Cambridge Diary VIII

Storefront on my way to work has a sign: WE GET YOU. This is just a reconstruction: the letters that remain are W GET U. Which makes me really want to check the man page.

“You kiss really well when you’re sexually frustrated.”

Found an English-made Super 150 at The Garment District, just my size, $30. Jewish relatives and hipster confreres all laud me from beyond the veil.

“Do you wear a suit to work?” “Yes.” “Every day?” “Yes.” “Do you have to?” “Oh hell no.”

Organic environmentally-friendly laundry with its own vegan baked goods selection. Still run by an 80-year-old Chinese woman who speaks no English.

Guy stops me on the street to tell me how great my shoes are. This could only be better if he was an old black man in pinstripes OH WAIT HE WAS.

White guy on subway sees my Kindle screensaver. Leans over and says, “Woah, Alexander Dumas was black!”

Black guy on subway sees my Kindle screensaver. Leans over and says, “Man, I had no idea Alexander Dumas was so light-skinned!” #iamnotmakingthisup

Boss complains that I go to the bathroom too often. I… wait… what?

“I feel safe with you. Just… safe.”

Sent out 1,978 invitations in a single day. It helps when you’re the only one in the office who knows how to write a shell script.

Processed $1,000,000 in donations. In a week.

All the major donors to the charity where I work are CEOs and heads of medical departments. Their donations entitle them to an ad in our yearly dinner’s program book. I have been explicitly instructed to call only our known contacts to get these ads. 78 times I have called a multi-millionaire titan-of-industry… and been forced to explain to them what DPI means. To say nothing of CMYK. Or PDF.

Actually, this charity exists because it allows pharmaceutical companies and medical insurers to buy drinks for doctors and hospital administrators. Well… guess everyone needs a niche.

Took the LSAT. Really loud noises throughout the test. I got outside and – yep – right up against the building, Titus Andronicus is playing. #theenemyiseverywhere

Had a thirty-minute job interview scheduled. They kept me for two hours. I felt like a million bucks… but I’d be fine with sixty grand a year.

Walking across Boston Common, ran into a group of bonus marchers. No MacArthur this time. He’s learning.

I stepped into a subway car at Harvard. The lights in the car promptly went off, and stayed off. As a result you could see everything that passed in the tunnels as if it was daylight. From which I learned that there is an abandoned subway platform between Harvard and Central: its concrete chaffing, wooden stalls rotting and spilling onto the ground, exposed bulbs… it’s an urban fantasy kind of morning.

Informed at 4:30 Friday afternoon that my work contains mistakes. I fix them before going home at 5. Come back from the weekend… my job’s been cut.

Box of Coronas on the free table in my apartment. Still cold. The hipster gods smile upon me.

Bat Mitzvah at a country club in Lincoln. 2007 Clos des Mouches by the case. Was there food? Don’t know. Don’t care.

Wandered into the Harvard science building for a drink of water. On the way out, wrote “XKCD – DNE” on every blackboard. I expect the blackboards are used to it.

I’d like to thank the grandparents of whoever lived in this apartment before me. Or so I presume – since I just got a care package full of food delivered to my apartment. No name, no return address, no note… NO GOD BUT GOD AND THE UPS GUY IS HIS PROPHET.

Walking home across the Yard is like walking home through my backyard. I’m home.

She’s just so beautiful.

Going to the supermarket at midnight to do research for a story. This sort of resource is not available to the fiction writers of Kennebunk.

A 200-person party where the table wine is Opus One. At lunch.

Flaming Lips in an elevator. Somewhere a man in a hamster ball is crying.

Spent two days with a high fever listening to Tobacco and playing flash games. Life has its moments.

Beautiful Brazilian woman puts hot lather on my neck and then shaves it back and forth with a straight razor. Men’s grooming always skirts the fetishistic.

Can’t sleep; walk to Kendall Square. Find a bar. Sit in the windowbox with a tall glass of rum and watch underdressed undergraduates walk by.

Go door-to-door with resumes. Can’t get past the security guard. Another romantic notion fades away.

Getting back to loljobs and queries.

Getting back to making my own blessed way.

Getting back to Cambridge.

Less than three.

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~ by davekov on 25 October 2011.

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