I'm looking to buy a nice 20-30k sporty sedan, hatchback, or wagon for college in LA. I'd prefer to buy a used car, hopefully from 2018-2020, but I'm flexible on those two. I want it to have leather or leatherette seats, with a nice infotainment system, good room, and good mpg while still being relatively sporty (less than 6.5s 0-60). Sound system is REALLY important to me! AWD would be nice, but I don't plan on driving in rough weather anytime soon, and again I want good mpg... so automatic transmission is preferred too. Turbo and V6 would be NICE, but I'm not sure that they're realistic. My current car is a 2010 Audi Q5, which drives super nicely, so I'm worried about downgrading.
Here are the cars I've considered so far:
2018 Stinger base (not bad)
2018 TLX (weird ass infotainment, everything else is good)
2020 s60 (really like it but I've not done much research)
2019 330i (pushes budget ceiling, sound system is ok)
2018 A4 (nice, but I'm leaning towards trying a new brand)
I have no experience working on vehicles, so I don't trust that I could do much good in that department.

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[REQ] ($1177 CAD) - (#Mississauga,ON,Canada) (06/30/2023) (E-transfer, Paypal, 4 installments each week of $350, Total- $1400)

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Hey, this is my time on the subreddit so please ask questions if any queries.
I'm requesting to borrow the money for my rent and car payment, as due to my epilepsy I wasn't able to work the last 3 weeks.
I can pay back $1400 with each installment of $350 starting next Friday i.e June 9, 2023.
Thank you.

I bought personal training sessions at a private gym in La Jolla. I can’t finish them due to a family tragedy that happened recently. Selling them at a discounted price! Feel free to msg me for extra info if interested. Willing to further negotiate on price too. Just trying to get rid of them ASAP. Thanks everyone.

I'm a 17-year-old male graduating from high school in a few days. I've always been told from a young age that I would be kicked out of the house when I turn 18. My family isn't supporting my plans for college or helping me get on my feet. So I ended up cancelling my plans for college. I have $2000 in savings, no car, and 3 weeks before I get the boot. I've been trying to find a job, and everywhere I go, they always tell me to apply online. I've applied to about 40 different jobs but I never get a response. I've also been looking for a room to rent, but I get ghosted because I don't have a job. No one is willing to give me a chance. At this point, I think I was meant to be a failure.

Massively scale your business by hiring a full time employee for just $99 a week (not a typo, $99 a week - full time)
(we only have 87 VAs in June 2023 Hiring Pipeline, VAs provided on first come first serve basis)
Scroll to the end to book a free discovery call.
Offshore Wolf recruits you a full time virtual executive assistant to scale your business 10x more.
Our Virtual Assistant will work side by side with you (full time-40 hours a week) in scaling your businessso you can win at – work and life
Goodbye! Costly In-house Assistant
Let our VA understand your business
Delegate repetitive tasks to our VA
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Win at work and life.
From our Founder
Firstly, thanks for stopping by.
Second, prepare to have your mind blown.
We’ve been helping hardworking entrepreneurs with virtual executive assistance. Since 2018, we worked with dozens of CEOs, executives and business leaders from all around the world and our work includes:

• With our virtual support, Client 1 went from 0 to 300 students in their educational business.
• Client 2 went from 2 to 35 monthly recurring customers in just 8 months in her online fitness business.
• Client 3 in consulting niche went from making $80k yearly revenue to $240k in yearly revenue because our executive assistants were working on the daily repetitive tasks and doing full time enterprise outreach for them (reaching out to CEOs CMO CTOs COOs on email twitter and LinkedIn )
• Other digital marketing client was close to making his “4 hour work week” dream a reality because we were doing all the repetitive task for them.
• —————+ a lot more results for our 400 + clients.

Almost 5 years in the executive assistance/virtual business support industry, and after working with hundreds of entrepreneurs, we can guarantee you that hiring a Virtual Executive Assistant will be the best business decision you’ll ever make in your life.
We help you win at work:

• Our VAs will provide world-class executive assistance for you.
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• Our Virtual Executive Assistants will help you win at work.

We help you win at Life:

• Our VAs will fill online forms and surveys for you.
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So you want to win at work and life?
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We worked with hundreds of entrepreneurs over the past 4 years, and we were able to fulfill the demands of our clients, whether they needed 1 Virtual Executive Assistant to win at work and life or 100 Virtual Executive Assistants to do marketing.
We have worked with clients in every niche you can imagine, from solopreneurs doing $30k a year to SMBs doing $10 million a year.
By taking over the client’s usual tasks, they were able to launch new products, increase their marketing efforts and finish work on time to be with their family.
Alright, but there’s a lot of Executive Assistant companies out there what separates you from them?
Our VAs are not paper pushers. They can do it, but it’s not what they are good at. They are executive assistants, here to make your life easier and your business more efficient. We are not looking to input some numbers and call it a day, we are looking to actually help, and as help we mean we work side by side with the VAs to finish the tasks that you delegate to them, provide daily reports of work, time tracking, KPIs and many more.
Full Time Virtual Employee for just $99 a week? Why are you massively underselling yourself?
The cost of living in South Asia (India Nepal Philippines) is not that much. An average employee brings in $200 a month for example. Our team members are not rocket scientists, they are not engineers either with 20 years of experience, they are executive assistants who are here to assist you in business and free up your time.
Not quite enough?
We have worked with hundreds of entrepreneurs and small business owners in almost every niche you can imagine.
Still not enough?
You won’t find a similar service for this price anywhere on Earth. Guaranteed!
Our VAs have got the knowledge and the skill, and (most importantly. in our opinion) the need to be the best at what they’re doing. Our main priority is to build a long term relationship with our clients and grow together, if you are looking to hire someone, not just to finish some projects but to work side by side with you to grow your business from Day 1 and decades to come. you’ve come to the right place.
Wait, wait? Do you even have a website?
We do. Offshorewolf.com, not just that but we also have 417 employees in South East Asia.
Stand out from the crowd
Guess what most successful people have in common?
Many people buy clothes, carats, cars and gold but the most successful people in the world buy time. If you don’t have an assistant, you are the assistant. Imagine what level you could perform at if you had an EA pushing you to scale your business more and more and more.
Plans
Business Builder PlanBusiness Growth Plan$99 a week$199 a weekGeneral Virtual AssistantProfessional Virtual Assistant40 hours a week (full time - dedicated VA)40 hours a week (full time - dedicated VA)Extra hours: Overtime upto 5%Extra hours: Overtime upto 10%Training materials: IncludedTraining Materials: Includedbilled monthlybilled monthly24 hour client support, VA payroll, weekly reports, KPI metrics and more12 hour client support, VA payroll, bi-weekly reports, KPI metrics and more

• Where are your VAs and will they work in my timezone?

Our Virtual Assistants are based out of South Asia (India Nepal and the Philippines).
Our Virtual Assistants will work as your business needs, whether that be working while you sleep or working the same hours side by side in the exact time zone as you.

• What size companies does Offshore Wolf work with?

Our clients include solopreneurs working from a basement to Y-combinator funded startups in the silicon valley.
Whether you are a small business owner making $30k a year or an established company doing $30 million a year, we have Virtual Assistants to meet your exact needs.

• What makes Offshore Wolf different from other Virtual Assistance companies?

Our Virtual Assistants are based out of South Asia (India Nepal and the Philippines).
Our Virtual Assistants will work as your business needs, whether that be working while you sleep or working the same hours side by side in the exact time zone as you

• How many hours will my VA work? and will they work exclusively for me?

Your Virtual Executive Assistant will work full time 40 hours a week – 8 hours a day on the timezone of your choice.
Unlike other VA companies juggling multiple clients between their employees, all of our Virtual Assistants work side by side exclusively for our clients – yes they will work just for you and not anyone else!

• Why would someone work full time exclusively for me for just $99 a week?

The cost of living in South Asia is almost as 10x less than the US and our team members are not rocket scientists with 20 years of experience, they are business assistants who are here to make your life easier and business more efficient.
What if I don't like the VA that you match me with?
We match you with a VA understanding the required skillsets that you need in a a VA, however if you do not like your VA for any reason, we will hire and assign a new VA to you immediately and at no extra cost!
Intrigued? Want to hear me?
Book a call

29 years old F, single. I've been lucky enough to have been living at home. I started late in my career and only started officially working a full-time job in 2021. My parents are completely fine with me living under their roof until I get married but I think it's time for me to move out & experience life outside of the suburbs. I need to see where I can make adjustments in my budget to afford a $2.5-3k NYC studio apt though so if anyone can help me out, that'd be greatly appreciated. Granted, I am trying to see if I can find a roommate and hopefully decrease that rent.
salary: $111,000 current savings: $12,000
- monthly income: ~$6,800
- 403b: $1,800/month (maxed out)
- investments/stocks: $2000/month
- loans: $419/month (total loans: $65,000)
- car lease (helping my younger brother out): $280/month
Around $2300 remains after everything I'm doing right now.. (My savings have been stuck for a couple of months now at around $12,000 and ideally I'd love to start putting $ into my savings again)

In March, my friend and I rented a car in Scotland for a week. We did not get the insurance as we bought travel insurance that would cover damage, etc. We returned it at night after-hours and took a video of the outside of the car and could not find any damage that was not on the paperwork when we got it. The next day we got a final receipt for the rental showing no balance as it was pre-paid.
Ten days later I suddenly see a charge for $900 on my credit card from Hertz UK. I see no email, etc and contact them via their website to inquire about this. The next day, unrelated to my inquiry, I get an email "here is your rental agreement" with a bill for "damages" for 700£. No other information, pictures, or supporting info. I contacted a email address on this bill requesting more info.
I received no response from the website or email inquiries and filed a dispute with my credit card. Last week Hertz told my credit card it was a "valid charge", but still failed to provide evidence.
I have continued the dispute and provided all my evidence, videos, and emails to the credit card company, but without the pictures and discription of the "damage" I can't file with insurance. I only have until the 25th to file. We mentioned to the woman who gave us the car that we had the insurance. I feel like they are trying to take advantage of us being from out of the country and having our own and not buying their insurance.
I am really afraid this will go past the 25th and I will be stuck with a $900 bill for ????

Hi all- I literally never thought I’d be making one of these threads. But my brother committed suicide a few months ago and named me his life insurance beneficiary.
I know I need to make an appointment with a fiduciary accountant- but I’d like to know what sorts of questions you recommend I ask?
Stats: I have $440,000K in the bank, it’s in a standard savings at 0.25% interest- my bank can put it in a special savings at 1.85%. I intend to call tomorrow.
I have two kids, he left his GI bill in their name- not sure if I can continue putting into it or if I need to withdraw it and put it in a new account for them?
I have $10K in CC debt, I’d like to pay that off on my own- I paid off my car and my biggest CC, I also had some expenses for his celebration of life that I paid.
I am currently renting from my parents while my kids are young- they’ve been helping me with the kids. However, my kids are old enough- I was planning on buying my own house next summer.
Median house range in my area is $500K Annual Gross Income: $97K
What should I be asking? Any tips on best utilizing this money to provide for my own future and my kids future? Thanks Reddit

I haven’t said all of this in years so forgive me if it’s hard to follow. But lmk if it is so I can fix it. And I am on a cell. But..Here we go..
When I graduated high school in 09 I started going down the wrong path. Honestly I was doing the most.. My aunt stole my new car, which was a graduation present, in order to convince me to leave our hometown and move in with my sister who lived in another state.
I ended up dating her husbands brother. He gave me a box of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too was a gift.
I was a naive 18 year old. I could not fathom someone would cheat on me. Much less cheat on me at the degree this man did.
I admit I took drugs. However he would get me to take more drugs than I had originally so I would pass out and he could go out.
On one occasion I woke up to find him and my car gone. I called a coworker in the middle of the night to help me. We drove around for a bit and found my car parked at a grocery store. He had been arrested for drinking and driving. The thing is my sister and his brother bought me this car so I could get to school and work and bring him to work. He was not allowed to drive it. He also worked for another family member so the next morning I called and lied saying he was very sick so no one would know what happened. I don’t remember why but one of his family members looked up the jail roster, told my sister and then my sister proceeded to sell my car. (Even then I understood their reasoning. If he were to hit someone they could be sued.) Eventually he got fired from his job because they found him passed out on drugs. All of our bills were suddenly on me, while I was in college working part time. Without a vehicle.
Somehow I managed to keep us from being homeless.
Then one night he has a sort of party at our home. For some reason I pass out. When I come to he is fist fighting a strippers boyfriend. Years later I realized he was doing inappropriate things with stripper while I was unconscious on drugs. Anytime I questioned his actions he always had a solid excuse. This man had the audacity to tell me he should cheat on me because I accused him all the time. Anyways the cops were called. We got evicted. His best friend came to drive him back to their hometown to party and continue to be a POS and I ended up moving into school housing. I hated how unfair it was.
It is quite embarrassing how I did not realize what was going on. We did break up for a while due to LDR. But got back together and lived together again for a short time.
That summer I took time off school to be with him. While both of us were staying with his best friend I found girls’ panties in his room. Best friends girlfriend tells me they’re hers. So I calm down. (Best friend doesn’t remember this) This is just an example of how things were always explained away.
One night his phone went off in the middle of the night. Not my best moment but I went through his phone. He could not deny the cheating anymore. I left the next morning. I think we were together for two years maybe three all together. Even though we have family ties we had not even spoken since.
Fast forward to 2017. Best friend ended up working in my hometown. I seen this on social media and invite him to hang out. Best friends ask ex if he cares. Nope. Did not care. But his girlfriend, the same girl who texted him the night before we broke up almost a decade previously, she cares very much. They don’t talk for 6 years. They broke up after she found evidence of cheating on his phone.
My now husband contacts him and they start taking again. Husband wants to fly him out here (we moved across the country less than a year into our relationship. For married a year later and now we have a 4 year old).
Here’s the thing. I planned to not be around when he visits. I don’t mean rent a hotel or anything. But I don’t plan on hanging out with him. My husband says he’s in a very bad place after the break up and that might make him feel unwelcome. I’m not one to ignore the elephant in the room. I’m going to name that motherfucker. So forgive and forget and hangout. Or forget and make myself scarce?

Ok so here's some context, financials at the bottom:
(USA) (24M) I graduated college a year ago in May of 2022 with zero dollars to my name and have been working full-time for just over a year now. I finally feel as though I'm in a stable enough financial situation to consider buying a car. I'm currently still driving an old car I've had since high school, which is paid off. Problem is, it is getting to be very high mileage and needs a new catalytic converter to pass inspection which is up at the end of the month. I work in the construction industry and although a truck is not mandatory it would make things a lot more convenient for me. I'm looking to get something newer with better mpg and reliability.
Based on what I'm seeing from the used car markets, cars that are 2-3 years old are selling for almost the same price as new. Combine this with the fact that used car loan rates are 6-7%, while I see dealers offering 3-5% incentivized rates for new vehicles, and it seems like newer is the better option if they continue to hold their value.
I'm seriously considering the 2023 Toyota Tacoma SR5 4WD Double Cab for $38k, for both the reliability and the way they seem to hold value over time. Is this a bad idea? I would like to eventually purchase a home and be able to move out of my parents house some day and don't want to make any bad decisions financially. Looking to put $15-20k down, trade in value about $8k, and finance $10k.
Would that down payment money be better off towards the balance of the loans? I know that its the logical answer, but it hardly feels like it would make a dent at this point. Feeling pretty hopeless about the size of the debt at this point. I figure if I'm going to be saving all this money living at home I can maybe afford to splurge on a newer vehicle?
Now for my financials
Salary - $63k/yr + $20k in bonuses this year = $83k in my first year
Rent - $0/month, Still live with parents
Private Student Loans - $130k, consolidated and refinanced at 5.7% for 15 years - $1100/month
Federal student Loans - $20k, planning for these to possibly be due this summer? About $100/month once consolidated to a graduated repayment plan for 15 years
Gas - About $350/month. Currently getting about 13mpg and commuting 60miles/day to work
Savings - $30k in a high yield savings account I have saved over the past year
401k - Contributing 6% to get max employer match of 3%
RothIRA - $250/month automatic deposits
Still on my parents health insurance, car insurance, cell phone plan
No credit card debt

When I was brand new to NovelAi I had no idea how 2048 tokens really looked as text. So for anyone looking at the tiers, trying to decide how many tokens they want for Clio with the new update, I've tokenized Part of The Great Gatsby by Scott Fitzgerald (public domain since 2021).
That way new users can more easily visualize what the AI's maximum context is for each tier. According to the UI Clio uses the NerdStash Tokenizer, as different tokenizers will convert text to tokens their own way.
------------------------
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
“Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgements is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.
My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.
I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office. I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why—ye-es,” with very grave, hesitant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.
The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.
It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.
“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly.
I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighbourhood.
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the Yale News—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-rounded man.” This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all.
It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York—and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual wonder to the gulls that fly overhead. To the wingless a more interesting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.
I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imitation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. It was Gatsby’s mansion. Or, rather, as I didn’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbour’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dollars a month.
Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once removed, and I’d known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.
Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax. His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest. It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.
Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.
And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sundials and brick walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.
He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty, with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body.
His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impression of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.
“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.
“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.
Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motorboat that bumped the tide offshore.
“It belonged to Demaine, the oil man.” He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.”
We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-coloured space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-coloured rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.
“I’m p-paralysed with happiness.”
She
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laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)
At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me almost imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self-sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.
I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear follows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.
I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.
“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically.
“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there’s a persistent wail all night along the north shore.”
“How gorgeous! Let’s go back, Tom. Tomorrow!” Then she added irrelevantly: “You ought to see the baby.”
“I’d like to.”
“She’s asleep. She’s three years old. Haven’t you ever seen her?”
“Never.”
“Well, you ought to see her. She’s—”
Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.
“What you doing, Nick?”
“I’m a bond man.”
“Who with?”
I told him.
“Never heard of them,” he remarked decisively.
This annoyed me.
“You will,” I answered shortly. “You will if you stay in the East.”
“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. “I’d be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.”
At this point Miss Baker said: “Absolutely!” with such suddenness that I started—it was the first word she had uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.
“I’m stiff,” she complained, “I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember.”
“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted, “I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.”
“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry. “I’m absolutely in training.”
Her host looked at her incredulously.
“You are!” He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. “How you ever get anything done is beyond me.”
I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she “got done.” I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small-breasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young cadet. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.
“You live in West Egg,” she remarked contemptuously. “I know somebody there.”
“I don’t know a single—”
“You must know Gatsby.”
“Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?”
Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.
Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two young women preceded us out on to a rosy-coloured porch, open toward the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.
“Why candles?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” She looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”
“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly: “What do people plan?”
Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed expression on her little finger.
“Look!” she complained; “I hurt it.”
We all looked—the knuckle was black and blue.
“You did it, Tom,” she said accusingly. “I know you didn’t mean to, but you did do it. That’s what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great, big, hulking physical specimen of a—”
“I hate that word ‘hulking,’ ” objected Tom crossly, “even in kidding.”
“Hulking,” insisted Daisy.
Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chatter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase towards its close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.
“You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy,” I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. “Can’t you talk about crops or something?”
I meant nothing in particular by this remark, but it was taken up in an unexpected way.
“Civilization’s going to pieces,” broke out Tom violently. “I’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read The Rise of the Coloured Empires by this man Goddard?”
“Why, no,” I answered, rather surprised by his tone.
“Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.”
“Tom’s getting very profound,” said Daisy, with an expression of unthoughtful sadness. “He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—”
“Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. “This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It’s up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.”
“We’ve got to beat them down,” whispered Daisy, winking ferociously toward the fervent sun.
“You ought to live in California—” began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.
“This idea is that we’re Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, and—” After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod, and she winked at me again. “—And we’ve produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art, and all that. Do you see?”
There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang inside and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the momentary interruption and leaned towards me.
“I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered enthusiastically. “It’s about the butler’s nose. Do you want to hear about the butler’s nose?”
“That’s why I came over tonight.”
“Well, he wasn’t always a butler; he used to be the silver polisher for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose—”
“Things went from bad to worse,” suggested Miss Baker.
“Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up his position.”
For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened—then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom’s ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
“I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn’t he?” She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: “An absolute rose?”
This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing, but a stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.
Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly and said “Sh!” in a warning voice. A subdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned forward unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.
“This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbour—” I began.
“Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.”
“Is something happening?” I inquired innocently.
“You mean to say you don’t know?” said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. “I thought everybody knew.”
“I don’t.”
“Why—” she said hesitantly. “Tom’s got some woman in New York.”
“Got some woman?” I repeated blankly.
Miss Baker nodded.
“She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Don’t you think?”
Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots, and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
“It couldn’t be helped!” cried Daisy with tense gaiety.
She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: “I looked outdoors for a minute, and it’s very romantic outdoors. There’s a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He’s singing away—” Her voice sang: “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Tom?”
“Very romantic,” he said, and then miserably to me: “If it’s light enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables.”
The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at everyone, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn’t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest’s shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing—my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.
The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.
Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.
“We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” she said suddenly. “Even if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.”
“I wasn’t back from the war.”
“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, and I’m pretty cynical about everything.”
Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she
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didn’t say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.
“I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything.”
“Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently. “Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?”
“Very much.”
“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.’
“You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,” she went on in a convinced way. “Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom’s, and she laughed with thrilling scorn. “Sophisticated—God, I’m sophisticated!”
The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face, as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged.
Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the Saturday Evening Post—the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a soothing tune. The lamplight, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms.
When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand.
“To be continued,” she said, tossing the magazine on the table, “in our very next issue.”
Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up.
“Ten o’clock,” she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.”
“Jordan’s going to play in the tournament tomorrow,” explained Daisy, “over at Westchester.”
“Oh—you’re Jordan Baker.”
I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing contemptuous expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago.
“Good night,” she said softly. “Wake me at eight, won’t you.”
“If you’ll get up.”
“I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon.”
“Of course you will,” confirmed Daisy. “In fact I think I’ll arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of—oh—fling you together. You know—lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—”
“Good night,” called Miss Baker from the stairs. “I haven’t heard a word.”
“She’s a nice girl,” said Tom after a moment. “They oughtn’t to let her run around the country this way.”
“Who oughtn’t to?” inquired Daisy coldly.
“Her family.”
“Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick’s going to look after her, aren’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots of weekends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her.”
Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence.
“Is she from New York?” I asked quickly.
“From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white—”
“Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?” demanded Tom suddenly.
“Did I?” She looked at me. “I can’t seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I’m sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know—”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” he advised me.
I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called: “Wait!”
“I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.”
“That’s right,” corroborated Tom kindly. “We heard that you were engaged.”
“It’s a libel. I’m too poor.”
“But we heard it,” insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. “We heard it from three people, so it must be true.”
Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn’t even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had come East. You can’t stop going with an old friend on account of rumours, and on the other hand I had no intention of being rumoured into marriage.
Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich—nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he “had some woman in New York” was really less surprising than that he had been depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.
Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red petrol-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight, and, turning my head to watch it, I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbour’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.
II
About halfway between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes—a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gardens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of ash-grey men, who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of grey cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and immediately the ash-grey men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure operations from your sight.
But above the grey land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic—their retinas are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to
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I moved from California to Florida a couple of years ago with the intent of being there for four or five years and then moving back to California. I kept my house in California, renting it to a friend for pretty low rent, kept the utilities in my name, and continued to have most of my mail sent there. But I also got a Florida driver's license and registered my car there, registered to vote there, opened a bank account and kept most of my liquid funds there, and bought a house there at the tail end of 2022. My intent was legitimately to be a Florida resident for the time I was working there. The only reason I had my mail continuing to go to California is that I was in an apartment for most of the time I was in Florida, and didn't want to bother changing my address once to the apartment and then again to the house. Once we bought the Florida house, I did change my address with the USPS.
Unfortunately, the job didn't work out. We also ran into some health issues, and we have no support system in Florida. So we're moving back in a month or two. I'll have been gone for barely over 2 years.
While working on my 2022 taxes, my tax person (whom I trust quite a bit) is telling me that California will probably require me to pay state taxes for that year even though I was in Florida the whole year, because they will likely think that I moved just to avoid taxes on a pretty significant chunk of income that came in last year. That's not why I moved, and I feel like I could show them that. But he says the fact that I kept my property and some of my bank accounts from California will work against me, and that the burden is on me to show that I wasn't trying to cheat, not on the state to prove I was.
Should I take his advice and just file taxes in California? If this is really not a battle that I can win, I've inclined to just go ahead and do that, because I know better than to pick a fight with the Franchise Tax Board. We haven't yet determined how much it would cost me to go that way, but given my inflated income from last year plus the fact that California has the highest state tax in the country while Florida has none, it seems like it's worth it to see what this community thinks.

Hi All, this is a throwaway account for obvious reasons.
I ask you to save your judgements etc for this post as I’ve got to this position due to serious medical conditions.
I’m currently unemployed as I resigned from my toxic workplace I just could not go on as I was near suicidal every morning.
I do expect to get a job in the next month as there is a lot available in my industry ..I would be paid about $120k.
The issue is I have about 30k in credit card loans ( 3 cards and 1 personal loan ) And a car loan of $25k car value about 28k.
Another problem is I can’t make repayments as I’ve run out of money. Job seeker helps with my rent and I have some support from family for living costs. But repayments and some villa are now over due.
I’m apply to jobs everyday and I’m hopeful to secure something soon. But that process in itself could take a month from first interview to first pay day, even more.
I don’t really want to have a bad credit score , does anyone have any tips how I could tackle these debts for the next month or 2 , do banks give extensions? What could I legally to to get out of these debts? Besides going bankrupt
I would be so grateful for Any information.
TIA

Hi, I am considering going for camping at opeongo lake. We are both beginners and going for 3 days/2 nights. The plan is to take the parkbus from toronto to lake opeongo and then rent a canoe from there. We were thinking about which backcountry camping site to choose for the first night. We expect to arrive around 12pm and will rent the canoe from there on. Is it too ambitious to reach the north arm from the algonquin outfitters within 6 hours? If yes, what points would you recommend camping at for the two nights (considering we need to return the canoe to algonquin outfitters and take the bus back at 3pm)?
Any other tips for camping first time at algonquin? And is there a better spot than opeongo lake considering we don't have a car?

Hi all, I'll try to be brief. The TLDR is that this situation is temporary and that surprisingly better options are available.
As a long time observer and general nerd, I have some observations and analysis that I suspect could be of use for making decisions in the current housing environment.

1. Small changes in a system can have massive effects. A few percent more or less cars on a highway are all it takes to to go from smoothly running to grid lock. ABC analysis found that a 0.15% drop in the average number of people per dwelling is all it's taken during covid for rental prices to jump. That is only 150,000 extra dwellings in a pool of 11 million. This was a minor change that took 12 or more months to happen. Then prices took 12 or more months to get silly. But now, more people are now share-housing. The effects of that change may well overshoot the old average. The shortage may become a relative glut within a year. Your current rent increase may
2. Forget fighting for units. As the cheapest segment of an overheated sector, they're overly popular and are rapidly rising in price. Meanwhile, nice houses are sitting empty until the owners drop the prices significantly.
3. Hence, consider sharing a house. Lots of houses have multiple living areas and space for activities that units do not. You can live in a vastly nicer space and save a lot of money on both rent and the fixed costs. Services like flatmates dot com are super handy. Like a dating app you can lurk for free and see who is out there.
4. Download the Koala Data chrome extension and use domain to find places. You will be able to see all sorts of historical data added to each listing, both rentals and for sale. And consider flicking the dev a few bucks - he's a nerd who wrote the extension to help people access information that should be easily available to all of us instead of just agents.
5. If we're heading into a downturn, discretionary, incidental spending is the first thing to reduce. If you're only income is via work in (say) a cafe, consider adding income via a more constantly in demand sector and via your own business options. You only need a tiny sliver of the money floating around to have a good little niche. As an example of thinking differently and more assertively about work, I can recommend the 4 hour work week by Tim Ferris.

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Attending my first beyond PNW and flying in Saturday morning!! Our friends are camping and will let us camp with them, but we need to find transportation from the airport. Or we could buy our own camp spot and rent a car.. But hoping to avoid that cost lol. Any advice??

I'm moving to NYC from LA for work and I have temp housing options in Tribeca and Murray Hill. I'm 28M & single and I want to experience the NYC life. The 2 month stay would ideally help me get an idea about NYC and further influence where I'd be renting later on.
I did read up about these neighborhoods individually, but not sure how much of it is actually true. Murray Hill has the reputation for being full of frat boys and Tribeca is apparently full of rich families and empty streets.
I just want to make some new friends, go out and have fun, since IDK anyone in NYC yet. From the surface, Murray Hill seems like a good option but I don't want to be pigeonholed at the same time.
Both the apartments are pretty much the same in terms of amenities but the Tribeca one has twice the rent at 8k since it's in an affluent neighborhood. The apartment/rent itself doesn't make that much of a difference to me since I'm not paying for it.
Given these criteria, which among Tribeca and Murray Hill would be a good option? Please mention your reasons as well.

[RANT]
I've been diligently paying taxes and have never received a benefit.
I'm now at the point where the social safety net I've been paying into is actually needed. I've just finished scraping by on paid parental leave during which I wasn't allowed to work to top up my income. I now need a benefit while I wait until I get a job. No childcare centres are accepting 6 month old babies so I need a job where I can work from home to look after him while I work. My wife works and she pays the rent and some of the food. I pay for electricity, the rest of the food, transport, phone/internet, insurance and health insurance.
We can't get a benefit because my wife earns too much, even though we can't survive on her income.
We're going to use foodbanks and try wearing layers instead of heating the house.
Is this the equitable society we were promised?
What's the point? I'd go to Australia but we need ORS funding for our special needs child, and the limited support we get for her is better than the nonexistent support she'd get in Australia.
Honestly, why is this happening?
I know there are people who are worse off than me and can't even afford to get into a rental, but I'm not in a position where we can live in our car.
I just feel cheated. The government can't afford state housing or benefit payments for the working poor, yet they are worried about changing the writing on some road signs. I love the idea of bilingual, inclusive signs, but I'd prefer to see everyone, Maori and Pakeha, in warm houses with full bellies.
Where did we go so wrong? How did the system get this broken?

My wife and I live in an apartment complex. We pay extra for reserved covered parking spots. Occasionally, another vehicle will be parked in my wife’s spot. She works nights so the free parking spots are often all full by the time she gets home. The first time this happened, she emailed our property management and they basically responded that she could send them a picture of the offender’s license plate, but there was not much they could do.
(Why are we paying extra in parking fees if you can’t/won’t enforce your parking rules?!)
It’s happened again last night, so she sent an email with a photo and the only response she got was that “the person you addressed this to no longer works here; please send emails to (other email address).” So she did; hours later she’s gotten no response, but they did, however, manage to send a mass email to residents just now about picking up after their dogs.
We have a parking addendum to our lease identifying our vehicles/plates that are allowed to park in the garage. But there’s nothing in writing showing what spots (they are numbered) we’ve reserved. So if we were to call the police or a tow company, we’d have no proof that we rent these specific spots, so I’m sure we’d have no grounds for making anything happen.
Because this always happens when she gets home at 11pm or later, the leasing office is closed so there’s no one we can complain to for an immediate solution.
I’m considering contacting them and requesting we no longer pay to “reserve” our spots since it’s clear they will let anyone park anywhere with no consequences. I don’t necessarily want to take it out on the owner of the car, as maybe they genuinely don’t know it’s reserved parking, or they’re just visiting a resident, etc. and it’s always a different car so it’s not a single repeat offender.
Is there anything else we can do to try to get management to give a shit about this?