If anyone is familiar with the drawbacks of DC, I'd say it's me. And you. And, well, anyone who's ever lived, visited, heard about or even read the letters D and C together.
But mostly *I* know, and a quick perusal of the witty, thoughtful, creative and nothing-short-of-genius-proving posts that I've compiled on this here Web log offers all the scientific and schmientific proof you'll ever need of DC's sh*t not being that tight.
I also love when my opinions (mostly the schmientific ones) are validated. And so, when I hear dirty hipsters outside of DC (say, while I'm enjoying a lovely jar of beer at the Radegast Hall & Biergarten in Williamsburg, Brooklyn) complain about how they hate DC, I tend to put aside my disrespect for people who think brakes and gears aren't necessary on city bicycles and give them my awkward nod of approval. And if their critiques are really excellent, maybe I'll even offer up salutations via a delicious, ice-cold jar of beer.
"Dear dirty hipsters and your appetite for flannel in warm weather, to you I raise this delicious, ice-cold jar of beer in mutual respect! You, my gritty, Buddy-Holly-bespectacled friend with the $200 pair of pants on that's made to look like you ripped them off a homeless man on a non-gentrified corner of this burrough in 1983, are my new best friend. And I predict that this instant bond -- this bond based on mutual hatery of our nation's capital -- is as unbreakable as that bond you've made with smelling bad! (Um, seriously, though. Take a shower.)"
And in turn, these wild-haired, ironic T-shirt-clad masses would offer up their delicious jars of beer in response:
"Yes! DC sucks so hard! There's no sense of community there! The so-called 'scenes' are so piecemeal and put-on that they seem nonexistent at best and like cheap xerox copies of the butt of some other city at worst. And you know what else? We hate DC because it's too damn clean!"
"YEEEEAAAAHHHhhhh...wait, what? You hate DC because it's too clean?"
"INDUBITABLY! THE STREETS ARE TOO CLEAN!"
And that's when I would redirect my lovely jar of beer from being raised toward the sky in respectful agreement (and to loving the word indubitably) to being thrown in someone's face. Not only would this liquid have grabbed the attention of this misguided crew, but surely it would have also been the first liquid (of non-human origin, at least) to touch their fair visages in over fortnight or two.
But then I would have wasted a perfectly fine jar of beer and that's just dumb.
And so, instead, I just sat there and listened to them complain about one of DC's few, legitimately good points -- the lack of city litter.
"I like to feel the grit of a place under my feet," they said. "I like when garbage flies into my face. I like the odor of human manure in my nostrils! I like the suspense of rolling around on used hypodermic needles!!!"
OK, so while I may have just exaggerated *why* these transplanted suburban Williamsburgers hate being around anything that's been washed in the past year, I hope I was able to at least establish the ridiculousness of their particular claim of hate. I mean, seriously, there's a metric ass-ton (which is to regular ass-ton as a baker's dozen is to regular dozen) of reasons to complain about DC. The city being "too clean" is not one of them.
Maybe I should start a welcoming service for hipster tourists who visit, involving a bucket of urine, a fistful of broken crack pipes and a bucket of dirt that I would use to antique them as they cross the city border. And if that weren't gritty enough for them, I could also have a hose on hand connected to a the septic system at Ben's Chili Bowl. You're smellcome, dirtbag. I'm sorry the proverbial hot-tub's too hot.
I put up all this wicker just for you...