Felt French, Ate Italy

The fine folks at Datelab set us up at La Perla, a wonderful little Italian place nestled between the west end of DC and Georgetown, moments away from the Kennedy Center. I got to the place a few moments before my date Anne, and was also fortunate to find a parking space right of Pennsylvania Avenue.

I'm not allowed to give away the details of the date, but I'll simply say we had a nice time.

The meal, however, was bloody awesome. She had a seafood medley of scallops, mussels, shrimp, mussels served over a bed of linguine with more mussels. Anne likes mussels, so that worked out for her. I had a meat and cheese tortellini in a cream sauce with marscapone cheese.

Yeah, the same stuff used in tiramisu. The yummy stuff.

I just about died and went to heaven. As my former boss at Broadstreet Communications, Chris Preston, said - "you always seem to know how to order the best thing on the menu."

This stuff was as close to pasta perfection as I've ever had. Marscapone, you've been upgraded from dessert to entree'!

DCFud will get a much-needed update from me, both on my eating habits, my diet and my Datelab.

All in all, this was a good day. Something to cherish.

feeling California, looking Colorado

I had my pre-date interview today for the Datelab piece. The reporter, Christina Antoniades, and I had a quick pre-date conversation. It's amazing - as a former media dude, journalism major and sometime-writer, I was immediately second-guessing what I told her for fear of a misinterpretation of the quote. My attempt to compliment the Post for the interesting use of a wheelchair-bound man in the last edition was pretty clumsy, at best, and could EASILY be turned around to make me sound like I wouldn't want to date a disabled woman.

Amazing how quickly the concrete I was walking on turned to eggshells.

Still, I'm looking forward to tonight. I'll post about the date when I get home...

whatta week

As a rule, I hate "weekly wrap-up" posts. It's lazy, like "here's what I couldn't be bothered to write about this week."

However, given the events at VA Tech this week, I've been lax to weigh in. Not because of any reluctance to share an opinion, just merely trying to find a unique voice to mine. Nothing can possibly forgive the actions of Cho Seung Hui - murder is murder is murder - but it's obvious this kid had issues from childhood on through his violent end. Neighbors, classmates - hell, even RELATIVES - have called this kid a loner, sullen. I will admit that I was not a terribly social youth. I was small for my age, picked on in school and not especially popular. The bike became my outlet; I rode to exercise, to get away from my family, to get away from my town...sometimes to get away from my own thoughts. The physical pain of riding up a mountain made me forget about any emotional pain. I can't imagine making it through middle and high school without the bike.

Catharsis, clearly. Something it doesn't appear this young man could get anywhere. While I feel horribly for the parents, friends and families for those who have lost loved ones, I feel as bad for the Cho family - if not worse. The parents raised two other children who have had some success in life; what must go through their minds every day for the rest of their lives would be every single moment they saw their youngest in trouble, and couldn't save him. Knowing that maybe if they had punished him more, or got him into counseling, or took away his video game, or hell - even gave him a HUG - that it might have saved those other peoples' lives.

That, my readers, is the definition of living through Hell.

Which makes the rest of the week seem to miniscule. The AG is fighting for his job, and appears to be half the public speaker President Bush is. If you thought the Ellen DeGeneres fish in "Finding Nemo" had a bad memory, just look at his testimony. He recalls less than a broken hard drive.

And I heard from the Post today. My Datelab date is next week at Ristorante Del Perla. Hopefully the food and company is as good as the artwork!

DateLab Date of Date

Looks like it will probably be sometime before the end of May. I'm not going to divuldge the exact date because:

1) if it's going to be a blind date, some mystery would be cool. Too easy to Googlestalk nowadays.

2) if I know what restaurant we're going to, I'd check it out in advance and write a food review.

3) if I know where we're going, then my friends would know where we're going, and they'd try to embarass me.

I trust them...to try to screw it up.

In other Datelab news, looks like the guy wasn't into her, she wasn't into him, and there was zero chemistry from the beginning.

Yet, as always, he rated it "4 out of 5."

DUDES!! Stand UP for yourselves! If you didn't have a good time, or didn't feel a spark, don't demean yourself by ranking it so high. She's NOT going to suddenly want to sleep with you because you THOUGHT you had a good time. Take a stand. Tell her "I wasn't feeling any spark/chemistry/it/whatever" or what have you. Just don't be condescending to her. Especially if she seems like a pill from the get-go.

Guys have no balls.

Excuse Me Sir, There's a Sebring in My Fajita...

My former place of employment during the economic crapstorm of the early `00s, Chili's of Annapolis, just got hit by a Sebring.

According to NBC 4, the car hit the restaurant at the height of lunch rush, 12:30pm. 3 people are in the hospital with non-life threatening injuries.

Having lived and worked there for so long, I can safely say that the intersection of Forest Drive and Riva Road is awful. It's at an acute angle - they had a chance to make it a perpendicular intersection for years, and have sat on it. It's a long light, and people generally gun their engines to make those last precious seconds of green and yellow lights. Plus, since it's 2 turn lanes in a roughly 80 degree turn, most people take a lousy approach and have to adjust in the middle of their steer. I've had numerous close calls of cars nearly hitting me on that transition to Forest Drive.

Still...that driver had to be cruising to miss that turn so badly. Follow the tire tracks on the NBC Chopper pictures - that's not even an attempt to steer.

I have to wonder if the manager on duty comped their meals...ole' Jeff White probably would have, but Joyce might have comped their appetizers.

Quick Hits

Hope everybody had a nice Easter. I had one FANTASTIC meal Sunday night with my Mom, friends Bart and Diana at Fogo De Chao downtown. It was pricy, but...wow. Worth it. Check the upcoming review on DCFUD.com - should be up today or tomorrow.

I'll also have a review of Saint-Ex where I dined last week.

I received an email from the folks at the Post's Datelab. My date could be as early as tomorrow night. Guessing it's too late for a last minute face lift, huh?

Nice for the Orioles to win their home opener. That'll give the doomsday crowd a couple of hours of happiness.

Welcome to "What Were They Thinking?"

Hello everybody, and welcome to an exciting new feature here at OBPOPCULTREF entitled "What Were They Thinking?" Basically, I mock people who have recently messed up in a big, stinking public way.

Today, we're going to look at five events that demonstrate people who OBVIOUSLY weren't thinking.

Number 5 - This guy in Glen Burnie, Maryland, walks out of the fast food restaurant's bathroom and into the middle of a robbery. Two men robbing the place have pistols and a shotgun. He gets into a fight with one of them, and ends up getting shot in the face several times, but none of the wounds are life-threatening. How on Earth those guys can shoot a dude in the face and not kill him is beyond me, then again, the same can be said for picking a fight with dudes with guns.

Read about it on The Baltimore Sun's Website.


Number 4 - Our wild and zany friends in Iran. Those wacky goofballs got a little carried away in their hijinks and shenanigans and seized a British naval vessel in Iraqi national waters, kidnapping the sailors. All this has done is moved the Middle East into a much larger war zone, only this time with a much-angrier United Kingdom, and more European support. What is it with Iranians and kidnappings? Apparently they had so much fun holding US diplomats as prisoners for 444 days just before the Reagan Presidency, they decided it'd be fun to do it again. I mean, UK, US? What's the diff?

Number 3 - Tony Snow, White House Spokesman and Cancer Patient. Please, Tony, you've done an admirable job. Just get healthy. Republican, Democrat or Independent, cancer sucks. Anybody who wishes anything else but his recovery is a sicko.

Number 2 - Eddie Griffin and movie producer Daniel Sadek combine to form a $1.5 million dollar "What Were They Thinking?" moment. Sadek, an exotic car collector, let Griffin drive a $1.5 million Ferrari Enzo in a charity car race to promote their latest film, Redline.

So Eddie crashed the car into a Jersey Wall.



He'd have been better off letting Griffin drive something a little...oh, I don't know, less rare? Only 400 Enzos were made, and two of those have now crashed in spectacular manner.
http://sports.espn.go.com/rpm/news/story?seriesId=99&id=2814204

And, number 1

ME!

What did I do that was so horribly embarassing? Nothing yet, nothing like my dear buddy Jefe' who decided to pirouette in gym shoes on asphault, and now has a torn meninscus. But, I signed up to be part of the Washington Post's Datelab. I'm getting set up on a blind date by the paper. They pay for dinner, and I get to meet a new woman. All I have to do is go on the date, talk to the woman, and do an interview afterwards. No big deal, but what kills me are the past Datelabs. There seems to be no middle ground there - either the people hit it off and get married in two months, or they never talk to each other again. At the least, I can write a nifty DCFUD article about the meal.

Now, I'm not expecting love at first sight, though that would be something to write home about, but I'm curious as to who they're going to fix me up with. Cute? Pretty? Plain? Tall? Short? American? Foreign? Girl-next-door or exotic woman of mystery?

If they could swing the unengaged Bush twin Barbara, I'd be a big fan.

Anybody but Jessica Cutler, please. Only one blogger per household.

From DCFUD - A Rant by the Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic

This weekend marked the 34th anniversary of my expulsion from my mother's womb. Friday and Saturday night were set aside for my friends; Sunday was reserved for my mom and uncle, neither one of whom can do shots like my buddy Jeff at the Science Club. My family took me to an anonymous suburban chain restaurant. No sooner did we enter when all the servers gathered together, began clapping semi-rhythmically, and sang their restaurants' version of "Happy Birthday" to a large group gathered for a child's birthday. I shuddered in the same way that I shuddered when I watched the movie Saw - I knew it was fake, but I was scared anyway. My uncle, never an example of tact, tells our server at the anonymous suburban chain restaurant that it was my birthday, and asked what treat I'd get. The young lady, barely college-aged, went into some script I'm sure all the servers there had to memorize, asking me "So, how old are you on your big birthday, big guy?"

Lady, I'm 34 frickin' years old. I've been able to drink legally for since you were in kindergarten. My insurance rates don't get any lower, and I've been able to rent a car without a parent's signature for nearly a decade. My next "big birthday" doesn't come for another 21 years when I'll be able to get cheaper coffee at participating McDonald's.

I hate that fake birthday singing in restaurants. I was in kindergarten when the old Farrell's ice cream parlor in Tyson's Corner had a bunch of singing servers, fireworks, a possessed player-piano and circus sound effects go all Britney Spears-crazy for kids' birthdays. I watched a poor little 3 year-old soil her new dress in fright and embarrassment on her birthday. I felt so bad for that little girl, and while I knew nothing of post-traumatic stress syndrome at the time, I knew a girl who'd need therapy when I saw one. Therefore, on my list of Top Three Annoyances in Restaurants, it ranks up there with Nextel phones going off and screaming, sugared-out kids with no parental supervision. For the record, "food poisoning" and "bad food" would be #4 and #5, respectively. I can understand why Chuck E. Cheese does it, and talented singing is part of Mimi's in DuPont's charm. But when I was a server, bartender and ultimately manager, my one consistent question during job interviews was "is this a restaurant that sings for birthdays?" If so, I moved on. A free dessert or a small discount is one thing; making a public spectacle and whittling down my dignity is quite another.

Is it just me? Do people actually go to anonymous suburban chain restaurants specifically for the birthday singing? What are they thinking? "Nothing reasserts my status in the universe than having a motley group comprised of 19 year-old single moms too naive to use birth control, 21-year-old college students worried about midterms, jailbait hostesses wearing slutty dresses that'd make Lil' Kim blush and table bussers who aren't 100% sure of the song or the language, sing a corporate version of 'Happy Birthday' that really doesn't sound like the real song and includes more hand-clapping and some sort of embedded advertisement to me in an anonymous suburban chain restaurant decorated to resemble either a yard sale gone mad or a Gulf Coast beach because I'm too lazy to actually travel to a real yard sale gone mad or a Gulf Coast beach and receiving a complimentary calorie-laden dessert?" It's about the best I can come up with...unless these are the same people who delight in camping out for tickets for the inevitable "American Idol All-Stars" tour because they really felt their phone calls made a difference whether or not that plucky young hillbilly from Kinhump, Tennessee, with the 36D's and the 36 IQ got propelled into the Top 8.

By appealing to her logic - spending time singing that song to me wastes valuable minutes better spent at other higher-maintenance tables and thereby increasing whatever tips the generally-weaker-tipping-Sunday afternoon crowd offers - I was able to ward off her underpaid cult of clappers. And, given the mega-portions of food the anonymous chain restaurant served, there was no need for the complimentary calorie-laden dessert. Truthfully, I think she enjoyed not singing almost as much as I did. I know it was only one restaurant on one day, a small victory, but a victory nonetheless for those of us who like to dine in relative peace and anonymity.

*************************************************************************************
Normally I assign Whammy! points in this space, but the anonymous suburban chain restaurant is exactly what it is, the food is exactly what can be found at any other anonymous suburban chain restaurant, and the food tasted exactly what you'd expect from an anonymous suburban chain restaurant. No Whammy! was earned; no Whammy! will be given.
*************************************************************************************

Another year older and deeper in debt

Not exactly the birthday weekend I had planned.

I'm now 34 years of age. Mid-30s. Wow. Don't look it. Don't feel it. Don't act it. Need a nap, though.

The weekend started off with a rousing trip to Bravo Bravo for the monthly MeetinDC Happy Hour. I got to see some friends, and I got to cock-block this little bugger named Michael. He was hitting on some girls, so I decided to be a royal arse and tell them the story of how he was so intent on hitting on a very uninterested MiDC girl that he ignored everybody else, to the point of forgetting that he'd met me 5 times in 3 months. I should have told the ladies about how he only dates women with Master's Degrees - I wonder if TESST College has a graduate program.

The night turned quickly sour when Jeff took me to the Science Club. Couple of drinks later, and I was done for the night. Thank God John found me and was willing to take my suddenly-non-rockstar ass home. I also found out that somebody I had always rather liked was a bit of a bitch. Actually, a lot of a bitch. I'll chalk it up to her having a bad night, but I'm also not above thinking that "she's changed, man."

I passed out in John's car. They say tolerance is the first thing to go...great.

Saturday was a waste of a day. It was supposedly gorgeous. I have no idea. Maybe it was. I didn't leave the house until I got dinner at 8:30pm.

Sunday was a hoot. Mom and Uncle Larry wanted to take me out for my birthday, so we went bowling. Mom didn't reserve lanes, and she chose an alley that's 1/2 duckpin, 1/2 ten-pin. So, you know what that means?

KIDS! Everywhere! Sugared-out, screaming and kicking, and running with abandon.

And, here's what I don't get - you ever heard of a bowling alley that doesn't take credit cards? In 2007? Of course, mom forgot to hit the ATM beforehand, so...I had to pay for my birthday bowling.

Uncle Larry, not to be outdone, tells the waitress at the tacky suburban chain restaurant we went to apres-bowl that it was my birthday, and asked what treat I'd get.

Um...Larry. Let me apply this lesson with a Cluebrick.

I hate birthday singing in restaurants.

Despise it. Rank it up there with Nextel cell phones going off in Church and screaming, sugared-out kids in bowling alleys.

Fortunately, I was able to prevent the server from gathering the rest of her cult and singing Happy Birthday to me.

Is it just me? Do people actually go to wacky chain restaurants for the birthday singing? What do they think? "Nothing reasserts my status in the universe than having a group comprised of 19 year-old single moms too stupid to use birth control, 21-year-old college students worried about midterms, 16 year-old hostesses wearing slutty dresses that would make Lil' Kim blush and 17 year-old busboys who can't wait to become waiters to earn the "big bucks", all of whom secretly hate me, sing 'Happy Birthday' to me in a suburban strip mall painted to resemble a Gulf Coast beach because I'm too lazy to actually travel to a real Gulf Coast beach for the real thing and too lonely to have any real friends sing for me?"

It's about the best I can come up with...unless people who enjoy the singing are the same people who delight in camping out for the inevitable "American Idol All-Stars" tours because they really felt their phone calls made a difference whether or not that plucky young hillbilly from Kinhump, Alabama with the 36D's and the 36 IQ got her propelled into the Top 8.

In any event, I managed to avoid the singing and the free calorie-laden dessert that comes with it. Some people like free desserts, but I won't suffer through the indignity of having a bunch of Sunday afternoon diners geegaw at me because 34 years ago today, I escaped from my mother's placenta-lined Gulag like a Stalingrad intellectual during Stalin's reign.

And, to make matters worse, Larry left my birthday gift at home.

*sigh* I guess I'll have to wait before I get a cast-mold statue of Eva Gardner made from old Campbell's soup cans.

My birthday proper was a cause of great joy. Awoken by chirping birds about an hour earlier than my normal wake time, I stumbled into my 34th year on the globe tripping over the ironing board, stubbing the hell out my toe and wondering what else could possibly go wrong?

How about a 30 minute traffic jam on my way to the property manager's office to drop off my rent check?

How about a basic "F-You!" letter from my very bitter ex-girlfriend, who has essentially figured out that all blame in the relationship lies on my shoulders? NOTE - I'm not perfect by any stretch, but to ignore her own failings in the relationship - and to drop the note in my inbox on my birthday - seems a little classless. I'll forgive her, but only because I expected some sort of vitriol from her sooner.

How about a whiny P-gon official who complained that we didn't have enough wireless microphones for everybody in the conference center? I did get an "atta boy!" from an Army LtcCol who heard my quick explanation that "we might have to wait until next fiscal year as the war budget is a higher priority than soft-talkers."

How about a nice letter regarding the outbreak of the Norovirus in Crystal City...after eating a catered lunch from Crystal City?

I did get some nice phone calls and e-mails. Gabe dropped a note on Myspace, as did Stef from NYC. Dana called, Melody in L.A. showed off her craptacular...I mean, SPECtacular singing voice. Notes from Brian, my dear friends here in NoVA, a call from Heath in NYC, Scottie K sent some love.

Hell, even my roommate's cat let me pet him.

And, my friend Gina, whom I haven't seen in nearly 18 months (something else happened 18 months ago...can't remember what...), took me out for a celebratory cupcake at Cakelove/LoveCafe' on U Street in the District. I can only describe Cakelove's offering as this - it's like dating somebody WAY too hot for you. You know you won't last long-term, but God they're fun to eat.

So, all-in-all, it was a birthday. I survived another year on this fragile globe, and despite my best attempts, am still optimistic for 34 and beyond.

More on XM + Sirius

From the fine folks at Engadget:

Apparently when the former Attorney General of the United States is begging you for work, you may want to take it. Otherwise, he turns against you.

So it looks like controversial former Attorney General John Ashcroft is using his remaining influence in the Justice Department to lobby on behalf of the National Association of Broadcasters against the proposed satellite radio merger -- though it seems that he's acting more out of self-interest than anti-trust ideology in this debate, as the Wall Street Journal is reporting that Ashcroft's consulting firm initially approached XM before eventually being hired by NAB. As you might imagine, then, Ashcroft's letter the House and Senate Judiciary Committees was decidedly anti-amalgamation, concluding that "the proposed Sirius/XM merger, which reduces the number of competitors from two to one, raises most serious competition concerns." Of course, now that everyone knows Ashcroft originally intended to shill for XM before NAB "opted to pay him to parrot their views" (according to an XM spokesperson), his "professional opinion" on the matter will probably hold decidedly less weight.

If Ashcroft is against the merger, I am even MORE for the merger than ever before. I am practically oozing XM/Sirius merger vibes.

Yes, folks, the man who brought you the Patriot Act and detained American citizens without due process is against XM and Sirius...though he wouldn't have been had XM paid him.

The man is, for all intents and purposes, a liar, and cheapens the law. A fine example of what happens when people vote for a ticket and a party instead of a person.

Today's Washington Post has yet-another-story about the proposed merger between XM and Sirius. Apparently Congress is real skeptical of a combined XM/Sirius being able to keep prices low and programming fresh.

What I can't understand: Why is Congress only JUST NOW looking at the possible ramifications of a monopoly in broadcasting? Clear Channel, Chancellor, Bonneville, CBS, et al... could buy as many stations of terrestrial radio as they wanted in as many cities as they wanted, eliminate thousands of jobs, stifle innovation, limit format choice and program diversity, and they, along with the FCC, turned a blind eye.

But just because XM and Sirius want to merge, and possibly *need* to merge, suddenly they're looking out for the consumer.

I am a proud XM subscriber. I chose XM over Sirius because I liked the overall music choice and baseball package on XM much more than Sirius' fewer musical offerings and football. However, a combination of the two companies would offer football and baseball, Howard Stern and Opie and Anthony, Oprah, Bob Dylan, Eminem and Little Steven and countless other benefits to the market. Many people who truly enjoy listening to the radio have already switched over - take a look at satrads' TSL (time spent listening) over traditional radio, and terrestrial radio has not improved enough or responded to the changes in the marketplace to win back many converts. HD radio is a nebulous, expensive proposition for many consumers.

Both companies are bleeding money. They both are going to have to either:

1) cut back on talent expenses
2) operating expenses
3) satellite and ground-repeater maintenance
4) increase licensing fees to hardware manufacturers
5) raise monthly subscription fees
or
6) a combination of any or all of the above to survive.

I fail to see how the consumer suffers any more or less if some of these actions are taken by the individual companies or merged company.

To me, the whole issue is a living monster created by the Dr. Frankenstein of the Telecom Act of 1996 and the electrical storm of an FCC without proper focus. They care more about exposed boobs than the competitive marketplace. The record labels complain about falling sales, and radio - still the recording industry's best way of distributing new music - is as stagnant as a dry lake bed. Radio listenership is declining, and the advent of iPods make it easy to listen to music you already own, and hard to find new music to like.

It's the Perfect Storm, but without George Clooney.

Perhaps a more dynamic traditional radio would help the record labels if they had a stronger, more viable competitor in a merged XM/Sirius?

There's more than one way to look at this, Congress.

Great Name, Bad Store

from the fine folks at ZDNet:

CompUSA is going to close more than half its stores.

CompUSA, the computer and gadget retailer owned by Mexican billionaire Carlos Slim, said on Tuesday it would close more than half of its U.S. retail locations over the next two to three months to focus on top performing locations.

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

This dude is named Carlos Slim. He's now the 3rd wealthiest man on the planet.

How come I am just now learning of his name?

He sounds like he should be on the World Series of Poker. "And, in the final match, Chris Moneymaker versus Carlos Slim."

Or he's a hitman in a Quentin Tarantino flick.

Either way, rock on with your awesome name, Slim.

And, good call closing CompUSAs. The stores have become pretty useless lately. Too many TVs, not enough computers, and lousy pricing. Microcenter is so much better for PC/Mac stuff from a brick-and-mortar place.

How NOT to do Customer Support

Of all the many jobs I have had, IP network tech is the one I've done the most recently. My roommate and I have Comcast Cable for our TV and Internet, and can't wait for Verizon's fiber optic service to hit my neighborhood in Northern Virginia.

However, I must admit Comcast hasn't been as bad as I feared. I have heard and lived through horror stories of improper billing, bad service and lousy throughput, but things, knock on wood, have been fine for 17 of the 18 months we've had Comcast.

The past month, though, the cable modem has had difficulty synchronizing to the cable network. Cable TV is fine, router is fine, but the modem will just suddenly reset with the connection, and requires a power cycle just to resync with the Comcast network.

My roommate called to their tech support during Super Bowl week. The tech confirmed that the signal between the cable modem and the network was weak. He asked if we could call again when it was completely out. Sure thing.

We did, and again, their first-level tech support said the signal was weak. They'd send a truck out.

The guy was just here. He was, for all intents and purposes, not the swiftest cat they could have sent out. He was a subcontractor (always a bad sign) and said - get this - that our router was causing the problems. I said "How can our router knock your cable modem offline and deteriorate the signal on the Comcast network?" He said "Because your cable modem only supplies one IP."

I said "Right...and the router takes that one IP and supplies us with private IPs. What's your point?"

He said "The cable modem is fine."

I said "OK, then why is it dropping the signal?"

He said "your router burn out cable modem."

I said "Then why does it still work occasionally and the Comcast folks say that the signal coming to the cable modem is weak?"

He insisted that we were connecting too many computers to the router, and it burned out. The cable modem is fine, he said again. For the record, we have a laptop, 2 desktops, a Wii and a TiVO on the network, with a media server and a Xbox as sometime-connectors.

I told him that I was a networking tech, and what he was saying didn't make any sense. Comcast gives us an IP address that we sub out into a private IP range - in other words, exactly what 90% of the rest of their customers do. I asked him to show me the specs.

He fired up IE on my roommate's desktop, and showed the diagnostic screen. I took a look at the network address, saw a Surfboard logo (we have a Netgear router) and said "dude, you're not on our wireless network. This is our neighbor's net."

He said "See? Your cable modem is fine. Look at these diagnostics."

Sure enough, the stats were fine...but it wasn't our network. He was looking at a Surfboard and a Motorola. I told him "We don't have a Surfboard or a Motorola, we have a Netgear and an RCA." I looked at the ipconfig properties of my roommate's PC and saw that they weren't the IP range I put in. He had logged her into our neighbor's unprotected connection.

He told me I was wrong.

I said "Go downstairs, look at our cable modem and router, and you'll see it's a simple mistake. Wrong private network, wrong wireless network. We're on 192.168.1.1 with a SSID of Netgear. You're on 192.168.100.1 with a SSID of Wireless. Big difference."

He again said it was the router's fault. He refused to look at the correct diagnostics.

Now, at this point, I got a little indignant. I pulled up the diagnostics of our cable modem, and showed him the correct diagnostics page, showing nearly 200 sync outages and hundreds of thousands of frame errors, dozens of T3 and T4 errors - all of which indicate Comcast network issues. Those are big backbone circuits - the kinds that hook up entire neighborhoods and office buildings. I asked him "How does our netgear router knock down the much-bigger Comcast network, especially in frame sync?"

He said "Sir, for the third and fourth time, it's your router."

I went off. I explained to him what I have done (designed long haul IP networks and built terminal servers, Digital Subscriber Line Access Multiplexers, Cable Modem termination systems , t-1s, frame relay, OC-X circuits, etc...) and what I do (provide telecom support to the DoD) and that he might want to reconsider his thoughts. I showed him the correct cable modem diagnostics page (of which I took a screen shot) and said "Now that you're looking at the right network, try your analysis again. It's a signal error. A Netgear router is not going to cause TFTP and T-4 errors. Those are cable networking error codes, carrier error codes, not layer 2 and 3 crap from a consumer router to a cable modem."

This went on for nearly 10 minutes. It didn't matter how many times I showed him the errors coming directly from the cable modem, it was our router's fault.

"Sir, it's your router. Too many things hooked up to cable modem."

Only the router is hooked up to the cable modem. He never once went downstairs to see that. He tried to say that Comcast only allows one device to be connected to their cable modem (a flat-out lie if ever there was one).

I told him to get out. I used the F-bomb. I'm not proud of my language, but I expect an on-site tech to be somewhat competent. Don't tell me I'm wrong when you don't even have the intelligence to know when YOU'RE wrong. Even after I pointed out that he was looking at the wrong network, he wouldn't admit he was wrong. He had refused to do his job and would not go look at the router and cable modem itself. That's like taking your Honda to the mechanic, and the mechanic says your Honda is fine because he looked at your neighbor's BMW earlier, and it's fine.

We called up Comcast's tier one support again. They'll send out a new tech who will either replace the cable modem or boost the signal from the network access node. Of course, they have no idea when they'll be able to do that.

We've had spotty internet access for a month now, and considering our cable bill is close to a small car payment (nearly 140 bucks a month), you'd expect a modicum of service.

The moral of the story: Comcast has guaranteed themselves of a new Verizon FiOS customer. Not only is FiOS dramatically faster, they're cheaper.

Now Verizon's PR department - since I know you surf the web looking for anti-Comcast stories, let me tell you this - I have worked for CLECs for 8 of the past 10 years. I've worked with independent telephone companies who have deployed FTTC and FTTH systems, and I know that it flat-out rocks.

The main reason why we're going with you is because you have, at the end of the day, the best product available. If the FCC wasn't so busy looking to fine the hell out of any radio or TV station that dares mutter an expletive rather than investigate how Comcast has repeatedly screwed the hell out of consumers, then there'd never be a need for county utility boards to hold hearings to allow for FiOS competition. They'd BEG for you to step in and show Comcast how it's done.

As somebody who's worked for CLECs for 8 of the past 10 years, I never thought I'd write this - you're not nearly as bad as Comcast.

Breaking News - A Slut Has Died.

I figured the Anna Nicole Smith death would be old news by this weekend, but there is still the breathless reporting style on the cable nets. The Fourth Estate won't let this woman just die until they TELL you every possible detail of it. I wish I knew somebody who gave a rat's ass about it.

I know it's not considered PC to bash the dead, but, here's a woman with THREE different men claiming to be the baby's father.

What kind of a world-class slut do you have to be to have *3* men claim paternity of your child?

They wouldn't be making the claim if they hadn't have had sex with her at about the same time as the baby was conceived. And when she was still alive, she didn't deny any of those rumours too strongly.

Dirty, dirty cooze. That's all that is. If America had any real sense left, her stupidity would be a cause for derision, not celebrity.

R.I.P. iRon

My beloved iron, iRon, has now died.

Cause of death - too hot to handle.

Time of death - right when I needed to iron something this morning.

iRon, our six years together were great. I hope you have a peaceful journey to the landfill or recycle bin or whereever it is dead irons go.

You shall be missed.

From DCFUD.com - Whatever Happened To...?

A few months ago, I set out to chronicle the ways in which Alexandria's charming Del Ray neighborhood can rot your teeth and ruin your diet. An eating tour of Del Ray is a delicious invitation to gain weight and keep your dentist's kids in private school. There's so many fun little eateries in the neighborhood that I felt compelled to break the article into two parts, thereby giving it a more proper review. Part one would be the places I know best, and then after a careful sampling of other places in the area, I was going to write part two.

One small problem with that idea - while my teeth are fine, my diet was ruined. I gained over 15 pounds since I started writing Part II. And those were not "happy pounds" either. Angry, vicious pounds - more bitter than a jilted bride on Valentine's Day and colder than a divorce attorney. I felt Morgan Spurlock's pain. Being a FUD writer Super-Sized Me. I drew a line in the sand a few weeks ago and vowed to be more Dave Matthews than Dave Thomas or Dave Thomas.

In the past year, I've learned 10 unassailable facts about FUD in DC :

1) Del Ray really CAN tack on the pounds, plus the Dairy Godmother is serving Tiramisu AND Thin Mint Cookie custards this month. Courage, my friends.
2) When reviewing beers, candy bars and chili, always mix in a salad. Preferably not fruit salad from a can. And, preferably, not the can too.
3) Don't go to Wegman's when you're hungry. You'll end up with a cart full of food that you don't remember placing in the cart and have no idea how to pronounce. Then you'll drive home for the next hour wondering what in the hell just happened.
4) Don't go to Harris-Teeter when you're hungry. You'll end up with overpriced foods and no idea how to pay for it. Only supermarket I've ever been to that should offer financing and layaway. "Just three more payments and that soymilk is all mine!"
5) The large anything (burger, phở, beverage) may only be a dollar more than the small, but the small will do. Some phở places sell Extra-Large sizes - how can anybody finish one of those and not end up in a food coma?
6) That exercise thing...kinda important. Ever notice how many WSC and Sport & Health Clubs are near supermarkets? If Curves keeps it up, there'll be one in every supermarket.
7) Cakelove's butter cakes need to be brought up to room temperature before serving properly. Don't eat a dozen cupcakes while you're waiting.
8) Every one of those "Limited Edition" candy bars at CVS - meh. Not nearly as good as you'd expect, except the marshmallow Reese's and the Malt and Espresso Kit-Kats. Otherwise...meh. The white chocolates taste like wax and the caramels always seem off somehow. No need to try them - if they were any good, they wouldn't be "Limited Editions" but "Always Available."
9) Latin and Asian markets offer lower prices on meats and veggies and often with better variety. They may not have those bonus club cards, but the staples of a healthy diet are much more affordable. Giant and Soviet Safeway, take heed.
10) You know those people who bring donuts and cakes into the workplace? They secretly hate all their coworkers. They actually wanted a donut themselves, but assuage the guilt by bringing in 11 other sugarbombs to make everybody else fat and lethargic.

So, as I'm sticking to exercise, watercress and protein-shakes, I've been avoiding my normal calorie-rich fare. Regular exercise and a more moderate diet has brought me back down to a more comfortable weight.

I apologize in advance to any reader who lived vicariously through my gluttony, and to any establishment that might notice a sudden downturn in sales. Trust me, I miss you too.

this can't be

We live in a world where Peyton Manning is a Super Bowl winner.

So far, the 21st Century is seriously gord-damned messed-up. In seven short years, it has flipped its middle finger at the 20th Century and pissed in the old century's Corn Flakes.

The Red Sox AND the White Sox have won World Series.

The Seattle Seahawks have been to a Super Bowl.

Once again, the biggest soccer star in the world is coming to America, but this time, he's not graying and 50. He's young, early 30s, and ready to conquer Hollywood.

Plus, his wife is ridiculously skinny and has ridiculously fake boobies. She fits in L.A. perfectly!

America is showing a general interest in soccer. This scares me in more ways than I care to count.

The Wizards ain't half-bad. The best player in the league might well be Gilbert Arenas.

The Caps are playing in front of a largely apathetic home crowd at half capacity. Who'd a thought that the shiny new arena downtown would be worse for them than the hulking suburban bandbox filled to roof 3/4ths of the year?

The Yankees, like the Orioles, Devil Rays, Royals and Pirates, have not won a World Series in the 21st Century.

OBPOPCULTREF infiltrates the Post.com

As I begin my assault to be the ultimate digital mouthpiece, I am starting with WaPo.com chats, and then moving on to bigger fish, like 19 year old girls' LiveJournals.

There's no stopping me.


explaining The Decemberists from Virginia: I have a few The Decemberists tracks on my computer, and I've found they tend to stick out in even the most diverse playlists. I'll admit that the singing is shaky and the lyrics range from poetry to pretentious, but there's just -something- about them - that same something that causes some people to go bananas over ugly damned hairless dogs with bulgy eyes. The average dog owner looks at those mangy beasts and rolls their eyes in disbelief, but the person who loves that troll dog REALLY loves that troll dog.

I guess The Decemberists are my troll dog amongst a sea of Replacements' collies and Trashcan Sinatras' retreivers.

J. Freedom du Lac: This is a very good explanation. Thanks, I really appreciate this one!

Instant Karma Granted

To the idiot with the stupid "Farms are our Future" Maryland tags - coming from a state with next-to-no-working farms in nearly 30% of its land and a future firmly stocked in biotech, military and sprawl - in the reddish, early 2000s sedan on the DC-section of I-395 on Saturday morning. Hope the traffic ticket was worth it.

That road, even under light traffic loads, is not designed for high-speed cruising. Just because it says it's an interstate doesn't mean you can cruise at 90MPH. Too many on-ramps, off-ramps, left-side exits, ending lanes, confused tourists - it's just not an easy drive.

It gets worse when natives decide to crank up their four-cylinders to near Ludicrous Speed. This includes Mr. Maryland Farmer. Maryland Farmer decided to pass me at 75, 80 MPH, a difference of nearly 30 MPH, just before the 395 split towards the Capitol. No big deal - Lord knows I've been passed before - but I was slowing down to avoid a Slow-Poke Country Boy in the City in front of me who was terrified of making a lane change. As he stuttered into the right lane, a Normal Guy on My Left slowed down too, as Slow-Poke didn't have a damned clue. Slow-Poke attempted his right lane change three times, and though he had plenty of room, he got scared, swerved back left, overcompensated, and scared the Normal Guy on My Left. They were at matching speeds at this point, about 40.

Mr. Maryland Farmer decided that he wasn't going to wait for any of this foolishness, and passed me, Slow-Poke and Normal Guy by *MAKING* his own passing lane in between Slow-Poke and Normal Guy. He invented a lane, coming within an inch or so of both vehicles. Given Slow-Poke's timidness and lack of coordination, I'm amazed those two didn't collide - which surely would have gotten me either into the Jersey wall, those two cars, or some combination of the two.

But Mr. Maryland Farmer squeezed through there, and even though I saw it with my own eyes, I'm still not sure how he made it. A half-second either way, and there's a big collision on 395, and the traffic reporters on WTOP would mention the mess that this accident would surely create. He was driving like an asshole - a skilled asshole - but an asshole nonetheless.

Not even a mile later, before the 395/295 split, Mr. Maryland Farmer was pulled over on the side of the road, as an unmarked police officer, lights ablaze, caught his antics, and was putting an end to this one-man reign of road terror.

Of course, being about as gracious as Veruca Salt in "Charlie and The Chocolate Factory," I wound down my window and laughed laughed laughed my law-abiding ass off at him. I've never been so impressed by a police officer's timing before! Mr. Maryland Farmer gave me a dirty look, but he's the one who just watched his insurance go up.

So, Mr. Maryland Farmer - just for the sake of clarity, I laughed at you, and I will continue to laugh at you. I don't know what police agency got that guy, but that was awesome. Great job, Johnny Law. It's not often that Karma is so swift and so accurate.

Feeding the Beast

The far-too-horny doctors on Grey's Anatomy came up with that gem of a term to describe the occasional need for sex. Sometimes, you just need to feed the beast.

In my case, my desire to own more toys than the other kids has led me to more new, wonderful purchases.

You will quickly see the quality of photos on my Flickr account and this blog go up. I just bought a Sony A100 Alpha digital SLR camera. This sucker has more buttons than a sewing shop and I'm looking forward to taking many wonderful pictures...once I find the On/Off switch.

You also might find me soon, bloodied and beaten, at Wii Have A Problem as I have gone out and bought a Nintendo Wii. First games - Madden 07 and Swing Away Golf. Should be fun, though I'm building a protective cover for my TV...just in case.

More thoughts on the NFL

While listening to the sports guy on the radio this morning, I was hit with a "duh!" moment. As in, "Duh! Why didn't I think of this last night?"

The Bears were going to win yesterday's game no matter what the zebras did, as the Bears pretty much crushed the Saints. The Saints tried, but that Bears D is tough, and they had a good offense yesterday. However, the Pats/Colts was specifically decided by the refs. Every call went towards the Colts, and I wondered why. I initially thought it was because of Peyton Manning.

Nope. When Dave Johnson at WTOP said "the first time two black coaches will meet in the Super Bowl," I knew what the story was. No way the Pats were going to win in a close game. Absolutely no way.

I know it's an important societal event that two black men are leading Super Bowl teams, especially considering how it wasn't that long ago that NFL coaching was a job only for white men.

It's just a damned shame that one earned his way in and the other should be at home watching it.

in the words of Comic Book Guy...

Worst.

Officiating.

Ever.

I have never seen NFL referees look like NBA refs. The way the refs gave calls to the home teams in both Championship games today, it looked like Jordan taking four steps between dribbles or Shaq charging the opponent, and drawing a blocking call. Simply horrible calls all day - the Saints lost a fumble after the guy hit the ground, and replays clearly showed him down, and the Colts received more gifts from the refs than an only child on Christmas.

All members of Patriots Nation have to be beside themselves over two interference calls - one against them in which no contact was made; the other not called when the Colts' DB clearly hit the Pat's WR before the ball got there. If I was Robert Kraft, damn the fines from the league and let `em rip! It's pretty obvious that the NFL wanted their Golden Boy Peyton playing against the Number 3 market in the US, Chicago.

I pray that the Bears win the Super Bowl just so I can go an offseason without seeing 700 Peyton Manning commercials.

The NFL should be ashamed - these are the best refs they could find???? Awful, awful job.

This Guy is Near!

I can't bloody believe it.

My new hero, Representative David Wu, D-Oregon, will be in the building today. I can't wait to meet him.

Here's where I'm torn - comedywise, I can control the A/V system to replay his famous Klingons in the White House line, and it would be the Funniest Thing Ever, but, I also want to remain employed.

Damn...I haven't been this torn since I got a free camera for an ugly friend's wedding. I love free cameras, but I had to take pictures of the ugly friend.

No winner...no win.

from DCFUD - TdA

It was no surprise that Taberna Del Alabardero would have a delicious menu for Restaurant Week. The place is synonmous with quality and hospitality in both on both sides of the Atlantic. What I wasn't prepared for was the majesty of the place, nearly dwarfing the quality of the food.

It would be wise for all interior decorators and designers to study the Taberna, to show how a restaurant can "make and entrance" like a movie star. The small, crowded bar area was full of people waiting for their tables or content to munch on tapas. That small waiting area quickly gives way to glorious dining chambers, featuring high ceilings, bold red paint and soft lighting. Tables are spaced far enough apart to lend a sense of privacy, and the design allows for plenty of background noise that never intrudes. The walls are decorated with various paintings, a whimsical hat decoration frames the coat check closet; classic prints from the Old World, and lend to the illusion that the next two hours will be spent in the south of Spain, not two blocks from the White House.

My friends at the table remarked at the quality of the duck mixed in with their field greens. Duck can be a tricky bird to serve, as it can go from soft and flaky to overcooked and gamey with little warning, but the light salt taste and gentle texture gave good contrast to the salad. The white bean soup was complemented with pieces of quail and slab bacon, and I was tempted to order another bowl or three. The mushroom sauce topping the salmon drew raves, while the peppered flank and potatoes were seasoned perfectly. My only complaint was that I should have ordered the white and dark chocolate mousse with almond whisky sponge cake - yeah, I gained a pound just writing that. I ordered the flan, and while it was certainly acceptable, the mousse was clearly the star.

After such a fine meal, Chef Santi Zabaleta's tasting menu looks a lot like my upcoming birthday gift from myself to myself...and it's a lot more affordable than an iPhone!

*************************************************
Taberna Del Alabardero
1776 I Street NW
Washington DC 20006
202-429-2200

Had to comment...WHO VOTED FOR THIS GUY!?!?!

Jeez, ladies and gentlemen, meet your new Democratic majority in the House!

We've been laughing at that guy all over the place at work. He's going to vote on the Defense Budget? Holy Hell!!!

On the bright side, we're all getting new phasers and all generals get one dude in a red shirt to stand near them at all times.

Wow...

"the real Klingons in Star Trek..."

"Faux Klingons???"

DAMN - makes Senator Ted Stephens in Alaska look like a god-derned genius!

And people wonder why I'm bringing back the Whig Party.

No Con-Fusion Here.

The International Headquarters of OBPOPCULTREF located in charming Arlington, Virginia, is covered by an ungodly amount of wall-to-wall carpeting. Two fuzzy cats and two very fuzzy dogs, plus two humans, can give the floors a new layer of shag in just a few days, so a good vacuum is vital.

Jayme, the Official Roommate of OBPOPCULTREF, brought two older vacuum cleaners to the pad, while I brought a newish, though woefully-underpowered Eureka to the vacuum bullpen. So, the two of us had three vacuums to vacuum two floors.

Couple of small problems with that concept - Jayme's vacuums were essentially busted, and my Eureka sucks about as much as a Thai hooker with lockjaw. My limited repair skills (replacing belts and bags) could not make Jayme's vacuums vacuum.

So, I drove off looking for a new rug-cleaning device. First stop - Best Buy. Why? Because I had a gift card, and anything better than a new vacuum cleaner is a cheaper new vacuum cleaner. The odd thing about Best Buy's vacuums was that every single one in stock had been returned. A husband's idea of a romantic Christmas gift for his wife gone awry 50 times over? Dishonest store employees? Everybody checking the power of the Dyson to see if it really is worth a car payment price?

Next stop was K-Mart. Why? Because I haven't been in one in years, and I figured the Sears/Kmart marriage would prove fruitful for vacuums. They had next-to-nothing in stock - apparently this was a big Christmas for vacuums. I was disappointed that all they had were light-weight plastic vacuums. I'm guessing that ever since Dyson came on board and could sell their plastic tornados for over $300 bucks, then why should other makers use metal anymore? Plastic is lighter, easier to cart around, especially on steps, and is easier to ship across the country.

Next stop - Kohl's. Why? I'm not sure. I'm in Kohl's as rarely as I'm in Kelly Monaco. Holy hell is that place expensive! At least 30% more than Best Buy across the board. I moved on.

By this point, I was glossy-eyed, delusional. I saw Wal-Mart. I fought my inner urges, since I recently found out that Jesus probably wouldn't want me to shop at Wal-Mart. I generally dislike Wal-Mart, but I was desperate.

I walked in, saw the obligatory $300 Dyson and $40 Eureka, but spotted the $100 Hoover Fusion. I hadn't seen that model in any of the other stores, but was somewhat impressed by the decent price, motor, attachments and brand. What really sold me was the Superman-style of the plastic parts. I mean, if you can't get Jaws, the old metal Kirby from Mr. Mom, go for whatever makes you laugh. And, to me, the idea of a vacuum dressed as Superman is really damned funny.

Here's the rub - the Fusion bloody hell rocks. That thing can suck up some serious dirt, dog hair and slow-moving cats. I was amazed at what it was able to absorb. I've forgotten what it was like to see a properly-powered device. Plus, it has a special powered tool that makes cleaning carpeted stairs and furniture a breeze. Not bad for 100 bucks.

Given my track record of naming inanimate objects that delight me, you know the Fusion would join my Pontiac Vibe "Raider," and my baseball bats "Excalibur" and "Whombat," my racing bike "Chieftain," my mountain bike "Ack!" and racquetball racquet "Boomstick." The Supervac has been dubbed, fairly obviously, Kal-El.

Did you ever have a dream in which you...

...die?

Contrary to the old wives' tale, you don't die in real life, but you do wake up in one hell of a cold sweat.

Falling back asleep is well-nigh impossible, too.

Time to mix in some St. John's Wort or something...

Borat - A Review by the Five Paragraph Bitter Film Critic

I watched this movie in sheer disbelief. Much like that poor son of a bitch who had to announce the Hindenberg tragedy, or even Al Michaels during the Miracle on Ice, I can't believe what I just saw.

Once upon a time, the 5PBFC thought he was a funny dude, and did a variety of small jobs in the entertainment industry - deejay, photographer, comedian, screenwriter - and the fact that you're reading this blog and not my award-winning novel "How to Get Stinkin' Rich and Hotties by Being Silly and Moderately Talented" should show how far I got on that plan.

Why did I fail? Good question. No doubt I was funny, and I still am. I'm as entertaining now as ever, and certainly better than many comics and writers on TV and movies. Was I not good-looking enough? Perhaps. I have yet to get my beer gut into a six-pack in the ten years since it's inception. Not connected with the industry enough? Perhaps as well, but I've got friends with more HBO specials than brain cells, and been on Comedy Central more times than "Mo' Money."

Perhaps the real reason was that I couldn't go all the way. I couldn't commit to the lifestyle. Driving 500 miles for a gig, performing in Kinhump, Arkansas in front of 18 beer-drinkin' rednecks just looking to beat the hell out of a city slicker. I needed the comfort of a full-time day job, health benefits, and the knowledge that I could walk away at any time. And I sure as hell couldn't commit to a bit, to a character, to a point-of-view. I tried to be the cute wise aleck that Dane Cook is hogging right now. I can't be more bitter and jaded than Doug Stanhope - I tried, and I wasn't funny; simply bitter and jaded. I can't rant like Lewis Black, I can't do impersonations as well as Darryl Hammond, or Jimmy Fallon, or even Gilbert Godfried. I could be funny, but I couldn't find a character that I wanted to wear, day in, and day out. Something that came from the soul, an extenstion of my subconscious, but also not so close that every joke became a mini-autobiography, each laugh a catharsis.

Why is my review so self-introspective? Because I know that if I had a million monkeys in front of a million typewriters, I could never write something half as funny as Borat. Sasha Baron Cohen has created a character of epic stupidity, chauvasnistic, anti-Semetic views and an undeniable inner sweetness, and he plays it to perfection. Such an incredible dichotomy, and he nailed it. Out of the park, home run, game over. His committment to the character and the story is so great that he risked his health and his jaw more than a few times, and ended up making the funniest movie of the decade (sorry, Team America, you've been bumped, catch the next flight). How committed? All I need to say is "nude wrestling with a hairy dude with bigger bitchtits than the guy in Fight Club."

*********************************************************************************
9 out of 9.5 Whammies! It's not the perfect movie, but it's damned, damned close. It's done in the same mockumentary style as Waiting for Huffman and A Mighty Wind, yet so much funnier than those two great films. I deducted half a Whammy! for making me see the bitch tits.
*********************************************************************************

Overheard at work...

"Is Mr. Hankey going to come? What about Dr. Jones?"

Of course, you know the first things I thought of...







tell me I'm not a child of pop culture :)

Verizon Wireless Fails at Math

Courtesy of George at VerizonMath/, here's a sordid tale of how a decimal point can make a big, big difference. Namely, about 70 bucks.

Want a quick audio tour? Just fire up your web browser and point it to this display at YTMND.com.

Check out this guy's battle with customer service and bad, bad corporate math. It's an entertaining and, sadly, kind of depressing. I mean, if a Fortune 500 company can botch basic math like this, what chance do any of us have?

I'm a lazy bones

Sorry for not contributing to my O.B. too much lately, as I've been doing some writing for DCFUD.com, helping people move, going to weddings (more on that later), cooking for 18,000 people, and trying to avoid gaining weight and getting fired.

And who says I never learned to juggle!?!?

First, writing for a food blog has had some unintended consequences. People who don't really know me suddenly think that I know every restaurant in North America, have dined at every pricy place in DC, and then express shock when I have no idea what they're talking about. Certainly, I've heard of the big famous restaurants in a few cities, and ones ran by celebrity chefs, but when somebody asks if I've eaten at Le Pigtaille Rue in Des Plaines, Illinois, I'm going to wonder what they're thinking. How often do I get to Illinois, let alone Des Plaines, and why would I eat there when all of Chicago would be at my whim? And, if I'm dining at Citronelle or 1789 every night, why the hell would I be in Des Plaines?

And I just made that name up...Le Pigtaille Rue. Street of Pig Taille...my French is rusty, and I figure such a weird, obviously-fake name will allow me to avoid any nasty lawsuits.

Also, I'm somehow suddenly an expert on all things related to food. Cooking tips, grocery stores to use, caterers, where to dine while travelling in Europe - all are fair game once you mention you food blog. I think it's sweet that folks want my opinion, but it's just that - an opinion. I'm not able to recommend a restaurant in Paris France or Paris Texas, but I can suggest one near Paris, Virginia. The Inn at Little Washington. Quite tasty. But while I can cook, I'm by no means a chef. I made a fine Thanksgiving spread, but still can't make reliable pho. Phooey.

For Thanksgiving, I had about 20 or so MeetinDC folks over at Chez Ray. I made a 15-pound turkey, about 10 pounds of stuffing, green beans, corn, Chaimisu (tiramisu made with chai liqeuer called Voyant) some cookies and some Guiness Bread. I also attempted pho, which was a worse botch than anything Scott Norwood could have done in the Super Bowl 15 years ago.

A couple of days after the Cookathon 2006, my old friend Scott Appel got married to his girlfriend of the past few years, Maisie. She's a sweet gal, and she's got to be tough to put up with Appel. The wedding itself was lovely - a gorgeous old mansion at a golf course in Prince George's County, Maryland, and the weather was amazing. 60 and sunny in November? A lot of June Brides would kill for those picture-perfect conditions.

Seeing some old friends from school has definitely kicked in the ole' "life assessment" gene. Tim is married, building a house in southern Pennsylvania, and has a kid. Andy is divorced after two years of wedded blish-ish. Darren's married and seems to have found somebody who can more than ably take his crap. Matt brought a lovely young lady as his date, and has been mentioning that he might be ready to settle down. And Heath...Heath had a date. Rock on, Kubiack!

And, then there's me. Not quite as old as Tim or Darren, a little older than Matt, Heath and Andy, and about the same as Scott. Where am I in the whole dating/marriage world? Do I even BELONG in that world? How did they get there? What am I doing right...or wrong...or both?

As I watched Tim, a man responsible for one of my favorite memories and, one of my scariest, serve as Scott's best man, I was struck by how much he's grown up. So responsible, such a doting father. He looked at his (admittedly) adorable little girl, and he had such love in his eyes. His best friend just got married, and he held his world in his hands. She giggled, and promptly farted when he set her down.

Like father, like daughter. Daddy's little girl. Woe to be the first grab-hand guy to find the young lady attractive in 2018!

And he wanted to leave the reception so the bridal party, including the groom and bride, could go back and watch the Maryland Terrapins play a football game. Some things never change, such as the love of the Terps' athletic program by their supposed in-state rival Towson (State) Tigers.

Wedding Crashers we ain't.

In all this I decided something. I'm not those guys, never have been, and never will. Using friends as life post markers is useless. So what if somebody gets married, reproduced and divorced before you? The real question, and one that can only be answered internally is - are YOU happy? Not the 12-year-old planning your life away in a dark bedroom, dreaming of adulthood. Not the 18-year-old college freshman looking to turn college on its knees. Not the 23-year-old postgraduate who realizes their degree is utterly useless in the real world. But the you of right this very second.

Are you happy?

Would the 12 year old you think of you as a role model? The 18 year old? The 23 year old?

I might figure out the answer...when the 38-year-old looks back at the latest 5-year plan.

----------------###--------------

God bless the little iPod...

Well, more to the point, God bless iTunes. Not because it plays digital music files so well - pretty much any digital jukebox software can do that. It does seem to have the ability to dig through my music files and find an appropriate song, or even some forgotten treasures.

Case in point - Northside. Don't worry, nobody but me and their mamma's have ever heard of Northside. They came out during the Madchester scene, with the Stone Roses and Happy Mondays, though they really didn't sound much like either of those bands. They simply played decent Brit-flavoured pop music. I bought their CD Chicken Rhythms, in 1992, I guess, and haven't heard it in well over 10 years.

My current project is to convert as many CDs to digital files on a hard drive, in the effort to make a bitchin' media server. So far, I've converted about 400 of the 500 CDs I own to Lossless format - a much bigger mp3, and slightly smaller than a standard AIFF file on a CD. Soon, my entire CD collection will fit on a single 300 GB hard drive, and I figure I can put my albums and tapes on a 100 GB partition.

Essentially, I will soon be able to hold all of my music in one hand. Considering it now takes about four massive suitcases and zippered CD holders, that's amazing.

The Northside CD was never awful; it simply wasn't as good as other CDs I bought back then - the Trashcan Sinatras, Kitchens of Distinction, The Ocean Blue, The Judybats, Jellyfish, James, XTC - all of them and countless others managed to squeeze the little band out of my CD rotation and into the bowels of my collection. A dark place, reserved for horrible lapses in taste on my part (yes, Rick Astley, I'm looking at you), horrid gifts from well-meaning-yet-terribly-misinformed friends (see: Dion, Celine; Christmas Album), or purchases made in good faith towards legendary performers stuck in their "I'm Keith Hernandez!" phase (Van Morrison's gawd-awful mid-70s stuff).

iTunes does not care. Once placed in shuffle mode, it plays any song in the library, regardless of quality, age, popularity or genre. You're as likely to hear De la Soul as Dada as Dishwalla. What it manages to do is find those hidden gems of songs that somehow didn't register the first time (or several dozen) times through.

Another case in point - the new Keane CD, Under the Iron Sea. Not nearly as good as Hopes and Fears; it's a rather dreary listen using the disc's order. However, when shuffled in with other songs, it's apparent that Keane's music is quite good when compared to other music out right now. Is it as good as Hopes and Fears now? No, but it's not as bad as I had first registered.

However, I can safely say that I'm not sure if the new John Mayer project Continuum or the new Carbon Leaf disc "Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat" can be saved yet. And the new Barenaked Ladies...um...let's just say that their new disc "Barenaked Ladies Are Me" won't push them back up into favorite band status with me anytime soon.

- ### -

Talkin' Turkey from dcfud.com

Thanksgiving is less than ten short days away. It's a time for many of us to go back to our hometowns, eat a nice dinner with our family and sit down to converse with our loved ones next to a roaring fireplace.

Sure...if you were born in a greeting card.

Truth be told, most of us shove copious amounts of poorly-cooked food down our gullets, play some football with Uncle Mel and his 5 demon offspring in the front yard, sit in uncomfortable silence as Aunt Louise decides that now - during the halftime show of the Cowboys' game - is the time to come out of the closet in front of a completely unshocked family, but much to the dismay of Grandma, who just thinks she hasn't found the right man yet, and then plan on waking up at 5 in the morning to take advantage of the Black Friday specials at the mall.

OK, maybe that's just my brood, but, let's face it, lots of us have families less like the Huxtables and more like the Griswolds. And our Thanksgiving dinners have more in common with Paula Zahn than Paula Dean. So, here's a quick survival guide for Thanksgiving `06.

1) Let the neighborhood grocery store do the cooking for you. Giant, Magruder's, Wegman's , Shopper's, Bloom - they can all prepare a meal for you and your guests, ready to heat and serve on Thanksgiving Day. It's often a little bit pricier than making it yourself, but, it's also a lot less prep work and clean-up time. If you want something a little less traditional, try swinging by the local Asian market, like Great Wall off Gallows Road, for a roasted duck or crispy fish.

2) If the idea of Safeway cooking your bird frightens you, at least follow their recipe. The Two-Hour method of cooking a turkey is a fantastic way to ensure a crispy skin and juicy meat, and still make it thoroughly cooked. Gone are the days of slow-roasting a bird all Wednesday night to eat Thursday afternoon - just follow Safeway's handy reference chart to match the cooking time with the size of your turkey.

My only suggestion would be to use a heavy-duty cooking bag. This will trap in the juices from the meat and will make your broiling pan a lot easier to clean.

Plus, don't stuff your stuffing in the bird. It slows down the cooking process for both the stuffing and the turkey, and can spread bacteria. Simply use a baking pan separate from the turkey to cook your glorified Stove-Top.

3) Just go out for dinner. McCormick and Schmick's locations serve a legendary Thanksgiving spread, as do several of the downtown hotels and restaurants. This might also be a great time to get prime seats in a hot ethnic eatery. Remember that Thanksgiving evening is a big going-out night, and that many bars will fill up with folks who've had about as much family as they can hand;e for the day. Get your grub early, and you should be fine.

And, if you need to go home and have zero control over the meal...

4) Remember that xanax is not just for breakfast anymore. Sneak a pack of Ramen noodles in your suitcase, and dress it up with some of the more edible leftovers.

When you get back to the area, stop off at Summer's by the Courthouse Metro. Besides being a fine place to watch both football and futbol, they make one of the finest turkey burgers you'll ever have. Perfectly seasoned, not over-cooked - when was the last time anybody gushed over a turkey burger? This is one seriously good sandwich, and should be enough to cure your turkey jones.

Been a long time...

Sorry I haven't blogged in a while. I wish I could say I took a break to concentrate on a new book or story I was writing. Nope.

I started a new job a few weeks ago. I'm over in the big ole' Pentagon now. And, believe me, this place is HUGE! It's almost a 15 minute walk from the bus stop to my office. I had to get a new pair of comfy shoes on my first day due to the blister that grew from nearly SIX MILES of walking! That's a lot of walking for slightly-too-small Bostonian wingtips.

A couple of small items:

1) Condo associations is stoopid. My condo association folks decided that Saturday would be the perfect time to repaint everybody's front doors. Good idea - 75 degree days in fall are nothing to sneeze at. However, paint requires more than 10 minutes to dry, and we had to leave our front door open all day. No big deal...except the paint didn't dry in the night, and formed a seal with the door frame when closed at night.

Every single door in the complex has this problem. A paint seal around the weatherproofing. Smooth move.

2) My friend Scott is getting married Saturday. Wow...just...wow.

3) The Democrats have control of Congress again. I went to a friends' house to watch the election results. Not because I wanted to, but I wanted to watch people who actually think such things matter.

Was there anything dorkier than the group blogging event at Tryst that night? Gawd, does ANYBODY in DC get laid?

4) Decent bar food is harder to find than you'd like to think. But, so far, I can say with 100% authority that Summer's on Wilson Boulevard has the best Turkey Burger I've ever had. Period. That thing is mind-bogglingly good. I've had many things there - all of which have been good - but that Turkey Burger is off-the-chain good.

5) I dressed up as Earl for Halloween. I was going to be Brian Fontana and Jeff was going to be Ron Burgundy. However, he had a good idea for a costume as a fat lady missing her dog (wedged behind her in her huge arse cheeks was a stuffed puppy), and won 300 bucks in a costume contest.

I did get to grow a sweet porn `stache, though.

From DCFUD - Cheeseburger in Paradise, Reviewed by the 5PBFC

Have you ever been to a restaurant that you can't stand, yet can't wait to try again? Then you know how the 5PBFC feels about Cheeseburger in Paradise, a Jimmy Buffett-inspired tribute to three of Buffett's favorite subjects - eating, drinking and making money.

Cheeseburger in Paradise embodies and embraces pretty much everything I hate about chain restaurants. Cheesy, overenthusiastic servers who have to follow a greeting script? Check. Stupid names for ordinary menu items (in this case, with a Buffett theme)? Check. Day-glow menu with paragraph-sized food descriptions because "French-Fried Potatoes" is too nebulous for mere mortals to understand? Check. Bartenders who think they're Tom Cruise in "Cocktail?" Check. Acoustic singer/songwriters doing covers of Live, Guns and Roses and Nirvana? Check. Ungodly amounts of tacky crap on the walls? Check. A roaming gangbang of servers singing "Happy Birthday" while food waits under heat lamps? Check. A little too kid-friendly? Check. Mediocre food and drinks at inflated prices? Well...

That's the rub. The food is good - surprisingly so, given the sub-$10 mark on most of their chow. They'll prepare their burgers to any desired temperature, from scorched well-done to scared-with-a-flashlight rare - a nice, wonderful touch in the chain restaurant world. They'll also substitute a turkey burger or a vegan patty on any of their burgers for no charge. The appetizers alone are the size of a meal. Check out the Carnivorous Habits Platter (again with the Buffett theme!). The BBQ Jerk ribs were about as good as any ribs I've had. Perfectly seasoned, just the right combo of spice and sauce, and very juicy. The teriyaki wings were fantastic, almost as good as the wares from Bruce Lee Wings in Baltimore's Cross Street Market.

This is not a restaurant for Alcoholics Anonymous members. Their bar book is the size of a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, and lists dozens of various margaritas, pina coladas and mojitos. The place has more booze than a hip hop video, and the large variety of rums could make a pirate scream for temperance. The drinks are cheap, just a step above "college dive bar" cheap. The Goombay Smash, somewhat similar to the Gorilla Farts from my beloved Monterrey's in Virginia Beach, is $5.50. That seldom buys a draft beer around these parts anymore. I just wish the fruit garnish wasn't looking at me.



CiP is a fine place to take any Parrothead, or perhaps a decent meal after a day in the malls. It's definitely a step-up above the run-of-the-mill suburban chains, and, at the very least, the cheap drinks will make you forget that a dozen servers are singing "Happy Birthday" to some screaming toddler. My biggest complaint is that it tries just a little too much to be cute and pleasing - the overall theme of a beach bar alone would be nice. I just wish it could be a little more Coastal Flats classic than Chuck E. Cheese loud, because the food deserves better.


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CiP gets 5 out of 10 Whammies! The food, drinks and overall value would earn it more Whammies!, and the drinks are strong enough to make me think for a second, that, indeed, I am in Key West, but I simply can't fully endorse any place that calls its employees "Islanders" in the middle of a landlocked suburban strip mall.
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Cheeseburger in Paradise
5 Virginia Locations - Woodbridge, Charlottesville, Fredericksburg, Virginia Beach and Newport News
2 Maryland Locations - Pasadena and California

The 4-1 Baltimore Ravens

So, my beloved Ravens got whupped last night in Denver, amid sleet and snow and 70,000 screaming Denverians...Denverites? Denverns? Coloradoans?

In any event, a 13-3 loss in Denver is usually nothing to be ashamed about, but it really looked like the Ravens' were not prepared to play. I don't want to mimic one of my favorite writers, Gregg Easterbrook, too much, but if there was ever a game that screamed "Tuesday Morning Quarterback," it was this one.

East Coast Ski Reports Do Not Make Good Football Weather

This loss can firmly be placed on the equipment manager.

The Ravens were slipping and sliding more than B.J. Sams on 695.

The icy conditions clearly affected the Ravens more than the Broncos. One team isn't really more manly than the other - in fact, they're both pretty similar squads, though Denver's OL is clearly better and the Raven's LB are amazing - but because the Broncos had better traction than the Ravens. I counted at least 5 plays in which the Ravens were falling down while the Broncos were able to cut and pivot.

If a Running Back Can't Catch and Doesn't Run Well, Is He A Lineman?

It's been over 20 years since the San Francisco 49ers' pioneered designed passes to the running back. Being able to catch a quick 6 yard pass is something taught to every back from the pee-wees to the pros.

Jamal Lewis couldn't catch crabs in a Thai brothel.

And yet, the Ravens had him out there on three passing downs.

That he dropped two of the passes was not surprising.

"Preposterous Punt?" Try "Pathetic Punt."

One of Mr. Easterbrook's favorite subjects is the punt; specifically those times when punting is the stupid, cowards' choice.

The Ravens had two such occurances last night.

Once, the purple-and-black were near midfield, playing against an offense that had been doing nothing, and they punted. The Broncos returned the ball to midfield. Horrible punt coverage, but a bad call started it.

Second, the Ravens were in Bronco territory, and attempted to aim the punt out of bounds.

The ball travelled about 10 yards. The 5 Paragraph Bitter (insert thing to be bitter about here) Critic wrote "game over" in his mental notebook, just like Easterbrook would...and probably did.

I'm not even IN the NFL and I can punt 11. Maybe 12. In the thinner air of Denver, I might be able to punt it 20 yards.

Pathetic punt. Two bad decisions, and they cost the Ravens the game.

6'5" is Taller Than 5'10", Right?

Clarence Moore is one of the tallest receivers in the league. Champ Bailey is a fine cornerback, but he's not going to be confused with Shaquille O'Neal anytime soon. That interception in the end zone was killer. Sure, Moore made almost no attempt to come back to the slightly-underthrown ball, but McNair has to be able to follow the simple physics involved with a seven inch height advantage.

So, the Ravens are 4-1, which is nothing to sniff at. They could be 5-0, but Denver did outplay them last night...almost as much as they out-thought themselves.

The Foley Catheter

This is a picture of the Foley catheter. It is designed to go into a penis. Given Rep. Mark Foley's little scandal, there is a delicious irony in there, and I'd love to write a joke about it, but I'm not seeing much to laugh about.

If you haven't read the rather disgusting chat logs of the former Representative Foley and his page, check out ABCnews.com and, make sure you steel yourself before reading them.

I'll wait until you're either done reading, or can't read any more.

Pretty gross, huh?

I've been thinking about Foley a lot, though I usually pay little-to-no attention to Washington sex scandals. I just can't get too excited about pasty white men with a chronic need to fill their massive egos by schtumping emotionally-empty women looking to find solace in their vapid lives by humping sorta-powerful men.

Foley's scandal is different. Unlike former President Clinton's affairs, there's the potential for pedophilia, which is a bit beyond the normal scandal. Adding further to this particular situation is the overt homosexual tones, and the recent comments from his lawyer that he'd been sexually molested by a clergy member when he was a teen.

While I in no way condone what Foley has written or could have possibly done, I'm beginning to see a very faulty logic in him. He is surely a tainted, flawed man, ultimately unable to avoid the demons that have plagued him for decades. However, within his personal struggles, he attempted to strengthen laws protecting children from the very crimes he committed, and had committed against him.

His homosexuality has been the biggest unkept secret in Washington, yet he denied repeated accusations that he was gay. It's obvious he's been in the closet longer than that fondue set as a 60s' wedding gift. Could his fear to reveal his secret come from the conservative Southern background of his home district? Fear of being outed as a homosexual pedophile? Fear of reprisal from his Republican Party counterparts, not all of whom would cotton to a gay man in their ranks?

Possibly the fear placed in him from his own sexual molestation decades earlier?

His actions have not been terribly discreet over the years. Male pages have been warned about Foley since the mid-90s. It's unfortunate that he felt the need to channel his urges towards young teenage boys. In a city with a large, active homosexual community, he could have found any number of partners at all sorts of clubs - not only discos for openly gay men, but music and supper clubs; even dance clubs for conservative Republicans who would rather remain in the closet. While it seems amazingly stupid that he used America Online's Instant Messenger to contact teenage boys, using his own easily-traceable screen name, it makes me wonder:

Maybe he WANTED to be caught?



The classic "suicide by police action" mentality that causes desperate people to wave a gun at an officer? They don't have the cajones to kill themselves, so, let the trained police shooter do it for them.

His actions as a Congressmen, strengthening child molestation and assault laws, helped bring about his demise. Hoist on his own petard...or, spanked by his own towel, given the subject matter of his chat.

I think he knew he was living a lie. He knew he didn't want other children to be attacked like he was. He couldn't avoid becoming what he tried to prosecute. His chat transcript is gross, and clearly perverted - his lawyer may say Foley never touched any child, but, as clear from that transcript, he thought about it. How soon before thoughts become action?

Maybe he got caught to save himself, and others?

And while focus on this case is firmly pointed at the much older Representative from Florida, it's hard not to read the comments from the former page and get a sickening feeling from him as well.

The teenager, labeled as "Xxxxxxxxx," knows who he is talking to, and seems to rather enjoy turning on the old poof. Going into detail about masturbation - a subject that can cause grown adults to blush - is no problem for this youngster, as he willingly tells the Congressman how he uses a towel for rubbing and cleaning. He even tells the man how he's "growing" and the exact length of his penis. He can clearly see that Foley is really enjoying this conversation, and makes ZERO attempt to stop it.

This is no innocent waif, but a teenager who is a little too aware of his body, and how to use it to his advantage. Who knows what he was going to get from the Rep? A college recommendation letter? Job on the Hill? A cheap thrill?

It appears that while many people will rightfully shun and spread disdain to the Congressman, I'm not willing to call the teenager a saint in this situation. I do hope that somebody gets a hold of this teenager and has a good heart-to-heart conversation with them and how this kind of conversation with an adult is wrong, and highly creepy.

Funny that if a 16-year old boy shoots up a liquor store, he's tried as an adult, but if a 16-year old boy sexually manipulates an older, lecherous man, that boy is suddenly "just a baby." Sorry, society - you can't have it both ways. That kid is about as innocent as a vice cop, and saving the chat log of the Congressman's conversation indicates that, like Foley, he knew exactly what he was doing.

How bad is this scandal? When the normally uber-right-wing Washington Times calls for the ouster of House Speaker Dennis Hastert for his role in covering up this scandal, that shows a sudden change of pace - the ultimate case of the abused dog biting the hand of its master.

And while this will become a benefit for the Democrats come Election Day, as the Republicans on the Hill try to figure out who knew what, when and why, it underscores a rather frightening truth : it's TOO easy to be a politician. I'm not talking about celebrities or athletes or business leaders who use their fame as an advantage in the polls, but just the whole process.

To get a driver's license, I needed to take a class, past a written test and a driving test. I'm one of the best drivers I know, and I failed the driving part twice before finally getting my license.

To get a dog from the SPCA, I had to fill out a long form, with references, to make sure I'm a dog lover and not a dog lover, if you know what I mean.

To use a computer at work, I had to go through the entire security clearance process, listing every address I've lived in, every job I ever had, personal and professional references, every credit card payment and travel excursion.

To become a Congressman, I need to fill out a small application, pay the filing fee, and tell people I won't raise their taxes. Once elected, I get free reign in the Nation's Capital, free to roam the Capitol and the House and Senate Office Buildings, free to butt into any meeting or event I damned well want. I can be courted by any lobbyist, special interest group or political action committee, and my vote can be bought or sold as easily as a street walker.

I'd get to comment on any issue and vote on any piece of legislation I want - even if I don't know a damned thing about the issue!

I can avoid the draft, yet vote to send our country's young to war.

I can scream about the environmental impact of pollution, yet drive the city in a big black Chevy Suburban.

I can pander to my district's religious base, yet live like a harlot in the confines of the District.

Somebody explain to me, please, how this system still is in place.