Shevek (shevek) wrote,
Shevek
shevek

It feels suspiciously like the high life: working at Mark Hopkins, dinner at COI, Fort Mason, Akiko's, or Shokolaat, with waiters in synchronized troupes filing out of the kitchen and remembering the exact dietary preferences of each of the hundred or so guests. But somehow, the best and most important part of the evening is when the few people are standing up, chatting, swapping seats and eating each other's courses, and most importantly: not talking shop. For at least part of the week, it's more important to discuss the bandwidth of the act of intercourse than that of the latest whizz-bang product. Over a glass of wine with a seven-word name, I tried to guess the British expats' regional accents and fail miserably. At this gathering, people are migrants. Yorkshire born and Berlin bred make a funny mix of sound in a voice; but it's hard to disguise a tint of South African cadence or Australian relaxation. Fort Mason was good for me, I got to relax a little, and the week went uphill from there. The world became smaller and more manageable.

I got a bit smashed up at training on Wednesday. Rare, and entirely superficial skin damage, but it happens. It'll recover nicely, but for now, all my fingers are taped up and my glove (at least) has blood on it. It's more frustrating than anything - that I made a mistake once, fine, but that I did it again and got hit in the same place again, stupid. This week's lessons were determination and ... something undefinable to do with being required to gain multiple single hits from a trailing position. It's mentally easy to take one or two and then relax, but starting from four hits down, that won't ever do. More thinking required.

Today kind of petered out into contemplativeness. I'm back in the borrowed flat which has grown a little familiar around me. Left to my own devices, I tend to hole up, keep everything within reach and just look after myself. The cat keeps me company sometimes, and my glass is on the kitchen table where I left it. Tonight I just have to pack; I'm tempted to throw everything in higgledy-piggledy and sort it out when I land, but the forward-looking part of me says I should wake up early and do the washing so I land with everything clean.

Mostly, this week, I've actually managed real work instead of meetings. If I'm lucky, I'll continue the trend; but my time is somewhat at the mercy of a beneficent management. For the record, my future movements are likely to be:

28th Feb: TechAdventure, then Pandora's Box if I survive it.
6th, 7th Mar: Brighton, London, DJing.
14th, 15th Mar: Possibly Newcastle, Maker Faire.
Second half of Mar: Something in the USA.
31st Mar-14th Apr: Belfast, World Championships. Must remember national anthems.

I have some dates booked after that, but it's all a bit fuzzy.
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