”I told the group that I was moving to Staten Island in just a few days, and while everyone was totally against it at first, I explained that my move to Staten Island was being conducted in strict accordance with the 5th principle of the Powell Doctrine: Is there a plausible exit strategy to avoid endless entanglement?’’
I did laundry today at the Bushwick Laundromat and ate lunch, during the drying cycle, at Wreck Room , where I had my regular Tandoori Chicken Sandwich with fries and a whiskey and Coke.
After working on one of my client’s websites, I made my way up to Washington Heights/Inwood (all the fucking way from Bushwick) to see some good friends and go to a party on 191st Street with them. I told the group that I was moving to Staten Island in just a few days, and while everyone was totally against it at first, I explained that my move to Staten Island was being conducted in strict accordance with the 5th principle of the Powell Doctrine: Is there a plausible exit strategy to avoid endless entanglement?
There would not be an endless entanglement with the bastard fifth borough because there was an exit strategy built right into the move itself: the length of my rental agreement—the month of April alone—necessarily limited the duration of my engagement. If I wanted to stay longer I would have to seek out and finalize a new agreement. This was entirely possible, but such an action would only be implemented after a careful review of my strategic objectives and an analysis of what continuing my stay would mean for the project, and my life, in general.
After hearing my reasoning, the friends relented and we made our way out to the party that was the evening’s raison d’être. The party, whose theme was “Tropical Cannibalism” and came complete with a manifesto, was hosted by a couple, V and H, whom I didn’t know, but whom my good friend Ashton did. After walking throughout the Heights (called “the Heights” for a very good reason, mind you) we found the building and were welcomed into a beautiful and uniquely-designed apartment full of interesting, excellent people. I wish I had pictures of the incredible moldings that snaked throughout the apartment, but I felt rude taking pictures in their home while everyone was having such a good time. We were there for a while, drinking and dancing, and then I asked to be introduced to the hosts so I could thank them for their kindness and hospitality.
We moved the party back to my friends’ apartment after a while and stayed up quite late, before finally calling it and starting my long trek back to Bushwick. I shared a cab with friends to Times Square and then took the A train to 14th Street and switched to the L for the final trek back home and, like an asshole amateur, fell asleep on the train and slept long past Morgan Ave. When I finally awoke I found myself at Livonia Ave, three stops from the end of the line, so I had to jump off the train I was on and wait for the next west-bound train, which came about 20 minutes later.
I was back at NY Loft 25 minutes later and I swore to myself I would never do that again.