My Datelab is up

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

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!

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

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

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.

Sent to Gene

As Gene Weingarten mentioned Datelab...

Hello Gene-

For most of Datelab's young life, I had been in a relationship with a young lady, and we read the feature together, laughing at those poor souls going through the dates and the tell-all interviews afterwards. We always found it hilarious that nearly all of the men would inevitably rate the evening a "4 out of 5" and never call the woman again. Another routine outcome is the man saying "it was one of the best dates of my life" but..."there's no chemistry." I could never fathom this outcome - how can a date be so amazing, yet, so fruitless at the same time?

Or, there would be sudden, amazing meeting of two souls, as the column has produced at least two engagements. No couple matched by the Post ever seemed to just "date." It's all or nothing for Datelab.

This year, my relationship ended and I found myself reading Datelab in a new light. I decided to enter, and was surprised to be picked for a date. The Style editor Jennifer Hudson Neal arranged the time and place, but wouldn't give me any hints about the victim...I mean, date. I was curious, seeing as how some Datelabs have been nearly science experiments in incompatibility - "She's a 35 year old thrice-divorced mother of three from Kinhump, Kentucky; he's a 24 year old Hill staffer from Highbrow, Connecticut" - I wondered what my date's fatal flaw would be?

So, when we met at the appointed time and place, I was surprised to find the date witty, bold, intelligent. Pretty in a very natural, easy way. I liked her. My initial wave of relief that she wasn't my Worst Nightmare Incarnate was quite powerful. She confided that she'd had similar fears about me before our meeting, and was relieved as well that I was socially presentable. We weren't 100% matches, but I'm not one who's interested in dating a female carbon copy of myself. I like some differences; makes life interesting. Our conversation flowed easily, and once the wonderful dinner was over, we continued the date at a nearby bar. At the end of the evening, we agreed to go out again soon.

The next day, I did my post-date interview with the Post writer, and exclaimed about what a good time I'd had. I rated it a fantastic date. The writer confided that my date had expressed similar thoughts. Datelab had scored a victory.

Over the next few days, I spoke to the writer a few times. Basic follow-up questions mostly, but there were a few things about me that had bothered my date. As the writer and I spoke about these issues, I suddenly was struck by some of the things my date had said that night that would have usually waved a big fat WARNING! GET OUT! RUN! HIDE! flag in my face. Sparing details for the article, I'll say that they are issues that are part of a much-larger national debate that should never be mentioned on a first date, but somehow became part of the conversation. I wondered why I had ignored my usually-flawless warning system.

After a couple of days, I finally figured it out - Datelab really is an experiment, not a custom match-making system as some would believe. The goal of the column isn't to make every single Washingtonian happy on a soma-induced date, but to take a more accurate look the dating scene; to gain insight on the elusive beast of compatibility. Why do some folks seem to hit it off instantly? Why do others who look like perfect matches fail to spark?

Therefore, I ignored the huge, 800-pound gorilla flaws in our worldview and activities simply because I *wanted* to. I wanted us to be compatible, though our differing views on The Big Issues of the Day would be hard, if not impossible, to mesh. Still, that initial wave of relief, that thought of "hey, this person's not NEARLY as bad as you feared!" is a powerful narcotic. It affects us all on those semi-successful blind dates, either set up by friends, coworkers, the Internet, or even major international newspapers.

Maybe I just wanted the Post to have a happy story to report. Maybe I just wanted somebody to go out with again. Maybe I was just so grateful she wasn't Medusa.

In any event, I can now understand how a date can be wonderful...and lead nowhere.

I'm told my Datelab will run on May 27.

That didn't take long

Datelab partner emailed me, said she didn't think we'd be compatible. No second date here, either.

I was suspecting that too, but figured we got along well enough for a second date.

Oh well...good meal.

The historic Capitol Hill market and gathering place Eastern Market was severely damaged by fire early this morning. Nobody was injured, but all of the vendor space - the butcher, seafood, bread, snack shops - are all destroyed. At this point, the fire department and police are investigating the blaze as possible arson.

Here are links to coverage from the Post and Mark Fisher commentary. Here's a quick story and pictures from DCist.

While Mayor Adrian Fenty is vowing to repair the damage quickly, and Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton is requesting Federal dollars to help, the immediate question for the community is what will happen to the vendors and surrounding businesses who make a large portion of income from the foot traffic generated by the market? Where will they be placed? How quickly can they (or are they even willing) to rebuild? Mayor Fenty says he'll get them new spaces, which is admirable...and also eerily similar to what the City of Annapolis told the vendors of the historic Market House when that building was flooded by Hurricane Isabel in 2003. Much like Eastern Market, the City-owned Market House was mostly full of locally-owned tenants - a couple of sandwich shops, seafood, bakery, produce, pizza, cheeses - a favorite of locals and tourists alike, and the building practically dripped with history. It was the worst-kept secret that the Annapolis City Council and Mayor Ellen Moyer had offered up the Market House to high-end grocery store Dean and Deluca before the hurricane, and the subsequent flood damage merely heightened the rumors and animosity between the tenants and the Council. The existing tenants were still wringing out their flooded inventories when they were booted out by the City, many closing family businesses that had existed for decades.

After a long, drawn-out leasing battle with the Annapolis City Council and Mayor, Dean and Deluca pulled out. While no official explanation came from Dean and Deluca, it became a black eye for the City to have such historic, highly valuable real estate essentially vacant during the prime tourist season and annual boat shows.

It doesn't take an advanced degree in Urban Planning or Macroeconomic Theory to know that Eastern Market is sitting in a similar prime real estate area. Metro access, established neighborhood, nearby parking, mere steps to the Capitol - every chain in America itching to enter the D.C. market would want that. It will be Fenty and the City Council's job to heed the lessons learned from the bitter romance and divorce in Annapolis, that the well-heeled suitor is not always the best choice for marriage.

The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic vs. Fogo De Chao

Few phrases can evoke the body into unconscious acts, rendering us less human and more automaton, operating on pure emotion. Of these phrases, most invoke love and major life announcements. "Will you marry me?" "I'm pregnant." "All-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse."

I have done my best to avoid hearing two of those phrases and the accompanying emotional response, but "All-you-can-eat Brazilian steakhouse" spoke to my soul like a classic Spenserian sonnet or a well-edited blooper compilation on YouTube. I took the Five Paragraph Bitter Food Family to Fogo de Chao recently, reveling in the poetry that only fire-grilled meat can write.

After perusing a wine list specializing in South American malbecs, diners are given a disc, one side red and the other green. If you don't want any meat, keep the disk showing red. Flipping that disk to the green side gives the serving gauchos carte blanche to bring out scores of skewers of perfectly-charred meats to your table, and you're free to take as much or as little as you'd like, and at your desired level of doneness. Prime rib, various types of sirloins, bacon-wrapped filets, chicken, pork ribs, lamb chops, each bite perfectly seasoned and prepared. It's like Dr. Atkins' dream restaurant - all meat, all the time, with none of those pesky starches to get in the way.

That disk, with the red and green, reminded me of the Omni from the early `80s TV show Voyagers - the green side was good, red was bad. All that was missing was Jon-Erik Hexum as Phineas Bogg saying "Great job, kid!" The green side meant the meat kept coming, and like a lonely man in the presence of a beautiful woman, I couldn't say no. I started to revert to primal instincts. I couldn't pronounce polysyllabic words. The gauchos brought out pincanha, a salt-seasoned sirloin. I ate that with glee. Bacon-wrapped chicken medallions. I pointed and grunted in approval. Alcatra, another form or sirloin? I am told by my mother than I actually drooled. Linguica, a type of sausage - by that point in the evening, things were becoming cloudy, fuzzy. I must have blacked out. I vaguely remember somebody at the table offering me a bite of cheesecake, and somebody shoving a piece delicious key lime pie in my mouth while I looked at the skewer of beef ribs like Mark Foley at a Congressional Page.

The veritable orgy of meats does not diminish the surprisingly good salad bar, featuring not only the usual lettuce and carrot mixes, but a mix of local and South American vegetables, peppers , chilies and dressings. The salad bar also has more meat, thinly sliced prosciutto and smoked salmon served cold, as though you didn't get enough dead animal already. Once I awoke from my food coma, I found the desserts were efficient and tasty, and the coffee - usually a weak spot in many restaurants - was incredibly delicious. I can't imagine eating there too often; it's easily 70 dollars or more per person for dinner between drinks, the meal, dessert and DC tax, while lunch is about half that. But, somewhere in that Big Diet Book in the Sky, Dr. Atkins is looking down, smiling at Fogo de Chao.

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Fogo De Chao earned 19 out of 20 possible Whammies! One Whammy! for each type of meat served (14 that day), one Whammy! for the coffee, two Whammies! for the salad bar that didn't suck, one Whammy! for the extensive wine list, one Whammy! for the Key Lime Pie, one Whammy! for the incredibly gracious service. One Whammy was not earned for them not allowing me to live there. I promised I'd be clean. Stupid health department.
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The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic Falls Off The Wagon

The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic has been hitting the gym almost as hard as Presidential candidates are hitting the campaign trail. The past few weeks have been spent eating healthier foods, avoiding sweets, riding my bike to work, and getting to the weight room more often than I went to the buffet. The result? As of April 23rd, I weighed less than 200 pounds for the first time since moving back to Washington in mid-2005. Heart rate's lower, blood pressure's good, and only 10 more pounds to go before I'm back to "normal." I celebrated this wonderful occasion not with more sit-ups and cardio, but by eating an ungodly amount of sumptuous, decadent tortellini at La Perla, a gem nestled between Pennsylvania Avenue and the Rock Creek Parkway near Georgetown.

This was for a good reason - the fine folks of the Washington Post's Datelab series set me up on blind date at La Perla. While I won't spoil the surprise of the details of the date (check www.washingtonpost.com or buy the Sunday papers), I will gladly dish about the restaurant. Pictures of famous guests to the restaurant line the entrance, surrounding a formal document from Pope John Paul II. The dessert case then casts an enticing glare, chock full of pastry, tortes and cheesecakes. This sugar-laden minx rests in front of a wall of wine bottles, surrounded by flowers, Italian artifacts and plaster carvings, while a replication of Botticelli's Birth of Venus stands guard over the dining room.

I had been warned that the portions at La Perla were generous, and that leaving hungry would not be an option. Chef and owner Vittorio Testa did not disappoint - my plate of tortellini alla panna was full of delicious meat-stuffed shells covered in a glorious marscapone cream sauce, and my fellow Datelabber's Piatto Di Mastro Geppetto was a massive cornucopia of shellfish served over linguine. Every mussel, clam, scallop and shrimp at the Waterfront fish markets had been kidnapped and held for ransom on her plate. This dish will taste even better later this year as more fresh sea scallops are shipped down from the New England waters. Still, that tortellini was star of the show; each bite a reminder of why I love Italian cuisine. If I ever become the male Oprah, this dish gets prime billing on my "Favorite Things" list, somewhere between TiVo and world peace.

They brought out a slice of tiramisu with some lemonchello liqueur for us to share. Now, the restaurant knew who we were and who we were representing, so it is possible that's why we received special treatment. But while good service can be faked, a genuine spirit of hospitality can't. The server, the maitre'd, bus staff, even Chef Testa himself made sure we were welcome guests, and none of that felt like it was an act to get good press (and I doubt they knew I was a humble food blogger, either).

So, La Perla has earned a future visit from me. This meal was every bit as good as my usual standard for Italian in D.C., Al Tiramisu, and though Al Tiramisu's cozy interior could be considered more romantic, it's a fine line between "intimate" and "cramped." There's something to be said for elbow room. Palena is still my favorite Italian dining experience in the city, but these are not comparable restaurants. Chef Ruta's adventurous dishes at Palena win you over using non-traditional ingredients and inventive presentation whereas Chef Testa's La Perla is more of a classical spot that honors traditional fare and hospitality.

La Perla
2600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.
Washington, DC 20037
202-333-1767.
Valet service available

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La Perla earned 6 Whammies! out of a potential 7 Whammies!, the only deduction coming from the just-ever-so-slightly too salty sea scallops, which will quickly not be an issue later in the seafood season, and that they wouldn't let me swim in that marscapone cream sauce. Something about health code standards and sanitation. Hmph.
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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.

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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.
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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.