no money, no problems!

I am a natural born blogger. I know this. I'm f*cking really good at it, which is kind of depressing because of all the skills I could have been given, doling out cleverly written anecdotes sprinkled with fart jokes unfortunately has yet to earn me a billion dollars. It is days like today when I wish I could do basic math. But then again, that's what helper animals are for. However, I don't bring this up simply to depress myself. No, I bring this up because someone brought up a similar point to me yesterday. "I'm really surprised you haven't been getting more comments. Your posts are really good." And while I would've been flattered in the past, yesterday I just shrugged. "Duh. I know. I'm an idiot savant on the Web. (I'm a plain, old idiot offline, however.)" The conversation continued: "I think it's because Obama, our Lord and Savior, has become president and people are in better spirits here now and they might not be able to relate to your hilarious hatery as much." At that point, I regurgitated in my oral cavity just a bit, making me thankful I always have my pimp cup emesis basin on hand when people say such ridiculous things to me. "Really? You think one man can lift the veil of blarg off a city like DC, where the blarg flows deep and strong into the very roots of this big village's half-assed concept of community? For the love of everything outside of this cess pool, the new 'hot spot' in DC is The Cereal Bowl! Because everyone needs to drop $4 on a bowl of Lucky Charms served up to you by a douche in footie pajamas! WHAT?! CAN I GET A WITNESS?! CAN I?!?!" Cowering in fear, my conversation partner quickly hid his Cereal Bowl receipt behind his back and stammered, "W-w-w-well, then what do you think it is? Why haven't people been commenting on your totally engaging, irreverent and thought-provoking posts?" "Because they all moved! Duh! Do I need to have a helper animal come over here and spell it out for you?!?!" I added a retro Howard Dean scream at the end because I'm bat-sh*t insane. But besides proving that there should be a lot more padding in this room I'm in right now, this exchange brings up another point: DC is a transitional city, which means the sense of community will always lag behind that of other cities, which means DC still sucks. While, I admit I too have sensed a change for the slight better with the opening of ventures like The Passenger and U Street Music Hall, one still can't ignore ventures like The Cereal Bowl. (By the way, I call dibs on a canned fruit stand and a Capri-Sun bar. I'll make tens of dollars!) I've also sensed a slight change among the people. Perhaps, I'm progressively going blind, but people seem to be dressing slightly better here these days. I purchased a smartphone with a camera on it in hopes of engaging in a little spontaneous Shambles P.I., and I haven't found one outfit worthy. Sure, if you go to the Hill, you're going to see bad Ann Taylor and Men's Warehouse on display, but no longer do a handful of people (which is better than none) seem to be keeping this aesthetic on the weekends. For example, I know for a fact I'm not the only kid on the block with a pair of jorts anymore. But, unlike my aforementioned conversation partner, I don't think Obama deserves all the credit. If he starts wearing jorts then we'll talk. But guess who does wear jorts? TAKE A WILD GUESS AT WHAT EGOTIST WEARS JORTS! COME ON! Indeed, my mockage of douche and love of jorts came so hard last year that when I left to travel, this city scrambled to better itself before my imminent and predictable return. Or maybe not. Maybe it was a natural evolution. I mean, let's not go carried away; after all, the other pair of jorts I mentioned didn't even have awesome fray on them, which technically means they're not even jorts, but simply denim shorts. Yawn. So, you see? Obama or not, there's still a whole lot to bitch about in DC. Unfortunately, when you leave for six months, most of your longterm readers inevitably leave, too, meaning people stop commenting. And while I'd like to think they all left because they couldn't bear living here without my knowledge being dropped on them like proverbial bird turds from a sickly pigeon, I think the real reason a bunch of them left was because it was in their plans all along. Like I said, DC is a transitional place. And so The Anti DC, the one thing I'm naturally good at, is fatefully left to wiggle like a fish out of water, forgotten about in your grandpa's rickety old fishing boat. Will anybody find it before it inevitably dies a painful, suffocating death? And if so, will they eat it or throw it back? Or will they simply use it for decoration then exploit it in an annoying McDonald's ad? I'm hoping for the latter. I want a billion dollars and a lifetime supply of milkshakes.