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Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Triple Ewww
After navigating a sidewalk slalom course of squashed cidada corpses last night, I got to my building to find a newly hatched cicada on the front doorstep, on its back and struggling to right itself. I'm not a bug fancier but I'm not made of stone so I helped it roll over, using one of the longer keys on my ring. I am given to understand I could have stayed and watch it mature in a little over an hour's time. As it was, I needed to get inside pronto to boil my keyring.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
7:11 PM
Cicadian Rhythms
They're hee-eere. The 17-year cicadas have arrived. The sidewalks in my condo complex are littered with sloughed-off shells and the carcasses of some unfortunate buggies that lived even a shorter time than expected. The few live specimens I've seen walk about drunkenly, trying to get used to their new legs, I presume. Only one that I saw seemed to be moving about confidently and with a sense purpose. It was marching straight towards me! I know cicadas aren't harmful to humans -- apart from grossing out the more insect-phobic among us -- so I didn't panic overly much. I even managed to snap its picture with my mini digital camera before I fled, er, walked calmly toward the building.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
1:22 PM
The sound of sirens
An after-work stop at the post office on Glebe meant that my homebound route took me down Walter Reed at around 6pm. As I approached Four Mile Run Drive I heard sirens. My ears presumed they were coming from the fire station I had just passed back up the hill a bit, but my eyes noted a motorcycle cop approaching on Walter Reed from across Four Mile Run Drive, lights a-flash, siren a-blare. He had company. Four more flashing, blaring cop-bearing motorcycles followed. Around these parts that means motorcade, not an uncommon phenomenon, yet that particular stretch of road doesn't -- to my knowledge -- contain or uniquely connect to any provenance or destination of anyone requiring a motorcade. I looked past the motorcycles, expecting to see a limo that might display a telltale flag. Instead, the passel of motorcycles was followed by about a dozen Greyhound-type busses. Some were in fact Greyhounds, some were from one or two other lines. There happens to be a small Greyhound station on Four Mile Run, but the motorcade didn't appear to be coming from there. And even if it did, why all the hoo-ha? Were these VIPs of the bus-traveller set?
Pairs of motorcycle cops were interspersed along the convoy, all flashing and blaring, plus a few police cars representing jurisdictions in Virginia, Maryland and the District of Columbia. Whoa. Biggest motorcade I've ever witnessed in my 17 years living in the DC area. That's a buttload of dignitaries. Or whoever they were. I wondered wryly for a second if it might be American Idol contestants on tour.
Further speculation was interrupted by the sound of sirens approaching from behind. This time it was firetrucks from up the hill. The last of the motorcade was making its way through the intersection as the firetrucks approached. Alas, not only will I never know who was in those dozen busses and why I had to wait nearly 5 minutes for them to pass by before getting on my way, but I'll also never know which set of sirens would have had the right of way had the firetrucks needed to make a left on Four Mile Run, since they continued straight ahead on Walter Reed, in the direction the motorcade had come from.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:00 PM
Paradise and Lunch Found
So as I walked to the car this morning I noted that I was still displaying last year's parking sticker in the rear window in addition to this year's -- there was some overlap in their validity dates. When I opened the rear door to reach in and peel off the old sticker, guess what was right there on the floor behind the driver's seat, impossible to miss because of the bright yellow background of the cover art? So yay that the presumed-missing CD turned up after all, but WTF? I know I looked under and behind the seats.
In truth, I'm not too surprised. Even though by yesterday -- after well over a week -- I had written off the loss, the day it happened I mentioned the CD-losing to friend Beth at work, adding that I was confident I would find it eventually because I seem to have that kind of low-level good karma.
I will never doubt again.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:32 AM
Paradise and Lunch Lost
As I get older I am learning that little voice is often correct. I try to heed it, but occasionally I forget the part where it is right more often than I am. Like the other day when I grabbed a CD from my shelf to take to work. A new (to me) computer means I have to re-load my music of choice to listen to as I prepare for classes. The little voice and I usually agree that it is best to make a copy of a CD before taking it to listen to in the car or at the office, only this particular day I was on my way out the door and didn't happen to have a copy of the one I grabbed, a favorite by Ry Cooder. What's gonna happen, I thought as I put it in a deep jacket pocket, as I had done many times previously with other CDs (ok, copies.)
You know where this is going: the jacket and I made it to the office, the CD not so much. I noticed as soon as I got out of the car that it was missing. It was nowhere to be found in the car, so I hoped it had fallen out while I was still inside my place. Otherwise, it was somewhere on the sidewalk between my building and the parking lot, sure to be picked up by a groundskeeper or neighbor. It wasn't at home, so I can only hope that whoever picked it up didn't throw it out, but listened to it and is enjoying it as much as I will when I replace it.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
8:30 PM
A racy story
Saturday night found me somewhere I never would have thought I'd be, even had I known it existed. Friends J.J. and Judy helped me get in touch with my inner redneck by treating me to a night out at -- are you sitting down? -- Old Dominion Speedway in Manassas, VA. Yes, I spent an evening watching men drive cars very fast around 3/8 mile of paved oval track. It was, according to a speedway banner "Short Trackin at it's Best." (sic)
I must explain that J.J. and Judy are not rednecks either. They are both quite urbane, civilized and culturally well-rounded. I would venture a guess that among the three of us we possessed the majority of the university degrees represented in the crowd of several hundred. The connection was that J.J., an admitted man, used to drive at that very track. It was helpful to have a knowledgeable guide to tell me which car to keep my eye on and in which lap that car would make its move. It was more helpful that Judy brought plenty of blankets and a huge flask filled with hot tea to warm us all after the sun set over the grandstand.
Not knowing quite what to expect of the event I couldn't be disappointed, and I wasn't. Pleasant company, entertainment from watching and listening to activities on the track and in the stands, benign enough atmosphere albeit somewhat alien. One of the races had a driver named Hull (if I heard correctly). He came in last, which pretty much guarantees that he is in fact related to me. There were of course a few crashes, none fiery.
Best of all was the unintentional humor. Amusing enough was the fact that one smashed-up car was reported to have incurred a "cracked rear end", but the additional information that the driver's name was Moon got even us urbane persons to tittering. But we flat-out hooted until tears came to our eyes during one of the between-race lulls when automotive accessory-type prizes are given out to fans meeting stringent criteria such as wearing a cap or t-shirt honoring this NASCAR driver or that. As it was Mothers Day Eve, the announcer said, with an insouciance that could only come of genuine ignorance as to how what he was about to say could be mis-interpreted, "Is there a mother here with five children? If so, I have a case of X-1R Performance Lubricant for you."
And yes, he found a taker.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
4:39 PM
Sign of the Time Reckoning
It's a good sign that you like your job when for the third week in a row you find yourself thinking it's a day earlier than it really is, instead of the usual "shouldn't it be Friday already?"
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
9:36 PM
D'oh Eyed
The current pollen count is taking its toll on my eyes. It was especially bad the other day so when I came home from work with eyes all itchy and goopy I took out my contacts, instilled some Visine AC, took some allergy medication and sat on the couch in front of the TV waiting for things to clear up a little. Fatigue overcame me so I stretched out for a quick nap on the selfsame couch. So tired was I that I failed to notice that the top pillow on the stack I was resting my weary head upon was in fact a feather pillow, banned from the bedroom because I am allergic to it. (I keep it on the couch to rest my elbows on, ok?) Result: when I awoke from my "quick nap" -- at 1:30 am -- I could barely see, even though the room was lighted by a lamp and a rerun of M*A*S*H. You could have plucked a feather from the offending pillow and knocked me over with it. I certainly wouldn't have seen it coming.
this piece woven by Sandra Hull @
2:23 PM