Phillip Retuta's Blog

The Life and Times of a Filipino-American

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Fort Greene Park’s 22nd Annual Great PUPkin.

The last time I entered the Great PUPkin, a dog costume contest in Fort Greene Park, was when Nico was alive. It was her last year with me (2018), and I dressed her up as that iconic NYC photo of workers eating on a girder during the construction of 30 Rock. She and I managed to be a top ten finalist, and we received a ribbon.

2019 was the year I grieved Nico’s passing, so naturally I did not participate. However, since I adopted Dusty, I figured I might as well enter again.

This year, with all it’s trials and tribulations, I wanted to make a costume that was fun, wearable, and definitely in the zeitgeist of pop culture. I knew RBG or Trump or the elections or COVID-19 were going to be played out, and for my own amusement I chose a topic that I was sure was going to be popular: Popeyes Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

I remember, before the pandemic, I’d step out of my subway station next to the Popeyes. There’d be a long-ass line just to get one, and the restaurant would sell out of the sandwiches fairly quickly. When I eventually ate one myself, I knew the hype surrounding it was real: it’s delicious.

So, lo and behold, Dusty as a Pupeyes Spicy Chicken Sandwich:

Of course, I had to buy and wear a chicken costume.
Dusty was a good sport and didn’t give a fuck. It felt like a sweater to her.
Believe it or not, but she could move freely in this.
Top view. You gotta have puns.

I spent maybe a week constructing the costume: measuring her body, hand-sewing felt pickles, going on Etsy to get fabric that matched the sheen of the buttered buns and spicy mayo, walking to Michael’s to get supplies, hand-painting the wrapper. I even dyed a mustard yellow sherpa blanket to a golden brown (remember, I still don’t have gas, the heating of the dye was mainly done on my grill). A lot of work and thought was put into her costume, and I’m glad it paid off.

Just like her predecessor/older sister Nico, Dusty also became a top ten finalist. I’m so happy that I can proudly display Nico’s 2018 ribbon next to Dusty’s 2020 ribbon; my beloved dog’s last Halloween next my new puppy’s first Halloween.

Another ribbon!

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Coming Home.

Day 157 of self-isolation and Day 18 of being displaced.

Some good news: the other tenants and I were given the okay to move back in (except one unit, who has water damaged in their basement bedroom). The city finally sent an inspector after 15 days, and he/she said we can finally return to our apartments.

It’s a great relief, but we won’t have gas in our apartments — that means no hot water, use of our stoves and ovens, or have heat. Our landlord wrote that a plumber is coming to install an electric water heater and would supply hotplates to each unit. As someone who cooks and bakes a lot, having no gas is a bit of a hindrance. Thank goodness I caved in a couple of years ago and bought a microwave.

Of course, the heat does worry me. It gets cold in my apartment in the winter, and after reading a bunch of Reddit threads, NYC has a habit of not turning on the gas for months on end — and this is pre-pandemic. New York requires a “Master Plumber” to turn on the gas or authorize the local gas company to turn it on. However, after looking at the Department of Building’s website, a lot of Master Plumbers on their list were discredited and had their licenses revoked for “incompetence” or “shoddy work.” Additionally, after talking to my real estate friend, turning on the gas is a slow and bureaucratic process. Add COVID-19 to the mix, and who knows when I’ll have heating and cooking gas again. Honestly, for one of the greatest and most expensive cities in America, how is New York so fucking shitty in helping its tax-paying residents?

By the way, still no response from my council member.

The one saving grace in this entire situation is that our landlord is pro-rating our rent for the time we were evacuated. He even mentioned that he’ll reduce our rent until our gas gets turned back on. Now I’ve dealt with a lot of landlords while living here, and I have to admit my current one is pretty decent. My other landlords refused to fix leaky holes in the ceiling or a burst water pipe or even the building’s door — all the while increasing my rent. I’ve lived in my current, rent-stabilized building for 4 years, and my landlord has yet to bump up my rent.

Overall, however, the picture of living in New York isn’t as dreamy or as ambitious as when I first moved here. My years are limited in this city, and I’m waiting for that final straw that will make me go, “Fuck you, NYC”, pack my bags, and move West.

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The City That Never Is Helpful (At Least Its Officials).

My Furbo dog cam is powered on, and I can see my vacant apartment.

Day 154 of self-isolation and Day 15 of being displaced.

So I’m still stuck here at Tien’s apartment after we were evacuated. Back at my own apartment, the power is on, but the water and gas are still shut off by the city. I’ve been on a text thread with my neighbors, and we’re all wondering when the hell we’re going to be able to get back in our apartments.

We’ve all been in contact with our landlord, and he says it’s up to the Department of Buildings inspector to come to our building and say it’s okay to move back in. I’ve been on a personal quest to contact the department myself, but the phone number they supplied never picks up and their voicemail is full.

At this point, I decided to email my district’s councilman, Robert Conergy Jr., to see if he can help. I explain the situation, that we’ve been displaced for two weeks in a pandemic and are at the mercy of NYC to send an inspector. I wanted to know if there’s anything he can do for us, as constituents. 4 days pass, and I don’t get a response. Needless to say, I’m very disappointed at my hyperlocal local government now, and I will not be voting for him next time he’s up for reelection.

I’ve even tweeted at and DM’d Mayor DeBlasio and the official NYC Department of Buildings Twitter account, with no response. I shouldn’t be surprised; the DoB Twitter has like no posts or doesn’t follow anybody.

The good thing about this situation, though, is that I’m closer (distance-wise) to my friends’ apartments and more bars, restaurants, and coffee shops. My social life (well, socially-distanced social life) is a bit better, though I do miss my quiet neighborhood. It’s a trade-off, for sure: in my own apartment, I’m able to concentrate on hobbies and personal projects. However, I am physically distant from friends and super popular bars and restaurants. Here, it’s the opposite: a 5-minute walk to everything and everyone. Still, in this temporary living situation, I feel like I’m a guest at someone else’s apartment — which, technically, I am.

My apartment is my home.

Fingers crossed that the city will get off its ass and finally let us back in.

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A Facade Falls In Brooklyn.

Day 146 of self-isolation (and Day 7 of being displaced).

So a funny thing happened earlier this week: a piece of facade fell from the front of my building. Earlier, contractors started construction on the abandoned building next door. I think they’re renovating the ground-floor church into a residence and adding a penthouse condo to the roof. At first, I was worried they’d tear down the entire building, which includes the wall in my backyard; essentially my garden and my yard would be unusable for god-knows-how-fucking-long. I mean, who wants their basil with a touch of possible asbestos or grill next to a pile of masonry rubble? Anyway, the early morning drilling and hammering would constantly wake me up, and I could feel the vibrations shaking my bed. Truly, there was no need for an alarm clock when you hear the drumming of a jackhammer and your floor is vibrating.

Facade broke off from here.

According to the NYC Department of Buildings, they concluded that the piece of facade that fell was due to the construction next door and my building being old as hell.

As I’m about to walk Dusty, I see a bunch of firetrucks on my street and blocking traffic. Firemen and police officers, masked because of the pandemic, said they might have to evacuate the building. Across the street, I see all my neighbors wondering what the hell is going on. A police officer walks up to me, says to contact Red Cross, and gather whatever you can because our building might be condemned by the city.

FDNY and NYPD block off the entire street.

Awesome, right? In the middle of a pandemic, just when I started working full-time again, and I just adopted a dog literally the previous day.

I call and text my landlord, tell my parents and friends, and exchange my number with a bunch of my neighbors. It’s funny how — despite living in my building for almost 4 years — I’ve never really interacted with my neighbors, and it’s remarkable how a minor disaster could bring us all together. I even get interviewed by a CBS cameraman; I didn’t see him attached to any reporter, but he had his camera and a press badge, and I’m certain this wasn’t a big enough news story to get on air.

I wait at my friend Mark’s apartment and take a few work-related Zoom meetings, with just Dusty, a water dish, and a few dog treats. I figured, since this was just the facade, we’d return to our building and all will be good. Nope. I get a call from my landlord saying you have a 15-minute window to get some clothes and any important things before the Department of Buildings comes and restricts anyone to enter the building. As a precaution, they need to inspect the structural integrity of the building. Power is off, water is shut down, gas is stopped.

I return with Dusty back to my apartment building, and I see several of my neighbors exiting with suitcases. They say the Red Cross offered them to stay in a motel in Sunset Park (coincidentally, the latest COVID hotspot in NYC), but I was lucky to get in touch with my friend Vi. She said I can stay at the vacant apartment of her friend, Tien, who’s currently in Los Angeles. The apartment was nearby — just a few blocks from my current and apparently condemned apartment — and was fully furnished. I was so thankful for that, especially since my neighbors said the hotel was fucking filthy and next to a rehab center. One of my neighbors is a photographer/cinematographer and went on the roof of the hotel to take photos of the NYC skyline; he was chased back inside by someone on the rehab center’s roof because the guy thought he was taking photos of him.

Anyway, wearing a hardhat given to me by a police officer, I pack some clothes, my laptop, Dusty’s dog food and bed, and toys. Knowing that the power is out, I took some food out of my fridge and freezer. I stuffed them all in a rolling suitcase and hurriedly walked to Vi’s apartment to get access to Tien’s. With a suitcase, a duffle bag, and a dog on a leash, I looked like drifter.

In the midst of the chaos, I somehow drop my cellphone within a block of my apartment; it was a matter of minutes when I realize my phone is no longer in my hand or pocket — thank god I constantly play Pokemon Go, even during an emergency. I search the street and retrace my steps, and my phone is nowhere to be seen. I ask people along the street if they’ve seen an iPhone or if they can call my number, but it just keeps on ringing till it goes to voicemail.

This was perhaps the most stressful and I’m-About-To-Breakdown moment thus far. Like this is hell. I accepted my fate, and journeyed to Vi’s apartment.

She did a lot of walking that day; she needs a makeshift dog bed.

I tell her and her husband Brett that I also just lost my phone, and I unpack my laptop to use the Find My iPhone app (Dusty decides to use the open suitcase as a bed). Through the app, my phone keeps ringing and alerting whoever has it, and on the map I see the phone start moving around Bed-Stuy and Crown Heights. Vi concurrently keeps calling it until someone actually picks up. Apparently a cab driver found it after he was done praying at the nearby mosque and was willing to return it. Vi arranges the driver to come near her apartment, and I rush to an ATM to give him a $50 reward. When I get my phone back, a sense of relief comes over me, and I’m so happy that there are good New Yorkers out there.

The apartment I’m staying at is definitely much nicer than mine, or at least cleaner and less cluttered (I admit, I like gathering supplies and equipment for videos, cooking, and design work). There was no TV, so I relied on Twitter to get the news, and I somehow returned to binging podcasts, Netflix, and now HBO Max (The Doom Patrol and Indian Matchmaker are great shows). All my cooking stuff was at my apartment, so I sustained myself with a lot of takeout. I also learned that Dusty — who’s getting used to the city — only likes to poop on Citibike docking racks. Work is a little difficult, considering my laptop isn’t as powerful as my iMac, and a lot of my work files are stored there.

Housebreaking training on Citibike.

Three days pass since the facade fell, and my landlord was able to get a protective netting, the scaffolding up, and get everything fixed. The power gets turned back on this third day (like a biblical reference), but the water and gas are still off — this means my aquarium’s filter will run and my freezer food will probably be okay, but everything in my fridge has to get thrown out, and I have to buy water for my plants and fish. Also, with the modem powered, I’m able to send work files to myself. The other tenants and I are merely waiting for the NYC Department of Buildings inspector to come and give the okay to come back into the building. Mind you, the landlord fixed everything, and I’m writing this 4 days after the fact. Again, I’m relying on the steadfastness and mercy of New York City officials to return home.

If it’s anything with the unemployment fiasco, I’m not holding my breath.

Everything is done, now it’s a NYC Department of Buildings waiting game.

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Work Update.

Day 100 of self-isolation.

Great news! Last week I received a notification from HR that they’re recalling my partial-furlough. I can’t wait to be working full-time again and have some sense of financial security. It’s been so fucking rough these past three months, where I had to borrow money from my parents and a friend and pick and choose which utilities I should and could pay for, and really think about how I can stretch a dollar with food. And that federal stimulus check? That went entirely to my rent.

Of course, the New York State government hasn’t been any help, and after 3 months of no communication from them, I finally receive a call from a case manager. Despite my rent, despite borrowing money from others, despite being partially-furloughed to part-time and not making enough money to live normal, they reject me — just because I work more than 3 days a week. I asked what can I do repeal that decision or what kind of aid I can find, but they say nothing can be done. Everything about this — from the rejection to the no communication to the strict guidelines — reeks of bureaucracy. I had no expectations from the government on a federal level, but I feel really disappointed and disillusioned by my local government.

All that aside, I’m happy to be back on full-time and my benefits (such as health insurance) safely secured. Even though I struggled financially at the beginning of the pandemic, I can look forward to saving money: I don’t have to commute, I’m not eating out all the time, and quite frankly my social life (like going to a bar or coffee shop) has been at a pleasant lull.

I consider myself very fortunate and very lucky, especially when so many people are unemployed and underemployed. Here in NYC, I have friends who’ve lost jobs in the food and hospitality industry. I hear news of food bank lines welcoming new, never-be-seen faces — a sign that well-to-do families and financially-secure people are now experiencing Great Depression-level anxieties.

It’s goddamn sad.

The world seems to be falling apart, and all I can do now is shut myself in, recoup my losses and payback those I owe, and truly hope we’ll all pull through this without too many scars.