Obscure Pop Culture Reference

The Sad State of DC Professional Sports

2012-01-18T16:00:00.001-05:00

Who is going to win more games this year, the Redskins or the Wizards? Redskins won 5 of 16, Wiz on pace for 5.5...out of 66.

The best joke Sports Illustrated has ever made

2012-01-05T21:31:00.002-05:00

This is hilarious in the way that only rape charges can be.

Dear MoveOn.org, please, MoveOn

2011-10-07T17:26:00.003-04:00

Now, as I've entered my late 30s, I have openly and definitely become more liberal than I was in my 20s. Note that I said "more liberal" and not "become a liberal," because the difference is key. Frankly, there are some liberal causes that I simply can not understand, such as the Occupy Wall Street shenaningans and the latest - forgiving student loan debt.

So...you drop $40k a year in tuition, room and board at a fancy private college, starting adult life with $200k in debt, or, you couldn't go to the perfectly-acceptable state college down the street - you HAD to go to an out-of-state public college and pay out-of-state rates, plus the extra bills associated with going to school 1000 miles away rather than 10 miles, and now you want the Government to forgive your student loans because you won't take a job that "only" pays 35k a year and work your way up? Oh HELL NO moveon.org - try something else.

Recent grads should have gotten a god-damned clue and gone to cheaper schools. Every state offers discounts to in-state students. Frostburg is 5k a year in tuition to Maryland residents, and 15k to out-of-state residents. I'd rather be 20k ...in debt than 60k. Not my damned fault that Brandon and Kelsey in Bridgeport, CN, wanted to go to UNC to be with their friends from Screwyou High School only to watch them all bail out, change majors, or develop severe liver problems from binge drinking and banging slampigs at college bars in Chapel Hill.

Look, I will tie this in to Simon Cowell. Stand in awe of my brilliance.

Simon Cowell was the first person to get on American TV in decades and say "you...you are not good enough to be a professional singer." How many people deluded themselves into thinking they were great singers, and that American Idol would propel them into stardom? And Randy was all about doing yo thing, dawg, and coked-out Paula was all about loving your vibe and your heart and being so proud of you and then Simon would say "You have no talent."

Simon Cowell would say ‎"Oh, you're working as a waitress at a chain restaurant and you happen to sing 'Constant Craving' at the karaoke night better than anybody else? Big deal. You can't sing better than these other people, so you may want to try picking up some extra shifts for the dinner rush."

We have raised too many people who think they deserve a well-paying job and an easy life because they happen to be themselves.

Fuck Steve Jobs and his bullshit graduation address to Stanford grads a few years ago, telling them to follow their dreams. Please. If I followed my dreams, I'd be the worst centerfielder the Baltimore Orioles have ever had, and easily the worst date Elle Macpherson had ever been on. What he should have said was "WORK FOR ONCE IN YOUR GAWD-DAMNED LIVES"

We need more Simon Cowells in life.

We needed a Simon Cowell to say "look, you make 50k a year and you have no chance for a raise, so why are you trying to buy a half-million dollar home?"

We need Simon to say "You're working at a FedEx Kinkos and your fiancee' works at JiffyLube - you do not need a $100,000 wedding, especially because he's banging a chain restaurant hostess after karaoke nights and you'll be divorced in 10 months anyway."

We really need a Simon to say "You failed high school geometry; you thought Kaiser Wilhelm was the bad guy in 'The Usual Suspects' and you need a spotter to help you spell "Checkbook" so why in the hell do you think you should go to a a 4 year school?"

We need somebody brave enough to say "Your child is a god-damned idiot who would be lucky to be a shift supervisor at a 24-hour truck stop." Your child is not some misunderstood secret genius; your child is a barely-functioning retard.

We need a Simon Cowell to say "If you can't decide on a major between Political Science, Business Administration, International Studies or Theater, you might want to look at Community College, slick. Save some bucks."

So, we need Simon Cowell to start doing The Dumb Factor or American Ridicule or something to get kids and parents to get their heads out their asses.

NOW HAVING SAID THAT...

We also need for colleges and universities to remember somethings. Such as... where in the hell do you guys get off thinking every last one of you should cost more than Harvard?

Towson State when I went there was about 2,400 a year for in-state tuition. It's now about 2,700 per sememster - I did not know Towson became more than twice as good as it was when I went there 15 years ago. Virginia Wesleyan is 30,000 a year in tuition, and another 8k a year in room-and-board. Um, when I was there for a year and a half, it was about 12k in tuition and 4k in room and board. Did the food suddenly become twice as good? Did the education become nearly 3 times more amazing?

Schools need to stop thinking they're all little Harvards and shit. Frickin' YALE is only 32k in tuition!!! YALE!! Virginia Wesleyan was a nice enough school, and I made some good friends there, but it's NOT nor would it EVER be on a level like Yale. Virginia Wesleyan makes pastors and bank managers. Yale makes Presidents.

I think anybody DUMB ENOUGH to pay the ridiculous rates most of these crappy little colleges charge nowadays is probably too stupid to go to college in the first place.
22 minutes ago ·

Notes On Our Visit to Detroit

2011-05-31T10:46:00.003-04:00

I spent this Memorial Day weekend in Detroit, Michigan, with the FutureWife, Siobhan, and our three dogs. We drove out to the Motor City on Thursday after work here in DC, and got there sleep-deprived Friday morning. After a much-needed nap, we ventured out into the city.

Now, many readers would question the choice of Detroit as a locale in which a young couple would celebrate Memorial Day weekend. There are several reasons, ranging from "we've never been there" to "Siobhan's agency could transfer her there one day" to "it's not DC or Dewey Beach." It was that second listed reason that got us searching on real estate websites, looking to see what the housing market looks like in Detroit. If pictures are worth a thousand words, surely the photos of Detroit's housing supply staring back at us through the web browser were on a heavy discount. We saw Tudors, Colonials, Contemporaries, waterfront mansions - all for less than the price of a Maryland boxy townhome in the ex-urbs. As the FutureWife and I both love big old houses, Detroit looked through Zillow, Trulia and HUD.gov as our paradise.

As for that second point, I can tell you this - their housing market looks like somebody forgot to add extra numbers. Houses should be 200 thousand dollars, not, 200.

My FutureWife and I were there Memorial Day weekend, attracted to the dirt-low housing prices and amazing deals. 6 bed, 5 bath Tudors, 5000 square feet - 200k. 7 bed, 4 bath, home theater, indoor pool, 3 car garage, 120k. It was, from the safety of my suburban Maryland home through the lens of Zillow.com, a haven. My smallish house in Rockvillle, 3 beds, 1.5 bath, 2 miles from the Metro, is, even after the housing crisis, 400k. 400k in Detroit buys you TWO mansions! And, as my FutureWife's employer could transfer her to Detroit, we had to check it out in person. If she would be transferred there in 2012, we wanted to see what it looked like. There's only so much that Time Magazine pictorials and Urbanist.com photo spreads and words of warning from ex-pat Michigan folks could do - we needed to see if there was something worth buying if we moved to Detroit.

there is a weird sense of beauty in urban blight and decay when viewed through the work of a skilled photographer or film maker, true. It is a God-damned horrible thing to see in person, simply block after block of abandonment. Waste. Decline. To see people living in half a duplex where the other half has no windows due to fire damage from 1992. To see schools left to rot in the Midwestern winters because there's not enough kids in the surrounding neighborhoods to keep them running. To see churches, mosques, synagogues, temples, massive evangelical christian mega-churches to sit abandoned, falling down. Torn. Like even God, Allah, Yahweh, Buddha and Confucius all got together and decided to leave town. When faith leaves, despair enters.

Detroit doesn't need a bulldozer; it needs a fleet of them. The sheer mass of decaying structures is absolutely unfathomable to anybody who has not seen it. I lived in Baltimore when Baltimore was at its slummiest, druggiest squalor, a city that once held 1.2 million people having maybe 700k. I grew up near DC when you could buy the abandoned warehouses that lined 9th st NW for $20, just to get it off the city's ledger sheet. Baltimore had Dollar House Days - buy an abandoned house for a BUCK and it's yours! Neither DC at its 400 murder a year peak in the 80s or Baltimore at its "The Wire''-esque 90s was EVER as bad as Detroit is now. The sheer square miles of ..... rot.... it needs to go. Period. It needs a Blitzkrieg of Caterpillars and a Luftwaffe of John Deeres. I am a native of Annapolis, Maryland, and the preservation of historical structures is important to that town. It makes it unique, gives it a character. Detroit, to be fair, has hundreds of impressive structures - the Michigan Rail Depot, the gorgeous Art-Deco-era skyscrapers, theaters, the memories of better days. The neighborhoods of Palmer Woods, Sherwood Forest, Indian Village - those homes, built between 1910 and 1950, were made for captains of industry and their growing families. In fact, when Mitt Romney's dad was governor of Michigan, they lived in a beautiful home in Palmer Woods, and young Mitt grew up there. Palmer Woods has about 277 houses in it's neighborhood of English-countryside inspired Tudors, Colonials and historically-vital Contemporary homes. There's a Frank Lloyd Wright. Albert Khan. Minoru Yamasaki, the designer of the World Trade Center in New York, has a home in this enclave. It looks like Chevy Chase, Maryland, or Bridgeport, Connecticut. It is a stunning neighborhood, and would be a boon to any city. However, at least 15 houses in Palmer Woods are for sale, and at least that many are abandoned, and only the neighbors get together to mow the lawns and tend to the shrubs, just to give the appearance of vitality. One home, a 4000 square foot Tudor, was listed on Zillow.com as being 140k, while other similar homes in the neighborhood go for 200 to 400. I remembered how charming the house looked like from the web site's pictures - it was a home you could be proud of, to raise a good strong family in - and when I walked up to the slightly-creaky back gate, I saw a series of smashed-in windows and a solarium filled with old empty bags of cat and dog food. The old oak floors were beautiful, but had torn women's' clothing on it, and were lined with excrement, both human and animal. The majestic fireplace still stands, the stained and leaded glass windows remain, the absolutely stunning ceiling with exposed timbers giving an Alpine echo remain, but the kitchen had been stripped of all appliances and plumbing, sold on the streets for a quick buck. I was hit with the most profound sense of sadness I have ever felt - I was inconsolable, frankly, for nearly 15 minutes. I don't know if I was contacted by a spirit of a former resident or the house itself, but I went from "Hmmm...a coat of paint and new windows and some bleach and you got yourself a deal!" to "I.....am....hurting....everywhere" in seconds.

The finishing detail - a sticker from the Palmer Woods Homeowners' Association was placed on a back window. It said, in brief, that this property had appeared to be abandoned, and that steps would be taken with the city to secure new ownership as possible. The sticker had a date on it. It said 2006.

The human excrement was not that old.

Once you leave the tree-lined streets of Palmer Woods, you re-enter Detroit as it stands today. A rotting hulk of a church project stands across the street from Palmer Woods, sharing a parking lot with a McDonalds that had friendly employees and a not-terribly subtle hooker and her pimp looking for potential customers. At 2:00pm. On a Saturday. In what would have been a church parking lot.

What is incomprehensible, still, after a week and a half of, quite frankly, my brain OBSESSING about Detroit, is the sheer vastness of the city's decay mixed with its rather impressive wealth. The downtown core, featuring the GM headquarters' building designed to look like a cam shaft from above, is rebuilding quite nicely. The Tigers' stadium is quite lovely. The Lions' new field, sponsored by Ford, is impressive, and somehow keeps a hint of Detroit's art deco past in a modern facade. The skyscrapers that were abandoned in 2006 are being gutted and restored. For a big city based around the car, the downtown core is rather walkable. Greektown is pretty cool, and the massive casinos show there's a bit of glamor left in Motown. The Hockeytown bar, next to Chris Chelios' sportsbar, next to the legendary Fox Theater, mere steps to the sports' stadia...these are all things that every US city *should* have, but doesn't. So, don't let all the Abandonment Porn photos from 2007 scare you - downtown Detroit is a rather vibrant place nowadays, and should get better.

What is ridiculous is that a mere block or two from this fun core are houses that haven't been lived in for *decades.* Detroit is, as Susan mentioned above, a city in need of a culture change. Part of that culture is that this is a place that went, within the span of 5 years, from almost 2 million in the city and growing like a weed to 1.6 million and not ever getting closer to that number again. I personally was very touched by how friendly the average Detroit person was - folks at the restaurants, the ballpark, walking around, looking at homes - but the Detroit of the Roaring 20s was a very racially violent and segregated area, and it wasn't much better through the 1950s. When the race riots started during the turbulent `60s, that spelled the end of a growing Detroit. People and businesses left the city for the more stable (and, frankly, more segregated suburbs). Combine the racial problems with the decline of the Big Three automakers with the rise of better made products from Japan and Germany, and the gas crisis on the early 1970s... that's a bad combination to mix in a city that is still dependent on the auto industry. Every major highway or public structure is named after a city benefactor - Dodge. Ford. Chrysler. Cadillac. The city is far-too connected to the automotive industry, and the unions that for YEARS convinced their members that better days were right ahead. The city prospered under the rise of the Big Three, and essentially let them do whatever they wanted as long as it brought in more taxes and prestige. The once-thriving Poletown - the not-exactly politically correct name for the Polish community - had the entire north end wiped off the map to put in a giant GM plant. The Boston-Edison Neighborhood, once one of the first Black American upper-income neighborhoods, was torn in two so a highway could be built to get wealthy GM and Ford execs out of downtown and up to their weekend retreats in the northwest that much faster. This is a script that is written and repeated in dozens of neighborhoods all over town - stores and shops and churches and schools removed to make room for new factories and roads. Ultimately, what built Detroit contributed to its demise.

However, it's important to note - it isn't just a handful of buildings decaying in an otherwise vibrant city. It's not just 30 or 40 historically-significant structures failing and in need of restoration. It's thousands upon thousands upon thousands in a city with a few thousand after that that need to be knocked down. And I do mean that - knocked. down. Torn down. Destroyed. Removed. Because the only thing worse than seeing a once-beautiful home in need of repair is seeing the three dozen on that same block that are worse, and knowing that it is too late for two dozen of them. The foundations are cracked; the floors have rotted; the wind, rain and snow have weakened every joint and joist. The damage from fires - either set by junkies or the homeless to keep warm, or by desperate homeowners who watched the value of their homes drop by 70% over a decade and just needed the insurance money - is so great that you actually get surprised when you see a block - ANY BLOCK - without a fire-damaged home.

There is no block, not even in the once Beverly Hills / Potomac / Bridgeport-esque Grosse Pointe, that does not have an abandoned home. $2 million dollars once bought you a home in Grosse Point. It can now buy you 10 if you don't need to be directly on the lake, and possibly 15 if you are a shrewd buyer....or, have good credit.

My fiancee' made a great point about Detroit -there's no middle. No buffer. No... warnings. You enter the city limits, and it's like "DAMN" - there's less traffic in the city. There are very few busses. Pedestrians just cross any ole' time at any ole' place because there's not that many cars to deal with. There are very few grocery stores in the city limits, and they're not exactly Wegman's quality either, that's for sure. The Indian Village neighborhood had about 15 houses we wanted to check out - in fact, I showed Jan Louis one home via Zillow.com that had just incredible detailed woodwork and ceilings, and he was impressed at the caliber of the work. The surrounding homes looked equally impressive. Except, in person...they were empty, too, and had been for a while. And the home with this just awesome ceiling and indoor firepit was also home to a dry-rotten patio and deck that hadn't been maintained since... well, I was a lot younger and skinnier back then, let's put it that way. But the next street over, not even 200 feet, was the Decay. The Abandonment. Homes that had caught on fire in 1980 and nobody bothered to knock over the rotted remains. There was no buffer between the once-great neighborhood and the now-bad neighborhood. No middle, only a common thread of empty.

What it took Detroit - and I wish I was joking - nearly 50 years to realize is that it has become a gigantic eyesore. The city was hesitant to knock anything down because - again, I wish I was joking - they honestly thought they might need it again one day. Some mythical, magical day when people stopped buying Hondas, Toyotas and Volkswagons and bought Fords and Chryslers. Let's put it this way - how many of you have heard of Packards? A few? Yeah, Packard stopped making cars back when my mom was a kid, and my mom is in her 60s. The factory that used to make Packards *still exists* though there hasn't been a car made there since the days when I Love Lucy was still on the air - original broadcasts! It's not a tourist site, or a museum, just a massive rotting husk of America's once-impressive manufacturing core. But, Detroit honestly thought that one day, America might enter another great war and would need those old assembly lines to make tanks and jeeps. It is this mindset that kept them from knocking down decaying and empty houses during the population drain because, again, they honestly thought better days were JUST around the corner, and buyers would quickly jump at the chance to live in Detroit.

Detroit has not exactly had the best civic leadership over the past half-century, and recent mayor Kwame Kilpatrick is no exception. Google his name, and you'll quickly learn about his exploits and corruption. He did have a very good, salient point as an African-American Democrat in union-dominated Detroit: that Italian-American Republican Rudy Guiliani in formerly union-dominated New York City had the right idea in turning NYC around. Start paying attention to smaller crimes and code violations and you'll avoid bigger crimes and bigger code violations down the line. The Broken Window Theory that Guiliani fought in NYC was simple - that if you ignore a fine for a broken window, then more broken windows will follow. Fix that broken window early and punish the person who either broke it, or who allowed it to stay broke, and it will get fixed. Kilpatrick wanted to knock down hundreds of abandoned homes each year just go give people in the city a sense of order again. Of course...he also wanted to make sure everybody in his administration got PAID and got busted for it and will now watch Detroit try to rebuild from the comfort of a jail cell. But his successor, former Detroit Piston star Dave Bing, has followed on Kilpatrick's better quality of trying to remove the eyesores and decay. Better to have open space and nature reclaim the fields than to let a modern-day ghost town continue on. His goal - 3000 abandoned, decaying homes to be knocked down this year, with another 3000 next year, and the next two years of his term as well. 12,000 homes. Gone. Sadly, in Detroit, that's not just progress, but also a mere drop in the bucket. However, in a city that basically fiddled while the town quite literally burned, this is a good start. Bing is a good man. Doesn't take a salary. Is open-minded. Wants to save his adopted city. I feel bad for him, because he may have - even more so than President Obama - the most difficult job in the world. Fixing a broken, battered city with next to no tax base. As bad as the Federal Government's problems look, it's important to note that while our 14 trillion dollar deficit is staggering, it's also still less than 100% of our annual GDP. We've been through worse financial stressors - World War II and the Manhattan Project came A LOT closer to bankrupting our country than most people will ever realize - and the Feds have the ability to cut spending on a few Defense and Medicare projects, raise taxes a point or so, and balance the budget sheet. Detroit has no such flexibility - the city has already said that 20% of the roads will no longer be maintained, and that police, trash and fire services will not cover that 20% as well.

what, in the grand scheme of things, is 1 billion dollars? Well, to Detroit, it would allow them to remove nearly 7000 abandoned homes, storefronts, warehouses and factories a year for a good dozen or so years. One billion is also 40% of the cost of ONE B-2 Stealth Bomber, the development, construction and maintenance , a weapon that basically has next-to-no mission anymore. We have 21 of them. A first-strike weapon designed to take out hardened Soviet facilities. How about $9 billion to build the USS Gerald Ford, an aircraft carrier that would be the first Ford-class vessel to replace the still-quite functional Nimitz-class carriers? That's just the build-out. Doesn't include maintaining the ship, putting jets and sailors on the ship. Doesn't even include a complementary continental breakfast or HBO.

So, while yes - Detroit needs a culture change away from the union mindset and that the Big Three will save them, and that the city needs to help itself - let's not forget something. Detroit's factories and workers built the tanks, the jeeps and the personnel carriers that essentially won us two World Wars. That city made the automobile cheap enough and standardized enough that nearly any citizen, regardless of education or class, could afford and learn how to drive one. That city gave us a distinctive musical heritage - the Motown sound - that is uniquely American, much like another city, New Orleans; it too a victim of a man-made disaster, gave us Jazz. Yet, New Orleans, a city that I will kindly point out - is BELOW FRICKIN' SEA LEVEL - had to be rebuilt after Katrina struck and the levees fell. It is a fact that New Orleans is sinking, and will, in the next thirty years, will require the greatest civil engineering feat in American history to even *begin* to not sink, let alone rise up a foot or two. I'm sorry, but it's true - there's a good chance that New Orleans won't make it to 2050, 2060. Or sooner.

You want to take the same chance with Detroit?

Fixing the Super Boring Halftime Show

2011-02-09T08:42:00.004-05:00

It's been a couple of days since the valiant Green Bay Packers defeated the evil women-hatin' Ben Roethlisberger and the Pittsburgh Steelers. We've had countless diagrams and breakdowns of the key plays on the sports' channels and websites, but the pop culture and news sites are stuck on Christina Aguilera's inability to sing the National Anthem correctly, and the annual debate about which commercials scored more than Mark Sanchez at a high school prom.

Also in the post-game debate has been the halftime show, this year featuring everybody's favorite dancing legume, the Black Eyed Peas. They used a lot of lights and dancers and Usher and the microphones/lip syncing was off and their stage didn't light up the whole way, but really, what do we really recall about their performance?

Fergie yelled at the viewing audience, and really didn't sing very well.

I've always thought she was attractive, but after this show, I'm beginning to think it might just be her hair extentions that I like. She has a nice figure, but she's got some strong facial features, and when she yells...it's not terribly sexy. It's like I'm being yelled at by a hippie Marine.

So, it seems that a lot of folks felt the halftime show felt kind of flat, or, just out-right sucked. Well, I will say this - that's what happens when you use a band that makes their magic in a studio on a computer. It'd be like complaining about T.Pain's real signing voice - well, DUH - his speciality is AutoTune, not "singing live on worldwide TV in front of 100,000 people."

Apparently, it's not Xtina's speciality, either.

Think back over the past 20 years, when the Super Bowl became a cultural juggernault. What shows do you clearly remember as being incredible?

2) Prince simulating masturbation using a shadow on stage and playing his guitar better than anybody else has on such a stage.
1) U2. Bono on a heart-shaped stage. Edge just rocking. Adam Clayton laying down a great bass riff. Post 9/11. The names of the victims scrolling behind the band.

I just gave myself a chill writing that. Remembering it. Finding it online and only making it halfway through because the emotions came back. You ever wonder why old veterans cry during parades? I don't question it anymore. They were young once, too.

Everything else though has ranged from "pretty good" - Bruce Springsteen, The Rolling Stones - to "ok" - The Who did kinda rock - to "not bad" - Tom Petty - to "not good" - Michael Jackson popping up all over the Rose Bowl. Then dancing with kids? WHAT?!?!? - to "bad bad bad" - Diana Ross in a helicopter. Anything with Kid Rock. The Phil Collins/Christina Aguilera bizarre mix and the Nelly/Janet Jackson/Justin Timberlake thing. We all remember Janet's deflated passenger-side airbag, but nobody remembers that whole entertainment portion was crap.

I still maintain the worst even was 1992. Gloria Estefan and Brian Boitano and Dorothy Hamill. Two ice skaters and a woman who never rocked once the Miami Sound Machine got busted in a cocaine smuggling ring.

Go watch the video. Paul Tagliabue should have been fired for this.

Basically, the NFL is 2 for 20 or so. That's "minor league shortstop" at best.

What the NFL has done - besides given a last paycheck to clearly-past-their-prime acts - has been the glorification of the mediocre and the popular, while not exactly reflecting the strengths of the sport, the location of the venue, or the popularity of certain genres at a time. The halftime show is about 5 years behind at best, and 25 at worst.

My advice on fixing the Super Bowl Halftime Show would be to try to reflect the actual time and location of the event. Now, the U2 show in New Orleans in 2002 was amazing, but, if there was ever a show that demanded some Bo Diddly or some other old blues/rockabilly guys... something to reflect New Orleans. Granted, the Big Easy is one of the more preferred locations for the event, and will host it again in 2013, so they'll get another crack at making the show more relevent, but what about a place like... Dallas? Dallas is not exactly snonymous with "studio-based, over-produced mindless dance music" like the Black Eyed Peas. I'd have gone with a country-based show, especially since it's been a few years since a legit country artist was featured. Something featuring Dallas' history in the West, the stockyards in Ft. Worth, maybe?

Since next year's event is scheduled for Indianapolis, I'm going to give the NFL free advice right now. All Indy has going for it is auto racing and cheap pharmaceuticals. So, tie-in an auto racing theme with the biggest, best band from the general area - Dayton Ohio's The Black Keys. They have the chops, playing in front of a mostly hometown crowd, they're hip and on the rise.

My guess is that John Cougar Mellancamp will be performing. Probably that gawd-awful "this is MY COUNTRY!!!" song, too.

After that, it'll be back in the aforementioned New Orleans, and then it goes to the new Meadowlands... and Mark Sanchez's girlfriend STILL won't be allowed to drink legally. But a New York/New Jersey Super Bowl - you know the NFL won't be able to pass up potential-team owner Jon Bon Jovi - could feature some incredible acts with the songs and the power to play on America's biggest stage. Jay-Z. Run DMC. Wu-Tang. Those are all viable options showcasing New York's rich hip-hop heritage. In fact, tell me you couldn't imagine "Empire State of Mind" blaring through there right now?

They could go towards New York's rock history - Lou Reed, Blondie or what's left of The Ramones would be possible acts, if the NFL had their way. But what about up-and-coming bands that could rock the audience? Interpol. MGMT. The Bravery. The National. Or... how about one act who could combine both hip hop and hip rock?

Ratatat.

Never heard of them? Check out this or this. The language is NSFW, but the riffs are NSF anybody.

OK, so maybe they're a little too on the edge. But there's still somebody that could save us from a Katy Perry/Justin Bieber halftime show.

Muse.

They have the the requisite spectacle, and can flat-out jam. The kids love them, and their parents think they remind them of the glam rock-era Bowie mixed with Queen with a heaping teaspoon of Motley Crue. Ask anybody who saw them tour with U2 in 2010 - Muse can dominate a stadium. In fact, make the New York Super Bowl the Old York Super Bowl - get them and the Infadels to jam and see if Kasabian wants to sit in. A tribute to England, a potential expansion site, and something that would blow the doors off the joint.

And, if Bill Simmons' idea of a Las Vegas domed stadium ever comes to fruition, bring in some dancing Elvis impersonators, Michael Buble' and The Killers. DONE. Do NOT over think this.

Let the Super Bowl rock. Instead of having countless pundits and writers yawn about yet-another boring halftime show, or something that's rather dull, give them something you've never done before, NFL - don't follow, but LEAD! Show that you have an idea of what is popular, and do it without recruiting MTV or Facebook or The Wiggles or whatnot to "find out what the kids are listening to these days."

Now, I'm sure they're in the planning stages of these up-coming shows, and thinking "Hey, let's do a tribute to disco!" or "There's a band my trophy wife likes... Marooned Live or Marude Fide or something like that." NO! Stop. Step away from the decision-making process. In fact, go jump off a building. Preferably a tall one with little-to-no awnings to break your fall.

Or, barring all that...bring back Brian Boitano. He seemed like a nice guy.

Why I Hate the South...and the North

2011-01-24T10:09:00.002-05:00

Your states started a war to keep people enslaved.

Your people enjoy and take pride in being undereducated, overweight and isolationist.

You belabor under the belief that houses require wheels.

Even when he is obviously wrong, undeniably factually in error, or making a logical jump so great as to be defined by professionals as borderline insane, as in "there's no way any sane person can think he's not making this crap up," you still think Rush is Right.

You soak sour pork in vinegar and dare call it barbecue - an affront to all things holy.

Your idea of birth control is doing jumping jacks and using Cheerwine in an unauthorized manner. Your mothers take their entire litter of whining little deep-fried future felons to Walmart as a bizarre combination playdate/educational experience/day care/chance to meet their real dad operating the fork lift as opposed to 'Marty' the guy who randomly sleeps in Mommy's bed.

You should have convinced Britney Spears to go topless when she was still young and firm. You had her during her formative years, and, quite frankly, I expected better from you.

You still have Stuckeys. You're hoarding all the Steak`n' Shakes along with your partners-in-arms, the Midwesterners.

You won't spend 60 minutes with your kids watching Sesame Street, but you'll drag them to some place called "Talladega" and make them watch cars go around in a circle for 4 hours.

You somehow think "sweet tea" is vastly superior to, and will refuse to drink, regular old "tea with sugar." You can not taste the difference, but your Type 2 Diabetes spawning in your leg can.

SOMEBODY is giving donations to Sarah Palin, and, last I checked, it wasn't us.

Your accent grates like a delicate Roquefort on an antique Mouli grater.

You do not know what that last sentence means.

You are convinced that wrestling is real. life. drama.

Your insects are the size of a Hollywood starlet's dogs. Even a small dog is a big bug.

Truck Nutz.

The Dukes of Hazzard, despite your most earnest thoughts and wishes, is not a documentary.

One of your people invented a thing called a cotton gin that contains no gin. Bad form.

You took all the hockey teams from nice, hard-working Canadian towns, changed their names and then got distracted by something shiny resembling the Virgin Mary in a Ford F-350's headlight outside of Plant Runoff Creek, Kentucky, and forgot you had them.

Seersucker. You have a lot to pay for that.

According to Jim lasted twice as long as Arrested Development. Not really your fault, but you're getting the blame anyway.

Every once in a while, you develop an amazing talent, like Terry Southern, and promptly ignore him cos' there's a water-skiin' squirrel on channel 49.

You openly dislike the Federal Government and then get mad when the Federal Government doesn't give you enough money.

-----------------

Why I Hate the North

IT IS GOT-DAYUMED COLD UP HERE, Y'ALL!!!!

Bad gifts from Gawker.com

2010-12-23T21:54:00.002-05:00

My mother's favorite movie is A Christmas Story because my aunt gave me the similarly-awful gifts as the aunt did to Ralphie. And, as these occurred in the years prior to the movie, her gifts weren't some sort of homage - they were simply horribly inappropriate.

Before I turned 4, she gave me a bottle of non-alcoholic wine. Except...it wasn't non-alcoholic. It was a Cab Sav. I drank "the funny-tasting grape juice" from my sippy cup, taking careful measures not to spill any of the special juice. 30 minutes later, I took a tumble down her stairs in Arlington, VA, adding a noticeable scar to my head and a look of shock from my poor mother when she realized her sister unwittingly fed my pre-school alcoholism.

The next year, I got a pair of bright pink denim jeans with the cartoon character "Ziggy" on the back pocket. I know it was 1978, but I was a boy, and Ziggy was hardly a symbol of youthful pride. Ziggy also looked like he was grabbing a feel down my drawers.

The next year, I got a silver bell that had a music box in it. It played a stamped-tin version of "The way we were." Looking back, I'm convinced my aunt wanted me to be a drag queen.

In 1980, she got me a subscription to "Omni" Magazine. A magazine about science, discovery and the future aimed decidedly at adults. I was a smart 6 year old, but...damn. This magazine was over scientists' heads, much less a kid who couldn't make the t-ball team.

The next year, she continued on the science theme and bought me a microscope. Not a Fisher-Price microscope, or something geared for kids, but the type you'd have used in a good high school biology class or in college. Here's the kicker - the thing was missing a piece in the lens assembly, so everything I looked at was black. She thought she unlocked the secrets of the universe for me; and I thought that I was losing my vision at the ripe old age of 7.

She then decided to get me books on ridiculous subjects over the next few years. French Impressionist Art designed for a college student, not a finger-painting 8 year old. A technical cookbook. A medical textbook about anatomy, thinking I'd be a doctor. The kicker was a bunch of reproductions of Civil War battlefields done up in a horrific oil paint style akin to that of tourist trap sea shells.

My mom eventually remarried, and my step-dad had his flaws, but he was a very good gift giver. When he saw my aunt get me a ridiculous gift for an 11 year old boy - a book on saving for retirement - he basically called her a freak. "Buy the kid a toy!" he exclaimed. She replied "they're a waste of time for such a fertile mind! No child needs a toy."

Thank goodness she never reproduced.

The next year, she bought me biotech stock from a horribly mismanaged company. Any casual observer knows that stocks *generally* go up. This stock was purchased at $7 a share over 20-some years ago. It was last trading on the NASDAQ for less than a dollar before getting delisted a couple of years ago. Meanwhile, the same amount of money she pissed away could have bought Dell - then a penny stock! - and I'd have had about 5000 shares of it by now. Or even Microsoft, which has split several times since then. Either one could have bought me a car, or a house, or paid-off my student loans. Her quote -"'nobody will remember them in 2000. Biotech is the way to go!"

*sigh*

She eventually decided on a few years of checks at the urging of my mother, and at the constant badgering of other members of the family. However, she couldn't let my college major of Radio and Television Broadcasting with a journalism and history minors go unnoticed. She bought me a series of books about legends in broadcasting and print - Dan Rather, Ted Turner. All the President's Men. She'd finally gotten me appropriate things to my life! However, she told me not to bother being a local sportscaster or a morning show deejay - both of which I ended up doing - but to *RUN* a network. So, she bought me the William S. Paley biography. He ran CBS for years, and was a titan in the industry. To be fair, it was actually a decent read, and had awesome historical photos of the early days of the CBS empire.

It was so awesome she bought it for me again THE VERY NEXT YEAR.

Same book. Same version. Same printing. Same cover. Everything.

My contribution:

I received another book the next Christmas. I'll give you a hint - the paperback version of the William S. Paley book.

The next year, my mom and my aunt were poking around the mall, and stopped in a bookstore. My aunt was going to get me a book for my birthday.

Yup. You guessed it.

My mom said "how many f*cking times are you going to buy him that book?"

My aunt actually had no idea that she'd bought me the same thing three years in a row.

I'm now 37, and I received her package in the mail for Christmas this week. I'll open it Saturday, and I can already tell it's a book.

Defending the President

2010-10-28T15:45:00.004-04:00

Like he needs my help, but really, this photo sums it up for me. Excuse me while I wipe a small thing that..um...flew into my eye just now.

He's more American than we've had in the office for a long time.

Keep Common Sense Alive

2010-10-27T19:59:00.001-04:00

So you are coming to the 10/30 Jon Stewart March on Washington?

Posted by Rational Ray Bradley on September 23, 2010 at 4:43pm
View Rational Ray Bradley's Blog.

by Rational Ray Bradley

Herein a visitors' guide. I will be updating it daily. Please post any issues you want addressed or researched.

I am told (but did not check, because that would require effort, and I'd rather pontificate on things from my comfortable office) that hotels are very full. If one stays at interstate hotels (try those along the Richmond Highway in Alexandria or Fairfax County, but bear in mind that an actual interstate hotel is not located on, or near, the actual interstates. This is DC, not Topeka. Red Roof Inn ain't settin' up shop on I-66, rent's too high) you can get a room for $40-80 a night. But you will be dependent on driving into DC, not using a subway or bus, as you will be beyond the public transit system's reach, which, quite frankly, can't be reasonably expected considering that half the towns you might be staying in didn't even exist 50 years ago, or were nothing more than whistle-stops and truck depots. For instance, Gainesville, Virginia. I used to go through Gainesville when I was a kid on my way down to my uncle's farm in southern Virginia. Gainesville had a grain elevator, a quarry, and a couple of gas stations. Maybe a gun store. As of 1980, it was nothing more than a couple of traffic lights on the way to Charlottesville. It now has several monsterous shopping centers, housing developments and a Wegman's. Have you ever BEEN to a Wegman's? Seriously, they're totally the best grocery stores. Get their fudge or go mental in their bakery.

If you stay in the city proper, prepare to pay as much money in hotel fees per night as you do for your car. DC is small area for a big city, and has so many building restrictions due to the panoramic vistas of the Federal core, the developers can't build vertically like they can in Chicago or New York. It's also built on a lot of old swamp land, so they can't build down, like Zion in "The Matrix" movies. So, the available real estate is more expensive than you'd imagine. Therefore, the hotels in the city's core have to charge rents that feel more like you landed on the Yellow Block with Hotels in Monopoly. Still, many of the hotels are quite nice, and realize that with expensive fees comes a higher expectation of service. The doormen will usually help you get a cab, if you require, and I think it's a law that all of the hotels have to have a Starbucks in them.

So this is mainly a list of free, cheap, good, bad, and safe or unsafe things.

Free and Coffee

One can get free wifi access in many parts of DC: any Starbucks (and often any restaurant adjacent to Starbucks, because one of the cool things about wireless that Tea Baggers don't understand is that the signal can totally go through walls and shit); most Barnes & Noble bookstores (which usually contain a Starbucks, which again I think is a law); Caribou Coffee (another chain, though it restricts your access to "adult" sites including some FaceBook functions and you can't hit up www.llamaporn.com because Caribou's major investor is Red Cresent Ventures, at one time the 2nd largest Islamic-based venture capital firm in the world, and they've got those pesky morals, and really, if you're that damned lonely that you're gonna fill your spank bank at a coffee shop, ew, and go back to the Tea Party); Illy's (at New Hampshire Avenue and M Streets NW), which also has the best coffee...but don't hate on Mayorga's or Quartermaine, either. If you find yourself in Old Town Alexandria, called such because it's the old Colonial-era part and not the ridiculously sprawly part of the town called "not Old Town Alexandria," there's Misha's, and the nearby Buzz Bakery and St. Elmo's Coffee Pub. No, that's not the setting of "St. Elmo's Fire" you BratPack fiends. That's a douchey bar in Georgetown.
,
Cheap Eats:

Silver Diner

3200 Wilson Bouelvard

Arlington, VA

and other locations see: www.silverdiner.com

[Clarendon metro stop, Blue and Orange line)

My message on Title24

2010-08-24T22:46:00.000-04:00

Mr. Helder,

Once upon a time, I worked in a suburban office park surrounded by scores of mid-priced, casual dining options nearby. Before that, I worked in the downtown of a large Midwestern city, and could eat in all sorts of Establishments from 4 star steak houses to casual Italian places or sandwich joints with good food at affordable prices. My first Government contracting job placed me in Crystal City, Virginia, offering a wonderful assortment of lunch and after-work-oriented establishments. I am now stationed in L'Enfant Plaza, where my options for dining are either a cafeteria that offers entrees that could double as a salt lick; a few chain sub shops that offer bland - sometimes moldy - sandwiches; and, a series of weigh-and-pay restaurants that shovel mass-produced crap upon the hungry masses.

Had I known that L'Enfant Plaza was the area where affordable, decent food went to die, I would have asked for hazard duty pay.

My job, mind-numbing at best and downright stressful at worst, has but one real respite - when my Facebook or Twitter feed tells me that Sauca, El Floridian, Curbside Cupcakes or even DCSlices is coming to sell their wares in L'Enfant, or Federal Center SW, or by the Smithsonian. The future of a mind-numbing 2011 is only parsed by hearing that Fry Captain, a Korean taco truck - heck, even a Mac-n-Cheese truck sounds awesome - when compared to a corn-syrup and MSG-laden existence.

I can see why established, brick-and-mortar restaurants would complain about the food trucks - it's competition, and competition can be scary. I will also note that the restaurants of D.C. never minded the regular old run-of-the-mill food carts that sell hot dogs, chips and sodas to the tourists running around the Mall. Now that they have some sort of competition, they are in a panic, and rather than innovating, revamping their menus, or offering higher-quality products, they're whining to their elected officials to put the food trucks in a competitive disadvantage. Notice that it's not the places designed for lobbyists and expense accounts that are complaining - Charlie Palmer Steak, Fogo, Central and Oyamel aren't crying because there's a new type of dining option on the streets. It's the places that serve barely-edible food, thinking that a silly mobile truck is taking their customers away. Make no mistake - people aren't leaving the existing establishments against their collective will - they're going because the trucks offer better, more interesting food options.

Please consider any legislation that attacks the food trucks is a ruling against competition, and against the citizens who live and work in the District.

Sincerely,

Raymond Bradley
www.dcfud.com

The Expendables - I AM A MAN!

2010-08-15T12:05:00.001-04:00

I saw The Expendables friday night. The theater cheered for the first appearance of all of the bad-ass guys, the theater booed for the trailer of the next M. Night Shamending movie, applauded the new Jeremy Renner/Ben Affleck/Jon Hamm movie The Town, and damned near gave the Old Spice Guy commercial a standing ovation. The movie has exactly zero continuity, zero story line, minimal character development, and plot holes the size of Nebraska. However, a lot of stuff gone blown the hell up, and various exclamations of "MEN! MANLY MEN!!, "USA! USA!" "SUCK IT EAT PRAY LOVE!!!" and a theater-wide "AMERICA!!! FUCK YEAH!!!" call-and-response were shouted towards the end.

The entire audience was 90% male at the showing in DC, and I would say every single one of us were in on the joke.

The movie is so manly, it got me pregnant.

Soft Mall.

2010-07-30T09:10:00.001-04:00

finally checked something off the old informal, non-written, but still kinda-there Bucket List - play softball on the Mall.

When I was a little kid, my aunt worked at Treasury, and she'd sometimes take me into work with her. "Take Your Kid to Work" days were tough on her because she couldn't have kids, and by having me around, I was her child-by-proxy. We usually took the underground tunnels over to visit Uncle Paul for lunch, and to head over to the Metro, but one late-summer day, we walked along the Mall. The sun was just ever-so-slightly beginning to head towards sunset, and I watched these folks play softball with the backdrop of the Monument behind them. It seemed so damned idyllic, and so utterly amazing to see how such a space could be used - the very same stretch of land that I saw the 1976 Bicentennial Fireworks from, the kite festivals, the lingering protests from the MIA/POW crowd, the historical pictures of the Hoovervilles and the Freedom March...and here were these folks playing softball, laughing, smiling, competing. I guess it was about 1984, where any normal 11 year old Baltimore fan like myself simply assumed that a career of baseball greatness awaited me at Memorial Stadium, and I snickered at these Government workers, lawyers and Hill staffers trying to play a clearly-substandard game. So while I thought *I* would never play such a gastly sport like softball - real men play baseball, damn it - I had to admit, they looked like they were having the time of their lives.

So, I thought "once my obvious Hall of Fame career as a Baltimore Oriole is over, I will play softball on the Mall and show these punks how it is DONE."

Check and mate, Life, Irony and Fate. Check and mate.

my latest DCFUD rant.

2010-07-01T13:34:00.000-04:00

From : http://www.dcfud.com/?p=2259

Food writer Jacquelynn D. Powers recently listed 6 food trends she wants to see disappear in an article for The Daily Beast. For the most part, she’s pretty spot-on on identifying the most notorious offenders - bacon overload is indeed a slippery slope, folks - and sliders are appearing on more menus than buffalo wings in the `90s.

But when she declares ”Food Trucks Drive Me Crazy” because they’re expanding in hip, dynamic cities, and possibly gumming up New York City’s already gummed-up traffic, I have to wonder if she has ever stepped her foodie foot in the shoes of the average D.C. office drone, like, frankly, me. Walk a mile in my shoes, Powers, and see if you aren’t BEGGING for a food truck by the 1000ft marker.

Had I paid a bit more attention to societal trends in my youth, I doubt that I would have majored in Mass Communications with the intent of working in radio and television. Had I realized how much it would suck moving town-to-town, up-and-down the dial WKRP-style, I would have followed my aunt’s wishes and gone to business school. Had I overruled my city-fearing mom, I’d have used my savings from my childhood weekly allowance to buy dozens of the Dollar Houses that I *KNEW* would be worth millions one day, making me Baltimore’s youngest, most adorable slumlord. Had I realized how much I’d like helping a future girlfriend study for medical school, I would have followed my grandmother’s wishes and been a doctor. Had I realized how ridiculously well-connected my uncle was on the Hill, I’d have become yet-another DC policy lawyer with a blog, a BMW, an expense account and at least one hot Russian spy mistress. However, I didn’t realize a damned thing other than Mass Communications is the easiest major you can possibly have short of Mime for the Vision Impaired and still get a Bachelor of Science degree from an accredited university. It gave me the job skills to be one hell of a morning show deejay – if people still listened to the radio – and how to wear a suit while on-camera so that it doesn’t bunch up around the shoulders. Sadly, that’s a lesson I could have learned by simply renting Broadcast News and saving $10,000 in student loans.

My point? I am not a high-falutin’ big shot lawyer, doctor, real estate developer or business expert that can afford to dine in the District’s many high-end lunch establishments on the client’s dime. Chances are, you aren’t, either. I’m a standard Government drone - a cog in the not-terribly-well-oiled machine that runs D.C. - and I do have neither the money nor the three hours to kill to eat at places I can’t pronounce. I get about 30 minutes to either stand in line at a McDonald’s, a Potbelly, or a Weigh-and-Pay; drown my over-developed taste buds with over-salted salad dressing on an under-flavored salad; and then scurry back to the office before my over-paid, under-qualified bosses yell at my near-tardiness. So excuse the hell outta me if I want a little variety in my life, and the easiest way I can achieve a temporary sense of dining Nirvana is to eat a Cuban sandwich perfectly prepared in the back of a big white truck that could have been hauling plumbing supplies a couple of years earlier for all I know.

The District has been a little slow to hop on the big city food truck ride, but now that we’re on it, why stop? A quick look at the Washington Post’s new food truck’s Twitter aggregator shows a pretty decent sampling of wheel-based dining options. Tacos. Pizza. Subs. Indian food with a kickin’ soundtrack. Cupcakes. Cupcakes. OK, maybe Powers has a point about the overpopulation of cupcake outlets, but at least these are GOOD cupcakes. But the main issue is this: for those of us unwashed masses who yearn to eat free, getting ethnic foods and sweet treats from the backs of trucks serve as welcome respite to the otherwise mind-numbing lack of variety and flavor we’d otherwise endure. Not to get too NRA on ya, but they’ll get my food trucks when they pry my cold dead fingers from their bumpers.

******************************************************

Since this is more of a rant than an actual review, I’ll simply say that the Cubans from El Floridano; Curbside’s Cookies and Cream, Orange Dreamsicle and Sweetbites’s Pina Colada cupcakes; DCSlice’s pies and Fojol’s whimsical sense with buttered chicken and basmati rice are all pretty WHAMMY!-worthy. Mad I missed your favorite truck? Tell them to drive to L’Enfant Plaza and ask for good ole’ Five. Interested in a new dining truck idea? Drop me a line. I have thoughts.

******************************************************

Well, colour me unimpressed

2010-05-24T08:54:00.005-04:00

A few weeks ago, my friend John mentioned that he'd been hearing rumors about a reborn HFStival. To folks of a certain age - say, late-20s to early-40s - HFStivals were synonymous with incredible music, awesome cameos, and the type of delirium that overexposure to the sun, dehydration and possible eardrum damage that stews into a wondrous bouillabaisse. Some of my best concert experiences happened at HFStivals - INXS, Foo Fighters, Prodigy, James, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Siouxsie and the Banshees, drinking with John Stewart, hugging Jewel and then watching her get smacked in the mouth - the list could stretch for pages, if I wanted to name all the incredible acts I've seen, thanks to my erstwhile employer.

Hell, here's No Doubt rocking out in 1996. Look at the vitality in this shot.

Yeah. I took that.

So, lo and behold, the rumor mill ground up some fine-powdered truth. Imagine my excitement and surprise when I found out the HFStival is back, baby! The date has been set - September 18th. They've got a place - Merriweather Post Pavillion. Two stages - a local and a main stage. The lineup is out - and it's not exactly overwhelming. From WHFS HD2's website, here's the link, and tell me which of these main stage bands sets your 2010 heart a-flutter. If this was 1997, this lineup would be solid. Hell, bring back Clinton/Gore and let ole' VP Al clean up this mess in the Gulf. It's 2010, however, and I think Third Eye Blind is the only band that has had a hit in the last decade. The Local Stage is fine - Jimmies' Chicken Shack, Fools and Horses, Jah Works, Honor By August - those are some quality acts. But the main stage... wow.

I swear, it's like a Midwestern State Fair of Alternative Rock. I'd expect this lineup to grace the Nebraska State Fairgrounds next year with Bachman Turner Overdrive, Kansas and The REAL Beach Boys playing the next night. Everclear will always have a soft spot in my heart - after all, I got to hang out with them in the 1996 HFStival, and Art Alexakis has more daddy issues than all the characters in "Lost." Lit? My Own Worst Enemy is a good tune, but they could never duplicate the success of that song. Presidents of the United States of America? Fun for a few songs, but I saw them back in their hey-day, and didn't make me say "hey." Fuel - two hits, and then wanted friggin' Chris Daughtry of American Idol to be their new lead singer. WEAK. And really, has a band ever gotten more publicity for saying "placenta" than Live, or, in this case, the remnants of Live?

As for Marcy Playground - they had ONE song. ONE. And, it's not even a good song. "I smell sex and candy, here. Who's that lounging in my chair?" Wow. Bob Dylan must be scared of that poetry.

Who came up with this Hot Tub Time Machine splatter-pattern of late-90s detrius??

I'm sure a few thousand people will show up, and they'll listen to the bands, and bemoan that HFS is gone, crying about the state of local radio as they stash their iPods, and the people who obstensibly run HFS HD2 will trot out old favorites like Weasel or Johnny Riggs and everybody can pretend it's 1998 again and everything rocks and they will tell themselves that they still rock. But isn't this merely a lame money marketing ploy to bring together some past their prime musical acts and call it an HFStival when the true title of "Has-Beens, Used-to-Bes and Never-Weres Invade The Suburbs" is so much more appropriate?

Towards a Better Telecomic

2009-12-24T08:39:00.003-05:00

For those of you who remember me as a child, this may be hard to believe. For those of you who have known me in my thirties, this will not be a surprise at all. And, for those of you who met me during college and my 20s, this will be more explanatory than anything else:

I am FAT. Note that I did not spell that with a PH.

Now, I'm not grotesquely fat by any stretch. I'm hardly the Second Coming of His Donut-Holeyness John Goodman or anything, but I've indeed got some pudge. The lingering effect of my lung infection of 2007 was a lung steroid regimine throughout 2007, 2008 and half of 2009. Can I breathe easier? Eh...not really. Did I gain 35 pounds? Oh yeah.

The lung steroid was supposed to make my lungs stronger, more capable of fighting back this bacterial Visigoth sacking my Roman bronchiole. Unfortunately, my immune system did a passable version of Nero, and the steroids simply turned me in a reasonable facsimilie of the little-known emperor Corpulous. You won't find him on Wiki, but that name sounds like it'd be perfect for a pudgy Caesar.

See, this is a great lesson in doctor/patient communication, and the fallout of poor doctor/patient communication. The steroids did accomplish one goal - turn my already-strong appetite into a movie character ably portrayed by Jason Stratham. Much like Spinal Tap's amps, my pie hole got turned to 11. The steroids turned me into an eating machine - part-Joey Chestnut eating hot dogs, part Monty Python skit, one thin mint away from a horrible explosion.

TO that end, I have come up with my motto for 2010 - Less. Just Less. Less food. Less gluttony, which, hopefully, will lead to less gut-on-me.

What I've decided to do is a form of public humiliation. A lot of toolbags get on the MySpaceter or the Twitbook or what-have-you, and post up sexy photos of themselves. For years, I thought "Look at my abs!" was a nice way of saying "Look where my scout leader touched me!" Well, I'm going to use a similar form of public humiliation on myself. If I DON'T lose weight, and get rid of my mid-30s paunch, I'll post up decidedly UNSEXY photos of my flabs, and let you all mock them incessantly. And I want you to make those barbs HURT - no mercy. Make me cry, though if I had any true emotions left, I might indulge your slings and arrows.

So begins 2010, a week before it says so on the ole' Blackberry.

Merry Christmas to all. May your holidays be decidedly less-sucky than most.

I Can't See Russia From My House Because There Is No Alaska

2009-10-21T22:25:00.008-04:00

For those of you who have sauntered over to my blog from Facebook, welcome. This is OBPOPCULTREF, which, way back when I started this lofty project, was either going to get me a book deal or back into broadcasting. It has done neither, and done so in spectacular fashion.

What it has become is a digital diary, of sorts. It's ebbed and flowed as much as the tides in the Bay, but with less pollution and more crabs. I never intended it to become a diary, but, that's what it somewhat is - a place to opine, rant like a less-funny and less-cancerous Bill Hicks, wax nostalgic in rose-coloured glasses and to occasionally whine like a little bitch. Tonight's post is going to be a bit of rant and a bit of whine...and some nostalgia. I've put off this first part long enough.

Bubby, the dog my mother and I have split custody of the past 11 years, passed away on August 4. I had to put her down due to internal bleeding - her spleen had ruptured, and she was bleeding from her lungs and heart. It was the humane thing to do, and I don't regret putting her to sleep. She would have died in a matter of hours, possibly a day or two tops, anyway. I hoped to allow her to pass away with some dignity, with myself and Kramer by her side.

The end, and this is probably true for all of us, comes when we least suspect it. I made no illusions of my dogs' immortality - I knew when I moved to Rockville last year that this would probably be Bubby's, and possibly Kramer's, last house. Bubby was 12 1/2 years old, which, for a larger dog, is a goodly amount of time. But if you had seen Bubby on Saturday, August 1, you'd swear that dog was 5 or 6. She ran around with Bart and I outside, chasing after us as we rode our bikes up and down the street. She was a puppy again, even if for a moment, wagging, barking, and, God damn it, she was smiling.

That next evening, she seemed lethargic even by her lazy standards. Bubby was never an active dog, but she was always responsive and alert. The next morning, I took her outside so she could do her business, and instead of bee-lining it to the backyard, she tried to crawl under the deck. That is never a good sign.

Some dogs will try to hide when they *know* what happens next. It's a weird, inane trait that I've seen in a few dogs. It's as though they don't want to be a burden, so they go out of sight, thinking that their last few moments on Earth should be spent in solitude.

At the time, I figured it was simply her bad hip acting up. I planned to take her to the vet on Tuesday, see what's going on. She was too healthy to be TOO sick, right?

That night, I carried her into the little futon we have in the spare room, and I laid down with her, holding her until she could fall asleep. I had given her a couple of aspirin and a nighttime pain pill, since I could tell she was in discomfort.

The next morning, that Tuesday, I carried her out of bed to the yard, so she could take a bathroom break. She simply panted and tried to crawl under the shrubs. I called the emergency vet around the corner, and Dr. Hambright, another vet here in Rockville. Hopefully one of them could see her, and tell me what was wrong with her hip.

An hour later, I'm at Dr. Hambright's office with Bubby in my arms, and Kramer on a leash, sniffing everything and being the friendly, happy dog he is. Dr. Hambright took one look at Bubby, and whisked her into the examining room. Five minutes later, he gave me the awful diagnosis.

"Massive internal bleeding, mostly due to cancer."

I was stunned. How could this dog, who had been SO lively and just a few days before, have been riddled with cancer? Surely there would have been a sign, a lump, something, right?

Sometimes, it's all internal, and the dog can't tell you if something feels less-than-normal. Dogs don't get mammograms.

Within thirty minutes, I had called Mark, Bart and my mom, and we said our goodbyes. Bart couldn't believe it, seeing her frolic like she did on Saturday. Mom, who had been here in Maryland to visit over the Fourth of July, was a mess. She had commented routinely that she couldn't believe how great the dogs looked. And now, barely a month later, Bubby would pass on.

Gene Weingarten, the immensely talented writer for the Washington Post, had written a feature about his beloved dog, Harry, in 2008. I've linked to it here. Please, go read that, and come back in a few moments to read mine.

You done? Crying, aren't you? If you're not, you either didn't read the whole thing, or you're not a dog-person. With Bubby laying there on the table, I remembered that entire story, and something he said in a follow-up chat on the Post's website. A person asked Gene how he could be there by Harry's side as he was put down, that the questioner himself couldn't do it. Gene said, and I'm paraphrasing, that dogs don't ask much of us, really. Food, shelter, affection. In return, they give us companionship, warmth, security. They're not as needy as children, don't require the constant attention of a baby. The least we can do, in their final moments, is to be by their side as they slip off into the great unknown. They're sick, they're scared, and they need some sort of reassurance.

My Lord did those words stick in my head as I held Bubby's paw. I held her paw through the entire process, telling her the constant truth that she was an absolutely wonderful dog, and, frankly, a great friend. I wanted to be there for Bubby, and Gene and his wife were for Harry. One final kiss. A wag.

Except Bubby had too much grace, or pride, for that grand of a gesture. She was classy, reserved. She stared off straight ahead, looking a thousand yards away. Never made eye contact with me but for a moment, never acknowledging Kramer, or even the vet. She passed away gently, probably pissed off that I had taken her to the vet. Her name was Bubby, and much like my Grandmother for whom she was named in tribute, she didn't like much fuss.

"She's gone" said Dr. Hambright, his stethoscope to her heart. He's been a vet for years, and he's probably said that a thousand times. He still said it with compassion and a crack in his voice. He'd just met me, and my furry brood, and yet, he knew. For that, I thank him.

I came in with a dog, and I'd be leaving with a corpse. That's a hell of a bait-and-switch there.

I took that day off work. I was in no state to go sit in a quiet cubicle with only my thoughts and regrets to keep me company. I took her lifeless body home, not exactly sure what to do with her remains. I took Kramer down to the hardware store with me, where we bought a camellia plant, amazingly enough called a Kramer's Supreme Camellia. Seemed like I had to buy that, huh? I planted that in the backyard with her remains in a simple ceremony, where Bart, Mark, Kramer, and our friends Stefanie, Elaine and her dog Koosh attended.

So, that was the memorial for Bubby that I have neglected to write for the past two and a half months. The "wax nostalgic" part is now complete. Let me now switch gears to rant and whine.

Last month, one of our neighbors stayed home during the week, and heard howling coming from our house. Obviously, it was Kramer. He had handled Bubby's passing so incredibly well - no whining, no chewing, no messing in the house. He handled it, dare I say, better than the humans in the house did. Mark had been looking for Bubby to let her out when he got home from work. Bart wanted to take her for a walk. I wanted to take her for a ride in the car. All of us momentarily forgetting that was no longer an option. Kramer had seemed to be the portrait of strength through all this. In a way, his normalcy made it easier for us to be, well, normal.

Except, he wasn't. While he was alone, in the house, he was a sad, lonely dog. He's never been one for doggie day care - one attempt back in Virginia with Bubby had the day care center remark "all they do is sleep!" He doesn't need 10 walks a day, he doesn't need 500 chew toys. He needed a friend, a furry friend during the day while his humans were out earning a paycheck.

So, I went to the Humane Society in Montgomery County last month. I figured that they would probably have quite a few dogs - given the lousy economy, I'm sure for some families, a canine is no longer an affordable luxury.

Even the best, cleanest, friendliest animal shelter is still a depressing place. Dozens of dogs living in close quarters, some who routinely mess in their pen, and cats with horrible litter pan aim, plus various rabbits, birds and lizards, it makes for a hell of a smell. It's like a Bouillabaisse made by an evil witch who learned her spells at Le Cordon Bleu. The cats are meowing, the dogs are barking and howling, and the smell of wet dog fur and dried urine hits your nose, it's sensory overload, and not in that fun "Vegas Casino" or "Awesome Theme Park Ride" kind of way.

It's like a prison. I've never been to a real prison, but, this seems about right. In fact, Mark noted that when a dog was let out of the pen to go outside, all the other dogs barked and howled like the old-time prisoners clanging their tin cups against the bars. "Here comes the new guy, let's razz him!"

In this four-legged Shawshank, most dogs have a look of desperation to them. They want out, and they will wag their tales, bark, jump enthusiastically, howl, run around in circles, anything to get the attention of a potential adopter. They don't know how desperate things are, how close to euthanasia they may be, or even how they ended up in this place. They just want to get out.

Other dogs are a little more mellow. Either they're older and just naturally calmer, or they're in a state of shock. Their eyes are scared, you can see it. They're not looking to impress; they just can't believe they're not where they were before. Maybe a family abandoned them. Perhaps they got away from their house, and had no idea how to get back. Who knows their backstory, really, for many of these dogs?

One of these dogs was Coltrane. Coltrane is a fairly young Lab/Pit Bull mix. He has, much like his namesake, a lot of soul. You can see the fear, the unease, in his eyes. He is not a barker. He is not a whiner. He is scared, and he is stunned. But the kindness and gentleness was obvious. He locked eyes with me, and it was amazing how those two dark eyes could show so much emotional chaos. I could tell he wanted to be somebody's pet, if he wasn't already a pet beforehand. I wrote down his name, just in case I didn't see any other dogs I liked. He looked like he might take some serious time to socialize.

Which brings me to this point - The Montgomery County Animal Shelter seems to have room for about 100 dogs. They're not completely full, but, they're close. Maybe one or two empty stalls. More than half of the dogs there are either pit bulls, or pit bull mixes. Some have obvious scarring and wounds that are consistent with fights, but most are simply pretty healthy dogs. Why are so many of them in there? I don't know exactly, but I'd reckon that most apartment complexes and community associations here in the County are not exactly pit bull-friendly. For the love of God people, read your *&@&! lease before you adopt a dog.

The pit bulls and the pit mixes are so numerous that the other breeds and non-pit mixes stand out. Flash, the German Shepard/Basset Hound mix was too cool for words, and fortunately, he's got a new home, away from the Canine Riker's Island. The huge Mastiff who is more content to eat his bed than to sleep on it. Then, there was Alaska, a positively lovely Malamute/Husky mix. Her friendly face and soft fur had me immediately, and she wagged her fluffy tail when I said her name. Her eyes were alert, ears perked, but was not as needy as the scores of dogs around her. I spent some time next to her cage, and she was very comfortable with me. I was pretty sure I would put in the adoption paperwork for her, provided she got along with Bart, Mark and Kramer.

This is where things get screwy. I met this dog, felt an instant connection, and had a good feeling about my ability to train her. The kennel staff member told me that I could bring Kramer buy for a fence visit - meaning Alaska would stay in the back outdoor area while Kramer would walk up to her from the parking lot, and sniff each other through the fence. I brought Kramer by the next day to do this, but was told by a different senior staff member, in a very direct, very rude tone, that they don't do that process anymore. I would need to put in the adoption paperwork BEFORE introducing her to Kramer. THEN, before meeting Kramer, I would need to have my human housemates meet her. THEN, before meeting Kramer again, I'd have to be judged worthy of adopting her. Only THEN could Kramer meet the new dog.

Weird, I replied. I was just told the opposite thing yesterday about the fence visit, but, hell, we can save everybody a ton of trouble if we just see if the two dogs get along. Kramer, despite anything Mark, Bart or I say, has the most important word. Or, bark, in this case.

A sympathetic worker arranged for a fence visit after all. Kramer and Alaska met through the fence, sniffed each other and wagged their tails. They seemed like fast friends, even though Alaska was a good 20 pounds heavier than Kramer and was obviously really excited to be outside. They seemed fine with each other, and she was responsive to me again.

I went back inside, and filled out the application for Alaska. She'd be a big dog, a big furry handful indeed, but I was certain she'd be a great pet. I filled out the paperwork, including my job info, my lease info, stuff about my house, my car. Part of the application deals with previous family pets, and pets I had cared for. I stuck with the highlights - JJ the Pomeranian, Bud and Vern the Chows, Glomer my rescue kitty in Des Moines, and my beloved box kitten Squeaky. Of course, Kramer and Bubby. I threw in some info about Uncle Larry's old dog Bandit, a lovely Norwegian Elkhound he had back in the early 1980s, figuring that more furry dog experience would look awesome on the application.

I thought right. The woman looked over the adoption paperwork, and noted "oh, Chow Chow and Elkhound experience, excellent... ." I didn't have the heart to tell her that my Elkhound experience was mainly getting out of the way of that horny furry bastard's unneutered crotch. That dog was pretty, but he was the jackrabbit of dogs. He humped my leg, my mom's leg, Uncle Larry's leg, my grandma's leg, the old tree out in the backyard, various shrubs and plants.

Here's where I should have known this would get fouled up - Alaska had been in the pound for barely two weeks, but already had two adoption applications in. The Humane Society does not tell you this when you put in the effort to meet the dog, get to know the dog, get kind of attached to the dog - they tell you this AFTER you have put in your application. Well, shit. Thanks?! Hell of a thing to meet this gorgeous, amazing dog, and find out "You're number three on our list for her."

Number three? Sheesh. That dog was essentially a high school student looking to go to college. Choice one would be the school she REALLY wants to go to. Choice two may not be as good academically, but she'd have a lot of friends there. Choice three was the local community college that's known for having a kick-ass vending machine. We were choice three.

I sneaked a peak at the applications in front of mine. Application number one, choice number one, was an address in Potomac, Maryland, on a street named after an old famous author. Potomac, for those of you who don't know the socio-economic levels of The Old Line State, is the wealthiest zip code in the wealthiest state, per capita, in the United States. It is home to diplomats, heads of state, actors, writers, lawyers, Arab oil barons, British royalty, Jewish property developers, Japanese tech investors, Italian shipping tycoons, and the dozens of Latina women who clean their houses. How wealthy is Potomac? You know that show "Beverly Hills 90210?" The original script was called "Potomac 20854." The town has big cash money, and I figured that Alaska would look wonderful in a house where the guest house's guest house is bigger than our house.

Alaska's first-choice school was Oxford, and we were TESST Electronic Schools, where you can train to be a printer or copy repairman in just a few short weeks. We ranked about one step above Sally Struther's old infomercial school and one step about Larry the Cable Guy's "Get `Er Done!" School of Toilet Clogging.

I went home pretty convinced we wouldn't get the dog, and it was too late in the evening for me to fill out paperwork on another dog.

Imagine my surprise when, almost two weeks later, I get a phone call from the Humane Society. We were now the number one application, and they needed to meet Mark and Bart. We went up last Saturday and met the dog. The gang loved her. Hopefully she could meet Kramer that day, too, and we could head on home, a two-dog household again. Alaska was friendly and hyper and sweet and excited, just like a young dog should be, but we were told we couldn't introduce her to Kramer yet. She'd been in the shelter for a month, and I hoped that her time there wasn't giving her too many bad habits. However, she responded well to my commands on the leash, lending credence to my theory that she merely needed some discipline and affection to become a great pet. She leaned up against Mark and Bart, and she offered me her paw without prompting. Yup, that sealed the deal. We wanted her. We just had one more small step...

The Adoption Nazi.

Now, she's not really a Nazi. She's got a thick accent, very much like Zorba the Greek. And you can tell she's a nice enough lady, and genuinely cares for dogs. So, she's definitely not really a Nazi. However, she is the interviewer for the Humane Society, and what she says, goes. She's like the matchmaker, a canine Yenta, if you will. If she doesn't get a good vibe with the adoptable dog and the potential owner, no dice. I could easily picture her saying "No dog for you for ONE YEAR!"

(Hey, my dog's named Kramer for a reason. I didn't love "Seinfeld" the TV show as much as I loved the characters on it. )

Kramer and I went to the Humane Society on Wednesday afternoon, hoping to FINALLY get this dog, nearly a month after this saga began. All we'd need is for the two pups to like each other, I pay the adoption fee, and we've got a new dog.

I knew something was wrong when I pulled into the parking lot. Alaska was straining against her leash, and the poor little female kennel staff member could barely hold her. She was extremely excited, but not towards me, or the car, or Kramer in the backseat. A large man took Alaska's lead, and kept her still. I take Kramer out of the car, and walk him towards Alaska. She strained at her leash again, to get a good look at Kramer. At this point in his life, Kramer is all about everybody, meaning that he wants to smell everything, and the big furry dog is about as interesting as the Adoption Nazi, the little female staffer, the large man, or the tree in the front yard. He eventually got over to Alaska, wagging his tail. So was Alaska, but the man had a hell of a grip on her leash. She started barking, and leapt forward, running into Kramer and knocking him off his paws for a second. She barked again, as Kramer smelled other things in the area. She lunged again, and this time the guy yanked back on the leash, making her bark and growl for a second.

The Adoption Nazi had seen enough.

"No, No no you cannot adopt this dog! This dog hate your dog!" she exclaimed through her thick accent. "She will hurt your sweet dog."

The large man hauled Alaska back into the kennel.

I said "she seemed a little riled up before I even pulled into the lot. I could see her straining-"

My Big Fat Greek Adoption Nazi interrupted me. "No, Alaska is not good with dogs! She hurt your dog!"

For the record, Alaska's adoption sheet, the canine equivalent of a Playboy Centerfold Data Sheet, said she's great with other dogs. She also likes long walks, cold weather, and Steely Dan.

That was the last I saw of Alaska.

The Adoption Nazi was not through, though. She asked me about what kind of a dog I was looking for, who Kramer would enjoy. I expressed shock that Alaska was so leash-aggressive around Kramer, because they were fine a few days a-

She cut me off again. "You like young dog? Old dog?" She said it like one of those doormen in front of a strip club in a seedy part of town. "Hey kid, you like redheads? I got redheads in here. You like Asian girls with stab wounds? I got Asians with stab wounds in here."

I resigned myself to the fact that Alaska was not to be. Adoption Nazi will not allow it. If I want to see Alaska, I'd better book a Carnival Cruise.

I asked about the funny Shepard/Basset hound mix, and found out he'd been adopted this weekend. I mentioned that I was looking for a younger dog, if not really a puppy. She said "I have a six year old Border Collie mix."

Unless you're talking about a tree or Roman Polanski's sexual preferences, six is not exactly young, but, Bubby was half Border Collie, and they are generally good dogs. My semi-photographic memory kicked in, as I went through the mental inventory of dogs I had seen on Saturday. I didn't recall too many middle-aged dogs...maybe he just came in...

Or, maybe, it's because the only other dog that matched the breed mix was a lot older than six years old. She trots out Bobo, a sweet little old man, but every bit of ten years old, if not older. He's a Border Collie/Shepard mix, with a completely gray muzzle, gray hair all through his coat, cataracts, a potential thyroid problem, some arthritis in his legs, potential hip dysplasia, a sore on his tail - all this I gathered in about the same time as it took the Adoption Nazi to write off the Kramer and Alaska love story. But, he's exceedingly nice to Kramer. They smell each other, and, you'd swear looking at the two of them, that Kramer was the six year old, and Bobo was the almost-ten year old. But, the Adoption Nazi swore he was six. She made me a copy of his information, and it showed he'd been microchipped, given all his shots, and this was his second tour of duty at the Humane Society. He'd been adopted last year, and brought back when the owners couldn't care for him. Uh-oh.

She went to get some more info on Bobo, when two of the Humane Society workers began talking back-and-forth about Bobo, as I petted him and Kramer.

"He is the sweetest thing!"
"Such a good old man!" (six year old dogs are rarely called 'old.')
"He'll be a great pet!"
"Did they get his cataracts fixed?" (thought he had those)
"I don't know, maybe it's on his sheet."
"Is his tail still bleeding?" (called that one, too)
"Nah, that's good. Shame about his arthritis." (I am on a roll at this point. Take me to Vegas! I can't lose!)
"Yeah, his hips are sagging." (I just hit a five-team parlay and covered the spread)
"Not much tartar on his teeth." (well, at least there's that.)

The Adoption Nazi brings me another form full of Bobo's info. It verified that he was a nice dog, very sweet and gentle, and very friendly. The previous owners couldn't afford to keep him, and, shocker! - he's at least 8 years old. They don't know, exactly. Judging from his looks, he's much older. I've never had a dog look this old, even the cancer-ridden Bubby, who, aside from some gray flecks on her muzzle, looked pretty young her whole life.

Now, this is where I call "Bullshit!" on this whole process. 30 minutes earlier, I'm looking at a healthy, fluffy, furry, energetic ball of joy and excitement named Alaska. She's not even two years old, ready to play, and to be loved, and to be a great pet for the next decade. I'm now looking at an elderly dog, with the thick, cataract-affected eyes of an old dog, with a lot of gray fur, a bad hip that probably can't be fixed, and the bulging eyes common in animals with bad thyroids. He's not in pain or any kind of suffering, but, he's not exactly the picture of health. Alaska, SHE'S the dog I want. A dog who is going to be a blast, energy and love. It's like I just saw an online personal ad, and the pictures on the ad are of a woman twenty years younger and fifty pounds lighter. That doesn't mean the older woman in front of me doesn't have value - just don't LIE to me. Don't pull a bait-and-switch on me.

If the Adoption Nazi had said "we have an older dog, very sweet, he needs a good home for his last year or two..." then you know what? I'd have considered adopting Bobo on the spot. At least fostering him - that's what fosters do. He's a kind old soul. But I just lost Bubby two months ago, and it still hurts. Hell, Squeaky ran away back in 2005, and I STILL keep a picture of that cat on my wall. I'm not a fool - I know Kramer doesn't have too much longer left in him, despite his ridiculously good health. He's a big dog, and he's got, what, one or two left in him? Maybe three, four would be pushing it, who knows? Bobo...hell, I couldn't take losing another pet so soon.

I just re-read my memorial to Squeaky that I linked to above. Damn I miss that cat.

In any event, I drove out to the Wheaton Regional Park with Kramer for a good walk and a chance to play with the dogs in the dog park. He was happy to be outside, and I was seething about the whole ordeal. Almost four weeks of practically courting the Humane Society and this dog, and I came up empty. This was almost 10 hours of my time, gone. That beautiful Alaska, sitting inside that kennel another night because she was overstimulated. That sweet old Bobo, sitting inside as well because he wasn't. And Coltrane, hopefully finding some peace.

All four of us wondering what they have to do to get adopted.

Thanks to Unsuck DC Metro

2009-10-14T11:13:00.001-04:00

Check out my lovely camera phone work on their latest "Hall of Shame" character.

New blogs for the lazy blogger...

2009-09-20T03:02:00.002-04:00

I'm now writing over at the Church of Purple Jesus. Football, Adrian Peterson, and general trash talk.

Also, I might be doing the same thing for The Angered, which is a caption website. Hard to write pictures, though.

Just thought of this...

2009-08-28T10:38:00.002-04:00

I'm sure somebody else has, too, if you Google for it enough...

Why do we have so many football teams named after birds and cats, two
species that would totally suck at football? Ravens, Falcons,
Seahawks, Eagles, Cardinals, Bengals, Panthers, Jaguars

If a dog is man's best friend, then dogs would like teams named after
people. Patriots, Bucs, Raiders, 49ers, Cowboys, Redskins, Vikings,
Steelers, Packers, Chiefs and, potentially, big dogs would like the
Giants and Titans.

Dogs would be scared of Bears, Chargers and especially the Jets. Loud
noises and what not.

Dogs would run around with the Rams, Bills, Broncos, Colts, and
Texans, potentially trying to herd them.

Dogs would laugh at the Dolphins. Their wacky antics delight us all.

Dogs would never even see the Browns.

The death of a disco dancer

2009-06-26T00:59:00.002-04:00

So, Michael Jackson died today. He was 50 years old, but his nose was only 8.

The news has been going crazy about it, as though nobody has ever died in the history of ever. NBC canceled their kinda-funny Thursday night lineup to switch to "All Michael, All The Time." CNN, knowing that nothing sells like death, ignored the death in Iran, Iraq and God knows what other country we couldn't identify on a map to go Whacko on Jacko. People were lining up outside UCLA Medical Center to get updates, or official word of his passing. CNN interviewed people on the streets of New York for their opinion. Some of the folks were crying. Newscasters did their best "grave, serious voice," the kind that Walter Cronkite used to save for the death of a President, or real honest-to-God Kings, not kings of pop.

Oh, yeah, Walter - I hope you'll rest in peace, by the way. It was reported that you were on Death's Door the other day. Some places reported that you were dead. Much like Abe Vigoda and that Monty Python skit, "I'm not dead yet." You were an inspiration to me during my budding television career, but more like in the whole "I probably shouldn't smoke while on camera" way than anything. Still, your grace and gravitas is sorely lacking in today's media. I miss it. We've been a little busy back here in the mortal coil to give you a proper send-off. Iran is squashing an uprising, using men with guns to shoot women with amazing cheekbones, haunting eyes, and more courage than the average man could ever imagine. The Republican Party is having a hell of a time keeping its collective zipper up, as two prominent GOP members got busted for cheating on their wives - one who railed against President Clinton for his adulterous tendencies, and the other who used tax money to go bang out some hot Latin love down in Argentina.

Fellow TV professional Ed McMahon died as well, a Korean War veteran, a beloved sidekick, and, in no small way, responsible for the viral video craze to catch on during the internet age. He and Dick Clark doled out bloopers during prime time, a predecessor to YouTube and all the DVD extra features we demand. 9 Washington D.C. citizens died in a horrific mass transit accident, and the repercussions of which has made the city you used to travel through a virtual blockade of slowed trains and slower cars. Former sex symbol Farrah Fawcett died today as well, succumbing to her years-long battle with cancer. And, on top of that, I think I read where some bomb went off in Iraq, killing another 50 or so folks. Nothing major, you know, when compared to a guy who kept a pet monkey, wore half as many gloves as society would demand, and had more face lifts than hit singles the past 20 years.

Let me get this straight - Gary Glitter writes a catchy tune, but he loves teenage Asian boys and their teenage Asian boy bits. He goes off to Vietnam to get a few for some sort of bizarre pre-teen sex/drugs/rock and roll/ thing and we can't listen to him anymore because he's a child molester. They stopped playing his big hit, "History of Rock and Roll Part I" - which you may know better as the "dot-da-da-daaa Hey! You Suck!" song. I get that. Child molesters are bad, at least, that's what Megan's Law told me.

BUT, Michael Jackson, who paid out MILLIONS of dollars to settle multiple child molestation cases, who had photographs of all sorts of nude children, and who damned near dropped his own son off a balcony a few years ago - *HE* is worth eulogizing??? Is it because, unlike Glitter, he had more than one Top 40 hit? He had almost as many Grammies as face lifts, but he's been around more kid privates than Pampers and been on more children than Osh Kosh B'Gosh, *HE'S* worth honoring? Crying in the street over? He's worth that?

Because that's what it comes to - celebrity. Michael Jackson was a child star. He was part of our lives way back before disco with the Jackson 5 and made a rock/urban hybrid sound on "Thriller" that only Prince (and ONLY Prince) could possibly emulate. (Linkin Park, take note of that. You've sold a lot of albums, but you still suck. Just a FYI for ya.) He did some acting - remember The Wiz? - and even turned his lesser-talented siblings into stars themselves, though Janet was legit in her own right, but LaToya, Tito, Jermaine, Randy, Reggie, Action, Pollack...sheesh. Really? REALLY? Really...?

Jackson became the King of Pop because nobody sold as many records as he did. Elvis, the Beatles, the Stones (Rolling and Roses), not even the amazing Garth Brooks/Chris Gaines combo, sold like MJ. He was a worldwide megastar. And, nobody became the poster boy for the excesses of wealth and trappings of fame like MJ. Neverland Ranch, Bubbles the Chimp, the obsession with the Elephant Man, the obsession with the Little Children - think about it - average folks who don't even care for Michael Jackson's music knew more about his personal life than almost any other celebrity. Who's the biggest star in the music world right now? Beyonce'? Miley Cyrus? The Jonas Brothers? Fergie? Bono? Bet you can't name their pets. Bet you can't identify the names of their houses. I'll wager you can't even guess who *their* necrophiliac crush is. The only person who has as identifiable questions would be the President - we know he lives in the White House. We know he recently adopted Bo, the First Dog, though, as far as we can tell, has yet to dig up the bones of JFK and put them in the Lincoln Bedroom.

But you could do all that and more with Michael Jackson. Hell, owning the remains of a dead man famous for his bizarre disfigurement wasn't even THE WEIRDEST thing Michael Jackson is known for!

Perhaps MJ's greatest feat was making people give a crap about him well-after he had so obviously lost his marbles. This manchild abused countless children, and yet was still free to roam the Earth. God knows how much therapy those children have had, and will need, just to even THINK about becoming normal. And, how much more they'll need after 10 hours of constant television coverage of their abuser, treating him as a deity.

All because of a couple of hit records.

Update for the Five Of You Who Care :)

2009-05-24T23:28:00.005-04:00

It's been a little while since I ego-blogged, so here's a lil' update about me:

1) Employment - I recently took a job as a contractor at the Heritage Foundation, a conservative think tank in Washington, D.C. I obviously didn't agree with everything they espoused politically, but I did enjoy working as an A/V, IT, and broadcasting support guy. They had so many events in their building - speeches, seminars, documentary showings, minglers - and it was nice to meet a few folks I've seen quoted in the news. While I'm not the little conservative I was 20 years ago - far from it, actually - I do strongly agree with their points on controlling the National Debt and cutting entitlement programs. I fortunately was not there long enough to get into a political discussion with anybody of import. As soon as they'd find out that I voted for a Democrat in 2008, I'd probably be shown the door.

Having said that, the job itself was great. My direct boss was quite a pill, however. I've never worked with somebody so...blatantly hard to work with. She was a nice enough person on her own, but so incredibly odd. For instance - she's a micromanager to the ultimate degree. She didn't think I was taking enough notes on my first day, and physically yanked the pen out from my hands and wrote the notes herself. I have never had anybody do that ever, and she did it four times my first two days. She also forbade chit-chat. No talking, just sit at your desk quietly until the phone rang. So, it was next to impossible to ask the other members of the team for advice. She gave me four different shifts my first week - it's nice to know when you're working before you're working. 8-5? 7-4? 10-8? (not a typo) Pick one, lady. On top of that, the guy who was responsible for training me didn't talk at all, and then gave me bad information every chance he could. Not cool. It was like he was deliberately sabotaging me.

Ultimately, though, my issues with the job were directly tied to the odd boss. I can't work in silence. I'm 36, not in the 3rd grade. I need human interaction. And, I need my pen to remain in my hand until I set it down of my own accord.

The contracting company was of little help, either. They were paying a straight by-the-hour rate. No benefits, no sick leave, no medical insurance, no nothing. Need time off? Lose a paycheck. Need a 401k? Get it yourself, slick. That they also did not disclose the true working hours were set at 37.5 hours, not 40. So, when we did the math at 40 hours, it was a substantial, yet doable pay cut from my previous job. Knock another 2.5 hours off per week, and it suddenly became too dear to handle. I gave my two week notice last week, and they let me go that Friday night.

Why would I leave so quickly? Can you say "Department of Health?" That's where I'm working on Tuesday, after Memorial Day. One of my older job applications came through, and they offered me the job while I was at Heritage. It's a great pay and benefit increase from Heritage, about what I made at the Pentagon, but with better health care. Awesome, I say. My new employer is AVI-SPL - much more professional than Chronos and with all sorts of great projects going on across the country.

Hopefully this one will work out for a while.

2) Projects - The great digitalization movement is in full effect. I've filled up one 500GB hard drive with tunes. All my CDs are getting dumped into iTunes' lossless format so I can store these discs away and never have to see them again. I'm going to back up the entire music collection on a 1TB drive and probably connect that to a wireless network device. Yes, I know I'm a geek. Bite me.

I'm also putting everything in bins. I have bins for my bins.

3) Personal - Um...I took myself out of the dating world while unemployed, and now I'm looking to get back into the world of being at least semi-social again. Went on a nice date last week with a woman to Oyamel. She's a funny one - great taste in music, fierce independent streak, killer hair. However, I promptly followed up our date by getting a sinus infection, and that took me out of commission the last week. Thanks, karma?

I went to see "Lying In State" in Hagerstown today. Erika played "Bubbles," a stripper/Senate candidate in this political spoof. First time I've seen her in about 9 months, I guess. She's a natural on stage. Makes me want to dust off the olde head shots and audition myself. Wonder how I'd do with nearly a decade between roles?

4) Food - The gang have moved www.dcfud.com over to a new server, and the page looks good. Now that I'm employed, I'll be dining out more, and should be able to write about something.

5) Comedy - Ole' Wayne Man convinced me to do standup comedy a few weeks ago. I'm finding myself writing down little bits and lines again. I swear...if I get the jones to tour again... hopefully I'll be better at it.

6) Photos - Jan Louis, the stinkin' Cuban, has borrowed my Sony gear for nearly three weeks now. He's gone to Puerto Rico and Chicago and Gold Cup during that time. I've been to Hagerstown. He's unemployed, and has more frequent-flier miles than a professional baseball team. How does he afford his rock-and-roll lifestyle?

So, I'm stuck with the sad Canon and no good shots to speak of, except of this:

This is what happens when the Weirdest Thing Ever happens.

Two Sundays ago, Bart called me over to his room to see something on his computer. Kramer was laying down in front of Bart's door, and I stepped over him gently. As I'm doing this, a freak gust of wind outside created a vacuum in our house, and caused Bart's door to slam shut...right into my nose and eye, hard. I started to step back, but could feel Kramer's leg under my foot, so I lifted my leg off the ground. I went butt-first into the drywall, holding my possibly-bleeding nose and eye with my right hand, and trying to brace myself with my left. Fortunately, I was only left with a small red mark on my face - I must have somehow stopped the door with my right hand or something microns from my pupil. However, look at the hole. Notice the perfect circle. It's like Dana Carvey's old George Michael impersonation.

"It is so perfectly round that British scientists use it to calibrate their instruments."

I'll probably patch up my butt hole next week. I included the sleeping dogs in the shot to give a basis for scale. My butt is mighty.

Dear O's Fans

2009-04-09T14:54:00.002-04:00

Stop interfering with baseballs in play when the Yankees are batting. The O's are winning right now today if you behave yourself.

Lucky Magazine Likes Photoshop. A lot.

2009-04-06T16:25:00.004-04:00

I saw the cover of Lucky Magazine at my friend Gina's place yesterday. I asked who the pretty young actress was on the cover.

Cute girl, huh? Looks like some budding young starlet. About what, 16, 17 years old? Possibly some Swedish model on the rise?

Nope.

How about 35 year old actress Elizabeth Banks.

Yeah, this Elizabeth Banks. Do these two women look the same?

Look, Elizabeth Banks is hot. She's very young-looking naturally. Does she need to be airbrushed to the point of being unrecognizable? To have all of her features be flattened and smoothed and erased? To look like a Swedish model on the tube of a salmon paste pate you can buy at Ikea?

Bad job, Lucky.

From DCFud.com - The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic is Scared Amongst the Bargains

2009-03-16T18:49:00.000-04:00

From DCFud.com

A decade ago, I dated a woman who worked as a grocery store consultant. She specialized in creating traffic flow through product layout and visual displays. I practically grew up in the grocery store my grandmother owned south of Annapolis, stocking the shelves for pocket money as a child, and managing inventory and the finances as an adult when her health faded. I thought I knew a lot about the grocery business, but I got a crash course in Grocery Store 101 from this consultant. Ever noticed how in the produce section uses lots of wood paneling and angled shelves? That's to give the customer the idea that the fruits and vegetables are "fresh from the farm," like they had been packed and shipped that very day. Colorful apples and oranges always get a prime location because they're eye-catching, while the lowly brown potato is regulated to back-of-the-aisle status. The meat section is the same way - higher-priced red meat is displayed prominently in front near the butcher's department, while lower-priced and less-colorful chicken is placed down the row 20 feet away. Seafood often gets its own corner section, as the mark-up on fresh fish and local crab meat is too much of a profit driver to just place haphazardly in the store. These little Jedi mind tricks are part of the subtle ways grocery chains subliminally herd you through the store. The consultant stressed the importance of initial visual impact - to make the store look appealing as soon as you walk in the door. High-end retailers like Harris-Teeter and Wegmans show either their incredibly sumptuous prepared-foods section or their diverse produce section right up front. Whole Foods and Trader Joe's can lead off with their wholesome baked goods or some special exotic food. Lots of new and refurbished Giants and Safeways entice customers with Starbucks locations as you enter. Newer locations of Shoppers like to start off with a large, colorful display of deeply-discounted products, thus proving to their value to the customer.

Then, there's Bottom Dollar Food. They don't have time for all that noise. They just leave a big ole' mess of cardboard right up front. See, Bottom Dollar is all about saving the consumer as much money as possible, so you can either pay a couple of cents for grocery bags, or use the free cardboard boxes. Sturdy boxes used to ship bottled water go quickly, while the small squares used to transport salt shakers are left to wallow. Some of the Bottom Dollar faithful bring their own. Either way, the boxes come in handy to haul away some pretty good deals. Prices are generally quite low - 2 liters of soda are half the price than the neighboring Giant. Fresh meats are about 15% per pound cheaper than their competitors. Produce is about 20% cheaper than the nearby Safeway.

Bottom Dollar is part of the Food Lion family, just like Bloom, which I reviewed in 2007. Unlike Bloom, Bottom Dollar doesn't try to hide its association with the parent company. They proudly sell Food Lion products as the generic options to the big brand names. Also, they don't have near the product diversity or the dutifully restocked shelves like Bloom. It's somewhat strange to see relatively thin inventories in an American grocery store, but that's the case at Bottom Dollar. You won't feel crowded or overwhelmed by the selection. Still, I got a large box of Honey Comb for $2.56 and a pound of frozen Alaskan pollack for $1.99 - about 33% cheaper than other stores.

However, I doubt I'll make regular trips to Bottom Dollar, and it has nothing to do with the products or the prices. It's the attitude. It breeds weirdness. The store is somewhat overly-lit, and their love of day-glo orange and green paint conjures up memories of the washed-out 1970s, and not the fun, coked-out 1970s, either, but of ugly station wagons with wood paneling. There's no background music playing, either - at least, not in any of my trips there so far - and there's something eerie about an almost silent grocery store. It's like the Centralia of shopping.

And, much like the few folks who remain in Centralia, frankly, the natives freak me out. This weekend, a married couple shopped with a Nextel dangling from a lanyard around the wife's neck, pulling double duty as a necklace and a phone. Their conversation with an offspring echoed and chirped throughout the frozen food aisle. And, while I'm thinking of it ...

Hey, Sprint, you want to know why you're taking a beating in the cell phone market? Because you purchased Nextel - THE MOST OBNOXIOUS CELL PHONE EVER! Nextels were cool for like a hot minute in 2000. Those "What if...?" commercials where firefighters run Congress and the delivery people run schools with their Nextels are only slightly less annoying than the new Comcast commercials with the weird monotone singing, bad acid flashback graphics and "The Sims"-like background. And, while I'm thinking of it - Hey, Comcast, I'm glad to see the outrageous amount of money I paid for basic digital cable and internet access for three years went to a good cause, like making THE MOST OBNOXIOUS CABLE COMMERCIAL EVER. I am now a proud FiOS customer, and I pay a lot less to have HD channels *included*, better channel selection, plus much faster internet access, and a lot more reliable service. For the record, the FiOS Guy/Cable Guy commercials are kind of funny. Learn from them, Comcast. Entertain potential customers, not make them think they drank tainted Flavor-Aid.

...sorry, I blacked out there for a second. Anyway, another customer, a man in his mid-50s, I suppose, was buying individual servings of frozen yogurt. Nothing odd about that normally, except this man was buying *A LOT* of yogurt. Like, an entire shelf of it. Like, even Jamie Lee Curtis couldn't eat that much yogurt. I estimated about 50 cups in his grocery cart as I walked past, and I watched him pull another 30 or so cups before the Nextel-couple asked him what he was going to do with all that yogurt. His reply was hardly as sinister as I hoped - "it's good for you!" - and yes, indeed he did intend to eat all that yogurt. The Nextel husband commented later to me in the checkout line that this stuff happens all the time at "Bottom Loser." Much like The Replacements, ironically, I can't hardly wait.

*********************************************************************************************
Bottom Dollar Foods gets 20 Whammies! out of a possible 25. I saved nearly 25% on my grocery bill at Bottom Dollar as opposed to similar trips to Safeway or Harris Teeter. However, I subtracted 2 Whammies! for the freaky Nextel couple, 1 Whammy! for the freaky yogurt guy, and two Whammies! for making me forage through the cardboard box dump to cart off my purchases. Shoppers used to do the same thing until they realized how ghetto that made them look. Take heed, Bottom Dollar...but, man, I do love cheap Honey Comb.
*********************************************************************************************

Bottom Dollar Foods
13 locations between Frederick and Fredericksburg.

Amish Rave Four Play Keepers

2009-03-13T23:03:00.001-04:00

ROCKVILLE (UPI) - In what has become the annual highlight of owner Raymond Bradley's fantasy baseball season, his team, the Amish Rave Four Play, have announced the coaching staff for their 2009 season.

"For years, I have stepped up to the dais and announced the names of the men who will lead this team - my team - to fantasy glory," began Bradley. "Notice the key word in that sentence. 'Men.' I have yet to have any shred of success in getting men to run my team."

"This year, I have decided we don't need men running the Amish Rave," said Bradley. We need stars. PORN STARS to be exact!"

At that point, the curtain behind Bradley was opened to reveal a bunch of exceedingly naked people, many of them surgically enhanced to look almost buoyant.

"That's right, America, I'm bring porn back into the mainstream, and what's more mainstream than baseball?" Bradley asked.

One member of the press spoke up and answered "Um, our country's military heroes?"

"That was a rhetorical question, you yak-breeder," Bradley replied. "There's nothing more American than baseball other than porn! We make more porn in the US by 9 AM than most countries do ALL DAY! And all sorts of porn, too, from bored married couples looking to spice things up in the bedroom after 15 years of unsatisfying missionary position sex; from big-budget productions taking place on soundstages with all sorts of unnecessary plot, dialog and costumes; to back-alley sex dungeons in New York offering free streaming web cams of S&M sessions; to naive college girls on Spring Break and the horny 30 year old men who trick them into thinking that showing their boobs for "Girls Gone Wild" is "empowering to women"; to those Iowan strippers in seedy clubs outside of Council Bluffs looking to score a couple of extra bucks with a passing truck driver; from beach bunnies in Miami Beach who enjoy rubbing their firm and possibly-fake breasts on other beach bunnies from Miami Beach and the men who take pictures of them with their camera phones; to all the women who have bought double-headed dildos, video cameras, and who have a dream; and to all the scores of pretty but untalented wanna-be actresses in Southern California who give better anal than they do auditions and who really, REALLY need the rent money and didn't have a fall-back plan; I salute them all!" extolled Bradley, his voice strong, and, in this author's opinion, almost Obama-like in his diction, eloquence and mannerism.

Another member of the press corps, a large, muscular, tanned men who refused to be identified as anything other than "Arod from the New York Yank...I mean Post," asked "Mr. Bradley, I noticed during your speech that at no time did you mention any homosexual men, perhaps the largest audience of porn and a potentially big demographic for your team. How do you respond?"

Bradley calmly put his hands over his ears, and said "blah blah blah blah I can't hear you gay porn ewwwww blah blah blah."

The eloquence had left the building.

Bradley continued with his announcement, as two of the surgically-enhanced women behind him began to grind seductively against each other, causing visible anxiety amongst the members of the press who had gathered at the White Flint Mall for this announcement, except, amazingly, the man known as "Arod."

"This year's coaching staff needs really a minimal introduction. To my right, you've seen him in pornos since the 1970s, and wondered if an ugly, hairy bastard like that can get laid, surely I can too, the Amish Rave Four Play's hitting coach, Ron "the Hedgehog" Jeremy!" exclaimed Bradley, to a smattering of claps and a rousing round of applause from Mr. Arod.

Jeremy took the dais and said "I know *I* can suck myself off; I've now got to teach the Rave *NOT* to suck!"

Bradley went back to the dais, and sprayed the microphone down with Lysol and a Handi-Wipe, and continued with the press conference.

"Our strength and conditioning coach is a legend in the porn world. He too has been banging the hell outta sluts since the golden age of smut, but, has stayed in such incredible shape that he's a natural for the Amish Rave, Mr. Peter North!" said Bradley, again to a bit more clapping and a positively embarrassing display of whooping and hollering from Mr. Arod.

"Thank you for this opportunity," said North. "Do any of you know the muscle discipline it takes to do a reverse pile-driver into the gaping anus of a 19 year old girl from El Segundo? No? I do, and, it's a lot. I hope I can pass on this knowledge to the Amish Rave."

Bradley then went to shake North's hand, but found it to be gooey, and passed on the attempt. Bradley then said that he "...initially approached Jeff Stryker to see if he wanted a position on this team..." but was interrupted when Mr. Arod started cheering in Spanish and waved his shirt around like a drunk coal miner spun a Terrible Towel after the Pittsburgh Steelers got some complete B.S. calls against the Ravens in the NFL in 2008, but, this author digresses.

Bradley then completed his sentence "but the only position he wanted on this team was a sixty-nine!!!" which, at that point, made Mr. Arod ejaculate, and not in the old-fashioned nineteenth century version of the word, meaning "to exclaim," but in the 8th grade health class version of the word, meaning "to blow choad all over the poor dude in front of him." Yes, Arod came all over the back of another member of the press corps at mere mention of bisexual porn star Jeff Stryker. I want you all to think about that.

After a fifteen minute delay as the Rave's groundscrew cleaned up Arod's baby batter from the floor around him, Arod went outside to smoke a clove cigarette, and the guy in front of Arod who took the lion's share of the load to the back of the head went to the locker room to take a shower and ask himself questions, alone, in the shower stall, Bradley continued the press conference.

"Our bullpen is either a source of pain or of joy, depending on the season," said Bradley. "Often, the Rave's bullpen pitchers are not ready to come into the games like they should be, and really drive it home. So, our bullpen coach in 2009 is former Vivid Video fluffer and porn star in her own right, Mary Carey!"

Mary Carey approached the microphone, and promptly swallowed it, which drew many cheers and gasps from the audience.

Mr. Arod booed, for the record.

Without a microphone, the press conference looked lost, but thanks to the quick thinking of Peter North and Ron Jeremy, they immediately gave Ms. Carey a modified version of the Heimlich Maneuver, this one without pants and utilizing a lot more penetration than customary. Within minutes, Mary Carey had faked two orgasms and coughed up the microphone.

"As many of you know, the hard part - heh, I said 'hard' - with this team each year is coming up with a good coach and general manager combination. Few combinations had the panache, the joie de vie, the je nais sais quoi, the deja vu, the comme si, comme ca, the voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir and other assorted French phrases like Wade Boggs and John Kruk did during their time with the Rave. So this year, I was really looking to recapture that chemistry. I thought Weird Al was going to bring it for me a couple of years ago. And those other guys who I can't recall....they didn't work out too well either. I went for a couple who I thought extolled grace, the spirit of fun, and the complete lack of sobriety needed to run the Rave. This years' General Manager is the star of suck films - heh, I said 'suck' - I mean, SUCH films as "Cum Buckets! 3" and "Grand Theft Anal 9" Miss Jenna Haze!"

Ms. Haze approached the dais to much cheering and whistling from the press corps, shaking her hips from side to side, clad in a Catholic school girl's uniform with fishnets, a garter belt and a set of handcuffs. Once again, the only man not applauding was Mr. Arod, who was buried in his Blackberry, texting to somebody listed as "M.Donna." Ms. Haze took the Mary Carey-soaked microphone in her hands, and started to slowly lick the shaft.

"I want to make the Rave the hardest team to beat in the league!" exclaimed Jenna as she smacked the microphone against the side of her face.

Bradley reapproached the podium, and slipped Ms. Haze his cell phone number, saying something about "any late night personnel decisions."

"The manager this year is former hardcore star and current mistress and fetish queen Taylor St. Clair. She's got the experience and dominant personality this team needs," explained Bradley.

Taylor took the stage wearing more leather than a biker bar in Sturgis and showing more tit than the San Diego Chargers' cheerleaders.

"We will WIN or I will WHIP THEM!" said St. Clair forcefully. She smacked her whip against the podium, turned around, and gave Bradley a quick squeeze on the butt. She whispered "thanks for the job" into his ear.

At that point, Mr. Bradley called over his groundscrew to clean up around him. Bradley stammered out "Press conference is about to be over. Um, Ms. Haze, can you announce our keepers this year for me?" Bradley asked while trying to hide a massive erection.

Jenna said "OK, here's who we want...badly."

Josh Ham-in-my-ill-tush
Cunter Penis
Chris Ian-my-enda
Dan Uggly
Shane Victor-in-ho
Daisuke Matsuzaka sounds dirty enough on its own
Brandon Webb - too good to mess with
Ty Wigginin-my-bum
Troy Tulowitzkitty
Brandon Morrow-yer-junk-in-my-butt

and possibly David Labia Murphy in case anybody gets hurt.

I'm not clever, but I own a cleaver. Does that count?

2009-02-23T12:45:00.002-05:00

Because I'm not clever enough to come up with my own Facebook memes, but just wise enough to change them into my own lil' sub-meme. These are 16 albums that changed my life, and 9 that missed.

First - the Good 16.

16) Faithless - Outrospective. To say this is the best electronica band I've ever heard is an understatement. They make dance songs with meaning...or they make meaningful songs you can dance to. Either way.

15) XTC - Nonsuch. Not their best album, but very whimsical and surprisingly brilliant. It's amazing at how vital this album becomes with every passing year.

14) Kitchens of Distinction - "Strange Free World." You can listen to a million albums, but you will never hear a trio sound so incredibly rich. They do a Phil Spector-esque "Wall of Sound" but can do it on the quietest, loveliest songs. It took me a while to realize the lead singer/songwriter was a gay man, and suddenly all the love songs took on a different meaning. The songs were more than mere expressions of affection, but also of a man trying to come to grips with his sexuality in a world when other artists where still firmly in the closet.

13) Depeche Mode - Violator. Josh Grinnell was the biggest Depeche Mode fan I'd ever met. He was essentially an evangelist for them, as at the time, I didn't care for much of those new-fangled synthesizers. Gimme guitars or go home! I mean, I could listen to some stuff, like DM's "Music for the Masses" or Erasure, but I never had a "whoa..." moment with them. Violator was a giant "whoa..."

12) The Replacements - Tim. The Replacements are probably my favorite rock band, and I loved the way how they straddled between competence and drunken brilliance. I have never cared to listen to many of their albums, though. They always seemed to botch something. Three good songs and then something almost unlistenable. They didn't do that on "Tim."

11) Men at Work - Business as Usual. I bought this on vinyl. This was my second or third album I bought, but the oldest one that survives and is playable. I remember saving my dollar-a-week allowance for a month to buy this. The Christian bookstore by the Old Country Buffet in Annapolis used to be a record store. My mom used to take me on her shopping trips, and she wondered why I would be a monster in the toy store, yet calm in the record store. I guess I always knew. But this is the album that made me figure "Australians are pretty cool" and the fact I had more success as an actor in Australia than I ever did in the U.S. is directly attributable to Men at Work.

10) Shirley Horn - Shirley Horn, with Strings. A local DC woman who was essentially unknown outside her neighborhood, but a legend in the jazz/standards community. A former lover of Miles Davis, her songs played the role of the aging beauty still trying to hold on to strands of dignity and come to grips with her emotions.

9) The Killers - Hot Fuss. I was in Vegas a few times back in 2002. A comic friend of mine back then was getting married; I went to a big convention and expo, and I had a job interview. A friend had told me about this local band playing at some bar off the Strip. I remember thinking "these guys have a good sound, but suck live. I'll bet they're better in the studio." I was right. This album did not escape my CD player in my old Ford Focus for two months, at least.

8) The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds. If you've ever heard it, you'll know why. Amazing production values, great lyrics, incredible mood. That our generation knows them more for that tripe "Kokomo" is sad. They were this close to being better than The Beatles.

7) Prefab Sprout - Jordan, The Comeback. In 1991, I was looking for some good electronic angry music. Something industrial, like Front 242, or Skinny Puppy. I saw a postcard at Oceans II records in Annapolis for a British music dance party. On the list of bands were groups like New Order and Front 242. And Prefab Sprout. I had never heard of those guys, so I picked up "Jordan" out of the used bin. Paddy Macloon is the lead singer and creative mastermind behind Prefab Sprout. He is as industrial as I am a professional opera singer in Italy. But, you've got to have some serious talent to make a pissed off 18 year old go "damn..." with music that has nothing to do with industrial. The Sprouts have been one of my favorites since.

6) Kent - Isola. An album I bought completely based on the recommendation of the clerk at a record store in Des Moines. I was telling him that I'd heard a song on Iowa Public Radio (which, for all you who heap scorn upon my former state, was BY FAR the best alternative-indie-singer/songwriter stations I had ever heard) and tried to hum a bit of it. He goes "you're the third person to ask me that. I think it's these guys" - reaches for Isola - and hands it to me. I put it in my car...and promptly forget to listen to it for three months. When I do, I'm driving through Northern Iowa, it's 17 degrees, snowy, and kids are racing by on their snowmobiles. If there's ever been a better time to listen to a band from Sweden than during an Iowa winter...

5) Van Morrison - Moondance. One of my stepfather's only non-bluegrass recordings, but I nonetheless unfairly lumped this album into the category "If my stepdad likes it, it must suck." Thanks to Katie Craig, now Mrs. Bocock, I saw the error in my ways.

4) Barenaked Ladies - Gordon. It was refreshing to see musicians so talented, but yet so nerdy. Unlike the skinny Brits or the drunken Yanks, BNL back in 1992 were just five geeks from Canada who had like, maybe 10 fans in the states. That they were about 15 minutes away from being the one of the best-selling bands in Canada's history is important to note - they may have gotten more polished with money and fame, but they're still pretty dorky. Although they're not as vital as they used to be, they had a good 15 year run, and their newer music every once in a while hints at the madness they used to achieve regularly.

3) U2 - War. The album that made me thing that maybe politics and history do have a place in rock.

2) The Church - Seance. One of my bigger regrets in life was not being born and raised as a Maine sailor. Maine is a state best known for Stephen King and having a shit-ton of lighthouses. However, there is a ruggedness and bleakness to the terrain that is rather amazing. And, as a 16 year old vacationing with my aunt and uncle in Rockland, Maine, and bringing three tapes with me and my old Sony Walkman, there was no better soundtrack than Stephen Kilbey's voice, Marty Wilson-Piper's guitars and Richard Ploog's drums. Watching the fog roll in over a craggy landscape while "Fly" was playing...wow. Still gets me.

1) Trashcan Sinatras - Cake. The last album I bought in the 1980s, it came out just as the the entire political landscape was changing in Europe, and this album had exactly NOTHING to do with it. It wasn't political, it wasn't loaded with messages, it was simply perfect British pop made up by exceedingly talented Scots, perfectly produced, and blessed with some of the best wordplay ever put to tape. I've had this album for almost 20 years, and every listen gives some new little "ah-hah!" Been my favorite record since I bought it, and has yet to be dislodged.

10 that didn't...

9) Jane's Addiction - Nothing's Shocking/ Ritual de lo Habitual - The band wasn't bad at all, but I have never cared for Perry Ferrel's voice. Some of the songs are great, but, really, Perry Ferrell's screeching killed me. He was much more reserved in Porno for Pyros, and those albums, while not as urgent musically, are much less grating on my ears.

8) The Strokes - Is This It? I like this album a lot. I really do. Strange that I would say I really like an album, but still say it didn't hit. It was given so much indie hype, and was told that it would blow my mind. It didn't. It was good, no doubt, but, it unfortunately launched a spawn of horrific imitators that didn't have the talent or chops. Still, I do like The Strokes.

7) Dashboard Confessional - A Mark A Mission a Brand A Scar - Seriously? THIS is supposed to be an album? If I want to hear crying with guitars, I'll stroll into Guitar Center and show how badly a left-handed person can play a right-handed guitar.

6) Radiohead - Kid A. I can hear the "WHAT???" hipster indignity from here. I like what Radiohead was trying to do. I like the concept, and I appreciate the effort. However, OK Computer is weird, yet listenable. I didn't think it was as brilliant as some thought, but it's a fine recording. Kid A, however, is much harder to listen to, and is weird for the sake of being weird. I'd like to remind Radiohead that "The Bends" is a great album, and nothing to be ashamed of.

5) Linkin Park - pick one, any one. A friend of mine, whose taste in music is usually without reproach, fell head-over-heels for their first album. He extolled their virtues by saying "they don't cuss once!" Well, fuck it, maybe they should. Whine has no place in rock, son.

4) Rage Against the Machine - Rage Against the Machine - I get it, Zack. You're pissed off. You're not going to take it anymore. I've been there, bro. I feel for you. But you make better singles than albums. Sorry.

3) Pearl Jam - 10. I like the idea of Pearl Jam more than I like Pearl Jam. I never got into grunge rock anyway, but I liked Pearl Jam's kinda "no, really, we don't care" attitude. Vs. is a much better album than 10, but even then, I thought Eddie Vedder's singing kind of hurts my ears.

2) The Beastie Boys - License to Ill. This *should* have been perfect for me - a teenage boy looking for some rebellious outlet, and three punky Jewish kids from New York who rap about naughty things. Fantastic! Except...it didn't. It's a fine album, and I like it, but it didn't change my life like it did for others. Never quite connected like it should have.

1) Nivana - Nevermind. Sorry to all those who worship at the altar of Kurt Cobain, but this is one of the most overrated albums of all time. He was truly a talented guy - his uncredited work with Hole proves that he could make crap sound great - but this album was not life-changing. Fuzzy amplifiers, sloppy lyrics - they weren't doing anything I hadn't heard from my stepbrother's old band, and I thought they sucked too. Nirvana sounded more vital on "Bleach" and more sincere on "Unplugged." Never mind.

Sick of Unemployment. Can't Wait to Get Unemployment

2009-02-16T23:16:00.005-05:00

It's been six weeks since I last went to work at the Pentagon. I was let go as of January 1st, and even though the economy is pretty much collapsing around us, I was confident I'd find a job quickly.

Um...yeah.

I was laid-off because I did not have a security clearance. The company I worked for knew I didn't have one, knew I needed one, but never put me through for one. Thanks? Any old citizen can not get a clearance; you need to be sponsored by an employer or Government agency. As of January 1, the agency I supported enacted a rule stating that everybody on the computer network needed a clearance, whether the employee had access to secure information or not. So, I was given my walking papers.

It's weird leaving a job. For however brief a time it was, a place of employment becomes that Second Place - it's not home, but you sure spend a lot of time there. You put up decorations in your cube. Carve out a little spot in the fridge for your lunch. Stash some snacks in your drawers. Constantly bang your knees against a horribly-placed keyboard tray.

In the case of my office at the Pentagon, I guess it's because I miss the people. I was very blessed to have met some great folks in my nearly 4 years of contract work. And the people I worked with at the Reservation even more so. A good mix of eager young guys, fresh from school and the retail world, and world-wearied gents with a good eye for detail and memories full of good tales.

And then, poof, it's gone.

I got my notice of being laid-off on December 22, 3 days before Christmas and during my vacation to Florida. Now, the employer KNEW about this change in requirements for the network for at least 5 months, but neglected to tell anybody about it. And when do they decide to notify anybody? Oh, I don't know - 6pm during a week when half the building is on vacation.

Let me give any employers a couple words of advice. First off - did you know it's a violation in many states to lay somebody off over the phone? Such procedures need to be done either in person or in writing. That was told to me by somebody who does HR for a world-wide management firm. Hmmm. Interesting. I did not know that. I got a phone call. Second - if you need to lay somebody off over the phone, don't let some dingbat Valley-Girl wannabe bimbo who only got her job because she's got two boobs and half as many brain cells be your Turk. "Like, I guess, you could like, um, consider this to be like your two week notice!" is not a good phrase to hear, especially when said by a giggling young woman who makes the wasted-sperm retards with pretty teeth and ugly acting on MTV's "The Hills" look positively Mensa-like in comparison. When it comes time to give separation, you need somebody to deliver the news who's more Frasier Crane than Brendon Frasier.

I applied for unemployment assistance from Virginia as soon as I was able to do so legally, back in January. Contrary to popular belief, you do not apply for unemployment in the state you live in, but the state you worked in. As I physically worked in the Pentagon, and, the last time I checked, the Pentagon was in Virginia, hence, I applied for assistance from the Commonwealth.

One small problem - my erstwhile employer, Chronos Systems, despite having a scores of employees based in the Pentagon, does not pay Virginia Unemployment Tax.

Now, as I'm trying to get my security clearance, I'm trying to be as legal and forthright as possible on all my doings. To that end, I followed the letter of the law, and applied for benefits in the state I worked, Virginia. However, even the oh-so-qualified administrative and management staff at Chronos fell into the misconception that I should have applied for Maryland benefits...which, ironically enough, the State of Maryland said "You worked in Virginia, go to them."

Virginia, to its end, has been attempting to get me some money before they investigate Chronos and further delay my benefits. They have applied for a Multi-Jurisdiction Claim, where MD, VA and DC pool together funds for those employees who work in multiple locations across the region. Hopefully that will free up some funding, and I'll get some cash flow coming in again.

As it is now, I'm cashing in an old money market account back from Iowa, which should give me another two months to live on. Hopefully I'll get those funds in the next week or two.

Otherwise, let me simply say this - I am not a sentimental cat. I am fully aware of the business of being in business. Being laid-off is about dollars, not personality. And sometimes, those cuts need to be made at bad times. However, I find it amazing that a Government contractor can openly violate basic employment law; can be completely clueless in the procedure for obtaining a security clearance; would blatantly lie to Federal Government personnel about staff levels and competencies; and would also lie to State Government personnel trying to get a laid-off employee even a base level of economic safety.

Where does this leave me? Out of work and with ZERO income.

Anybody got a job for me? I work cheap.

Lost Episode 2 Live Blog

2009-01-28T21:02:00.005-05:00

902 - Hell, Penny's pregnant! Good job, Des. Remarkably clean baby. I've seen one childbirth, and there was more blood there than in a Tarantino film.

903 - Des is telling his young son about the special island - England. Good one.

905 - Ginger is not doing so well. Miles is a hoot - gallows humor, and with sharp enough vision to see the tripwire. And boom. Who's the hot blond with a gun? She knows Faraday. Awww shit, it's ON!

910 - Des thinks he'll be done with the island forever after this. Riiiiight. Apparently he's never watched this show.

912 - The hot blond is back.

913 - Back to Locke, Juliet and Sawyer. She speaks Latin, as do their two prisoners.

914 - Miles can tell that some soldiers were recently buried there. Richard Alpert is back. The ageless one. He says that Faraday is back for his bomb.

920 - Des is looking for Faraday's mom and his lab. Blocked off for fumigation. There's the rat maze, and a comment about that poor girl.

922 - Miles, Faraday and Ginger are apparently meeting a young, mysterious Richard Alpert, who doesn't have all the answers this time. Talk of a radiation poisoning and the bomb.

928 - Locke has people???

932 - Des sees the girl is a coma. Whitmore is involved in the care of her.

934 - The H-Bomb is being suspended above the ground. Strange position. Kinda looks like an old-school bomb drop tower.

942 - Des meets Whitmore again. Whitmore is concerned about his beloved daughter.

950 - F*CK!!! A young Charles Whitmore!!!

957 - Penny knows Des is lying.

959 - Charlotte doesn't look so good.

Hour 2 of Lost

2009-01-21T22:07:00.003-05:00

1008 - So, Sawyer's got a new shirt. Dr. Wizard, Mr. Wizard.

1010 - And Hurley almost ran into Kate at the gas station. She's getting a mysterious phone call. Who could it be? Locke? Ben? Her mom? She was the diner waitress, you know?

1013 - Back to Ben and Jack. Ben knows Jack's an addict.

1015 - Previously on Expose - hah! Nice touch. You gotta love a Cheech sighting.

1020 - Cheech is going to help, and the LAPD is hot on Hurley's trail.

1022 - Back to Kate and Aaron, and they're moving on uuuup...to the east siiiide. Or, it's just Sun. My future ex-wife.

1023 - Ben knows a butcher :) Now I'm hungry for a steak. Thanks Lost. I just made fajitas, but I could use a nice, medium rare steak. Then again, I always can use a steak.

1024 - Back to the island, and Faraday's making calculations. His redhead is still wounded. And flaming fuckin' arrows??? Sheesh! Now who's on the island? Romans?

1030 - More flaming arrows. Some extras got lit up.

1033 - Kate and Sun...normally a hot thing, but Sun seems crafty to me for some reason. Nice lil' cameo for Jin.

1035 - Jack. Ben, Hurley, Sayid... it's almost chaotic at this point.

1041 - Hurley and Mom. Hugo's telling the truth to his mom. She's not going to get it. And this is the perfect description of the show for people who've never seen it. It really does sound silly when it's said aloud. But that's about right. Nice little mom and son moment.

1046 - Sawyer needs shoes, and there's a guy with a gun. Ethan? Nope. Dharma Initiative people! They went WAY back in time.

1050 - Back, and Jack's going to try to save Sayid. Kinda nice having a surgeon around. What is it with ABC and surgeons? Grey's Anatomy...anyway. Jack's brought Sayid back.

1052 - Hugo just chucked a Hot Pocket at Ben. Classic. Ben's offering Hurley a hell of a deal. Ben's got Crinkle Eye power as well! But Hurley's gone and ran off and is being arrested by the cops.

1055 - Locke to the rescue - damn he's handy with a knife.

1056 - A new station. Seems the island is bouncing around the Pacific Ocean off the Australian coast and towards South America. Weird. Bouncing through space and time? Ben's apparently Catholic, and he's found the lady from Desmond's shop, and she just out-creeped Ben! Cue SFX and SCENE...

Stay tuned for a preview? Sure.
Kate's skeptical, Red's bleeding, and somebody is pregnant, and another dude is getting dragged down the street. Chaos.

Live Blogging Lost's Season Premiere

2009-01-21T21:01:00.006-05:00

First off - YES!!!

901 - Willie Nelson, and the Dr. Candle is back. Orientation film.

Cameraman looks like Sawyer.

There's Hurley's van...by way of Ben's dad.

904 - Limitless energy.

WHOA!!!! First "Oh holy hell moment of the show!" Faraday.

Back to the recent present day. Locke's in the funeral home.

They're heading back to the island. The Orchid must be one hell of a valuable station.

907 - Back to the Orchid at the time of the move. The first shirtless Sawyer scene for those keeping score. Rose and Bernard are back. Shame the camp's gone.

So, much like Huey Lewis once said "Back in Time."

914 - Kate and Aaron, and a couple of lawyers. They want blood...samples, at least.

916 - More shirtless Sawyer. Trying to take Faraday's shirt? Ha...like he'd fit. He's got him by 40, 50 pounds.

918 - Locke's got crinkly eye power. And he's sunburnt. Poor dude. He just got North by Northwested by Eko's brother's plane. And he's got Charlie's Virgin Mary heroin. And he just got shot - could it be Rousseau...no! Crap! This is getting MESSED UP.

Commercial V/O'd by Jack Bauer.

924 - Locke's about to be shot by Ethan. And more shirtless Sawyer.

925 - Hey, there's my future ex-wife, Sun. My goodness she is lovely. Well, she's now trapped by the big guy.

928 - Hurley can't be dead - he's eating fries. Hah, he needs a cool code name.

931 - Sayid can still FSU.

935 - back to the Island - and the Hatch is gone.

936 - Locke's still shot...poor dude has been shot more than 50 Cent. The plane has fallen, therefore, there might be a dead Boone around. Aw crap, who's coming for Locke now? Richard, the ageless one. "When am I?" - great line. Hah...a compass. It points north. Damn, that's some cold shit - you're going to have to die, John.

This episode is quickly becoming a mind-f*ck.

946 - and we're back, and the hatch was gone, Sawyer's still shirtless, and the hatch is now back. And Sawyer doesn't want to listen to logic, he just wants his clothes back. Hah, the Ghost of Christmas Future! Another good line. Faraday's concerned about his bleeding girlfriend's nose. Hey, Desmond!!! He's got a gun, and the toxic suit. And Faraday just dropped a mind-f*ck on Desmond, and there's Penny as he's back in present day. And they're off to Oxford. Wow.

957 - Back to the Oceanic 6, and they're on a boat. Good ole' Frank's back. And they're back to the new present day, and Sayid's still shot up. Holy hell, Anna Lucia - wow. And Libby says hi. JEEZ...mind F*CK! And SCENE....

My goodness. That's a season premiere. Looks like they're going deep into the conspiracy-side of the show. Hopefully they won't get too X-Files on us.

from DCFUD.com - The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic Needs Beta Blockers

2009-01-17T05:41:00.000-05:00

Not even three weeks into the new year, and I already have a serious contender for the highly-uncoveted title of "Worst Restaurant Meal of 2009." If this meal had taken place in 2008, it would have won like Usain Bolt. If I'd had this meal in 2007, it would have won like Barbaro in the `06 Kentucky Derby. Only a couple of burnt hamburgers-slash-hockey pucks in Des Moines and a ridiculously spoiled swordfish fillet on undercooked linguine in Baltimore's Little Italy keep this debacle out of the "Worst Restaurant Meal of the Double-Aughts" status. And here's the kicker - it started off fine but, man, how it proceeded... nothing less than a sin against all that is holy and deep-fried. I shall explain.

A shopping trip in the Virginia `burbs with a friend ran much later than expected, and the Vietnamese place we wanted to try had long closed by the time we walked into the frigid air. Hungry and cold, we settled on a nearby local chain, Glory Days Grill, figuring a warm meal in a lively atmosphere would help lift our spirits. I've had decent salads from there before, so it seemed like a good idea. The menu is nothing fancy - standard bar grub but with a Chesapeake twist - Old Bay seasoned wings and real Maryland crab cakes are a nice touch - and with local professional and amateur sports teams' paraphernalia on the walls, proves that this is a restaurant based here and focusing on here.

Much like "Wedding Crashers," the meal began promisingly enough. A cup of clam chowder was filled with plenty of fresh seafood and seasoned correctly. But remember that breakfast scene with Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson, and the movie seemed to lose a lot of steam? Well, the same thing happened with this meal, except much earlier in the film. The appetizer was the breakfast scene, with no Will Ferrell around to save the meal from disaster.

Now, as a rule, it's hard to botch fries. Les Pommes Frites are about as common and simple of a food as can be found. Cut the potato in to strips. Fry the potato strips. Drain. Serve. Boom. Done. If you're feeling zany, bake them. Bread them. Make them curly and season them. Bury them in gravy, or cheese, or go crazy like the Quebecois and use both and call it poutine. Just don't serve them how I got them Friday night - apparently marinated in salt, cooked in salt, coated in salt, and then, for good measure, add salt. I used to bartend at a margarita joint, and we had boxes of sea salt that we used to rim the glasses. A prankster co-worker poured about a cup of sea salt into my Starbucks one day, and that wasn't as salty as these fries. I now know what a deer feels like during hunting season. I have tasted the salt lick, now, where are the guys in camouflage jackets and bright orange hats?

Sadly, our entrees were equally salty. My friend's chili mac made her mouth pucker as the saline sucked the moisture from her skin. My chicken sandwich was ridiculously overseasoned, and I might be mistaken as the sodium-induced dehydration is affecting my short-term memory, but my side dish may very well have been the Bonneville Salt Flats. When the server asked if we wanted dessert, one thought permeated my mind - I normally love Teaism's delicious Salty Oat Cookies, but I had one right now, I would have an aneurysm. Seven hours later, and nearly half-a-gallon of water later, I still might. We skipped dessert, much like the arrhythmia is doing to my heartbeat.

********************************************************************************************************
Glory Days gets 2 Whammies! out of a possible 8. The clam chowder was certainly acceptable, and the server was fairly snappy with refilling our water glasses. However, between the two of us, there are 8 chambers of our two hearts that now need replacing. No one should ever have this conversation after a meal - "My heart hurts." "Yeah, mine too. Know a good cardiologist?"
*********************************************************************************************************

Glory Days Grill
Lots of locations in the region, many of them conveniently located near emergency rooms and defibrillators.

The Racist With Scissors Next To My Head

2008-12-11T13:46:00.007-05:00

I don't get my hair cut too often. As a mid-30s man, I feel a certain sense of smug glee when I see many of my younger friends with a shiny pate as I hide behind a veritable Eagle's Nest of hirsute glory. My hair is thick, healthy, and shows no signs of graying - yet another point of self-satisfaction.

However, it has one bad problem - the longer it gets, the curlier it gets. And the more product is required to get it to behave without going into "Seth Rogen" territory. I've been described as looking like Mr. Rogen twice in the past couple of months, which reminds me to watch my carbs and possibly investigate a new hair color. Until then, I figured that since my last haircut was in June, it was time to shear the locks.

Now, mind you, this was a complete "timing" deal - I've got a couple of Christmas parties coming up, and I should look a little more "Superbad" than "Knocked Up." And as much as I love my hair, I'm not one of those guys with a hairdresser. I usually go to a barber or Mallcuttery place and see what happens. There's usually nothing that they can do that some gel and a hat and a couple of weeks of "yeah, I got a bad haircut" can't fix. I decided to go to a local Rockville salon, see which ones looked like they could give my hair the love and attention I seldom give it. Frankly, I'm amazed my hair hasn't left me for somebody who would treat it with more dignity and respect. I guess, at the end of the day, it loves me. I decided to treat my hair to a real salon. It's not enough to say "I'm sorry," but it's a good first step. Let the healing begin.

I started my Tour des Salons Dans Rockville by checking out the strip mall next to White Flint Mall on Nicholson Lane. The first salon is named something like "Salon" and had a sign declaring that they'd be open until 7:30. There was one person in the place getting her hair done, and two employees. It's 6:30, surely I could get a haircut within an hour! Except...the door was locked, and the attractive woman with little English skills told me they were closed. "But, your sign says 7:30," I stammered but she was closing the door and asking if I could come back tomorrow. Well, there are two other salons in this strip mall. I'll shop around.

Salon #2, Art and Chemistry appears to be their name, is four doors down. The people inside looked happy and attractive. Not busy, but signs of activity. My hopes were high. There was no sign on the storefront indicating hours, so I walked in and asked for an impromptu haircut. "Sorry, we don't take walk-ins after 6 on Wednesdays," they told me. I asked what time they closed. "8," was the reply. "I can't get a haircut in two hours?" I asked. "No," the young blond girl behind the counter replied, but unhelpfully added "We could do it on Tuesdays or Thursdays, but not Wednesdays." I have no idea why they have a bias against Wednesdays, but, wow. I headed over to Salon #3, Oxygen Salon - which wasn't even open to be snubbed by.

I got in the car and checked out Fatima Salon across the street. They were closing up for the night, but their sign indicates, in Spanish, that they speak Spanish, and the Men's Haircut Guide poster in the window had more bad clipper cuts displayed than the second season of "Oz." I moved on.

Salon #4, Urbanity, also on Nicholson, seems to be out of business. I didn't get a chance to be turned down there as well. Salon #5 is next to the Safeway by my house on Randolph Road. I pull up at 6:59pm. The sign says they're open until 7pm on Wednesdays. The place was completely closed. No signs of life until 10am Thursday, if the sign is to be believed. Salon #6, Progressions, is on Nebel by the Gold's Gym. I drove up, and saw that they were closing down as well. Sorry to disappoint my hair, I turned to the White Flint Mall, as the options for a Wednesday night haircut were quickly slipping.

White Flint used to be the fancy mall around these parts, but Westfield's Montgomery Mall has more stores and less cheesy Miami Vice neon around the foot court. White Flint used to be packed all the time. I shouldn't be able to find parking next to the door this close to Christmas and Hanukkah, but I had my choice of spots. I walked in, looked at the trusty mall directory, and saw two places to get my haircut. One of them seemed to be an independent place, and the other was part of a chain. I chose the indie place. First thing I saw was a cute young brunette at the counter, and a gay dude styling a pretty West Asian woman's hair. I would have to assume that a gay man is a good sign for a salon. I was told by the young girl that I could have a haircut, no worries, but it would take about 15 minutes for the stylist to get to me. "Fine," I say, as the last thing I want is to drive around Rockville any more than I already have.

I leaf through the picture books of "Men's Hot Hairstyles." We need to come to an understanding here - are these picture books for men to point and grunt at the look they want, or for gay men and women with a fetish for Eurotrash to drool over? Because there wasn't a single haircut and/or model in either of these guides who didn't look absolutely ridiculous. Some of the cuts were straight from "A Flock of Seagulls" or Jaromir Jagr. None of them I wanted on my head.

Fortunately, my hair stylist of the evening was much more sensible than that. She noted that I like my hair a little on the longish side, and that the curls were annoying me. She said my hair looked nice and healthy, and she'd give me something that wouldn't make me look bad or too old. She was about 60-something, but trying like hell not to look like it. She told me about her kids and how they're dragging her off to Mexico for a vacation over Christmas. We talked about how a postal worked was assaulted in Rockville. Neighborhood stuff. She made a comment about how Rockville would be great if there weren't so many idiots around. I liked this woman.

Well, until...

(you knew there'd be a "well, until..." coming up, right?)

Well, until...she asked me what I was doing for the Inauguration. I said that I was probably going to head out of town, avoid the crowds, get some skiing done. She said she'd be scared to come into the city. I said "Yeah, with anywhere from 2 to 6 million people, depending on who you listen to, coming into town, it could get crazy." She says to me, into the mirror, the way that many hair people seem to do, "I mean with all the...um, racial things. All the minorities."

Huh?

WHAT???

I tried to explain that the last time DC had a massive amount of black folks in town, the Million Man March, there was very little crime, and in fact, was one of the most civil weekends in the city. And, that given that lots of folks voted for Obama of all stripes and colors, it would be more of a celebration than anything. She shrugged and did a shiver in fear.

Last time I checked, Maryland was pretty racially diverse. And Rockville is hardly lily-white by any stretch. I swear, look in any direction and you'd swear you're in a Benetton ad.

We didn't talk as much after that, as it was pretty obvious that she knew that she'd crossed a line. I changed the subject, and she mentioned Mexican vacation again. I wasn't offended, but merely shocked at how casually she said that about President-elect Obama and the potential for violence. Because Lord knows every other Presidential Inauguration has been plagued by violence.

Maybe that's why I don't have a steady hair cutter - I like the social interaction with the awkward and the freaky.

I paid my bill, left a standard tip, and left. The hair cut looks good so far.

The irony in the whole thing resides in the name of the salon - Rainbow.

What I learned last night...

2008-08-27T15:18:00.002-04:00

Next time you hear somebody doing what you *THINK* is a top-notch vocal impersonation of Christian Bale as Batman, that deep, throaty weird thing he did - and you applaud the guy doing that voice - check to make sure the guy doesn't have a damned tracheotomy hole and tube.

I did that last night.

I wondered why he could do the voice so well.

I apologized, and he was very gracious about it. I felt bad...but not as bad as his throat does.

From DCFUD.com - Somewhere in South Park, Colorado, a Young Boy Cries

2008-07-29T14:45:00.002-04:00

The Wall Street Journal is reporting that the many locations of the national chain restaurants Bennigan's and Steak and Ale are closing as of today.

The article states that the chains' parent company, Metromedia Restaurant Group, has declared Chapter 7 bankruptcy on those two themed restaurants, and that company-owned restaurants were ordered to not open for business today. Franchise-owned stores are not named in any bankruptcy filings, so they may remain open.

So, for those hankerin' for some Death By Chocolate, you may want to call ahead to make sure your location isn't, like, closed.

Bennigan's biggest fan, Butters, could not be reached for comment.

The article points out that these closings are yet another sign of trouble within the mid-price chain restaurant category, but I'm guessing it's also proof that brass rails and huge portions can't overcome bad food forever.

Define "Irony" or "Delusional" - either one works

2008-07-01T15:31:00.002-04:00

Somethings I can't even dream up...and I'm messed up.

From PageOneQ (link coming soon)

Sens. Larry Craig and David Vitter co-sponsor Marriage Protection Amendment

Two United States Senators implicated in extramarital sexual activity have named themselves as co-sponsors of S. J. RES. 43, dubbed the Marriage Protection Amendment. If ratified, the bill would amend the United States Constitution to state that marriage "shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman."

Sen. Larry Craig (R-ID), who was arrested June 11, 2007 on charges of lewd conduct in a Minneapolis airport terminal, is co-sponsoring the amendment along with Sen. David Vitter (R-LA).

Craig, who entered a guilty plea to a reduced charge of disorderly conduct, was detained and charged for attempting to engage in sexual activity with a male undercover police officer. His arrest and plea became public two months later. At that time, Craig attempted to withdraw his plea and enter a new plea of not guilty. To date, his efforts have been denied by the courts.

In July of 2007, Vitter was identified as a client of a prostitution firm owned by the late Deborah Jeane Palfrey, commonly known as The DC Madam.

With a Democratic controlled Congress it is unlikely the bill will be brought up for a vote in either the Senate or House of Representatives.

A voice mail left for Craig spokesperson Susan Irby went unreturned. Attempts to contact Vitter's press secretary Joel DiGrado were unsuccessful.

The full text of S. J. RES. 43 follows:
#

110th CONGRESS 2d Session

Proposing an amendment to the Constitution of the United States relating to marriage.

IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES JUNE 25, 2008

Mr. WICKER (for himself, Mr. VITTER, Mr. CRAIG, Mr. ROBERTS, Mr. INHOFE, Mr. BROWNBACK, Mr. ALLARD, Mr. THUNE, and Mr. SHELBY) introduced the following joint resolution; which was read twice and referred to the Committee on the Judiciary

JOINT RESOLUTION

Proposing an amendment to the Constitution of the United States relating to marriage.

Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled (two-thirds of each House concurring therein), That the following article is proposed as an amendment to the Constitution of the United States, which shall be valid to all intents and purposes as part of the Constitution when ratified by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years after the date of its submission by the Congress:

"ARTICLE"

Section 1. This article may be cited as the Marriage Protection Amendment.

Section 2. Marriage in the United States shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman. Neither this Constitution, nor the constitution of any State, shall be construed to require that marriage or the legal incidents thereof be conferred upon any union other than the union of a man and a woman.

From Awful Announcing: Christian News Site Automatically Changes World Record Holder's Last Name From Gay To "Homosexual"

2008-06-30T11:21:00.000-04:00

Please save me from your Internet Service Providers.

Christian News Site Automatically Changes World Record Holder's Last Name From Gay To "Homosexual"

Awful Announcing: Christian News Site Automatically Changes World Record Holder's Last Name From Gay To "Homosexual"

I had a minute, so...

2008-06-04T13:20:00.004-04:00

I maded u a lolpr0nz, but I didn't eated it.

Dear Florida...

2008-05-06T22:52:00.001-04:00

You may go now. Seriously. I'm not joking. We're sick of your sexy teachers molesting teenage boys. We're sick of your inability to count, recount, or make a decent ballot in the first place. We're sick of your lack of support for any baseball team other than the Yankees when they come into town. We're sick of CSI: Miami. We're sick of you turning our formerly-hip, intelligent aunts who rawked when they lived in DC into paranoid old bitties who think Obama is a jihadist spy and forward every religious saying, urban legend or chain-letter email with an animated gif of a glitter-covered puppy waving with the oh-so-witty caption of "I Wuf You!" We're sick of seeing YouTube videos of little old men plowing their `79 Buicks into taco stands because they got "confused" and thought it was Hitler waving to them, not a 15-year old immigrant boy dressed as a giant friendly chalupa.

Actually, I rescind that. Those videos are priceless. Keep `em coming.

You, Florida, as a state, just accused a man of "wizardry." It's 2008, not 1408. I have seen many, many things in my 35 years and spent several vacations in Florida. The only wizard I saw in Florida was a dude in white sheets bitchin' about how black people were takin' over the state. Dude apparently has never been to Miami, or, slim may have been a lil' off in the "color detection" department.

But I digress. The teacher does a magic trick to make a toothpick disappear. The only thing I've head disappear in Florida were voting machines and ballot tabs from black neighborhoods in the 2000 election.

If Canada is America's Hat, it doesn't take a dirty mind to figure out what part of the body you are.

On behalf of the rest of America, for your sins against all things that are wise, educational and evolutionary, you can leave. Secede, go back to Spain, become part of Cuba, be Puerto Rico's little bitch - hell, join the Ice Capades for all I care.

Just go.

Oops...

2008-04-01T15:59:00.004-04:00

There are three professions in which "oops" should never be said.

1) Airplane pilot.

2) Piano mover.

3) Hair stylist.

My long, flowing locks...gone.

I knew I was in trouble when I asked for a trim. Just a small trim. Clean up some of the more aggressive curls in the back. The woman cutting my hair used clippers to get rid of a few of them, and then, my head snapped back and to the right like JFK's in Dallas. The clippers grabbed a hold of my hair and yanked out a chunk about the size of a good golf divot. I looked at the clippers as the device ate my hair, and wondered what evil madman developed such a vile, barbaric tool.

On the floor, my hair rested. In the chair, my neck and scalp gave a bit of a groan for being nipped, then, a sense of shock hit me as hard as I imagined the hair hit the floor. I felt, for the first time in months, cold and fresh air hitting the back of my scalp.

The woman, Asian, about 50, said "oops."

I said "What happened?"

"Clipper snagged," she said curtly.

I had explained to her earlier that I wanted to grow my hair out to make a wig for a cancer patient, and just needed a small trim to clean me up.

What I didn't need was her saying "Lookie how hansome you look!" and grinning like an idiot.

Now, this is where I should explain something - I love the fact that America is a great big melting pot. All sorts of nationalities and ethnic groups in this land gives me a sense of hope and joy. But the woman who cut my hair - with her pidgen Engrish and overdone voice and facial expressions in the vein of Margaret Cho making fun of her Korean mom - turned me, momentarily, into a violent, raging Republican. "THE IMMIGRANTS ARE TAKIN' OUR JOBS!! BUILD THE WALL!! SCREW THE U.N.!"

I looked in the mirror, and saw me looking back, but not the 2007/2008 version of me. It was more like the 1998/2004 version of me, the "trying to get ahead in the corporate world" version. The high-strung, kinda pissy version. That was not my favorite Me.

Still, stunned as I was over the loss of me beloved, flowy hair, I said "What is this?? I asked for a trim! This is not even close to what I wanted!"

She said, and I wish I was joking, "you no look like girl no more."

My temper boiled over. I'm 5'9" and 205 pounds. I have facial hair. I'd be one large, ugly, hairy woman.

So, I did something that I haven't done in years. I asked her to finish up, and I walked out.

Coming soon, a tribute to my hair.

Slack-Assed Blogger Apology

2008-02-12T11:36:00.000-05:00

Food - ate at Colorado Kitchen and revisited Matchbox. Both are fine places, no doubt

Also ate at KFC. I may have to mention that Patton Oswalt warned me. Why did I doubt him?

Drink - Rogue Chocolate Stout....mmmmm....

Women - yeah

Dogs - Kramer and Bubby say "hey."

Arizona - damn...cool state.

Links and stories coming soon.

The Greatest Thing in the History of Ever

2008-01-30T09:14:00.000-05:00

From the fine website Gizmag.com - a canned cheeseburger. God bless those crafty hiking Euros.

I want two of them. Now. Then again, I'm hungry.

Be My Yoko Romo!!

2008-01-14T11:08:00.000-05:00

Thank you Dan Patrick for coming up with that fantastic name, and, I've come up with a ditty for you Barenaked Ladies' fans.

It's a great day when I can mix my love of the NFL with my love of Canadian geek pop.

In honor of Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo,

Be My Yoko Romo
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If there's a pop star you can just bang out, then do so.
And if theres a quarterback you can just wear out, then do so.

You can be my Yoko Romo
You can follow me to Mexico
Be my, be my, be my Yoko Romo.

Isn't it beautiful to see two people so much in lust?
She's dumb as a brick and his games' gone straight to rust.
Now that he's lost again it doesn't seem to me to be too damn bright.
To have her bouncing off your knob instead of watching football tape all night

You can be my Yoko Romo
You can follow me to Mexico
Be my, be my, be my Yoko Romo.

Oh no, here we go, Tony can't get it done.
Oh no, here we go as Romo throws
Aieee!

I know that when I say this,
I may not be taking too much care.
But I laughed my fool ass off
When she got dumped by John Mayer.
(I'll blame it on Yokey!)
If I was Tony and you were Yoko,
I would gladly give up all football genius,
Just to stick my tongue down your bald mons venus.
(hit it!)

You can be my Yoko Romo
You can follow me to Mexico
Be my, be my, be my Yoko Romo.

from DCFUD.com - The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic's look back at 2007

2007-12-27T14:12:00.000-05:00

One of the problems with developing a writing persona named the "Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic" is maintaining that mantle of bitterness even when surrounded by a sea of competence, class and quality. When I started the 5PBFC, I figured that given my average of 4 meals out a week, I'd have at least one clunker a week, thus providing DCFUD.com plenty of bitter material. However, as I looked over my 2007 notes of the year, I discovered something quite shocking: I had ten bad meals the entire year; and six of them came from two places, Bangkok 54 and Dad's Backyard Burgers. That means the vast majority of my meals were anywhere from "decent" to "incredible." It's hard to complain about such a high batting average.

Now, I should go off on how absolutely disappointing Dad's was. For a store that took nearly 3 years to build, I would have hoped for a burger experience that doesn't taste like a green onion explosion. My first bite there was sadly the best; repeat visits were lousy and hardly worth mentioning. I'd love to support an independent burger joint, but their burgers tasted more like a kabob-spiced meatloaf - they may want to think about competing with nearby and always packed Merrifield Kabob than routinely-good Five Guys and sometimes-brilliant Elevation Burger. As for Bangkok 54, the former shining star of Northern Virginia's Thai dining scene has declined in terms of food quality and handling; prepare to give birth to a food baby if you eat there and don't stray far from the restrooms, just in case. Their dining room is lovely; it's a shame the back of the house is having issues. They easily have been eclipsed by longtime stalwart Duangrats at Bailey's Crossroads and the newish Mint further up Route 7 towards Seven Corners (review coming in 2008, a.k.a. next week).

However, I will concede to the goodwill of the Christmas season to concentrate on the positive. My dining year started off on a high note with the DCFUD.com staff at Bobby Van's, followed by a delicious Restaurant Week experience at Taberna del Alabardero. 2 Amys continued to churn out quality pizzas, Ella's did the same, and the chainy-but-good ZPizza offered a delicious pie with high quality ingredients for a decent price. Matchbox's dining room expansion didn't dilute the quality of their food one bit, and the District Chophouse provided a fine meal in a casual, but classy, environment. My well-publicized visit to La Perla offered better tortellini than expected, and Georgetown's Filomena may be considered hit-or-miss, but I had two hits there in 2007, and enjoyed their good Sunday brunch, too. The new Liberty Tavern in Clarendon offered surprisingly good upscale bar food, though those looking for a quiet meal should head elsewhere - that place is louder than the wails of a screaming child at a southern Wal-Mart. Eamonn's proved to be a welcome addition to the Alexandria scene, and I'm anxious to try owner Cathal Armstrong's makeover of The Majestic with Shannon Overmiller's cooking on King Street in 2008. Hank's Oyster Bar in DC stars in the background with Trio in a new car commercial, and a new location in Old Town is promising. Fogo De Chao and Texas De Brazil fed my churrascaria dreams of well-seasoned Argentinean meat, and Macchu Picchu did a fine job representing South American neighbor Peru. Huong Que at the Eden Center served fine Vietnamese fare on multiple visits, and impressed some good friends from Chicago. Spices in Cleveland Park did a good job of clearing my sinuses while on a first date - yeah, thanks for that, by the way. No, that wasn't embarrassing at all - but damn it tasted fine, and nearby Indique's tamarind-enhanced drinks made even the rainiest of days much more delightful.

Bebo Trattoria opened up with much fanfare in Crystal City, though complaints about lousy service stick to the place like stink on a hobo. The Tortoise and the Hare opened up on Crystal City's 23rd Street, taking over the former space of Stars and Stripes. Can't say I'd complain about that a bit - Stars and Stripes had a big TV and good beer but a lousy crab cake, and T&H is promising a good American contemporary menu. Urban Thai still served quality food at a reasonable price, and the recent expansion of the Crystal City Sports Pub just gives more folks a chance to dine on their good bar food while following their favorite sports' teams. Summer's at the Courthouse Metro did the same, plus they put with my wails of anguish every weekend as I watched my beloved Ravens go from Super Bowl contender to laughing stock of the NFL in one calendar year. Al's Steaks in Del Ray single-handedly made me gain a pound, and that was before I discovered the glories of Gladys Knight and Ron Winan's Chicken and Waffles at the Largo Town Center. In my neighborhood of Shirlington, a new Cakelove outpost opened up; Busboys and Poets put in a second location with some fine Belgian beers on tap; Bear Rock Cafe' offered good sandwiches and breakfast chow, and the brand-spanking new Saigonique fed me a wonderful ginger noodle dish on Christmas Eve in a beautiful dining room. And damn if Weenie Beanie doesn't bring the goods every time I'm craving a half-smoke.

Heck, even the Pentagon got a decent eatery, the All-American Grill. Thank God for Sport and Health or else I'd be the size of a Beefcake-era Eric Cartman.

In the fine tradition laid down by every critic in every conceivable subject, this time of the year demands a "Best of..." list. I could try to spawn an internal dialog about which meal in the previous 12 months was the best, and categorize restaurants by price or location or cuisine. Instead, I'm choosing to look forward to 2008, to which places I missed in 2007.

* Central - we at DCFUD have been trying to have a writers' outing here for months, yet somehow we went to the otherwise-fine-but-it-ain't-Central Malyasian Kopitiam instead of an affordable offering from Michel Richard? We're going this year, kids. Jay, save your money. You're going. Even if I have to carry you in there kicking and screaming. You made me eat at Kam Fong; I'm making you eat at Central.

* The Majestic - the restaurant formerly known as the Majestic Cafe' was a delightful, charming outpost, and the recent takeover and reimagining by Cathal Armstrong should make this one of the best mid-priced restaurants in Northern Virginia in 2008.

* West End Bistro - the early buzz over Eric Ripert's newest restaurant was that the food was definitely good, but not imaginative. I would have to guess that as the staff becomes more situated and comfortable, this restaurant will bring more international buzz to the DC dining scene.

* Hook - Barton Seaver's ambitious plan to serve only sustainable seafood deserves the respect of all diners with a soul. Plus, the guy can flat-out cook.

* Hooked - I grew up next to the Chesapeake Bay. I love seafood. Sue me. And a seafood restaurant out by Dulles and Ace Photo that doesn't have cheap plastic fishnets on the walls and meals made of a mysterious element known as "krab" has my support.

* Station 9 - U Street keeps getting hipper and hipper, and this place promises an updated look on American standards.

And, hopefully the DC area will honor a few New Year's Resolutions, and this year's theme is to be A Little More Like Baltimore:

1) To have a good Jewish deli like Attman's near the Inner Harbor East developments. Sometimes a nice Catholic boy like me wants a good corned beef on rye.

2) To have a decent BBQ place somewhere between Dixie Bones in Woodbridge and Urban in Rockville to compete with Rocklands. They're the only game in NoVA, and while they're a fine establishment, I shouldn't have to long for Andy Nelson's in Cockeysville.

3) To have a pit beef place anywhere. I don't care where, but pit beef is a Baltimore delicacy that should be brought forth to the Nations' Capital post haste.

4) To have more waterfront dining options. The Inner Harbor, Fells Point, Locust Point, Canton, Essex, Middle River - all loaded with everything from mega-chains to cozy family seafood places, and they all have serene water views. DC has a couple of high-end places in Georgetown and Phillip's at the Waterfront. Advantage - Baltimore.

5) To create a vibrant neighborhood near the stadium - granted, this will be a work in progress, but one of the great things about Camden Yards is the proximity to great bars, restaurants and attractions. Making over an area best known for the desperately-missed dance club Nation, light industrial brown zones, and a grouping of *ahem* adult establishments is all going to take some time, but for the love of God, city planners, do not dare turn it into a soulless strip of chains and fern bars. You're trying to do it with Chinatown/Penn Quarter, where fairly soon the only thing Asian in that neighborhood will be the tourists in town to watch the Wizards play Yao Ming and the Houston Rockets. You know darned well Prince George's County will botch it with the National Harbor, as they've failed to put in anything with personality near FedEx Field, and that's been open for almost a decade. But really, DC, you can do it. Look at U Street. Adams-Morgan. H Street. Cleveland Park. Those are areas where the city is trying to express itself with mostly-independent businesses. Don't replicate a Loudoun County strip mall and restaurant park at the baseball stadium and lie to yourself, saying "it's progress." It's regression to a mean, and the city deserves better.

6) To be like bICYCLE. If you ever find yourself on Light Street, south of the Inner Harbor between Federal Hill and Locust Point, you'll see this charming, delicious bistro. It's been open for nearly 8 years, and it's still as good today as it opened. They strive for good food and consistency, and they hit far more often than they miss.

Balmer in all its glory, hon

2007-12-20T14:04:00.001-05:00

It has come to my attention that somewhere along the line, OBPOPCULTREF has become less about my easily-diverted and distracted mind and more about a Baltimore Guy living in a DC World. Today's post will be no different - I went to see the Miracle on 34th Street, hon!

Unfamiliar with it? Take a look at this link and my photos from last night.

If you can't get into the Christmas display after this...you might be Jewish, Hindu, or any of a host of religions that don't follow Christmas.

my pet opossum, Dixon.

2007-12-15T11:48:00.000-05:00

I came home from Christmas Shopping on Thursday night to hear a small rustling of leaves on the patio. I looked over, expecting a cat, but instead, found an opossum.

Poor little fella got scared, and tried to run/waddle away, but got somewhat trapped in the patio's courtyard.

Knowing my love of early `90s alt-pop, I promptly named the possum, Dixon. Sorry to my lovely and talented friend Diana Dixon, but this Dixon has nothing to do with you. For instance, you're a blonde, and Dixon is obviously a very mottled grey.

Last night, while walking the dogs, I spotted Dixon hanging around a neighbor's place. Kramer, the Big Dumb Dog, lurched out of my grip to investigate the critter, but fortunately, Dixon spared Kramer the wrath of his claws, teeth and wee beady eyes.

I have seen opossums before, but Dixon seems almost...friendly? Maybe because he lives in the woods by my complex, he's used to humans and enjoys our stash of food.

Maybe he's watched Over the Hedge? Or, perhaps read my glowing review of the movie?

The Japanese Rawk

2007-12-12T20:11:00.001-05:00

completely pointless, yet fascinating...

Rolling Tires Down A Ski Jump - Watch more free videos

more adventures in NFL Network announcing

2007-12-06T22:04:00.000-05:00

My ears may be off, but Bryant Gumble just said a player had "a shit injury."

Chris Collinsworth, who I mocked last week, asked Bryant if he was fading, because we don't need to know every injury.

Happier Topic - Avenue Q Rawks My Soul

2007-12-04T12:38:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, I went to see Avenue Q at the National Theater with a group from MeetinDC. This heartwarming tale of puppets and humans who live in New York City is filled with wonderfully catchy, naughty and hilarious songs. Perhaps you've seen the web clip of "The Internet Is For Porn" as sung by World of Warcraft characters? That's the same show.

I laughed so hard at this show, parts of my body hurt. If it comes to your town, stop what you're doing, and go see this show.

Or else you'll make Trekkie Monster cry.

I don't often cuss on my blog, but...

2007-12-04T00:39:00.000-05:00

Fuck the Patriots. Fuck the paid-off refs who friggin' smoked ground-up moon rocks to see the phantom penalties they called on the Ravens in the 4th quarter tonight.

Fuck the Patriot fans who don't have a single piece of clothing that features the old-school kick-ass Pat the Patriot logo, and instead look like some failed NHL expansion team.

Fuck Belicheat and his hoodie. Looks like he should be moping around on myspace.com. It's 2007; do we need an emo coach? I vote no.

Fuck Tony Kornheiser...while I love his writing, and think he's a fine person, I can't stand him on MNF. His voice makes me yearn for the masculinity that is Bryan Gumble.

Fuck Billick - his complete lack of discipline on that team is so evident; why he can't see it clearly bothers me. Evidently he needs to work on that aspect of the game.

(y'all didn't know I could speak "Billick" did ya?)

Fuck Baltimore...for making me believe the upset was theirs.

cris collinsworth hates demarcus ware

2007-11-29T21:38:00.000-05:00

live-blogging the Pack-Cowboys game...Cris Collinsworth commented on DeMarcus Ware and the good downfield coverage he played. "DeMarcus Ware, what a tool he is."

As Promised, Something Funny

2007-11-15T16:45:00.000-05:00

Well, funny-ish.

I hung out with a group of skydivers last night at Chadwicks in Georgetown. I met about ten of the folks, and nearly all of them were lawyers or legal assistants. One of the few non-lawyers was an actual rocket scientist.

Could the exciting world of law not be nearly as exciting as the LSAT Prep Courses make it out to be????

(or, are lawyers the only ones who can afford the nearly 300 dollar class and tandem jump needed to get started? OR...the gas needed to drive down to Skydive Orange in the more rural part of Virginia?)

Still, I promised that my motto for 2008 will be "Skydive at 35!" My birthday weekend next March will include a skydive.

maybe not my skydive, but somebody's...

Completely Forgot To Post This - Cars Hit People

2007-11-14T14:20:00.000-05:00

On Friday night around 5:45pm, I was driving home on Columbia Pike next to the high-rise apartments. I stopped at the traffic light at Scott Street, a light drizzle coming down from the heavy cloud cover. A woman wearing fairly dark clothing was crossing Columbia Pike, from north to south, at that crosswalk. Another woman, this one clad in a sedan, made a left from Scott on to Columbia Pike, hitting the walker, and sending her tumbling to the pavement.

The Bionic Woman may not be doing the ratings NBC wanted, but this woman must have been made of Jaimie Summers' spare parts. She was unhurt - how, I have no idea. The driver pulled over, and was in tears, but the walker/tumbler/Terminator assured her that she was fine.

I've never seen anybody get hit by a car before...and I certainly have never seen anybody GET UP UNSCATHED after being hit by a car, either.

I view this as a lesson - drivers need to be more careful as the early sunsets of the fall turn daylight into night rather quickly.

AND...folks may think that the all-black ensembles may make them look gorgeous, but flashing a bit of color increases the visibility, and might just save a life.

Sorry for the soapbox. I'll write something funny tomorrow.

Obscure Pop Culture Reference: Minnesota's Worst Nightmare

2007-11-13T12:55:00.000-05:00

Obscure Pop Culture Reference: Minnesota's Worst Nightmare

Do you SEE how powerful the Madden Curse is? Even a mere mock up knocks out Adrian Peterson for a week!

This is why, this is why, this is why you suck

2007-11-13T11:03:00.001-05:00

Not you, my dear reader, but the general, all-encompassing YOU that is the typical D.C. area policy wonk. Even more specifically, the person who can't wait to use any and every social encounter as an opportunity to pontificate about the glories of their chosen political party.

To be blunt, the Drunken Right Wing Republican Nazi Pittsburgh Steeler fanbitch at Summer's Bar on Sunday afternoon.

Now, to my way of thinking, pretty much any of those above descriptors would be enough to scare me like a little kid watching "The Omen," but this one, much like my school bus, was special.

She was loud. And apparently thinks less of Hillary Clinton than Prime Minister Bhutto thinks of General Musharraf.

As our group of football fans was seated next to her, she sort of glommed on to our party like a barnacle on a ship's hull. And once she started talking, she went from being "mildly attractive" to "Oh dear God somebody stop her from reproducing!"

She told the bar, quite loudly, that Hillary is a whore. She didn't put it lightly; she used that word, and that word had several wingmen, like "F-Bomb" and "C-Bomb."

She told us that the Republicans are the best. The F-Bomb best. That her family back in Pittsburgh was the best. Because they, like Bush, are Republicans. And Republicans are the best. Because they're not C-bombs like the C-Bomb Democrats.

She told us that Hillary was a bitch, and said something about Obama being black-ish or something.

Bear in mind, she said all of these Unapproved RNC talking points in about three minutes, plus other statements, before she simply stood up and walked out the door.

Here's what I don't get - it's Sunday. Veteran's Day. NFL Football is on 20+ TVs in this bar, plus English Premier League soccer. Nobody in a 100-foot radius around her was even THINKING about politics. But she had to bring it up anyway.

The goal of every political party is to win elections. Having a list of negative points about an opponent's policy or voting record is a rock-solid way of proving the superiority of your party. Calling an opponent a C U iN Toledo in the middle of a sports' bar makes you look like a dumbass.

Which, once again, supports my decision to be a registered Whig.

Minnesota's Worst Nightmare

2007-11-05T11:40:00.000-05:00

Beware of the Curse!!!

Congratulations on the new single game rushing record, Adrian, but if EA Sports calls, just say no! The Curse is strong!!

Game of the Century (granted, it's a young century)

2007-11-01T12:07:00.000-04:00

If you watch ESPN for more than like, what, 30 seconds, you'll quickly gather that the entire sporting world will grind to a halt to watch the New England Patriots play the Indianapolis Colts this weekend. A match-up of two undefeated teams this late in the season is rare, and the fact that Indy has been very good, while New England has been downright shockingly good, and this game has more hype than a nude picture of a circa 2004 Lindsay Lohan picture.

Let's hope this game doesn't look like a strung-out 2006 nude LiLo photo.

The Colts are playing methodical, yet exciting football. The defense is quite solid, and the offense has been a typical Peyton Manning offense. But the Patriots...they're not just winning games, they are embarrasing the other team. It's like watching a college team playing toddlers each week - it's not even close. New England is winning games by 25, 35, 45 points each week. They are SCARING teams. The Patriots just clobbered a very decent Redskins team this past weekend, 52-7, and the score could have been worse for Washington had the Pats not put in second and third stringers. Tom Brady has more touchdown passes than hot ex-girlfriends...and he has a lot of hot ex-girlfriends. Wes Welker has been every bit as good as his former roommate and buddy, Baltimore Raven Mike Smith, said he'd be. Randy Moss's hands are so amazing, he could catch an STD from a virgin in a different state.

In 20 years, the Patriots will replace "the boogeyman" as a child's nightmare. Parents will warn their brood about the evils of Team Belicheck. Jason Campbell will wander the earth, mumbling like an earthquake victim, mumbling "so...many...fumbles..." over and over again.

DAD: "Eat your vegetables, so you can be big and strong."
UNRULY KID: "I don't wanna."
DAD: "Finish your meal, or the boogieman will get you."
UNRULY KID: "There's no such thing as the boogieman."
DAD: "Better eat your vegetables, or the 2007 Patriots are gonna get you."
UNRULY KID: "eeeek! More Brussel Sprouts, please!"

If I have kids, I'm gonna put pictures of Mike Vrabel around their beds to keep them in line.

If the Colts win this weekend, that's what Super Bowl Champs are supposed to do. If New England wins, nobody, not even my beloved Ravens, will stop them this season. Maybe the X-Men might, but only if Wolverine guards Randy Moss.

Adieu Cingular 3125, Hello ATT Tilt

2007-11-01T11:24:00.000-04:00

Replaced my 3125 that was full of fail with the Tilt that is, so far, not full of fail.

Most people who have 3125's love the danged thing. I read so many wireless blog's detailing the phone's strenghts and tons of features. The only drawback was that the microSD slot was under the SIM card, and to switch microSDs required a shutdown of the phone.

My 3125 rebooted for no apparent reason. It refused to recognize the signal towers. It usually couldn't find the microSD card, and instead of saying "I am full of fail and can't find the SD card" it would say "your card is corrupted." Like it was my fault.

The phone had been dropped twice in its year+ of ownership, but the fail had been evident way before the drops. It's basic functionality sucked from day three - PDFs and DOCs wouldn't open, though they were supposed to. It wouldn't sync with any of my PCs reliably.

And I think it shot Kennedy.

In any event, I guess I just got stuck with a lemon, and it was time to go. The Tilt is a dramatic piece of equipment. Touch screen AND a full keypad, easily removable microSD cards, AT&T's kickin' 3G network. GPS hookup

The darn thing even works in my house. Color me stunned.

"Good Morning America" Laughing While Whale's Vagina Burns

2007-10-25T10:46:00.000-04:00

Please, tell me it was just my imagination, oooooh, running away with me.

Please tell me that I was only imagining it when ABC's Good Morning America reporter was cackling like a harpy in front of the burned-out carcass of a San Diego-area house this morning. Some doofus back in the studio made a "TV-friendly joke" (completely forgettable and with no cussing) as they tossed it live to a reporter in the charred hills around San Diego. The reporter in the field was LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY at whatever lame-ass joke it was...five feet in front of somebody's ruined home...and then changed his tone instantly into a somber, reserved pitch.

I turned on the TV before leaving for work. It gives the dogs something to listen to throughout the day. ABC's Good Morning America was on, and I watched this exchange in horror for a few moments before I had to leave for work. I've never seen such insensitive reporting from the site of a major catastrophe. It's one thing to be safely tucked in a studio 1000 miles away to make an inappropriate comment (hola, Brother Wolf Blitzer and your Katrina-inspired "so poor, so black" gaffe), but to be on site, looking at people's lives being destroyed by these fires, and to laugh on what's left of their property... wow.

If I can find this clip on YouTube or something, I'm definitely posting it. Please tell me I was just still asleep, or on Comedy Central or something. Anything.

Don't tell me broadcast journalism standards of taste and decorum are that bad.

This Generation Needs a New Chris Crocker

2007-10-24T09:40:00.000-04:00

It seems like so long ago when Chris Crocker, the little boy who looks a little too much like real woman Rebecca Romjin, told us all, while wearing a touch of mascara and crying like evangelical teenager at a Michael W. Smith concert, to LEAVE BRITNEY SPEARS ALONE RIGHT NOW!

I, for one, heeded his advice. I left Britney Spears alone right then and there, and her life has been going swimmingly since.

But my friends and readers and random strangers I may never meet, we need a new Chris Crocker, somebody to take the reins of a New Revolution, to launch a rallying cry on a viral video that will save all if us from certain terror:

George Lucas is planning a "Star Wars" tv show.

George...stop.

Please, stop.

You've pissed on my beloved childhood memories of seeing your films in the old Plaza theater in Annapolis. You can't leave those movies alone, and you botched the prequels by having too many computer generated characters and not enough, well, plot and story line.

Now you want to put Star Wars on TV full of minor characters?

That show's already been done. It's called "Bad Syndicated Sci-Fi Show That Fans Praise For Its Stellar Writing With Furry Fan Fiction on Message Boards Across the World But the Rest Of America Couldn't Pick the Cast Out of a Police Lineup with Bill Cosby, Leslie Bibb and Clay Aiken."

LEAVE JEK PORKINS ALONE RIGHT NOW!!!

#2 on Catch Up Day

2007-10-23T09:28:00.000-04:00

#2) Don't try to slice veggies with a crappy knife.

Or else THIS will happen (WARNING - don't click if you don't like blood)

This doesn't look that bad, until you realize it had been bleeding for 30 minutes prior to these photos.

If the link doesn't work, let me know and I'll make the gallery public, or post it on my Flickr page.

Today is "Catch Up" Day

2007-10-23T09:18:00.001-04:00

I have had a lot of things that I wished to blog about, and I'll try to get a lot of them posted today.

#1) From the "Don't Say I Didn't Warn You" file: - CBS has cancelled "Viva Laughlin" after two episodes.

I wrote earlier:

Viva Laughlin - Drama/Musical - This is Hugh Jackman's production of a casino manager in the resort area of Laughlin, Nevada. It's supposed to be a musical drama, and before you can say "Cop Rock" this sucker will be gone. It's got pretty people, it's decently-shot and written, BUT, the idea of having a musical is for song-and-dance routines, right? Except these folks don't dance much, and the singing is actually karaoke. They have the original song going simultaneously, so these actors are pretty much mouthing the words. So, if the actor is singing an Elvis song, Elvis is singing right along with the actor.

It looks pathetic, though Hugh Jackman's cool.

I could have saved CBS a lot of money and a lot of embarrassment if they'd just asked me first. "Telecomic, the Telecomedian, does this show suck?" and I'd have said "Oh yes. Yes it does. Like a new prisoner trying to save his ass."

Love Didn't Tear Them Apart; Synthesizers Did.

2007-10-10T13:01:00.000-04:00

This must be the gloomiest street in America, only because it's blissfully unaware of the entendre.

I saw "The Darjeeling Limited" this weekend, Wes Anderson's latest long film full of uncomfortable silence, awkward characters and inspired cinematography. While I'm not sure if "TDL" is worth a full review - it's a Wes Anderson film; you either like his work or you don't, and you surely know the answer by now - but I was fascinated by the preview of the Ian Curtis biopic "Control."

Here's a Salon piece on the movie, written by an unapologetic Joy Division fan. I was an early convert, as I still have "Substance" and "Closer" on vinyl. As I'm somewhat aware of his story, I figure a Curtis biography would be vital, and past due like a library book.

For those unaware of the power, or, I should say, the influence of Joy Division, I want you to listen to pretty much any new indie rock. Tune your XM to channel 43, XMU, or surf over to Myspace, and search for "I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness." Or, click your iPod over to "The Killers" or "My Bloody Valentine" or "Interpol" or "The Strokes" or...you get the picture.

And then hit up the music supplier of your choice (iTunes, Hypem, Rhapsody) or, better yet, a real honest-to-God record store, and listen to "Substance." It's their best-of, and it's friggin' dark, and bleak and wonderful.

I'm assuming it will play at the E Street Cinemas, The AFI in Silver Spring or Shirlington's Artsy Theaters, but there's nothing listed for it yet.

Sad Day - Red Shipley's Passed

2007-10-09T12:42:00.000-04:00

Red was the host of "Stained Glass Bluegrass" on WAMU for years. He passed away the other day from cancer. The story can be found on the Post's Website.

My former stepfather, Butch, who also passed from cancer, was a devoted listener, and any Sunday morning drive with Butch meant Red would be in the vehicle too, playing gospel-flavored bluegrass. As bluegrass and gospel are my two least-favorite types of music next to Phillip Glass experimental pieces, I always hated that show.

But, as a fan of radio, I knew a good, powerful voice when I heard one, and Red not only was a good talker, but was devoted to his subject.

Hopefully he and Butch are talking about "pickin' `n' grinnin'" in a better place.

Dating In DeeCee

2007-10-03T12:03:00.000-04:00

I Now Pronounce You over at DCBlogs wrote a wonderful piece about dating in DC, and it's so friggin' spot on, it's like a Dalmatian orgy, except Petey is played by Peter North.

I hear it all the time in DC from men and women alike; dating in this town sucks! All the women are gold diggers and all the men are jerks because they have it so easy since there are 2943 women to every guy. Everyone’s opening line is “so what do you do” and all anyone cares about is what kind of car you drive and who signs your paycheck.

Allow me to weigh in on this;

Shut up shut up oh please for the love of GOD shut up.

I applauded when I read that. I applauded again when I re-read that. I had to comment.

Perhaps the reason why dating in DC sucks is because many of the people who are single do, indeed, suck.

I'm single, and try not to suck. It takes work to not suck. I don't care about my job, my income level, the political scene and what type of car people drive. I'm not obsessed by my stock portfolio, a condo in Columbia Heights or whether my children would get a quality education in DC Public Schools. I haven't waited in line at McFadden's nor have I hit on a woman who is younger than my Cure CDs. I like the music I like, and while the Black Cat and RRH get some great acts, I don't obsess over their schedules like a conspiracy theorist over the Zapruder film. I haven't grabbed the NYTimes Sunday edition and walked to the Starbucks at DuPont to do the crossword puzzle in pen.

And for the love of God, I refuse to see The Capitol Steps. They suck.

I'm 34, and a lot of my friends are within 5 or so years of me. Most of them are single as well, though a couple of married couples are beginning to sneak in. Still, the vast majority of my friends are regularly dating, or, at least attempting to date.

And yes, they gripe about how hard it is to date in this city, too.

Granted, DC does seem to lead the league in workaholics-per-neighborhood, there are way too many lawyers and lobbyists, and the Factory Town mentality of the city (the Factory in this case being the Federal Government) does seem to attract a more bookish sort. However, there are also a ton of unmarried folks looking for love. Surely the sheer population of singles should help, right?

Or, perhaps people are, as the song says and INPY confirms, looking for love in all the wrong places.

I can speak of this with some authority because of my association with MeetInDC.

MeetIn.org was founded several years ago as a social networking site, but the twist is that this site is for actually meeting people and going out and doing things. It's not about having 1,000 Myspace friends or whose Facebook Wall is more popular. Most major cities in North America have a local chapter, and its spread throughout Asia, Europe and Oceania. This site is about getting a group of folks together and going to the Smithsonian, walking the C&O Canal, or getting buttered at the Brickskellar. Want to try a new restaurant and can't get anybody to go with you? Put an event up on MeetIn and surely some folks would like to come.

I have met some wonderful friends through MeetIn, and have had some fantastic travels with various members of the group since I joined in 2005. I wouldn't trade them, and those who I have become friends with, I cherish.

BUT...

There's a problem with Meetin. MeetIncest. As with all co-ed social organizations, there will always be a certain amount of dating that goes on within the group, no matter how "non-pickup scene" the group tries to be. College alumni associations, professional trade unions - you name it, and somebody's going to dip their pen in company ink. MeetIn events are often fun dates, like a movie, restaurant, picnic or hike, but without the pressure of a date. Often, such a relaxed atmosphere makes for prime dating, and it's not unusual to see folks spend more time talking to one or two people than to 20 or 30.

The problem arises when people go to events just to meet members of the opposite sex. ESPECIALLY to events where there will be lots of newer members. Then, it suddenly becomes a pick-up scene, and that goes against one of the founding tenets of the group. And the sad part is that not all of the people who fall into this category are bad people. They just want to date somebody but have no idea how to meet somebody outside of the group.

It's pathetic. And, a little bit banal.

This sudden, impromptu pickup joint mentality is brutal. Older members have complained that the group isn't nearly as fun as it used to be, attractive newer members get scared away because they're constantly being hit on, and all that leaves is a core of relatively desperate folks who have either dated their way through the group or who want to.

As you can imagine, this puts a hell of damper on those of us who like to attend events to hang out, meet people and see the sights.

I'll admit, I've dated women in Meetin, but only after we'd gotten to know each other through a series of events. It wasn't like I went to a karaoke night and said "I need me some action. I'm hitting on...this one!" and picked a random girl from the group. There's a big difference between getting to know somebody over the course of a few months and just grabbing a girl for a quick fling.

Is it any surprise that those who complain the most about this being a bad dating town are those who keep going to the same ole' events, seeing the same ole' people, and not doing anything different?

*sigh*

Those who don't study history, especially recent history, are doomed to repeat it.

End of a (sorta) Chapter (sorta)

2007-09-30T21:27:00.000-04:00

I've been a little loathe to blog lately because I have been ridiculously ragged out from my work. Now, this has nothing to do with my Government Overlords, my young coworkers, or even the folks I see everyday.

No, my stress has been courtesy of my erstwhile employer, TeleCommunications Systems. I have worked for them for 2 and a 1/2 years, and they recently lost the contract for the agency I've been assigned to. The agency wanted to clear up their contracts, and TCS was trying to become a sub-contractor. That didn't go through, and TCS lost the deal. The company said they'd try to retain us, move us to other jobs. "We're family" is how our TCS program manager put it. Or, TCS would try to be a sub-sub-contractor.

Can't say I blame them; there's four employees that were up for play, and the Government indicated that they'd like to retain the staff, even though the contract was up for bid.

Still. We're family. Family doesn't let family members dangle in the nether region between "employed" and "unemployed."

TCS, even though they KNEW they lost the bid, lorded the non-compete clause we all signed over us like a pinata. We couldn't sign with the new company without facing a lawsuit; TCS said they'd try to find us new positions within TCS, but we all knew they had no roles for us. This was the story on Wednesday. "So...here's two weeks of money and hit the road."

Thursday, TCS changed their tune. We'd be let out of our non-competes, and were free to interview with the new contractor.

Friday, TCS laid us off without even learning if we'd signed with the new contractor.

That's a nice family you got there.

Fortunately the new contractor hired those of us on the crew who'd been there for more than a couple of months. I live to see another paycheck.

So, a drop of spilled beer to Clint, the new guy who wasn't picked up by the new contractor...for now.

And, a drop of spilled blood to TCS, who made our last couple of weeks of employment as stressful as possible.

Also, as how all companies have their own lingo, I know there's no way I'll pick up TCS' phrase. Broadstreet gave me "dawg." netINS gave me "my bad." Chili's gave me "buffalo wings." TCS employees use the term "net net" a lot. In a sentence, they say "Look, the net net is that we need to improve our stock options."

Net net.

Kinda redundant, you know?

Welcome to TCS' CorporateSpeak.

So, two and a half years have been wiped clean. I'm waving good bye to nearly 100 hours of vacation time. Two and a half years of stock options, benefits...all gone.

My "family" is kinda dysfunctional, huh?

My mother, the Phoenician

2007-09-19T10:57:00.000-04:00

The Official Five Paragraph Bitter Mom is moving to Phoenix, Arizona, next week. She just signed a 13-month lease for a two bedroom condo in Ahwatukee, which is apparently a very nice part of town.

It's weird - a woman who, until two weeks ago, had never been west of Columbus, Ohio, is now turning into an Arizonian...Arizonite? Arizonan? Arizonian-American? *shrug*

This should be a good move for her. The people at her new job seem nice, and there's certainly plenty of stuff to do. I'm sure she'll meet lots of active Baby Boomers, many of whom refuse to accept that they're aging themselves.

I think I see why Mom moved there.

View Larger Map

They named a road after her son. How thoughtful!

Oh...wait. There's an IKEA about 4000 feet away. Mom does love the hell out some easy-to-assemble Swedish furniture.

My state is richer than yours!

2007-09-11T16:49:00.000-04:00

The Baltimore Sun reported it a couple of weeks ago, and I meant to write something bitter, sarcastic and snobby about it, but I was too busy rolling in greenbacks to do it.

Getting harder to be an O's fan...

2007-09-02T12:14:00.000-04:00

...no-hit last night by Clay Buchholz, in his second major league start.

One more week until the Ravens' season begins. It's only a week. I can wait that long, right?

Right?

I scarred Chatwoman.

2007-08-30T16:32:00.000-04:00

From Liz Kelly's chat on the Washingtonpost.com site...L

To the woman shopping with her boyfriend...: I used to bike 300 plus miles a week in my teenage years and 20s, and now, at 34, still look like I'm trying to shoplift a couple of flank steaks in my thighs if I wear normal flat-front pants.

However, I've found that Dockers, of all brands, makes a slightly-baggier, looser fit pair of slacks that doesn't look too bad. Also, Express for Men, if he's got a waist size of 36 or smaller, has some flat-front pants that don't look too bad.

Liz Kelly: Thanks for the help (and for the mental image of someone walking around with flank steaks strapped to one's thighs).

Instant Karma is Everywhere

2007-08-30T11:04:00.000-04:00

Instant Karma, my favorite type, is popping up like Starbucks' in the late-1990s. You can't swing a dead cat without hitting instant karma.

For that, I thank Earl.

Instant Karma is a wonderful thing. Who doesn't love a quick pay-off? Let somebody merge in traffic, and somebody lets you change lanes without tailgating or blaring their horn. Help somebody pick up the contents of their accidentally-spilt briefcase and somebody holds the elevator door for you. Good ultimately begats good.

Instant Karma can also be a glorious mix of irony, schadenfreude and spite. Last night I saw a great instance of Instant Karma. While driving on MD 295, an unmarked police officer pulled out from the median strip and started heading down the road. The officer wasn't pulling anybody over; he was simply driving in the same direction as me.

Twenty seconds later, a late-90s Pontiac Grand Am was weaving in-and-out of traffic behind me, tailgating and making ridiculously unsafe lane changes. He got on my tail, and was so close to me that I couldn't even see his headlamps. I wasn't going fast enough for him, so he swung around, passed me and then got back over in my lane, coming scant inches away from my front bumper.

I watched him pull similar manuevers around the drivers in front of me for twenty seconds when he pulled something like that around the unmarked police officer. The Grand Am whipped around him, cut him off, and sped off similar to what he did to me and countless others. The police officer tracked him for a couple of seconds, watched him pull yet-another dangerous lane change, and decided he'd seen enough.

About 90 seconds after the Pontiac almost ran me off the road, he was getting pulled over. How many times have you seen some joker drive like a friggin' maniac, and said "where's the cops when I need them?" Well, evidently, the answer last night was "here."

Good job to the police officer who found this bozo.

Want more Instant Karma? Look at our friend Senator Larry Craig and his recent issues with lookin' for love in all the wrong places.

We've all heard now about his attempted homosexual daliance in a Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport. We've also heard about his staunch anti-gay stance and continued opposition to gay rights.

Methinks the Queen doth protest too much.

The irony is delicious. The karma was instant.

However...I will defend Senator Craig a smidge.

While the whole concept of sex in a public bathroom baffles me (not to mention the obvious logistical and hygenic difficulties), if the toe-tapping, peeking through the stall and roller-bag placement are all widely-accepted signals for gay men to initiate a sexual encounter, then what did Senator Craig do wrong that hundreds of thousands of people do every night in bars, clubs and parties? He made a pass at somebody.

I've made passes at some women and failed. Women and some men have made passes at me, and have failed. Do any of us deserve jail time?

That's like being pulled over for doing 55 in a 55 zone because you *MIGHT* speed.

He didn't have sex with the police officer in public. He may have wanted to, or maybe he would have offered a romp at an airport hotel. The Senator flirted with somebody at an ersatz pick-up joint. His basic act was no different than a guy buying a drink for a girl at a bar and using a cheesy pick-up line.

If the Senator was engaged in public sex and the police found him, then that would indeed be an offense. But has just the *intention* of even wanting sex become a crime?

30 runs?

2007-08-23T10:12:00.000-04:00

Rough, rough day to be an O's fan...

When I saw the score "TEX 27 BAL 3" on the TV, I thought the Ravens were getting crushed by the Texans.

The fact that there was no football game on TV left me saddened, and shocked.

It's a good thing Wild Bill didn't live long enough to see this.

Instrumental Analysis: Cedars Say Goodbye

2007-08-22T11:01:00.000-04:00

Instrumental Analysis: Cedars Say Goodbye

From a local music blog, thought it'd be nice to mark the passing of a local favorite band.

Oh well, I'll always have their e.p. burned into iTunes.

Kid Nation, done before it begins?

2007-08-21T08:47:00.000-04:00

From avideo clip, it looks like CBS' Kid Nation might get yanked due to child abuse concerns before it even airs.

The Upcoming TV Season

2007-08-20T10:10:00.000-04:00

My beloved roommate works at the USA Today, and she gets advance copies of upcoming tv shows every season. So far, we've got the CBS and ABC slate, nothing from NBC or Fox.

The CBS DVD contains full versions of Big Bang Theory, Viva Laughlin, and Cane.

Big Bang Theory - sitcom - The idea is that this recently-dumped, super hot girl moves in to an apartment next to these super-smart male scientists. Of course, these scientists are horrible with women and have no idea how to talk or interact with them. So, the idea of a vulnerable hottie next to these socially awkward brainiacs could be funny for an episode or two.

The problem with this show is that the smart guys are barely masculine at all - they all seem like the last thing they would be interested in would be a woman. And not because they'd be more into lab work, either. They truly act effeminate, which is almost an insult to the viewer. I'm not sure if that's the acting or directing, but it's a definite flaw. One guy is actually funny, the rest seem lame.

Cane - Drama - It's easily the best looking show on the CBS slate. It looks like a film, and it's the best acted and written script CBS offers. Could be a good show if they don't rush it. Jimmy Smits is a solid presenece on this show, though there has been some concern about him playing a Cuban.

Viva Laughlin - Drama/Musical - This is Hugh Jackman's production of a casino manager in the resort area of Laughlin, Nevada. It's supposed to be a musical drama, and before you can say "Cop Rock" this sucker will be gone. It's got pretty people, it's decently-shot and written, BUT, the idea of having a musical is for song-and-dance routines, right? Except these folks don't dance much, and the singing is actually karaoke. They have the original song going simultaneously, so these actors are pretty much mouthing the words. So, if the actor is singing an Elvis song, Elvis is singing right along with the actor.

It looks pathetic, though Hugh Jackman's cool.

Now, the DVD also contains sneak previews of Kid Nation and Moonlight. Moonlight is the tale of a kind-hearted vampire who solves crimes. Yeah.

Kid Nation is a reality show about children reviving a ghost town.

Yeah. I can't make that up. One could say Hollywood is out of ideas, though it's obvious CBS is. Couldn't they have made another CSI?

Now, for the ABC slate:

Pushing Daisies - Drama - Now this is completely unlike anything else on TV right now, and in a very good way. A young man has the ability to bring people back to life with a single touch, but if he touches them again, they die. If he doesn't touch them within a minute, somebody else nearby dies. He brings them back to life to find out how they died, and to collect any reward money for murder victims. Sounds morbid? It amazingly works. It's sublimely acted and written, and shot brilliantly. Vibrant colors, almost like a Tim Burton fairy tale movie with highlighters. Very likable cast...this could be a great show, kind of in an "Ed" and "Northern Exposure" way. Just don't "Moonlighting" it, because you can see the chemistry between the male and female leads.

Dirty Sexy Money - Drama - Great cast, interesting idea. An idealistic lawyer is hired by a wealthy family (think Kennedy or Rockefeller) and then has to keep them all from getting in trouble. One is on her third marriage, another is a terrible actress with suicidal thoughts, another is a young playboy, and another...well, he's about to be a Senator who's in love with a transsexual.

And he's played by a Baldwin brother. Two Baldwins in prime time!? What a world!

It's interesting...but I think it'll peter out. Too much plot too soon. It's got potential, but I think they'll make the pace far too dizzying. I can tell such things. Can smell it in advance.

Big Shots - Drama - Four youngish, handsome men with powerful jobs and a whole lot of issues. It's pretty sharp, actually. Great cast, sharp writing, not too much given away in the beginning. I was surprised Christopher Titus could act so well, but he pretty much rocks. Dylan McDermott, Michael Vartan, and That Guy From Every Aaron Sorkin Show star.

Sam I Am - Comedy - Christina Applegate is Sam. Sam was in an accident, and suffers from retrograde amnesia. Sam wakes up with no memory of herself or friends or family, and as she struggles to regain her senses, she finds out she was not a terribly nice person. It's cute, but given the amnesia story is pretty cliche, I'm not sure how long this can go. It is funny, though, and I laughed a couple of times more than I thought I would. Applegate is a pro, and she can charm her way through some awkward writing with a smile.

Cavemen - Comedy - Oh. Dear. God. This is perhaps the single worst show I've ever seen. Remember when Fox first got on the air and would play anything? That's this show.

See, Cavemen aren't extinct, they're a repressed minority. Now, take every stereotype you've ever heard about a repressed minority, and that's what happens to cavemen. It's simply a bunch of rehashed jokes with non-clever wordplay.

The only saving grace to this show is that the one caveman who's the political militant bitter caveman is pretty funny. The dorky caveman is a good dancer. The third caveman is just kinda klutzy. And that's the extent of it. I laughed once in the 25 minutes, and that's only because I have a stunted sense of humor, and was thinking of something else at the time.

Otherwise, this thing isn't funny, isn't well-paced, and isn't really quality. However, I said the same thing about "According to Jim" so WTF do I know? `

And the verdict is...

2007-08-20T10:09:00.000-04:00

I'm not going anywhere, for now.

Been a smidge quiet

2007-08-16T19:34:00.000-04:00

I have been in a weird place recently. And I don't mean to Michael Vick's backyard, either.

As some of my friends know, I wasn't just in Minneapolis to see some old friends and eat some pork. I was there for a job interview. I didn't expect to get the interview, let alone the job, but wouldn't you know it, they offered me the gig!

Telecom, in the Midwest. Hmmm...seems I've done that before.

So, it shocked me even more when I accepted it. Who, in their right mind, moves to Minnesota before the winter?

((other than college students))

Nobody!

Just lil' ole' me.

However, the rub is my lease. I don't have a moving clause in the bugger, and it doesn't look like I'll be able to move without suffering a heck of a penalty. The new company offered to pay some of it, but it's still a lot of cash. More than I feel like losing.

So, unless there's a miracle tomorrow in the leasing agency, I'm going to be here, in the MidAtlantic for a bit longer.

I've been waffling on this potential move for a week. Appears that my decision is being made for me.

From DCFUD - Lookin' California, Feelin' Minnesota

2007-08-03T14:21:00.000-04:00

How strange that an innocent trip to the Twin Cities this past weekend would be bracketed two of the biggest news stories of the year.

A simple two-day mini-vacation to see some old friends in Minneapolis and get some good food seemed like a grand idea, and the affordable direct flights to Minnesota courtesy of Northwest Airlines would be a fine way to spend as much time away from D.C. as possible. That is, until Northwest and its pilots decided to come to loggerheads over work schedules the very weekend I would depend on them for transportation. As the Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport is Northwest's major international hub, local and cable news crews descended on passengers stuck in the expansive facility, trying to capture the mess as flights were cancelled like bad sitcoms on the WB.

Once in Minneapolis, I was whisked away to the Mall of America. Apparently it's illegal to visit the Twin Cities without going to this overgrown tribute to America's love of commerce and indoor theme parks. For those who have never been to the MOA, it's basically both Arundel and Potomac Mills combined after hanging out with Barry Bonds' trainer. The Mall changes stores like Sean Combs changes stage names, so while I missed the awesome hot sauce store that was there on my first visit in 1999, I didn't mind seeing the P.B. Loco Cafe' and its selection of peanut butters, ranging from the sweet Raspberry White Chocolate to the spicy Asian Curry, take its place. Waffles served with maple/peanut butter sauce...smoothies packed with fruit, chocolate and incredibly delicious peanut butter...yeah, that place could be dangerous if they opened up a location in D.C.

One place I had to try was J.D. Hoyt's, a casual steakhouse in Minneapolis' Warehouse District, just a few blocks from downtown. The place is nice, though very unassuming. It reminded me of Baltimore's late McCafferty's in the Mount Washington neighborhood, though this place appears to pay its bills. Pictures of the owners, famous guests and happy people dining on steaks the size of pizzas adorn the walls. J.D. Hoyt's is known for their pork chops, ribs and steaks, and the intoxicating mix of Cajun spices and meats from the kitchen made it tough to choose just one entree'. Service as provided by Roberta (though call her Bobby, remember, this place is unassuming) was smooth, efficient and friendly. And, I was pleasantly surprised when a "small" sampler platter of prime rib, baby back ribs and spiced pork chop arrived. Important to note - this "half" rack was the size of a full rack; the prime rib was baked and then lightly seared to temperature, and the pork chop was nearly a pound of fresh-from-the-farm carnivorous pleasure. The meal was solid - the prime rib was not as good as you'd expect from a true high-end steak house, but definitely right for the price. The pork ribs and chops, however, were just about perfect.

The friendliness of the Minnesotans was shocking. Talk flowed freely between tables and the few folks at the bar didn't remain strangers for long. Most conversation revolved around the groudbreaking for the new Twins baseball stadium, just a couple blocks away from J.D. Hoyt's, which was scheduled for this week. Kevin Garnett, the Minnesota Timberwolves star player, had not yet been traded to the Boston Celtics, but the rumors were flying. The chef came out to talk to each table, Bobbi gave me dining and tourism tips, folks at another table asked me for dining and tourism advice in D.C. During the night, a small group of young men came in to toast their Army buddy, just scant days away from being called to active duty in Iraq. People who had just met moments ago bought drinks for the young man, barely 21 years old, and though it was clear some patrons didn't support the war, they all supported their soldier.

So while I was saddened to find out tragedy struck Minneapolis soon after I left, I wasn't surprised to hear stories of heroic actions by folks caught up in mess of tangled vehicles and bridge, tending to those less fortunate. Of people rushing from the shore to help those who might be trapped under steel and concrete. Of prayer circles and support centers for those who may have lost somebody in the Mississippi River.

I drove across that bridge on Monday.

Feelin' for Minnesota

2007-08-03T11:57:00.000-04:00

I was in the Twin Cities this weekend. Got to see some old Midwestern friends - not as many as I'd have liked to - but some nonetheless. I was impressed by how much Minneapolis is growing - some of the new designs are very progressive, much more daring than other Midwestern cities (Chicago being an obvious exception). Ate some good meals, met some nice people. I couldn't expect much more from a quick getaway.

I finally got to eat at JD Hoyt's, after almost 10 years of hearing about the place. Food was solid, service was great, and the people were ridiculously nice. The pork ribs, prime rib, and pork chops were all fantastic, though not as spectacular as expected.

And, of course I went to the Mall. Had to get some good peanut butter from their peanut butter store, and to see the Lego store.

I was on that darned bridge Monday afternoon before I left. Very odd sensation, really. Since no specific incident triggered the fall - at least, none that we know of yet - and it is so random, it makes me wonder why it just went when it did. What was so damning on Wednesday as opposed to Monday? Or Wednesday as opposed to today? Or next week?

Weird stuff. It wasn't a near-death experience for me, and certainly not traumatic, but it has made me pause for a second, definitely.

Still, you have to love the Minnesotans. Folks ran down to help those stuck, tried to get others out, assisted the emergency crews - even people who had been on the bridge when it fell helped others who were stuck. Others who couldn't help prayed or comforted those around them.

Doesn't that seem so expected, so natural, for a Midwesterner to act like that? To care for their neighbors before putting their own needs first?

Lookin' Maryland, Feelin' Minnesota

2007-07-24T11:20:00.000-04:00

Going up to the Twin Cities this weekend for a well-earned break and a meal at J.D. Hoyt's and some good ole' fashioned Midwestern hospitality.

And steaks the size of Toronto.

So begins my Season of The Wedding. 4 weddings in six weeks, 3 in consecutive weeks. Brutal. Stephen and Picot. My old old girlfriend Heather. Joey. Eric. It's crazy. I'll be broke and so sick of taffeta. But, such is the issue with having friends. Sometimes you have to stand by and watch them wreck their lives ;-)

Interesting article on how the average German supported Hitler prior and during WWII. The author clearly is not a fan of the current Administration in the US, and makes several points - a couple admittedly valid - on the parallels between fear, lies and propaganda.

Finally Figured Out The Decemberists...

2007-07-19T11:48:00.000-04:00

...the modern day version of Prefab Sprout. Songs full of drama and importance and amazing musicianship, but I'll take Paddy McAloons' silver voice over the incessant quavering of Colin Meloy's anyday.

Took me a while to figure it out.

I'll give The Decemberists another listen, past Meloy's voice and see if I can find something new.

Final Chapter of the Last Harry Potter Book Leaked!

2007-07-16T13:30:00.001-04:00

BET you're wondering where I got THIS lil' gem? Seems plausible...

***********************************************************************

Harry wakes up surpised, not to be at Hogwarts, but in a British mental institution. His wizard cape has been replaced with a straitjacket; his wand no longer in his hand, only the cold steel chain of a handcuff. After being pumped full of an ungodly amount of L-dopamine, young adult Harold Potter looks up at Dr. Dreyfus Umbledor, an older Ugandan-English psychologist at the facility who smiled as the young man's eyes widen. "Hello Harold, how are you?" he asked our hero.

"Where am I? Where's my wand? I thought you were dead!" screamed Potter.

"I am very much alive, Harold, though I had to take a leave of absence since my divorce. It seems once again you're alive as well. You've been in a catatonic state for years. It's good to see you, to meet you face to face."

"Why am I bound? What happened to Snape? Where are my friends Ron and Hermione? What has He Who Must Not Be Named done to Hogwart's?" asked Potter.

Dr. Umbledor tossled the thick black hair of his young charge. "Harold, I've watched over you for nearly a decade, wondering what was going on in your beautiful mind. Despite our wonderful advances in mental health since the 1990s, we are unable to truly read minds. We could tell through brain wave monitors that your alpha waves and receptors were constantly firing. Your eye movements have been unlike anything we've ever seen in similar REM moments. It's almost as though you were alive while being completely asleep."

"Why am I bound, Dumbledore? I need to be released! I must fight..." exclaimed Potter.

"You were restrained to keep you from hurting yourself." Dr. Umbledor explained. He reached over to pick up a small hand mirror, and showed Potter the scar. "You gave yourself quite the nasty gash one day many years ago in one of your states. We bound you to protect you from yourself."

"But my friends Ron and Hermione!? Where are they? I must see them!" cried the exasperated youngster.

Dr. Umbledor looked quizzically at him. "Who are Ron and Hermonie?" he asked.

"You don't know Ron and Hermione? My Lord, Voldemort has gotten to you, too! You don't remember your three finest students at Hogwart's?" answered Potter by way of questions. He was convinced more than ever in the evil of Valdemort.

Dr Umbledor chuckled softly in acknowledgement. "Oh, Harold...I apologize. I had no idea that while you were in your state that you could synthesize exterior stimuli and incorporate them into your dreams. Ah, the power of the mind is so amazing! Harold, I'm afraid your friend Ron is nothing more than Ron, one of the janitors here at Azakbhan's Mental Health Facility..."

"Wait," interupted Harry. "you mean Azkaban?"

"Oh my. It appears you picked up on my pitiful trait of mixing up consonants. English is such a hard language to learn. I tried to learn it through music, and for years, I thought Mott the Hoople was Hott the Muggle. I still get them confused" said Umbledor.

"What's a Muggle, Professor?"

"I don't know, but I used to say it all the time. And Harold, I gave up teaching years ago. Hardly a Professor; simply a doctor now. Anyway, as I was saying, Ronald is a custodian here at Mopple's, and he hangs out at the Hero Mine, a comic book store in town. We believed that you could someday hear us, so all of us on staff would tell you stories from our day-to-day lives. Perhaps Ron told you about the store."

"But Hermione was my true friend. She is so lovely, the way she's grown. Her hair so lively, her eyes so brown, perhaps my great love!" extolled Potter.

"Either you read some Greek Mythology before you came here or you're thinking of Ron's tale. It's very much a comic book store, Harold. Full of many boys and men about your age. None of them have ever seen, let alone actually touch, a girl, and certainly none as lovely as you describe."

A wave of realization crashed into the storm breakers on Potter's face. He was wondering if he was under some sort of spell, but he felt a pain in his left shoulder far too acutely to be under one of Voldemort's sinister plans.

"Doctor Umbledor, why does my shoulder hurt so?"

The doctor looked at the young man's shoulder. "While you were sleeping, you were bitten by an exotic spider. Before you were bound, you would constantly itching it. We kept telling you to stop itching it, but you obviously didn't listen. Ron, the Janitor, took special attention to your area, always making sure your room was spotless. He'd tell you in that rough cockney drawl of his 'qwit itchin! Qwit itch!"

The doctor loosened the shackles on Potter's arms. "Here you go, young friend. You don't need these now."

Potter snapped up in bed, and snapped the pencil out from Dr. Umbledor's coat. He started to cast the Spell of Reality he learned while at Hogwart's, but something caught his eye - a pimple-and-pock-covered pig had walked into the room.

"Snape!" snapped Potter. "It must be you!"

"Oh, dear Harold!" exclaimed Dr. Umbeldor. "That's our pet hog, Viktor. He's a bit old, but he provides company to the patients while they sleep."

Potter looked at the walking pork chop. "He's covered in marks..."

"Yes" said Dr. Umbledor. "Warts from when he was a piglet. We couldn't send him to butcher, so we kept him on as a pet."

"Hog - warts..." said Potter slowly. "Quit Itch....Quidditch...Viktor..."

"Yes, Harold?" inquired Dr. Umbledor.

"I'm still a great wizard, right?" asked Potter."

"Wizard? Oh my boy, the only Wizards I know of play basketball back in America, and you're far too young, short and pale to be effective in their game."

"But I'm a champion...Quidditch player..."

"In your dreams, Harold. In your dreams you were legend, I'm sure. This, however" as he gestured around the sterile hospital room, "is reality. It's 2007; we haven't seen a wizard in England since the 1500s, at least."

"My Lord, Doctor...could it all have been a dream?"

"Perhaps," said Dr. Umbledor "it all was what you wanted it to be."

The young man sat back down in his bed. He had just been given news that would shake any lesser man to his knees - that his whole basis of reality was a lie. A figment of his imagination.

"Doctor...thank you" offered Potter, softly.

"You have no need to thank me. You will prove to be a fascinating case. What did you think you were?"

"Well," began Potter, "I was a boy wizard, taught at Hogwart's School...a place for those talented in magic. I was friends with Ron and Hermione and we laughed and we fought evil and you were there as a Professor, but you were white, and you fought with Snape and we were warned of the evil Voldemort..."

Dr. Umbledor roared with laughter. "The evil Voldemort?! That's priceless, Harold!"

The young man looked quizzically at the older gent.

"Voldemort," explained Umbledor, "was the name of my ex-wife's divorce attorney! He tried to take everything I ever owned! You got that evil part spot-on!"

Potter excused himself from laughing, though he wasn't mad that Umbledor was still cackling like an old hen. He realized that his dream world was so much better than the real world.

"My young man," said Umbledor to Potter, with his hand placed on his shoulder "these dreams of yours would make a wonderful story. 'Harry Potter the Prisoner of Azkaban!' has a ring to it..."

FINIS

A new device and Decemberists in July

2007-07-15T18:36:00.001-04:00

Picked up a new laptop to replace the long-dead but not-forgotten Device Mk. I, the Toshiba Satellite laptop that died back in `06. Best Buy had a pretty good sale on HP laptops, so I purchased one with 2 gigs of RAM, AMD Turion X2, integrated webcam, LightScribe SVS/CD burner and...Windows Vista.

So far...other than being slightly annoying, Vista has worked fairly well so far. The "cancel or allow" thing is pissy, but at the end of the day, it's still Windows. Take it or leave it.

Went to the Decemberists' show last night with the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra at Merriweather Post Pavillion. They were all fine and dandy...and boy was I neither over or underwhelmed. I think I was simply whelmed.

They're not a bad band, but boy are they a lot to swallow more than a random mp3. Their lyrics range from preposterous to pompous. They remind me a bit of Crash Test Dummies - the words *SEEMED* important and meaningful until you gave the lyrics and actual read and/or listen. Then, it hit ya like a sledgehammer to the forehead "Hey, this is crap!"

Still, they put on a nice show, and seem like charming folk. The music just ain't my bag, baby. That's what I get for buying a ticket to a show of a band I barely know.

One of those nights...

2007-07-07T02:04:00.000-04:00

1) Rumors in NW DC needs help. The A-Hole to Normal Evolved Human Ratio is SO out of whack there. The place has always been cheesy, but cheesy AND full of pricks...can't handle that.

2) Why do women insist on flirting with the friends of the guy they just broke up with? Honey, I heard the stories. I know why you're done as a couple, mostly because you're probably a dirty, dirty girl who cheated on my boy. So why do you think I'd give you the time of day?

3) MeetinDC - can the obsession with my ass PLEASE stop? I'm done with it. I'm about ready to drop the group completely. Knock it the hell off. Seriously. Next person who grabs my ass is going to get their ears boxed, or a kick in the shin. I'm sick of my ass being grabbed more than antacid at a Mexican food festival. If I wave it at you, then you may proceed. Otherwise....NO!! Bad MiDC person! Bad!

oh my DAMN!!! Transformers frickin' rocks!

2007-07-03T17:03:00.000-04:00

Finally, a movie Michael Bay didn't screw up!

Shia LaBeouf rocks! Megan Fox lives up to her name! John Turturro is hilarious! Optimus mother-f*ckin' Prime!

Perfect summer movie! The Five Paragraph Bitter Film Critic is harder than a virgin at a gang bang!

I'm writing in exclamation points!

You will love this movie...unless you're a tool. You're not a tool, are you?

*******************************************************************
Transformers gets 8 Whammies! for the eight different Transformer toys I had as a kid. It could have had nine if I hadn't have lost Starscream in the move to Glenarm Road.
*******************************************************************
My only complaint...

Strange...Never a Huge Fan Before...

2007-06-28T15:54:00.001-04:00

...but suddenly, I'm digging Alyssa Milano. This picture helps.

Plus, this quote from ESPN.com:

ALYSSA MILANO: [Laughs] There's absolutely no pink. Pink offends me. It's the man's misguided answer: "If you make it pink, women will buy it." I'm a traditionalist.

Just say no to Pink.

Dear Bad Driver...

2007-06-28T09:29:00.000-04:00

Hi. You may not remember me from our little near-collision in Arlington this morning. Actually, I'm quite sure you don't know who I am because I know you didn't see my car. Well, I shouldn't say I know you didn't see me, but I do know you didn't see the big red STOP sign that you so blythely ran, sending you scant inches away from my bumper. I'm not sure if you heard my tires squeal and my horn blare, but the people around our potential auto rendezvous did. Your mid-2000s tan SUV almost made more of an impression on me than hearing my parents have sex in their bedroom one sleepless night when I was a kid, and trust me, pal, that scarred the shit outta me.

Sounded like my mom was getting stabbed with an ice pick, and my dad was moving around a sleeper sofa. Not cool, bro.

When I spotted you again on Columbia Pike, you were laughing, though nobody else was in your vehicle. Though your rear window is far-too-heavily tinted to see through, your side window showed quite plainly that you're an officer in the United States' Army, and your Pentagon parking hang tag (which, BTW, you're not supposed to drive around with dangling from your rear view mirror. Safety violation and whatnot...) indicates that we must work in the same building.

So, you're in the Army. With all the acronyms thrown at our soldiers, I'm sure you got confused, and thought STOP meant Speeding To Obliterate Pontiacs. It actually means "stop."

Being in the Army makes you some sort of instant hero nowadays. What, with 9/11 and fighting our godless enemies and making sure we have a secure oil stream to ensure you can drive your SUV. Within the Pentagon, rank has privilege, and military law backs that up. However, on the streets, the laws of the military do not circumvent the laws of physics and traffic court. If I wasn't such a careful driver with a trigger finger for a braking foot, you'd have taken out my front end, damaged your precious SUV, and been woefully late for work.

So, please, Mr. Soldier or Army of One or Warfighter or what ever term you prefer - hit the fucking brakes and come to a complete stop.

Do it for the troops.

Don't Even ^&$%@~! Think About Speeding in Ole' Virginny

2007-06-25T15:08:00.000-04:00

From this weekend's WaPost...

Say you are driving 78 mph on the Capital Beltway and a state trooper tickets you for "reckless driving -- speeding 20 mph over." You will probably be fined $200 by the judge. But then you will receive a new, additional $1,050 fine from the Old Dominion, payable in three convenient installments. So convenient that you must pay the first one immediately, at the courthouse.

First-time drunk driver? A $300 fine from the judge and a $2,250 fee from the commonwealth.

Driving without a license? Maybe a $75 fine. Definitely a $900 fee from Virginia.

Yee-ouch!

I'm all for improving the quality of life on the highways, but, DAMN!

The article points out several drawbacks to this plan, such as the dramatic burden to the local court system as now EVERY traffic offense would be fought in court, just to avoid these fines. So, on paper, it looks like a potential windfall for the state, but it could end up costing more than it makes.

Also, if I was an attorney specializing in traffic law, I would move to Virginia and set up shop quicker than a jackrabbit on a date. Student loans? Bah! Paid off in a New York Minute! $500,000 condo? Hell, paid off by March `09...

What I see as an unintended consequence, though - how many folks will be unwilling to "move" to Virginia? Live in the Commonwealth but maintain their permanent addresses in other states. Decreased tax revenue from a potential citizen at the expense of a traffic violation. If you're going to have legislation that allows for non-residents to skirt by such fees, while sticking it to your own citizens, that hardly seems fair. Not to mention...a pretty good way to ensure your dumb ass will be voted out of office.

If Virginia is so intent on cleaning up the highways and increasing revenue, here are a few options from yer friendly Telecomedian:

1) Sliding scale of vehicle registration fees. Sort of a combo SUV tax and a way to promote better MPG. Right now, most cars cost 30 to 35 bucks to register in VA, and trucks are $40. I was pretty surprised to see such low fees, especially in a state that usually can't wait to tax the HELL out of its citizens. Offer free registration for purchasers of a gas-sipping vehicle (like a hybrid, turbodiesel, or car with a average MPG over 35 on the highway). Triple or even quadruple the fees for registering non-work trucks or SUVs, and gas-guzzling muscle cars. You figure a good suburban cul-de-sac would bring in a couple thousand dollars in registration fees, as they are people unlikely to be driving without a license or on suspended plates.

2) Motorcycles that weave in and out of traffic like they're reinacting the trench scene in Star Wars can be hit with scalding hot coffee. I hate these guys driving souped-up crotch rockets threading through traffic at ungodly speeds, coming inches away from getting into wrecks with every turn. This behavior caused a fatal accident on the Maryland side of 495 last week...while the motorcyclist got away scot-free.

If a biker is following the rules of the road, great. But this Speedy Gonzalesesque crap has got to stop. Don't want to be hit with scalding hot coffee? Don't drive like an idiot.

As an added bonus, think of the extra sales' tax gained from coffee shops as some people will want to have a piping hot cup of joe at the ready, just waiting for the next prick to zoom by at 100 miles an hour on 95 on a Ninja.

3) Just a thought - make everybody take a new driving test instead of automatically renewing their license. See how it goes. Try it out. You might like it.

4) Lower the Speed Limit During Rush Hours. I can hear y'all scratching your heads, but read this carefully: Traffic is caused my multiple factors: weather, accidents, volume, construction and capacity being among them. We can't change the weather. Accidents tend to happen to even the safest, most careful drivers. Construction delays are often part and parcel of living in a growing area. But volume and capacity CAN be controlled, or at least predicted.

Rush hour in the evening starts pretty much between 3 and 3:30. Part of the initial crush of cars is the high volume of people hitting low-capacity feeder roads to beat the rest of the rush hour that begins in earnest at 4. So, they want to hightail it out of work so they can get to the high capacity interstates and highways before they clog, the idea being that driving at 70 for a couple of miles makes up for driving at 30 for a dozen more.

How many times have you been cruising on 66 or 495 to see a sudden sea of brakelights around the next hill? Part of that problem is the differential in speed. Brakes are vital to avoid accidents and to make sudden turns, but they are often used to modulate speed. This indicates to me that the road is not being used efficiently. Large gaps between cars are neccessary at high speeds to allow safe following distance, and that gaps becomes decidedly smaller at slower speeds. What can set off a chain reaction of braking is somebody driving dangerously down the highway, or a lone police officer on the side of the road. But what really sets them off more often than that? Somebody in the left hand lane needing to get over to the right hand lane for an exit a 1/4 of a mile away. Somebody needing to merge to avoid a lane that ends. When somebody needs to make one of these such maneuvers, they usually make an unsafe lane change. The drivers closest to the incident hit the brakes to avoid an accident. This makes everybody around them panic break in a pack mentality.

Wouldn't it be a much better allocation of vital resources for the Commonwealth to force the major roads like 395, 66, 495 to go to a slower, more reasonable speed limit like 45, and thus giving drivers more room for merging, lane changes and closing lanes? The regulation of traffic speeds allows for smoother commuting and higher road capacity without building another highway.

It's simple physics...and if entire roads can be made for HOV lanes, the speed limits on other roads can be modified too.

For the Six of Us Who Still Care...

2007-06-21T13:43:00.000-04:00

The Caps are unveiling their new jerseys tomorrow for the draft party.

HOWEVER - Caps Nut got them earlier this week, and, uh...

Well, look for your own damned selves.

and

Dear God.

This looks like the jersey that would come from one of those historic teams form a Canadian industrial town that relocates somewhere in America's Sun Belt. You know, a team that wants its new fan base to forget any ill will from the team's move.

What, pray tell, was wrong with this:

MEMO TO TED: There are approximately 9,000 fans dressed up as empty seats at every home game. Please don't make the remaining 6,000 look at these retreads from the WAC or Arena League.

UPDATE:
Anyway, upon giving the unis a third look, I figured out what the design theme was:

GREAT JOB!!! "Ladies and Gentlemen, come on down to the Verizon Center for our Dogfights and Fistfights Promotion. Every time a Cap gets into a scrap, we'll unleash two rabid pit bulls on the opponent! The first 5,000 fans bringing in a Rott, Chow, Shepard or wolf-mix get free admission. That's Dogfights and Fistfights, brought to you by Aquafina. When you need to stash your pot before an international flight, think Aquafina!"

The Caps is idiots.

The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic Vs. The World

2007-06-19T12:13:00.000-04:00

I never thought I had much in common with Lindsay Lohan.

She's a young Hollywood starlet and pop star, better known for her hard-partying, relapses into rehab, ever-changing breast size, spectacular rise and fall, and for showing her birth canal to pretty much every actor, athlete and paprazzi in California. I'm more of a brokedown former disc jockey and comedian who couldn't wait to sell out to Corporate America for a stable paycheck. As far as I know, she's done more drugs than a Rick James' groupie, and the hardest thing I've smoked is turkey. But her song "Me vs. The World" from the Freaky Friday soundtrack speaks to me. Well, it doesn't technically speak because I've never heard it, and couldn't pick it out in a police lineup. I just found the lyrics online, and thought "I had no idea I could relate to young Lindsay's plight."

See, "The World" in my case is Reese's. The loveable brand from our friendly neighbors to the North, Hershey (if not the best corporate citizens), has finally released a limited edition Elvis tribute Reese's Cup - Peanut Butter and Banana Creme. One of his favorite treats was fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. As I have resolved to eat healthier and exercise more, and been doing a fine job of it, these little chocolatey bastards could be my undoing. As a kid, my mom preferred that I ate peanut butter and banana sandwiches, getting at least some vitamins and potassium from the banana slices, benefits absent in most jellies. When mom found these new Elvis cups, she thought it would be nice reminder of my childhood. They're not bad, either, as I was afraid the banana would be too artificial, too overpowering. But the banana flavor is just enough to complement the traditional chocolate/peanut butter balance of a Reese's. One of the few "Limited Editions" that I like.

Plus, this has a picture of Elvis on the package. And it's not like that cop-out Young Elvis versus Old Elvis stamp debacle, either. You can find these with Young Athletic Elvis, Hawaiian Shirt Elvis, and, my favorite, Old Elvis. It's clearly Fat Elvis in all his early 1970s Vegas coked-out jumpsuit glory, maybe not quite as bloated and rambling, but it's clear he's baked... much like Mlle. Lohan.

This limited edition run is hitting stores throughout the region now. Dollar General Stores seem to be a reliable place to find them, though they seem to be allergic to putting a store within the Beltway. If you see them, please share in the comments. Let others find their inner Elvis. Hopefully, Mojo Nixon's vision of Elvis being everywhere can be realized.

************************************************************************************
Elvis Reese's Cups get 18 Whammies!, one for each of The King's U.S. number one hits on the pop singles chart.

Thanks to The Junk Food Blog and Candyblog.
*************************************************************************************

What if Somebody Else Wrote About Dave?

2007-06-18T14:33:00.000-04:00

This posting is the result of a night of much drink and revelry on Friday. My exercise is to write the lede of Dave Connolly's lambasting in the WaPo's Weekend section. So, we threw around a couple of ideas, figuring that if the Post is one of the few "standard-carrier" papers around, and this article flat-out sucks, how hard could it be if other papers took a crack at it?

And, as I do voices for fun and profit, surely I could write voices, if such a thing were possible. Right?

Here, again, is the real lede:

Dave Connolly needed friends.

Which is a tricky predicament. Tricky and kind of banal. And -- let's be honest -- a little sad.

By the time you're out there in the world, haven't there been enough opportunities -- in the sandbox and eighth-grade math class and the varsity tennis team and between dorm rooms and cubicle clusters -- to pick up a few good friends?

Obviously.

Unless, you know, there weren't. Or there were. There were all those opportunities, and buddies were met and made and then, somehow, lost. Binding ties came unbound.

Maybe there was a marriage. A baby. A transfer, a taxing project, an illness, a changing lifestyle, diverging hobbies, a new neighborhood, a gradual maturing, a big dramatic fight over a guy you were both interested in. Maybe your new medical sales job has you sleeping in Reston and creeping along Interstate 66, shaking hands with lots of doctors and nurses and not really getting to know anyone.

Maybe you're Dave Connolly, 29, athletic and outgoing and fun and successful, and everything was great and your social calendar was booming until one day it just wasn't.

Banal. A little sad. And common enough for this town to support a whole host of organizations designed to help people reach out and meet someone. Probably lots of someones. Probably in similar predicaments.

-----------------------------------
Number 1, The Washington Times.

David Connolly, Democrat, has no friends.

He is typical of the young, unwashed liberals that flock to DC every year. Some of these man-children are naive enough to think that working for some non-profit organization has merit. That they can change the world.

Others come here because they want to attend one of the area's renowed liberal universities, like Georgetown or American or Catholic.

And still others, like Connolly, come here because they figured out a way to make money from their liberal viewpoints. Connolly, 29, is an environmental consultant who makes sure that the neighborhoods around Andrews Air Force Base in suburban Maryland don't suffer from such minor nuicances like noise, light and fuel runoff.

But Prince George's County, home to Andrews, is full of liberal Democrats and they demand such Welfare.

-----------------------------------

Baltimore Sun
14 people were killed in various gun battles thoughout the city this weekend as drug violence once again reared its ugly head. The Orioles were swept at home by the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ravens' training camp starts in just a few weeks, and all we can gather is that Dave Connolly needed friends. Whether he made any new ones is debateable, but one thing is clear - this town makes THE BOMB crabcakes! Who needs friends when you can eat seafood on a sandwich, hon?

All Dave needs is some crabcakes, and to drink real beer. Like Natty Boh. Not that crappy Belgian crap, or those stupid microbrews. Once he learns to drop his expectations like the rest of us in Charm City, he'll be fine.
------------------------------------

USAToday

Dave Connolly has no friends. Then he made some. What did Paris Hilton do now?

-----------------------------------

The Onion

"Local Man Has No Friends"

Transplanted New Englander Dave Connolly stated today that he "has no friends other than empty beer bottles" and feels no compulsion to make any relationships that don't end in a drunken stupor.

"I love beer," exclaimed Connolly to nobody in particular on Friday night. "It makes me a jolly good fellow."

"Though," he admitted, "sometimes I cry and it makes me pee yellow."

Connolly moved to the DC area a few years ago to pursue a career in giving oral sex to lonely Capitol Hill staffers, but decided the pressure to be the male Jessica Cutler was just too much to bear.

"Frankly, I don't have the lips for it" Connolly mentioned. "My mom...very thin-lipped woman, and I favor her."

"Now my dad," said Connolly with pride, "that's a big-lipped SOB. He's the Angelina Jolie of all the guys at the docks back in Portsmouth, New Hampshire."

"And, semen tastes NOTHING like Leffe Blonde," one of Connolly's favorite brews.

When asked why he eschews dating for drinking, Dave explained it simply "Women suck. Beer doesn't."

But how does that preclude you from having friendships with men, Dave?

"Easy," offered Connolly. "Dude's try to drink me beers. Fuck that."

-----------------------------------

Wonkette.com

Local tree-hugger has no friends, less dating options. Good abs, though (OBPOPCULTREF)

------------------------------------

NY Post

A-ROD IS DAVE'S ONLY FRIEND!

-------------------------------------

Variety

Dave Shaves Slaves to Fave Paves Maves, Flaves

-------------------------------------

MeetinDC

So what if Dave got disrespected in the Post? We got 150 new members! Yay! See you at an event! You wanna host or should I?

-------------------------------------

O Noes! Sammy Perlozzo Fired

2007-06-18T12:21:00.000-04:00

The picture of Sam is from happier days, when he was announced as the new manager of the O's. His dream job.

And, like many dreams, you wake up to reality before the dream is over.

ESPN.com, The Baltimore Sun - they're all saying the O's just fired manager Sam Perlozzo. Andy MacPhail is coming in to oversee baseball operations, and will persue former Marlins' manager Joe Girardi to replace Perlozzo. The Two Headed GM of Jim Beattie and Mike Flanagan of previous years, and now Flanagan and Jim Duquette, probably won't be around much longer.

On one hand, this is a very good thing. Perlozzo's almost automaton-like devotion to bullpen roles cost them nearly a dozen games, as Danys Baez and Chris Ray have proven to be unable to reliably close out games. You don't earn a nickname like Per-LOSE-o by punching all the right buttons.

And Beat-agan was far too fascinated by slow 1B/OF types (Jeff Conine, BJ Surhoff, Kevin Millar, Jay Gibbons) instead of getting a true 1B with a real, working bat. So, Duquette-agan got Aubrey Huff. *sigh*

At least he has a third-baseman's glove, too.

However, I'm not sure if this is such a great move. I was in Baltimore Saturday night, hanging out in Federal Hill after the loss against the D-Backs. The town has gotten so bloody depressed over the team that they have a fatalistic sense of dread, kinda like a Cubs fan. Ravens' training camp can not start soon enough.

Personally, I think the whole team and city needs an enema.

To the average fan, there's nothing positive going on with the team, and these losses from the bullpen are just crushing the whole organizations' morale. They've had leads in 21 of the past 22 games - partly the starters give up the lead immediately but so much of it has been a crappy bullpen...and a fan base ready to commit hari kari over yet another blown save.

Perlozzo gets canned, but pitching coach Leo Mazzone has not done the job expected of him. Can anybody say "overrated?" He can't reach Cabrera, can't cure Ray, and kicked Baez' dog or something.

Terry Crowley has been awful, at best. This team seems unable to take a walk or work a pitch count. The O's seem to lead the league in first pitch outs.

And, Beat-agan counted on Corey Patterson to build on last seasons' success. Corey Patterson crushed the Cubs with his on-again, off-again talent. The guy can play...just, not reliably. Corey Patterson is this season's Gary Matthews, Jr., who's career is very up-and-down as well. Sometimes brilliant; often maddening. You guys might remember Patterson and Matthews when they played under the monikers of "Mike Devereaux," "Ken Gerhart," "Chito Martinez" and "Pete Stanicek." What must they think in the Warehouse? "Oh, they had one good season after a career of nothing spectacular? Chalk them up for a big year next season!"

Meanwhile, former O Jack Cust is tearing up the league, with 31 hits, 20 RBI, 9 home runs in 113 at bats. So...yeah. He's hitting better than any other OF the O's have. Great judge of talent there. Other than Nick Markakis, the O's outfield is yet-again a joke.

It's an organizational issue. I think Flanagan and Beattie were doing well as far as rebuilding the talent base in the minors, and the draft picks of the past couple of seasons seem solid so far. But the major league team has too many 1B/OF types and can't keep pitchers healthy. Bad, bad combo.

It's not Perlozzo's fault the O's chucked cash at Jaret Wright and his balky arm. It's not Perlozzo's fault the O's chucked cash at Danys Baez and his flaky psyche. It's not Perlozzo's fault the O's chucked cash at notoriously slow starting Aubrey Huff. It's not Perlozzo's fault that Chris Ray loves giving up game-losing grand slams.

However, Perlozzo lost Patterson. Lost Gibbons. And when you can't keep Kevin Millar happy, something's up.

Best of luck to ya, Perlozzo. Shame you had to manage Team Dysfunction.

Don't F*** with the Mamma Bear

2007-06-15T16:14:00.000-04:00

My good friend Dave Connolly is the subject of an article in the Washington Post about online social networking sites, like MeetinDC. In fact, Dave and I met and became friends through Meetin. Dave is one of the more interesting cats I know - knows more about the outdoors than L.L.Bean if he worked at REI; brews his own beer; works out like a demon, and provides environmental controls with the military, trying to keep pollution from a base from getting into the surrounding neighborhoods.

He's from New England, lived in a tent in Colorado, and has been on top of more mountains than anything other than snow.

Put simply, he's one of those fellows who has done what he wanted to do, and enjoyed the path. A perfect subject for a newspaper article, right?

However, the article starts off:

Dave Connolly needed friends.

Which is a tricky predicament. Tricky and kind of banal. And -- let's be honest -- a little sad.

Wow. Banal? A little sad? Ouch...it continues:

By the time you're out there in the world, haven't there been enough opportunities -- in the sandbox and eighth-grade math class and the varsity tennis team and between dorm rooms and cubicle clusters -- to pick up a few good friends?

Obviously.

Whoa! Judge much?

Unless, you know, there weren't. Or there were. There were all those opportunities, and buddies were met and made and then, somehow, lost. Binding ties came unbound.

Maybe there was a marriage. A baby. A transfer, a taxing project, an illness, a changing lifestyle, diverging hobbies, a new neighborhood, a gradual maturing, a big dramatic fight over a guy you were both interested in. Maybe your new medical sales job has you sleeping in Reston and creeping along Interstate 66, shaking hands with lots of doctors and nurses and not really getting to know anyone.

Maybe you're Dave Connolly, 29, athletic and outgoing and fun and successful, and everything was great and your social calendar was booming until one day it just wasn't.

Banal. A little sad. And common enough for this town to support a whole host of organizations designed to help people reach out and meet someone. Probably lots of someones. Probably in similar predicaments.

Yeah, I got a 1300 on my SATs back when that still meant something, and I know what banal means. I had to look it up in case there was a little-known definition that few people would recognize, or some slang term that changes its meaning. Nope. According to Dictionary.com, banal is :

ba·nal /bəˈnæl, -ˈnɑl, ˈbeɪnl/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[buh-nal, -nahl, beyn-l] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–adjective devoid of freshness or originality; hackneyed; trite: a banal and sophomoric treatment of courage on the frontier.

Great. Hackneyed and trite. The writer just made Dave sound like Dane Cook.

The article goes on to describe how a group like Meetin can help people make new friends in an area, and does eventually give Dave a good quote:

Maybe even finding, like Connolly did, "the best sphere of friends I've ever had in my life."

Thanks for the plug, dude.

Still...small consequence after having the words "banal" and "a little sad" tied to every Google EgoSearch you do for the rest of your life.

The writer could have easily done the lede as the following:

Dave Connolly had moved to the DC area after years of living in Colorado, New
England, and other parts of the US. The outdoor enthusiast had friends
all over the country, but none in his new home.

Feel free to cut-n-paste, future journalists. Now, I know that *I* don't write for the Post, so, what do I know about writing, right? Well, I know this:

1) Mike's last name is H-E-A-R-D.
2) You don't write about private citizens with the same degree of detached cynicism that you hold towards athletes, politicians and celebrities.

Now, I know I only MAJORED in journalism at Virginia Wesleyan; TV and Radio Production at Towson; and only was a gawd-durned voice on the ray-dee-oh. The only news I wrote only ended up over-the-air, either on the radio or the evening news. I certainly could fact-check and research at CNN for Larry King Live while not actually being as vital to the show as Larry. And, I know my feature writing experience was pretty much regulated to bungee jumping in Ocean City and the morning show at 99.1 back in the mid-90s. I also wasn't one of the writers on the old weekend roundup on Digital City, DC. I didn't get a fancy piece of paper from Northwestern or Syracuse or that Sally Struther's piece of crap, so, maybe I'm just not qualified to accurately judge this work.

But I certainly remember walking down Locust Avenue in Des Moines about 9 years ago, meeting Rob Borsellino. You might be asking "who the hell is Rob Borsellino?" As well you should. See, when I first moved to Des Moines, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was thin, didn't wear Dockers, and looked at the complete and utter lack of people in Downtown Des Moines with a sense of shock and awe. Here's this clean, safe, fairly bland city, presumably with enough culture and entertainment to prove its worth, and a population that beelined for the suburbs at 4:45pm, CST, every working day. My first couple of months in Des Moines were rough. I missed my friends. I missed my family. I missed minorities. I missed homeless people. I missed urine on the sidewalks. I missed crime. I missed the excitement of living in the DC/Baltimore region, where every day could be your last. I walked down Locust Street, looking for a lively lunch spot on a glorious spring afternoon, wondering why the Iowan chose to walk in the climate controlled Skywalk instead of the fresh air.

Rob Borsellino was a firebrand columnist for the Des Moines Register. He was a champion of the little guy; pointing out social injustices, and skilled at showing the fallacies, fallibilities and contradictions in us all. He took a magnifying glass to those he felt needed to be exposed, and a mirror to those who needed to see their true reflection.

He also was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans on a 80 degree day. I recognized him immediately from his thumbnail in the Register, his black and grey hair and eyebrows working like trademarks. He'd have fit in perfectly in Jersey, and his slightly-aging hipster demeanor made me look like an Iowan lifer.

He saw me looking around, and since tourists in Iowa are as rare as Republicans at a Pride Rally, he asked if he could help me find something. I said that I was new in town and was looking for something that would remind me of home. To this day, I'm not sure why, but I told him that I had no idea I would be so homesick.

He asked where I was from, and why I moved to Des Moines. Next thing you know, we talked for 30 minutes, and shared our lives' stories. He was a New Yorker (I was close on my initial guess) and said that he stayed in Des Moines because it was full of real people - you just have to find them. The Iowan - even those absorbed in their career, trying to get ahead in any of the big firms in DM, like Principal Finacial, the publishing houses, the law firms, even the Register itself - was a sincere American who cared; they just didn't always know who to care for or about. But they felt the need to care, to give a rat's ass outside of the rat race.

Something about the simple elegance of that philosophy let him stay in Iowa, despite countless and repeated opportunities for him to flee to the hipper, happening coasts, no doubt for better exposure and bigger paychecks.

I never missed a Borsellino column after that, and was saddened to learn of his passing in 2006, like a true Yankee fan, from Lou Gehrig's Disease.

One thing I learned from reading his columns - he could be painfully liberal, sometimes to the point of madness, but he cared. He gave a crap about who he wrote about, and why.

He was gentle towards those who needed coddling, and vicious to those who needed scolding. And he'd NEVER make somebody out to be banal or a little sad if they truly weren't.

He was, for a New Yorker, a great Iowan.

He'd never throw somebody under a bus for a poorly-written lede, allowing snark to get in the way of a proper description.

Funny...he taught me how to be a better writer, and his tuition cost me 25 cents a day.

May all feature writers learn this lesson.

For now, Dave and I will knock back a couple of dark, unpronouncable beers, and ponder subscriptions to the Times (in jest, of course). Maybe we'll start a club for those who have been embarassed in the Post. Dave, me, and Marion Berry.

Sweet. At least we'll get the good drugs.

This guy...wow

2007-06-14T23:21:00.000-04:00

I seldom embed YouTube videos in my blogs, but this guy deserves it.

I don't love opera as much as I love Opera, but, damn.

DAMN!

This fellow studied to be an opera singer, but life, like it does so often, got in the way. He sells mobile phones - and then makes Simon Cowell stunned.

The opera purists may complain that he has some resonance issues, and some sibilance most likely due to his lack of high-quality British dental work, but damn. That's nitpicky as hell. That'd be like a dude who loves gay disco only listening to Erasure because Andy Bell's voice is better than Neil Tennant's from the Pet Shop Boys. This guy is real, and he loves what he does. There is a joy to that singing that is so evident, so passionate, so accessible.

I don't like opera as a rule, but I will gladly purchase his CDs. Congratulations are in order to this man, and I hope he does well in this competition.

Who'd a thought, that with the NBA Finals, the series ending of The Sopranos, and the never-ending media storm around Paris Hilton, that a chubby, unassuming Welsh opera singer would be the best thing on TV?

My Life in Cotton/Lyrca Blend

2007-06-11T10:21:00.000-04:00

As though the Nick Hornby book/John Cusack movie "High Fidelity" didn't sum up my ever-so-slightly elitist appeal to obscure indie rock bands quite enough, this t-shirt by cartoonist Richard Stevens nails it.

How was your weekend, dear readers? Mine was booze-filled, with sangria on Friday, margaritas on Saturday, and a Sopranos' Sunday filled with chai liqueur, wine and far too much sugar. Even though I drank a lot, I didn't fall asleep until 5:30am.

Was I wired from the sweets? From the knowledge that Tony Soprano survives?

Perhaps I was just suffering from the shakes.

In any event, this week shall be known "System Clean." Water. Basic foods. Nothing fancy. I feel toxic. Not priddy. And I need my priddyness.

Might paint a picture this week. Not sure what yet. But I found the oils and canvas, and they need to be used.

Wheelchair Macros

2007-06-07T16:50:00.000-04:00

He went bye-byes in his wheelchair.

Part of me thinks this kid did this on purpose. It could have been a Jackass-style stunt, or a suicide attempt gone (hilariously) wrong.

I'm also not above thinking this is a publicity stunt for the Transformers' movie. Optimus Prime, how could you?

My Datelab is up

2007-05-27T12:12:00.001-04:00

Read it here

Fairly accurate, but, wow...she thought I had a bit of a pudge? Good thing she didn't see me in February, when I weighed 220. I was 200 on the day of the date. Only because she's damned near anorexic. Seriously...Ms. Duffy was really trim. Athletic, so she was still healthy, but she was quite small.

Anyway, I like how she says I didn't listen. Honey, I listened - you went off on a half-dozen Republican National Committee talking points throughout the date. You flat-out said you were a Republican twice, if not three times. I can't get over what a little fibber she is! She held up the bag, and when I said "Oh, you're a Republican?" she did a 3/4 wink at me indicating that I got it. She proceeded to ask a few questions about the war in Iraq, and my stance on it. She clearly supports a continuation of the war, whereas I'm of the opinion that we needed to get out of there shortly after we entered.

Was I not listening, or did I just tune out? She was incredibly interesting when she wasn't doing her best Tony Snow impersonation.

The rub is that she's an incredibly interesting person otherwise. If she'd left the politics at home for one night, it might have gone better. How emotionally and developmentally-stunted is this area that so many people not even in the political arena feel the need to cram it down a first date's throat?

By way of admission: yours truly was a registered Republican in the state of Maryland and Iowa. However, I never voted a straight GOP ticket, and actually voted Libertarian in the last election. However, I supported former Maryland governor Bob Ehrlich completely. Why? Because as Maryland has been ruled by a near 40 year reign of Democrats, a sense of entitlement has grown in the Democratic Party in the Old Line State. Abuses of power, from zoning violations to tax laws to environmental controls to school districting, has done nothing but create a Tammany Hall in Annapolis, and a Republican vote in Maryland is actually a vote for responsibility. The same was true in Iowa, but with the Party's reversed. Tom Vilsack, the Democrat who beat long-time Republican leader Terry Branstad ended a nearly 40-year cycle of Republican tax increases and failing infrastructure. Iowa is in better shape now, and I was sad to see Republicans become so entrenched and abusive in Des Moines. That experience led me to look long and hard at the Whig Party. Pro-industrialism, anti-Andrew Jackson. I take a stand.

I did not tell Anne that I was actually a Republican as her conversation was too political as it was.

She DEFINITELY said the urban legend story was about her aunt and uncle. Way to lie in an INTERNATIONAL NEWSPAPER!! Now, I'll kindly note that I also let Ms. Duffy off the hook, letting her screed about how black people play the victim card at the Brickskellar go unmentioned to the Post. We'd had a couple of beers at that point, but my state of "pudgy" allows me to drink a lot more than she can. A simple mention of O.J. Simpson on the bar's television caused her to go off on "the victim card" and "playing race again." I attributed it to diarrhea of the mouth, but I wonder if there's not something nastier lurking inside her cranium?

Otherwise, great date... at the time. The aftermath clearly indicates the beer and marscapone influenced the date far more than I ever expected.

Please read what I wrote to Post writer Gene Weingarten about the date. This is what happens when you look for the good in people, and ignore the 800 pound gorilla.

---30---

I can't believe what I just saw

2007-05-24T00:04:00.000-04:00

So, it's pretty obvious from my Myspace page that I am a fan of Lost. I was a little concerned as the first few episodes from this season were fairly mediocre. However...after tonight's season finale, the writers could devote an episode to reading telephone books in Esperanto. This was, simply, television at its finest.

More twists and turns than L'alpe D' Huez (Tour De France thing, Google it you lazy bastards. I don't have time to explain all of my witty references.)

I won't give anything away as a courtesy to those who haven't seen it, or are waiting for the Season 3 DVDs to come out, to get caught up. I will say this - The Sopranos *was* the best-written show on TV.

"Lost" used this episode to say "uh, not so fast, HBO."

In other news...The Milltown Brothers and Power of Dreams have Myspace pages. Two of my favorite Britpop bands from college...wounded, but not forgotten. PoD has disbanded, but Milltown's still kickin', and I downloaded their newest album from iTunes. I'll give it a listen, but I have to use this to point out the absurdity of the label system. Both of these bands had college rock/alt rock hits here in America. Both bands got caught up in label issues, and were regulated to smaller status in the U.K. 15 years later, I can listen to them online, see where and when they're performing and buy their newest music without one hint of label interference.

Not to get all Agent Smith on your ass, but that ticking you hear in the background, RIAA and your kin spread throughout the planet, is the sound of your impending doom. Record sales in `07 are off 20% from last year's dismal sales figures.

Evolve into promotion, not distribution companies, if you want to live.

(Heh, that was kinda Terminator 2-ish there...had to spell out that witty pop culture reference.)

Thanks Gene!

2007-05-22T14:17:00.000-04:00

Gene Weingarten knew what I meant, what I was trying to say. He gets me. He's my dream woman (just fuzzier, too old, and frankly, a dude). The Datelab isn't a matchmaking service; it's a lab.

From today's WaPost.com chat with Gene...

More on Date Lab: I remembered the comment in last week's updates when I read Date Lab this past weekend. Not only did this couple seem to hit it off, they were practically having sex on the dessert plates by the time the date was over. And then...nothing. What is up with these people? Is it pressure to have a cute story to report the next day, or relief that the other person isn't a freak, or what?

Gene Weingarten: The poster from last week kind of nailed this. You're trying to adapt to an experiment; it's a lab. You're trying too hard to make it seem to work, but by week two you're focused on all the things that WEREN'T quite right.

_______________________

from DCFUD - Review of Bloom

2007-05-14T20:54:00.000-04:00

Come in, shop happy! After spending the past few weeks trying to get their too-catchy-to-be-ignored, too-kitchy-to-be-respected reworking of the Partridge Family's "Come On, Get Happy" removed from my conscious, I finally broke down and went into a Bloom grocery store. Since it was Mother's Day, it only seemed fitting for the Five Paragraph Bitter Food Mother to tag along as well. After a relaxing day of pancakes in Rockville and coffee in Frederick, we spotted a couple of Blooms, and the two of us went in to see if the most annoying commercial song since "Empire Today" was worth the pain. We didn't see any choreographed dancers, and no background music, but we did find a lot to like about the store.

From the folks who brought you Food Lion, Bloom's goal is to concentrate on freshness, offering an easy-to-shop, upscale layout. To call Bloom upscale, though, is a bit of a misnomer - this is not even close to the gourmet mass of Wegman's, or the organic sensibilities of Whole Foods - though it is better looking and better stocked than parent Food Lion. The store offers a good-sized prepared foods section for the busy shopper on the go. The basics - chicken, ribs, cold cut sandwiches, mac & cheese - are next to the more sophisticated - paninis, salads, sushi - are all displayed next to a nice, if not spectacular, deli. The bakery is loaded with surprises, featuring dozens of muffins, breads, cookies, no-bakes and fudges. The 5PBFM was shocked to see potato candy, a beloved fixture of her youth, made fresh in the store.

The produce section shines with a dazzling array of vegetables and fruits, many from local suppliers, arranged in well-labeled bins. Nearly a dozen different types of apples sit near such oddities like brocoflour, and a mix-and-match area of chili peppers. The whole produce area is washed in a Rainforest Cafe'- inspired environment. The walls shimmer with lighting effects, and small speakers pipe in the sounds of nature. It's supposed to give the effect of getting the produce straight from the farm, but the constant sound and impression of water just triggered my bladder response. Wisely, there's a clean restroom right around the corner. Apparently, I'm not the only one susceptible to such stimuli.

The meat section was pretty typical, with prices about 80% of Harris-Teeter, 90% of what Giant and Safeway offers, and roughly the same as Shopper's and Magruders. The seafood section was nicely stocked, again at 90% of Giant and Safeway prices, but with a higher quality and better selection than the typical Shopper's. The wine and beer sections were quite large, with special end-caps for local vineyards and breweries - apparently Bloom is trying to be a good corporate neighbor. The international sections were solid, and the baking supplies section showed their Southern roots with all sorts of fillings, chips, glazes and sweeteners. The spice section was as loaded as any store I've seen, and barbecue fans will love the range of sauces, rubs and supplies.

Basically, Bloom is a cleaner, newer Food Lion. It has some great touches - portable price scanners, online shopping lists, hand sanitizers for the grocery carts, recipe stations - that other stores will no doubt incorporate. Those who view Club Discount Cards like John Goodman views salad will like Bloom's lack of of them. Buy One, Get One Free discounts and savings are open to all shoppers. The store has some drawbacks, though. The low aisle height makes the bellowing of screaming children reverberate in the store like The Three Tenors in a shower stall. In an odd design twist, the store aisles are mostly run north-south, and then several turn 90 degrees, creating plenty of hot cart-on-cart collisions. Plus, Bloom seems to view The Beltway as its 38th Parallel, refusing to enter the urban landscape as the closest stores are in Rockville, Accoceek, Laurel, Fairfax and Chantilly. However, given the amount of advertising they're spending on the market, I can't imagine it won't be much longer before those of us inside 495 will be wandering the aisles, trying to get that damned song out of our collective head. Come in, shop happy... *grumble*

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Bloom earns 7 out of 10 possible Whammies!; a solidly above-average score for being a solidly above-average grocery store. It's clean, reasonably priced, great produce section, and it's got some nice consumer touches. It's also not nearly as upscale as its marketing would lead you to believe, and it doesn't have the large amount of loss leaders that smart shoppers know to target. It's not worth the drive like a Wegman's or a sweaty Metro haul like Whole Foods, but it's definitely a nice touch for our ex-urban neighbors, and should provide a real challenge to established chains like Safeway and Giant in the region.
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The Rock and Roll Hotel Rawks Hard

2007-05-11T14:26:00.000-04:00

I dragged Jan Louis and Dana to the Rock and Roll Hotel the other night to go see three bands, DC's Cedars, Chicago's The Changes and Glasgow's The Cinematics.

Ironic that I had never heard Cedars' music, even though they're the local chaps. The Changes hit my radar a couple of years ago from Pop Candy, and The Cinematics were the iTunes single of the week last month.

I didn't know the bands were performing in town until I read it in DCist that night. And to think I consider myself culturally literate about DC. Amazing how priorities change...a few years ago, I knew every single band, comic and show coming to Des Moines, but can't even keep track of three or four sweet venues in DC. Bad, bad Ray...I'm getting too fud-centric, perchance? I've got a fever, and less food, more rawk is the cure.

Cedars are quite good. Jan thought their lyrics were lousy, but the CD is quite good. I'm blaming the sound of the R&RH for that one - there were few people in the place at that time, and the band was playing too loud to hear the singing. By the time The Changes started playing, there was enough people in the place to make the sound appear a bit sharper. Part of it's also due to experience - Cedars sound good, but do that retro-alternative sound like The Killers or The Bravery. The Changes are more basic alternative, and don't need to rock out every song.

The Cinematics, though - they Britpopped the joint out. Think The Alarm mating with Franz Ferdinand. Not quite as jaunty as Franz; not quite as anthemic as The Alarm, but simply damned good. Their polished show belies their relative youth.

Plus - the guys from all three bands were quite nice. Good to hang out with; quite chatty and friendly. Much like dogs to Jules in "Pulp Fiction" - personality goes a long way. Guys who chat with the fans, make a point of having fun, not pretending to be the second coming of Jesus on stage - they get bonus points from me.

Saturday night, my favorite Pittsburgh band, The Clarks, are playing at the Birchmere. Always a good show - these guys worship The Replacements with a bot of Texas-twang (lead singer's from Texas) and Pittsburgh-volume, and I have no problem with that combination.