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Spring, and bad food.
Feb. 23rd, 2007 02:35 pmIt's cold again, but sunny. Some trees, probably cherries, are covered in white and pale pink blossoms. The willow trees have a slight pale green shine to them, and some trees which I cannot name bloom dark red among last year's dark red berries, which occasionally leave sticky red splats on my white rental car. The trees in the mall parking lot are crowded by noisy birds again. I hope the weather holds two more days.
Of course, in the office, I neither see, nor hear, nor smell anything of that. The windows are darkened, and two rows away, the computers are humming, people are talking everywhere in at least three different language or yell into their cell phones because reception is bad, and some folks are having lunch in front of their computers and I don't know what it is they are eating, but I know I wouldn't try it. It smells like wet socks and cabbage. Lunch in the cafeteria wasn't much better, it pretended to be fish and chips, but the fish was like the dreaded Schnitzel at the university cafeteria: bread crust surrounding nothing, known as PNP. Only, in this case, it was stale bread. Stale sweetish bread tasting vaguely of fish. Yikes.
Sometimes, when I get out of office in the evening, after dark, the noise from the freeway is deafening. It's everywhere, you barely notice it, until you pay attention and suddenly think your ears are about to fall off. On the way back to the hotel, there is a place where the freeway noise, channeled and twisted by the houses, sounds like wind-blown trombones or pipes. There are no windows that open, neither in the office nor at the hotel, which I guess shouldn't matter much, you wouldn't want to open them anyway because of the noise and the exhaust fumes, but even with the exhaust fumes the air smells of spring and cold and damp and the day's sun and flowers. Before going to bed I put a "later, please" sign out for the room service, who would otherwise wake me at half past eight and the outside air (the door opens to an outside) is like something you want inside, now. Sigh.
Of course, in the office, I neither see, nor hear, nor smell anything of that. The windows are darkened, and two rows away, the computers are humming, people are talking everywhere in at least three different language or yell into their cell phones because reception is bad, and some folks are having lunch in front of their computers and I don't know what it is they are eating, but I know I wouldn't try it. It smells like wet socks and cabbage. Lunch in the cafeteria wasn't much better, it pretended to be fish and chips, but the fish was like the dreaded Schnitzel at the university cafeteria: bread crust surrounding nothing, known as PNP. Only, in this case, it was stale bread. Stale sweetish bread tasting vaguely of fish. Yikes.
Sometimes, when I get out of office in the evening, after dark, the noise from the freeway is deafening. It's everywhere, you barely notice it, until you pay attention and suddenly think your ears are about to fall off. On the way back to the hotel, there is a place where the freeway noise, channeled and twisted by the houses, sounds like wind-blown trombones or pipes. There are no windows that open, neither in the office nor at the hotel, which I guess shouldn't matter much, you wouldn't want to open them anyway because of the noise and the exhaust fumes, but even with the exhaust fumes the air smells of spring and cold and damp and the day's sun and flowers. Before going to bed I put a "later, please" sign out for the room service, who would otherwise wake me at half past eight and the outside air (the door opens to an outside) is like something you want inside, now. Sigh.
