April 29, 2005

Decisions, decisions

This afternoon, I can do one of two things:

- Take a risk with the potential rain and MARC it up to Baltimore for the promise of free beer and perhaps a trip to Normal's for some cheap vinyl. The beer is part of an outdoor event that could get rained out, so I run the risk of spending 2 hours on a train (roundtrip) for some dusty records and possibly a meatball sub.

- Stay in D.C., maybe do happy hour somewhere, save the train fare and spend it on beer. Perhaps I don't need any more old $3 records of music I already have on my computer, at least until my next paycheck.

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April 28, 2005

Judy free (and loving it)

FishbowlDC reports that Judy Woodruff, who has been ruining CNN's political coverage with her inane one-hand-other-hand perspective for years, is retiring from her post.

However, while Judy's wishywashyness and the ease with which partisan spinners could knock her around are a symbol of why CNN is not much better than Fox News, I am not looking forward to her replacement. After all, who's next? There's pop-politics maven Carlos Watson, who cares more about what people think than the truth. Anderson Cooper could be bumped up, but I like his show as it is right now, right down to the music they play before and after commercials. Aaron Brown is better suited for late-night, long-format discussions. Candy Crowley? Puh-leeze. That woman will be chasing around campaign caravans and lobbing softies to spokesmen until the end of time. Also, ixnay on the oledadSay, obbsDay, affertyCay and the rest of the losers that scrape by only because MSNBC is even worse.

Get some new blood. Or perhaps send Leon Harris a fruit basket.

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Six-year plan

How sketchy is this? I'm thinking that this is the book the LaRouchies think will make Lyndon a shoo-in for the 2012 elections.

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April 27, 2005

Link of the day

N.M. on our Seder Related Program Activities last weekend.

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April 26, 2005

In which I celebrate my Mexican heritage

cincodemayocolor.jpg

You see, a second cousin once owned a sombrero, so I am therefore qualified to DJ a Cinco de Mayo party.

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SOB of the Week

I see this jerk's car parked around my neighborhood all the time and yesterday was the first time I had the presence of mind to take a picture of his tags:

tape.jpg

Electrical tape over the "taxation without representation" slogan? Is he in favor of it as a general concept, or does he just want to deny voting rights to people who will likely vote for people he doesn't like? Only the most insecure and pathetic losers run away with the ball when they think they'll lose the game.

What's even worse is that if you hate voting so much, you can get tags with D.C.'s surprisingly useful website along the bottom instead of the slogan. That's what Bush did with his motorcade.

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April 25, 2005

Stand to the right. Other than that, do what you like

I got an email this morning from Scott, who is sitting in as guest editor for Gawker's Gridskipper travel site, asking me to ask y'all what visitors should do in D.C.

He already posted what would be my first recommendation: Ben's Chili Bowl on U Street.

But instead of focusing on what tourists should do, let's take a minute to think about what they shouldn't:

- Of course, stand to the right side on Metro escalators. This isn't just for the benefit of walkers, since you could quite easily get bowled over by a distracted hill rat as he furiously blackberrys while switching to the Orange Line at Metro Center.

- Dress like you belong. If you were touring Saudi Arabia, would you wear a bikini and pleated shorts from J.C. Penny? While we may not have a specialized police force to beat you if you don't follow the dress code like those wacky Saudis, it's still very bad form to show up for a tour from your Senator's office wearing fanny packs and matching American flag windbreakers.

- Don't buy t-shirts, sweatshirts, caps or anything else emblazoned with the FBI logo. Why are FBI products such hot sellers for street vendors? They don't even look like the official gear, nor do they have absolutely hilarious puns, such as "female body inspector" like you'd find at a beach-side junk merchant. And if you absolutely must have one, don't wear it while you're still here. We know you've visited D.C. In fact, you're visiting at this very moment and we're still not impressed by the initiative it took to get you and your six ill-behaved obese children into the Excursion for the long drive from Ohio.

- Our Mall is not like your mall. Once, I saw a bus driver explain this to some backpackers who were looking to shop for clothes. An honest mistake, provided you just landed on the redeye from Pyongyang with nothing but the clothes on your back and a Fodors' guidebook from 1767.

- School group planners: Take an early or late lunch at Union Station. Real people who work in the area eat at the food court and the normal traffic combined with 200 screaming tweens in matching t-shirts make for some serious capacity issues. Yes, the bourbon chicken is indeed "yummy yummy," but you have the schedule flexibility to go a little earlier or later, guaranteeing your kids a seat and saving everyone else a headache.

Warnings aside, where do you advise tourists to visit/stay/eat?

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Pop culture catch up

Reviews of stuff I've been listening to/watching.

Of Montreal, The Sunlandic Twins: This band has the best vocabulary in rock. Sanguinary? Somnolent? This is the sort of pseudo-electronic poppy indie-rock that your 11th grade English teacher can get behind. While it isn't as good song-for-song as Satanic Panic in the Attic, "Requiem for O.M.M. 2," "Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games)," "The Party's Crashing Us" and "Oslo in the Summertime" are standout tracks on this more ethereal, Postal Service-y effort from this surprisingly non-Canadian band.

Maximo Park, A Certain Trigger: Wow, that was a short turnaround for the Futureheads' second LP. Soundalike bands are supposed to be a bad thing, but as the last bluestate setlist shows, we certainly don't mind when we like the original sound. Yeah, the lead singer sounds a little less like Paul Weller and they've tossed in a little more synth, it's more or less the same thing. Pop it in and bop around your room, nobody's looking.

Season 2 of The Wire: A year later, and Baltimore is still corrupt, flooded with drugs and plagued by violence over the black market trade. Big surprise. What is surprising is how much the second season of this HBO series depends on having seen the first. The investigative team, their beefs, the favors they owe and their traction within the department, even some of the drug dealers carry over to this year. It's a different case, but it's intricate, multi-faceted and potentially earth-shaking just like last time. One wonders if the writers would have had so much leeway to continue storylines if viewers couldn't catch up on the plotlines with the DVDs. On the other hand, one also wonders if the story relies on so many unresolved plotlines simply to boost rentals. But I'm not that cynical.

Finding out that Malcolm McLaren and Little Richard are Jewish at Passover seder: Priceless.

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April 21, 2005

My parade of woes

Today was supposed to be a vacation day for a series of appointments and errands that I had been putting off, but now it's just a sick day, so that's why I haven't posted.

Specifically, I can't clearly see the screen since my first appointment of the day was with the eye doctor to see if my eyes are any worse after a year in front of a computer screen. My seasonal allergies are so bad right now that when she got her first good look at my eyes, she visibly shuddered.

Dialated like a raver at 4 a.m., I shuffled back home, eyes open only a bit, staring at the ground.

My pupils are still huge and I finally get my allergy meds in a couple of hours. Plans to get a slow leak in my front-left tire fixed have been cancelled due to a lack of vision.

So toss around a frisbee for me or something.

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April 20, 2005

LOW IRN

(I'm at work, don't have software to rotate the image)
eatsoy.jpg

I found this on a beat-up old Honda on N St. NW the other day. Shoulda been on a Hummer, if only for the sake of cognative dissonance.

Favorite neighborhood vanity plates:

TOONCES: As in the "driving cat, the cat who could drive a car." If you watched early '90s SNL reruns like I did, you wouldn't want to be behind this car.

DUBYA: Yeah, someone pasted Kerry stickers all over his tags around the time of the election -- bad form, but expected around these parts. I sure hope his name isn't "Paul Dubya" or somesuch.

IM OUT RU: How sad/hilarious would it be if he came out to his family by driving up to their house with these plates? If that actually worked, I should roll up to Thanksgiving with "SOBROKE" on the front bumper.

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Synergy

floyd.jpg

So dude... I heard that if you play Agriculture Secretary Mike Johanns' speech on the new dietary guidelines while watching The Wizard of Oz, it, like, totally syncs up.

Whoa.

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April 19, 2005

Stop the Tour de Motorola

I'm saddled with a great deal of liberal guilt, as you might have guessed. I hate complaining about drivers on cell phones one day and then taking an emergency call (I swear, I don't make a habit of it) in my car 24 hours later. Sometimes, you can't find the handsfree device or a place to pull over and you can't just let it go to voicemail. I know, I suck.

But what could be worse than talking on your phone while driving? I can't believe I even have to write this: doing so on your bike.

I feel bad writing about bikers on cell phones because I think the city should do more to promote bicycling for commuting and recreation and really ought to fix the potholed streets, which are bad for car suspensions but far, far worse for bikes. But seriously, if a cell phone is so distracting when driving up New York Avenue going 5 mph, doing so while maintaining your balance can't be better, emissions or not.

For your own good, biker-talkers, pull over and have your conversation with both feet on the ground. There is no amount of liberal guilt that will stop me from getting pissed off and honking the horn of my Imperialist Capitalist Earth-Destroying Scum Car until you stop talking and start pedaling.

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April 18, 2005

I think I know who this woman is

A story of pick-up lines, flattery and Jeff with his fancy digital camera, all set to the backdrop of Saturday's bluestate.

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Ouch!

Why am I wincing in pain? Because Wonkette has bitten our steez and now I think I need a tetanus shot.

Well, I guess this means that we're more influential than Flava Flav and Jeff Gannon (possibly combined). But you knew that. Of course, we in turn ripped off the New York Press, which allegedly took the idea from yet somewhere else. Perhaps we all have an important role to play in this wonderful circle of life.

Or, alternately, Wonketteers have just proven to be as lazy as we said they were.

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Hell yes!

If you missed Bluestate on Saturday, you missed quite an evening (photos, setlist). We had dancing, networking, free stuff and Chuck's seriously strong drinks. Among the honored guests.

- Mr. and Mrs. DCeiver and friends;
- Team DCist;
- The mysterious Zunta tribe of northwest Washington;
- The Megadork competitive dance team;
- Jeff of C-130, fresh out of the ICU;
- Michael of da 'loop
- Various and sundry füd dudes and dudettes, including W.R.C., who proved that it is possible to skank to anything;
- Chris, who came straight from RFK;
- and Kanishka, a bluestate regular.

Many thanks to all who came, link or not.

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April 16, 2005

Vandalism is bad, mmkay?

linchmob.jpg

And if you do it, check the spelling first.

(FYI, that partially-obscured first letter is an "L")

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April 15, 2005

Loathsomeness personified

I'll be the first to admit that some of the posts on this blog are pretty thin. After all, I have two jobs and a social life that occasionally goes flat for a few days. But there are some post ideas that are so lame and so half-formed that I delete them before they ever reach any of the Internets. Going Out Guru Janet, a loathsome lady whom DCeiver disliked before I ever bothered to notice her maximum suckitude, would have been better off tossing this post:


"Maybe it's just me, but I have spent the last two weekends in search of shoes and have found the selection and quality sorely lacking. I covered a lot of territory, including DSW, Nine West, Kenneth Cole, Coach, Cole Haan, Hecht's and Nordstrom. (The last stop was particularly disappointing because the Seattle-based chain started out in the shoe biz and normally gets kudos for its huge selection of styles and prices.) I also find it practically impossible to find narrow shoes, and when I ask salespeople about it, they look at me as if I'm from Mars. Anybody else having a hard time?"

That's the whole thing. Janet can't find shoes she likes in her size and instead of doing a little research, like, you know, a Washington Post employee is paid to do, she issues a bleg to all narrow-footed women anywhere. Now, I'm not above asking for advice (although I do so sparingly and only as a last resort), but I'll stop as soon as I get a regular check.

So Janet, next time you think about posting, ask yourself this question: "Would I put up with giant animated ads for Vonage to read this?"

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Self-promotion week draws to a close

...But not before Bluestate gets in Citypaper and Express.

It is entirely possible that we too are becoming loathsome and don't even know it.

Naah, we're giving away loads of free stuff to the loathsome and lovely alike and won't get all defensive when gently chided.

UPDATE: A special gift for anyone on the list who comes to Bluestate tomorrow. That means you, too, Fenty.

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April 14, 2005

Everybody likes free stuff

Thanks to Bluestate, you can stop complaining about how D.C. compares to New York City and actually go there, if only for a weekend. We've got a contest with Verve (the label, not the pipe) for a free weekend in the Big Apple and tickets to see Brazilian Girls.

And just in case you don't win, come to the Black Cat this Saturday night for your favorite LES-Billyburg hipster trash dance music mixed lovingly with britpop, mashups, covers et al.

(Please commence comment wars on the relative merits of both cities and how, by dissing Washington, I am a snobby elitist.)

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Sorry to rain on your home opener

The Baltimore Sun's Dan Rodricks on the Nats' future:

"Imagine late summer, 2010. Imagine 95 degrees and 98 percent humidity along the fetid Anacostia, and the Nationals' record is 41-88, and the scheduled starting pitcher has an ERA of 11.78. How many D.C. lobbyists and lawyers are going to be letting their starched shirts wilt in the box seats then?

Peace, out. "

See, that's why we need to raid the municipal treasury for another $500 billion for a retractable-roof stadium and exotic-looking women to rhythmically wave palm fronds to cool season ticket holders. </sarcasm>

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April 13, 2005

Lawmaking, Idaho style

Provisions from the Best Resolution Ever:

WHEREAS, the "Happy Hands" club and the requirement that candidates for school president present a skit is an example of the importance of theater arts in K-12 education; and

WHEREAS, Pedro's efforts to bake a cake for Summer illustrate the positive connection between culinary skills to lifelong relationships; and

WHEREAS, Kip's relationship with LaFawnduh is a tribute to e-commerce and Idaho's technology-driven industry;

You shouldn't be surprised that this legislation won bipartisan support.

Hat tip: Chris.

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We're the bigger than the pope!

From my neighbor:

"Wonkette was on Imus this morning and said she was all proud to have made the most loathsome list, pointing out that the creators were most annoyed with her for not doing much work. They discussed for several minutes…I was super-proud ;-)"

Find me a tape and I'll buy you a beer.

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World's Worst Comebacks

Emerging from the Metro this morning, a LaRouchie shoved a flyer in my face and as usual, I gave her the usual response I give to LaRouchies: "Go get a deprogrammer." This isn't bad advice, since sticking around in the Cult of Lyndon can get you killed. Usually, the offended propagandist tells me to have a nice day or calls me a tool of Dick Cheney's satanic cabal or some such, but this brainwashed chick had something else in mind.

"Get a deprogrammer?" she said, after I had already passed. I don't break my stride to interact with these people.

"Get a deprogrammer?" Once more, to buy time. By now, I'm a good 20 feet away.

"Well maybe you should get a VCR repairman!" What?

At least the Moonies can pop back with a good "yo mama" joke most of the time.

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April 12, 2005

Not letting it get to my head

In my inbox, a letter from my girlfriend, who is working in Florida at the moment:

"Congratulations on your newfound popularity. Will I now have to come home to beat the bitches back?"

Current tally:
Complaints: 72
Bitches: 0

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The aftermath

It's just my luck to be jumping around town and away from the internet when this site gets more hits in two days then in any one month. It wasn't when I ran into the Smorgasblog sysadmin at a coffee shop last night that I understood the scope of the site traffic to the loathsome list. "You're on TotalFark," he said.

Well, I'd like to list and individually thank to everyone who linked to our petty little list, but there are too many links to fetch and I have to be on my way once more. I would have more to say as a blogger on a suddenly high-traffic site, but I'm a tad busy at the moment. That being said, come see me DJ at bluestate at the Black Cat on Saturday.

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April 10, 2005

Washington's Most Loathsome

As I worked on completing this long-promised list last night, I started having second thoughts. Defacing pictures of the power elite and various pretenders as if they were ads on the side of a bus, I wondered whether I should be contributing to the cheap and nasty discourse that makes many people wary of political participation.

The devil on my shoulder would not stand for self-doubt in these matters.

"Peter Angelos is a pretty big prick," he said. And I was sold.

Written by DCeiver and I and inspired by the 50 Most Loathsome New Yorkers list in the New York Press, below are 28 people whose unbridled ego rubs off everywhere in Washington, from the grandstanding backbencher in Congress to the 25-year-old in a striped shirt who simply cannot understand why someone would have the nerve to brush up against him at the Brass Monkey. While many Washingtonians at all levels of the income and career spectrum try to live their life with humility, patience and graciousness, the jerks demand attention. So now they have ours.

Update: A few minor errors fixed.

malkin.jpg28. Michelle Malkin: She's oppressed by the mainstream media, college professors and liberal bloggers who don't like her attitude and politics. Her people (vein-popping righty mouth-breathers) are worried that they're all going to be killed by terrorist immigrants or replaced by Mexican pundits who earn a tenth of their salary. Last year, she wrote a book promoting an internment of unpopular minority groups that was quickly ripped to shreds (start with link and scroll up). It's hard to be Michelle Malkin.

A charter member in the Order of the Perpetually Oppressed (David Horowitz, treasurer), Malkin has the entire federal government and the governments of most states on her side, yet she's still horribly, horribly mistreated and threatened by the remaining liberal boogeymen. What would make you happy, poor thing? Some of us would be glad to send you, Horowitz, Hannity, Limbaugh, Hewitt et. al. to your own private island where you can put up big fences to keep any and all people and opposing ideas from your sodomy-free low-tax wonderland.


27. Courtney Totushek: If you've ever been unfortunate enough to endure a Totushek-hosted open mic at Arlington's semi-venerable Dr. Dremo's, you'll know what we're talking about.Totushek monopolizes the top of the hour, stumbling through songs she can't sing, hasn't finished, and can't remember the words to, all the while braying and gabbing with her little clique of googy-eyed yes men, dishing in-jokes and snarking as if the collected audience were hanging on every word. When she finally relinquishes the stage -- handing herself at least twice the time she gives everyone else -- she refuses to fade into the background, instead standing in view down at the foot of the stage, back to the ensuing performers, continuing whatever insipid, howling conversation she occupied her stage time having. She's an utter boor.If you're really unfortunate, you might also catch her around town as the frontwoman for Rotoscope, who bill themselves as sounding like Coldplay, though it's more like a Coldplay that's been in a harrowing highway collision.

26. Sen. John Cornyn (R-Texas): From the "Late Addition" stack. Cornyn was a complete nobody, and might have remained so, if he hadn't taken the floor this past week and rationalized the actions of an Atlanta area rapist who went on a killing spree last month in a courthouse as the actions of a man frustrated by judicial activism. And you thought that Islamofascists were spooky!

cutler.jpg 25. Jessica Cutler: Is she even in Washington anymore, or does she aspire to be an even smaller piece of floating pond scum in a bigger, sluttier pond? Someone should have told her that if she had kept her dalliances on the DL for just a little longer, she could have been sitting in one of those padded OEOB briefing room chairs like Jeff Gannon instead of getting demeaned in a Meatpacking District bathroom stall.


 


 


24. Violent Go-Go Fans: DC's major contribution to the R&B genre is go-go, and there's no denying it's appeal--non-stop party energy, propulsive rhythms that cradle the booty, and charismatic musicians personalities fill the rooms. So why does this infectious music hardly ever get outside the city boundaries? Because it's hardcore fans can't seem to stop killing one another! With a truckload of bad press and a bevy of venues either shuttered or constantly on the edge of being locked down by neighbors who are sick to death of the violence, it's a despairing inner city cliche. The actions of these few keep go-go's musicians in an industry ghetto while Beyonce Knowles ride their style to the top of the charts. At least Jenna Bush still appreciates a little E.U. now and then.


23. WaPo columnist and mole-man Charles Krauthammer: Like Sen. Frist violating nearly every AMA bylaw when diagnosing Terry Schaivo by videotape, K-Ham relishes in abusing his psychiatry credentials, finding ways to artfully insinuate that you have to be insane to be a Democrat running for office. His abuse of barely-remembered terms from his shrink days is supplemented by the usual neocon chickenhawkishness that got us into this mess with so few troops in the first place.

Remember this whopper from 2002?:

"If we win the war, we are in control of Iraq, it is the single largest source of oil in the world, it's got huge reserves, which have been suppressed because of Iraq's actions, and Saddam's. We will have a bonanza, a financial one, at the other end, if the war is successful."

Yeah, that Iraqi oil money was awesome. Thanks for the free health care, 77 cent a gallon gas and free law school tuition, Iraq!

22. Going Out Gurus Blogger Janet: In a posse with as little to say as the Going Out Gurus,
Janet's ability to produce content is limited to her dubious knowledge of outrageously expensive bourgeois bullshit. Fashion victims aren't really the sort of people who take their cues from bloggers, but Janet doesn't really have the imagination to understand that, and the only thing she seems to have learned about writing is that you are supposed to write what you know -- and what Janet knows best is being a label whore. She makes Plum Sykes look like Don DeLillo, so bad that in the past week, the only mention of her on the GogBlog was another Gogger dissing her. And how pathetic is that?

21. James F. of Why I Hate D.C.: Why do you hate D.C., James? Does that skyline that peeks above the Pentagon as the 395 rounds a corner make you shudder with hate to the point that you turn off to the G.W. Parkway at the last minute rather than actually making it all the way to 14th Street?

This guy obsesses about the murder rate, but spends his time in soulless NoVa, where he bitches about how there's nothing to do. Sure, he'll visit every now and then, picking out the worst places to go and bitching about them, but I won't likely him and his dumbass SuperSonics jacket loading up a U-Haul for Manhattan. It just goes to show that boredom is life-affirming for the miserable but snooty.


mackaye.jpg20. Ian MacKaye of Minor Threat, Fugazi, Pailhead, Embrace and The Evens etc.: The D.C. punk/emo scene isn't nearly as big as you think, thanks to MacKaye's relentless bulking-up of Dischord's back catalog. His latest effort has been described nearly everywhere as painfully monotonous, but because it's Ian f*cking MacKaye, formerly of Fugazi and Minor f*cking Threat, it gets a grudging respect. Out-of-town reviewers often talk about how D.C. punk draws from the city's political energy, but I don't think they mean the concept of seniority. Think of MacKaye as the Strom Thurmond of Dischord: Well past his prime, but he's stuck around so long that they let him hold the gavel now and then.


 


19. Borf: What began as a curiosity inducing spree of creatively placed tags has lapsed into numbing ubiquity as the grafitti artist known as Borf, after claiming his place in the local zeitgeist with eye-catching stencils and sundry feats of derring-do, has devolved into something annoying and ennui-producing. Even worse are the haters in his wake who bite his steez everywhere and only remind the viewer of how he's worn out his welcome. So played out that we fully expect to see "Borf loves the new tender crisp bacon cheddar ranch from Burger King" scrawled on the Whitehurst Freeway any day now.

novak.jpg18. Robert Novak: When Jon Stewart calls Novak a "douchebag of liberty," he's being kind. Novak is fright--he's a gargolyle that looks like he's been made of cheese and left out in the sun for a week. Utterly mendacious and thoroughly meretricious, this walking sack of shit is the type of person you cross the street into oncoming traffic to avoid. When he walks over your shadow, you lose a piece of your soul. It figures that when Karl Rove needed someone nominally involved in the press to commit treason and sell out one of our nation's spies, Novak was first in line and dancing for the chance. Novak's no journalist, he's a dirty bag man without the brainwaves to create anything original on his own. In fact, the only difference between he and Terri Schiavo's corpse is that the corpse was beloved.


17. Restaurateur Jeff Tunks: Have you ever wondered why downtown eating sucks so much? Blame Jeffy, owner/partner of the fusion trifecta of Ceiba, TenPenh and DC Coast. Each of these joints are one carefully-planned degree from the traditional Washington power steakhouse, calibrated for expense-account lawyers and lobbyists to have a good meal at a posh setting without having to deal with any of those scary New York/LA restaurant trends (sitting on the floor, raw food, Lindsay Lohan puking in your soup, etc.). So take your Malpeque oysters and your cr*p on a stick (sorry, skewers) -- I'll be at Ben's.

16. Carol Thompson, former Riggs Bank executive: I held a Riggs bank account for about three months a few years back, and they didn't waste any opportunity to charge me an extra fee for something or other, whether it was seeing a teller in person or not smiling as I entered their (admittedly very nice) Columbia Road branch. While that's par for the course in modern banking, the slow $1 or $2 drip-drip-drip from my painfully-small waiters' pay to their pockets is even more insulting now that we know Riggs is a bank for dictators the world over. The loathsome Thompson cheerily spirited away millions for Chilean strongman Augusto Pinochet. So next time a Riggs ATM asks you for $2 to get to your money, you can let them have it with the knowledge that it's paying the fines for what Nixon, Kissinger and the University of Chicago economics department hath wrought.

15. Cleveland Park Men's Club: Like a sad-sack version of Kelly Ann Collins posse, The Cleveland Park Men's Club are the type of people who keep dated dreck like Defending the Caveman coming back for return engagements. Using some alternaweird reading of history to mask their mincing fright of labias, the Cleveland Park Men's Club assert that essential maleness was the key ingredient to the whole of civilization. It doesn't exactly explain why these essential males have thus far given civilization nothing more than a blog, and I scoff at the idea that I'm supposed to be impressed with the fact that they can fix a sink trap (it's called take your forty bucks and don't stink up my house, there, son). And, just as a quick aside, fellas, if you aren't Cambridge-educated, using the antiquated word "whilst" makes you look like a bit of a ponce. Far from building a case for the primacy of the testicle-enabled, the See Pee Emcees don't quite grasp that their social Darwinist argument has long ago blownback on their ilk, and that their natterings make them look like a recent entry in the Culture of Victimhood. "Queen For A Day" was cancelled a long time ago, boys. Save your money and buy your own damn dishwasher.

14. Ketchum Public Relations: When the Armstrong Williams story broke this year and I heard that there was a PR firm somewhere mixed up in the middle of all the graft and corruption, I nailed it on the first guess. Ketchum. If you've ever read anything by PR Watch, you recognize the name. When it comes to selling toxic waste sauce to go on ADM's genetically enhanced bovine spongiburgers, no one's more willing to sell your poison than these bastards. They are so rotten to the core that when Erin Brockovich offers them the glass of hexavalent chromium they knock it back and ask for more. Says one colleague who works at Ketchum, "Yep. We're fucking evil." She's asked to remain anonymous, obviously, because she knows her boss would impregnate her with Rosemary's Baby if she were ever caught dishing on them.


13. Rep. Ernest Istook (R-Okla.): Since I announced the creation of this list, people have told me that I have a very, very long list of people in Congress from which to draw, assuming that they count as Washingtonians. While the vast majority of Congresspeople don't care much for the District and jet to fundraisers back home as soon as possible, the metro area has drawn the attention of this guy, so he will stand in as pure concentrated liquid douchebaggery for the rest of the asshats in Congress who think we're too dumb to vote.

You may recall that it was Istook who tried to block funding any transit agency (such as WMATA) that runs ads from groups seeking to change drug laws. It was such a naked violation of the constitution that even the speaking-in-tongues Ashcroft Justice Department said it didn't have a leg to stand on. Just like a shy flower waiting for a chance to bloom... getting accosted by Black Israelites on the way out of the Metro Center Station, sometimes attention isn't a good thing.

Michael.jpg12. George Michael: Local sportscaster George Michael oozes such charmless homerism and braying witlessness that it almost makes you want to pick against the home team. Michael likes to appear tough-minded on the set of his wisely-relegated-to-the-wee-hours Full Court Press, but it doesn't take intense study to see that Michael doesn't really know much about sports. His points are routinely lacking in intelligence and he is frequently reduced to mindless carping at his assembled guests -- when he's not alternatively blowing smoke up their ass instead. His "Sports Machine" program was dated a decade ago, and looks so chintzy that it makes you wonder if he stole the Sports Machine set off the third-season Doctor Who backlot at BBC.


11. Carolyn Hax, Washington Post advice columnist: Are there any among the lovelorn who aren’t sorry after they’ve taken their plight to this Fen-Phenned harridan of hackery? Operating from the position that there’s no better medicine than woefully uncalled for ridicule, she generously peppers her advice with belittling barbs. It might yet be amusing if she wasn’t recycling the same old put downs week in and week out, but she’s too damn dim to notice she’s about eight short of playing the dozens. Of course, her own marriage was no great shakes, though to her credit, once she managed to break her ex-husband illustrator, he stayed broken. Still, it’s impossible to see her column as anything other than the bitter remodeling of her own glass house.


10. An anthropomorphic representation of Safeway: For years, the worst inner-city neighborhoods have been plagued by bad supermarkets where poorer consumers spend more money on a smaller variety of less-healthy food. That is, if they had a supermarket at all. Even in rich neighborhoods, urban supermarkets were dirty and badly-stocked. Now that we have Whole Foods and are expecting Trader Joe's and Harris Teeter, gentrifiers no longer have to worry about purchasing spoiled milk or brown broccoli. But in a way, it's nice to know that D.C. Safeways (as compared to the very nice Montgomery County stores) are still operating at the same low quality as always so we can be reminded that even when there is profit to be made, some companies will always write off urban and minority consumers as willing to accept whatever they can get.

9. Peggy Cooper Cafritz: DC's Public Schools are, by most measures, a complete and utter shambles, this despite the fact that nobody tosses more hard currency into the education maw than Washington. There's no one solution, and there's no one problem. But if I had my druthers, DC Board of Education President Peggy Cooper Cafritz would have walked the plank years
ago.Cafritz's ambitions do not lie in the betterment of area schools -- her ambitions are an end in themselves. She's far more concerned with internecine spitball fights and territorial pissing matches -- that's her life's work. I doubt there's anything even related to school improvement on her to-do list, considering the time she spends keeping watch over her petty fiefdom. And woe betide you if cross her, as DCPS transportation administrator David Gilmore recently discovered. Ordered by the courts to relieve the school system's busing dysfunction, Gilmore requested additional budget dollars to implement a system that would meet court guidelines, only to get stonewalled by Cafritz because, well, there is no "because" other than the fact that she saw it as an encroachment. So the court's guidelines won't be met and, as usual, the students get screwed, and Cafritz goes right on knowing nothing about the school system under her purview other than the places where she puddles her urine.

angelos.jpg8. Peter Angelos, owner, Baltimore Orioles: While Peter thankfully remains a safe distance away from DC, his loathsomeness is so voluminous that its daily oozings down the BW Parkway leave most Washingtonians envious of people who get to live near Muqtada Al-Sadr. Angelos has been as resolute in his determination to field one of the most mediocre products Major League Baseball has to offer as he has been idiotic in paying out the ass for his third-rate personnel. But what really makes him despicable is the petulant way he’s done everything possible to force DC to satisfy his whims, whether it’s been the lone braying loudmouth to stand against Washington’s franchise hopes or the mewling way he insisted he owned the television rights for the entire mid-Atlantic. Now stocked with declining bat-corker Sammy Sosa, look for the Orioles to wrap up the meaningful part of their season before the All-Star Break. Yet again.

7. DC101's Eliot in the Morning: The demise of WHFS has shown modern rock to be a fragile medium in this media market. That's why it's such a shame that the one remaining station decides fill its airtime with idiots like Elliot. This whiny-sounding jerk with an annoying laugh is a case study in how not to do the rock format. HFS started sucking some years ago when it started narrowcasting to angsty suburban teens and abandoning college students and others who enjoyed variety and exposure to new music. By playing Linkin Park 27 times a day and ceding the morning commute by running Elliot's dog-and-pony show, the former home of Howard Stern should be all-Hindi news and talk by years' end.


6. Sahir Erozan (owner; Cities. Leftbank): Erozan presided over the culinary train-wreck that was Cities, a restaurant with a singularly retarded gimmick -- that every so often, it would refashion itself after another city somewhere in the world. This thematic schizophrenia naturally resulted in half-assed food at stratospheric prices. By the time you made your way through a badly-burned unrecognizable piece of meat or flavorless soup, you knew that the joke was on you. The blight that was Cities has been replaced by the ungodly Leftbank, of which one look inside at it's severe and charmless decor tells you straight away that it's ground zero for Eurotrash pricks and the cumdumpsters who love them. Plus, apparently, they've got some inelegant racists on staff -- one Tryst bartender, and African-American, who wandered in to wish the rechristened Leftbankers some friendly luck was treated as if he were a walking leper colony by a maitre d' who snapped at him whenever it looked like he might breathe on a
piece of furniture or talk to someone. There is a quiet yet persistent rumor in Adams Morgan that Leftbank may be soon to shutter. We fervently hope this is true.


eidenger.jpg 5. Adam Eidinger, candidate-for-life, poli-sci dilettante: Why work at winning friends and influencing people when it’s so much easier to act a fool? While DC residents wait for their richly deserved Constitutional rights, they can stare at the antics of Adam Eidinger, strutting and fretting his way across the public stage with all the tact of a doughy Napoleon Dynamite. There’s no reasoned position that Adam can’t turn into some surreal non-sequitur, like his obtuse Chinese dragon pyromania in Manhattan or his sore-loser bum rush of the Washington Nationals celebration, where the pudgy Green party wunderkind nearly got his ass beat by man in grandpa diapers. If Eidinger has been a part of the original no taxation without representation crew, we’d be a nation of Tories to this day.


 

4. Washington Examimer Publisher Philip Anshutz: We're not about to begrudge anyone for providing us with something new to read, even if its op-eds are a dumbed-down version of the already fairly dumb Wall Street Journal op-ed page. If there is room for the Moonies in the city's newspaper racks, there is room for another view. But where did he get the bright idea to get former David Duke canvassers to organize distribution. If relentless praise of the neocon agenda and failed Laffer Curve economics is so great for white readers, why freeze out entire minority neighborhoods even if they earn the sort of incomes your advertisers want a piece of? They call D.C. "Chocolate City" for a reason, and it isn't because of the fine desserts offered by the city's restaurants. How about a little love for people east of the park?


cox.jpg3. Ana Marie Cox: In these days of Wi-Fi coffeehouses and Blackberrying in memos from the beach, phoning it in isn't the epithet it used to be. Thus, we need to invent a new word for Mrs. Cox, who graced us with her presence after working for years on failed web publishing ventures that lacked the stunning ignorance of her Gawker Media branch office. Apathetactular? Lazyriffic? Nay, mere words do not describe a woman who storms into the blogosphere on a wave of publicity, proceeds to show that she can't do basic research despite the team of flunkies at her beck and call, break one interesting story, revert for months to writing little more than news summaries and then leave altogether, participating in panel discussions or drunkenly writing a soon-to-be-remaindered quickie book while her interns actually do a far better job as stand-ins.


2. House Majority Leader Tom Delay (R-Texas): He may be the most despicable piece of vermin currently darkening our fair city -- if he went swimming in New Orleans, he'd be mistaken for a nutria and shot for sport. Having ground what little ethical compass he may have possessed under his bootheel long ago, Delay has graduated from party hack to fusspot tinhorn despot through graft and intimidation. He uses poor children as a front for his backroom money deals, sluicing money to and fro between cronies and PACs cheating whatever system he can't just game. He's called The Hammer because of the way he manhandles his Congressional colleagues, but out in the real world, he's actually a noteworthy pussy. There's no one in Washington more roaring drunk on power: the most famous story of Delay's classless behavior was his response to Ruth's Chris Steak House manager Tom Khandker, who, after pointing out that Delay's smoking inside the building (the restaurant was housed in a Smithsonian property) was prohibited by the federal government, received Delay's ill-tempered rejoinder: "I am the Federal Government." In the future, Tom, your response should be: "Really? Well, then, as my public servant, I am going to suggest that if you don't want me to bend you over my knee and extinguish your cigar somewhere in the vicinity of your duodenum, you'll take you and your stogie the hell outside before you get throatpunched." Of course, there is an upside to Delay: apparently, his daughter is a huge skank.


fenty.jpg1. Councilman Adrian Fenty: It's always a little sad when someone spends his career groping for a job he'll never have. Like the aging outfielder stuck playing AA ball or the ass-kissing corporate VP always looking for a promotion he's too dumb or too subservient to get, baldie here is aiming for Minister of Virtue and Vice, but the best he can expect is mayor of this dirty burg, if he gets that far. First, he gets the Council (motto: slightly more powerful than the Pyongyang School Board) to ban the sale of individual 40s in his district, as if drunks couldn't just stumble to the next ward over. But hey, Fenty's Fourth Ward is like circa-1999 Afghanistan: A fervently moralistic leadership attempts to keep the population under its thumb, walled off from its neighbors by forbidding mountain ranges and lawless border areas full of armed men riding around in the beds of Toyota pickup trucks. At least that's how Fenty sees it.

But now that the shiny-headed mullah is looking to expand his domain to the entire District by replacing that bowtied heathen Tony Williams, the whole city must be purified. So now it's violent video games, or games in which you can do things often seen in D.C., like shooting people. This is unlike Fenty-safe games that simulate ice hockey or arranging geometrical shapes as they descend ever-faster so as to form even lines of bricks, at which point they disappear.

So if an alcohol-impaired Fourth Warder can make it down the block to a liquor store in another ward (which would, I suppose make Jim Graham D.C.'s Musharraf), a minor can take the Metro to Pentagon City to get Grand Theft Auto. So here's hoping Fenty will eventually tire of his crusade and let us fester in the moral rot that we pay all that extra rent to enjoy.

Posted by rj3 at 8:37 PM | Comments (73) | TrackBack

April 8, 2005

A hot night on the Hill

Most of the DCFÜD crew went out last night for an evening of medical emergencies, unbearable heat and violating open-container laws. It was like July... in April.

vaccines.jpg
"Would you like some onions with your HUMAN LIVER?"
First, A.G. walks into Cap Lounge on the Hill with a bag full of vaccines that he had to keep cold lest they spoil. Treating it like a human organ, A politiely asked for a Hefeweizen (horray for being a yuppie) and a bowl of ice. Jokes about the need to get loaded before braving 395 traffic on the way to a hospital aside, we had a medical emergency. If the desire to drink counts as a medical emergency

The extremely accomodating (and extremely Irish) server at the Cap brought a bowl of ice and some napkins to keep A and Z.A.F.'s anti-typhoid vaccines appropriately cool, and later even agreed to store the medicine in the bar's refrigerator. This was a good thing, as the Cap Lounge was experiencing a climate-control malfunction which caused overwhelming heat to blast from the ceiling vents. It was like happy hour in a tandoori oven - not pleasant.

Several men who looked like they could speak authouritatively about things like ducts and vents came around to tinker with the thermostat, each announcing that the problem had been solved. It only got hotter. When we protested the furnace-like state, the bar manager offered free shots if we stuck it out until the thermometer registered 100 degrees. As it turns out, the thermometer didn't display more than two digits, but when it finally rolled over to "00", the manager honored his promise and brought a round of whiskey, although not without hassling the three Wilson SHS graduates at the table (S.N.H., W.R.C. and E.J.G. if you must know) about their D.C.P.S. high school.

I think the line was, "I'm from Ward 8, I know what I'm talking about."

98.jpg 00.jpg
No free drinks Free drinks

We eased on down the road to Zack's, where pitchers of Miller Lite were consumed and some billiards were shot. Zack's has a decent jukebox, with Stones, Hendrix, John Lee Hooker, Jimmy Cliff and various Motown classics perfect for drinking pisswater in the dark.

Our three exuberant ladies, filled with the energy of youth and many full mugs of cheap beer, decided that while Zack's doesn't have an outdoor patio, that should serve as no hinderance to taking a few beers outside and dancing in the rain on Pennsylvania Avenue.

Thirty seconds later, the bartender went to the door and asked them to kindly come back inside the bar, explaining how a liqour license is a good thing for a bar to have.

We went home, secure from typhoid and sobriety.

(guest post, mostly written by S.N.H.)

Posted by rj3 at 11:44 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Take me back from the ballgame

Let me start off by stating that while I may sound anti-baseball at times, I assure you that I am a huge fan of our national pastime and while my loyalties lie elsewhere, you will likely find me in the cheap seats at RFK more than a few times this summer.

But baseball is just baseball, nothing more, nothing less. And while we may idolize our favorite players, the team owners are simply the businessmen who make money off our pastime, selling $8 hot dogs and $20 nosebleed tickets and television rights and whatnot, as they should.

The problem comes when the owners start to think of themselves as star players, expecting to be fawned over every time they make a request. So when the owners (the Nats are owned by all of the other MLB owners for now) ask for yet another special favor, after fighting to get a stadium built on somoene else's dime, it's no surprise that people are starting to tire (if they weren't tired already) of the escalating special favors they keep requesting in exchange for blessing us with their presence.

As you may have heard, it's asking Metro to keep its trains running late for free, something it doesn't even do for charitable events.

rsmith.jpg
Robert Smith

A good attitude is best expressed by Metro Board member Robert Smith (pictured here in an undated photo):

"I think Major League Baseball is run by a significant number of millionaires," Smith said. "I think they could pick up $18,000 for an extra hour of Metro service. They need to pay the price to operate their business like any other business in the city."

Why, I think you're right.


(And yes, if you're asking, I did this entire post just so I could run the Robert Smith picture.)

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April 7, 2005

Get ready to get loathsome

This morning, the site is flooded with confused Wonketeers as more nominations for the Most Loathsome Washingtonians flow in through the DCSOB mailroom. I've even got the DCeiver on the case, contributing venom.

FYI, expect it to drop (like it's hot, which it is) on Monday.

Posted by rj3 at 11:26 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

April 6, 2005

"What a Cute Piggie"*

It's clearly the week of the strange costumes. After watching the very strange antics of the Bovines Unite cows up in Rockville over the weekend, I ran into this rather strange pink pig on the Dupont metro escalator today.

pig1.jpg pig2.jpg

Between pigs, cows, and wonder transit women, I'm beginning to wonder if marketing has reached a new low.

*The title is an actual quote from some lady who saw this guy walking out from the metro.

Posted by amg at 4:13 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

ICC you acting like a moron

You know who I don't like? Metro Woman, the less-than-super hero the Sierra Club cooked up to promote the "Purple Line" intercounty transit route over the mostrous Intercounty Sprawlway.

She looks like this.

Really now, what are the goals with this? The only thing that's going to happen is that people are going to cross the street when they see this woman handing out flyers. Sure, they got some publicity for their cause, but it was silly publicity, the kind of story that sticks around in the viewer's head for about five minutes before they start talking about the pope again. As it turns out, not all publicity is good publicity, which is something many of these street theater activists just don't understand.

How can ICC opponents stop the highway and get transit instead? Dig up nasty connections between supporters and donors. Astroturf a letter-writing campaign. Like the conservatives and Kerry, get together with other single-issue groups to beat up on Ehrlich generally.

How can ICC opponents make sure the road gets built? Dress up in silly uniforms.

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Bluesteez

stereolab final2 web.jpg

We back.

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April 5, 2005

Welcome to the A-Mo

It's as if these t-shirt manufacturers lived on 18th Street.

Look forward to the launch of DCSOB's CafePress shop, where you'll be able to dress up your chest with cool hipster slogans like "Go Back To McLean, You F*cker!"

Posted by rj3 at 4:11 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

Feel any different?

natshat.jpg
So, how does it feel to be in a Major League city with big losers in the NFL, NBA and MLB?

Are you welling up with civic pride, spurred on by the on-field heroics of Your Washington Nationals to clean up your back alley, purchase and renovate a new home in a way that revitalizes neighborhoods while maintaining stocks of affordable housing, or maybe even hire some DCPS graduates at a living wage to do whatever it is they're qualified for after many years and tens of thousands of dollars worth of education?

I for one, feel like writing run-on sentences.

Posted by rj3 at 2:29 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack

April 4, 2005

Shut up and drive. Better yet, just shut up

Washington is full of important people: regulations for the largest economy in the world go through this city, as do hundreds of billions in government contracts. However, a group of people far larger roam our streets: I speak of people who think they are important by virtue of salary, title or little plastic badge strung around their neck. Their pick-up lines in bars revolve around how hard they have been working on the Energy Bill or finding Osama bin Laden, even though their participation in either may be limited to taking coffee shop orders from the people who are doing the actual work. They type furiously on Blackberries in movie theaters, trains and while walking down the street, often smacking into lampposts.

But perhaps their worst quality is the fact that they spend most of their waking lives on cell phones, blabbering away about everything and nothing. Perhaps too much West Wing on cable has fortified the belief that certain people are so busy that they have to combine moving and talking at high speeds in one seamless motion so as to save time. Thousands of D.C. office workers likely don't arrive at home until late at night due to too much blog reading, not the responsibility for bringing peace and prosperity to the world.

So it comes as no surprise that el WaPo finds people yapping away on cell phones in cars despite a ban that has been around for nearly a year. With few signs, out-of-towners can hardly be blamed, but the bulk of the people I see on the streets are Virginians, impervious to the world in their SUVs, cutting off other drivers and nearly killing shocked pedestrians as they order for delivery off a Chinese restaurant menu while in a traffic circle, steering with their knees.

Fellow blogger AMG often says he wants removable stickers for pedestrians to stick on the windows of violators' cars, but it's likely that the ratio of enlightened or shamed drivers to merciless beat-downs is not high enough to make it worthwhile for all but the most intimidating-looking activists.

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April 1, 2005

Dork alert

So, can anyone tell me how I can get these U.K. LCD Soundsystem ringtones on my filthy Yank phone?

Posted by rj3 at 2:39 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack