Escalators are death traps anyways

See this banged up piece of precision electronics?



Now that my Ipod’s flywheel no longer spins and its insides are filled with saliva and my camera is in 6000 little plastic pieces, this little radio is the most valuable piece of technology I own. To be exact, it’s a Sony SRF-M37V TV/Weather/FM/AM Walkman. It’s small and light weight. It gets great reception. And it’s worth a fortune on the black market

I use the FM function to listen to NPR.

I use the AM function to listen to Nats games.

I’ll use the weather band function to protect myself from rogue Hurricane Danny waves that wash through the Tidal Basin and sweep all softball players out to sea.

The TV function is a non-function since the digital television transition wiped those bits of the spectrum out of the sky and gave them to the NSA so they can weaponize them and read my dog’s thoughts. But it used to be great.

I lost this little radio a few weeks ago and while trying to find a replacement discovered they are no longer produced. No one listens to the radio via a walkman unless they are weirdo nomads. And since this little guy was one of the best made portable radios in the last two decades, it’s highly valued on the Ebays by those same weirdoes. Top dollar, I’m told.

The single negative of this wondrous device is that the clip designed to attach it to my utility belt is inadequate for my active lifestyle. Many an evening finds me chasing the radio over red Metro tiles as it goes in one direction and its lone AAA battery goes in another.

This was the situation I found myself in on Monday night after a brisk jaunt down the Foggy Bottom escalator. The clip again malfunctioned and while the headphones remained in my ears, the radio tumbled down the stairs. I barely saved the battery before it got sucked into the gears. Unfortunately, while bending over to collects the pieces the dangling mini plug end of the headphones got caught in the grate and began to grind its way under the escalator. I jerked my head back and the last 3 inches of broke off, rotated under the mechanism and met their demise. The still-in earbuds and wire swung uselessly against my chest.

Damnit.

Ah well. What’s the worst that could happen? I can’t even listen to the radio underground anyway.

Oh.

My bad.

Why would a mockingbird even try to eat a piece of cheese?

Before Prince Charming swept her off her tiny, delicate feet, the Governess lived like a terrible hobgoblin under a haunted bridge in Central Arlington. Her roommates were vermin and the building’s square footage would shrink every day as the building gradually collapsed in on itself. The backyard was completely overgrown and sheltered the entire cast of the Secret of NIMH who attacked any passerby with glowing red eyes and terrifying hisses.

As a good faith gesture I bought some rat traps in the hopes of eradicating the collective scourge. I’m not talking about the humane ones rat traps for do-gooders. I bought the ones that’ll snap a finger clean off and cauterize the wound because they generate so much heat.

But it was wildly unsuccessful.

I caught zero rats. The rats in Arlington attend those Northern Virginia high schools that are regularly listed in the US News and World Report list of best in country. One with a GPA of 3.20 wouldn’t crack the top 100 of its class. And the ones that don’t get into college still go on to run successful garage door installation businesses and live in Great Falls.

The other animals are not as smart and chose their own execution over their bucolic, carefree lifestyles. I caught squirrels, chipmunks, mice, voles and mockingbird, for some reason. After the bird, I gave up my campaign to rid the house of these pests and just elected to marry the G and buy her the castle where she still lives to this day. It was cheaper and easier on my conscience. I haven’t dabbled in pest control since.

Recently, I bought some new rats traps and the clerk asked me if I had some sort of infestation. Mindful of my past failures, I truthfully told him no. I bought them for possibly the best reason anyone has ever bought rat traps and I told him this directly.

“They’re for teaching someone a lesson.”



Look out world, I'm coming. Don’t stick your hands into dark places.

More weird mail

Has anyone else received a letter from someone claiming to be Katie Sackoff from Battlestar Galactica? I got this in the mail a few days ago...

Dear Mr Nabob,


It’s been too long.

By now you’ve probably heard the good news that I’ve been cast in some upcoming episodes of the hit FOX’s series 24. I’m excited to play Dana Walsh, a computer expert at CTU’s New York branch who’s got something sinister to hide. My character will also be romantically involved with the show’s other new cast member, Freddie Prinze Jr! You may remember Freddie from Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed and She’s All That.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

I want to talk to you about the BSG series finale because something needs to be cleared up. There have been petabytes of theories written on the internet about my character. Some speculate that I was a Cylon. Some say I was a ghost or an angel. Or maybe the whole thing was the dream of one of the lesser characters after the initial Cylon attack on Caprica put them in a coma. Hot Dog, for instance, since there was no sign of him once they got to Earth.

Here’s what really happened. If you remember, I was talking to Apollo in the long African grass about our past relationship. Then there was a flashback about a pigeon or some bird trapped in my old apartment or some jazz. I said to him "Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Lee." And then he went on about wanting to climb mountains and explore and when he turned around I was gone.

So what happened? When the final set of DVDs come out, it will include the script from that final episode. But I wanted to give you, one of the shows biggest fans, a preview. It turns out that Starbuck was really tired of Lee. His whole whiny act had become old and I realized I was trapped with him on this new Earth because Anders flew all the spaceships into the sun. So when he turned around, I just laid down in the long grass. He couldn’t see me when he turned back because the grass was so tall. And then I snuck off to try my luck with some cavemen.

Unfortunately, that weak-assed pigeon metaphor put all these crazy theories into people’s heads. How could I be a ghost? Or an angel? Come on. Had there been any precedent for that on the show? Sure, there had been episodes of mass hallucinations and acute delirium but angels? The only real explanation was the Cylon one and even that was a stretch.

So there you have it. That’s what happened. Go on your blog and explain it to the world. I’ve moved on, so should everyone else.

Take care, Nabob, and thanks for watching.



Katee




PS - I’ve included a copy of The Last Sentinel so you can get your Sackhoff fix until the fall when I get my Jack-Bauer on.

Anyone?

'Course it's boring, that's the point. Write it down.

one of my all-time favorites, Bull Durham, was on some terrible ALL DUDE CABLE WOOOT TESTOSTERONE channel last night. Regardless, I sat my ass on the basement floor and watched the whole thing. This bit of trivia (5th bullet) alone should explain the weird soft spot in my heart for Costner, even after years of suckitude.

so long as you endorse sound urbanist principles

By no means do I advocate the creation of human corpses. But like everybody else in this city, there are times that require the discrete disposal of them. That’s why I find this opinion by MY baffling.

The best place to hide a body that you secretly want found because latent feelings of guilt may subconsciously motivate you to leave telltale clues for the police to uncover is either a seldom used public park or an abandoned building. A multiple-use commercial/residential development is harmful to this end. The city needs to turn these spaces green or let them rot in peace.

Also, does anyone know where we can stage a casual pickup softball game? There aren’t enough Metro-accessible parks in the area, for some reason.

Knowing is 49.9% of the battle

Full disclosure: After plans fell apart, I saw the second Transformers movie by myself on a Tuesday night while my family slept is their beds with blankets and flat frog stuffed animals. It stunk out loud on ice in a hot tub.

Also, my wife is seeing (500) Days of Summer by herself AS WE SPEAK! Or at least AS I WRITE THIS! It is our way seeing as we are scary loners.




The G’s been badgering me about my intentions on seeing the GI Joe movie. There are none. First, it’s got a Wayans in it. Second, Cobra Commander’s mask is Tampa Bay Buccaneers-throwback-jersey dumb.

But the real reason is this line muttered by Stormshadow toward Snake Eyes: "You took a vow of silence... Now you will die without a word." I don’t know if that verse appears in the film but I do know it appears in the novelization of the movie. And I am aware of this because I tracked the book down at a Borders and read almost the whole damnable thing. The chore came about after the G alerted me to this io9 article that indicated that not only has Snake-Eyes taken a vow of silence but he also sends a text message, for some reason.

Who cares asks 50.1% of the population Well it matters to the other half of this country because whatever floating wisp of teeth and cat dander that wrote this twaddle of a script erased the coolest thing about Snake Eyes in its entirety. Snake Eyes doesn’t speak because he chooses not to. Snake-Eyes can’t talk because he’s bad-ass.

A quick IM poll of knowledgeable individuals responded to the question “why doesn’t Snake Eyes speak?”


DG: he's mute
his face is disfigured or something

JL: A helicopter crash destroyed his voice box

TL: As far as I can recall something bad happened to his face, which either was so physically traumatic that he can't speak any more or so emotionally traumatic that he's just too sad to talk

CY: he hurt his throat somehow - I think in an explosion

JW: i prefer to think his voice sounded like Bobcat Goldthwaite, so he just went silent as to not spoil his image
me: thats probably right


It turns out no really knows why he doesn’t talk. Ret-cons have rendered even the Wiki entry incomprehensible. But he sure the hell didn’t opt to be mute for some lame ass vow of silence. Snake Eyes was doing something really awesome, probably saving a really hot girl or possibly a dog from a helicopter explosion. Vows of silence are unacceptable.


But this does raise another question. Actually several. If Snake Eyes has taken a vow of silence how is he then permitted to send a text message?


Again, the internet is incredibly unhelpful in this regard.

• Can you text during a vow of silence? Maybe.
• Can you blog during a vow of silence? Unfortunately, yes. And people have for some reason.
• Can you tweet during a vow of silence? Unclear.
• Can you sext during a vow of silence? Unclear.

I hoped this cleared some things up for ya.

someone took my soda from the kitchen fridge

I like beer and I like Skittles but that doesn’t mean I’m going to like Skittlebraü

Somewhere in the skies over Des Moines there’s a mystical realm accessible only by an enchanted rainbow bridge made from stimulus dollars and trollwife tears. It’s like Valhalla, except you don’t reach there by dying in battle but by expiring from heart disease or hypertension. And if you lose a foot to type 2 diabetes, it’ll be waiting for you when you get there.

Accordingly, many of my ancestors were proudly looking down from this hallowed cloud city last night as 8 of my old roommate’s best friends honored the finish of his terrible, terrible independence with a diner at this city’s finest non-Renaissance themed German restaurant. You’ve probably passed by Old Europe dozens of times without entering and therefore you have made dozens of mistakes. You want to know how awesome it is? It is 8 different kinds of sausage on one plate awesome.



That isn’t some sort of meat sampler appetizer. That’s my entree. To be exact:

Debrizener
Bratwurst
Knackwurst
Weisswurst
Pork loin
Sautéed chicken quarter
Frikadeller


A few years back I went to a wedding, got completely plowed and woke up at a petting zoo.* I’ve since peddled back on the amount of alcohol I drink when celebrating. I only had two beers with dinner last night. However, it’s almost 6pm and I still feel Petting Zoo Hung-over. Apparently ingesting that much sodium in a 40 minute sprint dehydrates you to a level that even two gallons of Smart Water cannot alleviate.




*this is 1000% true

They also recycled the President's Race where Teddy cheats by riding a moped.

A little history:

For the first time in history, three grand slams were hit in a major league game -- a phenomenally bizarre 13-11 Texas Rangers victory over the Baltimore Orioles tonight in Memorial Stadium. They came off the bats of Toby Harrah of the Rangers (who went five for five for the first time in his career) and Larry Sheets and Jim Dwyer of the Orioles.

For the fifth time in major league annals, one team hit two grand slams in an inning. The team was the Orioles -- little good it did them in the end. The homers by Sheets and Dwyer torched a 6-0 Texas lead as Baltimore scored nine runs in the fourth inning.

If you think that was the key to this game, dream on. The Orioles built their lead to 11-6, thanks to Lee Lacy's two-run homer in the sixth. Those 11 runs were managed on just four hits as Texas issued 11 walks. Baltimore also was aided enormously by a two-out error by third baseman Steve Buechele immediately before Dwyer's grand slam.

Above is an account of the August 6, 1986 American baseball match between the Baltimore Orioles of Maryland and Texas Rangers of Texas as printed in the following day’s Washington Post. It was a remarkable game for two reasons. For one, it was the first time three grand slams had been hit in the same game (although the feat was duplicated the next year by Chicago and Houston). Second, it was the first baseball game the G had ever attended.

Her father was worried that his kids would become accustomed to the excitement and high scoring fireworks provided by that game. But since then she has literally been to dozens of other baseball games and they were all as boring as baseball should be. And then the Nationals moved to town! Going to baseball games has become the unpleasant chore that everyone expects from the former Montreal Expos.

Still, though, her first experience was extraordinary. She saw feats that usually awe the most dedicated of baseball fans and few can claim to have seen a more memorable game.

Sunday was Grendel’s first game. And like the G he can brag to his friends that he saw an amazing exploit. Perhaps even more stupendous that three grand slams in one game. He’s going to be able to tell his drunken college roommates that he went to a Nationals game and Austin Kearns didn’t completely shit the bed.

Third Edition is actually a used book store

Way back in the very last moments when we were still a couple but before we were a family, I had access to an oxygen machine. Actually, the G had access to the machine but used sparingly where as I used it for nearly every breath I took during that blessed ordeal. “Look at me,” I’d say after sucking down some sweet, sweet air. “I’m John Riggins and I just won the Super Bowl!” Then I tackled the epidermal man and everyone yelled and I had to go sit in the waiting room. The end.


---

Unrelated, I am in the market for oxygen machine. Also, other light medical supplies. Accordingly, I punched my address into Google maps followed by the search term “medical supplies” and got a list of all the places in DC where I could buy those La-Z-boy chairs that lift up and dump you on the floor automatically. But look at the third returned result.



At first I thought perhaps there was a medical supply store in Georgetown coincidentally called Smith Point. Or maybe Smith Point was a small region of Georgetown I was unfamiliar with. Nope. It’s that Smith Point. They have somehow managed to qualify themselves as a medical supply retailer.

I assumed this was some coding error on Google’s part. However, it pops back up with other similar search parameters. And considering how many people have gotten violently ill by visiting the place (including this associated review) maybe the error isn’t that it’s wildly mischaracterized bar but actually a vaguely mischaracterized free clinic.

girls guide to rocking

I am making K go explore her new town by seeing J. Hopper do her thing tonight at AS220. Then she can tell me what questions I should ask at Comet P-P in August (if I wanted to appear to be awesome and 10 yrs old and a Mac owner into Garageband and talented; instead of 31 with a baby dude on my hip and an ancient Dell desktop that is usually so swarmy with porn viruses I can't read gossip websites let alone construct sweet musics.) But whatevs, I'm a supporter!

Small dude can't actually come with me cause it'll be past his bedtime, but I am going to see her (alone?) anyway on the 23rd (24th?) here in districtville. In case anyone wants to join. Also, pizza and beer. Also, I need to buy this book before then.

In Providence tonight? You should go too.

bitches come, bitches go

Jeff Simmermon, (who it frankly is kind of weird I don't know/have never met, since I think we went to the same college and have mutual friends and even majored in the same thing, [and actually now that I think about it have probably been at parties together] but the world is weird like that) has a pretty great story on This American Life. Suggested listening if you haven't done so already.

Just stop blogging me around

There used to be a time when someone could walk to his local Borders, crawl down to the basement, grab a graphic novel and quietly read it in the Spanish-language self-help section in peace. Sadly, those days are gone. It’s not because they’ve removed the chairs from the Spanish-language self-help section. (They’ve actually removed all the seats from the basement because while I would use them for reading comics, the teenagers and weirdoes would abuse them for reading manga) The reason no one does this anymore is because you cannot approach the Borders at 18th and L without being accosted by a 20 year old with a clipboard. The want support for their cockamamie causes and schemes. And worse, they want your time.

The most common ways to avoid engagement with these children all involve being angry* so I won’t bore you. But if you do get stuck talking to one I’ve found the best response is to indicate that whatever they are peddling is a conflict of interest to whatever it is that you do. Usually that’s an adult enough reply to put them off their game. But if you get pressed you can borrow some business cards I’ve made up.



Most of these groups lean toward port so someone who’s sold enough of their soul to perpetuate Japanese whale harvesting usually doesn’t have any more room in their black heart for whatever they’re advocating.

But that doesn’t get to the main issue. Why the hell are there so many of these people lingering around that part of the Golden Triangle? Is there a sale at the Tiny Jewel Box? Do they need the perfect off-color gag gift from the Chocolate Moose? Was the line at the Greek Deli too long?

The answer is actually pretty simple: Laziness.

I have in my possession a big book that lists all the special interest/lobbyist/advocacy groups in the Washington DC region. From that book, I have randomly plucked the names of six organizations that sound like they would send interns into the streets to collect pledges or signatures in support of their world-saving, likely arboreal embracing causes.

1. International Humane Society
2. Peace Corps
3. Ocean Conservancy
4. Friends of the Earth
5. Legacy Foundation
6. Wilderness Society

(The Legacy Foundation is probably the only one on this brief list whose cause isn’t immediately clear. They’re the group that, with enough funding, would position someone outside the exit nearest every high school art room in America in order to smack cigarettes out of kid’s mouths. They are anti-American and need to be reminded that without Pocahontas and John Rolfe and tobacco this proud nation wouldn’t even have the fine system of roads and trails that they use to ride their high horses.)



Obviously, interest groups have offices all over this fair city. And I have no proof that any of the above are the ones canvassing. But isn’t it a big coincidence that the corner 18 and M looks like its right in the center of these 6 randomly chosen organizations? And if I was a lazy intern and had to gather signatures on a hot July mid-day, doesn’t it look like a good place to station myself? It’s close enough to the office that I can get there without breaking a sweat but far enough away that the bossman can’t see me out the window. Especially when I start forging names or throwing all the forms down the storm drain. Why did I even take this job? I love smoking.

There you have it. Faultless reasoning to why there are so many clipboarders preventing me from reading the Walking Dead series in its entirety during lunch. It’s junk science at its most quotable.




*Fortunately, as has been pointed out by my family, if not actively expressing an emotion my face naturally reverts to “mildly pissed.”

wknd

- After a few months/years of not seeing movies, because of life-things and also because movies lately? total shit - I am looking forward to 500 Days of Summer, An Education, and Big Fan, even the AtHackerMan-approved In The Loop. Please, cinema gods, don't let these movies suck and send me back into my dark hole in the ground for another year.

- I'm reading Infinite Jest, me and the rest of the world. It's fun hard, not homework hard. Like many things, it gets easier the more you do it. I'm up to pg 430. After this I may read something like the Host just to give my mind a break, and also because my friend Cindy recommends it unironically, something I find hilarious and strangely soothing.

RH: bringing the POISON back to fort reno! summer, 2010!

she forgot to note we're starting our own country metal band named REK HAVOK.

it's Internet Asshole Tuesday!

Hey, kids! So who wants to hear me rant maniacally about small businesses who need to get their shit together and not cross me, especially when I'm in a bad mood? Show of hands.

red n green

h/t tom and unfogged. Idaho, you have some serious self-esteem issues.

boys and girls... ACTION!

why we haven't left the house all week.

The worst thing I have ever done

Repeat – This is the worst thing I have ever and am not proud of the following:

I go to Tyson’s Corner Mall once a year. I get a note from my parents to miss school on a December weekday and do all my Xmas shopping in one majestic sweep. So a few years back I was riding the escalator and began to feel an uncomfortable rumbling in my stomach. It all happened so fast. A silent, relieving wind was broken. But good lord was it was deadly. Embarrassed, I glanced around hoping no one was nearby.

Unfortunately, there was. A five year old boy was on the step directly behind me. His head was right there. Directly in his face.







I’m no prude. But the City Paper putting that headline in newspaper boxes around town is worse than an adult farting in the eyes and mouth of a five year old boy.

hello world.

things K and I have IM'd about today:

- skunk calling/skunk population control
- tent cities
- rigging mailboxes to humorously snap on postman's fingers/potential of being sued for such a prank
- tiny dogs
- Family Guy stereotypes
- Marion Barry
- how to spell "ecstatic" correctly
- lawless hobo wars
- Danish pop stars from the 90s AND Dee-lite
- Jewish weddings
- Mail fraud