Where Am I?

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

This morning, I became a grown-up: I attempted to remove glasses from my face that were already in my fist.

For those of you who are lifelong glasses-wearers (it is almost 40 years for me), you know that there are several distinct methods of removing eyeglasses and several messages that can be communicated in the manner of their removal. Off the top of my head, there’s “Two-handed and Thoughtful,” “One-handed and from the Right and Peeved” (I usually accidentally fling my glasses to the floor or across my desk with that one), and “One-handed and from the Left and Trying to Get to the Heart of Things.” There are others. Putting them on in front of people usually communicates this: “Enough Fun, Everyone. Back to Work.”

It can be like semaphore, but with glasses.
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Today in History: April 10

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

Reading alters the appearance of a book. Once it has been read, it never looks the same again, and people leave their individual imprint on a book they have read. Once of the pleasures of reading is seeing this alteration on the pages, and the way, by reading it, you have made the book yours.—Paul Theroux, The Old Patagonian Express

Paul Theroux is 75 today. The author of more than thirty novels (“The Mosquito Coast” is perhaps his most famous, as it was made into a Harrison Ford film in the 1980s), he is best known for his travel writing, and has written more than a dozen books about his world travels. He never flies to a destination but travels by train and/or bus in the company of those who live where he is, and he rarely has a destination. No “from the Atlantic to the Pacific in a week” or “80 days in Spain” type books, these are travel books that are different from Fodor’s guides or guides of any sort: there are no photos of the author in front of famous locations or meeting other famous writers. Often, there are no photos at all.
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Greenman

Posted on by Mark Aldrich

A 1964 article in Nature with the euphonious title, “Nature of argillaceous odour,” gave the world the not-as euphonious-sounding word, “petrichor.” In it, two researchers attempted to scientifically describe what it is we smell when we smell the world after a rain shower and to give it a name.

The two authors coined the word, “petrichor,” which I have been mispronouncing in my head since I first encountered it last year, when an article on the Huffington Post started making its social media rounds. It has a long “I,” so say it like this: “petra,” then “eye-core,” which is not how I hear it in my head, with a short “i.”
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