Sony TCM-359V, 1995-2007

DIED, this morning at 11:17 a.m. of unknown causes, my trusty, longtime companion, the Sony TCM-359V, or "my tape recorder," as it was affectionately known. It was used to record and transcribe hundreds of interviews in the years since it first went into service, as a gift from my parents upon entering the field of journalism.

On the recorder's back is an all-access pass from a dEUS/Mano Negra concert in Nice. Despite the TCM-359V's owner's policy against keeping work souvenirs of any kind, this sticker, with the words "Tous Acces," seemed like something worth keeping at the time.

It will be replaced not by a digital recorder but with another Sony cassette recorder, the TCM-200DV, whose microphone I can only hope is as uncannily adept at zeroing in on soft-spoken subjects in noisy rooms.

It leaves behind a looming deadline, an eight-pack of Energizer AA batteries (with free Shrek the Third Ogre-Vision Viewer) purchased in the vain hope that it was my batteries that had collapsed, and a man more bummed out by the loss of an inanimate object than seems appropriate.

Two thousandth mile

I have a bike that retails for $300. I bought it almost exactly a year ago. This spring I committed to riding in to work, 10 miles each way, as long as it was arguable that I might get in. Fortunately I live in an area that has pretty good weather, despite the odd freak summer thunderstorm with raindrops the size of babies' heads.

My route is mostly on bike paths. I take the Mt. Vernon trail, which I pick up a little more than a mile from my house, then cross Memorial Bridge, then take the Rock Creek Park trail up to Woodley Park, and then it's a quick jog to my office in Adams Morgan. It's one of the best parts of my day.

The trails are crowded when the weather's good, so I almost prefer when it's really hot, or lightly raining, or a little cold. Mostly I think cyclists and runners get along fine on the trail, though I must confess I get a little frustrated with the walkers, simply because so often they're not paying attention. You know where's an excellent place to amble slowly with your shirt off, your sunglasses on the top of your head, and a cell phone glued to your ear? The side-WALK.

For the past couple of months, the National Park Service has done everything in its power to ruin my commute, changing the course of the trail on a weekly basis to make it easier for its workers not to do any construction. There's an official detour through Georgetown, but that keeps changing, too, and I've found it's better to take as little of the detour (which calls for riding the wrong way up 31st Street, a one-way street, which is generally not a problem for the Venezuelan diplomats whose embassy is around the corner, though, in my experience, they're usually driving in reverse) as possible.

My bike wasn't made for this kind of use. It's a town bike, meant for getting around campus, say, or running quick errands. With the rack that holds my son's bike seat, my two water bottles, my "rack trunk"---holds my clothes---and my lock, it's laughably heavy in serious-cycling terms. Still, I'm gonna ride this thing till it falls apart.

Today I rode my two thousandth mile. I stopped and took a photo with my camera. I tried to get the Washington Monument in the background, but it was too bright to see the screen very well. I think it came out pretty well.