Victorians in Ditmas Park, Brooklyn. Photo by the author.

A lot of you have been following my journey, starting in the spring of 2020, when I fled Manhattan in the first terrifying days of Covid. I moved to a friend’s farm in Massachusetts for most of the spring. Then I pushed further north to another friend’s home in Vermont for the summer. By late August I was done living as a house guest. I loved my friends, but it had been over six months of living on the road. It was time to test an independent life back in The City.

After staying briefly at a friend’s empty apartment…


Watching, Reading and Listening in the Covid Winter

Hey all, this is a quick note about a few things I recommend checking out. I believe in living a curated life full of art, news, literature, history, film, great TV shows, great music; you get it. Is it Socrates who said we should live lives worth living? Something tautological like that. Enjoy quality, thoughtful, well constructed, insightful art and thoughts. You’ll feel better.

Here are a few recommendations.

Stay Free: The Story of The Clash

Stay Free is a Spotify exclusive podcast, narrated by one of my favorite humans of all time, Chuck D, about the rise and…


Photo courtesy of Tim Mossholder from Pexels.

Help from above, motivation from the middle, movement from below

It’s an exciting time in America for the 81.3 million people who voted for the Biden/Harris ticket, and I suspect some amount of Trump voters are also relieved, especially after the Capitol insurrection and mounting Covid death toll.

The recent election has been the worst presidential elections of our lives— racists and conspiracists, and whatever category Giuliani falls into, almost foundered our democracy. But remember, four years ago was God-awful too, when Hillary Clinton won and lost. …


See the cabin up top? Wasn’t my Airbnb, but the pic is from a weekend trip at an Airbnb with a single breadknife and flimsy curtains. Author’s photo.

gotcha prices, misleading listings and disappointing places

For years I’ve wanted to leave my tiny, costly Manhattan apartment. Imagine spending an increasingly huge chunk of your income on housing and not having a bedroom big enough for a bed you can walk around, or God forbid, a second bedroom, or any outdoor space, or even a bedroom closet. Or a living space that can fit a small dining table and a sofa. Or a bathroom that’s not next to your kitchen/dining area. You get the idea. Spending so much money for literally so little gets old. Over time, my rent doubled while my salary didn’t.

Then Covid…


Boerum Hill Parlor Floor Apartment

Winter, 2020 — Brooklyn, NY

In March I fled New York and left behind a West Village apartment that was as alluring and compact and expensive as a jewel. Instead of a one bedroom with a deep bathtub, updated kitchen, living room with tall ceilings and a working fireplace on a tree-lined Manhattan street, I rented a series of short term furnished rentals in rural Massachusetts. The first was in a barn with a lumpy mattress and furnishings scavenged from the local dump; the second was in an apartment attached to an older woman’s home with streets without sidewalks and…


New York Post

Late October, 2020 — Brooklyn

The NY Post wrote about my return to The City after fleeing. Soon I may be on television. The only way to express the sudden press coverage: Oy+Yo!

Did my blog or writing for PS I Love You earn me attention? Was it ten years running my digital agency, Thacher? My unsold but hilarious and touching spec dramedy screenplays I pitched at SONY? Nope, credit goes to Facebook, that sinkhole of Russian agitprop and (unsolicited please God stop) baby photos.

A journalist found me on Into the Unknown, a group set up by Rebekah Rosler


Hitting Harriman Heights. Credit: Mark Grochowski.

October, 2020 — Harriman State Park, NY

“You’ve changed. You’re… different somehow.”

I receive a few comments on my new hair cut, my no-gym yes-carbs paunch — I’m working on it—and of course my location. From one city borough to the next. Not a big change, but different somehow.

After four months at a friend’s farm in Massachusetts and two months at a friend’s farmhouse in Vermont, and with a swap over the East River, life is changed.

It’s been nearly two months in Brooklyn. Back in New York City. Alone, first in Ditmas Park house-sitting at a friend’s mid-century…


Street parking. Photo by Zachary Thacher.

Minus the valet parking

March 2020 beat T.S. Eliot by two weeks. Or maybe, March was just damn crazy, April kept its title as the cruelest month, and May was like, why rock the boat? Keep it Cruel 2020. June said, sure cruel works. July agreed and… you get the picture.

This crazy spring I fled New York. I’ve been working remotely for over 9 years, I have a car, I have my privilege. I left. I had a cute one bedroom in a coveted neighborhood — coveted by me, and by everyone else unfortunately. This kept the rent high and vacancies near zero…


Park Slope rooftops. Lady Liberty is in the middle distance. She’s taller in real life.

October 2020 — New York City

After seven months of living in rural New England, I’ve now landed in the most inevitable place possible for a guy priced out of Manhattan—and who also became alienated by the amoral “luxury” now dominating a once scrappy and creative island. Inevitably, I’m now living in the borough where OY meets YO. It’s my happy place. If you don’t know where I mean, keep reading…

But hey, why not return to Manhattan? Great question. The 2008 financial meltdown taught New York developers and our ostensibly “liberal" government absolutely nothing. Was there soul searching and…


Not my house or Vespa, yet. Image by Author.

On the Road with Covid as my Co-Pilot

Imagine the world’s biggest game of musical chairs, but with Trump speeches for the soundtrack, you have to wear a face mask and … there are no chairs.

That’s what it feels like to be on the run from Covid, six months into the pandemic and with no known ETA. I’m a single Jewish guy in his early late 40s who fled Manhattan when Covid crushed the city in March. Most of the time I feel like a soloist without his pants on in an empty concert hall, but I know there are millions like me who left their houses…

Zachary Thacher

I’ve never lost a sock in the dryer. Live in Brooklyn and flee to the countryside. thacherinteractive.com medium.com/thacher-report

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