USA Votes

Try and see how DC votes. Just try.

I Knew Someday My Bike Would Come

Purdue University industrial designers have designed a trike/bike that starts as a tricycle and turns into a bicycle as the rider pedals faster. The designers intend for this new design to replace bicycles with old fashioned training wheels (the kind that the parent needs to hold onto as the child learns to balance), freeing the parent of one more responsibility towards the child. Hopefully industrial designers will come out with more parent-free products and, soon, children can just raise their damn selves.

My parents weren't really concerned with bicycle related responsibilities and I never learned to ride. Well, that isn't exactly true - an older friend (when I say older, I mean she was eight) taught me and I had a horrible crash and spent the next three days in bed and have never been able to ride a bike since. Do you think they will make the b/trike for adults?

Riddle Me This

Why is "Sweet Home Alabama" playing on the new Kentucky Fried Chicken commercials? Doesn't Kentucky have their own song?

Rotten Apples

Why is it that, every time I walk into a hotel room in New York City, I want to kill myself? Even Hyatts and Hiltons look like they have hourly rates so you can imagine the the Penn Station Howard Johnson's was a little...dumpy. The elevator was 3 x 3 with a push door and the halls were barely wider than my suitcase. My room was roasting and I wanted to open the window but there was no screen and I was afraid a rat or pigeon would come in so I could only open it a crack. I managed to get some sleep but couldn't shake the feeling that SUV was down the hall investigating a hooker's murder.

Cease & Desist

Since January 14, I have been receiving unsolicited emails inviting me to a surprise birthday party/trip for a person I barely know and don't particularly like (blogged here and here). I have not responded to a single one of the emails nor did I even put a NO on the evite. Today I received the following email:

Dr. Dan and the Doomsday Debauchery

THIS IS COMING UP FAST!!! I need to t-shirt count, among other things - even if you are not attending, please let me know how many shirts you want and what size. The cost will not be too high (in the $7-$12 range, depending on how many total we get).

There are people who not only want to go but are willing to commemorate it with a fucking t-shirt? Am I the only person who feels harassed by these invitations? Can I get a restraining order? Should I get my mom to tell his mom that I hate him and all of his friends now?

I tried a passive aggressive tactic that did not work. The main perpetrator (we'll call her Crazy Email Bitch) works for a company that my company would love to do business with. I gave my sales director CEB's email and told him to do his worst. I had hoped that it would get traced back to me and, when asked why I would just give out someone's email address without asking, I was going to respond "Oh, I thought that's what we did since I get an email from one of your friends every fucking day." But no such luck and I'm still stuck on this roller coaster.

Any ideas that will not result in my mom saying to me in her "disappointed" tone, "Danny was really hurt when you called his friend a crazy bitch and told her to leave you alone."

Kosher For Passover

Viagra is no longer hametz and old, randy Jews don't have to lose out on eight days of sex. I thought we wanted to avoid things that rise during Pesach?

And My World Is Turned Upside Down

Today, I found out the the chorus to "The Weight" but The Band is:

Take a load off, Fanny, take a load for free; take a load
off, Fanny, and (and) (and) you can put the load right on me.

I have spent my whole life thinking her name was Annie. Talk about blowing my mind.

On a plus side, this is one more funny Fanny I have to send to Colleen who uses the first defintition for fanny.

Da' Bomb

Spring is here and I am dying for a bomb pop.
Must get to a Good Humor truck ASAP.

I Demand To Be Heard

I don't think the Washington Post is going to publish my letter so I shall will do it myself.

The April 8th Weekender article detailing "suggestions for fun before and after home games" made a mistake in glossing over the multitude of restaurants, bars and shops on Capitol Hill. While Ms. Zibart did mention Union Station and the Irish pubs nearby, she left out the much of the SE quadrant of the Hill where the stadium is actually located.

To get to Union Station or the Penn Quarter from RFK Stadium on the Metro, one would have to take the Blue or Orange line to Metro Center and transfer to the Red line and double back. Many of the other suggestions are even further. But Eastern Market and Capitol South are just a few stops away. Ms. Zibart did mention the food stalls at Eastern Market at the end of her article but added nothing about the restaurants and shops on the very same block. She also suggested a visit to the Navy Museum but forgot about 8th Street/Barracks Row, Capitol Hill's new dining district. There was absolutely no mention of the two blocks near Capitol South full of popular restaurants and bars.

One of the main arguments for bringing baseball to DC was to bring revenue to DC. Who needs that revenue more than the very neighborhoods surrounding the temporary ball field? Suggestions to travel out to Rockville for movies or to Clarendon for ethnic food defeat that purpose. It also raises the question: if ticket holders are directed away from the Capitol Hill area to spend their money elsewhere, what will happen to SW and SE businesses when the permanent stadium is built on South Capitol Street?

Let's see an article with real suggestions for activities in the area surrounding the stadium and save lists of places that are metro accessible for the tourists.

THERE WILL BE NO SEEING!

ACW told me today that:

• She didn't believe in allergies
• Some person who wanted to get rich made allergies up
• She never heard of such a thing in India
• "We'll see" if allergies are real

Paso Robles, A Pictorial

This is at the second winery (before our eyes began to cross)

"Why, yes, m'lord, I would adore another glass of wine!"

What we don't have a picture of is BI'75 measuring the barrels to see how many we could fit in the trunk.

BI'75 and her bitches chillin' in the Limo

The Trials of Wine Tasting

This is just an entry to get my feet wet after being so derelict in my duties to my five faithful readers. After a week of vacation, I came back to a steaming pile of work which has taken up far too much of my time.

While we were in CA, we drove north to Paso Robles where we rented a limo and drove around (ahem, were driven...by a driver who was missing 1/2 of his right pointer finger!) to a bunch of wineries and got quite silly. After we had bought about 5 cases of wine, we had the limo drop us at a restaurant in town where we had a great meal. When we ordered dessert, we asked the hostess to call us a cab. After a few minutes, she came to our table and told us that taxis in Paso Robles don't run after 7:00 PM. And it was 8:15. And we had sent Fingerless Rick away. And there are no sidewalks in CA.

Chris called the Hampton Inn to inquire as to if they had a service for stranded guests. They thought it would be best to transfer him to the local police who, you will be surprised to hear, were not interested in giving us a lift. Chris reminded the local constabulary that we were in this pickle because we were obeying the laws regarding driving under the influence but they still declined to take us back to our hotel. After confirming that the police would not arrest us for walking on the freeway or hitchhiking if it came to that, Chris redialed the Hampton Inn and asked for the manager. He was placed on hold a few times (apparently, no one has ever dared to ask for the manager; she is sort of like the Wizard of Oz) and then finally transferred with Night Manager. Night Manager seemed unconcerned at our situation but after Chris explained it to her four more times, she offered to come get us at the end of her shift in 45 minutes. At the same time, the waitress was telling me that the hostess could drive us back to our hotel right then.

So we had the 16 year old hostess driveus back to our hotel and gave her $20.00 for her troubles and then we spent the rest of the night shouting “I can’t BELIEVE it!” and “You can get a taxi in freakin’ Johnson, Vermont!” and “Who doesn’t have taxis after 7:00!?”