"I heard you were a wild one"

I've literally gone out every night of the week since last Wednesday. So far, being in Boston and starting work is like suffering the freshman year syndrome all over again: being hypersocial before getting kicked in the stomach with urgent work obligations. (Except I wasn't hypersocial during my freshman year--starting off in the engineering program snuffed that flame early and efficiently.) I mean, I don't have to finish writing this case until the end of the month...so I have time. If someone can write a thesis in a week, I can do the same with a case. 


The nature of my work right now at HBS is very independent--writing and researching almost exclusively on my own. There are few orientation events throughout the month of July, occasional meetings with my faculty member, but mostly I've just been coming into the office because I don't have a home to work from at this point. When I do (T-minus 5 days!), it seems like I can operate out of there at least 50% of the time. On one hand, this type of opportunity is perfect for me, since I hate the thought of being chained to a desk and being constantly under surveillance by a supervisor. I can essentially get my work done anywhere in the world, so long as I meet my deadlines and am present for meetings--pretty solid deal. At the same time, I wish there were more rapport among the RA community (read: there needs to be a weekly RA happy hour. None of this "occasional sangria party" nonsense--that said, if I weren't going home for my birthday weekend/packing up stuff for my sublet, I would be trolling the Friday night sangria party like no other).


Then again, I haven't been doing too terribly socially in this city. In the past 9 days of my residence in Boston, I've met up with a variety of people through the Princeton/MIT grapevine network, some alums from Purdue, Tufts, and Harvard, and even a musician from Berklee. Most of them have been cool--but there are the exceptions, to be immortalized in my Tucker Max-inspired "fratire," beginning with "The Blue Underwear Story." (If I haven't told you this story and you care to hear about it, let me know and I'll share the hilarity with you in a context other than a publicly searchable blog that I often advertise on facebook.)


In the meantime, I am the official owner of a HBS bro tank. I don't know if it's college nostalgia or if I've always wanted to be "that person" but something feels strangely right about wearing it, running along the Charles while rocking out to Pitbull, Ludacris, and random electronica and then powering through five drinks on a Monday night.


In case you were worried, I remain a totally ridiculous person.