Not a Gold Medal

Good afternoon, Stroock's Books reader(s) everywhere except Canada. 

Due to inclement weather the girl's trip is postponed another day. Which is just fine with this blog. Tomorrow then. 

Weights yesterday. A rough session actually. Hot and tired. This being a new month, maybe it's time to recalibrate. 

One month has passed since our last cigar. We are impressed with ourself. If not today (probably not) then tomorrow. 

Yesterday we outed Gold Medal Service as the company that failed to fix our AC in a timely manner. Alert reader(s) will have noticed we did so carefully, with precise language. Three little words, 'in our opinion' insulate the writer from so much. Not that we're worried about slander or some such. Gold Medal Service's BBB user reviews speaks for themselves. Also watch this short Inside Edition report on AC scams. Just watch. And they wanted five thousand quid from us to replace a motor blower fan. One suspects, one does surely suspect.  

Summer 1995: We rent an efficiency with a full kitchen and bath in George Washington University's Guthrie Hall. The room is air conditioned, thank god. We have a TV (eight channels we think) and a boombox. Overall the room is quite comfy and feels like home for the next seven weeks.

We're a 10 minute walk from the GW Metro stop. Every day we'll take the metro over to Union Station and walk up the hill to the US Senate. The trip costs us just over 20 bucks a week. Not much farther from Guthrie is a supermarket. There's also a little corner grocery at the end of our street. Guthrie Hall was two blocks down and three over from the TGI Fridays on M Street, which after a few school trips and the previous summer is an important watering hole for us. This Fridays was a regular hangout. We got good and plastered there on our 22nd birthday.

Now, a word about Washington DC in 1995. This isn't the modern, high rent District super charged by billions in government largesse. In 1995 DC has hit rock bottom. Race specialist Marrion Barry is the mayor. The taxes are high. The services suck. The streets are unsafe. We are damn near mugged at least once. That summer the Clintons close Pennsylvania Avenue. 

This is our first dabble in urban living. We have begun a routine which we're going to stick with for several years. This is our first time really working in an office and we don't much like it. It's uncomfortable and boring. So we like getting home. Eating dinner. Watching some telly. Reading a book. Maybe playing a tabletop or computer wargame. This routine and lack of ambition is probably detrimental in the long term, but for now we are content. 

DOGE report: we wrote one scene in World War 1990: The Managua Campaign and edited another. 

We have read through the second chapter of World War 1990: Thatcher's War. This is an intro chapter that lays the groundwork for upcoming events and novels. It's all over the place. Washington, Moscow, Belgrade, Bagdad, but it should be fine, right? Right?