Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Claire


I think it was about 2006 when this place almost burned to the ground. It was totally a different place back then: Filled with lifers from back when the neighborhood was mostly methadone clinics and biker bars, and even the Barley Mill Pub was a strip club. Oh, 1980s, such a simpler time.
Anyway, I was managing a building on 14th and Belmont in 2006 (since bought by StarMetro Properties--a fun google) when I smelled the smoke in my kitchen. Minutes later I heard the sirens. And then it seemed like everyone in the neighborhood was congregating behind the fire line in front of The Claire, watching the firefighters throw burning chunks of plywood over the roof line to crash in sparky showers on the pavement below.
I will be forever humbled and embarrassed about something I did that night: My building down the street had an available studio and an available 1bd. Having lived through a fire that was not half as bad as the Claire's, I knew that these people were not going back to their apartments any time soon--if at all. So I told a few of the now-former tenants of the nearly-destroyed building that I had some apartments available. Most seemed as appreciative as they could possibly be considering the circumstances, although dumbfounded and numb from evacuating a burning apartment building. But one guy put me in my place: He said something along the lines of, "What are you, some kind of vulture preying on victims of a fire?" I was honestly trying to help, so I was quite taken aback by his accusation. Later that night I realized that I had learned a lesson in empathy.
Oh, and it turns out that the fire was started by a model train enthusiast. So there are two lessons to be learned here: Number one, don't market your $550 studio before the fire department actually extinguishes the fire, no matter how big you think the closet is. And number two, don't run those silly electric trains on carpet.
$1125 for a 2bd is more than I can afford, but congrats to whomever owns this place now because it looks kinda nice.

2834 SE 50th


View Larger Map
This craigslist ad seems promising, or at least interesting. I actually had to call the number to get the address, and there are no pictures in the ad. Best I can do is the google streetview map above. The fact that he's answering his phone at 7pm on a Thursday might be a good sign. $900 for a 2bd with hardwood floors seems like a pretty good deal. For comparison, I'm renting a 1920s 2.5bd on 20th and Salmon for $1140 (hardwoods) and a 2bd on 40th and Francis for $800 (carpet). If it really is just a triplex (tough to figure without visiting the place), then it seems like a relatively chill place.

House in the Woods

Right after high school, I moved into a pole building about half a mile from this place. We had seven acres of old growth douglas fir mixed with 2nd growth hemlock, spruce and various alders and poplars. Got kicked out after 3 months for leaving a broken dryer on the front porch. I'd love to move back there someday, but sadly I'm not 18 years old. So instead, there's this song:

Orenco Station--Nexus


Other than driving by this place once two years ago, I don't really know much about Orenco Station. It's supposed to be a high-density neighborhood right on the MAX line with all the shopping/bars/stores you could possibly need within walking distance, which I think is pretty awesome--especially for Hillsboro (or Beaverton, or whatever town it's in). I'm thinking it's a mixture of rentals and condos, which is also pretty cool in terms of making sure there are a good mix of people in the neighborhood. They even have a farmer's market that, for some reason, Captured By Porches Brewery attends. So even though I don't know anyone that has any intention of living in this place, no matter how nice it sounds, I feel like I have to bring up their new craigslist ad:
Yup, Nexus has all the good stuff...seriously. We don't mess around masking old with new, we are the real deal. Nexus was built in 2007 and 2008, so is more than just new carpet and paint. Each Apartment Home is air conditioned, wired for fios, equipped with full sized washer/ dryer. Nexus also has a sparkly pool, hot tub, firepit, 24 hour gym, business center, media room, awesome staff....not to mention we are located right in the heart of Orenco Station, next door to the Orenco Station Max. If that doesn't work for ya, Starbucks and Newseasons are literally across the street, seriously.
When I first read it, I thought it was kinda clever because that's probably how I would try to write an ad for something like Orenco: Kinda casual and maybe a little braggy. But when I read it a second and third time I began to get annoyed by three things:
  1. The phrase "We are the real deal" seems kind of douchy for some reason.
  2. The misspelling of "New Seasons." It is so not one word.
  3. The reuse of the word "seriously." It's used in the first sentence after points of ellipsis, and then in the last sentence it's used after a comma. Is this intentional? If so, is it reused to subtly frame the paragraph? It's driving me crazy.
If it weren't after business hours, I'd probably call up Orenco Station and ask to speak to the author of this ad, just so I can find some closure to my issue with that adverb. I am "seriously" not going to be able to sleep tonight because of this.

UPDATE: Oh crap. It gets worse. SERIOUSLY:
Nexus is a newer community located in the heart of Orenco Station. We have it all here Seriously.. Shopping just seconds away, Costco,New Seasons and outdoor mall. Our clubhouse fetures a business center complete with FREE faxing for our residents! and 24hour fitness center. If you like lounging by the pool we have that too.. we also offer large gas grill and Fire pit to have the ultimate summer bbq by the pool... We love love our residents SERIOUSLY!!

UPDATE 2: Kill me now.

Seriously, Live Here.


Thursday, July 15, 2010

Clinton Court Apartments


I read somewhere that we hate our parents' architecture, but we love our grandparents' architecture. So I guess that means that since it's 2010 now we can begin to start appreciating things built in the 1950s like Clinton Court.
I don't like the carpet or the gas heat that probably isn't included in your rent, but not having upstairs neighbors is a definite plus. I'm normally not a big fan of large expanses of fertilized lawns, but something about the grass at Clinton Court makes me want to play lawn darts.
Sometimes when I'm scrolling through craigslist or doing my market surveys (when I have to go actually visit places like this pretending I'm looking for an apartment), I like to imagine that I really am looking for a new place to live. I'm fresh out of grad school, say Boise State or maybe Wyoming. I'm looking for a job in teaching but my real passion is starting a biodynamic goat cheese operation. Brenda, the landlord, is talking up the new energy-efficient windows but my eyes are fixed on the girl fumbling with her keys two apartments over. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair just barely obscures the top of the tattoo on the nape of her neck that reminds me of a mid-1990s corporate logo that I can't quite place. Sega Dreamcast? As a single-serving cup of yogurt drops from her grocery bag she turns her head and I notice that her too-pale face is framed perfectly by uneven home-cut bangs. The yogurt cup has cracked on the side after impacting the concrete, but only slightly so nothing has leaked out. She picks it up and sets it on the edge of the arm of the antique-ish chair that was obviously left behind by the previous tenants: It's sun-baked to the point that the grain is beginning to crack at the edges, but it looks comfortable enough. With her free hand she works the door open and disappears for a few seconds and then pokes her head and arm back out the door to retrieve the yogurt cup. Our eyes meet briefly and I turn away pretending to admire the obviously new polished nickel lever lock that Brenda has installed after each move-out. Yes, Brenda, I would like to take an application. As a matter of fact, would you mind if I filled this out right now? Am I first in line for this place? Brenda subconsciously adjusts her frosted blond hair and glances down at her heels and says yes, this apartment is yours if you pass the crime screening.
As I'm moving in 4 days later, I realize that the only piece of actual furniture that I've managed to hold on to since moving out of the dorms in Boise or Wyoming or wherever is a handed-down aluminum-legged dining room table with a formica kidney-shaped pattern on the top of it--and three of the possible four matching chairs. My major was in agriculture, not in moving furniture, so I'm having trouble figuring out how to get the table inside. Professor Channing knew everything about goats, but all those years grading papers in grad school taught me nothing about moving furniture.
"Having trouble?" says the throaty yet feminine voice behind me. I'm immediately startled and turn around to realize it's yogurt-bangs. The first thing I notice are the wool socks. It's pushing 80 degrees and she's wearing wool socks. "You have to turn it on its side," she says. And before I can even react she snubs her cigarette out on my sidewalk. I say my sidewalk because even though you can't get to her apartment without walking in front of her apartment, I assumed that this patch of cement was unofficially mine. It's strange with these 1950s places: I automatically assume that the sidewalk extending from the edge of my bedroom window to the opposite edge of my door is both community space and not. I reserve the right to put a folding REI chair there, and I expect no one to violate my perceived space. Yogurt-bangs simultaneously desecrates and solidifies this preconceived notion with two quick twists of her ankle. She picks up the outside end of the table, looks expectantly at me to grab my end, and then twists it 90 degrees.
"Now go left. No, your left," she says as we make the corner around the almond-colored Frigidaire and finally put it in a place that seems logical to me. I pretend to make sure that the legs of the table are in line with wall and notice that she's wearing bicycle shorts beneath her goldenrod and light purple dress. In a flash I remember my girlfriend--no, my ex-girlfriend now--back in Wyoming and unconsciously make a bare thigh comparison. Justine was tan, smooth, magazine quality. She was perfect in so many ways, and ever since we broke up two years ago I cringe with heart-broken longing whenever I smell her perfume. We had an inside joke about it and called it "Vanillaroma." To this day, I can't bake cookies without reeling back in regret.
I instantly pull myself up from under the table, embarrassed that perhaps yogurt-bangs caught me looking up her skirt. "Water pressure's pretty good here," she says. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

Woah. Sorry. Got a little carried away there. Would be a neat craigslist ad though.

I know I have to stop ragging on Wimbledon Square, but...


seriously. What's up with the weird rental amounts? $801? $632? $708?
I mean, c'mon. Yes, I understand it's a marketing gimmick and it makes you stand out on craigslist a little. But if someone at a bar asked me how much my rent was and I had to say "Oh, it's $673 per month not including utilities," then I would feel like a total douche nozzle. So congratulations, Wimbledon Square Apartments: You have finally become so annoying that you have your own actual tag/label on this stupid blog now. I'm going to slowly go through every post about you from the last 4 years and label them with "Wimbledon" so my disdain can be documented and possibly brought up in a future libel lawsuit.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

385 N Hayden Bay Drive

Woo-hoo!
Rent this one-bedroom condo from me and I'll be your facebook friend forever.

I have no idea how to rent this place. I did a little market survey of similar places in the neighborhood and the rents range from $599-$700. So I'm staying firm at $625. For me, renting apartments and houses in SE is easy because I'm pretty much my own demographic. But out in the weird purgatory that is half-Portland/half-Vancouver, I'm lost. Who lives out there? And why? Maybe you are a carousel operator at Jantzen Beach and you don't have a car? Maybe you want all the joys of living NEAR Vancouver without all the pesky tax breaks? I have no idea. I've had it on Craigslist for 2 weeks but not one phone call or email. Find someone to take this place for me and I'll give you $100 cash.