Such pressure. What does one write in the first post of a blog that has no direction?
My apartment is freezing. There's a start. I can't complain to my landlord because we owe him forty dollars, and I don't like paying him on principle. It's an age old conflict, much like that in the Middle East. Scratch that, exactly like that in the Middle East. Both parties coexist peacefully in an environment of mutually recognized bad faith, punctuated violently and tragically on occasion by acts of open hostility. In this instance, the open hostility on the part of the landlord is blatant disregard for New York City heating regulations; on our end, it's the four days past due rent check and the 40 dollar standing balance that we intentionally shorted him last month. But this is an ancient grudge, where civil blood makes all civil hands unclean.
We have the money. We are aware of the debt. We choose not to pay it.
Of the three guys who live in the apartment, two of us have been here almost four years. At this point we're like the Cold Warriors of the early Reagan era. And, yes, I'm mixing metaphors. We are committed, entrenched, and fairly certain that we can continue to dis our enemy without anyone blowing up the world. Our third roommate moved in about six months ago and is accustomed to more above board business dealings. He doesn't understand the practice of withholding payment for its own sake. In his mind, you refuse to pay all or part of your agreed upon monthly rate only in response to and as leverage against negligent behavior on the part of the landlord. He doesn't see yet how such defensive posturing is the strategy of the weak and abused. Ain't nobody innocent in this shit, and inches given turn to miles taken right quick in North Brooklyn.
The best defense is a strong offense. So I sit here shivering, forty dollars the richer.
