Schnitzels

Pearls Before Breakfast, by Gene Weingarten, Washington Post

HE EMERGED FROM THE METRO AT THE L'ENFANT PLAZA STATION AND POSITIONED HIMSELF AGAINST A WALL BESIDE A TRASH BASKET. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.

It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant.

Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?

On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?

I like to think I would have stopped and listened. It's hard to be certain, though. I remember the feeling of walking out of the Metro- rush hour is so crowded, I always walked out of the train somewhat dazed. The stations are so dark and the fluorescent train lighting so dim and green, the sunlight can easily stun one's senses. And because the train and the city itself are so crowded and busy, people retreat into their own minds and create privacy with their own thoughts. It doesn't lend toward an appreciation of external stimuli.

And if I had noticed, would I have been able to get past the setting and the context? People get asked for money so often, they learn to, once again, create barriers. Block it out. They develop an attitude of non-approachability. People get asked for money so often, sometimes it is hard to admit to oneself that the people asking are people. If you start to feel for every one of them, you'll soon be giving beyond your means. So you do everything in your power not to notice.

Ken and I talked about how the reaction to Joshua Bell playing at L'Enfant Plaza, and this article itself, made us feel. Disappointed in our society, its prejudices, its priorities? Maybe somewhat. Relieved not to be in the D.C. environment anymore? Maybe somewhat. Sad not to have the opportunity to hear Joshua Bell play at L'Enfant Plaza? Yeah, maybe somewhat. Overall, it left me with a feeling of dissatisfaction. It makes me feel like something has to change. It's worth reading.

From now on, when I'm asked why I left Washington, D.C. to move to Fairbanks, Alaska, I will think of this article. It confirms my choice, but it also forces me to question my choice. Also, I am reminded what good journalism is. Maybe it's time to consider a subscription to the Washington Post.

Go read Slate's article, "Pardon the interjection," by Ben Yagoda. Yagoda did a great job researching and spinning this story on grammar and parts of speech... an easily dry subject.

Interjections are probably the most expressive part of speech. They are definitely the most disregarded and always have been... The main reason for the grammarians' neglect is that interjections operate outside of grammar—they are words that unilaterally express a sentence (or more) worth of meaning.... The Internet, where writing and talking sometimes seem to merge, is changing all of this.... It's not that e-mail, blogs, IM-ing, message boards, and texting have spawned a litter of brand-new interjections. (I don't count emoticons because you can't utter them, and I don't count acronyms like LOL and CU because they represent phrases with grammatical standing.) Rather, they have given lots of marginal ones, like awwa, a spelled-out form and thus a major shot in the arm.

I love his ending. Not at all cliché. Seriously.

Ken commented the other night that my blog has really been only pictures lately. I have a few explanations for it, but I'm not sure what the truth is. First, I have horrible writer's block regarding my Christmas 2006 letter. It has been started and not finished, so no holiday cards were mailed out. I still intend to send them. I've been using our move as an excuse (oh yeah, maybe I haven't said anything about that either. We moved, but we're still in Ester. Same phone number, same PO Box). Second, I hate being in front of the computer for any length of time these days. I think that is a product of too much office work, not enough field time. So blogging hasn't been my thing. And finally, I feel like I have to post something; so I've posted pictures, which at least lets family and friends sort of see what we're doing. I've asked Ken for a gallery, so I can post more pictures. And then maybe there'll be some content on the homepage again. We'll see...

Off to town. I have cat litter and knitting books to buy. And a package to mail. Of course, I've already missed the Ester Post Office hours.

Do you think this study might have been mandated, funded, or carried out by a white man with a small penis and some feelings of inadequacy? Matt Drudge made it his headline.

I work in a public building (read: building paid for with public funds). For some reason, those members of the public who are more than slightly off unique believe this means that the building, and everything in it, belongs to all. Once the doors open at 8:00 am, it is not unusual to find someone warming up in one of the public room chairs, washing up in our bathroom sink, or even showering in the employee shower. Usually I don't even bat an eye. But this afternoon, as I was getting ready to leave, I noticed a pineapple on the sill of the front window.

I did a double take. A pineapple on the sill of the front window. Inside.

Some of our employees are more than slightly off eccentric. Thinking perhaps there was a logical explanation for the pineapple in the window, or more likely a sentimental one, I queried one of the employees who works up front, near the window.

"M, did you know there is a pineapple in the window?"

"Oh, yeah. It's Bicycle Man's."

It turns out, one of our frequent visitors likes to use our building as his own personal hanging fruit basket. He buys nearly ripe fruit from the grocery store, rides his bike over to our building, and places the still green fruit in our window to ripen. He'll come back in a few days to pick it up. Theory has it that he has no home, no car... just his bike. Today he left a towel in the building. M very kindly placed it in the window, next to the pineapple. She figured we might as well consolidate his things for ease of pick-up.

I asked if M is ok with Bicycle Man leaving his fruit in the public room.

She said, "No, but..."

Accepted.