Archives for January 2021

January 31, 2021 By Phillip Retuta

Done With This Apartment.

Day 323 of self-isolation and day 184 without gas/heat.

I loved my apartment — at least, until 6 months ago.

The past few days have been the coldest New York has experienced this season, and even with 4 space heaters constantly running, my apartment has dipped to a low of 52 degrees. It’s been very uncomfortable, and I dread leaving the covers of my bed to put on a coat and gloves and do my design job at my work computer. I’m joining Zoom meetings in a trapper hat, and I’m designing email headers with fingerless gloves. My toes are cold even with thermal socks and slippers, so I’m usually standing in front of my computer to keep my blood flowing.

One day, I thought, we’ll have gas again and all will be well and warm and I can use a proper stove.

On Friday, I get a call from my landlord and texts from my remaining neighbors saying that the pipes froze. Luckily, because I’m by the source and near the electric water heater, I still had running water.

Well…

This morning, at 3:30 AM, I was finishing up Spider-Man: Far From Home, when I thought I heard rain outside of my window. I knew NYC was going to be hit with a snowstorm in the next few days, but there was no precipitation on my weather app.

Then, the doorway to my bedroom started dripping a lot of water — it looked like it was raining inside. I quickly entered my room, and all the walls were leaking. Every single fucking corner. The sound of water rushing could be heard above me: a pipe had clearly burst.

It’s early in the morning, so I couldn’t reach my landlord. The superintendent picked up eventually, and I called 911 to shut off the water. My super was on his way, but he instructed me to check the two vacant apartments above me for any leakage; there was none, so the water was probably coming from inside the walls (side note: those other two apartment were very small, so I definitely lucked out with this building).

The FDNY quickly came and turned everything off. As the fireman was leaving, he said “You’re not gonna have gas either,” to which I explained we haven’t had gas or heat since August. He shrugged, and left without saying anything else. No advice, no empathy.

The super eventually came and inspected everything, and I apologized for waking him up. He made sure the water was off, and as he looked inside my bedroom, he looked at the wall of all my dog photographs and asked which one passed away. I pointed to the middle one, and my super of four years said “That was a good dog.”

Fortunately for me, I found a new place nearby. Before the pipes froze, I already put in a deposit and am just waiting for the proper documents to break my current two-year lease and a time to sign the new one. Truly, I had so much hope that I could stay. I thought I could wait things out, and the city would turn on our gas and that my landlord would get everything fixed. It was a tough choice to leave, but for my health and sanity, it’s time to close this chapter in my life.

I was sentimental at first, nostalgic over the happy memories I had in my current apartment; it was my home for the past 4 years: I built an amazing home with an amazing backyard. I had amazing rosemary and mint and lavender plants in a garden I tended for years. My climbing rose vines were coming up nicely. I hosted parties where friends would grill, let their dogs run around, and sit beside a firepit.

Then I realized, no — the past two years had horrible memories: my dog died in my arms here. I got furloughed. I got kicked out for 1 month for that facade falling. I’ve cooked on a hot plate since September. I’m freezing in January. And now I can’t even keep warm and sleep in my sopping-wet, water-logged bedroom. I can’t even drink a glass of goddamn water. No, I’m leaving this apartment with bad memories.

Walked Dusty, came back and shelves fell from the walls being soft.

My plan was to completely move out by February 28th and try to appease my current and future landlords by paying rent at both places. After this morning, with everything wet and no water, I’m feeling less than diplomatic.

January 15, 2021 By Phillip Retuta

Thoughts on Dying, Death, and the Leftovers.

Taken in 2008, during a ghost tour in Chicago’s Mt. Carmel Cemetery.

Let me preface this post: I have no intention of dying anytime soon, so don’t worry about me, my physical health, or my state of mind.

I was lying in bed the other day, and I realized that if I were to ever die in my sleep, the medical examiner or coroner would be able to pinpoint the exact time of my death. I wear my Apple Watch to bed every night in order to track my sleep, and the app I use monitors my heartbeat or if I’m wearing my watch at all. I assume that if my heart stopped and I died during my sleep (the best way to go, in my opinion), my watch and the sleep app would record the exact minute I passed on. All the data would then be transferred to my iPhone. Good luck, though, trying to figure out my watch or phone’s passcodes.

I know it’s morbid to think about death, but the thought of it has always been in the back of my mind — especially with my family and friends. Those thoughts are only exasperated at the fact that I lost two good friends in the past 6 months. I worry and dread the day either of my parents pass, and I fear I won’t be able to handle it. My dad just turned 76 and has surpassed my grandfather’s age when he died, so I have slight anxiety about inevitably when it comes to my loved ones. We all know it’s coming for everybody eventually, but are we emotionally and mentally prepared for it?

Me, on the other hand? I think I accept myself dying at anytime. It’s entirely possible I could die tomorrow or next year or 60 years from now. I’m a fairly unhealthy individual (hell, I’m trying to be otherwise), but maybe I’ll be one of those centenarians who’ll tell his great grandchildren the horrors of 2020, of Trump, of 9/11, of AOL, and of how Taco Bell removed potatoes from their menu. It’s hypocritical to worry about others dying but not worrying about the death of oneself, and I know my loved ones want me to live as long as possible. I admit, it’s selfish to hold onto others but have a certain degree of apathy towards oneself.

Regardless, I feel like I should make a living will. I’m not rich enough yet to have my own lawyer or create a will on Legal Zoom, so I’ll state my intentions here. This may not be official official, but here’s where I want everything to stand, and how I want to divide my pitiful estate. Who knows, I could get married and have kids, and this could all change.

In the event of unseen circumstances, this is the will of Phillip Nievera Retuta (well, as it stands like right now):

I do have life insurance from work, and currently my brother is the first benefactor, and then my dad.
I’d want Dusty and Nico’s ashes/paw print and collar given to my parents. They’ll love Dusty as much as I do and would want Nico’s remains.
Electronics, computer equipment, and design/camera/media equipment given to my brother. He’ll need it and want it.
Fish given to my fish enthusiast friend Gino. He’s the most capable of taking care of my aquarium.
Plants to be split up between Morgan, Vi, and Monica. They’re good with plants.
Vinyl records can be split between friends.
Mark can have my sourdough starter.
Cooking equipment given to my mom.
Books to be split up by anyone — first come, first serve.
Any nice clothes can be split up by anyone — first come, first serve.
Dog toys to be split up between Dusty and the rest of the dogs.

I suppose that covers most of my earthly belongings in the unforseen event of my death — but god knows if I’ll buy a car or house next week, win the lottery tomorrow, or suddenly adopt a dozen kittens. It made me realize that when I do make an official last will and testament, this post might cause some conflict: if I die at 107, I don’t want my friends feuding over my LCD Soundsystem records or my copy of David Sedaris’ Me Talk Pretty One Day. Ah well.

Should I end this with a signature to make it more formal?

January 12, 2021 By Phillip Retuta

To Be Vaccine and Heard.

On Bergen Street. Someone wrote “HOAX.” Can you believe there are deniers in NYC?

Day 304 of self-isolation (and day 165 without gas/heat).

My entire family back in California received their first dose of the COVID-19 Vaccine yesterday — my parents, my brother, my uncle, aunts, and cousins. Despite the horrible, horrible infection, hospitalization, and death rates in the Los Angeles area, there was apparently a surplus of the vaccine at my cousin’s nursing home (he works there, and I think as a director). The extra doses were distributed to friends and family of every patient and worker at the facility, and my mom explained to me that this was all legal. I suppose it helps that my parents, aunts, and uncle are over 75-years-old now and that my brother has a lot of pre-existing health conditions, so I can’t judge them for wanting and receiving the vaccine.

Yesterday started off horribly: my brother and my mom were fighting and had called me several times to complain about each other, interrupting my work day. What can I say? My co-dependency and empathy can’t ignore my family. The last phone call, however, was jubilant: my brother and mom miraculously reconciled, and they were all driving to LA to get the vaccine.

I’ll admit, trying to talk and counsel my family earlier in the day left me pretty irate — I acted collected, sure, but I was still very annoyed inside. In spite of my healthier lifestyle, I could feel my blood pressure getting raised. During that last phone call, however, my entire family insisted and begged for me to immediately fly to California and get the vaccine with them. Was it truly that much of an emergency? Sure, if there was a death in the family, I’d drop everything (with at least a day or two to prepare), but they wanted me to come now — despite work (and a new semester starting in a week), not having a dog-sitter for Dusty, waiting for my gas to get fixed, and a little apprehension of flying 6 hours, enclosed, on a plane.

Logistically, it’s hard. I do a lot of design and video work for my day job on a new iMac Desktop; my 2010 MacBook with the broken shift key sure isn’t powerful enough for work if I were to “work from home” in California. Dusty, also, is a major issue: she’s in the midst of blended, in-person/virtual dog-training (which I poured a lot of money into), is too big to put under a seat on an airplane, and it’s hard to find a dog-sitter so soon and in a pandemic. For fuck’s sake, each time I let someone dog-sit her (or with Nico), I’d prep meals and winter clothes and poop bags and compile a comprehensive yet exhaustive care guide.

Nah, my family just felt so desperate to see me, and I think the prospect of personally getting liberated from seriously contracting this virus excited them too much. My mom, especially, is super worried about COVID-19 that it’s almost paralyzing. I know she just wants the best for her family.

I don’t think my family even realized that both the Moderna and Pfizer Vaccines (and I don’t know what they got) requires two doses. I’ve tried looking it up, and I’m wondering if you have to get your second dose at the same location. Surprisingly, there’s no info on that anywhere on the internet. Did my family expect me to stay in California for a month? Fly to LA then back to NYC and then back to LA? It all seems too silly, too rushed.

Despite my parents wishes for me to quickly fly to California for a dose of the vaccine, I’m not worried. Again, COVID-19 in California is pretty bad right now, and flying to LAX and being in the LA area feels pretty dicey. Here in New York, I’m not really exposing myself to any risk, aside from walking my dog, getting coffee, and running errands — all the while masked like a ninja, mind you, and my errands aren’t everyday occurrences. I don’t see anybody, and I’ve gotten used to washing my hands 2000 times a day.

Plus, if there’s any positive of having high blood pressure and working in the higher educational system, I think my pre-existing conditions and being academic administration poise me to get the vaccine sometime between late February and April. I’m in Group 1C, perhaps? They say patience is a virtue, and I’m willing to wait — even if I don’t receive the vaccine in the spring.

Anyway, I’m glad that the vaccine is here, and I’m especially glad that my family got it. Their fears and hyper-vigilance regarding the virus will definitely temper down, but I do worry about everyone else in America — especially the anti-mask and anti-vax people (the Capitol Riots will undoubtedly become a Super-Spreader Event). The daily death toll is breaking records every fucking day, and despite the vaccine, I wish parts of America would just come to their senses.

January 10, 2021 By Phillip Retuta

Nico Calendar 2021.

Sure, I can talk about the seditious Capitol riots or Trump losing it (and his Twitter account), but I’m pretty sure I covered that in a post before those assholes did anything. Of course, I stand by every single word, and I’m very surprised at how right I was about them.

Nah, I’m writing that my new 2021 calendars came in, featuring Dusty. And it’s great and even better than the ones I’ve made before. If you’re a friend and you’ve paid attention, I didn’t make a calendar for 2020. The loss of Nico was still raw — and good thing, 2020 was a year worth skipping. Also, after Nico passed in the spring of 2019, I had her 2019 calendar still up, and looking at her for the rest of that year was painful.

This 2021 calendar features a mix of Dusty, unseen Nico photos, and some of my friends’ dogs. Since getting Dusty in August, I simply don’t have enough photographic content to cover a full year, so there are obvious gaps (I didn’t want to shoot Easter photos in December). As an homage to Nico, maybe I’ll continue to call this the Nico Calendar for future years.

What creating this calendar has taught me, it’s how to research and organize again — like a thesis or school paper. Getting all the past Nico Calendars since 2016, I compiled all the important dates (including friends’ birthdays and weird holidays) into a spreadsheet. For special occasions that don’t have a fixed date (like Thanksgiving or Daylights Savings), I made notes that it occurs on certain days (I don’t know why that happens). I now have this spreadsheet that I can refer back to when I make future calendars, making them much quicker to produce for the yearning masses.

If you want to purchase a calendar, you can get them on Lulu.com. All proceeds are currently going to me, but I might switch it to a dog shelter as I had in previous years (I’m just too lazy, and it’s hard to change the revenue settings on my cellphone).

January 5, 2021 By Phillip Retuta

You Were The Best, Marissa Snoddy.

I just learned last night that my friend, Marissa, suddenly passed away about two days ago. Talking to our mutual friend, Margarita, she just felt dizzy one day and collapsed.

Marissa was one of the funniest people I knew back in Chicago, and she always had a joke to tell. She always humorously put our friend Erick into place, and I remember when she got hit on by some drunk dude, and uninterested by his persistent advances, Marissa chewed him out. I remember when our group of friends would head into the city from our respective suburban homes to hang out, dance, or just go bar-hopping. She loved going to gay bars in Boystown or dancing at Debonair Social Club in Lincoln Park. I remember when Obama got inaugurated, Marissa and the Aurora crew came over to my house to watch it on TV, she slipped on some ice, and we then got drunk off Smirnoff (don’t worry, Margarita was the designated driver).

Marissa was super creative, a great poet and writer, and when we all parted ways a few years later, she moved to San Francisco to become an art therapist. Even today, we would occasionally talk once in awhile over Facebook or Instagram, giving the obligatory “Happy Birthday” or “How’ve you been?” to friends who’ve moved so far away but still made an impact in your life.

I’m in shock, and I can’t believe you’re gone so soon. You will be so missed, Marissa.