Lots of Monkeys

I hear the telltale displacement of air, the sudden rush to fill a Lillith sized hole in the universe.  That noise only means one thing.  She’s phased, which means that she’s seen me first.

I’ve got about ten seconds.

I wonder what it’s going to be like when I see her.

Will the hairs all over my body start to tingle as she summons every latent charge around me into an electrical storm?   Will I feel the wind leaving my lungs as she compresses and then suddenly ignites the oxygen?  Will I suddenly find myself choking on the corrosive tang of an acid mist, a seething biting cloud?

Or will she simply set everything on fire?

It stops, it starts.  There is an unconscious, subliminal vehemence to the motion.

I think the metro transportation engineer hates people.

That’s the only explanation I can offer for the abrupt accelerations and decelerations, the jerky movements that disturb the cilia in my inner ear just so.

Another wave of nausea comes and goes, although it’s worse than the last time.  I seriously consider getting off the train and walking the rest of the way.  I work out the locations and travel times in my head, decide that for now it’s easier to stay on board and just tough it out.

I realize that it’s for safety’s sake, that a real human being is there to make sure that everyone gets to their destination.

But I also hope that they get the safety systems fixed so that the smooth rides are restored.

Just about any time I take a long walk in the city, I remember how much personal history I have here.

The long walk down Wisconsin Avenue back to Tenleytown, done more than a few times after a night out at Georgetown.  The sudden realization that sometimes, I’m not lost above ground downtown and know where I am.

Today I walked to Georgetown from Dupont Circle.  It’s not a long walk, just down New Hampshire to M, and Georgetown is a straight shot from there.  It’s an interesting walk, the dense city suddenly giving way to a bridge over Rock Creek park and then into the three story tall shops of Georgetown.  Everything gets more dense, more compact as soon as you get into Georgetown.

You start downtown, where a block contains one or two buildings with wide sidewalks, to walking a block with a dozen storefronts and sidewalks just barely wide enough for all the foot traffic.

As I walked, I remembered the late night burgers at Johnny Rockets, the weekend clothes shopping, and giggling at the Pleasure Place window but never going in.

When I reached Georgetown proper, I even recalled an interesting story about the intersection of M and Pennsylvania.  I’ll have to relay that story sometime.

Baking is chemistry, I know this.  This appeals to that geeky part of me that likes to think about all of the ingredients coming together and performing an experiment.

When the experiment is successful, I’ve got something to share and give to friends.  When it’s not, well, I hope I don’t have that many baking failures.  I’m hoping that this will give me some extra impetus to get the kitchen remodeled in 2010.  Right now it’s a horrible work area, even when the counters are clear.

Tonight’s experiment was cranberry pecan blondies. Which ended up much better than I thought they would, although there was a pan under greasing error that makes them difficult to remove from said pan in one piece.

Knowledge has been gained, which qualifies this experiment as a success.  A delicious success.