New Neighborhood, New Notions

Apartment-hunting is such an adventure! I love winding up in neighborhoods I’ve never visited before, or re-visiting places that I had confined to a particularly small box, and discovering that there’s much more beyond my pre-conceived notions.

Chicago Neighborhoods Map at the Chicago History Museum

Being the somewhat stubborn and sometimes silly person that I am, I had envisioned myself in Ravenswood without actually spending much time there. My friend Liz’s place is so adorable (and huge!) and the times I’ve spent with her in Ravenswood, along with the scenery I viewed when driving through the area when I used to live in Uptown, had convinced me that it was the perfect place for me. Ravenswood is a charming, quiet neighborhood, and I had envisioned myself on a summer evening, writing by a window thrown open to a quiet, tree-lined street.

So, I was a bit shocked when I started viewing studios there. The first potential dwelling places were sorely disappointing, both dingy and small. I traveled the 40 minutes back home exhausted and wishing I hadn't wasted my time.

But I wasn't ready to give up on Ravenswood just yet, and headed back up that way again two days later. This commute took even longer, and when I got off in the “charming neighborhood,” I was a bit dismayed at how stark and industrial it was (I’d gotten off at the Damen Brown line stop this time). Even then I wasn’t throwing in the towel, though, because I was headed to a Victorian home with a top-floor studio. As you can imagine (if you know me), I saw this listing on Craigslist and my Victorianist heart skipped a beat. And when I arrived, my visions of Victorian bliss were quite met. The owner has her portion of the home fixed up beautifully, with period furnishings. It was ideal--complete with white picket fence. The studio above was large, updated, and overlooked a lovely yard.

Yet, as she showed me the place, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy about how far from the heart of the city I’d be if I moved there. And when she told me how much the security deposit would be (ludicrous), I was actually relieved. If the price had been right, I’m not sure I would have been able to say no. Curling up with Dickens and a cup of tea in that apartment? It was undoubtedly very me.

At this point, I was prematurely starting to feel a little worried that I might not find a studio that would meet this ideal that I’d created in my mind. After all, it didn’t seem like Ravenswood was working out, and that was part of the ideal.

"Stop paying rent" and purchase a lot. Haha, I wish! Also from the Chicago History Museum.

Afterward, however, I spent a Tuesday evening in Lakeview. I’ll admit, I had stereotyped Lakeview. I had shoved the entire neighborhood into a box containing only Wrigley field and the surrounding bar scene. I envisioned insane parking during Cubs games, loud drunk people, and, well, that’s pretty much it. But then I checked it out after finding a couple of studios in my price range on Craigslist. Isaac, a managed properties agent, planned out about five places for us to view (actually, he had originally planned quite a few more, but those places are going like hotcakes).

I wasn’t impressed by the first studio, which was dingy, smaller than where I live now, and not enough cheaper to justify not living downtown. Isaac assured me that for my price range, in the neighborhood, I wouldn’t find much bigger. I hoped he was wrong. The studios in the second building were better, but I still wasn’t feeling it. I was looking for that feeling I’d gotten when I walked into the building where I live now (I knew in the pit of my stomach that this place was for me the second I walked in, and I’m going to miss it, sorely). Finally, we went to an apartment complex even closer to the lake. When we went up to the floor where my studio is located, I felt inexplicably excited as we walked down the hall (you should see how cute it is decorated). I figured that the goose bumps were a pretty good sign. We proceeded to the end of the hall, where I was ushered into a pretty large studio with six--yes six--closets. I was veritably giddy at the sight of all those closets, but I was hesitant. The place was kind of dingy, desperately needing new carpet and a paint job. I had trouble envisioning it with me in there. When I found out that the whole thing is being rehabbed and viewed a similar studio ready for move in, with beautiful new carpet, countertops, faucets, etc., I was nearly sold.

But I didn’t apply. I was torn. I hadn’t completely given up on Ravenswood. In particular, there was a beautiful studio advertised on Craigslist all April that I just kept seeing week after week. My emails had gone unanswered, until, finally, I had inquired again and received a response. I had been scheduled to see that studio the next day, and I was sure that it was going to be the place for me. So, I held off. Over the course of Tuesday evening, however, I decided I would at least apply for the place in Lakeview to take it off the market for a few days, and keep that option open. That way, if Ravenswood still didn’t work out, I would have a fall-back.

And, you guessed it, the beautiful Ravenswood studio wasn’t so beautiful; plus, the leasing agent barely gave me the time of day and I just felt like Ravenswood, as cute and quaint as some areas of it may be, was dead. If I were settling down with a family, I definitely could see living there. But now? No. It just wasn’t going to work.

And thus, I find myself two days away from signing my lease, after which, I will become an official Lakeview resident. My two most important needs are met—better parking (you cannot get worse than the Gold Coast) and close to the lake. And the six closets thing? Not a bad bonus.

Golden Morning in the Gold Coast

When I awoke this morning, sunshine was seeping in through the slats of my window blinds. When I looked out and saw blue skies, I couldn't help but smile. After opening my windows to the fresh air, I decided to get up and go for a walk. I bundled up (it was still quite chilly, despite the deceivingly warm look of the sunshine) and grabbed my camera. I've been wanting to get out and take pictures of my neighborhood before I leave it in May. I adore the architecture in the Gold Coast, and I'm going to miss it. But, I had to finally admit to myself that I've been living just a tad bit beyond my means here. Of course, it's not as though I won't come back to the Gold Coast to go out, shop, and eat, but for the next few months, I'm going to relish the convenience of living just north of the Loop and enjoy everything the Gold Coast has to offer. I'll probably take many more pictures, but here are some snapshots from this morning:

Desertion and (Self) Preservation

After some digging online, I finally found out what this vacant building is to the north of my apartment complex. It has always struck me as highly unusual that a historic building in such a prime location in Chicago sits vacant. It always felt to me as though it were some kind of school. Perhaps because of the way the building is centered around a courtyard, and the way the fountain sits. It reminded me a little of Oxford colleges, just on a much smaller scale. Anyhow, I kept forgetting to ask at the office to see if they knew what that building was, so tonight I started digging for information about Gold Coast historic buildings, and found it. Found it in a rather surprising way, actually, landing on this story: “Plans withdrawn for Gold Coast repository for cremains.” Apparently, in November, the plan to turn the place into a morbid site for cremated remains was withdrawn after great opposition from the entire Gold Coast community. I can’t believe I was living here when all that happened, and hadn’t heard a thing about it. But I’m so incredibly relieved that they didn’t go through with it: the place already creeps me out as it is, because it’s this huge, old, deserted building (the kind you read about in ghost stories), but to look out my window everyday and see a huge old building filled with ashes? No, thank you.

As you can see if you follow the link, it is the old Three Arts Building. It was built in 1914, and housed women studying the arts. Somehow, it seems utterly fitting that I would land close by. I think, someday, that building may wind up in a book I write.

Aside from my continued fascination with the building, I decided I should look it up before I leave the Gold Coast. Since I have decided (with 90% certainty) that I will move this summer to a neighborhood with ample parking and cheaper rents, it has suddenly dawned on me that I need to explore my neighborhood much more before I leave it (can you believe I haven’t been to the Newberry Library or the Chicago History Museum yet? Inexcusable, I know!).

It’s really a bittersweet decision on my part. This neighborhood is absolutely gorgeous. It has some of the most beautiful early twentieth-century buildings in the city of Chicago. It sits right next to the lake. I hope that maybe one day I will move back here, but into a place that I own. That is a big dream, but you never know—it could happen. It’s a very expensive neighborhood and the parking, well, I just can’t take it anymore. Today I drove around for about 20 minutes to find a spot when I returned from Ohio, and ultimately ended up several blocks away in an area with which I’m not as familiar, and I swear I looked at all the street signs carefully, but I’m still scared that I may have missed something and will walk out to move my car this weekend and find it towed. I’m so tired of having to walk by my car to make sure it’s okay (i.e., hasn’t been hit, broken into, or towed). Everyone keeps telling me to sell my car, but I refuse. It’s too convenient for me to get home to visit family in Ohio (and take my laundry, and bring back groceries). Besides, it’s my first car, and it has been wonderful. Even more importantly, I own it. I don’t own my home, and probably won’t own a place for awhile. It’s the only real thing of value that is mine. Paid for, owned, and extremely useful. Besides, what if I decide I want to leave Chicago? How would I get by someplace else without a car?

Aside from these factors, I also can get much more apartment space for cheaper somewhere else, and I’ve already got my next neighborhood in mind. But it’s leaving the proximity to the lake that tugs at my heartstrings. It sounds silly, but my runs by the lake were the only thing that really got me through last summer. I honestly don’t know how else I would have released all that negative energy and sadness if I didn’t have my runs, and the comfort of the tempestuous lake to my east. And it was all there for me, with so little effort. Maybe, I will get lucky and find a great little place near the lake with a parking garage, but considering my budget, I’m not holding my breath. Of course, if I can actually use my car because there will be parking when I return, I can always drive myself to the lake and then go for my run, or picnic, or tanning, or reading on a bench. And then, there’s always good old public transportation. Eh, it won’t be the same as living here. But every neighborhood has its assets.

Happy Happenstance

First, my apologies for neglecting to post for over a month (where does the time go?). Since my last post, I have been busy watching some of my dreams come true, not the least of which includes securing an apartment in downtown Chicago (seriously, I've been dreaming about this for years).

Apartment-hunting was so much fun. With my budget clearly defined, and Craigslist at my fingertips, I scheduled two and a half days of studio viewings. I arranged all of my apartment-hunting very logically--day one: Lincoln Park; day two: Gold Coast; day three: Wicker Park.

The only thing I actually remember about the first Lincoln Park studios I viewed was how nonplussed the leasing agent seemed. I was clearly wasting his time, and my impression of all of his apartments was that they were as lackluster as him. After that, I spent the afternoon with an agent from an apartment-finding service. He was so skillful a salesman that he nearly convinced me to lease a gorgeous studio with a view of Lake Michigan, which was definitely out of my budget and inconveniently located. He was even fairly convincing about a dingy little studio with a view of—wait for it—a brick wall outside the window. By the end of the day, I almost had my heart set on the studio with the lake view, but I couldn’t help remembering how badly I wanted to live in a building with a bit of character, rather than a cookie-cutter high rise filled with identical white boxes. I knew I had about ten viewings scheduled for the next day, so I told him I’d be in touch.

The second day of apartment-hunting began with a gorgeous, vintage high-rise in the Gold Coast. I arrived on time for my appointment, and was about to head upstairs with the complex manager, when I was cut short by a stiff, academic-looking twenty-something with his doting mom and grandmother. He was there to get his keys so he could show them his new studio and, by God, that made him infinitely more important than me. After a lengthy discussion filled with mom and grandma bragging about the homely-looking young man in front of them (and me awkwardly and impatiently standing by), the manager suggested that we accompany them upstairs so that I could see his studio. The whole ride up the elevator I got an indirect earful from grandma and mom, who went on and on to the complex manager about how wonderful their grandson/son is. Now, I know that sometimes grandmas and moms tend to do that kind of thing, but rather than making a modest rejoinder or gentle attempt to persuade them to stop bragging, he just stood there basking in their praises. I rolled my eyes in a slow, deliberate arc and tried not to gag.

After a painful ascent to the twelfth floor, and an increasingly uncomfortable walk up the hallway, I followed them into the apartment. I feigned interest as I looked inside a few cupboards, took a step or two around the room, and rushed out. As I left the room, I suppressed a laugh. The truth was, I’d only come to look at this place because I’d already made the appointment (hence my annoyance that despite arriving on time, this ridiculous trio delayed my appointment by twenty minutes). Earlier that morning, while describing my plan of action to my boyfriend, he warned me that his brother used to live in this particular high rise (if you want to know which one, I’ll tell you off the record) and it was infested with roaches. It’s a shame, too, because it really is a beautiful building. And it would be such a travesty if grandma and mom were to find out that their darling boy’s adorable new home had roaches. Especially since he shared the stiff superficiality of the building into which he was moving.

If anything, I’d call that building academic. It had that Oxford air to it. And, frankly, I’ve been there and done that; rather than ornate beauty, I was looking for something warm, welcoming, and a little less sterile (and a little less roach-infested). It wasn’t meant to be.

The next few LaSalle St. apartments left me feeling uninspired, as well, and I started to worry that I was going to have to go with the out-of-budget Lincoln Park studio. Luckily, however, I had booked the remainder of the day with viewings on N. Dearborn. As I turned the corner from Division, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself on the lovely tree-lined street that had enchanted me on a drive home last November. I immediately recognized the vintage buildings that emitted a friendly residential feel. I remembered thinking how nice it would be to live there, but how pricey it must be, since everyone was always saying how expensive the Gold Coast is. Once again, however, I was reminded of why it's a bad idea to listen to "what everybody else says." I almost missed a wonderful opportunity…

It’s so funny how sometimes things just fall into your lap. The place I fell in love with wasn’t on my carefully-planned viewing schedule. I just happened to walk by the apartment complex on my way from a viewing farther south, and noticed an ad for studios and one-bedrooms out front. I decided to check it out, and immediately upon walking in, it felt right. I love moments like that, where you step into a situation you hadn’t even planned, and it just feels so authentically you. The lobby greeted me with a lovely, old-fashioned air and it smelled light and flowery (unlike most of the vintage complexes I’d been viewing all morning). Plus, the restaurant and full-service salon on the ground floor made me feel like I was in a real downtown apartment building.

Sandra, the leasing agent was friendly and genuine (as you can tell, I put a lot of stock into the quality of the leasing agent). She wasn’t pushy at all and I was highly impressed with the first studio she showed me. It has a separate kitchen with ample counter space and its own window, two large closets, a good-sized living space and a nice view. We looked at two other studios, but the first won out. As I wrapped up with Sandra, she added the icing on the cake by telling me that if I provided the paint, they would paint my studio any colors I wanted, at no extra charge. You have no idea how much this excited me—I wanted to sign the lease right then and there (it's all about the details). But, fending off impulsiveness, I decided to follow through with three remaining appointments I had scheduled for that day, before signing on the dotted line. Needless to say, a teeny box of a place at Michigan Ave., a crumby little apartment in a shabby building farther up Dearborn, and a couple of over-priced studios later, I still had my heart set on my eighth-floor studio with the separate kitchen. So I went back and filled out my application. I never even made it to Wicker Park.