freeloading the big apple

As Times columnist Charlie LeDuff famously observed, “New York is a lot like a shit sandwich. The more bread you have, the less shit you taste.” Sadly, with the cost of city living perpetually on the rise, that observation holds now more than ever. Which isn’t to say, however, that our fair city can only be enjoyed with a wad of $100’s in your back pocket. With a bit of ingenuity, and a willingness to depend on the proverbial kindness of strangers, anyone can live the good life in New York for essentially no money at all. ‘How?’, I hear you ask. Read on.

Step 1. Eating

Your first stop: high end grocers. The Amish Market, Whole Foods, the Chelsea Market – any of these is packed with enough free samples to make a meal. The secret to avoiding incurring the wrath of salespeople is to look genuinely intent on shopping. Carry a basket. Put things in. Eat some free samples. Take things out. Head back for more free samples. Voila.

Of course, sometimes even the cheapest of individuals feels the need to sit down for a meal. That’s where churches and synagogues come into play. Nearly all are brimming with lunch discussions and potluck dinners. Proselytizing and pizza. Can’t stomach the holier-than-thou moral integrity these people beam as you take their food? Head over to a twelve step program meeting instead. Plenty to eat, and certainly nobody ready to judge.

Once the weather warms, you can also pop into Central Park looking for barbecues. With a big drunken crowd of revelers, nobody’s going to stop the one guy they don’t completely recognize in line for a burger.

Bonus tip: looking for dessert? Ten cents will buy you a cone at your neighborhood ice cream store. Then simply request a taste spoonful of all 31 flavors. Compacted together, those little bits easily add up to one (deliciously free) full scoop.

Step 2. Drinking

Of course, real New Yorkers know that food stands well behind drink in the order of life, so you’ll be pleased to hear that unpaid liquor flows freely throughout the city. Start the evening at a Chelsea gallery opening. Wander around, glass in hand, squinting thoughtfully at the carefully framed spray-painted sweat socks and the like. If a salesperson stops next to you, look slightly towards them, shake your head slightly, and say something like “intriguing…” That should buy you plenty of time to grab another glass.

If you’re a mid-day drinker (or, as we in the know say, alcoholic), kill pre-gallery time at open houses. Scour the Times for any residence listed for more than $2M, then dress the part and bring a date. Free drinks (and, likely, freshly baked banana bread, to scent the house with domesticity) are yours for the taking.

Like to smoke when you drink? Well then Mayor Bloomberg’s done you a world of good. No longer able to smoke comfortably indoors, a crowd of addicts has doubtless packed near the doors of whichever establishment you’re frequenting. The brotherhood of nicotine, strengthened through months of such enforced outdoors huddling, means you can bum away with reckless abandon.

Step 3. Staying Fit

All that free food and liquor gone straight to your hips? Don’t worry friend, because fitness can be had on the cheap in NYC as well. Your first path: trial memberships. Every gym in the city offers them, from one week spans all the way up to a free test month. With over 400 ‘health clubs’ listed in the phone book, by skipping from gym to gym, you can stay fit well into old age.

But let’s say you’re the trendier sort, perhaps looking to do a bit of soul-soothing Yoga (to balance out the karmic wrongs engendered by all your freeloading). No problem! Just head onto Friendster (you knew it had to be useful for something) and search for the word yoga. There’s at least a 50% chance that any females living in Williamsburg whose names pop up are instructors-in-training, looking to log teaching hours. Free private instruction, yours for the taking.

Step 4. Entertainment

Feeling fit, feted and faded from the past three steps, you’re now doubtless looking for a bit of fun. Fret not, as New York is known around the globe for its excellent theater, attracting uneducated yokels the world over to things their simple minds couldn’t possibly comprehend. This month, head over to the American Airlines theater about an hour after the crowds first file in, and you’ll doubtless find a hearty Midwestern couple jumping ship at the first intermission, muttering about why this Pinter fellow can’t seem to just tell a story. Ask them for their tickets, and as your daily good deed, point them to their hotel two blocks up Time Square, lest they wander all the way down to TriBeCa before realizing they don’t have a clue where they are. Don’t worry about the missed first half; most playwrights save the best for last anyway.

Looking for lighter fare? Loiter outside the city’s larger movie theaters, looking for women in their early twenties wielding clipboards. They’re recruiting for test screenings (a misnomer, as distributors really couldn’t care less what you think) for pre-release films. Sure, there’s a better than 50% chance whatever you end up seeing will star Ashton Kutcher, but it’s free, free, free!

Step 5. Edification

Feeling a bit punk’d by your film, you’d best set out to feed your brain. Head over to Barnes & Nobles, which I encourage you to view as your free lending library of brand spankin’ new books (with only small deposit required). In short, buy a book or two that seem interesting. Read them on your own time. Come back several weeks later and say, “I read these two books; they were quite good. But now I’d like to abuse your overly generous return policy to trade them in for two others.” Repeat ad infinitum.

If timelier information is what you seek, head down to your neighborhood coffee shop, on weekdays after 11:00am, or weekends after 1:00pm. Copies of the city’s countless newspapers doubtless lay strewn on the floor. With a bit of search, you might even find one in which the crossword puzzle hasn’t already been partially filled in (erroneously, of course, and in ink).

Step 6. Utilities

Tired out, it’s time to head home. Sadly, no tips on how to go rent free, as that pesky landlord fellow seems to get a bit snippy if you try. And don’t even bother trying to stay with friends – New Yorkers have a nose for the sort of houseguest likely to overstay their welcome. You won’t make it past the buzzer should you hit their front door with bags in tow.

Utilities, however, are a bit more flexible, at least so long as you’re willing to whine your way to success. Free phone minutes, months of cable service, they’re all yours to be had if you can put the fear of you leaving for a competitor into their customer service rep’s mind. Complain, complain, complain. If you’re a real New Yorker, it should come easily.

Step 7. Style

Caught yourself in the mirror while wheedling your cell phone company and realized your look’s way out, did you? Then it’s time for a bit of discount store arbitrage. Pop into Syms or Century 21 and stock up on discounted designer couture. Then train on out to the Nordstrom’s at the Short Hills Mall, which sports a return policy even more generous than the Barnes & Noble kindness you previously abused. Enough cycles, and you’ve pocketed enough money to make the eventual purchase (from the initial discount store, naturally) more than pay for itself.

All dolled up, your unkempt ‘do likely looks out of place. Happily for you, New York is full of hairdressing schools looking for victims, er, volunteers to help students hone their scissor skills. Still, word is out and New Yorkers are broke, so waiting lists have begun to spring up at most such establishments. If your mane begins to look too shaggy to weather the wait, I’ve a
lso heard excellent things a
bout the trainees at either of the city’s fine dog grooming academies.

Postlogue
So, there you have it. With no money down, this little beauty of a city can be yours, all yours. Or course, at some point you’ll likely realize that all the time spent trying to live on the cheap could instead be channeled more effectively towards such fruitful pursuits as, say, looking for a job, or marrying an investment banker. Even then, only enough scrill to swim through (a la Scrooge McDuck) will lift you into the holy grail of New York High Society. Think Eyes Wide Shut, though with women WASPy enough to write thank you notes.

[Word to Yoav “King of Cheap” Fisher, who helped brainstorm this piece while brewing coffee late yesterday evening.]

Saturday night zenith / nadir

Highlight:

Walking back to my apartment, at about 4:00 in the morning, I pass a guy on my block standing next to the open door of his car, blasting hip hop into the night at top volume. A young woman, in pajamas, pokes her head out a nearby window to ask politely if he might turn down the volume. The guy flips her off. Before I can say something, her upstairs neighbor, a gentleman easily in his 70’s, pops out his window as well, and, in true New York style, lets fly with a barrage of eggs. Car guy jumps into his vehicle and gets the hell out of there.

Lowlight:

After several rounds of drinks, one of the Cunningham dancers admits to having recently ended a ten-year relationship with her former high school calculus teacher.

“Why did you finally end it?” someone asks.

“I don’t really know,” she replies. “After a while, it just started feeling really derivative.”

steeped vacillations

On the way to a breakfast meeting this morning, I was thinking a bit about how we can adapt to nearly anything, how the initially painful eventually becomes so commonplace as to not even register with us.

In particular, I was thinking about the shower in my apartment; the building is rather old (built, I believe in the mid-1860’s), and it often seems the water heater was added not long after. During the winter, with hot water split between heating the apartments and heating water from the showerhead, the shower temperature fluctuates wildly, from literally scaldingly hot to so cold I’m often afraid the water may freeze mid-spray. As a result, my roommates and I have all developed elaborate shower dances, learning to leap back against walls when the temperature swings beyond the painfully tolerable.

Whenever we have overnight guests, they invariably complain – how can we possibly stand to use that thing each day? But, in truth, I rarely give it second thought. My little bathtub ballroom has, by now, begun to seem the normal way of life. If nothing else, all the jumping and dodging provides an easy morning workout.

freeloading nyc

A new addition to ‘troublemaking’ in the ‘plus’ section of the site, covering how to live the good life in the Big Apple, on the cheap.
_______________________________

As Times columnist Charlie LeDuff famously observed, “New York is a lot like a shit sandwich. The more bread you have, the less shit you taste.” Sadly, with the cost of city living perpetually on the rise, that observation holds now more than ever. Which isn’t to say, however, that our fair city can only be enjoyed with a wad of $100’s in your back pocket. With a bit of ingenuity, and a willingness to depend on the proverbial kindness of strangers, anyone can live the good life in New York for essentially no money at all. ‘How?’, I hear you ask. Read on.

like living inside a firetruck

Over the past few days, my roommates and I have been busy prepping for our upcoming All Hallows Eve shindig, transforming our humble apartment into the Hell’s Kitchen Museum of Curious Deaths.

Somewhere along the way, Colin suggested we paint one of our two living rooms red, and before enough common sense set in to stop us, we had picked up a few cans of “Lipstick Red” paint and a few rollers and brushes.

The results, I must say, are remarkably better than I expected. Observe Colin putting the finishing touches on the second coat:

103003 red room.jpg

We’re so pleased, in fact, that we’re thinking of turning the second living room blue. Eggshell begone!

easily pleased

I must embarrassedly admit to a surprisingly strong feeling of accomplishment when a subway pulls up such that one of the doors opens precisely in front of where I’m standing.

honestly, i really *should* be batman

Continuing my trend of playing superhero, I took a few punches this evening while stepping in to break up a fight on the A train between a drunk construction worker and a homeless panhandler.

For reasons that weren’t entirely clear, the construction worker started swearing at the panhandler somewhere just below 42nd street; by the time we hit 34th street, they were chest to chest, screaming into each other’s faces. As the rest of the passengers pushed back towards the far ends of the car to avoid the confrontation, I slowly inched my way up to the two, just in case.

At some point, the construction worker just started swinging, and after a few shots to the face the homeless guy basically crumpled. As the construction guy reared back for another solid John Wayne, I stepped in from the side, grabbing his collar and opposite sleeve in a solid underhook. With the momentum of his cocking back to throw the punch, I was able to push him backwards several feet, then brace well enough that I could keep him (despite his larger size) a few feet away from the homeless guy. After a bit of flailing at me, the construction worker seemed to calm down enough that I could keep the two separated until we hit the next station, at which point the homeless guy booked it out of the car, and I followed suit. Don’t know what happened to the construction worker, though as several passengers that disembarked with me started relating what had happened to the station manager, I suspect he was pulled at the next stop.

Fortunately, the homeless guy got out with just a bloody lip and a black eye, and I left feeling no worse than at the end of kickboxing practice. As I headed up to the stairs, though, an older woman who had been on the car stopped me. “It was a wonderful thing you did back in that subway,” she said, continuing “I would have jumped in to help you myself, but I didn’t have anything heavy enough in my purse.”

karmic circle

While waiting to meet a friend outside the restaurant where we’d be having dinner, I ended up chatting briefly with a gentlemen visiting NYC from Arizona, recommending several tourist attractions as well as the restaurant at which I was about to dine (the lovely Caff

searching doggedly

New York is a city full of dogs. More than any other urban center I’ve visited, it teems with canine companions. Mornings and weekends, the streets are lined with a vast array of sizes and breeds out for much-needed walks, their poop-scooping owners closely in tow.

Each time I see one of those dogs pass, I’m inevitably struck by the similarity between the dog and its owner. Head to any park in the city, and the old claim – that people look like their pets – is immediately and empirically observable as true.

Which, over the past few years, has been a cause of slight distress to me. Because, while my current travel schedule and living situation don’t easily accommodate a four-legged friend, I’d certainly love to pick up a pooch at some point in my not-too-distant future. And, frankly, I had no real idea what sort of dog would be my match. Obviously, such decisions beg the question of who does the adapting; do people start looking like their dogs, dogs like their people, or do both meet somewhere in between? Whatever the answer, it certainly seemed to me imperative to find a dog that might bring out the very best parts of myself.

So, this evening, while procrastinating on completing a major business document, I set out to wade through the furrier parts of the internet, searching for a breed from which I might one day draw a dog of my own. After several hours search (sadly, I’m not kidding about that time tally), I’ve settled upon the rather definitive answer: I am, apparently, a beagle person.

Beagles, it seems, are quick, clever, happy and curious, though fare rather poorly in obedience training, having an unusually strong sense of wanting to do things their own way. Small, slender and muscular, they need lots of exercise, bore easily if not mentally stimulated, and seem to have a knack for getting into trouble by following their nose.

Who knows. Next time I have work I’m trying to avoid, I might even set out to preemptively find some good potential beagle names.

bob and weave

I’m endlessly fascinated, on rainy days, by the silent air-rights negotiations held, via hand feints and furtive glances, between people passing each other while holding umbrellas on crowded streets.