Friends are good things to have

Jude has a buddy. That's him on the left. They just happened to match the other day. Freaking cute, right?

It's good to have friends. They're invaluable. They keep you sane when things swirl around. They make you laugh when you're blue. They keep you company when you're lonely. They prop you up when you're too tired to stand. Friends are crucial.

I miss my friends these days. They're not gone. I'm not gone. Things are just different, that's all. I think I don't get as many phone calls and hangouts because people don't know how to incorporate Melissa The Mom into social gatherings. Melissa The Mom is different. She has a kid. Does the baby come along? Does she need to make sure Matthew is home to watch the baby? Can they both come? Do they have a sitter? Does she even want to hang out since she's on baby duty and breastfeeding demands a pretty tight schedule? How do I relate to her now that she's a parent? What can I talk to her about besides the baby?

I think these are all valid questions, but I wish there could be a dialogue about them instead of this open-ended hiatus. The questions don't get asked and I feel strange calling people up and saying, "Hi, I think you might think I can't hang out or maybe I don't want to, but that's not the case." I'd love to go get a cup of coffee or catch a movie. I just need to plan a little more for it now. As long as I can either bring Jude or make sure there is enough pumped breastmilk in the fridge being social is no hassle. It's just different. Like everything else. Things are different.

Friends are good things to have. I miss mine.

So tired

The past couple nights Jude has reverted to his first week nighttime behavior pattern. Which means that he will sleep for 3-4 hours at a time during the day, no matter how hard we try to keep him awake, and then at night he'll be awake for 2 hours at a time, 30 minutes of that he's nursing, and the other 90 minutes are spent either staring wide-eyed at Matthew and me or screaming inconsolably.

It's so hard when your child is crying and you have no idea what to do to help. Jude scrunches up his face and he looks at me pleadingly with those huge, dark, tear-filled eyes and I just want to die because I can't make the bad stuff go away.

Everything you try seems fruitless. Shhhh-ing will work for 5 minutes and then just when you think he's drifting off to dreamland the screaming starts up again. Swaddling will work for a little while, but then teeny weeny Houdini wiggles his way free just enough to have a tiny arm flail up in the air and jolt himself out of sleepiness. Walking around the apartment while bouncing and singing is a miracle cure... as long as the walking and singing never stops.

This is what life is like with a 3 week old baby. It's typical. It's totally normal and everyone struggles with this stage.

If only knowing that made it even one bit easier.

Inspiration

This is my friend, Marisa. She is amazing. (and adorable, I mean, look at that headshot!)

If you have lost a parent, or you have a friend who has, please take a moment to read this short blog entry (on Glamour.com, yes - she's a superstar) and pass along Sally's Circle to someone who could use a soft spot to land this holiday season.

Lucky # 7

7 years ago today my husband ran through the streets of TriBeCa, a thin layer of ash and dust collecting on his skin and clothes. He called out to his friends, held the hands of strangers, pulled his dog into a building to escape the cloud of smoke and ash filling the street behind him.

7 years ago everything he knew about life and about New York changed. He was one of many. Many who were lucky and many who were devastated.

We will never forget. We need no bumper sticker or tribute video to remind us.

Complacency

It’s a word that drives me nuts. Complacency. I despise it. To me, it’s the worst trait we have developed as Americans. As citizens of the world, actually. Complacency makes us decide that the path of least resistance is the best course. Complacency makes it easy for us to do nothing. We don’t speak up. We don’t react well. Proactivity? What’s that?

I am tired of complacency. I want people to speak up. I want people to stop thinking they can’t change anything, so it’s not worth it to even try. As a kid, if I was doing something wrong I expected adults to reprimand me. For the record, as a kid, the worst thing I did was chase a neighbor boy down the street and occasionally cut through someone’s yard when I shouldn’t have. Those minor infractions got me a scolding by adult neighbors. I deserved it. That was everyone’s neighborhood and everyone had a stake in it. You can’t have kids running through peoples’ yards and trampling flower beds. They were right to speak up.

So why is it so rare for people to speak up nowadays? Is it our general fear of a lawsuit? We are an insanely litigious society that sues for the most ridiculous things. I can understand someone not wanting to get involved in a situation because they don’t want to deal with the ramifications of engagement. But I still think that’s bogus logic. Is it our media-fueled fear of violence that makes us hang back? Whatever it is, it’s absurd.

People don’t speak up when they see something wrong happening. This past weekend Matthew was waiting outside the grocery with Duke while I picked up a few things. A kid of about 7 or 8 walked over and shoved Duke. He just walked up to the dog, grabbed his hips, and shoved him. Matthew saw this kid’s father standing about 20’ away talking on his cell phone. He grabbed the kid by the arm and marched him over to his dad. The guy wouldn’t acknowledge that Matthew was standing there. He had to tell the guy to get off the phone and pay attention. If a stranger had my kid by the arm you better believe I’d be paying attention! He told the guy he needed to explain to his son that it is dangerous to antagonize a dog, especially one you don’t know, and that if his kid had done that to another dog he very well could have been bitten. They guy acted like he didn’t speak English (he was speaking English a little later when I saw him) and turned his back on Matthew to continue his phone call. Matthew told the kid’s sister, who was also there being ignored by their father, that her brother could get seriously hurt and that she should keep an eye on him until their dad got off the phone.

Later that same day we were in the city and a handicapped access bus was parked on 8th Ave. The doors opened and trash started flying out onto the street. The doors closed. Not being one to see something wrong happen and say nothing about it, I marched up to the bus doors and knocked with a big smile on my face. “Why did you do that?” Bus driver responded, “What are you talking about?” I explained that I saw him toss trash onto the street and I was wondering when he was going to pick it up. He said he didn’t do it, even though he was holding the empty plastic bag he had just dumped out. An exchange followed, in which I told him that no one is so entitled that they can litter… I said I live here, too, and I don’t want to have trashy streets… he said if I was so concerned that I should pick it up... he called me a bitch and told me to fuck off… I said my husband had written down his plate # and that we were going to call and complain, just as soon as I picked up his mess because even though it was his responsibility it would be wrong for me to just leave his garbage on the street. He drove away screaming obscenities at me and flipping me off. I’m calling today to make a formal complaint. I picked up all his trash because even though I didn’t put it there, this city and this planet are everyone’s responsibility. There happened to be an empty vodka bottle in the same pile. I don’t know if it was his or not, but you can be damn sure I’ll mention that I picked it up when I talk to the company. If I don’t get an acceptably concerned response from the company, I’ll call the police. Littering is illegal. I have the license plate #.

People cannot keep watching others do things that are wrong and say nothing about it. Get involved. Nothing will change if we all stand idly by. What’s that saying? Democracy fails when good men do nothing. Well, society in general suffers when we all get complacent. The problems are big, but that doesn’t mean that individual actions have no effect. Take the chance. Even if it makes no difference at least you’ll know you tried.

R.I.P.

Tim Russert is dead at the age of 58. He had a heart attack. His father, Big Russ, has now outlived him. That is such an unnatural thing - a parent who outlives his child. I can't even imagine the heartbreak.

The big "D"

Disappointment. It looms like a dark cloud. It likes to sneak up on you when you think things are fine. It lurks in the shadows waiting for an opportune moment to pounce on you and catch you off guard like some weak prey on the Serengeti.

Today it got me. It sprang up from the depths and grabbed me to take me down.

Remember the bonus I was counting on from work? The one based on closing the office and transitioning accounts? The one that was earmarked for the wedding? The one that was going to pay for all of the catering in one fell swoop? It was scheduled to come in today's paycheck. I've had multiple conversations with the higher-ups about this - confirming scheduling, payout amount, underscoring the importance of this money as it was going to pay for the bulk of my wedding. Oh yes, the higher-ups told me, no problem, you'll see it on 4/11, no need for worry.

I checked my bank balance this morning and only my regular paycheck is there. No bonus.

A payroll oversight? A financial mistake? An easily rectifiable issue? Nope. No human error caused this. It just wasn't approved. There were, of course, stipulations on the bonus - things like financial clean up for outstanding projects, documenting the process for each client, etc. Well, my client's financials couldn't be totally cleaned up because they are amazingly slow at issuing purchase orders and the rest of the documentation I need to be able to invoice them. They've admitted this. A VP of the company wrote an email to the larger group letting them know that as much as I have done for cleanup there is little that is in my control since the delays are on the client side.

The VP wrote this email. My bonus still didn't get approved. Did anyone bother to let me know that it was in jeopardy? Nope. The answer given to me this morning was that as soon as they're satisfied that I've done everything I can on my end to get the documentation we need the bonus will get approved. Excuse me, but I thought the email from the VP pretty clearly stated that was the case.

So now, I scramble. I scramble to come up with money I don't have for a wedding that is happening 2 weeks from tomorrow. I have no guarantees that the bonus will even be paid in the next paycheck. I'm angry and upset, but more than anything I'm insulted because they lied to my face. They told me everything was in order when it wasn't. These are the same people who penalized me on my recent performance review because my "reaction to the news of the office closure was negative". Was I supposed to be jumping for joy? Then they said that since other people looked to me to set the mood in the office it contributed to a negative environment. So, it was held against me that people were upset about the office closing... as if they would have been thrilled if I were positive about it. As if my negative reaction caused everyone to think, "Wait a second, this is a shitty thing that's happening to us after all! Melissa is so right. We never would have realized this without her!"

I'm getting my bonus, I'm taking my honeymoon, and then I'm out. It's new job time. Even my mom, who is always one to tow the party line, said to me this morning that it's time to leave because "they don't treat you very well at all."

Duh.

(image courtesy of Natalie Dee)

Don't know what to say

There are few times when I have insufficient words to express myself. I am a wordy and effusive person by nature. Sometimes a subject stops me cold and I find that language escapes me.

Right now I am listening to NPR as I work. Truth be told, I've stopped working momentarily because I need some time to compose myself. There is an interview going on right now on our local NYC NPR affiliate with Benjamin Skinner, a journalist who has spent years researching and going undercover to explore the perils of modern slavery. His book, A Crime So Monstrous details the shocking fact that there are more slaves in the world today than at any other time in history. Surprised? I was.

I could hop a flight right now to Port au Prince, Haiti and in a mere 5 hours from the time I left my apartment I could be negotiating the price of a child in the open air, broad daylight. Mr. Skinner did this. He told the slave trader he was a journalist and he wanted to talk to him about his work. To his shock, the man was open with him about the buying and selling of children. To see how far the trader would go Mr. Skinner asked him how long it would take to get a child. 3 days. What skills should the child have? Cooking, cleaning, she would sleep on the floor, she would not be sent to school. The trader asked if the child would be used also as "a partner". Mr. Skinner tried to keep his composure as he answered, "Yes, if that's possible". The trader said the price would be $100. Eventually it was negotiated down to $50.

$50 for the life of a child. I have no words.

In Bucharest, Mr. Skinner was undercover at a slave trader's place of business and told the man he wanted a young woman. The trader quickly brought out 2 girls. One showed visible signs of Downs Syndrome and makeup had been hastily applied to her face in an effort to make her saleable. She was crying and the makeup was running down her face. Mr. Skinner was told he could have her for the trade of a used car.

This happens every day. Just because we don't see it doesn't mean it isn't going on. We can't sit by and do nothing. Action is needed.

How many more?

4,000 American soldiers dead since the Iraq War started. I don't feel much like blogging today.

WHY?

This is upsetting. Infuriating. Frustrating. Sad. Depressing.

This is our neighorhood, our borough, our problem. This is not OK.

Yoi!

The man who came into this world as Myron Sydney Kopelman 79 years ago died Wednesday. We knew him as Myron Cope. His name is synonymous with my beloved Pittsburgh Steelers. The Terrible Towel? He came up with the idea. Jerome Bettis being called "The Bus"? He gave him the nickname. He was the Steelers color commentary guy for 35 years.

Whenever I think it's too tough to contemplate a career change I should think about Myron. He started with the Steelers at age 40. He & a young rookie named Terry Bradshaw started on the same day back in 1970. He was a sports writer, but he'd never been on the radio. He had no announcing experience. He didn't even have a good radio voice. He had personality, and that's why people loved him. He got on the air at 40 and went straight seasons until he was 75. Amazing.

He died in a town next to the one where I went to high school. His voice was one I heard all my life. Really - all my life. I listened to this man talk all my life! Can you believe that? How many people are staples in your whole life besides your family? Myron Cope was part of my life and he's gone now. Never met him, I didn't need to meet him to adore him. He'll be missed. He's the only commentator good enough to make me mute the TV just so I could listen to him on the radio instead.

Okel dokel, Myron.

This sucks

*Scribbled in my notebook...

Supposed to be having a dinner party tonight for friends who are moving back to Brasil. I say "supposed to" because now we're cancelling because I feel so sick still. Can't shake this cough. Was up almost all night hacking. Even the Buckley's didn't do its usual trick for me. (Have you guys ever used this stuff? It's like magic, but it tastes like death. Check out their website [well, their MySpace page] - they had a "bad taste face" contest.)

Realyl bummed about cancelling the dinner party, but Matthew is right - there's no way I can cook for 15 people today.

I've got a case of the Mondays. And it's Tuesday.

*Scribbled in my notebook from my bed...

Cough, cough, cough, cough, sniff, sniff... cough, cough, sigh. Really bad chest cold. Feel like dog doody. Started Saturday morning. Felt like ass all weekend and now it's worse. Slight fever, sinus pressure, hacking cough. Good times.

At least I have kitchen gadgets to cheer me up.

What to do?

I've been in this situation before, but I never know quite how to handle it. A friend wants to do something that I think is unwise. I think he's making a bad choice. The pickle is that I want this person to come to an understanding within himself about his path so it's not my place to meddle, but I don't see how this decision can be a good one and I want to save him from the heartache in his future. I know we each have to learn our own lessons, and we can't learn many lessons if we never take a wrong step along way. Yet, I can't help feeling like I'm letting him down by watching him take this step instead of stopping him.

I have to let time and faith take their course. It's tough to do. Keeping my nose out of it is the best thing. Isn't it funny how the best thing is often the hard thing?

The same old question

This is exactly why I didn't go to art school. My mom didn't shove a briefcase in my hand, but after I got old enough to think about art as something other than a hobby my parents started to discourage me from pursuing it further. It's a nice hobby, I was told, but it's no way to make a living. How can anyone make a good living being an artist? Business is the way to go.

Funny thing is, when I was a kid they encouraged me to be as artistic as possible. I won poetry contests, my paintings were entered in competitions, I always took dance classes and played musical instruments. I was allowed to be the creative little kid I was. But as I got older and practicality became a more important virtue those things fell away.

Fast forward 20 years... I'm in the "business world" and I'm miserable about it. Looking back now, I see clearly that I'd trade a comfortable salary for a much lower one if it meant I'd feel a bit fulfilled.

*postcard from postsecret*

525,600 minutes

How do you measure a year?

Rent is closing. This show was so important to me as a teenager and a young 20-something. The story in the musical and the story behind it are really great and tragic and wonderful. I'll miss having this in our city. The city isn't even recognizable as the one in the show anymore. New York has changed, issues have changes, attitudes have changed, but Rent still has value. Love still prevails, people still get sick and die, AIDS is still a problem, lessons are learned everyday.

It debuted off-Broadway in '92, opened on Broadway in '96 and has been going ever since. But soon there will be no more shows. Hopefully there will be a revival in 10 years or so and I can get my fix again. I've seen it 9x. I listen to the soundtrack - both the Broadway recording and the movie recording. I'm a Renthead, proud and true.

Thanks, Jonathan Larson. We haven't forgotten what you did. Your work lives on, even though you didn't get the change to.

Success!

Duke is still an only child/dog. Matthew and I went to the shelter this morning to photograph the dogs and we managed to come home without a sibling for the Dukester.

There were about 10 people who were there volunteering to walk the dogs. It was great to see such a turnout. All those people were there just to give those pooches some human contact and some exercise. The people were all super cool and lots were dog walking regulars. Pretty fantastic. There is a dog park not too far away, so some of the dogs get to go there and others get nice long walks around the neighborhood. There were about 10 dogs who needed their photos taken and high energy shelter dogs are not too keen about portrait sitting, so you can imagine it was a lengthy process. While we waited for the last 2 who needed photos to come back I walked 3 dogs.

A 10 year old chihuahua named Mr. Ramirez broke my heart. I'd never walked a dog that small before, so it was strange to hold a leash that felt like it wasn't attached to anything. Duke is hefty and you know you're attached to a beast when you walk him. Mr. Ramirez is so tiny that I couldn't even feel him fluttering about next to me. He's old, he's blind in one eye, he shakes a lot, he doesn't like other dogs because he lived at the city shelter for as long as he could before coming to BARC and he picks fights. If he were a human he'd be the old guy on the porch yelling at the kids to get off his lawn. He's not cute, he's not nice, he's not cuddly. But you know what? Mr. Ramirez broke my heart. Who in the world is going to adopt an old, tiny dog with a bad attitude, a slight neurological issue, and one eyed blindness? I hope someone does. If he wouldn't antagonize Duke all damn day I would have taken him home this morning. Te amo, Sr. Ramirez.

Friday was, well, weird.

As I said to the woman who served us lunch today, "Today is a strange day. The morning was a bit like an angry teenager, but I have a feeling the day is maturing into something a lot more likable." Said morning was filled with technological issues with my work computer, which is a big problem since I'm on it all day and it's the only equipment that allows me to do my job.*

The Rover and I had lunch, which was a lovely break from the tech insanity. He's awesome and we went to a cool place. We both had burgers and - get this - they give you a half pint draft beer with every burger for free. Yeah! Old Speckled Hen was a nice accompaniment to the meal. Plus, at only a half pint it's the perfect lunch sized beer. I can't remember the last time I had a beer with lunch, but it was great. Have you ever done that? Had beer or wine or something when you have to go back to work afterward? I had hoped that by the time I got back home the tech issues would be cleared up and I could get on with my servitude work.

Uh, nope. No work done today. None. Not a bit. Couldn't access anything because Corporate IT Dude had taken remote control of my machine to run some diagnostics and such. It's very strange to see your computer being used when you're not the one controlling it. It's a little like what I imagine will happen when the robots come to take over the world. As of 5:41, no progress. Computer is screwed. Need a new one. I've been saying the same thing since mid-December, but now I think there might be some movement on that front since Super Nice Corporate IT Dude pushed for it with his higher-ups after banging his head against the wall for 6 hours today trying to fix it. Ridiculous.

*I had a realization. I realize that I feel bizarre and unsettled about having my work be totally virtual. Meaning, I use a computer for everything - even phone calls - and that makes me feel disconnected from the world. I email, I use online systems, I don't see another person all day, I don't write anything down... ever. I have no product to show for my work. I am in project management and client relations, this means I am a name/email/face that deals with things, but who doesn't actually produce anything. I have no output for all of my input. It's so shocking to me because I work really hard! This is what I can't wrap my brain around. I work my ass off and then at the end of the day I shut down my computer and it's like I did nothing. Not a damn thing. What do I have to show for all my efforts? ... ... ...?

I got to thinking about this on the walk home after lunch. The Rover is an actor. A very good actor, actually. He has something to show for his work. He's an artist. People watch his performances and see what he does. It started to dawn on me that I think my work is meaningless. It does nothing. It changes nothing. It affects no one. This is not entirely true because my work actually affects millions of customers around the world, it really does, but I don't think helping millions of people around the world to be able to use various graphic art programs makes a gnat fart of difference. Does it? Does it really matter that some guy in Japan can use Photoshop in his own language? Sure, but only to him and to the company who sells it to him and the CEO's kids' trust funds. I guess I believe my work is insignificant. It's not getting me anywhere. It doesn't help anyone. It doesn't fulfill me. It doesn't feed anyone who is hungry. It doesn't put a roof over any homeless person's head. It doesn't teach a child. It doesn't move people artistically. It just... makes money for a corporation.

This feels bad. This feels like I really am nothing more than the title of my blog. I am a spoke. Just a spoke. Something has to change. I need to do something that's good. I need to find a livelihood that doesn't make me feel... well, nothing. This job, and every one before it, makes me feel nothing. I want to feel good about my work. I know this is some existential crisis and I'm lucky to be in the position to have it - I have a job, and that's great. It means I earn a paycheck that I use to pay rent and feed Duke and pay for my wedding and take The Rover to lunch. BUT, can't I find a way to get a paycheck and make a difference? Is that too idealistic? Is it too late, at 30, to change gears and go in a completely new direction? What direction would that even be? I have 3 years of college, no degree, 8 years of project management experience. What does that equal? It equals corporate nothingness.

I'm feeling a little useless today. Not sure how to fix it. Something has to change.

And then this happens...

Sometimes my faith in humanity is bolstered by something seemingly insignificant - the smile from a stranger, the kind gesture (holding a door, helping someone pick up their spilled handbag contents, etc.). I feel reassured that we're going down the right path as people and we're doing right by the planet and all the beings we share it with. Despite the war, the hunger, the crime we inflict upon each other on a daily basis, I have hope. But then something terrible happens and I question our entire species and wonder how there can be those among us who are beasts with no regard for life.

My recent posts have been very dog-centric. Unintentional, though it may be.

Yesterday we New Yorkers were alerted to a disturbing discovery up in Yonkers. 2 dogs were found by a gas station's cleaning lady. She opened the lid of the dumpster to throw trash in and, to her horror, found 2 dogs. One looking up at her, just staring, unable to move. The other, dead, frozen stiff, practically on top of the living one. These pups were pitbulls, they had been used either as bait for other dogs who had already been tortured into being fighters, or used as fighters themselves. (this is a photo of them, although you cannot fully see the poor, blonde, dead one)

Dog fighting is a serious crime, it's a felony in every state except Wyoming and Idaho (hellooooo? Get your acts together, WY & ID!), and punishable by 4 yrs in prison and a $25,000 fine in NY. How anyone could take an innocent animal and torture it until it becomes vicious is beyond me. The true vicious beasts are the "humans" who perpetuate this type of backwoods, ghetto, lowbrow, criminal, and depraved "entertainment". There are people who will tell you that certain breeds are innately nasty and mean and are meant to fight. Those people are wrong. No domestic canine is born with bloodlust. Some breeds have more natural aggression, but even those breeds are not born killers.

I am the proud caretaker of what some would consider a vicious breed dog. Duke is a Brazilian Mastiff - a fila brasileiro. Some people use these dogs as guard dogs, to intimidate strangers and protect their homes. In fact, in the UK you are prohibited from owning a fila unless you obtain the court's permission because they are classified as "fighting dogs". Hmm... I wonder how they got that reputation? I can assure you it's from irresponsible and callous humans who, for centuries, have trained dogs like Duke to be killers and fighters.

Ours, however, is nothing but sweet and, ironically, the only time he has ever shown aggression toward a dog or human is when some sick minded guy in our neighborhood jerked the chain (thick chain, not leash - evidence of "toughening up" a dog to make them stronger and meaner than their natural disposition) attached to his pitbull's neck and told Matthew they should see if the dogs would fight each other. Duke didn't take kindly to either the guy or his obviously aggressive dog. He lunged and Matthew crossed the street. Isn't it interesting that the only aggression to come out of my dog was provoked by someone wanting to dogfight? Interesting and telling, I'd say.

What is wrong with some people? Why are some people insistent on violence as a means to make themselves feel more powerful? Are people really that shallow, that immature, that emotionally devastated that they see nothing wrong with beating animals into submission and then throwing them into a ring to see which one can kill the other first? We wage war as nations. We commit crimes as individuals.

Saturday morning Matthew and I are going to a local animal shelter to photograph the new rescued dogs they have available for adoption. The photos will go up on the shelter's website in the hopes that someone will see them and want to make them part of their family. We're going to try not to bring home a brother for Duke. I'll let you know how it goes.

Be the change you want to see in the world. Please.

Big Apple... big, expensive apple

I just stumbled upon a very telling and disturbing article. I live in New York. Brooklyn, to be precise. I love it here. I've never felt more at home in a place ever in my life, and I've lived in many places. I know I don't want to leave, ever.

I rent. I also know that my fiance and I cannot afford to buy real estate here right now... and probably not in the immediate future, either. We have decent jobs. We earn salaries that lots of people outside of New York would envy. For all intents and purposes we make a good living. I know we make more than his parents and we're probably not all that far behind my folks. The scary part is that we pay far more taxes, have a far higher cost of living, share $50k of college loan debt, and aren't even close to the kind of financial stability our parents had at our age.

The article talks about households who make between $80,000 - $150,000 a year being the hardest hit in terms of being able to get ahead financially due to rent/mortgage and tax brackets. Now, I realize that compared to many other families we are lucky as all hell that we have a lovely roof over our heads and we live comfortably. We don't take any of that for granted. But, we fall into the categories discussed in this article and it seems like an even more daunting task to be able to upgrade to something more than a one bedroom apartment unless one of us magically wins the lottery that we don't even play. We don't want to wait until the real estate market seems less frightening to have kids (we're both 30 and we want to have babies sooner rather than later), but the question of how to add another person into a space meant for two is one we're probably going to have to tackle at some point.

Two parts of the article resonated with me most:

"Hardest hit are earners and families making $80,000 to $150,000 a year, including blue-collar workers and professionals such as teachers and midlevel managers."

and

"It's becoming extraordinarily difficult to live in this city as an ordinary person," Mr. Fishman says. "[It used to be] you could have a decent life and put your kids through college. We're beginning to see the end of that."

The end of that? *le sigh* (thanks, Martine) I feel defeated and deflated. Funny how I just posted about affordable dog beds, right? 10 years ago if you would have told me I'd be part of a household making between $80k - $150k/yr I'd have been thrilled. If you would have gone on to tell me I'd still be renting, that my fiance and I were trying desperately to come up with the cash for a wedding that's 3 months away, and that we daydream of being able to buy a place of our own (so we don't have to eventually come up with some crazy living room/nursery scheme when SmallFry one day comes into our lives) with no real hope of that happening I'd have thought you were telling tall tales.

Has anyone conquered the urban real estate market and lived to tell about it?