May 27, 1984

LAST January, the Westinghouse Electric Corporation issued a statement saying that its directors had approved the sale of $200 million worth of long-term bonds. The proceeds, it said, would be used to pay off short-term debt. ''Market conditions will dictate when Westinghouse will make the offer,'' the company explained. Today, four months later, the right market conditions have not yet materialized. Westinghouse is still stuck with its short-term debt and is still waiting, along with hundreds of other corporations, for that golden day when long-term rates decline a point or so from the current level of nearly 13 percent on 10-year bonds with fixed rates. Altogether, American companies have registered more than $50 billion in bonds that they intend to sell as soon as that rate ''window'' appears.

Hubie Brooks extended his hitting streak to 20 games yesterday with a seventh-inning home run that ignited a two-run rally and led to a second straight 2-1 victory for the Mets over the Los Angeles Dodgers at Shea Stadium. The victory followed the Mets' most popular script this season. Twelve of their 22 victories have been comebacks, with the tying or winning run scored in the seventh inning or later eight times. ''Right now I'm swinging the bat well,'' said Brooks. ''I feel comfortable and things are falling into place. But if I didn't have the streak, I'd feel the same. There's no extra weight on my back yet.''

DAN QUISENBERRY, who every year gains nearly as many saves as he does strikeouts, has heard all of the jokes about his style of pitching. ''In 1980,'' he recalled, ''there was the 30-30-30 club: 30 saves, 30 strikeouts, 30 great plays.'' He even makes some at his own expense. ''I'm probably the only relief pitcher,'' he said recently, ''who has more saves thanstrikeouts. But recently I had a couple of 0-2 counts.'' Though he has become baseball's best relief pitcher, Quisenberry clearly pitches out of the mainstream of classic late-inning relief. He gets outs quietly with a steady stream of ground balls instead of blowing batters away explosively with strikeouts. That doesn't mean he is dissatisfied with the style of his accomplishments, but somewhere deep inside there lurks a part of him that once - maybe twice, if it's not asking too much? - would like to throw a baseball at a speed of 98 miles an hour. Asked the other day whether he would choose to throw the way he does or the way Rich Gossage and Lee Smith do, he said, ''I sure would be tempted to take the fastball, to take the ability to throw the ball by hitters.'' Then he recalled a moment from the 1982 All-Star Game that he called ''one of the highlights of my career.''

An elliptical office tower - Manhattan's first, according to its architects, Philip Johnson and John Burgee - has begun to rise on the east side of Third Avenue between 53d and 54th Streets in a setting of recently erected rectangular office towers. Indeed, that unusual oval shape was chosen, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Burgee say, to distinguish the new building from the dominant form of its neighbors, including the Citicorp Center directly across the avenue.

If anyone wants to feel buoyant about the just concluded 1983-84 theater season, he should proceed directly to the corner of Broadway and 45th Street, walk a few steps west to Shubert Alley and then gaze at the dazzling marquees which snap into view. The first belongs to the Booth Theater, home of the new Stephen Sondheim-James Lapine show about Georges Seurat, ''Sunday in the Park With George.'' This work is a rarity in any season: a musical unlike any Broadway has seen before. Right next door, at the Plymouth, is Tom Stoppard's ''The Real Thing'' - a play in which a playwright learns how to fall in love even as he learns how to write a play about falling in love. It's not only the most tender work yet by one of England's smartest writers, but also an example of Broadway acting, design and direction at their most assured. Keep going and you'll land at David Mamet's Pulitzer Prize-winning ''Glengarry Glen Ross,'' a boiling-hot comedy about the daily deaths of Chicago real-estate salesmen, delivered in a startling verbal fusillade worthy of Chicago's St. Valentine Day's massacre.