and after six milligrams, we're talking again

I walked to Harvard Square tonight.  I listened to I'm Wide Awake It's Morning on the way, from Old Soul Song to Land Locked Blues.  It felt right.  When I got to the Square, I sat down in Veggie Planet and ordered a Vegan Peanut Curry.  When I tried to say that I wanted a table, my voice came out as a croak, and I had to repeat myself.  The usual crew wasn't there tonight, as much as I was hoping they would be.  I wanted Nice Smile Girl to offer me chili sauce without my asking, or Curtsey Girl to act kind though I've done nothing in particular to make me deserve it.  Instead, a bunch of strangers were there listening to rap on the kitchen radio.  I paid for my curry and went to Dado to sit in a more familiar feeling environment.  It was 7:23 PM.  I know because I checked the time on my cell phone before I walked in.  Dark Haired Difficult To Converse With Because Our Accents Are So Disparate Girl was there.  As I walked in, she came around from behind the counter and unceremoniously said they were closed.  I looked surprised and said I thought they closed at 8:00 PM.  She said something I didn't quite catch.  The upshot was that they were indeed closed; and the utter lack of other patrons backed up the claim beyond my ability to refute it.  I frowned, stared through my fogged up glasses, and went back out into the street.  A few minutes found me ordering a large cappuccino and a blueberry scone in Peet's.  The gentleman behind the counter had a lip ring and a nose ring, and the portions of his hair furthest from his head were bleach-blond.

As I paid he asked, "How was your day?"  Maybe I was just caught off guard, but it made me feel like this stranger was a good friend, and I wished I could answer with my usual, positive, "Excellent, how're you doin'?"  Instead I admitted that it was merely okay.  And really, it was.  I've had much worse days, but I've had much better ones too.  This one was depressing, but not so much that I couldn't smile a bit when our Strangers' Conversation invariably turned to the weather, as they always do.  I explained that I was glad I'd worn massive boots.  

I think I regret renting this apartment.  I will be moving in September.  It's too expensive for the benefits it affords me.  For a drunk, it might offer its proximity to a variety of bars and pubs.  For someone who had friends in Boston, it might provide regular, easy access to the T.  For me... it merely presents these things as possibilities, shrugging and losing interest as I continue to take little advantage of them.  

I don't think I'm going to save any money this year.  I can blame that on rent, but I can also just blame it on the reality of our culture.  There's so many things to pay for.  So many expenses.  Lately I've thought a lot about consumerism, living in a spartan manner, and the financial restraints put on me (and everyone else) by the reality we live in.  I pay for parking, food, housing, electricity, heat, internet, cable, the ability to stay fit, auto insurance, health insurance, dental insurance, vision insurance, renters insurance, cellular service, gas, T fare.  I buy a vacuum cleaner, couch, pots and pans, dresser, desk, nightstand, carpet, dishes, scarves, hats, gloves, shoes, jeans, shirts, CDs, video games, movies, books, and things I can't even remember, yet there's always more things on the horizon that need purchasing.  How can this be?  How can a human continually accumulate objects?  I'm one person, and I have 600 square feet devoted to the body sitting inside the one square foot it occupies at any given time.  There is furniture in the next room, its value all wrapped up in the four or five instances in which another human being has entered this space and needed somewhere to sit.  If five people other people have sat on that couch, that means that every time another human's ass has touched the cushions, that validates roughly $200 of spending.  Everything is caught up in eventualities and possible necessities.  Do I need a vacuum cleaner in my apartment twenty four hours a day?  No.  I need it for an hour every two weeks.  I want to strip my life down to the things that I use regularly.  To the things that, in this society, I actually need to function as the person I've become.  Clothes.  A bed.  A computer.  Music.  But I can't, because my friends are important to me, and that imposes social constraints on what I can and cannot shed.  

If only they were here, with me, in the city, so we could take advantage of the benefits of living here.  As it stands, were it not for its proximity to my job, I might as well not even live in this place.  I could live anywhere around Boston for all the benefit I derive from being here.  And it'd be a lot cheaper too.  

From now until September, I'm in limbo.  Not moving forward, not moving back.  If there's a reason why I took a long, rainy, snowy walk to Harvard Square tonight, that's it.

A beautiful night

Today after work, I went for a drink with a few coworkers to the Border Cafe.  Two margaritas and a few hours later, we decided to get dinner at Casablanca.  I had a delicious stuffed squash with spinach, which was more than I would normally be comfortable spending on dinner.  Luckily, I'm fairly sure the evening was comped due to the visit of our fine clients, with whom we were eating.  BK told some spectacular stories of his time in the Middle East and South America.  Casablanca saw me with two Stellas.  

Needless to say, the walk home was beautiful.

Around noon today, it started snowing, and has been doing so ever since.  At this point of the night, we're up to about a foot.  As I walked down Mass Ave, every so often I would run for a moment to gain some speed, then stop, plant my feet, and slide through the snow.  It was great.  Someone wrote "Hi!" in the snow on a mini van's window.  I wrote "Yo!" back.  I saw some people making a snake shape in the snow - I nearly stopped and asked if they wanted any help.  

It was a great walk.  It was snowing the whole way.  I called my brother at the beginning of the walk, but one of his kids was crying, so he said he'd call back.  I missed the call, what with my drunkenness, sliding, and general obliviousness, and I called him back when I had about ten minutes left to my walk, and we talked as I walked home.  

Apparently a building burned - to the ground - in New Haven.  It housed a bar that we went two once or twice.  They had a mechanical bull.  He said he walked by, but couldn't tell if the bull was still there.  I wonder what they'll build in its place.  

For lunch H, A and I (Hai!) went to Veggie Planet.  I had the special pizza - apples, brie, spinach, and honey glaze.  It was pretty good.   After work, we played a round of Ricochet Robots.  DR and I tied for first place.  At the end of the game, the last two tiles were for robots that were 1 move away from their target spaces.  Unheard of!

All in all, not a bad day.  I actually felt like a professional at work today.

the synopsis, to be expounded upon later

Champps:

Margarita

Red Headed Slut (jagermeister)

Cabernet Sauvignon 

Long Island (bad)

Tequila

Church:

Nick's wedding.

Good day.

I'm trying to be assertive, I'm making plans

Crazy great progress at work today.  It's like I know what I'm doing.  I got the whole data model for our project up and running.  In all, I think it took two days to customize.  Now I can move onto something else!  Meanwhile, I'm still lunchlighting (kind of like moonlighting, but over some pizza) in the product group and as our de-facto webmaster.  I formatted some pages with HTML today (woohoo.), and nearly had to Photoshop some stuff.  

Lunch was a Safe and Sound from Veggie Planet.  I just wasn't feeling up to an Unsafe, and that's the way it is.  It's the first time I've had a Safe and Sound since the first time I went there with GM and his wife.  I did, however, return to having coffee in the morning today, and I celebrated by getting my usual Small Coffee And A Lemon Scone at Dado.  C (or is your name spelled with a K?) seemed happy to see me - she's such a sweet girl.  Always a pleasure.  Before lunch, I walked out of the office with LG and took a stroll around Harvard Square.  He went to the bank at Cambridge Savings, and I walked around the Garage trying to figure out what to have for lunch.  I eventually circled all the way around, went up Brattle until it hit Church, walked back by the office, and ended up at VP.  

I stayed somewhat late at the office again.  6:30 PM or so.  I got there at 9:00 AM, and took the very short lunch described above.  At the end, it was just DM and I left in the office.  This is all, I think, in lead up to me leaving at 4:30 or so tomorrow to catch our flight to D.C.  

As I write this, my LiveJournal account has expired.  Literally.  They sent me an e-mail saying as much.  I guess it's that time.  Somehow I find it hard to write there.  There are lots of reasons why that might be, but I won't speculate, because I really can't tell.  

It's funny, because normally I write so that others will read it.  I don't know of anyone I've told about this blog, yet here I am.  Maybe I'm changing some.  Maybe my priorities have changed.  Maybe I'm just hoping someone will find it, or maybe I intend to pass a link around once I'm sure I'm going to keep writing here.  

On my way home tonight, I stopped at Whole Paycheck for some ingredients.  Daddy needed an omelet, and boy did he get one.  Dinner was a three egg omelet with broccoli, red onion, mushrooms, feta cheese, a bit of garlic, and a generous dash of Tony.  Accented with some buttered baguette and a Corona (with slice of lime!), it was delicious.  Next time, I think, I'll use a white or yellow onion.  Red just isn't quite right.   

At some point this evening, I should consider packing a few days of things.  Honestly, I could probably do that tomorrow morning (or after work) and be fine.  

Caught a cab, ran up a tab at 7th and Flower

Today I woke up late, and just didn't feel like getting out of bed.  My alarm was set for 6:30 AM.  The appointed time rolled around, the alarm did its thing, and I did mine, pushing "Accept" and rolling over in bed.  I accepted, just not what it thought.  At 8:05 AM or so, I sat up, stretched, and started getting ready.  I made it in by 9:30 AM or so, which is impressive (in one way or another) since I live a five minute T ride from the office.  

I continued working on my new Services project.  Am I supposed to talk about what it is?  I can't remember.  A lack of specification helps me remain vaguely anonymous, I suppose.  I think it's going to be a good time.  I'll be working on a much smaller team, which I'm not exactly looking forward to, but it should be a nice quick project.  

For lunch, M, J and I ordered Chinese from Yenching, the former and I went and picked it up.  Apparently they know him really well there; they brought us tea while we were waiting for our food (we got there early).   I got Spicy Tofu, which didn't taste spicy to me.  It was made with silken tofu, which never seems to hold flavor as well as the non-silken, more curd-like variety.  It was good anyway, so I'm pleased.  This seems to happen to me often these days - things that places claim are "spicy" really aren't so to my palate.  It seems I'm becoming immune.

After lunch, I decided to go get my headphones from home.  R sent me a link to a SeeqPod playlist she made full of Christmas songs.  Awesome.  I had to listen.  At 1:28 PM I left the office, determined to see how quickly I could get back home, get what I needed, and get back to the office.  Around 1:45 PM I got home, walked in the front door of the building (someone left it open), and... realized I didn't have my keys.  I left them in my bag, on my desk, in the office.  Swearing, laughing, and calling myself an idiot, I got back on the T and got back to the office by 1:55 PM or so.  Determined, at this point, to get what I wanted, I stayed a moment to make sure I had no meetings, and then ran back out of the office with my keys and got on the T again.  I finally made it back to the office at 2:26 PM.  Apparently, on an average trip, it takes me 58 minutes to make a round trip, provided I leave my keys behind once.

I stayed in the office until 6:45 PM or so, to make up for my mid-day errand.  I found out I have 13 vacation days left, which is absurd.  That means that, at the end of this week, I could leave the office and not return until 2008.  I get to carry over five of them until next year, which I'll do just so I don't leave my project completely in a lurch for the next three weeks (they'll only be in one for the two after next week).

At the gym today, they had reversed the mens and womens locker rooms.  Just for today.  "... What?" you say.  That's what I said at least.   Turns out that they were having problems with the sauna/showers in the womens' locker room, and it being that the vast majority of repair-persons are men, they deemed it prudent to make a switch for the day.  The women have nicer lockers, and an oddly shaped locker room (it's not rectangular, but sorta curved on one end).  Wacky.

Just open fire when you hit the shore

Today I was reassigned out of our Product group and back into Services. "Back into" is really an odd description of the move, as I was never really there to begin with. There's a possibility that I may stay in Product - I don't know, as both the head of the Product group and the head of the Services group are out of the office - and was only notified of this by the lead architect on the project, as he had something he needed me to do. Odd.

Lunch was a slice of pizza from Pinocchio's. Good, as always, though it was chilly enough outside that it was cold by the time I got it back to the office. I didn't really feel like eating much more than that. After work, we played a round of Ricochet Robots, which I just barely won. Having a brain that's good at spacial relationships doesn't do you much good when you're playing against a bunch of people who're built the same way, perhaps even more acutely.

Dinner? Why, the three C's, of course. Cheese, crackers, and carrots. What more do you need? I wasn't particularly hungry anyway. Ever since I was sick, I've been having big meals to make up for it. (I think there were several days where all I had was some liquid and a piece of bread.)

I listened to Tom Waits all morning just because it was that sort of day. Mellow, and sort of messed up. On the way home, I listened to most of an album of Explosions in the Sky. I couldn't figure out what was wrong for the longest time - then I realized that my footfalls weren't matching up with the music at all. I was wearing boots, and so every time I put my foot down it sounded like a bass drum in my ears. When I finally got the timing down the album improved dramatically as a snowy, cold soundtrack to the walk home.

Didn't know it was a devil town

We were planning on going to a showing of the first episode of Twin Peaks at the Brattle Theater tonight.  It was at 9:00 PM.  I was informed sometime in the afternoon that it was actually at 9:45 PM.  Everyone else decided to go anyway, I decided that was a tad too late for me on a night like this, when I expect to be in bed by 10:30 PM so I can hit the gym in the morning.  I ended up sticking around at work until 8:00 PM, working on some stuff that I couldn't do during company time because it's not high enough priority.  I needed to make consistent the portraits of our executive board that go on our website.  Right down, they're all from different photo shoots, so they have different lighting and different background colors.  I decided to fix the damn things and color correct them in Photoshop so that they'd all be identical.  Just the sort of work I love doing, for some reason.  It's more like fun than work, somehow.  

At 8:00 PM, J gave me a call and said that he, K, and his older sister just got to Harvard Square and were wandering around, looking for something to do to kill time.  They were going to go to the Starbucks on Church Street.  I told them to hit Dado instead.  The dude with his rasta-hat was there.  He undercharged me for a lemon scone: $1.18 instead of $2.25.  I even called him on it and said, "I thought those were more than that."  He replied, slowly, "... you don't want it?"  I let him ring it up and enjoyed it.  J ordered a hot chocolate.  It looked delicious.  

After a while, J's younger sister also showed up, and one of his older sister's friends.  We went to Charlie's Kitchen, because the latter was hungry.  I was apprehensive about the place, as I'd never been there before, and the only thing I'd ever heard about it was that The Hair Lady went there for breakfast sometime in the morning.  Usually during that time you want to get out of the place, as it apparently starts to smell.  I enunciated my apprehension, and J's older sister said, "What... because of all the hipsters?"  I was confused.  Needless to say, when we went inside I understood.  The place was full of pseudo-indie kids and people with dark glasses.  They were playing Radiohead's In Rainbows when we walked in, and the album looped twice.  The first song the juke-box played was The White Stripes' The Hardest Button To Button.  Tom Waits featured prominently in the track list thereafter.  J ordered waffle fries and I ate $1.00 worth.  J's older sister had brought a tupperware of vegetarian stir fry she made for their younger sister.  I tried some - it was great.  Sauce made with crushed red pepper, chunky peanut butter, and some other stuff I can't remember.  

After Charlie's, we left to go back to the Brattle Theater at 9:30 PM or so.  I took my leave of everyone at the door, though I don't think they realized I was going, and everyone but J and K had already gone inside by the time I waved.  I walked back to the T in the center of the Square, and the uber-modern turnstiles refused to read my Charlie Card the first two times.  When I got on the train, the doors behind me opened and closed roughly six times over the next couple minutes before the train finally pulled away.  

Brush the snow from your hair

Tonight I went out for a walk in the snow.  I took the T to Harvard Sq. and walked around with all the other dark coated, scarved people.  Cambridge has put up all its Christmas lights (it did the Tuesday before Thanksgiving), and so everything was lit up like a holiday.  On my way in, it was snowing enough that I was thoroughly dusted by the time I stomped my boots in The Garage.  I tried to go to Veggie Planet - they were having some private function for Club Passim, and were only accepting orders for take out.  Eating outside wasn't really on the menu, so I tromped across the Square and sat down in Le's with its 95% Asian crowd.  The waitress made me feel out of place, and it was glorious.  I ordered summer rolls, Pho Chay, and tea and loved every bite and sip, though afterwards I felt rather full.  As I sat there, I re-read some of the lines I've written in my notebook.  The good ones are still good, the bad ones are still bad.  It's nice to see that hasn't changed; too often everything melds back towards mediocrity when aged.  After dinner I walked around the Square a few times, trying to decide if I really wanted coffee.  If I could have found someplace to buy some, I may have had something to keep my hands toasty on the walk home.  Peets was closed.  Dado was closed.  Dado on Mass Ave. closes at 6:00 PM every night, apparently.  The Starbucks on Church I habitually ignore.  I walked home back down Massachusetts Avenue feeling the cold on my face, and there was practically no one out.  A car would pass occasionally, driving five to ten miles per hour slower than usual, though whatever snow had fallen on the roads had already been turned to liquid.  

Earlier today I sang along to Bright Eyes, The Decemberists, Feist, Radiohead, Silversun Pickups, Spoon, The Strokes, and Voxtrot while I did laundry and cleaned my apartment.  The place looks better.  It's funny how when you move into a space, some things take up residence in inconvenient places.  I took the opportunity to move my CDs across the apartment and to organize the mess that is the cable modem/router and their various cords.  Both make more sense now.  As usual, my electric guitar continues to migrate around the apartment.  

This morning I shaved my beard, such as it was.  Side burns and soul patch have stayed.  To me, I look about ten years younger.  So continues the ever-changing facial hair/hair styles of The Joy Boys.  

Toxic and timeless

You write prose once and then it's done.

You write a song and you can sing it over and over forever; each time it's different and new.

Why doesn't everyone just sing?

Why do I know how to write sentences, but I don't know how to compose verse?

I think I quite grandly screwed up when I was learning my particular skill set.

My brother went to school and became an artist. I went to school and learned to be an architect of bits. When we were young, we both liked computers, we both liked to draw. As he became a teenager, the drawing won out; for me, well, you can guess. Could it have gone the other way? I think it could. It has a lot to do with our upbringing.

It's late, and I can't articulate the differences between my brother and me. I spend a lot of time thinking about it, though. Sometimes I wish I were more like him; I wonder if he ever thinks that about me.

Together we're formidable. With our father, we're unstoppable. With our mother, we're solid as a mountain.

I suppose that makes me lucky.

But we're all planning to meet

I looked at the government's 'travel' website today and learned what it would take to get a US passport.

Really, it's not so bad. I could do it tomorrow.

I see the next year or so going like this:

1. May 15 - Talk to my boss about my career path with respect to our company. More specifically, what I'm going to be doing there in the future, and how much I'm going to be paid to do it. Shortly I won't be able to afford to maintain my current standard of living on my present salary because...

2. September 1 - Move into an apartment of my own in Cambridge. I've decided I need to live by myself; it's just something I need to do at this point. I've been reliant on having other people around for so long, the next step is honestly to learn to rely on myself more.

3. Sometime in 2008: Well... I'm still figuring that out, but I'm starting to believe that the best thing for me to do at this point in my life would be to try out some new places. And I don't mean Cambridge vs. Brighton.

We'll see.

all alone at a table of friends

It's been a long time.

A lot has happened. I'm not sure if it has ended up for the better or what. It's certainly more complicated.

I guess I may end up living alone starting September. I'm not sure how I feel about that. My other housing options don't seem to really be going anywhere, as far as I can tell.

I want to move closer to work. That means my rent goes up by about $500 a month, if not more, if I want to live somewhere I'd want to live.

Life keeps moving. People pair off and go in different directions. This apartment seems to be our last shot at all living together, and we're all already prepared to move on. We were the day we moved in.

I guess that's what happens.

I'm mentally preparing myself to be a bachelor at large. It's odd how we end up in these unexpected states.

It's funny how many of the things you thought you valued and thought were cool when you were younger, it turns out, drive you nuts when you get older. It all seems so incredibly lame. So annoying. So trite and cheap.

It turns out that I'm not quite who I thought I was, and the things I always thought I cared about, I don't much care for at all. It leaves you staring at new meaning. Or at least staring at the old meaning wondering how you could have cared.

My goals are changing, somehow, and I can't really tell exactly what the difference is. I think I expect more, which is sort of crazy, because I already expected a lot.

I want to put myself someplace I'm not comfortable. Or someplace where I have to start over. This seems to be my theme lately.

Wanderlust

So when I went to school, I chose a practical career. Granted, it's one I enjoy.

There's some things that go along with that, though. Ten hour work days, commutes, being tied down, steady income, thankfulness for eventless weekends, mumbling in the kitchen at 7:30 pm trying to figure out what to throw together to eat, alarm clocks, getting ready for work in the morning, trying to find time to get some errands done, having errands and calling them such, buying clothes at least in part so that you'll be presentable at your company, having a company and describing yourself as working at such, using the term coworkers and forgetting about the social meaning of a bunch of people laboring together for the man.

I'm twenty four years old.

If I were to quit this job and all the things mentioned in that paragraph, leave this place and disappear for two years, when I came back I'd be twenty six. I'd still be a baby. This, really, has me wondering what I ought to do with those two years, since I seem to have them. A few options:

1. Go back to school for more computer science and software engineering.
2. Go back to music school.
3. Go back to art school.
4. Go volunteer somewhere.
5. Go get a job somewhere I don't really speak the language (Japan being a prime candidate, seeing as I'm at least already learning the language).

There are problems. I don't have a portfolio or anything of any sort for #2 and #3. For the others, well, so maybe those are the main problems. They're also the most fun sounding. All five, honestly, sound great. I enjoy what I'm up to, but I often wish that I had more control over what I do with my time. School would be good for that.

It's a matter of feeling like I'm accomplishing something in my time off. This works best if I have more time off, or am in a position where I can't help but learn something when at rest (re: Nihon).

I feel sort of like something has to give, soon.

Never Play Poker

My English teacher in my senior year of high school wrote in my yearbook.

He's a flamingly gay man who would hang little ornaments from his handlebar mustache around Christmas time. He is fearless and observant, and amongst other things, he wrote in my yearbook, "I could always tell how you're feeling by the look on your face; never play poker."

In the years since I've thought about that frequently. I've always thought that he misjudged me, in that I don't think he ever saw how I play the pokers of life. But perhaps he's correct, after a fashion. Don't play poker, David, because you wear your heart on your sleeve.

Today I was called extroverted. Really extroverted. I suppose I've become that way; I suppose it makes sense. My problems don't get internalized unless I'm afraid they're going to hurt someone. And even then, they're only hidden from the people they'd hurt. When I'm happy I act it. When I have something on my mind, I find someone to talk to about it. My thoughts are all out there in the world, being stored in some sort of human network between my friends and family.

I try to be fair. I try to only put things on people I know are willing and glad to accept them. I'd certainly do the same for them in an instant, because externalizing your thoughts also means you want to store some of other peoples' as well. This isn't gossip - it's empathy, joint problem solving, shared joy, philosophizing.

Some people don't work this way, certainly. I become frustrated with them when they close up and honored when they share a piece of their lives. Thoughts are a gift, a sign of affection, closeness and trust. The people I get along with best are open in this way. They provide and accept thought and desire, worry and fear, with grace and caring.

Internalization happens when it becomes clear that bringing something out into the open will hurt a person I care about, and, of course, this is something that happens frequently with big things and small. I'm not a gossip. I keep peoples' secrets and cherish them. Freedom of information, for lack of a better term, certainly only works when tempered by an appropriate amount of nondisclosure. Life, unfortunately, often means knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

And so, my teacher, unfortunately your observation is half the picture, as it necessarily must be. As much as I might appreciate thought and information, I appreciate my friends, family, and causes more. If I know something that might endanger or upset them with its careless enunciation into the open air, you will never find it out by looking at my face or asking me to answer questions.

Often it's difficult to tell which is the appropriate thing to do, and when that happens you'll find me at my most uncomfortable. The ambiguity of the decision doesn't change the consequences of making the wrong one.

So maybe he's right, and I shouldn't play poker.

Probably, though, it's because I'm just not crazy about the game.

Lost in Cambridge

I think I need a place to speak. I'm not sure about what. I need to keep writing something. I had the realization the other day that I hadn't written a piece of fiction in at least a year. That sort of thing has just ceased to be a part of my life. I'm becoming more and more of a kaishain in life than anything else; I spend from 7:30 am until 7:00 pm dealing with my work life as an employee. I have four hours to myself at night.

Even that time is being usurped; Tuesday nights are now game development night. Wednesday it's cards. Thursday it's Japanese. What do I do anymore? I'm ceasing to be more than the sum of the activities my environment imposes upon me.

There was a time when I wrote down my thoughts on life. On politics. On technology. On everything. There was a time when I encapsulated all that into little worlds, one at a time. There was a time when I enjoyed screwing with language just to see if I could. There was a time when I wrote just to write.

There was a time when I had things to say. I seem to have lost them, though, somewhere between home and Cambridge.

Maybe it's time to draw a map.