Cambridge Diary 5

Hot as blazes at dawn. Within half an hour it’s thunderstorming. By the time my neighbor’s alarm goes off it is cool and calm.

(One week later): hot as blazes at dawn. It keeps getting hotter. Begin referring to my apartment as The Cave Of Twenty Hellballs. Soon after… leave my apartment.

For about twenty minutes, touchpad becomes nonresponsive. Then it’s back. There is a God and he is a cat and my mouse is getting PISSED.

Doctor at the clinic takes my sexual history. She asks me why I’m bothering to get tested. I say that a potential partner and I are getting tested prophylactically. And SHE GIVES ME A HUG.

“People often smile when they get uncomfortable.” “I don’t think I smile when I’m uncomfortable.” “I don’t think you *get* uncomfortable.” “Oh… fuck.”

Neighbor hits snooze button fourteen times in a row.

Almost stepped on a syringe on the street. Note to self: always wear shoes in Cambridge.

Walking along the Charles on a drizzling Friday night. It’s not Paris. But it’ll do.

I haven’t spent a dime in five days. Another definite sign of having acheived Settled In.

“I’ve heard good things your writing! But I guess that’s only from people who’ve slept with you.”

Over the last two years I’ve had maybe a dozen OS crashes. Each time I’ve had to extract my documents (using LiveCD) and move them somewhere else. The problem is that, by the time I get around to doing this, I’ve usually been using my new OS for a week or three. As a result I have two separate documents folders. Which I never take the time to merge.
I just took eleven such folders and merged their files, both generally and categorically by file type and subject. Took me about fourteen hours. But I did it.

Sudden burst of rain while outside checking my eMail. Close laptop screen – not fast enough! Now I can’t right-click. Bad news: Nature hates me. Good news: now my computer is basically a Mac.

“I’m pretty vanilla… but then it’s possible only a person as kinky as I am would think of my kinks as ‘vanilla'”

Missing the T stop, walking from MIT to the Common. And back. Twice. In one day.

“My knight in sweaty 2ndhand clothing.”

Buying a $2 seaweed salad; taking enough wasabi, ginger, and soy-sauce packets to last me for a month.

Spinning so much staff that I hurt my wrist. Ah, this takes me back…

Missed a spinjam. Go back and everyone’s asking me where I was. Circus: the best cult in the world.

“That was before we reached equilibrium.” And she smiles.

Four Hampshire-looking dudes hanging around my favorite bench at night. I walk past and they scatter. Yeahhhh.

Guy on the bench next to me is asleep, drooling, holding a half-finished six-pack of Budweiser cans… and listening to an iPod. #CAMBRIDGE

44 grant applications, for a total of over half a million dollars. This Jew is leveling up.

Think that’s 600 job applications. Honestly I’ve kind of lost count.

Three hours stuck in traffic with the former editor of Asimov. We spent most of it talking shit about Heinlein.

Peter Straub gives me $10 “to help a young writer with his career.” Ten dollars? THAT IS A CAREER.

“There needs to be an anthology about Larry Flynt’s zombie penis.” -David Malki!

People whisper: “Neil.” “Neil.” A rockstar-writer: “Neil?” “Neil!”

Neil Gaiman without his sunglasses looks like Dream of the Endless. It’s un fucking canny.

Running out to the street-corner to download the new Game Of Thrones. Crossing my fingers as I stare at the torrent coming in.

Concurrently reading Moby-Dick, Infinite Jest, and the most recent George R R Martin. I am THE MOST UNEMPLOYED.

“Oh. Oh! You want to hear the BEST 21st-chromosome trisosomy story?!?”

Next on the list of things I only did after graduating Hampshire: Contra Dancing. Yeah.

Two hours hacking my Linux and I can’t get the wireless to work. Then I run out of battery, necessitating a reboot. After reboot the wireless works fine. THE SPIRITS HAVE BEEN APPEASED.

It was too dirty to say out loud in a restaurant. So we texted it. Across the dinner table.

Paying about two thousand dollars a month to live here and I’ve been reduced to applying for unpaid internships. All the world’s a stage, and I’m the fucking usher.

I’ve gotten as far as the permissions desk at the Harvard Library. Next room: the front desk. Next room: the reading room. The comparison between trying to access their stacks and playing an ascii roguelike are disturbing at best.

Spent five hours on someone else’s wireless. Biting the hand that RSS-feeds you?

Bits of quicksilver caught between the road and the curb.

107 degrees with heat index. Triple-digit temperatures and double-digit incomes do not mix.

Running through the Rock Fountain in the night.

Getting to know Cambridge.

Getting to know someone.

Getting to know myself.

Less than three.

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~ by davekov on 22 July 2011.

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