The Diplodocus

Though responsible for your current eponym, I have to say: unless you get with the cold hearted murderin’, Ms. Mathis, you are definitely behind the curve on being the cruelest Sommer.

I’m planning on going to see this exhibit Saturday afternoon.  Anyone interested in joining me?  Timing: around 1-2 PM.  Ah, paleontology.

(yes, there was a full page ad for this in the Express today.  Advertising works, especially when it features a shark-slash-table saw.)

I’ve been at my current job for almost two months now.  Just enough time to be comfortable, but not so long that I don’t get completely flummoxed by some of my cases.  Its a mix of the ridiculous and the tragic: a three legged dog, trying to ride a unicycle.  And after a while it makes you laugh, because there truly are some times when levity is the only thing that keeps you from condemning the human race from on high. Its all very Andy Kaufman, very Lenny Bruce, very Bill Hicks.  Dark stuff.  Schadenfreude?  Perhaps. 

Here’s a couple thoughts for some of you.  Heeding the words may help you avoid becoming the object of horrible, insensitive laughter that only serves as an armadillo-like shell protecting us from pain.  And they might apply even if you have no desire to ever leave the U.S.  Oh, and for the fun of it, in haiku!

Update your contacts
Disconnected numbers do
Not help me at all

That estranged daughter
May be your only lifeline
Think about it, dude

Few things in this world
Are as beautiful as that
Unexpected will

I’m very sorry
Just because its legal here
Does not excuse you

They are not cell phones
There are no roaming charges
Condoms are your friend

Every college kid
Before traveling abroad
Watch Midnight Express 

Finally, for friends who may be doing or have to do ACS work, a tanka: 

Even the oddest
Sob story, ultimately
Involves a loved one
When breaking bad news, listen
The pain comes out in silence

Sure, we’ve all noticed that the summer weather is behaving beyond expectations. In fact, after walking about downtown today, I find it kind of difficult to come up with good metaphors. It’s certainly not cold. But I can’t believe the attention this heatwave is getting. Especially considering that other parts of the world get it a little bit worse than we do — and more often. Then again, asking for some perspective on this weather business is asking a bit too much of our average consumer of the news. With the other, scarier news hitting headlines lately (no links necessary, you know what I’m talking about), the weather provides an easy topic for uncontroversial conversation. “Sure is hot, huh?” “Oh yeah, it’s real hot, better drink some water I tell you what.” And so on and so forth. Also, the relentless powers of the sun create a welcome excuse for one to consume one’s body weight in FlavorIce, cold cold beer, and Arnold Palmers. But really, I think we’re all getting a little too worked up over a little discomfort. I certainly remember worse summers (hi, two bedroom house on Guilford Road five of us rented in 1999, how are you? Ever solve that roach and mold problem? And whatever happened to that sofa on the lawn?)

There’s definitely a larger and more controversial interpretation that one can take from this so-called scorcher hitting, well, all of North America. But despite all efforts, it seems that Powerpoint presentations still aren’t sexy enough for tie-ins to front page news or conversation with random strangers, despite getting all dressed up and sent to Cannes.

Also, I’m a little worried that I may be suffering from heat-related insanity. I went for a run in the middle of the afternoon yesterday, clearly the most intelligent time to go running. The overriding feeling? Nostalgia.

Has Rosslyn ever been nice, something other than a conglomeration of bland silver highrises, bad-to-mediocre restaurants, and commuters?  There’s really nothing redeeming about it other than Ray’s the Steaks and our regular A100 happy hour.  It’s just an awful edge-city like mass that rises suddenly ahead of you as you walk down Wilson and disappears just as quickly.  

Like most masses of corporate hell, Rosslyn does have its share of mysteries.  Take, for example, the Spectrum: has anyone ever actually been there?  It’s got one of those great-in-an-awful-way 80’s logos, but unless the preceding picture was taken quite recently it seems “Defending the Caveman” has been playing there since the title was literal.  And how does that one Afghan restaurant stay open, not to mention the horrendously overpriced Tivoli and the random New Orleans restaurant I have literally never heard anything about?  The location alone means that their rents should, by all rights, be astronomical.  And who planned the random public art works? The Iwo Jima, the Netherlands Carillon, the arrow sculpture, and so on don’t beautify the landscape as much as they emphasize the sterility of the area, its lack of soul.  

People have long argued that DC in general is a blank slate of a city, soulless and bland.  I’ll be the first to disagree: there are plenty of spaces in the city with personality to spare (sometimes the local residents will lend you some personality.  Just remember that in some local slang ”personality” means “holes in your chest”).  But on minutes of crossing the Potomac into NoVa, you hit Rosslyn: the closest thing DC has architecturally to the modern skyscraper masses of most major cities, but still the emptiest part of the area.   Interesting, how the city loses its soul once you leave.

(and yes, much of the same can be said in a similar way for Bethesda… but Rosslyn is just so, so much worse.)

A good friend recently gave me rather sage words to reflect on my current situation, basically pushing the fact that were I off in Pakistan right now I would not have the freedom to watch football and drink beer all day on Sunday, or to bounce around with complete freedom of movement.  To wit, my Saturday night in photo collage form.  Form the relevant details yourself using your imaginations.  You know, like the Muppet Babies.

(WordPress is far superior from Blogger — the ease of photo insertion alone makes that clear…)

So now I’m homeless. It’s pretty grand when I forget about the whole “All of my substantial possessions are off on a plane without me” thing. I’ve got means, a car, two full suitcases, and the open invitation to impose on my close friends for as long as necessary — hopefully only a few weeks at the most.

The oddest part of this situation, from a psychological perspective, is the fact that I don’t have a private haven right now. Sure, the normal public havens are around, but there’s no private, personal space for me to retreat to. This isn’t so bad right now, but I imagine it will be bad if this gets drawn out any longer.

Anyway…

I was driving down 295 to work Thursday when I spotted something I’ve never seen on the road before: a SmartCar.

I had no idea that these cool little vehicles were allowed on US highways and byways. At first I thought it was maybe a diplomats car, but the plates were Virginia. Legal or not, I can’t fathom SmartCars being safe at any speeds above, say 25 mph. Seeing them on the perpetually jammed roads of Paris is one thing; on 295 towards Richmond, totally another. At least I didn’t get passed. That would have been rather emasculating.

Also observed, the fact that the Continental in Rosslyn pours truly disgusting pints of Guinness:

Consider yourself warned.

Finally, my top six choices for the next tour, in no particular order: EconOff Bratislava, AGSO Chisnau, GSO Moscow, PolOff Tashkent, EconOff Zagreb. I submit my bids, most likely, next week.

To State Dept. colleagues embarking on consultations, friends who work anywhere near the White House, and anyone else who likes the taste of deliciousness: get thee over to Breadline.  I stopped by Christmas Eve Eve after a brief trip to the Department and had the Triancria Sausage sandwich: it was phenomenal.  I’m a sandwich lover, and I can say with conviction I do not think I’ve had a better sandwich.  I have no idea how Au Bon Pain stays in business on the same block as this gem.

Local foodies report that Breadline supplies the bread for many top restaurants in the city. That doesn’t surprise me, as the bread was absolutely stunning.  Its bread that would make any Atkins dieter cry, bread that would make Wonder Bread CEOs commit hari kari for their insult to the staff of life.

Make it your New Year’s resolution to visit Breadline.  If you have friends/family touristing, consider it a mandatory stop.   Yes, Cosi may be cheaper, but the few extra dollars spent for a truly amazing sandwich are worth it.