les strates

by jemma margaret

In the past few days I have been deeply invested in The Great Devonian Controversy.

Very roughly, it’s about the history of geology in Britain during the first half of the nineteenth century. Since I know nothing of this science, nor of the resolution of the controversy, the plot unfolds with great suspense (so I am not even going to read that wikipedia link above). I am excited to find out how the earth shaped up after all.

Geology, so I’m told, goes somewhat hand in hand with meteorology, which in turn tells me what to wear in the morning.

The Bay Area, despite a substantial temperature range on a daily basis, is more or less predictable. In the summer it will be dry, in the evening it will be cool, and the hottest time of day will be around 3ish. The fog rolls in–it does not race.

In the summer months, Paris and New York share an abundance of scantily clad persons and sudden thunderstorms. Dressing in layers is good preparation for a cool morning, a warm afternoon, and a cool evening. But torrential downpours and 80 degree afternoons defy the cleverest of modeuses.

Thus I found myself thoroughly drenched (and worse, the pages of my library book did not escape unscathed) sitting in a puddle of my own making at a 10 o’clock conference, but happily bone dry five hours later thanks to a well situated park bench. In retrospect, the best course of action probably would have been to bring an entire change of clothes and a couple plastic bags for storing the unusable ones. That or join the ranks of the rain waiters who hover under awnings and elevated tracks, assuming the conditions will improve eventually.

Or invest in a stillsuit. Who needs a carafe d’eau? Not Fremen.

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