the hypothetical wren

I did not go to either of the above yard sales this afternoon (I am assuming that the bottom photo is for a yard sale, since I don’t know what a “sard” could be) — I rode by them too late in this afternoon; too late, even, to pick through the inevitable dregs (usually found in a stained box on the curb, left to their fate). It’s probably for the best — exciting or interesting yard-sale signs are usually a sign that the sale itself will be crap. (That first sign more or less ensures that you’ll be let down by the actual items on sale.)

This is an observation honed through years of going to yard sales, handed down by my yard-sale-shopping forebears. If a sign is hastily scrawled in Sharpie (or, better yet, a ballpoint, making the sign extremely difficult to read from the car) on an oblong piece of cardboard, the sale shows promise. You may find something good. If the high is huge, colorful, and easy read (subtract even more points if balloons are attached to the sign), then the sale itself with be overcrowded and offer nothing of interest for sale. All that will be available will be baby clothes, mismatched Tupperware, and leftover inventory from the homeowner’s failed career selling Avon. You will regret going. There are better ways you could have spent your time.

I actually don’t go to yard sales that often here. I usually stick to my own neighborhood on weekend mornings, and since most of the denizens of here are also college students, none of us have anything much of interest to sell to each other — my papasan and out-of-date textbook needs are small. When I do venture out to other parts of the city, it’s later in the day and the sales have declined. I did go to one today, off Mountain Road, and the only thing I was interested in was a clear lucite toilet seat with fishing lures embedded in it. It had a real kitsch appeal, but then I realized that there are some things I don’t want to always be able to see into.

Since I grew up going to yard sales every weekend (usually on both Friday and Saturday mornings, at least in the summer) and thrift stores almost as often, it’s easy for me to forget that there are a lot of people out there who are freaked out by the concept of them. One of my cousins married someone like this — a source of much irritating consternation in the family. My friend M. is another, although she’s a very good sport about it. A few weeks ago, we drove by an estate sale and I insisted we go. Two different forms of behavior ensued: she walked around inside the house, looking while trying not to touch anything, while I was digging around in piles of crap and then pulling coats and other clothes out of the closets of the deceased, trying on things over my own clothes. (I figure that I long ago built up immunity to anything that I could possibly catch at a yard sale or thrift store.) It was actually a decent estate sale — too bad it was cash only, since there was a blue 1930s chenille chair there I really liked. This is probably for the best, though — lately, I find myself getting more enjoyment out of just looking at yard sales and thrift stores (much like Yard Sale Addict), trying to figure out how this stuff got here and what it might mean, than actually buying anything.

I rode downtown this afternoon to return some books at the main library and then went to the Sunshine Cafe for lunch. At the library, I was preparing to lock my bike to one of the parking meters on the east side of the library (I have various fussy, dull reasons for avoiding the bike racks near the back of the library, most of which boil down to I don’t feel particularly safe parking my bike there) when a woman in some sort of official uniform stormed out of the library and informed me that it was ILLEGAL to attach my bike to the parking meter. (I looked it up when I got home — indeed, it is illegal, although it must be one of the least enforced laws in the list of ABQ’s city ordinances.) I didn’t mind moving my bike at all; however, she yelled at me as if I was about to devour a live kitten. I still don’t know who the woman was or what department or organization she worked for — she wasn’t one of the library cops who read newspapers near the front door. It was a strange encounter. Thankfully, the green-chile grilled-cheese sandwich and corn and edamame salad I had for lunch nearly made up for it (I say “nearly” because the sandwich had large slices of tomato in it, which are texturally antithetical to the oozy cheesy goodness of a normal grilled cheese). The Sunshine Cafe has become one of my favorite weekend lunch spots — good coffee (with unlimited refills), interesting sandwiches, house-made sorbet, a sunny interior, cheaper than the Flying Star — what’s not to like? (Except that they only have one real bike parking spot — it’s not a parking meter, at least.)

The gouging I referred to in the last post? Here’s a good example — $32,000 for the week! Someone’s going to try to get themselves a fancy vacation out of this whole DNC deal (or, more likely, try to pay down the mortgage). If you’re trying to go a little cheaper, this $10,000 loft in Uptown might be the solution. Except that it’s nearly empty, except for the ponderous piece of mantel art in two of the photos. As long as you have access to amenities such as GE appliances, you don’t need a place to sit or rest.

I really want these shoes. And this print. Neither of these is realistically in the picture, though.

The above photo is of a sign in front of a condemned apartment building on Mountain Road, a mile or so from the Bosque Trail. I’ve been riding around and taking pictures more often, now that I’m done with my comprehensive exams, but I haven’t been entirely satisfied with the results (even though I have an actual Project that I want to complete with these photos). The photos I’ve been taking lately have felt, at least to me, somewhat uninspired, reflecting, perhaps, my current state of mind. I’ve been on a massive exam-anxiety comedown over the last few weeks. I’ve enjoyed having my weekends free, of course, and I really enjoy not having to read umpteed tedious books, but studying provided a sort of structure to my days that I got surprisingly and quickly used to. But there are other reasons for the vague discontent. One of my friends quit grad school here all of a sudden (although he’d been secretly planning it for some time), for what I consider to be somewhat bogus reasons. I, along with some other people, have had to take up the slack, teaching the classes he abandoned, and working our way through a giant pile of grading he left behind. I get paid extra for this, but it’s still really irritating — work, as people way, always finds a way to expand to fit the time available.

My current task, though, is finding a place to stay in Denver this summer — preferably a sublet, somewhere close to downtown. I have a hotel reservation for two weeks in June, but I’d rather not go this route. Hotel rooms get old after a while, despite (or, quite frankly, because) of the increased access to television channels I never watch, the free daily USA Today, and the free hotel breakfast featuring a vat of shelled hardboiled eggs, waffle makers that are always too hot, and the incessant presence of Fox News in the breakfast room and hotel lobby. The place I’m staying at is in the south suburbs, far from the place that I’ll be doing research, and, although it is located near a light-rail line (meaning that I don’t have to brave the I-25 traffic each morning, at least), I still don’t want to stay there.

So begins my adventures in Craigslist, sublets-and-temporary-housing style. I’ve emailed nearly everyone who has advertised a reasonably priced (read: under $900 or so) apartment for June and July, and had some interesting email conversations. People are quite strange about renting out their private space to a stranger, particularly a stranger who lives in another state and won’t be able to meet them in person before this summer. I can understand, of course — you’re letting someone you don’t know live with your things for an extended period of time while you’re not there. It doesn’t really fall in the realm of hospitality, since money is being exchanged, and there’s not really a lease, making it a formal landlord/renter relationship, so the rules for either party are somewhat ambiguous and difficult to define. Some things I’ve noticed, though:

1. People sublet their apartments for amounts much higher than they actually pay in rent. I’m not blaming them for this, mind you, but it’s an interesting phenomenon. I’ve kept close tabs on the Denver rental market over the last few years, so I think I have a good handle on what things cost in what areas. Yes, some people do pay $1250 for an apartment in Capitol Hill these days, but you, Mr. Renter, with the 300 sq. ft. basement apartment one block from Colfax, do not. I just know.

2. People try to describe their apartments as if they were hotel rooms, listing “amenities” such as a “three-function fax/copier/scanner” or “will leave refrigerator in apartment if subletter requires.” Yes, please — I would like to be able to keep foods cold.

3. I find myself judging sublets based on the furniture included. Ubiquitous black urban futon? No. 80s-style pastel “Southwestern” furniture? No. One apartment which I inquired into (but rejected for being too expensive, once costs not disclosed in the ad were mentioned) seemed acceptable, but, once I was emailed photos of it, I found that there were incense burners nearly everywhere, occupying far too many surfaces. I figured that the place must reek, and that I would spend the entire summer with a headache and/or contact high if I lived there. (Things were not improved when the owner of this apartment asked for my birth date/place/time information, to determine whether the apartment and I were astrologically compatible.)

4. You have to act really quickly. I saw an ad for a place that would have been nearly perfect, and responded within minutes of its posting. However, someone responded even more quickly than I did, and was in the area to see the apartment, so I lost out. I responded to another ad last night about a place that, while not ideal, would probably be acceptable — I still haven’t heard back.

5. Rents are really high this summer for subletters — look at all of the ads for rentals during the Democratic National Convention in August and look at how much people are charging. I’ve seen listings for houses going for thousands of dollars a week or even per night — it’s Denver’s turn to gouge its visitors. Some ads seem particularly ridiculous to anyone who knows the area — I saw one ad for a (nice-looking) house in Georgetown advertising its proximity to downtown (Georgetown, for those who don’t know, is about 40 minutes away from the outskirts of the city, up in the mountains, along an often-congested stretch of I-70 — scenic, yes; convenient, no. No matter whether I stay in someone’s apartment or stay in a hotel, it’s clear that I should get back to ABQ once August rolls around.

Anyway, it’s been harder than I thought to find a place. Denver’s not a particularly tough rental market, but this is my first experience in trying to find a sublet. I have some grant money to work with this summer, so money isn’t too much of a concern, but I’m trying to cement my summer plans as soon as I can in order to make some other plans.

I survived my exams, and, at 5 p.m. yesterday, I reached the liminal status of being ABD. I am exhausted — the last two weeks were probably the tensest and most stressful of my life to date. I think I’m going to have to ease back slowly into this whole “free time” thing.

(Above: a sign on the side of a large red building in Boise, which I visited a few weeks ago — you don’t see a lot of handmade wood letters like this very often.)