Dictation practice

23 June 2009

Chief Operations Officer pokes head in room-next-door/Temp's office
Temp: What a lovely blue shirt!
COO: It’s green
Temp: No, that’s blue.
COO: No. It’s mint. This shirt is NOT blue.
Temp: I’m pretty sure if we put it to a vote, you would lose.
COO: No! There is yellow in this shirt, for sure, otherwise it wouldn’t be this color.
Temp: Well, in the world of the 8-color crayon box, that is blue.
COO: No, it’s green.
Temp: No, you’re wrong.
COO: Fine, we can vote about it, but it's green
Temp: Well, if we voted at staff meeting it would have to be a secret ballot, but I think everyone would agree that it’s blue.
COO walks out. The temp gives a little chuckle.

For the record-- it could be called nothing but robin-egg blue-- perhaps pushing a pastel teal, but I cast my ballot for blue.

True Story.

Sorry Boss.

The neighborhood crab fest

14 June 2009

To this 1,000 word essay, may I suggest a theme?

Eating meat is barbaric. In the context of last night's dinner, discuss.

Delusions of grandeur

10 June 2009

My favorite character flaw is the unyielding faith I have in my ability to do the impossible. For example, there is never doubt n my mind, as I see a frisbee fly overhead, that I can, in fact, jump half my height. I am still always surprised when the frisbee sails far above me into the trees.

So when Josh suggested that I bike to Mount Vernon, I did not hesitate to start planning. How hard could a little serious biking be? It's only 25 miles each way.

Friday I had work off, so I borrowed Ian's mountain bike, pumped up the tires, and headed out, pedaling in a southeasterly direction-- maps are for amateurs. I have complete faith in my ability to navigate by intuition (and well groomed bike trials).

I biked enthusiastically down the W&OD (we locals call it "the wad"), which follows the Four Mile Run River down to the Potomac. Virginia is beautiful and the paved trail was shaded by great overhanging oaks, maples, sycamores and something that looked like beach. I have to write a paper about the whole experience (that's what happens when you take summer college classes) so I pedaled and made up poetic descriptions of the chunky, rugged bike trail and the Pollock-spattering of sunshine that sifted through the trees.

It wasn't until I had stopped for lunch and started home that my legs began to really complain. About mile 30, I started to slow down. I had no idea your legs could cramp from the hips down. Fortunately, there was little time to worry about tired legs- that is when the rain came.

The rain was of that sudden southern-deluge sort that is unexpected and torrential. I wondered for a moment if it were in the bikes best interested to stop and wait it out under a bridge, but I was dripping already and I couldn't see how waiting in the wet was better than wading in the wet, so I just biked and laughed, and looked up towards the sky and opened my mouth wide.

Post Script:
I made it home fine, dirty and muddy and soaking wet, but I couldn't think of a way to better enjoy a free Friday. Next time I'm biking to the Maryland beach. It shouldn't be too much harder-- it's only about 50 miles more.

Bookstore iv: in which i begin again

Reiters Scientific, Professional and Technical Books, on the corner of 20th and K, is quiet and clean and plays string quartet music placidly in the background. Signs on the tables and by the numerous arm chairs encourage patrons to "Please leave the books on the table, we're happy to reshelve them for you."

In one corner, a young guy played with the brain puzzles on display next to the rack of math T-shirts (a cute atomic couple labeled "Carbon dating-- double bonded for half life," and a large and complex math equation labeled "Weapon of math instruction").

I wandered through the biology and physics shelves, through biomedical engineering and classics in mathematics. At one small tea table an elderly and very distinguished gentleman was bent over a tome of a book: Textbook of Cardiovascular Medicine, 3rd Revised ed..

I noticed a book on the display table: light brown, a nice weight and comfortably proportioned, with a large, glossy but colorless pirate's hook printed across the front, The Invisible Hook. For Christian's sake I picked it up.

I have now decided the economic section is my new favorite wing of the bookstore. Do you know the difference between a buccaneer, a privateer and a corporate businessman?

I tell you when I finish the book.

Bookstore iii: review

06 June 2009

I cannot say I found Fahrenheit 451entirely disappointing, but it left something wanting. Bradbury is known for his short stories, which is a credit to him. It takes a true craftsman to gracefully condense the whole plot diagram into under 200 pages. But I felt that this form did not serve Bradbury well in this case.

True, he presented a stirring and shocking train of what-if events and his character Montag was an effective every man and he was shockingly spot on with some predictions, like the ubiquitous sea shell ear pieces that isolate each person in their own world of music. But I was disappointed that Bradbury barely touched on such themes as the implications of a nearing-illiterate society, or of a society that is devoted entirely to preparations for war.

In 100 pages he barely touches the surface of Montag's character and I felt little connection to the other main actors in the story.

On the other hand, the depth of social commentary I so wished for was obviously not the authors intent. And, in true Bradbury fashion, this book did leave me thoughtful and a little afraid about what we are doing today to our future.

Eau de la ville

03 June 2009

The city smells like three brands of cigarettes: two cheap and three foul. The metro stops at Farragut West has a hot rubber and machinery smell that seeps up the escalators and mixes with the street vendor's smells of mustard and frying oil.

Early in the day 17th street, the 1100's block, is breakfast sausage and diesel fuel that powers the fleets of delivery vans. I walk by as a guard holds open a double glass door: cold air and cologne-- the sweet smell of corporate lobby. My office is strong coffee and overly-conditioned air, a stiff combination that has come to mean answering phones and computer screens and over-worked human.

The people in the streets are a patchwork of perfume, deodorant and humid sweat. Some wear their cigarette smoke like a great billowing cape. Others swagger by and I pause to breath and remember who else wears that aftershave.

And 'midst it all, folded in, the city is saturated with that beautiful sweet smell of Southern Summer. The humid wet that clings to the trees and grass of Farragut Park and clings to me as I walk by, reminding me of summers at the beach.

On the corner of 18th and F, I pause, here the air is not quite my sister's favorite perfume and not quite my childhood's honeysuckle bushes but somehow such a fervent sweet and delicate smell, rich and sophisticated; I pretend to scrutinize the newspaper stands as if the sight of so many headlines has made me short of breath-- I breathe deeply and fill my lungs with my favorite D.C. air. Perhaps it's the row of ornamental magnolias or some rich and famous eau de parfum connoisseur who leaves her windows thrown open just there. But now I have read all the headlines twice through, so I continue my walk down 18th street, breathing in the lovely sunshine.

Bookstore ii: classic

02 June 2009

They blast the most awful music at this bookstore. Today the basement music wasn't too bad, just too loud, and really I can only take a chance on ABBA for so long. So I wandered about in search of a more quiet department.

I found the perfect spot- on a bench between rows of pink and purple paperbacks- and enjoyed my book-burning-SciFi-horror-classic to Vivaldi's "Winter." That piece, I believe, is the perfect soundtrack for the "heaving bosoms and ripped bodices" of the schlocky romance section.