From: Alex Chaffee Subject: Week Two, 1996 To: alex@earthweb.com (Alex Chaffee) Date: Sun, 14 Jan 1996 17:29:15 -0500 (EST) Warning: what follows is only a little above a diary entry (i.e., complete sentences, but little narrative structure beyond the chronological). Read it only if you feel like hearing more vignettes about my petty existence. --- Alex's Week January 6 - 14, 1996 Sunday: My brother Nick (back from Japan for a few months) and I enjoyed the car-free streets of Manhattan. Monday: Snow Day. Tuesday: I officially moved out of my apartment. All future sleeping there will be on the couch. In order not to conflict with the new tenant of my old room, I spent the night on the couch in my office. It's an excellent leather couch, low armrests, perfect for snoozing. I think we're going to become much better acquainted soon, since I don't have another place to live. Yes, I'm sofa surfing once again. Wednesday: I went to Cyber Suds (I call it Cyber Studs) -- a monthly party thrown by the New York New Media Association. It's way too popular. The place was jam packed with schmoozing yuppies. A meat market. Everyone there wanted something. I had an OK time -- since I (a) have a job, (b) am in a position to hire people, (c) am somewhat famous. (C) is because I run a Web site that's really hip and popular -- we get 150,000 hits a month. "He was much admired among those who like that sort of thing." So a little suited fan, working somewhere in the financial sector, sucks up to me, saying I really really like your stuff, it's really nice, it's the best on the Web, I really admire you. I think, "What does he want from me?" Turns out it wasn't a job -- when I mentioned, mostly out of politeness, that we're hiring, he looked me in the eye, smiled patronizingly, and sighed, "Yes, well, you know, thank you, but I've become ac*cus*tomed to a certain *life*style..." Like, you couldn't even approach offering me what I'm worth. I respect that, seriously. Being in a hiring position did allow me to flirt with an attractive young Macintosh artist who's looking for freelance work. No, I don't consider myself a sleazebag. Besides Matthew, who I went with (his name tag read "Looking for V.C.$" = venture capital investment money -- he would go up to people and ask them for $20 million), the only really cool person I saw there was Blake, who had interviewed for my company some time before. He had just moved to New York, got lucky, found a fair-sized room in a nice apartment on Christopher Street. I said I'm jealous, know of any other rooms around there? He said Actually, my roommate is moving out and needs someone to sublet for 6 weeks. I said Really. Within 15 minutes I was leaving a phone message for Samantha -- "Hi, I'm Alex, I'm an acquaintance of Blake, and I want your room." While I was leaving the message Blake walked by; we went to his apartment, I met his other roommate, they both decided they liked me, bing bang boom, Samantha calls, I talk to her, she says Great, fine, you're in, (Yes!) but there's just one thing (Doh!) there's someone else who wanted it and he's been vacillating and... My heart sinks when she says she has to talk to him first, "but you're 99% there." I've been in a lot of situations, especially with housing, especially in New York, where 99% is not equal to 100%. I spend the next few days leaving optimistic phone messages and waiting for a confirmation voice mail. Thursday: I went to Boston and consulted; it was very fun. I stayed in a hotel and ordered food and watched HBO and took a bath. Friday: More consulting; I taught a class. That night I tried to find my friend Dustin, who'd said I could stay with him. He wasn't home. I stayed at the client's office -- he was long gone -- until midnight. Still no Dustin. I ended up renting a hotel room for $150 (it was a double -- me and Steven Seagal in Under Siege 2). I'll bill it to the client; hope it falls under their radar. If not, I'll probably end up eating it. Saturday: I woke up depressed. I still couldn't find Dustin. His father didn't know where he was nor how to reach him. Every hour I called and asked for him but no dice. My mind kept straying home. I was looking forward to sleeping in hostels and on couches -- Paris encore. Around noon I checked my voice mail. There was a message from Blake. "Look, there's a little situation. Apparently Samantha's promised the room to someone else. I'm going to have brunch with her right now and try to straighten things out, but I thought you should know, in case you have other doors that are open, don't close them just yet." This provoked the usual combination of anger and self-pity. What should have been a fun day going around Boston alone and walking through new parks and new museums was instead a depressing day going around Boston alone and walking through new parks and new museums. I flew home around 6 p.m. and once again slept in my office (too late to call anyone, and besides, I had to clean my desk). Sunday: Hallelujah! Samantha called my voice mail and told me I could move in on Tuesday. I called her back to make sure that that actually meant I was going to sublet the room. Apparently she blew the other guy off. Yay Blake! Yay me! The Chaffee luck (which only comes into effect at the last minute when Chaffee has dug himself into a really deep hole) comes through again. (Of course, I don't yet have the keys, so really, who the hell knows.) --- I guess it did have narrative structure after all. Plus devices: coincidence, suspense, and a happy ending. And room left open for a sequel... - Alex ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright © 1996 Alexander D. Chaffee (alex@stinky.com). All rights reserved. See more at http://www.stinky.com/almanac/