What stop is this? Cleveland Park? No. Woodley Park. Ugh, one more stop. Man, I want Cosi today. Does that fit into my diet? I won't get any meat on my sandwich. Just bagel, egg, and tomato. That sounds good. Cosi tomatoes are great. I wonder where they get their tomatoes. Is it weird to ask? Probably.
[The train stops in the tunnel.]
Ugh. Just one more stop. Go, Metro, GO! Dammit. Whatever. Thank God for the Express and Pearls Before Swine. That should occupy me for another two minutes.
Um. We haven't moved for awhile.
Train Driver: *bing* "We apologize for the inconvenience. There is a non-moving train at Farragut North. Once the train is moved, we will be on our way. Again, we apologize for the delay and thank you for riding Metro."
Phenomenal. Ugh. Should I post about this? No, it's no big deal. Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill. I can't just start complaining about every little thing. Come on, Rusty. Don't be such a pussy.
I've got to write something. I've got to keep those RSS people coming back. Maybe I should just post one word and see my hits spike. That would be kind of funny.
No, that's lame.
The woman across the aisle from me sneezes five times.
Gross. I hope I don't get sick. I can't believe I said "Bless you" and she didn't thank me. I've got to stop doing nice things just to get a polite response. It's obnoxious. Hey, what's that under her seat?
Holy fuck, she brought her dog on the train?
Ohhhh. She's blind. Man, that reminds me of Massachusetts. You get the best blindness perks on state taxes there. You hardly have to pay taxes and you can bring dogs on trains. That's the life.
Actually, that's stupid. Blind people probably would rather see than pay less taxes. Why do they even put the "check this if you're blind" thing on the tax forms when the forms aren't in Braille? It's not like blind people can read that. And is that on Braille tax forms? Isn't the usage of a Braille tax form proof of blindness.
There's probably some clever Braille-reading, non-blind motherfucker who would take advantage of that.
I wonder if her eyes are all fucked up. She isn't wearing shades. I wonder what Stevie Wonder's eyes look like? I'll Google that today. Come on, lady, turn around.
OH SHIT. She is not blind. Shit shit shit. I fucking made eye contact with someone who is NOT DISABLED. Fuck. She thinks I was staring at her because I thought she was blind.
Serves you fucking right, Rusty. Staring at people with disabilities? What are you, eight?
Maybe I can pretend I was looking at the dog. Stare at the dog. Maybe this will work. Nice dog, nice dog. Ok, wait for her to turn around and see you looking at the dog. WHY WON'T SHE TURN AROUND.
God damn it, I am not going to have enough time for Cosi.
Hey. We're moving. Yes! Almost there!
[Train abruptly stops again.]
Are you serious? We can't possible be more than half-a-mile from Dupont Circle. Is it illegal for me to leave the train and hoof it? Probably. Maybe if I told them I was important; like a doctor or something.
Oh my God I am so hungry.
[Train starts moving again and arrives at Dupont Circle 40 seconds later.]
FINALLY. Only 10 minutes. No big deal. No big deal at all.
So, anyone else inconvenienced by the Red Line "fiasco"?
Here's a sampling of the films I saw there: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Kill Bill: Volume One, The Man Who Wasn't There, Punch-Drunk Love, and et cetera.
Naturally, because DC sucks, the theatre was closed down. I walk by it everyday on my way to the Metro. It makes me sad. It's being replaced with a home and garden furnishing store. I noticed that the renovators don't lock the doors, so I may sneak into the theatre and pour a 40 where the screen used to be.
Up the street a couple of blocks lies the remains of what used to be one of my favorite bars. Babe's Billiards had a ton of great beer on tap, a great jukebox (and not of them fancy Internet jukeboxes, thank God), a Ms. Pac Man machine, and phenomenal appetizers. It also had the benefit of being the only tolerable bar from Friendship Heights to Glover Park. Naturally, it got shut down to make way for a condo.
The building was painted black. A few days ago, Maxim Condominiums put a gigantic black tarp on the building to announce their invasion of the neighborhood. From the website:
Coming soon to Tenleytown: Brand-new high-performance condominiums. For those who know that excellence is not a luxury, but a way of life.
I have no problem with new people moving into the city. I do have a problem when it's at the expense of two of the best establishments within walking distance of my old college and my new house. This city is going out of its way to become less fun and it drives me insane. What's next? Maybe they'll replace Rodman*s with a Trader Joe's.
I mentioned this before, but, it bears repeating. Before you know it, Upper Northwest DC will be indistinguishable from McLean. And that makes me ill.
The worst part is the end of the article where there's a nice and tidy summation of kids as young as eight being charged with murder in the Metro area in the last twenty years. Why are there so many? I couldn't believe what I was reading when I came across this. What the Hell is wrong with people?
2. Thank God there was this article on the same front page. It cheered me right up. The Fairhaven School: No curriculum! No classes! NO RULES!
Interestingly enough, my hometown of Yarmouth, Mass. had a similar program. Students could just go in and out and learn at their own pace. It was great. We called it special ed.
The first three paragraphs of this totally awesome article just absolutely slayed me.
Between Rollerblade aerials and rail slides, Justin Reed described how he landed at a school that lets him do whatever he wants all day long.
He burned out on high-powered Eleanor Roosevelt High School in his home town of Greenbelt. Lost interest in the college track. Despised cafeteria food. By 11th grade, he was ready to drop out.
"I just really hated school, and Roosevelt brought that out of me," the 19-year-old said one spring afternoon next to an iron handrail that doubled as a launching slope. "Being told what to do and what to learn. Having to do homework. Grades. Grade levels. Everything that this school stands against."
GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. Yeah, Justin, being told what to do sure does suck doesn't it. Get used to it you whiny pussy. Your entire life is going to be filled with deadlines and people telling you what to do. I mean, Jesus Christ. You think having to do homework sucks? What a startling conclusion. NO ONE LIKES HOMEWORK. Yet, most of us are able to get through it with our dignity intact, asswipe.
If any of you, Dear Readers, personally knows Justin Reed, please do me the favor of kicking him where his balls used to be.
3. I linked to this blog in my last post, but I guess it deserves super special mentioning. My hilarious and dear friend Agatha has started up a new blog. You should all check it out. If she gets enough hits she'll probably post pics of herself in a bikini. She is not above that.
Anyways, please join me in welcoming CYBER AGATHA to the blogging universe.
1999 (my junior year in high school): I become the last person at my school to get the Internet. I was totally rocking the 14.4 modem. I quickly realize that the Internet makes it very easy for me to research debate topics and download pornography. (Downloading porn at 14.4 is just excruciating by the way.) At this point, I have no interest in blogging.
September 2001: I arrive at American University. My 14.4 is instantly upgraded to DSL. Life is good.
November 2001: I move to the honors floor. Not because of my intellect, but because an honors kid tried to kill himself. That left an opening for me. Profiting off of attempted suicide is always trendy, kids. Anyways, I move next door to noted DC blogger Toby. The fact that I didn't wear shower shoes upsets Toby, so he refuses to talk to me for an entire semester. I remain totally unaware of what a blog is.
June 2002: I become acutely aware of what blogging is when I realize an ex-girlfriend has a Livejournal with some angry passages directed towards me. I immediately hate blogs (or, as I called them then, "Internet Diaries").
September 2002: Toby and his dearest friend Agatha finally get off of their high horses and clue me into their blogging underworld. I enjoy both of their websites. For the first time, I think Internet Diaries are neat.
Sometime in early-2005: I discover Gawker Media. From there, I discover Wonkette. From there, I discover Why I Hate DC.
July 2005: I visit a friend in New York City. We start drinking whiskey at 11am. My friend's roommate marvels at this dedication to the alcoholic arts and starts a blog to make fun of us. I ask her if she knows HTML. She doesn't. "So, you can just sign up for a blog and you can start writing immediately?"
It's amazing how out of the loop I was in regards to blogging. I didn't even know that Blogspot was free until 9 months ago.
Late July 2005: After a series of disastrous nights, I start a blog dedicated to how shitty DC bars are. The first bar that I single out for punishment is Madhatter. (In case you're not in the know, Madhatter is a dive bar on 19th and M.)
From there, I blogged my way to about 50 hits a day. In January I won an essay contest and here I am. Wheeeee.
Why should you care? Well, you shouldn't. The whole point of me recapping my entire Internet life is to illustrate that I FUCKING HATE THE MADHATTER. If the Madhatter didn't exist, I would not have this blog. My hatred towards their management and service and their customers is totally overwhelming. And I feel the need to remind people from time to time that if they go to this bar then they are fucking idiots.
The Madhatter is the only bar where I've had my ID rejected. This is tremendously obnoxious when you're 22. And you show two forms of backup ID. And the bouncer refuses to check the ID book to see that my Massachusetts license is real. And the owner refuses to apologize the next day. His reasoning was that they keep getting busted for underage drinking. I fail to see how their incompetence is my problem. Hilariously, the group I was with featured a 20-year-old who had no problem getting into the bar. Me, on the other hand, with my license that doesn't expire until 2009...I was clearly trouble.
I told the owner that I would never buy a drink from his bar and I would do my best to make sure others did the same. I was relatively successful. I went nine months before going back. Whenever my friends wanted to go, I would make a fuss and make everyone miserable until I got my way. Incidentally, I am not a good friend.
Well, last Saturday, after Toby's delightful and totally successful surprise birthday party, I got outnumbered. I was a bit tipsy and agreed to give the place a second chance. I really tried to be diplomatic. I swear I kept an open mind.
I lasted 15 minutes.
I will never understand why people go to these bars. First, the music. Who the Hell plays Eminem and ABBA back-to-back? Is Eminem even popular anymore? Didn't we all get over him three years ago? A friend said the music wasn't that bad. They even played "Livin' on a Prayer"! Shocking. A DC bar filled with drunk 20-year-old sorority sisters played "Livin' on a Prayer"? Totally shocking. Wish I could have been there for that.
Well, you don't go to bars to listen to music. You go to drink. How was the beer? Well, the place was so packed that I couldn't get close enough to the bar to check out what they had on draft. Agatha was helpful enough to pick up 4 Miller Lites. Not my favorite, but, whatever. Beer is beer. "Hey, Agatha, how much do I owe?"
"It was $20 for all of them, could you pick up the next round?"
Listen, I love capitalism. I really do. I understand how supply and demand works. But you have to aggressively hate your customer to charge $4.50, before tip, for a 12oz bottle of Miller Lite. The profit margins there are just staggering. So, no I will not be getting the next round.
Now, I could be wrong. I could just be dealing with a big tipper. But if you're charging over $4 for a Miller Lite, you have gone too far. That's my limit right there.
And to make it totally unbearable, the place is absolutely packed. There is just nowhere to hide. And if you find a spot, you're going to have to deal with getting shoved by drunk people trying to walk by the entire night. I have never given so many dirty looks in an establishment that is supposed to be fun. How can people enjoy themselves when they're packed in like sardines. I just don't get it.
So, after 15 minutes of this Hell, I throw all of my cash (four one dollar bills) at Agatha to pay for the Miller Lite and storm out of there. My temper is short enough and places like that just drive me nuts. I couldn't get out fast enough.
The next day, Madhatter is defended as a good place to flirt. I'm sorry, but if you have above average tits and/or a face that doesn't look like it's been rolled over by a steamroller, every single bar in the entire universe is a good place to flirt. It's not like guys at bars are particularly choosy. And remember ladies, every beer they're buying at Madhatter just means that they're losing extra money that could be used to buy you flowers.
Frankly, Madhatter is for stupid people. You're not necessarily stupid if you like listening to loud and crappy music at a bar. You're not necessarily stupid if you like being packed in with a bunch of people who smell like a combination of Drakkar Noir and aggression. You're not necessarily stupid if you flirt with these people. You're not even necessarily stupid if you're willing to pay over $4 for a crappy watered down beer. But all of those things? At the same time? Then, yeah, you're an idiot.
I made it nine months after my initial boycott of Madhatter. Hopefully, the next nine months of non-Madhattery will be just as sweet. If that bar burns down I will dance around the ashes.
UPDATE: The Madhatter website claims that bottles of Miller Lite are $3.70. That is a fucking lie.
Since moderation made it harder for me to respond to some of the comments, it's out the window. I fully expect that Anonymous asshole who keeps dropping N-bombs and F-bombs (the gay kind, not the sex kind) to come back and pester me. So be it. Dear readers, if you see really mean-spirited comments, just e-mail me so I can take them off the site in a timely manner.
By the way, whoever left the "Zzzzzzzzzzzzz" comment on my last post....I fully appreciated that. Seriously, that was funny. I read the post back to myself and I totally agree with you.
I, like many of you I'm sure, have been following this Zacarias Moussaoui farce for quite a while. It's really entertaining stuff. This "trial" highlights some of the ugliest qualities of the American character: A gruesome combination of reality show carnival with an unhealthy lust for revenge (which some people are ignorantly calling "closure"). Frankly, this whole ordeal makes me sick.
Full disclosure: One of the few absolute positions I hold in terms of law and politics regards capital punishment. I'm against it in every situation. I'm against executing Saddam. I'm against executing Osama. So it goes without saying that I am certainly against executing Moussaoui. I understand if you disagree with my position. I just subscribe to the belief that if America is truly the greatest country, we should act damn well act like it. One way to act like it is to treat our society's scum, our weakest links, as human beings. It's a position that holds a great deal of moral superiority.
Even capital punishment supporters will admit (if not, they should) that killing a killer is a cloudy moral issue. Which brings me to this: Who exactly did Moussaoui kill? I understand that he was affiliated with terrorists. That right there is worthy of some severe punishment. But what did Moussaoui actually do? We're not entirely clear. We know what Mossaoui pled guilty to, but I'm less than convinced that we should take him at his word. Everything he has testified to has rung utterly false.
Of course, what really happened is secondary to what has happened in the eyes of the court. Moussaoui pled guilty to conspiring with 9/11 hijackers. We know this is false. This is something that even other terrorists admit is laughable, but whatever. We found our scapegoat! Now let's have some fun!
(This all reminds me of that guy who will point guns at cops hoping that the cops will take a shot at them? Suicide-by-cop. Well, this is worse. This is suicide-by-government. Even worse than that: martyrdom-by-government. And it's working. We're totally falling for it.)
All in the name of closure. Or revenge. or whatever you want to call it. This trial is such a joke that I'm surprised we haven't thrown Moussaoui in a glass cage and scattered his ashes in the Mediterranean yet. It's so bad that the mere act of defending Moussaoui has become grounds for criticism. Just look at Michelle Malkin hyper-retarded article comparing defense counsel to jihad sympathizers. Hey, Michelle, defending people is their job. It's kind of required in the Constitution that you love but do not understand.
And, just because this all isn't ugly enough, we have to add a healthy dose of melodrama to the proceedings. Let's drag victims' families into this mess. Let's open the wounds of probably the worst day of all of our lives and use it to kill an inconsequential terrorist. What kind of closure is this anyways? The kind of closure where we remember how awful 9/11 was? Where we get to see pictures of the buildings crumbling? Where we see the video of falling victims hurdling towards the pavement? This kind of closure sucks.
Well, in a few weeks Moussaoui will, more likely than not, be sentenced to death. And people will celebrate. And we'll have a new martyr on our hands. We'll be killing someone not for any particular crime, but because it makes us feel good. We will be killing because those 19 hijackers killed themselves. We need something, and Moussaoui is the best we can do. Sick.
And it won't matter. There will still be that horrible scar in Lower Manhattan. Moussaoui's death will not erase the memories of lost loved ones. Nothing will change. We'll just be that much closer to the very terrorists we hate so much. Killing not out of necessity, deterrence, or protection, but rather to make a political point. Sounds kind of like Hamas and al-Qaeda, doesn't it?
By the time I got to the Woodley Park Metro stop, I was ready to go home. Down the escalator I went. Down, down, down. Wheeee.
So, there I am standing on the right like the good-bee that I am. My mind is wandering. I'm caught in a conversation with my walking partner. I'm not really paying attention. I'm tired from all of the walking. When I finally get to the bottom of the escalator, I fail to jump off in time.
Now, this has happened to me before. I'm sure it's happened to you as well. You hit the bottom of the escalator and it kind of trips you up. Happens all the time! Right?
What doesn't usually happen, to me anyways, is having the escalator eat your shoe. The Metro tried to eat me. What a peculiarly frightening experience. It missed my foot, but it did tear a whole out of my $19.95 K-Mart loafers.
Apparently the taste of my sweaty feet and K-Mart leather was not to the escalator's liking. When I wedged my foot out, the escalator stopped. (There's nothing better than hearing the groans of your fellow Metro escalator riders and knowing that you caused their displeasure.) I broke Metro property! Hurrah!
I don't feel an iota of guilt. No matter how clumsy the rider, escalators should not be eating loafers. I would appreciate it someone who commutes out of Woodley Park backslash National Zoo backslash Adams Morgan could give me an update on the escalators there? Did I actually do long-term damage?
1 (a). The comment section of this blog is going to Hell in a handbasket. I had to delete one for using the "N-bomb." It's 2006, I shouldn't have to be telling people not to say "nigger." Another anonymous reader referred to two of my more faithful (in terms of comments anyways) readers as "cunts." Again, totally unacceptable. I would prefer to keep the comments totally open, but if this keeps up I will have to make changes. More likely than not, I will have to prevent people from leaving comments anonymously. I do not want to do that. Please keep it civil. I don't mind criticism from people who are upset at me for comparing McLean to Nazi Germany or people who disagree with my stance on medical marijuana. That's all well and good. I enjoy criticism. But be polite. I hate blogs that limit comments but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta go.
1 (b). Please stay on topic. My last post was about a strip club. The comments have been about bad driving and music. When I want to talk about bad driving or music, I will post about bad driving or music. If things get ridiculously off-topic, I will just start deleting comments. I know this is something that asshole bloggers do, but, oh well.
2. I have a very small link section on the left-hand side of this blog. I just made my first addition to it: Irina is Always Right. Irina leaves a ton of comments on this site, so you've probably already checked out her blog. If not, I recommend you give it a read. I'm a big fan.
3. On to a completely different topic...
On Wednesday, one of my new roommates and I were walking through AU Park to get to a basketball court. I forget how this happened, but the conversation turned to American University parking. I mentioned their illegal ticketing program, but since I never had a car in DC, I was unable to provide details. The next day: BAM! A Washington Post article on AU parking. This article should have been written four years ago, but, whatever. I'm glad it's here now.
4. Have a good weekend. Stay out of trouble or Jesus will be mad at you. The Man is bound to be grumpy after a three day nap!
WHAT! THAT IS IMMORAL!!! MY KIDS DON'T NEED TO SEE THAT! IT'S FAMILY VALUES! WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN!?!? THAT JEZEBEL IS A BAD INFLUENCE! SHE IS PROSTITUTING HERSELF! THEY WOULD NEVER PRINT THIS IN THE WASHINGTON TIMES!!!
(That joke is a lot funnier if you read it back to yourself in a Southern accent. Or it totally bombed. I can see it going either way. Whatever.)
Anyways, a 'graph from the story really caught my eye:
To some, of course, squeezing out strip joints is a good thing. But to Fonseca [a strip club owner], Washington is losing the grit and texture that define a city. "They've built these high-end residential units for people who want the urban experience," he said. "So they go into their home and close the door and, at that point, they want to be in McLean."
This city is turning into McLean. McLean! Good God. That's the worst place on Earth. They could have said "...at that point, they want to be in Nazi Germany*," and I would say to myself "Well at least they don't want to be in McLean!"
This McLean threat is enough to make me want two crack houses in every driveway and two brothels in every pot. I want gun dealerships across the street from every school. I would rather have a DC modeled after Grand Theft Auto than a DC modeled after motherfucking McLean.
*To all my Jewish readers, Happy Passover!
I was walking out the door on my way to work this morning when I run into a middle-aged man in a suit. He's smoking a cigarette. He, presumably, was on his way to work as well. As I caught up to him, I got a strong whiff of something that had no place in public.
Upon closer review, this man's cigarette was actually a roach. Are they still called roaches? Um, how about a "J"? Let's make it abundantly clear and go with "marijuana cigarette."
I guess I was impressed. That takes some guts. But Fessenden Street is fairly quiet, so whatever. Then, to my astonishment, he took the corner onto Wisconsin. And he didn't stop smoking. Just your normal guy in a suit having a nice little wake-and-bake before a long day at the office. On a major avenue routinely filled with cops. Wow. He didn't put his joint away until we were 50 yards from the Friendship Heights elevators. (Maybe he didn't want to share with the crazy homeless lady. She's always Bogarting my stash, man.)
How should I feel about this? It can't be good for the neighborhood. Can it? Then again, I'm way too young to be concerned with drugs in my neighborhood. That's an old person problem. And, to be honest, I was pretty impressed with the guy's nerve.
Here's my dream scenario: I'm out on the porch enjoying a Sierra Nevada. Public Smoker walks past. A mother accompanied by her five-year-old daughter walks past in the other direction. She catches a whiff and flips her shit. "HOW DARE YOU DO THAT IN FRONT OF MY CHILD" and/or "I AM CALLING THE POLICE," and so on. Then the young daughter starts bawling. I think that would keep me amused for a while.
So, I guess I don't hate this. Though it is pretty weird. I'll make sure to invite him to my next BBQ so I can pick his brain.
The most common response I get to this answer is "Oh, you must love the beach." In fact, I do not love the beach. But that's neither here nor there. I'd rather focus on the second most common response: "How do you deal with those stupid rotaries?"
Lovely Cape Cod! Beaches and rotaries! A true paradise! Though I hate for the Cape to get pigeonholed like that, it's not an entirely inaccurate description. Cape Cod's #1 industry is tourism (eat it seafood and cranberries!), and the tourists come for the beaches. As for the rotaries, well, we got lots of rotaries. Accoriding to the Internet crutch Wikipedia, the first rotary in America is located in South Yarmouth. Then there are the famous rotaries that control traffic flow by the Sagamore and Bourne Bridges. The Route 28 Hyannis rotary and the Hyannis Main Street rotary are both subject to heavy traffic and have been the scene of many an accident.
These accidents give the rotary a reputation for being periliously unsafe. The bridge rotaries are infamous for tying up traffic. So, no one likes rotaries. To me, that's all gobbelygook. If you know the rules of the rotary, you'll be fine. That means not yielding on the actual circle, you stupid fucking tourists.
Ok, now let me tie this into DC. DC is known for having traffic circles. In other words, "rotaries with obstacles." Rotaries, along with Brazillian street gangs, are the least popular things on Cape Cod. Washington found a way to take rotaries and make them trickier. And more useless. Way to go, city planners.
Rotaries only work if there's a weird intersection. If traffic is flowing from more than four directions, a rotary is probably necessary. Five way stop signs and/or traffic lights don't work. However, when traffic is coming from four directions, rotaries are useless. There's no point to them. Traffic lights could do the work of the circle with far fewer accidents.
Since I'm an American University graduate, let's look at Ward Circle. At Ward Circle there's an inner lane that let's you go straight through the circle. It sounds innocuous enough, but it is straight up retarded.
Imagine that you've never been to DC before. You're going north on Nebraska Avenue. Your goal to take a left hand turn on to Massachusttes (going towards the Cathedral). As you approach your turn, what would you do instinctively? You would get in the left hand lane. Even if you knew a rotary was coming, you would get in the left hand lane so that other cars wouldn't have to cut by you to make their turn.
But not in DC! The left lane going into Ward Circle is a trap! If you take that lane, you're forced to go straight through the circle. And God forbid you make that mistake. If you stop on the circle to make a quick (and illegal) left-hand turn, you will be honked at by unforgiving locals. That's what you get, tourist, for using reason.
Of course, it's kind of the tourist's fault for not reading the road signs approaching the circle. What? There aren't any signs telling you which lane to get in? Really? Well, that's fucking ridiculous.
Another favorite circle of mine is the one off of Massachusetts and Battan. You know, the one with the Embassy of Australia overlooking it. I'm too lazy to find the name for it.* I took a brief little sojourn on my lunch break to check out the circle. I counted over a dozen sets of traffic lights. If you don't believe me, I highly recommend you check it out for yourself. The point of a circle is efficiency. How can you possibly be efficient with over a dozen sets of lights? What are you trying to accomplish with that many lights?
Finally, I present you with the example of 38th and Harrison and Reno. A six-way intersection! Exactly what a rotary or circle was designed for! And what does DC do? No rotary. No circle. A couple of stop signs. After that, you're on your own. I feel unsafe just walking by that orgy of pavement. I can't imagine what it must be like driving through it.
I understand that the city was designed before people were driving around in cars. But couldn't we try to adapt? We built tunnels underneath Dupont for Christ's sake, why can't we do something about all the other Venus-traffic-traps in this disasterously designed city?
This city is poorly designed, at best. Frankly, I consider it perilously unsafe.
* I looked it up. It's Scott Circle.
I mention this because, in the last 24 hours, I have seen three of those mustard colored monstrosities. And, yes, every single one has been bright yellow. Every time I see a Hummer I die a little inside. And mustard? I can't believe that mustard is the signature color of a $50,000 SUV.
And you know what, it isn't even the color of fancy Dijon mustard. It's bright yellow mustard. Poor people mustard.
Today's Post briefly mentioned that the injured student suffered a broken ankle.
Score another one for high-quality Washington journalism! Yeeeeee-haw!
That still doesn't make it any more acceptable to light things on fire or try to tip busses. Nor does it make it more acceptable to watch women's basketball. Fundamentals, schmundamentals. If I wanted to watch inferior athletes play basketball, I would watch a middle school pick-up game.
Just caught this on B1 of the paper. "U-Md. Team's Victory Prompts Uproar by Fans."
Before I get into making fun of Maryland and women's basketball, let me congratulate the Terrapins for beating Duke to take their first ever NCAA championship. Good work, ladies!
Of course, by winning a championship and by beating Duke, you ladies are now responsible for starting a riot. You know you can't beat Duke without having blood on your hands! You're just feeding into the massive inferiority complex that Maryland students have whenever someone mentions Duke. It might have something to do with Duke having better basketball teams and smarter students. That's my personal hypothesis.
So, anyways, RIOT. Fortunately, since this was women's basketball, and no one in the country gives a shit about women's basketball, it was a quiet riot. The Maryland students tried, but were unable, to tip over a bus. They did manage to seriously injure someone though. Good for them.
"This is my craziest riot," said a woman who identified herself as Shelley Avney. "Trying to knock over a bus, tearing down street signs, burning things -- it's crazy."
Yes, it is crazy. It's crazy that you aren't in jail. I hope your parents read this article and I hope they cry. Because they failed. You, Shelley Avney, if that is your real name, are a horrible, horrible, horrible person. I went a little nuts when the Red Sox won the World Series, but I managed not to destroy anything.
Shea Hoxie, 21, a senior majoring in government and politics and criminology, said: "I was disappointed we didn't flip over the bus. We rioted for the women's basketball team, which is out of character for us. We needed something to cheer for."
How is rioting out of character for Maryland? If Maryland beat Duke in a Golden Tee tournament, there would be a riot. Also, "we needed something to cheer for" implies that you were actually looking for an excuse to tip over a bus. If you need to tip over a bus to have a good time, you are retarded. Or you're a Maryland student. Or both. God knows they accept anyone.
To cut to the chase, some asshole subdivided his property, made a ton of money, and was planning on building a quote-unquote "McMansion" in the middle of AU Park (47th and Ellicott). I really don't have a problem with this, but I can understand why people would be upset. And people were upset. Neighbors put up signs showing their displeasure. But, in DC, you're not allowed to have signs on your lawn that aren't political in nature. Bureaucratic hilarity ensues.
Other than the red tape and the incompetence of government workers, both of which you should just accept as DC status quo at this point, this is troublesome for two reasons:
1. For a District that gets its panties all in a bunch about not having the same voting rights as other Americans, the city government doesn't seem to caught up in the rights of its own citizenry. This is pretty clearly covered by the First Amendment.
2. This is all about 5 blocks from me. So I live in AU Park? Ugh, that sounds like an honors dorm. Or even worse, one of those "wellness" dorms where no one drinks and people form study groups. I thought that AU Park was on the other side of AU, by Arizona Avenue. Or is that Foxhall? There's no way I'm telling my parents I live in "AU Park." Wicked lame.
That being said, when did the 9:30 Club become so evil? Charging $6 for a 12oz beer? Really? I mean, come on. That's ridiculous. I actually did a double take when I ordered a Boddington's and the bartender told me that was going to set me back eight (!) dollars. I always thought the rules of supply and demand would never apply to alcohol since I was always in demand of it. But the 9:30 Club proved me wrong. You can actually charge so much for booze that I don't want it anymore.
This only augmented my anger towards the 9:30 Club. They totally botched the distribution of Yeah Yeah Yeah tickets. Here I am, a fan of the band, trolling Craig's List looking for some help getting into the show. Who got the tickets? The tickets I wanted? The tickets I convinced myself I deserved? Hipsters? No.
Example #1: The guy in the New York Yankees (aka BALCO East) shirt who was spraying his Miller Lite at his comrades. What a pleasure it was to see him making shadow puppets while the opening band, Blood on the Wall (who were good), was playing. What an inconsiderate asshole. He almost made my night.
I say, almost, because Example #2 was my all-time favorite jackass. He had the uniform down pat. Full yeah-dude regalia. Sandals. Khaki shorts. A tight black shirt. A goofy, shit-eating grin. He was a silly hat away from having his yeah-dudeness implode the universe.
But the clincher! Oh, the sweet, sweet clincher. He was drinking Guinness. A Guinness...wait for it, wait for it....
A Guinness straight out of the can.
ROFL LOL LMAO HAHALAHJV]V
What a fucking tool. I sincerely hope, somewhere down the road, I run into him again. He was an absolute pleasure.
And, to start things off on a happy note, I offer something I like about my new place. It's just down the street from Conie's Cafe. I would link to their website, but they don't have one. How quaint.
A local business! A place to get coffee that isn't Cosi, Starbucks, or Au Bon Pain! Score!
It's also a "Wi-Fi hotspot." I don't know what that means, but the kids are all about them these days.
I'll be focused more on the blog once I get my shit in order and make my new room all organized and whatnot. Thanks for your patience.