(For pictures, see my facebook page.)

The past two weeks have been really fantastic, but for the miserable weather. It seems perfectly acceptable to start a conversation here by complaining about the lack of sunlight (the sun disappears over the horizon around 2.15pm but it’s not fully dark for another 90 minutes) or the incessant drizzle, stirred up by storms over the Norwegian Sea that the old Kjølen Mountains seem unable to stand up to. (The Kjølen are actually part of the same chain as the Appalachians, formed when the continents rammed together to form Pangea a half-billion years ago.) Global warming has hit the northern regions hardest, and typical highs here are 35 with lows of 33, a few degrees warmer than “normal.” Back in the day, all this drizzle would have been snow. There was actually snow the first day I was here, January 4, which was absolutely beautiful.

The lack of sun—the result of a conspiracy between clouds and Stockholm’s being as far north as Anchorage—gives just about the whole country a case of Seasonal Affective Disorder. The other day the lack of sun hit me and I was feeling a bit depressed, and then I got more depressed because I realized I was depressed and I had no reason to be. The next day, the sun came out and I was happy again.

Despite Scandinavia’s entirely inhospitable climes, the Swedes have been extraordinarily friendly. Therese especially has been a great friend for helping me to get settled and for her advice in coming here. In fact, Therese and I wasted no time in starting on the Zagat list of top Stockholm restaurants, finding ourselves at Berns Asian within 12 hours of arriving here. (The Zagat was a present from an especially prescient coworker in New York.) Others who have been helpful or who I’ve met here include Anu, Daniel, Eric, Malin, Kristoffer, Sanna, Björn, Sloan, Stephen, Lina, Roberto, Fausto, Vikram, Ryan, Noelle, Linda, Alper, Valentina, and others I’m forgetting.

In some ways, this city is the anti-New York that somehow preserves the things that make New York great. The pace of life is generally pretty laid back, which is most noticeable in the lack of traffic, a product of a highly successful congestion pricing scheme. Living here makes me more convinced that a steep congestion fee would be the best thing to hit New York since Bob Moses. Things here get rolling around 9.30am, and lunch is taken quite seriously—unlike New York where getting lunch is done because it’s a biological necessity, like using the john. The most common way to take lunch is to go to a restaurant, order at a counter near the entrance from a menu of four choices (each about $15), take a small plate of salad and bread, and wait at a table until the entrees are delivered a few minutes later. The kitchens work something like a cruise ship’s, churning out plates of the same four high-quality dishes. The most common lunches are pasta, beef lindström (something like meatloaf), meatballs, and salmon. It’s all quite high quality, and I don’t know how I could go back to the staple lunch in NYC: a greasy deli sandwich in a brown paper sack.

The city is generally of stunning beauty. (I’m talking about the buildings; more on other forms of beauty later.) Streets are lined with 5-story pastel-colored 150-year-old apartment blocks, like old Warsaw or Krakow if Communists had never ruled, or a bigger version of Riga. The city and its people are obsessively clean, and crime is generally low. This last point is changing – Sweden has problems similar to France’s problems with certain types of immigrants dubbed “scum” by the French President. A Swede told me that the country’s murder rate has gone from 4 a year to once a day, and 80% of the prison population is foreign-born. Therese’s place in Östermalm was recently burgled, the cat burgler making off with enough jewelry to make filing an insurance claim worthwhile.

There are no doormen here—socialist countries can’t have doormen or security guards for that matter—so PIN codes are everywhere. Just to get into the office on the weekend, I have to enter three PIN codes four times, swipe a card in two places, and hold a transmitter to a panel.

The old apartment blocks, especially in the popular Östermalm, provide a perfect setting for the sores of little restaurants, coffee shops, and boutiques that cater to Swedes’ need for coziness, caffeine, and artful food. The restaurant scene here is truly fantastic, dominated by a plethora of little 25-seat places serving mainly “crossover” cuisine, Swedish plus something else like Italian. Although it’s nearly impossible to eat dinner for $10, a $40 meal can be had with consistently higher quality than in New York (lack of tourists to fill the crummy places) and far more consistent service. Eating is a bit of an adventure in Stockholm—if you’re not cooking at home, there should be a good reason for going out.

As for other forms of beauty present here: the stereotype, like nearly any stereotype, is both grounded in a truth and greatly exaggerated. I’ve seen estimates that anywhere between 15% and 50% of Swedes are blond, and my informal survey suggests that it’s about 1/3, or about the same proportion as in my high school in Indiana. Informal research also suggests that Sweden does a big business in exporting young stewardesses to the airlines of the world.

One thing that’s not beautiful is the pricetags here. A 1.5 mile cab ride, which might cost $8 in New York, cost me kr 100, or about $16. Dinner for two at a pizza joint was $92, and two drinks at Café Opera came to $50. Alcohol is in a league all on its own. Sold exclusively by a state-owned monopoly, a bottle of Absolut weighs in at about $48, mostly due to exorbitant alcohol taxes. In a perfect illustration of the Laffer Curve, something like 40% of hard alcohol consumed in Sweden is purchased abroad, meaning the Swedish government gets $0 in tax. Designer clothing, household appliances, dry cleaning, museum admission, and the subway are all so pricey that “the New York price” has come to mean a bargain. There are two exceptions. One is in clothing. Zara and the Swedish retailer H&M both have better products and better prices. Lidl, one of the two German hard-discount chains that beat Wal-Mart at their own game, forcing Wal-Mart to sell their German subsidiary Adsa, has established a 2.5% grocery market share. Yet many Swedes remain wary of discount retail, which has one of the lowest penetrations here of anywhere in Europe. This is in stark contrast to the planet’s wealthiest large country, Norway, where discount grocers are 50% of the market.

Here is my price index for the cost of various things I buy regularly in Sweden and in New York:

Adrian’s Swedish cost-of-living index

Good or service	Stockholm price	New York price
Subway, single-ride card	40 kr or $6.30	$2
Bottle of Gillette shaving cream	50 kr or $8	$3.50
Taxi from the airport (comparing Arlanda and JFK)	445 kr or $70	$60
Mixed drink at a mid-tier bar (including tip)	115 kr or $18	$10
One month of cable, the channels I actually watch (you can pick and choose in Sweden)	$45	$60
1.5L of Coke	15 kr or $2.36	$1.39
Washing and pressing of a shirt	18 kr or $2.83	$1.65
Night out with a blonde	Market price	Market price

Add all this up, and the conclusion is that Stockholm is 80% more expensive than New York for stuff that I actually buy.

Some friends here recently concluded that Sweden is the most American country in Continental Europe, and I have a hard time naming any country that’s more American. The spoken English here is perfect (with American accents), the food is meat and potatoes, the environmental consciousness is somewhat low, and there’s an order and cleanliness that Americans would find agreeable.

And it’s Saturday night at 11pm, so it’s time to think about going out.

The last time I had something published was in business school. I came home from a networking activity (read: drinking at a bar) to find an email sent to a mailing list asking for comments on the fact Columbia was #9 in the latest ranking, far lower than we should be. So I dashed off a long and rather rambling diatribe to the mailing list detailing how we should aspire to be #1 and how the Dean should set that as the school’s goal.

I was caught off guard when, a few days later, my diatribe was printed on the front page of the student newspaper, mercifully cut when the rambling got too long. I was even more surprised at how many people approached me that day to tell me that I was saying exactly what needed to be said. But I took a lesson not to send things to mailing lists that include journalists.

On January 2, the night before I departed for Stockholm, I couldn’t get to sleep so I dialed-up the next days’ editorials on WSJ.com. This one caught my eye:

Democracy in Shangri-La

The citizens of the world's newest democracy went to the polls Monday to elect members of the upper house of Parliament. In coming months they will vote on the draft constitution that has been mailed to every household in the nation and choose representatives for the lower house.

Welcome to Bhutan, an isolated Himalayan Kingdom wedged between India and China and famous for a national philosophy of "gross domestic happiness." Until recently, Bhutan has been an absolute monarchy, under the reign of King Jigme Singye Wangchuk, who ascended the throne in 1972 at the age of 16. The monarch's official title is Druk Gyalpo, or Dragon King, but His Majesty also deserves to go down in history as his country's George Washington, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson.

In 1998, King Jigme Singye Wangchuk voluntarily reduced the scope of his powers. A few years later he decreed that Bhutan would become a constitutional monarchy and set out to educate his people on the virtues of democracy. He accomplished this task by personally presiding at informational meetings throughout the country and holding mock elections. In December 2006, after 34 years as sovereign, he abdicated, turning over his limited responsibilities to his Oxford-educated son.

In drafting a constitution, the elder King ordered his legal experts to study the constitutions of all the world's great democracies. The final product opens with "We the People" and speaks, in the preamble, of securing the "blessings of liberty." These words were originally penned by a group of men who gathered in Philadelphia in 1787. Their power has not diminished over the centuries. Today, the ideals that stand at the heart of the world's oldest democracy are understood anew by men and women led by an enlightened former monarch in Thimphu.

Aside from Belgium (and soon Sweden), I’ve spent more consecutive time in Bhutan than any other country. So I felt motivated to wipe the grogginess from my eyes and type out on my blackberry’s gmail the following:

George Washington Avatar Alive and Well in Bhutan

Regarding your editorial "Democracy in Shangi-La," (Jan. 2), the then-king of Bhutan drove past me on his way to the office one morning in Thimpu. There were no flashing lights or fancy Benz -- the only indication came from my tour guide.

Remarkably, Bhutan's transition from absolute monarchy to democracy has been entirely organic, driven by the pragmatic former king and the sometimes hesitant people of Bhutan. Remarkably, do-gooder western NGOs are almost non-existent in the country except in narrow technical roles like bridge building.

Alas, with democracy blooming in Bhutan, we can only hope that Bhutan's brothers in neighboring Tibet will someday be so lucky.

Adrian Jones
New York

It was published, errors and all (who would use the word “remarkably” to start two consecutive sentences?), in the Wall Street Journal yesterday. It ran in all three worldwide editions—Americas, Europe, and Asia. The Asia headline was, “After Bhutan, Tibet?” Hopefully the Chinese won’t arrest me next time I visit Shanghai.

What: An opportunity to purchase super-premium, single-source Ghanaian chocolate to help save the lives of potentially hundreds of thousands of children in Ghana and the rest of Africa. 100% of the proceeds go directly to fund programs run by (charity), a New York based nonprofit operating in Ghana with a mission to reduce the incidence of roadside injury in developing nations around the world. How: Those who are interested in purchasing can either send an email to XXXX or place their order directly via the website at: XXXXX Each package of 3 three-ounce bars sells for $30 (half of which is tax deductible as a charitable donation). These make great gifts for the holidays!

To which someone hits "reply to all" with this note:

In some ways, i feel that i am already supporting the people of ghana. I am in constant email correspondence with the son of their former president, and i am helping him to access the frozen bank accounts that contain the billions in foreign aid he has squirreled away. However, since i stand to profit handsomely from this venture, i suppose i am in a position to give back. i will find you to discuss specific amounts but count me in.

As an alleged victim, I thought I’d offer my support for the three-point plan offered by Michelle Malkin:

Suck. It. Up.

I’m a homeowner only because of the miracle of subprime mortgage financing (which dates back to the even greater miracle of junk bonds), easy credit, and investors who were willing to provide easy credit. I was fully aware of the risks, as was my bank, who went belly-up a mere 10 days after making me my loan.

The problem with HillaryCare, Barney Frank’s plan, and even the Bush plan is that all would make it harder for me to get a future mortgage or refi from what I have. They’d also make it harder for people in my situation – mid-20s with six figures of non-mortgage debt – to become homeowners. And that would depress prices when I go to sell.

The “rescue” plans so far would impose penalties on mortgage lenders and/or investors, destroy the sanctity of contracts (such as Hillary’s 5-year “freeze”), or cause outright elimination of certain products, like the mortgage product I have. If Senators like Hillary want folks with subprime loans to be able to refinance when necessary, they need to continue to make credit available. This means supporting a strong dollar, not raising the capital gains tax (as Hillary begrudgingly admitted to Maria Bartiromo this morning), privatizing Fan and Fred, and most importantly, not placing huge restrictions on the functioning of the mortgage market. Too often government's knee-jerk reaction is to regulate something to death. They've already done it with Sarbox, and we see the predictable result that financial business is fleeing from New York to London, Dubai, and Hong Kong.

The best thing for the housing market right now is for those who took bad risks to Suck. It. Up. Homeowners who can’t afford their houses will have to become renters again. Suck. It. Up. Lenders who made bad loans will have to decide whether for foreclose or make a workout. Suck. It. Up. Investors in securities will have to decide whether to let the special servicers renegotiate terms or take foreclosure losses. Suck. It. Up. All the rest of the people who made millions during the run-up can ride it down too. Suck. It. Up.

The worst thing that could happen is for a Sarbox-like “solution” from the government—like all the major proposals so far would be--that would further restrict the availability of subprime loans to people like me. Some 94% of subprime loans, incuding mine, are paid early or on-time. Given that, it's hard even to argue that there is any crisis at all. I’m old enough to make mortgage decisions for myself, I know a sucker bet when I see one, and the last thing I need is for Hillary to come with a heavy-handed “rescue.” Suck. It. Up. You too, Hillary.

I remember sitting in the Bruxelles office on a lonely Friday night in 2004, tediously doing my expenses from a month of trips to Paris, when I realized that Citibank was converting my euro-based purchases at 0.8 euro to the dollar. At the time, the prevailing quoted exchange rate was 0.83, and the euro had never been as bad as 0.8. (Oh for the good old days of an only slightly-weak dollar!)

I called Citibank, who swore up and down that the exchange rate used was the prevailing interbank rate and that they added no markup. I later learned that Citibank was adding 2% and Visa was adding 1%, which was not disclosed. The customer service rep, her manager, and some other expert I talked to were either stupid or liars. I’ll give Citibank the benefit of the doubt. This is the bank that’s so uncoordinated that Citi Mortgage demanded I go to a Citibank and pay them $65 for cancelled checks that I then had to send to Citi Mortgage.

Anyway, the upshot of all this is that you can get all these fees, from 1996 to 2006, refunded. I figure that between visits to 66 countries over the course of almost 300 days abroad, I probably spent $30,000 on credit and ATM cards. With a 3% fee, that’s $900 I’m owed. Add it up for yourself and it might come to a nice chunk of change.

Visit www.ccfsettlement.com to file your claim.

What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush. I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy. I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.

Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a business man who makes average around $250K. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock. 250,000 won't get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right? How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings

-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?

- Why are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I've seen really 'plain jane' boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. just a girlfriend? I am looking forMARRIAGE ONLY

Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way. Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 432279810

*************************

THE ANSWER

Dear Pers-431649184:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.

Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it.

Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal. Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money. Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity...in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!

So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset. Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you!

So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold...hence the rub...marriage. It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease. In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following. If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.

Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets. So, I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.

By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation.

With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way. Classic "pump and dump."

I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, let me know.

He's mostly accurate, except he misses the fact that a woman who's hot at 25 relative to other 25 year olds will still be hot at 35 relative to other 35 year olds. So while her looks fade in absolute terms, she stays attractive in relative terms.

Furthermore, if we set aside age arbitrage momentarily, other mens' incomes will grow relative to the hedge fund analyst's, so on a relative basis he may actually lose position.

This too ignores the question of whether having a trophy wife can actually improve one's earnings potential.

As for the question of age arbitrage, I'm not going there...

Among the cool things in the apartment:

The living room is considered the most magnificent privately owned room in the world. This incredible space was the original ballroom at The Pierre Hotel, with 23 foot high curved ceiling and 20 foot French doors overlooking the park and the city.

Check out the full listing.

Meanwhile there has been a strange string of burglaries in Harlem. The target isn't high-end electronics, jewelry, or cash. No, they're stealing windows and copper pipes. The empty house across the street from my old place got hit last week, and just this past Friday the following occured:

The house was gutted next door last Friday in broad daylight. They took every window, window frame and copper piping. Jill was standing out in the front and saw a guy go in the gate next door. She confronted him and he took off. She called the police and that is when we noticed that all the windows were gone.

Stealing windows. I'm speecheless. Is there anything they won't steal?

The Wall St Journal brilliantly captured the hypocricy on Friday:

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has his doubts about whether the Holocaust happened. He thinks the Jewish state should be wiped off the map. His regime funnels sophisticated munitions to Shiite militias in Iraq, who use them to kill American soldiers.

Oh, and by the way, his regime also executes homosexuals for the crime of being themselves. Maybe if Columbia University President Lee Bollinger were aware of the latter fact he would reconsider his invitation to the Iranian president to speak on his campus next Monday.

Mr. Bollinger, notoriously, voted in 2005 not to readmit an ROTC program to Columbia (absent from the university since 1969), ostensibly on the grounds of the military's "don't ask, don't tell" policy regarding gay service members. Never mind that other upper-tier schools, including Princeton, Dartmouth, Cornell and the University of Pennsylvania all have ROTC programs. Never mind, too, that in 2003 the Columbia student body voted in favor of readmission by a 2-1 margin. In Mr. Bollinger's view, "the university has an obligation, deeply rooted in the core values of an academic institution and in First Amendment principles, to protect its students from improper discrimination and humiliation."

Two young homosexual men are prepared for hanging in Iran for the crime of being gay. --AJ.

Mr. Bollinger's position might at least be coherent were he not now invoking the same principles to justify his invitation to Mr. Ahmadinejad, whose offenses to gay rights and any other form of human dignity considerably exceed the Pentagon's. After promising that he would introduce the president "with a series of sharp challenges" -- including Iran's "reported support" for international terrorism -- he went on to say that "it is a critical premise of freedom of speech that we do not honor the dishonorable when we open the public forum to their expression."

We're all for free speech and the vigorous exchange of intellectual differences, though we don't see how Mr. Bollinger can be, given his decision to discriminate against young men and women who seek to make careers in the military. We also don't quite see how the right to free speech -- a freedom Mr. Ahmadinejad conspicuously denies his own people -- is tantamount to the right to an illustrious pedestal. Columbia is a selective institution in its choice of students as well as speakers; its choices confer distinction on those whom it selects. Were it otherwise, Mr. Ahmadinejad would surely have better uses for his time.

We will say this for Mr. Bollinger: The tough-guy act he promises for Monday's introduction will be something to watch. This time the irrepressible Mr. Ahmadinejad, we're sure, will bow his head in awe.

That $1300 I pledged to the university still hasn't been sent.

Here's a brief history of the neighborhood and the property, then the price. The property was built as the Harlem building boom was in full swing in the late 1880s. With crop yields in the area falling, the big Harlem farms like Alexander Hamilton's were auctioned off and the farmlands were taken-over by Irish squatters. The construction of the first train lines in 1880 opened the area as a convenient suburb of New York City. The wealthy came in droves, with famous residents including the Ochs family of New York Times fame. They even played polo at the original Polo Grounds at 110th & Lenox (now home to Harlem's most exclusive condo).

Built in 1888 as part of "Physicians Row", the place where I lived was presumably built for a wealthy family to be their mansion. A few years later, Harlem real estate prices collapsed. Another collapse around 1904 led to the first blacks moving into the neighborhood. As construction of Lincoln Center, Penn Station, the main Post Office, and Macy's forced blacks from those areas, and thanks to an entrepreneurial black real estate agent, Harlem became more and more attractive. By 1911, investment in the neighborhood had ceased, and the tipping point hit around 1920. That decade, 118,792 whites moved out and 87,417 blacks arrived. The Harlem Renaissance was soon in full swing. Langston Hughes wrote a few blocks away, and the greats of jazz were playing in the Big Apple clubs in the area.

But during the long stretch from 1929 until the late 1990s, Harlem gradually descended into being one of the city's most notorious neighborhoods. As building owners could find black tenants easily (they being unable to rent in other neighborhoods), maintenance wasn't a necessary expense. The Italian mob ran East Harlem, most notably from Anthony "Fat Tony" Salerno's Palma Boys Social Club on 116th St. Five rounds of riots between 1935 and 1995 plus a drug rate 10X the Manhattan average further stigmatized the neighborhood. By the 1980s, fully 60% of Harlem real estate was owned by the City, presumably because it was abandoned.

Many buildings were converted to Single Room Occupancy, basically where a single room is rented without a kitchen or bathroom. The functional point of an SRO was to house the very poor or otherwise homeless, and SROs continue to exist in New York City. The 1956 Certificate of Occupancy of my former place shows that it was authorized as housing for 9 families in SRO conditions.

Against this backdrop, it's amazing that the house survived 119 years of this without being destroyed, as so many of the neighbors were. Dolores's late husband, whom I understand was head of the powerful Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters (who included Malcom X), bought the place in the 1960s, though the title appeared to have been obtained in 1977 from the City of New York. Whether they bought in the 1960s or 1977, they probably paid a pittance, perhaps $20,000, though they were among the few Black/Hispanic property owners in Harlem. Dolores would live there until her death this spring.

The place is now one of the few in Harlem to have survived intact. Most Harlem homes by the 1990s were "shells"--literally empty buildings where the roof and floors had collapsed into the basement--or had been stripped of their original detail at some point. Perhaps this is what justified the astonishing price tag the estate has put on the house -- fully $3,087,000. This would set a new record for the most expensive Harlem brownstone ever. I was guessing it would be listed at around $1.6M, certainly not higher than $2M. I don't think that $3.1M will hold, but it will be interesting to watch. Here's the listing with pictures.

We were in and out of the Barneys Warehouse Sale in under an hour, and now that we've had some time to refuel and hydrate, we're ready to reflect on the experience. It is so easy to get swept up in the mania of this event. You walk in and there are racks and racks of designer clothing and shoes. All around you, people are frantically grabbing up garments and dropping trou. It feels like a frantic, now-or-never-type deal; no time for indecision. ... And though the place was claustrophobically packed with the usual toe-stepping-on, shoving-prone crowd and prices were still pretty high, we still caved and dropped a few hundred dollars. Barneys, you got us once again.

While the sale may well have lost some of its luster--prices on the first day are the same as they've been since July in the stores--there were still a few bargains. After getting locked-out of the Prada Sample Sale when I I didn't sign-up immediately at 8AM Monday, I was happy to score a $69 pair of wool Prada slacks.

Meanwhile the sponsor still hasn't bothered install shower rods or TP holders, which means the water is splashing out and making the TP wet. This is the same developer who hired that psychologically unbalanced lawyer I wrote about earlier. As bad as BFC Partners have been, it could be worse.

“The last time [it] was this tight was in 2000, and it wasn’t as unforgiving as it is now,” says Gary Malin, chief operating officer of Citi Habitats, which recently released a five-year study of Manhattan residential rentals. Save for a moment over the winter when the numbers inched up ever so slightly, vacancy rates have stayed well below one percent for a year, with Soho and Tribeca the tightest spots. In 2002, the average monthly rent for a Manhattan one-bedroom was $2,227; now it’s $2,737.

Although Thursday began on a hopeful note for American Home Mortgage Investment, by the close of business, the business seemed to have closed.

Employees of the Melville, N.Y.-based mortgage real estate investment trust apparently received an email from Michael Strauss, the company’s chairman, at a little after 3 p.m., stating that their last day of employment would be Friday. A copy of the email was provided to Forbes.com by an employee who asked not to be identified. Reached by telephone, another employee said, "We are no longer in business as of this afternoon."

“It is with great sadness I announce today that American Home Mortgage has been forced to close. Unfortunately, the market conditions in both the secondary mortgage market as well as the national real estate market have deteriorated to the point that our business is no longer viable,” Strauss wrote.

AHM is not a sub-prime lender, and I'm not a subprime borrower. But my loan is risky in just about every other way - 100% interest-only adjustable-rate financing with a high back-end backed by an asset in a risky part of the island.

The impact to me will be minimal, since the check has been written. But had this implosion happened just two weeks earlier, I'd have been SOL.

I’ve been working like a dog lately, pulling 91 hours last week and working until 2am last night. Private equity clients are known for being demanding, though the more frequent unstaffed days partially make-up for the string of 1AM nights.

The closing itself was a circus of papers—probably 500 pages or more--and some characters I hope I don’t see again. There was me, my attorney, the sellers’ attorney, a title closer, and a lender’s representative.

Oh where should I start? My attorney was good. That’s why you hire a friend’s attorney and pay him more than what he asks for. But I’m remiss if I don't jump straight to the star of this show, the seller’s attorney, a grumpy old hag named Marlene from the firm Seiden & Schein. It’s unclear if she’s an attorney or a paralegal or an escaped mental patient. Indeed, she’s the bitchiest woman I’ve met since I was touring the former Soviet Union a year ago. Combining the worst of a bully and an incompetent fool, she was incredibly rude to my attorney, single-handedly raising the tension in the room as she insisted that everything be done exactly as she demanded. When my attorney, who’s about the most laid-back guy you’ll ever meet, pointed out that they weren’t handling transfer tax payments according to my contract, she wigged-out.

“Well I just don’t know how to handle it that way. That rider is wrong. I don’t know who wrote it that way!”

My attorney did, because he was smart. Score another for him: “Sorry, that’s what’s in the contract.”

“Well I just don’t know how to handle it. We never do it that way. I don’t know what to do; we’ll have to do it the way we always do.”

My thought: you’re supposedly working for a law firm. Maybe it’s an el-cheapo two-bit law firm, and maybe you’re one of the reasons that the project is 9 months behind schedule, but figure it out.

My attorney didn't budge.

She then stormed out of the room declaring, “I just can’t handle this.” I’m really not sure that this warranted a nervous breakdown—it's just a contract, and it's not your money at stake.

She wasn’t seen again for perhaps 20 minutes, which was as well with me, though I kept wondering if a real lawyer would turn up. Or maybe a professional who was in control of herself?

Meanwhile the lender has hired some random guy who’s on the phone discussing his fantasy baseball scores, burping, and declaring that if I forget to sign everything, “we can just forge it tonight.” I don’t know where they found this guy, but his closest analog would be Larry Burns, including the shirt with tie but the top button undone. There’s nothing that says “oaf” more than a guy who buys a shirt with too small a neck size and then wears a tie despite being unable to close the top button. That makes me really comfortable when this guy is writing out multi-hundred-thousand-dollar checks.

Seiden & Schien’s offices were completely covered in foot-tall stacks of papers. In two of the large windowed offices I saw, there was virtually no horizontal space not buried in at least 3 inches of paper. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such messy offices. No wonder identity theft is so easy.

The last character in all this was a title insurance woman, who was at least semi-professional and had her stuff mostly in order, though she turned up 15 minutes late. The shocking thing is that I’m expected to tip her $50 to $75, which is perhaps the most absurd tip request I’ve heard since I was in India six years ago. Here I’m paying $8600 to the title company (Judicial Title), who pays out less than 1% of premiums in claims, and I’m supposed to tip their rep? Get friggin’ bent. I tip taxi drivers, hair dressers, doormen, porters, waiters, barmaids, cocktail servers, bouncers, maitre d’s, superintendents, and baristas, all of whom have reasonably hard customer service jobs. Still, I don’t tip the shoe salesman at Bergdorf who gets a nice commission off my Ferragamos, and I don’t tip people to whom I pay their firm $8600 and only hire them because I have to. What ever happened to just doing your job?

Marlene, the old seller’s legal person, lost control again when we mentioned that the cherry floor isn’t done totally to spec (as I've been saying for two months), but she did finally a smile when she handed me the keys, which was a great feeling. It’s over. I’m moving this weekend. Then I’ll celebrate. I never thought I’d make it this far.