Dearest Reader(s),
I just wanted to let you all know that I will be moving. Not moving on from the Free Press, unless of course I get sacked, but moving from my apartment. Granted, I just moved in at the beginning of June, but I think it’s time to move on. Again. Who doesn’t love the upheaval of moving? The inventorying of the detritis of life, the purging of clothing not worn since George I was in office, the countless paper cuts from all the cardboard boxes. My favorite!
I used to live in the South End (this might be a little too personal for a newspaper blog. Trying to keep it professional, obviously.) in a little blue apartment building that, during the tenure of my residency, housed a trio of recent high school grads who claimed to be college students but were actually drug dealers, a ferret and a ball python and a verbally abusive father of three who left dog poop on my porch every day. Despite my neighbors, I loved the neighborhood. I was a stone’s throw from the lake and the bike path, three blocks from the video store, the post office and the ugly Subaru dealership, and a quick bike ride away from the best bagels in town.
But when the landlords refused to plow the snow from the driveway and I sweat out half my body weight shoveling the five-car-wide car park, I knew it was time to make a change. After fighting off the hoardes of apartment-seeking college students with my trusty “professional” business card (um, don’t even think you’re getting this apartment, you entitled pre-adult. I’ve got a business card, which means I have a job, which means I am responsible. Take your Bud Light and your tapestry wall hangings somewhere else.), I finally found a place in the Old North End. I lessened my commute and built up some street cred all in one move. YES!
My apartment is in a ramshackle “triplex” that is held together by chewing gum and duct tape. But it has hardwood floors, a prereq when you have a long-haired (long-furred?) dog who loses an entire coat in an afternoon. The street is quiet and quirky and is close to a park. My commute to work is about four minutes by bike, 10 minutes by foot and probably about as much time by car, once you find parking (ok, it rained today and I drove. Go call Bill McKibben and report me as an environmental assassin). Clearly, there are plusses to this move. Like living below drug dealers who think that Dark Star Orchestra is actually the second coming of Christ.
But after giving it much thought, I’ve decided I need to downsize further. I’m going to move into the kiosk at the corner of Church and College Sts. that was recently vacated by Klinger’s Bread Company.
The way I see it, the square footage of the place will force me to cull my stuff like never before. It’s only 126 sq. feet, which means it’s about the size of my kitchen, or the fountain at City Hall Park. My commute will be reduced substantially. It’ll basically take me about 30 sec. to cross the street (provided I don’t have to wait for traffic) and maybe another 30 sec. to climb the stairs to my office. But the real benefit of living in a kiosk on Church St. is that I’ll be in the heart of the action. I’ll never miss out on anything going on downtown ever again. And there’s nothing I like more than being woken up at 3 a.m. by drunk revelers peeing on my house.
According to the folks at the Church St. Marketplace, which owns the kiosk, rent is $1,500 a month with a 3 percent increase each year for five years. That’s a little steep, but once I sell off my stuff that won’t fit in the kiosk, which is everything I own, I’ll be all set. Five years seems like a long time to live in a kiosk, but other people have lived in less desirable places for longer. Like Delaware.
Here’s the rub, though. The Church St. Marketplace requires that I sell something at the kiosk. If this was Amsterdam, I could just sell myself (no overhead there). But they want me to actually hawk a product. Therein lies the dilemma. I’m going to have a think about just what business would go well there. At the moment, I got nothin’, plus I have about as much business acumen as the inventors of the Internet-enabled toilet, so I’m foundering a bit. I’d ask if any of you readers had any ideas, but who am I kidding. The only person who reads this is my mom and it’s only because she accidentally pressed the RSS feed link. She’s been trying to unsubscribe for ages. But if you are a real human reader and you have some suggestions, let me know. ‘Til then, I’ll be planning my kiosk decor.
