I love all people.

And I hate all people.

At times. Hate is too strong a word. I don't hate all people at times but I get really, really annoyed with them. Asians can't drive, black people talk in movies, and rich white people are cheap tippers... and they're going to make mankind extinct and explode planet Earth but who's counting. Fucking selfish, small minded, shut down elitist cunts. I would get a two dollar tip on a three dollar fare from a Puerto Rican single mom of 6 on Ave B and a 25 cent tip on the same fare from a blue blood from Park Avenue.

I got home last night to a letter from my landlords hiking my rent FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS! I'm broke. I make my movies with my own money. I get paid a lot sometimes for my TV stuff but I inevitably invest my money into my films rather than stocks like the fucks who raised my rent, and end up losing it. I had 500K in Intel in the early nineties but took it out to make "Fall." That money would have been worth 20 million now, or I would have lost every penny when the NASDAC went to shit. Being the gambler I am, I would have let it all ride so maybe I actually did the right thing as "Fall" is beloved by many and I've gotten other jobs as a result of it. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I yam what I yam.

But my landlord apparently died 6 months ago which is very sad because he was a fair and honorable man. An Eastern European immigrant, he said he would never gouge me and he didn't, only raising my rent a reasonable amount every year when he could've done anything he wanted to since my apartment is not rent controlled.

His family doesn't feel the same apparently. I always look at things as half full. The best question I've found to ask myself during insanely fucked up times is "what is great about this?" If I ask myself the questions I generally default to, like, "why did this happen to me?" or "what am I going to do now?" my defeatist, insecure, fear riddled mind will come up with the obvious answers. "Because you suck and God hates you and he gave you many chances, all of which you ruined and now you're paying your karmic debt for being such an evil person." Things along those lines.

What's great about getting suddenly evicted is that although I love my apartment, I would like to live closer to the river and now I can. Even though I have no money, I do have credit and maybe I'll use it to buy a place instead of giving my rich white dead landlord's son - who - doesn't - give - a - fuck - about - honoring - his - late - dad's - memory - by - doing - the - right - thing more play money. Also, my couch is old and decrepit but it's comfy so I'd never get a new one as long as I'm here, it's just too much of a hassle and too expensive but if I have to move I'd leave it here, have one less thing to move and spring for a new one to celebrate my make over in whatever new place I end up. That would be another good thing. Things like that. Just the beginning of the list.

So the landlord's realtor comes over to assess the place, my only chance of talking them down. He's Egyptian and has two sons. They seem affable enough, why wouldn't they, they all make tons of money throwing nice starving artists out of their apartment of 12 years so Wall Street yuppie couples who didn't make movies with their stocks but let them make them into rich Wall Street yuppie couples can move in and displace me to a fucking dark 200 square foot studio facing a brick wall in the back of a burned out crack den somewhere.

I started charming them. "You gotta help me out here. I've been a model tenant, ("model tenant?" who the fuck have I turned into using terms like that? I disgust myself) I've been here 12 years and I love it. You're not gonna get $4500 bucks for this place, come on, man to man, that's outrageous." I figured I'd appeal to his male bonding - a - man - is -only - as - good - as - his - word - male - man - to - man thing. Maybe he'd eschew his client's deceitful capitalist apathy for the "little guy" and rally around my plight. At this point I was grasping for straws. This was my first tact before threatening to become a squatter and put them through years of housing court hell, which, of course, I would never do and then feel like even more of a pussy when after having them call my bluff, I folded and skulked away at the end of the day.

"Let us look around and we'll see."

"Teddy always said..."

"Teddy died."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"It's the family you're dealing with now."

I shut up and let him look around.

"Where's the second bedroom?"

"In your non caring cunt's dreams, that's where it is." I didn't say that.

"I don't have a second bedroom."

"This is a ONE bedroom?"

"Uhhhh yeah. You wanna check the closets to see if I'm lying and hiding a bedroom in there?"

"So that's why they wanted to charge you so much. They thought it was a two bedroom. I'll tell them it's worth $3500 not $4500." And just that quick he was gone and I was saved. My migraine headache went away and I wanted to hug them all and cry. I wouldn't have to move... because the CUNT MONGERS DIDN'T KNOW HOW MANY FUCKING BEDROOMS I HAD IN THE FIRST PLACE AND MADE ME FREAK OUT OF MY MIND FOR 72 HOURS!!!

Thank God, I can go to Vermont for the leaf watching weekend and relax. I have a funky old farmhouse I bought years ago (the one and only smart non-artist thing I ever did) to chill in. I have 80 acres, a pond and a shotgun, which I will shoot my friends dead with if they try and play, "let's surprise Eric and show up in the middle of the night." They all have been warned. I live in NYC where the one way in is the front door and they (the demons) have to get past the doorman. I feel safe. The fucking country? Ground floor? Where they can just stroll right in? (I mean the house is haunted which I'll tell you about later. Them I can handle, I'm talking about the Ted Bundys and "Deliverance" mongoloids) I have a shot gun and like, 80 boxes of shells in case of a David Koresh situation. I might go back to the gun shop in Troy NY where I got the shotgun and get some more guns, Uzis and such, just in case the one isn't enough to ward off the evil doers if they ever come. Buying the first one was a scary and exhilarating experience. Now let me say unequivocally that I'm against guns and killing and this shit has really all gotten way out of hand. The older I get, the more conservative I get which is in direct conflict with my non-violence yoga practice way of looking at the world. But what can I say? Life is a paradox. More than one value system operates. Although I understand and believe the "violence begets more violence" theory. I also feel like "an eye for an eye" is the way to go as well. We should shut down Times Square every Sunday and have a town gathering. If you raped someone, you get held down and raped. If you beat someone, you get beaten. If you killed a family of four in a drunken blackout, I'm very sorry, "but for the grace of God go I," I drove drunk for ten years and thank God never hurt anyone so it's an issue very near and dear to my heart, but you've given up your right to live in this lifetime and you should be killed and better luck in the next. We just can't have you around here anymore. I know it sounds callous but something's gotta give. Even writing it hurts me, to see my feelings in black and white, I'm ashamed, but I'm over the fucking violence! My hypocrisy is painfully obvious but I'm not going to lie. That's how I feel.

So I found a gun store in Troy because I figured I needed to buy in my own state and NYC doesn't boast many gun shops on Madison Avenue so I drove upstate. It was the closest big town to Vermont and I figured they would have a gun store... And they did.
I was scared to even ask the question. Was it illegal to buy a gun? I was in a store for God's sake. Don't be such a pussy.

"Hi, I'd like to buy a gun please."

To be continued...

Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 3:06 PM

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