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"You don't waste your time on people with whom you completely disagree."
-Congressman Barney Frank during this interview

Ack.

Ack ack ack ack ack ack.

Ack ack.

How to begin.

Okay, a lot of you only slightly know who I am, so I'll give you the long version.

Back in May, a long time friend and room mate and I packed up to leave for the East Coast, all the way from our home in Alaska. He was going to stay with the parents in South Carolina for the summer before going to Canada for his graduate studies. I was moving to Boston. I searched madly for an apartment until I believed I had one. On the day before we were scheduled to leave, my apartment cancelled on me. I decided I was already neck-deep at that point, and we left anyway: my friend's parents extended the offer of crash space for the summer, so I could try to get a place in Boston in South Carolina.

I sat here with a laptop for a few weeks, desperately doing the same thing I was doing up with Alaska. It wasn't working. I took a trip to Boston and spent a few days with the awesome otter3, and that was cool, and I believe it sort of helped matters, but it didn't end up producing any lodging.

After returning to South Carolina, and trying again for a little while, I ascertained the dimensions of the essential problem. I tried regardless until yesterday afternoon, when I knew that I just wasn't going to win this one and had to go to damage control.

That means that I'm going to be flying my dumb ass back to Alaska. Back to crash with my father until I can get back on my feet in Anchorage. (At least I won't be in Fairbanks at the end of this.)

LONG STORY SHORT: I've failed. I'm declaring bostonquest a failure. This has to be the single dumbest thing I've ever done in my life, and will doubtlessly remain so for years. Well, there's that and the whole art degree thing, but that's a dumb thing I'm kind of proud of, and it's a work in progress anyhow so there. :P

If anybody thinks less of me, or thinks, "damn what a loser", well, I'd agree. I'm a bit of a fuck-up.

But at least I tried, didn't I? That's more than what most ever do.

Besides...

There's always hope for bostonquest2011. Or bostonquest2012. Or maybe some other opportunity will come up, I don't know, and none it would ever compare to the awesomeness of marsquest2021 and I'd take that over bostonquest20XX anyday. Sure, I've screwed up another summer, I've wasted another three months of my life. That's okay. I'm sick of what-ifs and regret and worry. Life goes on.

One of the suckier things about this is that I'm going to be kind of lonely in Anchorage. KEVIN! We should hang out now and then!

Finally, easily rendered fashion.

Indy Day
Once again
Do all your shopping
At--*EXPLOSION*

Hey, future me: you were staying with Chris and his folks during the summer of this posting. I hope we're look back on this from better times.

Also, visitors from the future: how many times have you seen this page? I wonder how many of you I've known for a long time, and how many of you are new. I hope(d) I'm treating you well, either way.

Governor Palin no more. Now she's going to be just regular ol' Palin. I can hardly believe it. People are theorizing it's because of a scandal that, if it broke, would completely ruin her, but I'm wondering if it's more complicated than that.

In any case, hold onto your butts, people, because Alaska isn't done yet. You haven't met Sean Parnell. Within a month, he'll be the governor. Oh, no. This nightmare clown circus will never end.

Paul McCartney was asked if he ever compared his works that he now does with what he did when he was with The Beatles. He said that the only reason he can still write songs is that he stops himself from doing that. If he finished something and said things like, "Well, it's not Eleanor Rigby", he would no longer be able to write anything.

A young performer refuses the romantic attentions of her hermetic vocal trainer.

Thought experiment. You want an apple.

So you go to the store. There are a variety of apples there. They all taste kind of similar, some slightly more to your taste than others, but there's a lot of each. Some of the types of apples are known to go bad really quick, and otherwise they're pretty much indistinguishable from the rest of the mess of apples.

So, why would anybody go for one of the risky apples?

If you grasp this metaphor, you can see why, with well over a hundred emails and several dozen phone calls, I've not secured a place in Boston. I'm a risky apple, and that risk is easily avoidable: I don't have employment there. I cannot unless I have a place there. You see how cyclical that thing is.

This cannot be done playing it straight, as it were. I'm going to need some black magic. I don't know what that is yet. If I don't succeed in this, I'll be homeless, without a vehicle, and without any sort of support. I will have gone from a fully functioning member of society to a transient because of a quirk in a housing market. (I wouldn't be the only one. Exactly this has happened to many thousands of people, and it's going to get worse.)

"You are all idiots" is a distinctly unhelpful attitude to hold when dealing with potential room-mates and landlords. It leaves me increasingly frustrated while actually decreasing my enthusiasm, which I think will increase the amount of time necessary to actually land a place. Regardless. Here we are. }:[

After Phase Three (the actual moving-get-situated part), I'm going to need new pair of boots.

I put in "places to get killed in Boston" on Google Maps. #2 was Studio 210 at the Huntington Theater. That is... peculiarly specific.

#3 is John Maltsberger, MD. There's also an address for what I presume is his business office and practice. <medic>THAT'S doctor assisted homicide!</medic>

Well. Curiosity unexpectedly satisfied.

o~O

Uh, I didn't think this was LJ worthy at first, but apparently it is. I'm in Boston until Wednesday morning. It's Phase 2: get an apartment. I'm seemingly inept at apartment hunting, but I still have hope.

More importantly, I'm surprised to find that I now like V8. Huh!

The air conditioner in the corner of the counsellor's office made airy conditioning noises as the thin young man with the red hiking bag stepped in. He squinted at the ugly ocean-themed clock on the wall and sort of died into a lazy sitting position on the comfortable but oddly bubble-patterned chair in front of the desk. The counsellor himself pointlessly adjusted his chair and leered at the spread of paperwork on the desk before him.

"You're the first in your class to fill out a college application." He moved one of the papers over with a stretched finger, as if it were on a touch-screen.

"Yeah, I need your sign-off on it before the school will send it off for me. Or hers." The student flicked his head to indicate the other counsellor's office. She handled last names L through Z. Supposedly only students with last names A through K complain about the school counsellor.

"I wish you'd have talked to me about this." The middle-aged man in the sweater vest said into the paperwork.

"Did I do something wrong?" The kid said flatly, knowing the question was rhetorical.

"No but this declared major," he tapped the field with the back of his hand. "Are you sure about that?"

The student slowly corrected the posture in his chair, the invisible, serpentine anger coiling up his spine. He knew this was coming. "Is there some problem with it? Are you counselling against it?"

"No, you have exceptional interest in the sciences." It was true. He had more AP science credits than any other student in the state system, and he consistently did fantastic in those classes, too. "It's just that..."

The thin young man blinked and said nothing. The counsellor finally looked up from his desk and they sat staring at each other. "But science isn't--"

"--Like science fiction, yes." The room took on an energy that had been bottled up before, their rapid conversation like fireworks.

"I knew you were going to say that. I can't believe it." They teenager doubled over like a tree in his seat, his long, wiry black hair almost touching the ground.

The counsellor fanned his hands over his desk and leaned back. "It's that you have to consider your background!"

"My background, great." The young man said to his shins. "My dad's a writer!"

"He's been the primary writer for three different television series and several movies! All science fiction! So he's a science fiction writer." He nodded, smug.

The young man knew what was coming next. He lived in this list. "Aaaaaand."

"Your mother, the actress, I don't need to point out to what her career is mostly made of. Your little brother paints enough ruined futuristic cities and creatures that he could be doing book covers right now!"

"I'm aware!" the young man leaned back into his chair, his eyes closed.

"Also, your sister won two writing competitions for our school." He held up a piece sign in the air. "Two." he said. Apparently it was actually a sign meaning "two".

"So."

The counsellor's eyes inexplicably widened in shock.

"So? Okay, my family is a science fiction family." He declared loudly. "That doesn't mean that I don't know the difference between science and science fiction!"

"Certainly you at least like science fiction." the graying man said pleadingly.

They young man started to say something, thought for a moment, and resolve fell over his face. "I love science fiction." he expounded. The old man leaned back into his chair and held up his hand in defence as the young man rose from his seat. "Of course I love it! It flows through my blood like haemoglobin! I love podcasts, books, television, classic and new, hard and soft -- all of it!"

"But then why, man, why?"

"Because I want to do science more!" The air rang with silence for a moment and he say back down.

The counsellor composed himself and arranged the papers in front of him. He took a breath and looked down at his desk again. "I'll send it right along. There's also a state scholarship I can put you in for, too. I'll send you the packet in a week or so."

"Thank you sir." The young picked up his bag and stood from the chair and left the counsellor and the whole messy scene behind him.

[Crowded office building. Water cooler. 10:45 AM.]

T "Hey, Al, whatdyaknow?"
A "Good Tom doing good."
T "Did you hear what happened with Grant's kid?"
A "The teenager, yeah, ha, good thing she didn't let him have that old sporty thing, right?"
T "You know, I was an accident-free driver when I was that age."
A "Yeah because I--"
T+A "--didn't own a car!"
A "Ha haa ha!"
T "Hoo boy!"
[They both sip chilled water, and are joined by a woman]
T "Oh hey Casey what's happenin'?"
C "Hey you bums! Get back to work! Ha ha!"
A "Like that'll happen am I right?"
C "Yeah hey did you hear what happened with Grant's--"
T "Yeah we know like..."
[Grant walks by]
G "Hay people"
T "Hey man tough thing with the car ahh is he on your insurance?"
G "It wasn't so bad and this is a no-fault state so it's okay."
A "You know I never learned to drive."
T "Why is that, Al?"
A "I don't know I just never felt right behind the wheel?"
C "Say uh Al I think I know why look at your hands."
G "Yeah they're all big and hoove-like."
A "Come to think of it they are hooves huh that's weird."
T "Holy shit they are hooves oh my god why did I never notice that?"
C "Also now that you mention it that reminds me of how kinda big and kinda bovinish you are."
T "What the fuck Al you're a cow oh my god!"
A "Mooooo what the fuck moooooooooo!"
G "Ahhhhhhhhhhh wth man ahhhhh"
T "Aaaaaa omg aaagh"
A "Mooo no my dad totally lied to me about my mom mooooo"
C "Hey Al ha I just realized you're like our 'coworker' heh"
T "Aaaapffff."
G "Ugggggh"
A "C'mon Casey this is stressful for me"
A "And I need to get back to work"
A "Also tell people that gene sequences shouldn't be patentable"
A "The idea is ridiculous"

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

OKAY. After we started unwinding from the car trip of doom known to myself as Phase One, I didn't have computer access for a little while and was too wiped out to forcibly obtain it. That's been mildly rectified. It looks like what I'm going to do is take the commuter rail up to Boston from right here in Columbia to initiate (sigh) Phase Two. Uh, maybe I should be talking with Cube about the details. I'm kind of nervous about that, because it feels like I'm imposing all over this place with all of this... I really need my own place ASAP. I don't think I can do this up-in-the-air stuff for too much longer. I'm just not the vegabond I wish I was.

5200 miles. Fairbanks, Alaska to Columbia, South Carolina. Phase One, complete.

Now for Phase Two: take a trip to Boston to arrange long-term lodging next month -- in other words actually get this apartment thing to work out. I'm thinking I'll use the commuter rail to accomplish that. I'll figure out the details in a day or so I'M TIRED OKAY.

I had no idea it would be so beautiful around here. The heat doesn't bother me too much (yet). Poor Chris is miserable, though. Maybe it's because the last apartment I lived in got super-hot in the summer months, or because I've lived in the South for years before, or if I have the Pokemon ability Thick Fat or what.

WOAH OFF TOPIC: Is there such a thing as cranberry applesauce? I think it would be good. Combine it with a spicy grilled vegetable wrap and I think you'd have lunch.

Day Ten. Metropolis, Illinois. This road trip is almost over. Just Day Eleven, tomorrow. It will be a long day, but will be a good day, provided nothing awful or especially ironic happens.

I promise I'll talk about something different on Wednesday. I'll have something else to talk about.

Ahh, Central time zone. I'm currently in Sioux City, Iowa. The insect ambiance out there is beautiful. It reminds me of my favourite thing about living in Oklahoma: the warm summer nights, with that same rich symphony I hear in the parking lot of the nearby gas station. In two exhaustingly long days of driving, we'll be in South Carolina. From which I will arrange for another personal trip to Boston to arrange for moving there at the end the month, but let's do this one thing at a time, capiche?

After 2009, I don't think I'll ever move ever again. In-city moves don't count.