I have a confession: I own seven identical alarm clocks. Not because I’m a time-traveling sleeper agent, but because I am, deep in my bones, a person who craves routine the way a Labrador craves a dropped meatball. The trouble is, I’m also a person who believes creativity is a wild, untamable beast, best lured …
The Uncomfortable Tango of Rent and Rembrandt I was twenty-seven, sitting on a kitchen floor that hadn’t known a mop since the elder Bush was in office, staring at an electricity bill that had apparently mated with a student loan statement and birthed a litter of late fees. In the corner sat a half-finished painting—a …
Let’s get one thing straight: being broke in New York City isn’t really about deprivation. It’s about getting wildly inventive while side-stepping mild public embarrassment. I’ve killed whole afternoons looping Central Park pretending I was on a deeply urgent phone call, just to avoid admitting I had nowhere to be and exactly zero dollars. But …
On the Art of Living in a Tiny Apartment and Liking It Let me tell you about my apartment. It’s 380 square feet, which, for those keeping track, is roughly the size of a generous parking space. A parking space with a stove, a bed that folds out of a wall, and a bathroom where …
I need to tell you something, and I need you to not feel sorry for me when I say it: my apartment is 380 square feet. That number used to make me flinch. I’d see it on the lease and think, “That’s a parking space with plumbing.” But somewhere between the third time I stubbed …