The house where I live at some point acquired the nickname of die Kommune, and while it’s not usually too noisy, it’s rarely entirely quiet. But right now, all of my fellow Kommunists are out of the country — David is at a wedding in London, and Abhi and Tamy are in Boston for the SIGGRAPH conference. The place seems rather eerie when I’m here alone. The nerdly grad-student industriousness grinds to a halt, the DVD player and PlayStation rest, and I get to walk around in my underwear and use the living room to sort out my books and DVDs.
All-in-all, I have to say, it’s pretty good. I have a tendency toward, shall we say, “lonerishness” — a tendency which I’ve outflanked by living in a shared house (I’m not one to brag, but I am a right cunning autotactician). It’s kind of refreshing to let my reclusive side take over and spend a weekend alone, reading, jogging and playing guitar.