Sticky Summer Night
I sit awake, mentally constipated, physically stifled by a heat that leaves me sticking to my self and melting at the feet of an overheated macbook pro. Only a pillow and case separate my skin from this radiating collection of chips and bits, spitting out songs that remind me of when I was poor and down to the last dollars in my bank account. I am transported back to summers ago, navigating similar weather, again then, as always, without an air conditioner or defense against summer’s maddening fever.
I don’t have air conditioning because I loath the artificial, stale, manufactured environment that it delivers. I sweat and dehydrate in the throws of a 90 degree July day because I don’t want to escape this feeling. This feeling connects me to a much less cerebral side of myself.
A $300 Dyson fan blows hot, stiff air onto my face. It is “bladeless” and free thanks to some PR agency that decided it wise to run a “technology influencer” campaign in which influential, albeit illiquid, founders like me get to cool off without the deathly risks of traditional “bladed” alternatives. In fairness, a General Partner at Redpoint visited HP’s offices on Friday and was immediately drawn to the fan’s sleek design and form. He went so far as to request the manufacturer’s name, and certainly has $400 to blow on a gimmicky appliance, so I guess that PR agency isn’t so dumb after all.
I prepare for a week of hustle, resist an inbox with 86 unread messages because the NY Times told me it was bad to email in the 30 minutes before bed, and pull myself deep into my consciousness, trying to reflect on the blur of weeks past. I look at the present and wonder how deep satisfaction and extreme impatience can be such close friends inside the sticky epithelial walls of my being. My room fucking sucks. I live on 10th st between 1st and A, where every truck and van that needs to head East while avoiding Thompkins Sq park seems to break abruptly and often not 50 feet from my window. I have one poster on my wall and stacks of objects collected over years of non-materialistic indifference piled atop of Crate & Barrel furniture and Pinesol covered floors.
Alert after alert light my phone and send friendly dings of seduction echoing through this tinder box I call my bedroom. My mind clears, words come more smoothly, heat retreats in the face of a strain of thought more interesting than discomfort. Gchat pops, I break briefly, but do not respond. I am present in this moment, and do not wish to be interrupted.
Tomorrow I will fall to these alerts, engage with the fabric I have woven for myself, ingest, process, and react to a never ending stream of data and opportunity, but not tonight. Tonight I will remember what it is like to be hot. I am Jordan, human and weak, defenseless against the will of summer. I will wait for rain to fall, and cool the cooking pavement, for no deal, dollar, or data is going to help me sleep in this heat that I have waited all year to suffer.
Jordan Cooper's Blog: startups, venture capital, etc... 
I don’t have AC either, and my fan was 30 bucks, not 300. Consider yourself lucky 🙂
Tal Safran
July 24, 2011
Think cool thoughts
jordancooper
July 24, 2011
My girlfriend lived on 10th between 1st and A until this summer! It’s one of the worst blocks for all night traffic noise. I hate it there. Even the odd speed bumps don’t help keep the noise down. At least you can get the Brindle Room burger frequently…
Phil Michaelson
July 25, 2011