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Art of the skulk
Jul. 2nd, 2007 09:46 amFor some reason, a recent post in J's photo blog and something about the day yesterday have given me the urge to skulk again. Skulking is the best term I've found to describe what I'm after: a somewhat secretive setting-out to a place where I can sit among strangers and write. The only problem is, Arizona is flat and wide-open, so it's a terrible place to try and skulk. It's too hot to walk far anyway. I first learned the art of the skulk when living in Boston, when I had no other way to be by myself. I would set off from campus and walk the 15 minutes to Davis Square to sit in the Someday Cafe (now closed; alas).
Most of the other coffeeshop-goers that I knew from Tufts didn't really like the Someday Cafe, probably because it was grungy and the baristas were unfriendly (I miss the ever-changing graffiti in the bathroom). But that was actually beneficial for my purposes because it decreased the chances of running into someone I knew and having to be social. I also liked the music they played--it wasn't necessarily stuff I'd play at home, but there was always variety and it was nice and loud and sufficiently angry. I have many fond memories of spending evenings there reading textbooks or other books or writing in my journal. And just now I'm remembering a wonderful conversation there with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bluepapercup on one of my return visits.
I haven't been able to skulk much in Arizona. I tried for a while, when I didn't really feel comfortable at home, and needed my own time and space to think. But I haven't found any suitable destinations within walking distance, so the outcomes have been less than satisfactory. Perhaps a certain degree of rain and darkness make skulking more enjoyable as well, and we don't have much of those, either. I blame a big part of this feeling on the fact that I have had two summers this year, and no winters. It is a cruel agony to be denied the enveloping darkness and quiet melancholy.
Most of the other coffeeshop-goers that I knew from Tufts didn't really like the Someday Cafe, probably because it was grungy and the baristas were unfriendly (I miss the ever-changing graffiti in the bathroom). But that was actually beneficial for my purposes because it decreased the chances of running into someone I knew and having to be social. I also liked the music they played--it wasn't necessarily stuff I'd play at home, but there was always variety and it was nice and loud and sufficiently angry. I have many fond memories of spending evenings there reading textbooks or other books or writing in my journal. And just now I'm remembering a wonderful conversation there with
bluepapercup on one of my return visits.I haven't been able to skulk much in Arizona. I tried for a while, when I didn't really feel comfortable at home, and needed my own time and space to think. But I haven't found any suitable destinations within walking distance, so the outcomes have been less than satisfactory. Perhaps a certain degree of rain and darkness make skulking more enjoyable as well, and we don't have much of those, either. I blame a big part of this feeling on the fact that I have had two summers this year, and no winters. It is a cruel agony to be denied the enveloping darkness and quiet melancholy.
