Life in a Northern Virginia suburb of Washington, D.C. B.M.A.T.C., and Etruscan typewriter erasers. Blogged by David Gorsline. 
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I've barely touched a pizza in a couple of years, ever since I started managing my fat intake, but a jalapeño and anchovy pizza from Pizza Villa sounds mighty fine.
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It's a good thing I've never tried to make a living as a temp, because I can easily spend an entire morning getting set up at a new desk, spritzing Windex over every possible surface. I would never get any work done. In the space I recently took over, I found a trove of gag gifts (plastic ray gun, something you wear like a hat called a butthead, etc.) in the bookshelf unit, a film of salt crumbs in a drawer, a reusuable water bottle, and thrity cents. I put the gag gifts in a pile of stuff that had been left near my desk: a system box with nothing but a disk drive in it, a fax machine, a venerable laser printer. The entire lot was labelled "free to a good home." At the end of the day the electronics were still there, but someone had adopted the butthead.
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Conditions at IAD
 D. Gorsline, Proprietor
   
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