A sunny week . . .

A bike commute to work leaves one little to complain about. Especially when it's not raining or snowing or excessively windy or trafficky or potholy. This week, will at least prove sunny - a nice respite from last week's consistent downpour. A wet commute is wet. A sunny commute is as pleasurable as it really can get. There's nothing like riding into work knowing that you're not huddled in a cramped train swaying to and fro saying 'excuse me' and 'sorry about that' each time a foot ends up beneath your's.

My commute: Down into the basement I go. I unearth myself through a tiny hole of a door - a half door of sorts - into our paved, but otherwise lovely backyard. Affix my panniers, helmet and defensive attitude. And I'm off. A right down Simpson ave. Left onto Holland. Becomes Elm. Stay straight until a T with Somerville avenue. Ride on that for a while until Union Square. Make left onto some other street that brings you to McGrath highway. Decide each and every day that I'd rather take the bridge's sidewalk than chance a lunchmeat experience with a truck and the concrete barriers. Barrell down the sidewalk until the crosswalk by the McDonalds. Continue on McGrath until the bus depot on right. Then bear left onto some street. Don't get run over at this point. Crucial. Ride on this past the Museum of Science - usually go on the sidewalk or up on the driveway of the museum to escape eventual lunch meat scenario. Cross Memorial Drive and Storrow. Then the final push to the Tip O'Neil building. Wave my ID to the security guard. Go into the bike garage area. Strip my bike of panniers. Hang the bike on the hook; my helmet on my bike seat. And off I go. 6th floor.

All in roughly 20 minutes. This is versus a 45 minute ugly commute on the T.

An introduction

This is my lovely girlfriend, Anne. (We've been dating for quite a while - around one and a half/two years or so, not really sure.) I felt that since she's such an important part of my life, a blog which did not introduce her would not be a true reflection of who I am. Anne's a Wisconsin native and full of passion for life and human rights. She has been living in Boston for around four years and will be the reason I'm leaving the city in a couple of months. I'm following her and love (happily embodied in the same person) to NYC. She'll be going to graduate school for Public Health. I'll be doing something - not quite sure what yet. We'll see. Okay, that's her. She's my sweetpea.

Diesel

So, I spend most of my non-working time at Diesel Cafe in Davis Square. This is a photo of a quite carefully crafted latte. They've perfected the pour. I enjoy the sight almost as much as the espresso drink itself. This is a place for work, for play and great music (though I'm almost invariably listening to my own, the staff's myriad Ipods declare this a venue for a motley of tastes in tunes).

We finally went for a hike

Well, after two years of courtship under the pretense of an eventual hike, my friend Angela and I went for one. We made it to the Fells here in the Greater Boston area. The hike lasted for roughly 4 hours - mostly on account of our not having a map; something I do not suggest, even for a seemingly non-threatening hike around a resevoir or two. We got lost and luckilly it wasn't the sort of lost that's followed by encounters with a bear or rain or the need for shelter. We were lost midday.

The hike was most enjoyable. Mostly flat with few hints of climbs and descents - no blisters to speak of. Our conversation mostly revolved around her recent get-back-together with her long-time on and off again boyfriend Jake who now lives down in Florida. They're happy. I'm happy. However, I mistakenly affixed my foot square in my mouth likening her to Ms. Haversham from 'Great Expectations'.

Anne's out of town this weekend, visiting with her family for her brother's graduation fromGrinnell College in Iowa.

I'm on my own - left to my own devices this weekend. Going to take Desean, my 'little' brother out for a while today. I'm deciding between a duck tour or something else. Our excursions have mostly revolved around walking great distances and playing pool. I think it's time for us to enjoy a day on a WWII beachcraft. Quack Quack.

The Start of Something . . .

Let me start with this: I’m a twenty-seven year old male not living up to his potential, living amongst those living up to theirs. This is my age of angst; of agony and depression. This is the age of the unfortunate little me in the center of the world – NYC. There’s war in a desert. There’s poverty on the corner. There’s suffering everywhere. In all respects, I should be counting myself lucky. I fucking hate parts of my life. Actually, it’s the story I’m forced to tell – I’ve a hell of a lot of time on my hands.

I woke up today to my girlfriend’s kiss before heading out to work. A barely hidden pity for my nonworking ass was scrawled across her face; a look that will invariably turn toward contempt if I remain this lump on a log for too long. I made my way downstairs after considering and failing to convince myself to masturbate. I ate half a melon before perusing Craigslist for an hour. I then rallied myself to on the coffee shop; a ritual I’ve been fastened to for the latest stint of unemployment. The wireless is down so this is the story I’m forced to tell.

I’m an otherwise healthy and typical over-educated and relatively good-looking young man with my future just waiting for me. I’m also an aging wanna-be ascetic, with a worthless degree in psychology and an even more worthless graduate degree in history, who has recently come to the realization that he can no longer, given enough practice and determination, play for the Yankees.

It is no coincidence that I lay myself flat in the coffee shop situated next to one of the most prestigious law schools in the country. I still have faint dreams of acing the entrance exam, studying at Harvard and leading a life in politics thereafter. I still believe in the fantastic. This dream, like the Yankees, will inevitably fall to the wayside come thirty. The life I lead and the one I wish to lead are battling for permanent residency.

I'm Jobbed

A deleted post from 3/17/06.

I'm Jobbed . . .

So I had a morning and half of one afternoon without a job. I'm jobbed. I start working at a coffee shop this coming Monday. Making 8.50/hour, but I get my own cordouroy hat and free meals during shifts. And my exercise routine is in full steam. Going to Tufts Gym and working out with all of those 18/19 year olds are cause for celebration. Their bodies are so fit, so young. Youth, to quote George Bernard Shaw, is wasted on the young. I feel good. I'm doing roughly 45 mins of cardio and 15 of stretching. Just about right for now. We'll see how long I can keep this up. I'm pretty proud of this job and can see myself enjoying it - making sandwiches, coffee etc. Reminds me of the winters working at the deli back on Long Island - just a bit cleaner and further removed from the mafia.

So, my charge today is to organize my job search for NYC. First thing's first: revamp resume and send it along to Rob (soon to be brother-in-law?) for editing/embellishing. Next I'll list and organize my organize my networking/contact list down there. If I'm feeling really dangerous, I'll even work on a cover letter and search Craigslist for openings etc.

Part of the reason for this extended leave of mine rests in my being burned out. The Board, as I've previously written, has jaded my sense of accomplishment and security in my youth. I was done with the Board over a year ago and have been coasting since that disengagement.

I have a few other goals for this time off. Learn a few tools on the computer. For example: Excel, basic HTML etc. I think it may be useful in future job search.

For now, from the garage of Diesel, I bid you good bye.