I lived here for about three months, having taken over someone's lease when I moved out to Seattle. I moved out as soon as the lease was up.
Living here is a bit like living in a college dorm. There are a lot of young people with loud music, everyone thinks he's a rich big shot because "OT8" (as they prefer to be called) push that yuppie image, and if you actually want help with anything, you'd better be prepared to talk to employee after employee, all of whom are friendly but unable to help.
Parking is adequate, the rooms are reasonable but cheaply furnished (cheap carpeting, cheap fake-wood laminate in the kitchen (which the employee who showed me the room tried to pass off as real hardwood), cheap linoleum in the bathroom). The public areas are decorated in a weird modern style (orange paint, lots of bare cement and perforated brushed aluminum) that's apparently supposed to be classy. Two flat-screen TVs, set to different channels and with the volume up, blare at the entrance to the elevators at all times.
There's nothing materially wrong with these apartments, though I should note that the price reflects more demand in this area than it does their amenities (move a few blocks out of first hill and save a few hundred per month). But more to the point, there's no sense of individuality; all the apartments, all the tenants, are just faceless identical units leased by a faceless management company.
And about that company: While I was a tenant, I was forced to move into a temporary, furnished (with the chintziest of chintzy IKEA furniture) apartment while electrical renovations were done to my apartment. This meant I got two and a half weeks of rent-free.
Upon moving out a short time later, still without that credit having been applied to my account (thus having to pay the full amount for my remaining month to avoid late fees), I was owed the balance for the "rent free" time plus my deposit--a balance that came to roughly a grand.
Needless to say (I wouldn't be posting this here if it all went smoothly), two months and many, many polite, impatient, and, finally, threatening phone calls later, I finally have my check. All because the employee who took down my new address miscopied it (despite my calling back to make sure they had the right address on file, and despite my calling back to see if the check had returned ("No, you should get it in a few days!")).
If you absolutely must live in this block (say, if you work at the hospital), you could do worse (like a cardboard box). But "OT8" are neither classy, homey, or nice. To paraphrase "Fight Club," One Thousand Eighth Avenue Apartments are filing cabinets for widows and young professionals. With crappy management.