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.

Extreme makeover

22 May 2009

As you may imagine, for a girl who doesn't even shave her legs, getting my hair cut was a dramatic experience. Just ask David, my co-intern, who had to sit through a week of my shall-I-shan't-I before I got up the courage to do the deed. But it was really time I did something with that mop of split ends wigging out on top of my head.* On Wednesday, I arranged to take a long lunch, and the last words I said to David as I headed out to The Hair Shoppe were, "If I come back with long hair, DON'T SAY ANYTHING."

I haven't actually had my hair professionally cut since I was 12, and I had forgotten what a horrifying place the salon is. In case you too have forgotten, let me remind you: They plunk you down in that giant chair and tie your arms down under an enormous black cape. The Hairdresser comes in with an apron full of instruments of torture: combs with blades between the teeth, buzzers, razors, and all manner of sharp, pointy scissors. She grabbed my pony tail and I hear that shzzzzcK! of scissors on hair. Wagging the lopped off thing in front of my face she joked, "Too bad! Someone could have used that!"

I just closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, Too late to do anything now.

I think the best part of a dramatic haircut is the shocking response it draws from everyone who has to double-take as you walk in the room.

Monica and Rachel were the first to notice, and they exclaimed over my pluck and daring. My boss met me as I walked back to my computer and nearly began to introduce herself to "the new intern."

Of course, there's the chance no one will notice because they won't even recognize you. Four people recognized me at class the next day, my professor was not among them, and he gave me the strangest look as I sat down confidently at the front of his class.

Cait says I look like a model; that's what friends are for!

I believe I'm still recovering from the shock of really cutting it all off, but I think I like it.

And now, the new me:

*Puns are always intended.

Bookstore

21 May 2009

My new favorite section in the book store is the reference/trivia shelves. I discovered the Borders on 18th and L one morning as I walked to my office building, and it has become my favorite place to spend my free time in the city before work at 9:30.

I was actually looking for a book on the history of the OED, but this Borders is small or maybe the book is unpopular, anyway, it was out of stock, so I just perused the shelves- Change the World for Ten Bucks, Luck: The Essential Guide, and The Mental Floss History of the World: An Irreverent Romp Through Civilization’s Best Bits.

In the end, I actually wandered down stairs to the border of SciFi and Horror- right where Ray Bradbury belongs. I have always wanted to read Fahrenheit 451. And they're kind enough to provide coushy chairs.