We returned home over the Verazzano Narrows Bridge. On the last third of the crossing of the mouth of New York Harbor, the left lane becomes exit-only. There are many many warnings about this. Unfortunately, there was a car in the left lane that didn’t want to exit. This car was about 100 yards in front of us. At the last possible second, I saw this car dart rapidly out of the left lane. I was a mite irritated at the irratic and dangerous driving. There was a big white pickup truck in front of us and I didn’t see the crazy car, so I assumed it was just another crazy on the roads until Elizabeth gasped. The I looked on the right side of the pickup truck as the car jumped the curb and smashed into the guardrail on the side of the bridge, spun around and slid backwards down the highway.

Everyone hit the brakes and came to a stop. The driver of the car got out and was screaming. She was a young girl in her 20’s. The passenger door opens and the passenger falls out on the ground and doesn’t move very much. Then the driver ran around and grabbed her shirt and started dragging her across the road into the path of the exit-only lane she’d been in before the madness started. I got out of the car and ran up as did a bunch of other bystanders. We tried to get her to calm down. The girl on the ground was crying out that she couldn’t stand up. The car was still running and beginning to smoke. Another bystander mentioned that we should probably turn off the car, so I went in and turned off the ignition. It was difficult to open the door since it had been bent so badly.

When I got out, both girls were standing and other witnesses were helping them. I called 9-1-1. When I got done, the situation looked as under control as it was going to get before the police and ambulances arrived. I had a very pregnant wife in the car, so I decided that the best thing would be to take my wife and go home. As we drove slowly past the wreck, the two girls were standing, sobbing and hugging each other.

The split second of panic when the driver realized she was going to get off at the wrong exit almost turned to tragedy. Fortunately, they didn’t hit another car. Fortunately they were going slow enough that they didn’t go of the bridge (which at this point is about 100 feet above the water). Fortunately, it didn’t look like either of them were seriously hurt. I am thankful that our car was unscathed and Elizabeth was fine.

The girl driving the car was cool and called 911 while I was in the street. By the time I was able to pick myself up off the street, two cops had arrived and an ambulance pulled up pretty fast after that. The paramedics felt my painfully purple knee and my elbow and said nothing was broken. I elected not to go to the hospital and limped the 2 blocks to my apartment.

During the next 24 hours, my left knee gradually got more mobile and less sore. Unfortunately, my left elbow got worse and worse. On Wednesday AM, I didn’t have enough grip strength to squeeze toothpaste onto my toothbrush so I went to the hospital, accompanied by the soon-to-be Rev. Chris Hildebrand, soon-to-be assistant pastor of the church we attend: Resurrection Presbyterian Church in Williamsburg. Chris hung out with me and got me lunch during the 5+ hours we spent in the ER. That was a total gift — thanks Chris!

Finally, I got to go in to see the doctors. Because of the transit strike, they were extremely short-staffed. After reading my x-rays the doc said my left elbow was fractured. She put my arm in a splint, gave me a prescription for some pain-killers, and told me I’d be in the splint for 6-8 weeks. Unfortunately, I can’t fly like this.

Tomorrow, I’m going to see an orthopedic specialist and start the process of trying to get the insurance of the girl who hit me to pay for medical bills, a new bike, and lost wages. Sounds fun. I’m sure the insurance company is just chomping at the bit to cut me a check.

Bt the way, if there are a more typos than usual, cut me some slack. Between one-handed-typing and some nice pain pills, I’m a little impaired. More than usual.

A den can be a family room or a room devoted to a parent’s hobbies.

A common room is a type of shared lounge, most often found in dormitories, at (for example) universities, military bases, hospitals, rest homes, hostels, and even minimum-security prisons. It is generally connected to several private rooms, and may incorporate a bathroom.

Common rooms are generally much more spacious than the adjoining private rooms, and generally contain couches, televisions, coffee tables, and other generic lounge furniture.

Depending on its location and purpose of use, a common room may be known by another name. For instance, in mental hospitals, where access is usually restricted to the daytime hours, this type of room is often called a “day room”.

Hmmmm… perhaps we’ll call our den the day room. At least when certain family members visit…

Looking into the main living room from the building hallway. You had to climb 2 flights of stairs to get here.

The main front room (den?) has lots of great light with its south-facing windows. That’s Valerie, the broker who helped us find this place in the photo. There is stuff on the erstwhile mantle because the landlord is still finishing up the renovation.

Here’s Ellie standing in the den looking toward the windows with the door from the building hallway to the left. To the right (Ellie’s left) is the door to the allegedly master bedroom.

A railroad apartment is one where there is no hallway. To get from the front, allegedly master bedroom, to the bathroom or kitchen, you have to walk through the back bedroom. Fortunately for us, there are two hallway entrances to our apartment, so if the second bedroom is occupied, we can put on slippers and walk through the building hallway to get to the back entrance of our unit. Behind Ellie, you can see the doorways from the front to the back bedrooms and from the back bedroom to the den.

Here’s our walk-in closet in the allegedly MBR. There’s also a nook to the right where we’ll probably put some furniture or build some shelves.

This is looking back toward the den from the allegedly MBR. I think the bed will probably fit here.

Standing in the closet, you get a vista of the expansive allegedly MBR. On the left edge of the photo you can see a window. This goes to an alleged courtyard. I think all bedrooms, by law, have to have a window. This meets the letter of the law.

Sticking the camera out of the window to the alleged courtyard and looking up. I’m really suprised that my wife picked a place with a glass ceiling.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get any pics of the second bedroom, but it is basically the same size as the alleged MBR, minus the nook. Here Ellie is explaining where the furniture will go in the TV room, aka the back (aft for those of the [aero]nautical pursuasion) common room.

The view out the back (aft) common room window — a tree to keep the black lung at bay by providing us and the other one thousand residents of our block with oxygen … at least during the growing season!

A blurry view from the window of the back (aft) common room. Wow, a closet! To the left, the back (aft) entrance to our apartment. To the right, the arched entrance to the hallway leading further back (aft) to the bathroom and kitchen.

The bathroom is functional.

The kitchen has about 7.62 square feet of counter space. I think that will be enough for any dish-drainer we might acquire.

The view out of the kitchen onto our fire escape.

Perhaps that fire escape will be the scotch and cigars haven…

Mmmmm … scotch ….

Part of the conversation I had with the owner of the house behind me was about the Asbestos siding on the house. He said they had an approved plan for dealing with the asbestos shingles. They were going to cover it with siding and leave it undisturbed.

I did a bunch of research on this. Bob Vila sums my research up pretty well: "Asbestos siding presents no health hazard as long as it is left in
place on the building. Any hazard would come only if it were being
broken, scraped or sanded, which would release some asbestos fibers." Great — if the owner (and his contractors) follow through with their committment, there will be no problem. Unfortunately, this owner’s track record with me was not that great. I was a little nervous about whether we’d be exposed to asbestos and we kept a close watch on the progress of the renovation.

A couple of weeks ago, they re-sided the house. It looked like they might have broken a shingle or two, but I figured that was inevitable and probably not too hazardous. I went on a trip and when I came back I took a closer look at the debris that had been left from putting on the siding.

That looked like a lot more than a couple of broken shingles. With all these crushed and broken shingles littered about, I was a lot more concerned with the possibility that we’d been exposed to asbestos.

The Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry says that effects of asbestos exposure take 15-30 years to appear. The effects can be lung cancer or damage to lung tissue that restricts breathing and respiration. So, the worst-case "Puddleglum" situation: "I shouldn’t wonder if.." in 15-30 years one or both of us could be unable to work or die of cancer.

So here’s my question for those of you who put up with this blog: What should I do? I feel like the owner of the house should be held accoutable for his total disregard for his neighbors. I also feel like he needs to purchase a life / disability policy that will cover me, Elizabeth and Desiree until we die at a ripe old age of 99 years. If I were to get something because of this in 15 years, the most productive years of my flying career would be gone. If Elizabeth were to get sick because of this … no amount of money could compensate for that.

So, friends, should I retain a lawyer? Or am I just being too doom-and-gloom-y?

Last fall, I came home one day and some people were measuring and staking and stuff at the house behind my house. I had a little chat and they said they were going to add a room to the back of the house. The supervisor told the guy who was going to pour the foundation to get permission from my next door neighbor to drive a Bobcat through his yard.

The foundation guy rang the doorbell and Joseph, my neighbor, didn’t answer. He said to me, "I’m just going to drive through his yard, ok?" I told him it wasn’t my property and I couldn’t give him permission. He asked me if my neighbor was black. I said yes, but why does that matter? He said something like, "He’s black, he’ll be cool…" I emphatically repeated that he needed to ask permission of the owner. He then yelled across the street to our neighbor Ralph who was sitting on his front porch and said, "I’m going to drive a bobcat over here, ok?" Ralph said ok, not knowing what the heck the guy was talking about.

I guess the guy considered that "permission" because the next night when I got home from work, our neighbor’s grass was all chewed up, the guy’s truck was in his driveway, and they had poured a foundation at the house behind ours.

Nice bobcat track:

I guess he felt free to drive over Joseph’s bushes …

I ran into Joseph later and he was quite upset.

The following morning I saw the guy who chewed up my neighbor’s yard out working. I told him that my neighbor was quite upset. He didn’t care. I asked the worker for the house owner’s phone number. He wouldn’t give it to me. Then I noticed this (I went up on Joseph’s deck to photograph it):

I guess the foundation guy thought that since Joseph was so "generous" with his yard and driveway, that he wouldn’t mind "sharing" some of his electricity too. That was all I could take. I called the city and they gave me the name on the building permit for the site. I spend a couple of hours online before I finally was able to leave a mesage with Tim Pritts, the owner of the house.

Since I couldn’t get in touch with the owner, and there was no "Issuance of Building Permit" sign up, I called the city inspector and the police. The police made the foundation guy stop work and leave. The city inspector then put up a "STOP WORK" sign on the property. If you work after this sign is up, you’re subject to serious fines and possibly jail time.

That got the owner’s attention.

Later that evening, I got a call from Mr. Pritts. He profusely apologised and said that he’d never worked with that guy before and would never do it again. He said that that guy was off the job. He had also called Joseph and offered to make it right. Joseph is a nice guy and the apology was enough for him.

The guy wasn’t really off the job … I guess he’d already been paid because he was there a couple more times finishing up his foundation work.

I got to see a helicopter land … here are the streaks of its lights as it comes in for landing. These were 30 second exposures.

As it got darker, it was fun to "overexpose" the sky to pull the memories of the sunset colors out. The sky was actually almost dark (like in the helicopter landing shots above).

After doing whatever helicopters do for 20 minutes or so, this one took off. Here are a couple more 30 second exposures.