! Part Two

Hello Cool Cats! When last we spoke, I had just endured holy hell as I was preparing to exit my apartment in Brooklyn Heights... Four days before closing, a radiator pipe in the apartment above mine burst and poured down into my kitchen for nearly 4 hours, pretty much turning the drywall into Play-Doh.

As previously reported, I hustled like a madman—tossing money into the air—to rebuild the walls and ceiling of my kitchen in three days, fearing that my buyers might come in during Tuesday’s walk-through, balk and say “So long, no thanks!” Thankfully, the work done by my contractor was 100% solid and by the time he finished Monday, my kitchen truly looked better than new.

But of course when one lives in a New York City coop, you can pretty much count on drama (which is among my Top 5 reasons for making a new start and exiting NYC). For 13 years, I had to ask permission from my building's Board (and often pay a shitload of money for the privilege of taking their time) if I so much as wanted to paint my door.

A houseplant on the fire escape: NO, it's a fire hazard! Host a party: We need to know when and how many! Scratch my butt: Not after 11 p.m.! My coop President was a doll, but the building’s Managing Agent... Hmm, let's put it this way... I am quite fond of her personally—and worked with her amiably when I was a member of the Board for 8 years—but there were times when she could be relentlessly "by the book"… and apparently it's one she has written herself. Yeah, that's good...

More than once I was treated like a Catholic School kid being whacked on the hand with a ruler… only with FINES added to my smackdown. 

Here's a timely and relevant example: When she got a copy of my typical sales contract to sell my apartment, it stated that I had 10 days upon closing to move out of my apartment. (Unlike most areas of the country where you move and then close, things are more complicated in NYC.)

Nope: She mandated that the contract be amended so that I had to move out all belongings before closing and get out pronto. 

That meant that the night before I left the Heights, hey, I slept on the bare floor! In fact, at closing, everyone at the table—brokers, attorneys and mortgage lenders—said they had never heard of such a thing in New York. At the least, it was unorthodox. At the most... As one stated, “That’s just MEAN.”

On to the real drama of the day… The Tuesday I am CLOSING on my Brooklyn apartment, my buyers are scheduled for walk-through with their Corcoran realtor and my beloved Douglas Elliman brokers (Marty Ellman & Myrel Glick, true pro goddesses). They told me this is a mere formality: 15 minutes. Obviously, I was nervous as hell after the kitchen flood (all were informed from the moment it happened).

So it’s raining that day. Pouring rain. I take my doggies Abby & Spencer out, figuring on an uncomfortable 20 minutes standing under the scaffolding next door to my building.

Should have known better with the way things were going, huh?

Turns out that the Corcoran agent representing my buyers came in with some sort of electrical outlet tester—thinking that she is a professional electrician? (Read: We’re sniffing for money back, baby!)

After TWO HOURS in the rain, I am informed there are “major concerns about the electrical in your living room,” because of something who the hell has ever heard of: reverse polarity.

To streamline the tale, that afternoon, the Corcoran agent insisted on sending an electrician to my apartment to inspect this horror!! And here’s the electrician's take: “Reverse polarity basically means that there’s potential for certain electrical appliances to run in reverse… like a blender.”

Got it! Because everybody knows we all tend to use a blender… every day… in the living room. Mind you, I had the room renovated in Fall 2012 by a licensed contractor, and I can state for the record that nothing I ever plugged in operated in reverse. Now I must admit, I did not make daiquiris in the living room during that time…

By this point Tuesday afternoon, the cloud was hanging so heavy over my hopes for closing that I took a meeting with my (kickass) attorney “Z”. Her advice: Let me talk, don’t get angry at closing… because they’re looking for money…"

After the electrician completed his inspection, I high tale it to closing in Manhattan, 45+ minutes late. And it just gets worse…

The attorney representing the buyers (who, BTW, were a sweet young couple with no agenda) is smarmy, arrogant, way too talkative, and personifies everything that gives the profession its deserved reputation. Let’s call him “Dick.”

Over the course of a two-and-a-half hour closing—populated by my attorney, buyers’ attorney, the buyers, their mortage broker, the coop’s attorney, my agent and their agent (the would-be electrician)—I have been informed that I need to put money in a pot because of the “serious” electrical issues. 

Dick had the audacity to ask me, “Did you do the electrical work yourself?” With steam rolling out of my ears—trying to keep in mind what Z had told me—I responded as calmly as I could that he was a fucking asshole… No, wait, that’s not what I said… That’s what I was THINKING. Um, I believe I said "No."

And there’s MORE!!!! Just when I thought it couldn’t get any more frustrating, my building's Managing Agent blindsides everyone at the table by sending an addendum to closing... STAND BY FOR PART 3...

ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY IN NORFOLK! Part One

This weekend I celebrated ONE MONTH of my spanking new life in Norfolk, Va. I’ve made 3 major moves in my life: from home/college/JMU to Washington, D.C. in 1984, New York City in 1995… and now, some 18 years later, a truly arbitrary relocation… as I recognized the time was

ripe to renew, challenge and indulge a gentler quality of life.

I’ve discussed all the why’s that I was ready to leave NYC previously, so let’s pick up four weeks ago, shall we? Unfortunately, it’s not all pretty. Leaving New York was a living hell—not emotionally, but logistically… The Thursday eve before I was closing on my Brooklyn Heights apartment, I hosted a casual finale gathering at Central Bar, a familiar haunt from my Billboard mag days. It was perfection: dozens rolled in and offered a farewell toast.

Ready for this? When I got home that night (here’s the part I’ve never publicly shared, because it’s too damn depressing), I was feeling all warm & fuzzy and went to bed, looking forward to moving ever closer to wrapping up my apartment sale the following Tuesday. And then, at 1:15 in the morning, I awoke to the sound of rain—only instead of coming from outside, it was clearly INSIDE my apartment.

Turns out the apartment above me—after single-digit temps the week before—had a radiator within a wall and as temps warmed up and the pipe expanded, it BURST, creating what ultimately became a

4-hour WATERFALL in my kitchen. I scrambled to wake the resident (who, ironically, suffered NO damage in her apartment) and my super and the building’s coop president… Ultimately, while the water in the entire building was turned off, it just kept raining and raining from the ceiling.

I sat on the floor scooping water into a trashcan, trying like hell to keep it from flowing overtop the saddle that separated my kitchen from the rest of my home. Had it seeped over the top, my hardwood floors would be ruined, not to mention my furniture, carpets, etc. Let’s just say my entire apartment would have been fucked. And so too, would I be.

There were times I simply paused, wondering if the water would ever stop coming down—if using the dog’s food dish to scoop 8 ounces of water at a time was laughably futile. It rained through my kitchen pantry, through the ceiling drywall seams (which melted away), and then THROUGH the ceiling fan and along the edges of the walls. The wall outside the kitchen bubbled up like a fat man, filled with water. The wood moldings began to swell… This, of course, is within the week that I am set to sell my apartment…

One friend termed it beautifully: “That is just UNFAIR.” Indeed, it was well after 4 a.m. when the water slowed to a drip… and somehow I did manage to scoop scoop scoop scoop scoop for

3 hours and keep it from tipping the edge into the rest of the apartment… as I sat on the floor, drenched, in an inch of cold water, wondering if this was going to sabotage the sale of my apartment and ultimately short circuit everything that I had been planning since September.

The next day my coop, thankfully, moved into high gear, as I discovered that not only was my kitchen wrecked, but the first-floor unit below me, into the basement, where dozens of storage units were also flooded. Can I mention again that the rez above me that wreaked all havoc had a small paper towel kinda puddle in her apartment? Yeah, thanks a lot…

But then, as is typical in a New York cooperative, things became... difficult.

At first, management sent a drywall dude (DD) to start tearing down the damage in my ceilings and walls. Miraculously, my cabinets, granite counters and ceramic floors were unharmed… but, of course, everything was drenched. So over the next 4 days, DD returned again & again to try and deal with the disaster, which took days to even begin to dry out and be ready to repair… that is, until…

On day 4, my building manager contacts DD and tells him to STOP working in my apartment, cause there are insurance issues and the coop has decided that I am re$ponsible for $ome of the en$uing work. Okay, fine. But it would have been constructive if you'd told ME, before calling DD and telling him not to show... as it's now TWO days before my buyers' scheduled walk-through.

In the end, on Sunday, I begged DD to return to finish the work, and ultimately paid him a small fortune out of pocket so that when my buyers came in that Tuesday, they would see that all good faith had been pursued to SOLVE a problem, instead of presenting them with one (of course, I notified all parties of the disaster Friday morning).

Oh, but it gets worse (before it gets a lot better). TO BE CONTINUED!!

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

On this Christmas Eve 2013, I am thankful for LIFE, friends, love and the possibilities of my new chapter in the coming year. Bless us one and all, cool cats. Below, one final Christmas, Brooklyn Heights-style.

And, alas, my last NYC Christmas, truly, when the city shines its brightest... *

Oh, Mercy, How Time Marches On

With my final final ever (ever) never again apartment renovation at last complete, I took pics of the entire deal Sunday... which I shall post soon, with all the melodramatic before & after picolas. In the meantime, how apropos to post this—on the left, within a month of moving into my new Brooklyn Heights digs, with so much promise—and today, some 12 years later, five renovations later, with that promise... delivered!

A Brooklyn Heights Christmas

Above left, the 63rd-annual Brooklyn Heights Christmas tree along the Promenade... right: apartment entry way and below: The Empire State Building is all dressed up for Cmas. *

The Return Of Golden Globe-Nominated 'Smash'!

It's been a long time coming, but at last, the second season of NBC's musical series "Smash!" is at last on the way... February 5, 2013 is the launch date, with new cast members Jennifer Hudson and Broadway veteran cuties Andy Mientus & Jeremy Jordan—and complete retooling from "Gossip Girl" executive producer Joshua Safran...

There's irony there, considering that both "Smash" and "GG" regularly film in my Brooklyn Heights nabe.

The show earned a Golden Globe nod in the oddball category of "Best Musical or Comedy," and brings back Megan Hilty, Anjelica Huston, Jack Davenport, Debra Messing, Christian Borle and Katharine McPhee.

Safron tells Entertainment Weekly, "As a viewer, I really loved the show. It's literally just reaching in and moving the tiny pieces that weren't connecting, the gears that weren't fully aligned. If you loved Smash last year, you are not seeing a radically different show. And that was important to me."

Indeed, getting rid of some of the peripheral characters and zzzzz side plots should frame "Smash" for the breakout status it deserves; look at how new musical series "Nashville" has flourished out of the gate: by sticking to a core story.

E! News also reports, "The first 10 minutes of the show’s second season make it clear what is going on with a number of characters... Thankfully, we’ll have the answers to all of your questions in a month and a half, and the show will transition from being something that is a little bit silly into a fantastic portrayal of the world of Broadway." *

After Eight Weeks, Renovation Wrapped!

After eight weeks, at last, my apartment renovation is signed, sealed & delivered. What started out as a fairly simply cosmetic redo in the living room turned into new hardwood floors throughout the unit, an extended bathroom and—god bless my contractor, Angelo—so many extras to make this joint feel like new.

After enduring this five times over the past 12 years, I must say, this is the first time I've blown open champagne to share with my contractor and his son Mike... because it was such a positive experience.

And yes, of course I teared all up while thanking them for so much pristine work as I bid farewell. It's hard to even imagine mornings without the two of them knocking on door and preparing A's coffee with milk and 3 sugars...

And now... so many possibilities: sleeping in a bed, opening cabinet drawers, accessing food in kitchen cabinets and best of all, wearing different clothes each day. For the past two months, I've pretty much donned a uniform of black jeans and a black sweater (yes, clean undies and undershirt). And now... access to my entire winter wardrobe. Oh, the wonder of it all!

Of course, now comes the grand clean-up and oh what a mess it is. Layers and layers of dust, sawdust, sanding dust, dust dust... One room at a time. Good thing I foster great satisfaction with a rag in my hand. Happy holidays, indeed!