The summer after my sophomore year in college, I lived with two roommates in what seemed like a brand-new apartment in Cleveland Circle, on the outskirts of Boston. There was wall-to-wall carpeting, cable, and a pool and hot tub in the courtyard (we spied on at least one late-night hot tub tryst). I thought I'd never have it so good again. I'm thinking about that apartment these days as I get ready to pack up and leave the faculty housing I've been in here since August. There's no pool or hot tub, but measured by other standards, I have been living in a lap of luxury most obscene: there are two bathrooms and two porches; there are two cars and a bicycle; and for most of the time, there has been just one inhabitant.
Of course, life's hardly been a picnic: I've spent so much time working in my office that I'm rarely home; and even when I am home, being the unsociably sociable person that I am, I've wanted for company. I look forward to going back to life with roommates, as much as that life has its own downside. It's just that, at a moment when I'm not even sure how I'm going to put food on the table come September, the current digs deserve some kind of commemoration. So here's a quick house tour, interrupted by a short, 'summer breeze' DJ set:
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