The Joy Luck Club
Jul. 13th, 2012 08:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
captainsblogFollowing up on the earlier report:
By the time I caught up with the grrls in the late afternoon, they'd looked at several small places right on one of the main drags of Rochester's East End party scene. Nice enough per se, but not conducive to sleep. But they'd also been in a genuine apartment building, known as Haddon Hall. Not the English one of Jane fame-
- but this 1920s edifice
that might have originally been a University of Rochester living unit before the school moved in that era (all but its music school) to a larger campus several miles away. The 1-bedroom is on the third floor with a scary elevator, but it's nicely walk-up-able; is clean and carpeted; and, once secured with a less than full-month deposit, can be timed to begin its 12-month letting anytime between now and September that they want. But there were still two converted-home-type apartments for us to look at, so they vowed to return for application materials after I caught up with them.
----
While they were checking those, I was trying out my own luck. I'd stopped downtown to file two simple documents, emptied my pockets of all available change to feed a meter (credit card options were out since I'd given mine to the advance team to use), headed in and discovered a Line From Hell. Apparently this is a late-Friday phenomenon every week in that particular county clerk's office, where a bus from Stupidland magically pulls up at the end of every workweek at 1500 with an overload of parents with screaming kids, all in immediate need of applying for passports. Eventually I got my two things on, headed back to the car, and frantically waved down the Mister Meter Maid who was scanning my registration sticker into his ticket machine at that very second. He heeded my plea about having obtained more change (I did! I weally did!) and gave me a pass.
Luck that.
----
From there, I caught up with them on a street off Monroe Avenue that I didn't even know existed. The third-floor walkup was small and dirty, but the downstairs tenants were potentially annoying, so it all evened out:P Then followed their second look (my first) at Haddon, which I was already rooting for before even seeing the last contendah....
which, while better than the small dirty one around the corner from it, was still a less attractive option. In its craigslist pictures, they'd made it look much bigger on the inside, but I saw no evidence of time travel capability, and the owner (actually, son of the elderly suburban owner, who exuded something between Philip Seymour Hoffman and Norman Bates) wouldn't take an application without actually meeting Cam, which will be time-consuming and annoying. And another couple of kids were checking it out just as we were leaving, so it likely won't even be available by the time he showed up for his audition with Mrs. DeMille's kid.
So Haddon, likely, it shall be. I rather like that one of its namesake's earliest Lords was the illegitimate son of William the Conqueror. Given our goofy family histories, there's no point to standing on ceremony;)
By the time I caught up with the grrls in the late afternoon, they'd looked at several small places right on one of the main drags of Rochester's East End party scene. Nice enough per se, but not conducive to sleep. But they'd also been in a genuine apartment building, known as Haddon Hall. Not the English one of Jane fame-
- but this 1920s edifice
that might have originally been a University of Rochester living unit before the school moved in that era (all but its music school) to a larger campus several miles away. The 1-bedroom is on the third floor with a scary elevator, but it's nicely walk-up-able; is clean and carpeted; and, once secured with a less than full-month deposit, can be timed to begin its 12-month letting anytime between now and September that they want. But there were still two converted-home-type apartments for us to look at, so they vowed to return for application materials after I caught up with them.
----
While they were checking those, I was trying out my own luck. I'd stopped downtown to file two simple documents, emptied my pockets of all available change to feed a meter (credit card options were out since I'd given mine to the advance team to use), headed in and discovered a Line From Hell. Apparently this is a late-Friday phenomenon every week in that particular county clerk's office, where a bus from Stupidland magically pulls up at the end of every workweek at 1500 with an overload of parents with screaming kids, all in immediate need of applying for passports. Eventually I got my two things on, headed back to the car, and frantically waved down the Mister Meter Maid who was scanning my registration sticker into his ticket machine at that very second. He heeded my plea about having obtained more change (I did! I weally did!) and gave me a pass.
Luck that.
----
From there, I caught up with them on a street off Monroe Avenue that I didn't even know existed. The third-floor walkup was small and dirty, but the downstairs tenants were potentially annoying, so it all evened out:P Then followed their second look (my first) at Haddon, which I was already rooting for before even seeing the last contendah....
which, while better than the small dirty one around the corner from it, was still a less attractive option. In its craigslist pictures, they'd made it look much bigger on the inside, but I saw no evidence of time travel capability, and the owner (actually, son of the elderly suburban owner, who exuded something between Philip Seymour Hoffman and Norman Bates) wouldn't take an application without actually meeting Cam, which will be time-consuming and annoying. And another couple of kids were checking it out just as we were leaving, so it likely won't even be available by the time he showed up for his audition with Mrs. DeMille's kid.
So Haddon, likely, it shall be. I rather like that one of its namesake's earliest Lords was the illegitimate son of William the Conqueror. Given our goofy family histories, there's no point to standing on ceremony;)