That's me in the spotlight
At last, it is adequately cold here. I'm the type of person who insists on wearing seasonal clothing even when the seasons aren't being themselves, and so there were a couple days last month when I was the lone Christmas shopper wearing a wool jacket among the masses wearing short sleeves and shorts. But these last few days have been really satisfying. Tonight I went out to walk the dog wearing:
a black camisole, a gauzy black sweater, my black wool jacket (the same one I wore Christmas shopping. I've had it since freshman year of college, back from the days when Old Navy made clothes that lasted more than two months), my gray wool coat (again from the Old Navy glory days), tan wool pants with a polyester lining, boots and socks, fleece gloves, and a scarf
and I was quite comfortable.
There's an office park that borders our apartment complex, and Gus and I like to go walking there at night. Composed of squat concrete buildings from the 80s, most of its office space sat empty for a long time. But then some of the city offices moved into the largest building, and suddenly the whole place was being renovated. We'd walk by and there'd be fluorescent lights on in some of the rooms, showing us wilting mountains of carpet and new window blinds and the remains of the contractors' sodas and lunches. Soon the renovated rooms became a kidney specialist's office and a mortgage company and an interior design company and some sort of laboratory. Security trucks buzz around, their lights flashing. It's a totally different place than it was a year ago. It's heartening that they could fill an old place like that instead of losing all the tenants to new office parks. Tonight, Gus and I went tearing across the street and into the complex, sprinting down rows of parking spaces and coming to a careful halt in front of the city office building. I guess I could be counted as a trespasser, but the security trucks pass me and don't seem to mind that I walk my dog there. At least I always bring a clean-up bag.
As usual, we stopped in front of the interior design company so I could look in the windows. When I was a child I was always excited to catch a glimpse of the inner workings of any sort of daily mundanity of the adult world -- those field trips to the supermarket when we watched the meat manager grind a piece of beef into the little pink worms of packaged hamburger. Hearing the camp counselors discussing the merits of sleeping naked versus sleeping in pajamas. That wonderful Sesame Street short about how your orange crayons are made. At night, the interior design company is so bravely colorful with so many of its office lights on, showing its lime green cubicle partitions and red swivel chairs to the world. Around the back, the showroom always has interesting new carpet samples and chandeliers gathered around the staircase that curls upward until it hits a burgundy wall and comes back down.
Around the corner, a lot of the lab's workers were still there, holding meetings and talking on the phone and drinking Starbucks and looking altogether not pissed off about having to work so late. Gus and I sprinted by so as not to be seen, though I always have the thin hope that someone there is a slice-of-life blawggger who'll devote a few words to us in his Typepad entry for the evening. Girl and dog ran past my office window again at 8 PM tonight. You'd think it'd be more comfortable for her to change out of her work clothes before she goes tearing through an office complex with her crazy mutt.
When I was in Japan, I liked to imagine becoming a subject of some of the local families' dinnertime conversations -- Crazy American Running Girl was how I imagined the translation would come out -- but around here I hope I'm Internet fodder.
--
I had another half of an entry written below this, but I think I'll make that tomorrow's entry. I'll tell you about new year's resolutions, a writing conference I'm going to, and maybe a few more upcoming somethings that have been on my mind a lot lately.
a black camisole, a gauzy black sweater, my black wool jacket (the same one I wore Christmas shopping. I've had it since freshman year of college, back from the days when Old Navy made clothes that lasted more than two months), my gray wool coat (again from the Old Navy glory days), tan wool pants with a polyester lining, boots and socks, fleece gloves, and a scarf
and I was quite comfortable.
There's an office park that borders our apartment complex, and Gus and I like to go walking there at night. Composed of squat concrete buildings from the 80s, most of its office space sat empty for a long time. But then some of the city offices moved into the largest building, and suddenly the whole place was being renovated. We'd walk by and there'd be fluorescent lights on in some of the rooms, showing us wilting mountains of carpet and new window blinds and the remains of the contractors' sodas and lunches. Soon the renovated rooms became a kidney specialist's office and a mortgage company and an interior design company and some sort of laboratory. Security trucks buzz around, their lights flashing. It's a totally different place than it was a year ago. It's heartening that they could fill an old place like that instead of losing all the tenants to new office parks. Tonight, Gus and I went tearing across the street and into the complex, sprinting down rows of parking spaces and coming to a careful halt in front of the city office building. I guess I could be counted as a trespasser, but the security trucks pass me and don't seem to mind that I walk my dog there. At least I always bring a clean-up bag.
As usual, we stopped in front of the interior design company so I could look in the windows. When I was a child I was always excited to catch a glimpse of the inner workings of any sort of daily mundanity of the adult world -- those field trips to the supermarket when we watched the meat manager grind a piece of beef into the little pink worms of packaged hamburger. Hearing the camp counselors discussing the merits of sleeping naked versus sleeping in pajamas. That wonderful Sesame Street short about how your orange crayons are made. At night, the interior design company is so bravely colorful with so many of its office lights on, showing its lime green cubicle partitions and red swivel chairs to the world. Around the back, the showroom always has interesting new carpet samples and chandeliers gathered around the staircase that curls upward until it hits a burgundy wall and comes back down.
Around the corner, a lot of the lab's workers were still there, holding meetings and talking on the phone and drinking Starbucks and looking altogether not pissed off about having to work so late. Gus and I sprinted by so as not to be seen, though I always have the thin hope that someone there is a slice-of-life blawggger who'll devote a few words to us in his Typepad entry for the evening. Girl and dog ran past my office window again at 8 PM tonight. You'd think it'd be more comfortable for her to change out of her work clothes before she goes tearing through an office complex with her crazy mutt.
When I was in Japan, I liked to imagine becoming a subject of some of the local families' dinnertime conversations -- Crazy American Running Girl was how I imagined the translation would come out -- but around here I hope I'm Internet fodder.
--
I had another half of an entry written below this, but I think I'll make that tomorrow's entry. I'll tell you about new year's resolutions, a writing conference I'm going to, and maybe a few more upcoming somethings that have been on my mind a lot lately.