Nadav Spiegelman

Days of Distraction

Alexandra Chang
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“What are you doing?” J asks this Sunday morning as he hand-grinds coffee beans in the kitchen. He is the type to delve into side interests and hobbies. Currently, he has the coffee and mountain biking and bike building and cooking and mushroom growing. He bought the grinder after a week of research into third-wave coffee rituals. He wants to do it right. He wants to make the perfect cup. Me, on the other hand, I don’t have hobbies. I focus on one thing at a time. I like coffee, however it’s made. What I like more is to make plans.
wonder if Tim will ride this wave of acclaim straight out of here and into a more lucrative, higher-status job. The new EIC grips Tim’s shoulders, seeming to have the same thought and hoping to anchor him there with praise.
He looks like your standard hipster San Francisco white guy—beard, beanie, beer in hand. I try to think of a nicer, more special way to assess him for Jasmine. Artsy and tall is the best I come up with.
I’ve seen Mark Zuckerberg a few times in person, but never close enough to examine the pores in his skin or the pupils of his eyes, so I’m not certain he has either.
Two times he’s been on a stage shilling a groundbreaking new product of Facebook’s, usually clapping and looking wide-eyed and lost, a sad, wild animal.
I didn’t like to think about how our relationship, which I felt was singular, could be lumped into a “type.”