i really can't believe i'm posting this on the internet

So, I went to CityZen and I tried to review it. Keyword = tried.



Kids, that's what 31 looks like. Have a good weekend!

thank you, fate

I woke up this morning with two gifts. The first was knowing I made it another year in this world and the second was a link to The Hill's annual list of the 50 Best Looking People on the Hill.

And seriously, there's no better birthday gift than knowing you've made it another year just in time to make fun of 50 unsuspecting douches, one of whom will now forever be known as "Cheese Nips lover," thanks to The Hill's creative nickname editorial board.

Poor Hillary Caron, not only is she now going to be gifted Cheese Nips from now until the end of time, but she's also going to have to live with the following sentences attached to her name:

"Hillary Caron finds social life after work on the Hill to be a lot like her days as a Tri-Delt at Duke University. 'You go to a party, and it’s Udall people and McCaskill people and people from the Ag Committee,' she says of Congress’s cliquish nature. 'We're 10 years older and know how to hold our liquor, but otherwise, it's similar.'"

And that, my friends, is why people hate DC. Thanks for your contribution to the toolestry, Hillary.

Yet Ms. Caron is not the only reason people hate DC. Oh no, there are at least 49 more! However, for the purposes of our sanity (and not to mention I have a lunch scheduled at 1 p.m.), we'll only look at a few more of these 50 hotties.

Like these dogs!

Seriously, those are some fine canines.

Yet unlike those beautiful beasts, some weren't so lucky with their photos, like Anu Vakkalanka of (and I am not making this up) IndianMakeupDiva.com, whose awkward pose makes her look like she's having a "fat guy in a little coat" moment.

Suck it in, girl!

Then, of course, we have Allison Sadoian, who claims she's mistaken for Katie Holmes, Anne Hathaway and Brittany Murphy (post-mortem?) on a daily basis.

"I'm told at least once a day that I remind [people] of someone famous," Sadoian told The Hill. Uh, maybe in Conan O'Brien's old "If They Mated" machine...

Then there's Jon Ward, whose most interesting characteristic is apparently the fact that he wears glasses.

Indeed, those are some fine spectacles.

There's also Hudson Hollister. He's (surprise!) "Transparent."


Then we have Blair Mixon, who like "Cheese Nips lover" will forever be associated with a foodstuff. In her case, it's grits, y'all!


"All of my northern friends thought that grits were terrible," Mixon says. "So I started telling everybody how to eat them the right way, not the plain way they thought you were supposed to."

Consider those tax dollars well-spent, Americans. Yee-haw.

important things to know

Forgive me for not being as timely as usual with today's post. I was very busy awaiting the results of the 85th Annual Chincoteague Pony Swim, which took place this morning. And yes -- they came, they swam, they got auctioned.

What's that? You don't know what the 85th Annual Chincoteague Pony Swim is? Well, it's exactly what it sounds like -- a pony swim.


My God, that looks sad and cruel...

And speaking of sad and cruel -- Boy Scout Jamboree.


Five minutes later, all these kids and their molesters chaperones were drenched from last weekend's storm-turned-Pepco's BP moment.

Oh Pepco, I'm grateful that I'm not one of the 30,000 left without your beautiful electricity, but seriously, haven't you learned anything from BP? Apologizing without really apologizing does little to help rectify people's trust in you once you've royally f*cked up. In fact, all apologizing without really apologizing does is make people distrust you even more. For instance, I know you're not in charge of my shoddy Internet connection over here (it's the bozos at Comcast), but I blame you anyway for this morning's outage. You motherhumpers!

Anyone recognize where I borrowed that last word from? Tremors! I saw it for the first time last night and am convinced that if Kevin f*cking Bacon can come up with a plan in the span of 90 minutes to prevent underground monsters from eating his entire backwater town, the Washington Metropolitan Transit Association should have probably been able to come up with a plan to prevent last summer's deadly metro crash. Especially after last night's hearing, which revealed a near collision in 2005 that highlighted all the potential problems in Metro's safety mechanisms (or lack thereof) and that could've been used as a lesson to remedy these problems. I smell a major lawsuit...

Meanwhile, lawyers are smelling delicious hamburgers and, contrary to common sense, they don't like it. In fact, the lawyers at Steptoe & Johnson LLC don't like it so much that they're suing Rogue States, the burger joint next door, claiming the smoke from cooking these aromatic vittles is contaminating their Connecticut Avenue offices and making employees sick! Sick with hunger, I bet! This just in -- Rogue States' legal defense:

that'll teach me to exercise...

If you follow me on Twitter and I somehow stick out among the other 300 people you're following either because 1) my tweets go above and beyond in the entertainment department, 2) my tweets go above and beyond in the entertardment department, or 3) my tweets simply show up at the exact one second you devote to looking at that program each day, then you probably already know I got a ticket yesterday...for walking.


In case you don't have the superhuman vision to read cop-writing (it took me 10 minutes to decipher the hieroglyphics passed off as handwriting here), this ticket shows a $20 fine for "Red violation/Walking against sign."

I contend, however, the officer should have added an ellipses and a "sorta" at the end of that clause because when I started crossing R Street NW on the southbound side of 14th Street, the crosswalk signal was still flashing orange high-fives at me. When it suddenly stopped while I was in the middle of the 15-foot-wide one-way street with no sign of any cars coming, instead of pausing like a stunned deer or returning to where I had come from, which would've been the same distance to get to where I was going, I continued to the other side. Sure, I found it strange that two cops were LOITERING around their police car, which was ILLEGALLY PARKED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe they were solving a crime. LOL!

As soon as I stepped on the curb, the female officer stopped me and asked to see my ID.

"What is this, Soviet Russia?" I thought. Then I saw the other cop stop a young Latino man. In my head, I traded Arizona for Soviet Russia. I looked at my arms. Having been at the beach this weekend, I got a little tan. I thought maybe I missed the law that passed that said it was OK for police to harass you in public just for being a little brown outside in DC.

Of course, I didn't voice this to the cop. Instead, I asked the officer why she needed my ID. She answered by shoving a brochure in my hand and said, "Pedestrian safety. You crossed the street illegally."

"Oh, really?" I asked. "Because I'm pretty sure the hand was flashing when I began crossing, so..."

"Ma'am. Give me your ID."

I gave her my ID. Then I gave myself a photo opportunity. I decided to snap a picture of this cop and post it to Twitter even after reading about the dangers of exercising one's rights to do so in the Washington Post that morning.


Clearly, as I've already demonstrated by venturing outside in this city whilst slightly beige, I'm not scared of the danger zone.

But seriously, this is all kinds of f*cked up. While jaywalking (which I don't think I technically even did) is on the books as a fineable offense, so are laws in some places that prohibit women from wearing high heels (California), ban people from catching fish with their bare hands (Kansas) and allow men to beat their wives, "as long as it is done in public on Sunday, on the courthouse steps" (West Virginia...duh).

I wonder what would happen if authorities started to enforce those laws? Would that be OK? I doubt it, because once the authorities stop enforcing a law, it becomes de facto legal (or illegal, in the cases of spousal assault). And while I understand jaywalking is a bit different than the above laws in that it's not completely laughable, I do not understand how something can be un-enforced to the point that people no longer see it as breaking the law, then one day suddenly enforced as if it never went away.

I've seen people (including myself) jaywalk a million times in front of cops in DC, eliciting nary even a warning. Truly, the law against jaywalking has gone the way of not being able to bathe on Sunday. After years of un-enforcement, people learned they can do it with impunity. Having to add "sometimes" to the end of any law is some bullsh*t.

Now, although I think jaywalking is OK in certain situations (in low-traffic areas at low-traffic times), I actually support easing this law back into common practice. (Both drivers and pedestrians in DC don't tend to watch the road too closely.) But the keyword to pay attention to here is "easing." Like any law that's been 100 percent neglected, one can't simply start strictly enforcing it out of nowhere via teaching a few unlucky citizens $20 lessons. That just pisses people off. Hell, I jaywalked across Logan Circle later that day simply out of spite.

Instead, the city should be using a more general campaign to make people aware of the law. The city should issue some public service announcements. Police officers should connect with community leaders or concerned bloggers, perhaps, who may be willing to help spread awareness. At the very least the police should warn people before randomly fining them. They should make it known that after a while -- after people are aware again of the law -- the law will start to be enforced, perhaps even with higher fines because people would now have to make the conscious decision to break the law in order to jaywalk.

But to just hand out semi-nominal fines because the city's hurting for funds or you have to meet your end-of-the-month ticket quota or whatever is ridiculous. More so, for the reasons I outlined above, it's just plain ill-planned and pointless. Then again, this is DC, where stupid is status quo, so I guess it'd be naive to think suddenly this city would go about anything with logic in its corner... Contrary to popular belief here, 2 + 2 does not equal crackpipe.

this article just made dc uglier

Just when you start thinking, "Oh, I'm off to the beach today, so I don't think I have time to write a proper essay for The Anti DC," this happens -- a blog called Awesome DC does the impossible and makes DC sound even lamer than it actually is.

No seriously. Even an article I should be flattered by makes me want to go all kung-fu Midget Mac on the world. Elias Shams of Awesome DC writes:

"Having lived and worked in many countries and cities, I’ve always found the Washingtonian women the most attractive ones. I just found out the reason: They are mostly in their late 20’s and low 30’s. According to a new research I just read on telegraph, women in their late 20s and early 30s are considered more attractive than fresh-faced eighteen and nineteen year olds. The findings, from a survey of the opinions of over 2,000 men and women, found that beauty was as much rooted in personality as appearance. Beauty was defined as being confident by 70 per cent of respondents, having good looks by 67 per cent and being stylish by 47 per cent."

Ignoring all the grammatical and style errors (Shams is originally from Iran), this whole premise barely even makes sense. Where in this "telegraph study" (I'm assuming he means England's Telegraph newspaper), is age even mentioned? Also, where in this study does it indicate that any of those things considered to be attractive qualities -- looks, confidence, style -- are exclusive to each other? From what I can tell from this chopped up data, 70 percent of respondents said having a nice personality was an attractive quality. Almost the same amount, 67 percent, said good looks was also an attractive quality. Perhaps what makes a person attractive is some combination of the two? Logic.

Also, although Mr. Shams's words seem complimentary to women between the ages of 28 and 35, the ages he defines as late twenties and early thirties, they're actually pretty hideously offensive. It seems like he's saying we (I'm 30) are automatically uglier than women in their early 20s, that women have a "peak" range, after which it's all just a big, ugly, physical decline until we die shriveled up little trolls.

And actually, it's pretty offensive to younger women, as well. While you're all "fresh-faced" and pretty, you also apparently have the confidence of a tater-tot. Grow up you babbling babies!

Jesus. And just when you think it couldn't get worse...

"Being surrounded by such a large number women in D.C. between the age of 28 and 35, all smoking hot and mostly with great personality, we, men certainly having a tough time to pick one. I mean think about it – how can we choose? If you still don’t know the hell I am talking about, here is a closest example I can think of from the woman’s side. Imagine you go shopping for dress, or shoe or bag. Your choices are Oscar de la renta, CHANEL, and Versace . How can you decide? Don’t you wish you could have them all? Even if you end up buying Versace, you still wish you could have had the other two as well. Not to mention you will buy them in a month or so later anyway."

Oh, tee f*cking hee. What a great f*cking analogy. Because 1) women are too stupid to understand the basic concept that having several good options can make decisions tougher to make without relating it to shoes, and 2) women are just like products to be bought and discarded for a new model later! Fantastic!

"It is very tough to be a man living in D.C. A lot of hard choices Sometimes, I wish I was gay so I didn’t have to go through such hard choices . Then again, even if I was gay, we, Washingtonian men are also hot compare to men living in other part of the country, even compare to the men from other countries. Yes, we are mostly a*hole, but that’s a given. We can’t help it. By default, we are born that way "

Keep in mind that paragraph immediately precedes this picture:


Every gay man on Earth just recoiled. Indeed, judging from Elias's own evidence, the only sentence in that last paragraph that I could ever think was even half true is the last...

On the brightside, at least I have an inkling as to how Nick Nolte ended up being named the sexiest man alive by People magazine that one time... Shams clearly must have been on the editorial board.

Not OK.

Hat tip: @debbimack

dc continues to ban fun

As most of you already probably heard if you live in DC and read any number of more timely news outlets out there, the city denied Big Bear Cafe, Bloomingdale's flagship coffee shop, its liquor license earlier this week. And yes, although this can be summed up with the phrase, "What a bunch of bullsh*t," this decision should really come as no surprise. DC has a long history of hating fun.

• U Street gay club/restaurant Cada Vez ran into trouble when trying to renew their liquor license in 2005 because the city thought they shouldn't be classified as a club/restaurant but simply a club. Or something. (Cada Vez has since closed, although it is unclear whether the trouble with the city had anything to do with it.)

• Tonic (the one located near George Washington University) couldn't get its liquor license the first time it applied in 2006. (The bar/restaurant later received one.)
  

• H Street venue Ethiopic was denied their license by the city last year. (The restaurant later received one.)

• P.J. Clarke's in Dupont Circle couldn't get their liquor license last week.

And the list goes on and on, but I'm sick of Googling, so let's just go with that for now. As you can see, even though the city seems to hate fun initially, after a while, it seems it usually comes around. So, I don't think this is the end for Big Bear Café, which I confess I've only been to once for obvious reasons: THEY DON'T SERVE LIQUOR!

Now, I could just end my essay here letting you believe the city's Advisory Neighborhood Commissions (ANCs), the groups in charge of liquor licensing, are just a bunch of teetotalling dicks, but I won't. That wouldn't be fair. See, while that's often the case, it seems sometimes this city's residents are even bigger teetotalling dicks.

For example, it was because of GW student complaints about noise (um, seriously) why it took Tonic a good two years to get its liquor license. In 2008 (maybe after those assholes graduated?), Tonic finally was granted license to begin serving fun.

And keeping close with the young-people-acting-conspicuously-lame tip, I think we have the root of Big Bear's problems -- its neighbors, who presented this ridiculously worded legal resolution against Big Bear to the Commission on Tuesday. Whereas, you're all a bunch of haters...

But perhaps, I'm simply under the wrong impression. I thought Bloomingdale, where Big Bear is located, was the new go-to neighborhood for white people. In other words, I thought it was the new gentrification hotspot. And if there's one thing we know about gentrifying white people, it's that they like wine and fancy beer with their coffee. So, what the f*ck is going on here, huh? Why, Bloomingdale residents, are you all trying to deny who you are?

Maybe this is a grand ploy to keep dirty drunk hobos like me out of your neighborhood. If so, congratulations -- you've won. I will continue not to go to there and keep my stupid dirty drunk hobo gentrification dollars in my pocket. Cheers, Bloomingdale! *glug*

dc cupcakes: the signature show review

I tried to catch an episode of TLC's new "reality" show, DC Cupcakes, the other day, but as it turns out, I missed it. And I don't mean I tried to watch it and I missed it because I wasn't physically around a picture box while it was on. No, I mean I flipped through the channels, found it, watched it a bit, then realized IT WAS THE MOST BORING PROGRAM THAT HAS EVER SWINDLED ITS WAY ONTO THE AIRWAVES, so I voluntarily turned it off.

Seriously. It's so boring CSPAN looks like a suspenseful-action-thriller-drama-comedy compared to DC Cupcakes. Hell, watching the TV while it's off is more interesting than DC Cupcakes. Really, see for yourselves...



OH MY GREAT GOD! CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC AND CALL THE MARINES! THEY'RE OUT OF RED VELVET!

Cupcake bitch, please. Unless your clientele is going to daintily trade their Sex and the City 2 cosmos for Molotov cocktails, I don't think 20 minutes without red velvet will ruin your f*cking business. Calm down.

And that isn't even the clip I caught on television. (Do you see the lengths I go to for this blog?!) The clip I saw was 10 minutes of these two highstrung worrywarts freaking out about their "Signature Swirl," which after heard several hundred times with the owners' sssignature prissssy accentsss within the ssspan of one-sssixth of sssixty minutes, begins to sound like Sarah Palin's nails on Glenn Beck's chalkboard. Actually, I'd probably rather see those two together because at least that'd be a sh*tshow, rather than just a sh*tty show...

Anyway, besides not understanding how drunk a network exec must've been to agree to air DC Cupcakes, I really don't understand people like this. If running low on red velvet and not being able to perfect your "signature swirl," the signature of which just resembles a perfectly piled up dog turd, are your biggest problems, then congratulations. You're either the luckiest people alive or simply too boring to engage in real life from which you'd learn their are more important things to worry about than your non-problems.

Anyone remember when TLC used to air pseudo-documentaries like "Born Without a Face" and "I Eat 33,000 Calories a Day?" Remember when TLC stood for "The Learning Channel?" Yeah. I miss that era. Now, what do I do? Read a book? REALLY? REALLY?! SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE, TLC!? I'M FORCED TO GO READ A F*CKING BOOK! You did this to me, TV. You. Did. This.

shambles p.i.: the federal gov't edition

It's so silly that we here in Washington, DC, don't have voting rights and not just because, at this point, it's become unconstitutional. No, it's because the f*cking Capitol and all the Congressional buildings are on our turf. It's like having an awesome moonbounce on your property but only allowing guests to use it. The occupants of the place just have to sit there and watch. Oh, and pay for it, too. We deserve to use our f*cking moonbounce, dammit! We also deserve to wear a goddamn pair of shorts if the heat index calls for dying if you don't. However, some of us here in the District can't even control that thanks to the feds, at least according to this Washington Post article, which says when it comes to National Park rangers, federal code for DC dictates that they must where wool PANTS regardless of what time of year it is: "Individual park superintendents decide whether rangers wear long wool pants or shorts, depending on geography, the time of year and the location. In the District, park rangers on the Mall must wear long wool pants at all times, regardless of the climate." Of course, thanks to the Washington Post's shoddy reporting, we never find out who exactly the park superintendent is who made this decision, but I'm sure he probably lives in Virginia and is also against us getting in the moonbounce. The Post does, however, provide a quote from the National Park Service press person, David Barna, who basically sums up all the reasons I hate DC in one tiny sentence: "This is the nation’s capital, it's a solemn place. We like to convey that very professional look here in the District of Columbia." Even if that so-called "professional look" results in an increased chance of heatstroke and death. Wow. Solemn to the max! But seriously, has Mr. Barna ever even been to DC in the summer? Commuting in from your air-conditioned condo in McLean in your air-conditioned Range Rover into an air-conditioned parking lot to your air-conditioned office doesn't count. But I don't know. Maybe it's not like that. Unlike Jared Cohen and Alec Ross, I couldn't find Barna's Facebook page. For all I know, he does live in DC, runs to work each day and gets his jollies from letting his junk sweat in his wool pants at the FDR memorial. Yeah. I'm sure it's the latter. But really, this moronic misconception in DC that says one must look like a sweaty dork to look professional is what makes this city so easy to unleash Shambles P.I. in. Unless we're talking about Daisy Duke jorts, shorts not only can look just as professional as pants, but in DC when 98 is considered a cool summer day, shorts make you look, well, not dumb.

Law Enforcement Cheetah = So Necessary

Of course, I joke. Not because I don't think Lt. Dangle looks professional, but because I just don't think short-shorts are flattering on the average American now that footlong cheeseburgers can be bought and sold in the open... The point is, I understand the benefits of having a dress code for any sort of law enforcement figure. It makes them easy to spot, it gives them an air of authority and, yes, it looks professional. What I don't understand, though, is this outdated notion the DC superintendent seems to have that says to look respectable you have to be uncomfortable.

Whomp, whomp...

In closing, I'd like to recite a poem using the eloquent lyrics of Lil' John, ahem:

3,6,9 damn she fine Hopin' she can sock it to me one mo' time Get low, Get low Get low, Get low To the window, to the wall To the sweat drop down my balls My balls.

i told you i have a master's in international relations...

After mind-smacking into order the NYTimes Sunday crossword puzzle this weekend, I got around to reading this, that article in the magazine about those two DC famewhores (takes one to know one) who get paid by the State Department to Twitter stupid sh*t for a living.

Yes, I'm talking about Jared Cohen and Alec Ross, the federal douches who've developed online Twitter followings that only two other government officials beat -- Barack Obama and John McCain. Congratulations, boys! Your Twitter avatards have arrived!

And big virtual high-five from me because you've tricked people into thinking that having Blackberry thumb races to see which one of you can Tweet faster about having cake-eating contests on a federally sponsored trip to Syria is a legitimate career. As someone who's been trying to trick others into paying me money for years in exchange for my similar non-skill skills, I salute you.

Unless of course your efforts are helping the terrorists win...

But before discussing the pitfalls of the douchey duo's approach to statecraft, let's take a look at the entire Internet and how nefarious foreign entities may use it. Hilariously accented Belarusian thinker Evgeny Morozov points out that the Eeeenterrrrnet actually helps dictatorships and other oppressive regimes because it gives them a very easy platform on which to spin stories. That is, they can pay bloggers to accuse those who post something negative about the government to write e-essays about how that person is untrustworthy or a foreign operative or Sharktopus or whatever.

More poignantly, and this is probably Morozov's strongest argument, he says that social netvooorrrrrks have become all-you-can-eat information buffets for oppressive governments to easily figure out who the dissidents are, how they're connecting and, often, where they'll be. "Een the past eet vould take you veeks, if not months, to identify how ... activeests connect to each other. Now you actually know how zay connect to each other by looking at zee Facebook page." Gone is the need to torture, he says, "Now eet's all available aaahhhnline!"

And now I have a strange craving for vodka with a borscht chaser...

While I go get my delicious and healthy breakfast ready (my ancestors are proud today), think about this: Foreign policy and diplomacy in oppositional countries are touchy things. It's all about the message and knowing how best to control it to ensure it has the best chance to be understood as intended. The Internet aids none of those things and using the excuse of "Oh well! It's the future! We gotta work with it!" is not good enough. Just because it exists does not mean you have to use it. Crack exists, too, yet you don't see me eating that for breakfast!

But I digress. While, of course, I recognize there will never be a means to control entirely a message no matter how great of wording you use or how you send it, I do understand that certain methods increase your chances exponentially. Twitter is not one of them. Having senior-level State Department employees haphazardly broadcast 140-character sic-filled snippets about cake-eating contests to the world does little to help our relations with Syria. (As far as I know, not one less dollar was diverted to arming Hezbollah Hamas because of that.) Instead, Tweets like those just lead the world to further stereotype all Americans as diabetic fatsos at best (don't we already spread enough of that message abroad by continuing to franchise McDonalds?), and frivolous idiots who shouldn't be taken seriously at worst. Random Tweets coming from the guise of a "legitimate government official" just make us sound like a f*cking frathouse. And a lame one at that...

Basically, whether you're a layperson on a mission or a government official (which means by your title alone you're by default on a mission), this all comes down to the purpose behind your message. If you don't have one, then you shouldn't be Tweeting (wipe that cake off your face and pay attention, Cohen.). And if you do have a message, then you need to think about the consequences of sending it via a 140-character snippet to the entire world.

Non-governmental entities need to think about who else could read their message. If activists are going to continue to use it as a new way to organize protests before they occur, it seems that the government they're protesting against will always win. If they use it simply to publicize their protests as they're happening then perhaps they stand a chance. (Morozov writes more about that idea here.)

Government agents need to think about social media more fundamentally, however. Unlike laypeople, where I think the Internet can help their cause greatly if used as a means to publicize rather than organize, I think federally employed thumbs need to think about this before they hit send: How -- if at all -- can Twitter or Facebook help the American diplomatic cause in real-time? I'm not so sure it can. Diplomacy is about compromise, meaning there's a lot of back-and-forth before one or more parties make concessions to reach an agreement. This back-and-forth needs to be carefully crafted and communicated to the correct individuals (and more importantly, perhaps, NOT to others) in order to decrease the chance of misinterpretation. Broadcasting everything to the world in this case just seems idiotic. With that in mind, I think social media should only be used by the State department to publicize when an agreement has been made, not to negotiate some kind of "21st-century statecraft," as State Secretary Clinton has called it, or spout off some ridiculous observation without thinking it through.

Perhaps in the future, there will be a wider roll for such things, but for now it just seems like 21st-century shambles. Cohen and Ross may have had a chuckle about that now infamous cake-eating Tweet, but the rest of the world did not. Perhaps not even the Syrian communication minister to whom that cake-eating Tweet was directed. Since as far as I know he doesn't have a Twitter, we'll never know what he thought, but imagine if he did Tweet, didn't like what the Americans said and wrote, "Really? THIS is what the USA sends to me? Liberal democracy. Pfft." What good would that do for our cause? With so much of the world already against us, should we really give them more avenues by which to dislike us? Because right now the bad is outweighing the good when it comes to government officials on Twitter.

To quote "The Room," a movie whose creative and barely understandable lines always shed light on worldwide issues, "Keep your stupid comments in your pocket." And I mean that literally, State Department. Put your Blackberrys away. Or at least use G-chat.

***

And speaking of avartards and such, did you know you can follow The Anti DC on Twitter and "like" The Anti DC page on Facebook? The Anti DC's marketing department would appreciate your participation on both. Thank you.

shakers and shockers

For those of you who were snuggled up tight in your hyperbaric chambers last night like me and didn't notice the earthquake in DC this morning, it went down like this:



In other words -- nothing. People in Chile and Haiti are giving us the collective finger right now for even making this a news item, but I don't know... If anything spells doomsday, I think it's Evan O'DORNEY (don't f*cking forget!) and minor tremors earthquakes in DC, where THERE AREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE MINOR TREMORS EARTHQUAKES! (Today's task: Reinforce my hyperbaric chamber's crossbeams to make them doomsday-safe.)

In other news, HILARIOUS TESTUDINIDAE PORN! Well, I feel uncomfortable now. But don't blame me, blame Animal Planet for alerting me how f*cking funny it is when tortoises do it.

And speaking of doing it (and by "doing" I mean "drinking" and by "it" -- "liquor"), I suggest doing it at The Passenger, which I've long touted as my favorite place in DC to drown my sorrows in. And Bon Appetit magazine agrees having named it one of the nation's Top 10 venues to drown your sorrows.

Also, I want to alert your attention to the Bicycle Film Festival, which is currently going on but I probably won't attend because I'll be too busy riding my bike to go watch Inception instead, which received 9.6/10 stars on IMDB with 2,763 votes counted. That's the highest rating ever so far so...

Lastly, more tortoise sex! Super-sized!

before you put your pants on smarty...

Someone please tell me that I'm not the only person who pontificates about what would ever happen if we reached the end of science. Is that even possible? I mean, even if we discover all there is to know, won't there always be a couple of unanswerable questions because of the conditions with which we're surrounded? For instance, without the aid of greater perspective, how will we ever know that what we think we're seeing is really what's there? For instance, what you're seeing as a computer screen and keyboard may actually be specks on some tiny part of some hard-to-even-imagine-how-big-or-small-it-could-be gravitational horizon that reflects light in a certain way to mimic shapes. No really, some scientists think THIS COULD ALL JUST BE A F*CKING HOLOGRAM!

Your hand on the mouse guiding the pointer toward the "X" right now? ILLUSION!

But seriously, please don't click that "X." I swear I'm going somewhere with this in that it will soon become a metaphor for something we perceive to be real within the parts of the world we think we're able to detect through our current science-based "facts." Or whatever.

Basically, what I'm saying here is that even if we do come up with a theory that more or less "proves" (or at least what we perceive as proves) a certain theory, how do we know that's the end? What if that hologram universe is part of a larger hologram world? Or what if that larger hologram world is balanced on the backs of a million stacked-up turtles? Or what if those millions of stacked up turtles are actually located in a marble being knocked around by some 8-year-old kid in some other world where up is down and down is up? Or, God ironically forbid, that we discuss the possibility of the existence of God or Allah or Krishna or Xenu (well, maybe not that last one...) or some other traditionally divine possibility! Or maybe it's not anything anthropomorphic at all! Maybe there's still some supernatural force -- for the atheists in the crowd let's call it Science 2.0 -- that our mysteriously conscious minds don't have the faculties to even begin to comprehend! Perhaps, all we are is dust in the wind. All we are is dust in the wi-i-i-i-i-i-iiiind! (You're my boy, Blue!)

And I joke (as signified by my nod to "Old School," the greatest film to ever be produced on hologram Earth), but maybe that's literal! Maybe a Science 2.0 blob-god flipped on a fan, causing the dander (which is really tiny hologram us!) on his pet blob-cat to careen off into the far corner of his blobpartment in an ever-expanding mass. Maybe THAT'S the "big bang!"

(Give me a minute. OMBG! My head's about to explode.)

Phew. The point is, no matter how much we think we know, we might be totally wrong, at least in the grand scheme of things. And sure, some will argue that if there's never going to be a possibility of proving or disproving a set of possibilities, there's no point in trying or even caring. They say, "I'll just stick to what I can see, thankyouverymuch. The rest doesn't matter because I can't quantify it with my TI-89!"

Fine. I get it. Facts (or what we perceive to be facts) are important. So are statistics and data and everything else that can tell us more about the immediate world that we can see. After all, hologram or not, the way our senses work (whether they were evolved or designed or pooped out by evolutionary forces within the intestines of blob-god), we're forced to operate within the parameters we can detect through sight, sound, touch, smell and taste. Sadly, those are all the faculties we've got, which means we might still be missing things we can't merdop, zangle, puffuffle, lorp and vulkem. (I assume those are the totally reasonably named senses of the future.) In other words, we're probably missing a lot.

And so is this Brookings Institute study that led the Washington Post, which I love so much, to proclaim, "Washington region ranks as best-educated area in the country." Mainly, it seems to be missing the data, which they apparently gathered from some mythical "2008 Census."

Judging from the 2010 Census PR campaign, I'm guessing the 2008 return was probably pretty paltry and, more importantly, probably pretty lopsided. For one, I don't even remember receiving a census form, and also I'm guessing that there was probably a disproportionate number returned from the suburbs where people simply have nothing else to do but get rich, go to school and fill out government paperwork. (And spy for Russia.)

But even if I was the only oddball in DC proper not to receive a form and this 2008 data is more or less correct, having the highest number of post-high school degrees isn't necessarily something we should be bragging about. These days, most people in middle-class-to-affluent suburbs go to college because that's what they're supposed to do. You don't have to be extraordinarily smart to get in anymore (George W. Bush went to Yale), which means when you graduate, it certainly doesn't signify that you're smarter because of it (again, George W. Bush went to Yale). Really, college is the new high school, but with a lot more grade inflation, so in a weird way, it's actually easier. (GEORGE BUSH WENT TO YALE!)

More importantly, college doesn't make you interesting. And in fact, going to college because "it's what's expected of you," actually just makes you boring. What do you do? Oh, you're a [insert serious occupation here]? That's great. What else do you do? You act like a douche because you let your college-degree-necessary serious job define your entire personality? That's fabulous. Good for you.

Seriously, think about how many parties (and I use that term loosely here) you've been to in DC or Arlington or Alexandria or Bethesda, where you find yourself saying, "I need to be drunker to be here right now." Why do you think that is? It's because besides talking politics and policy (which, I concede, we are very good at here in DC) party conversations here are about as stimulating to the mind as blob-god's legs are long. (Get it? BLOB-GOD DOESN'T HAVE LEGS! Or does he? Or she? Or it? Or some other pronoun our brains can't even conceive of yet?)

DC is very good at maintaining the status quo, which is fine I guess (it's better than being below average), but it's certainly nothing to be proud of. Great, we all went to college. Great, we all have stable 9 to 5 jobs (well, most of us...). Great, we all watch CSI and go to Home Depot on the weekends. Woot.

It comes down to this: What we lack in DC in adequate stimulation, we try to make up for in our boasting about how book-smart we are. While that's great (I think a certain level of erudition -- although not necessarily that which can be acquired through traditional schooling -- is necessary to create stimulation), if we're always reading the book instead of writing it, we're destined for nothing more than normal, adequate, so-so, meh, peppered every-so-often with a truly great policy discussion.

So here's my unsolicited advice: We need to break out of the constraints we've trapped ourselves within and look at the grander picture. Life isn't all about staying in line with what's expected of us given the circumstances into which we were born. It's high time we here in DC began to see beyond our own myopia and puffuffle the numinous that could be. Or at the very least, stop being so damn socially boring, wonks, and start realizing there's more to life than networking. There's blob-god. Or something.

About the author: The Anti DC not only went to college but somehow convinced another school of higher learning to give her a Master's degree in Russian foreign policy, which she will talk about if asked at parties until your ear falls off. Literally. Then, in humanity's quest to get to the end of science, she will conduct an experiment to discover how many hologram cocktail napkins it takes to plug the gaping hole left by your missing ear. Talk about being socially awkward at a party! This girl!

hey reporters, read this and cry

It's no wonder Washington, DC, is the seat of a Web start-up that realizes that often the best sources of local news are blogs because what actual news media sources give us is sh*t like this:

Congratulations, Washington Post! You're *almost* as good as my underfunded, tiny liberal arts 4-page newspaper that tried to decide which cafeteria was best -- North or South campus -- before inevitably coming to the conclusion that no one really cared.

Take that as a lesson, Post -- no one cares. Well, maybe some of you care *ahem* 600,000 federal employees in DC *ahem*, but I can't imagine anyone cares enough to warrant the above screen-captured cafeteria fluff piece the prestige of being placed on the front-page as the feature story in the Post's local section (at least online). I mean, that's just 'tarded, especially when there's a lot of other newsworthy sh*t happening around here.

Really, something seems un-right that part-time, mostly unpaid bloggers in DC are doing journalism better than their fulltime, paid counterparts and, if I were an advertiser, I'd probably rethink where I'd be putting my marketing dollars...

(Um, my pockets?)

Seriously, as a one-time reporter myself, I find it completely embarrassing to the profession that amateur bloggers (a word that's often scoffed at by those in the news business) are often more talented than trained reporters. In fact, I'm pretty happy and relieved to not be associated with the label "reporter" anymore because professional journalism -- at least as it exists today -- seems to be a stockyard for the uncreative and lazy. And that's a herd I honestly want no part of because herds are usually just there to slay and eat.

Thankfully, though, my skills and interests lead me to be better suited to editorialize (you're reading this essay, right?), so I'll let those few reporters who remain in the herd and who aren't completely stupid try to lead it away from the slaughterhouse. As for me, I'll just be over here continuing to write without letting the inverted pyramid guide my every AP-approved word. So, you can call me a blogger. Scoff at me if you must because I don't get paid a paltry yearly salary to create sub-par content. We'll see whose pockets the advertising money ends up with in a few years...

so many wrongs do not make a right, but they will make me wonder

I don't hate to do two posts in a row on Tommy Wiseau, the wizard behind the sh*t-curtain that is "The Room," but I certainly don't love it. I wish I could blab on instead about old people screaming on the Metro or a bunch of snobs discriminating against two-wheeled access to their hoity-toity club or even how DC has managed to make helping homeless people a puke-worthy event. (Thankfully, though, regarding that last one, someone else already made fun of that for me. Phew.)

But alas, I have a duty to do over here at The Anti DC and that duty is Shambles P.I. That is, when I or a reader, our collective Shambles P.I., spots a shambles extraordinaire, I can't not publicize it here at The Anti DC. And Wiseau's fug is too bold to hide. I mean, look at this sh*t:

Indeed, what you're seeing is a grown man dressed like a business clown. Really, this outfit is suited less for purporting yourself as a director of movies and more for screaming "I'm a fan of The Matrix! If it were made in 1992..."

Honestly, Tommy looks like a confused teen, one of those creepy Twilight-obsessed teenwolves, but also colorblind. Whatever is going on, like so many plot points in Wiseau's movies, we'll probably never know. (Why is Johnny seemingly cool with strangers breaking into his house and having sex on his couch? Why is Tommy wearing so many belts at one time? How is it that Mark is Johnny's "best friend," yet he doesn't know how he and Lisa met? Why is Wiseau wearing sunglasses in the basement of a movie theater? What is in Lisa's neck? A neon yellow tie, really Tommy?)

Indeed, Tommy's fashion choices join the ranks of the world's greatest mysteries along with the pyramids, crop circles and the question, who farted? We might never know.

And speaking of unanswerable questions, on a totally different shambles, since when is it OK to where water-shoes on dry land, and more specifically, in a city? After listening to the Diane Rehm show yesterday, I now know I'm not the only one who's been noticing the following fugliness fitted on the feet of a few fools as of late.


Goddammit. I never thought I'd have to say this but, "Vibram Fivefingers," supposedly a running shoe, are the new Crocs. And surprise! People love this ugly sh*t in DC. In the last week alone, I've seen pairs at the DMV and Whole Foods. I've seen pairs walking dogs and commuting to work. I've even seen a pair on a Segway. (As if that person needed any more reason to look like an asshole...)

However, just as I never saw anyone gardening in Crocs (their only halfway suitable scene), I've yet to see someone jogging in Vibram Fivefingers. And, really, why would you? THIS IS CLEARLY A WATER SHOE. So, unless you're planning on wading into the Potomac (ew), this trend is not OK. Please stop it before it stops you...from ever looking cool again. Don't Wiseau yourself. Good day.

so, this happened...!

As those of you who enjoy watching horrible movies at midnight at E Street theater probably know, Tommy Wiseau and Greg "Sesosterone" Sestero dropped by Washington this weekend to meet and greet and scoff at fans of "The Room." But while most people settled for a picture and an autograph, I wouldn't settle for anything less than a MadLib from the great Wiseau whose grasp on the English language is, um, interesting, to say the least...

Here's what happened:

lebron who? we have john wall...

...AND THE JOHN WALL DANCE!



Disregarding the illiterate who spelled "indulging" with an "e," (perhaps it was the same illiterate who vandalized this LeBron poster in Cleveland?), that video was pretty awesome. I'm doing the "Double Wall" right now, as my helper horse Sven (when Charles Town went to sh*t he came back!) is hoofing away at the keyboard.

So yeah, sports and sh*t.

Besides the Olympics and the occasional tennis match, I never watched or, more importantly, cared about sports until I moved to DC. While I'd love to say I became a fan because our teams are just so good you're forced to love them, we all know that's a bold-faced lie. *ahem* Redskins... *ahem*

For the most part, here in DC we cheer for losers. Save for players like the Wizards' Wall, new Nationals pitcher Stephen Strasburg, and the Capitals' resident toothless Russian Sasha Alex Ovechkin, we got nothin'. Our local teams are like dogs who swallow the country's diamond rings. The result isn't that great. I mean, a sparkly dog turd is better than a dull one, but it's still a turd. (The Caps, so far, are the only team to even come close to turning turds into trophies.)

But I think we like it that way. We bond over having our hopes crushed. We bond in our collective misery. We bond in our simultaneous screams of "F*************************CK!" Indeed, in those short, utterly disappointing and depressing moments, we come together as a city. We are one and we love it.

So, cheer up Cleveland and other Ohioans (?), Miami may have picked the diamond out of your turd making it worth a lot less, but I bet that turd still smells just the same. It's yours. Scoop it up together! ...Or, I guess, metaphorically burn it and leave it on Miami's front steps...

*sigh*

While I understand Cleveland's shock and awe -- their boyfriend just broke up with them and all -- I'm less understanding of the emotional and even irrational, Comic f*cking Sans-fonted reactions of not only LeBron's purported "fans," but his former boss.

Honestly, the Cavaliers franchise just gouted itself with that letter. And if the owners continue to react like Satan just killed their unicorn, they're basically letting every future star of LeBron's caliber know that THEY'RE F*CKING CRAZY. Really, it's no wonder LeBron left. Would you want to work for Dan "Crazy Font" Gilbert?

Look, as a person who's interested in the game of basketball because it gives me another opportunity to move my wrist back and forth to a beat (I say "another" because that's also how I hail a cab), perhaps it's easier for me to take a rational stance. I see it this way: Professional basketball is a game. LeBron wants to win. By joining forces with his friends on the Heat, he just increased his chances. It's not about betrayal. It's not about abandonment. Hell, I don't think it's even about the money or fame. LeBron simply wants to win. That's not narcissistic, that's not an ego out of control -- that's just one really talented guy who thinks he has a better chance to reach his full potential somewhere else.

If anything, leaving Cleveland is the most un-narcissistic thing LeBron could've done. I mean, it must be nice being treated like a god everywhere you go, right? Instead, by leaving he's basically saying he's not good enough to win carrying a team on his own. He's saying he's not a god. He's saying he needs help, and it just so happens the players he believes can help him live in Florida. Judging from his answers to tough questions and the clear emotion in his eyes last night after he made his announcement public, LeBron is not a stupid guy. He knew this decision would incite an instant backlash that would result in a supersonic fall from grace. He knew he would lose his most rampant fan base. Yet he gave all that glory up for the purity of his game.

Now if that's a selfish move, then all of us who have ever left a situation in which we thought we weren't able to reach our full potential, are just as selfish. So, before you hate on LeBron, look in the mirror.

Wait, what's that? Haters gonna hate?


Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Carry on with your hatred if you must. But I'm moving on to other overblown news, mainly this announcement: The Anti DC now has a Facebook page! And like I noted this morning in a status update, "It's not named LeBron, so it's okay to 'like' it." Have a good weekend. Catch your faces on the 'book!

meanies and TVs

I have two things to complain about today -- the DMV and Spike Mendelsohn.

First, let's get the DMV out of the way. F*ck that place. I realize the Department of Motor Vehicles isn't in the customer service business considering there's no competition there, but seriously -- suck it. It's like they're looking for reasons to yell at you.

Por ejemplo: I went to the Georgetown location yesterday to register a vehicle that had I known would cost me a whopping $462 to do, I would probably have just sold the damn thing and bought a nicer bike. But alas, when I finally got to the front of the line and asked politely how much the whole thing would cost I was told, "I dunno," through the scowl of a surly woman. Now, at this point, I probably should have known better than to think I could possibly get any useful information out of this DMV dickette, but I decided to press a little further anyway: "So, like, around $50 maybe?" This is when things got ugly.

"Look," she said, drawing out the word long enough to remove her glasses in that way that people do when they want to affect a sense of smug superiority. "I told you: I. DON'T. KNOW!"

"Really? There's not some sort of standard fee for these things?"

Instead of answering that sensible question, she decided to yell at me about the my documents, which I had filed and then paper-clipped in order.

"Where is the insurance information?!"

"In your hand."

"I also don't see the original title here!"

"It's signed and stapled to the lien information." I paused then added, "In your hand."

She looked at me and grimaced then shoved a clipboard and a number in my hand and screamed, "Take a seat! NEXT!"

"Do I bring this form back to you or...?"

"I SAID TAKE A SEAT!"

At that point, I walked away and vowed to come back with a hidden camera. That woman seriously has no business being in any profession that has her talking to people all day. In fact, I wouldn't even trust her to clean up after animals in the zoo. Or take care of plants. Basically, she shouldn't be allowed to deal with anything living. Or maybe even dead. I can just imagine her in a morgue using the bodies as punching bags to take out her aggressions from having such a sh*tty life.

I pity that fool.

And I'm not the only one. While I was waiting for my number to be called, I witnessed another woman get into a screaming match with this bitch. Apparently, the woman, a foreign national, was told to come over to the Georgetown location while at some other location because, although it's nowhere to be found on the DMV's website, the only locale that has the wherewithal to deal with green carders is the Georgetown facility. Welcome to America?

Jeez, what a sh*tshow.

I guess the moral of this story is don't drive in DC. Ever. EVER! Ride a bike instead. Or walk. Or take the Metro. Ride the bus. ANYTHING! Just save yourself...

In other complaints, what the hell is up with this Spike Mendelsohn character? I watched Top Chef DC last night and saw him for the first time as a guest judge. I didn't watch the season he was on but has he always come off as a gigantic overrated assface? (Albeit a good-looking assface.)

I mean, he owns a BURGER shop and a PIZZA place. I'm not sure what makes him qualified to look down his rather lovely structured nose at this new batch of contestants, especially when he didn't even win his season (thank you, Wikipedia). And if he really is such a superior chef, why is he wasting his talents on burgers and pizza? No burger place will ever make a better hamburger than most people can make on their own backyard grills and no pizza place will ever beat what you can get for $2 on the streets of Brooklyn. Am I right? No really, am I? If there's better pizza than New York pizza, please tell me where to get it and don't give me that bullsh*t about Chicago deep dish because to the rest of us that's called a casserole.

Of course, the irony here is that I'm judging the choice of judges on a cooking show when my idea of cooking surmounts to cracking open a can of beans and roasting them over an open trash-can fire...

But hey, unlike the surcharges at the DMV, at least you know the price of visiting The Anti DC. That'll be 462 brain cells, thank you.

strut. that. ass.

Well, even though that gentleman seems to have confused the words "run" with "drive," which seems to be the least of his problems, he's got one thing right: If you walk 15 or 20 miles, it'll be pretty hard to engage in any struttin' of thine ass these days. And not because it's hot, but because it's HAWT. So, this weather blows. It blows like a hair dryer on the highest setting. And it blows so hard that I suggest we not discuss it anymore. Instead, let's draw up some ice baths, sit in the dark and spend some Q.T. struttin' our asses with an electrical device near water. Indeed, I'm talking about making sweet, metaphorical, possibly deadly love to the Internet this afternoon. Hey, did I ever tell you how hard it is to be taken seriously as a female comedy writer? Well, it f*cking is. The world of comedy is inherently sexist -- despite what the female Daily Show staff would have you think -- because it's so embedded in the system that no one knows what's going on...not even Jon Stewart, says Washington City Paper's Amanda Hess, who I agree with entirely. In less depressing news, it might soon be getting a lot easier to get out of here aboard a rigid air ship. While I thought the West-bound flight restrictions out of National were some post-9/11 rule in place to limit the amount of fuel aboard any given flying machine at any given time (I imagine it takes a lot more gas to get from DCA to SFO than DCA to JFK), it turns out the main reason more flights have been restricted out of DCA is noise pollution and complaints from local residents. Um, what? So, these people who chose to live near National didn't realize that the big building with the planes around it was a freaking airport when they bought their condos? "Them's funny shaped cars in that there parking lot!" Jesus Christ. Stop trying to restrict progress because of your mistake, you hawing donkey. Speaking of restricting progress and hawing donkeys -- DC local politics. The choices are far from stellar for mayor this year (let's be honest -- I'm not running), but Vince Gray's eyebrows tried to bridge the gap between totally inept and status quo earlier this week when he met with local bloggers. Where? At Ben's Chili Bowl. Even if I was invited, I wouldn't have attended because of that. But some other people did, including former Why I Hate DC writer Dave Stroup, who actually doesn't hate DC as much as I think he just feels sorry for it like an ugly baby or a puppy with broken legs. He just wants to help. And I also want to help, believe it or not, which is why I'm planning a new video feature called "Get to Know..." here on The Anti DC. I'm going to cobble together vlogs that introduce then summarize local issues/events in an effort to not only make them relevant to our lives, but maybe even interesting and worth caring about. Of course, I don't plan to lose my niche. Entertainment will always win over lots of boring information here. (Facts can go f*ck themselves.) Anyway, I'm working on the first one right now, but am always open for suggestions, so if you have something in mind you'd like me to touch awkwardly and possibly uncomfortably with my schmrilliance (which, indeed, is much more highly prized characteristic over here than brilliance), let me know either via a comment, an email, or Twitter. Please? Thanks.

charles town races and diabetes.

I believe the old proverb goes: "You can't shine a turd." Well, while that might not be physically true (thanks, Mythbusters for proving that you can, indeed, polish a poop), I contend that it is still metaphorically true, at least when it comes to talking about sh*t like Charles Town Races and Slots and Table Game, a.k.a. the Hollywood Casino. And yes, I meant to type "table game" singular because when I made the unfortunate decision to check out the casino's "grand opening" for its "over 85" table games this weekend, most of them remained empty and some still cloaked in cardboard scraps.

And while that may sound like something I'd be into had there been cans of beans simmering over open trash-can fires, honestly, like this guy said, opening day at Hollywood Casino was THE single worst casino experience I've had in my life. (And please to keep in mind these words are coming from a girl who spent Thanksgiving 2007 in Atlantic City. I'm not ashamed.)

Let me put it this way: Charles Town made it HARD for me to lose my money. Let me repeat: A CASINO MADE IT EXTREMELY DIFFICULT FOR ME TO BASICALLY GIVE THEM MONEY.

Now, despite that I'm a genius (at least by Internet standards), it doesn't take an excessively smart person to figure out that something's very wrong with that business plan...

When I brought my opinion to the attention of one of the pit bosses, he told me that due to delays with the West Virginia Lottery Commission, only a handful of the hundreds of dealers were able to get their licenses in time for the "grand opening." What this means is that even if the casino bosses wanted to, they couldn't open up more tables. But that's no excuse. In fact, it kind of makes things worse because, at some point somewhere, someone at the casino must have realized the epic clusterf*ck that would ensue for calling something a "grand opening" when, actually, more than half of the stuff you've promised to open remained closed.

Really, all this Saturday did was prove to me and other people that West Virginia is still, well, West Virginia. That is, the whole thing was an epic sh*tshow. With only a few tables open, only a few people could get a space. And if you did get a space at a table, the ridiculously high minimums either sucked the fun out of game play or drove you to spend a lot more than you wanted to. We're talking minimum limits of $100 per deal on blackjack and $50 for craps.

It'd be like if King's Dominion touted some awesome new rollercoaster and then only allowed 10 people on it opening day, oh, and also charged them $100 per 10 feet. How many people do you think would stick around to ride? More or less than had they allowed more people on and charged them less? Ten times 100 is a lot less than 1,000 times 10...just sayin' calculatin'...

However, there was one table with a $25 minimum, or so I heard -- it was hard for me to see through the mob surrounding it as if it were a CSI crime scene, except instead of Caruso in the center of the mob, it was five guys with mullets gambling away their childrens' futures.

God, it was such a depressing scene...

But finally, just as we were about to leave this nightmare, my casino buddy and I decided to plunk down five 20s when we spotted one sorta-open seat (I'll explain that in a bit) at a $100-minimum blackjack table. By that point our motto had changed from, "Let's bet low and play long" to "Let's just f*cking play something because I'm getting bored watching people get diabetes."

Speaking of diabetes, jeez, if I had a nickel for every time I saw a non-senior citizen using a Hoveround to get around because her legs weren't strong enough to withstand the weight of what I'm guessing was second or maybe third dinner, I'd have, well, 25 cents. But still -- that's 25 cents too many, if you ask me or Jamie Oliver. Seriously, West Virginia, next time you say "Double-Down," I hope to God it's because your casino got its sh*t together...

And on that topic, my betting bud and I actually got our sh*t together -- we won! But then again, we were only able to play a couple of hands before the lady who had gotten up from that sorta-open seat to get more diabetes take a bathroom break came back.

"Where's my placeholder chip? I had one here!" she said.

The clearly inexperienced dealer replied, "Well, it's crowded and you were gone for 10 minutes and..." (The dealer broke protocol by putting the woman's clear plastic holding chip away for us.)

The woman looked at my casino comrade as I looked from the dealer to her.

"No worries," I interrupted. "You can have your seat back. We were just leaving."

But maybe that's for the best because our five minutes at the table that earned us $200 dollars more than we sat down with would probably have been quickly negated had we stayed five minutes more.

However, that left the problem of trying to cash in our three black chips. The line for the cashier was about five times longer than the line tape allotted for, which resulted in about 50 people jamming up the casino's main Hoveround thoroughfare. It was cue chaos to the max. Yet still, that was the least of the Hollywood Casino's issues...

Finally, after over an hour, we found ourselves dining at the fast food restaurant across the street. After all, when in Rome... if by "Rome" I mean, "a state that considers its state bird a chicken nugget..."

Alas, while I vowed never to return to this dull turd of a gambling venue, I've got a different perspective now. I probably will go back at some point, which either speaks to a nascent gambling addiction or some sort of morbid curiosity. Word on the casino floor is that by the end of the month the brouhaha with the Lottery Commission should be resolved and all the tables will be open. No word on whether the limits will come down. But if they don't, I might leave an ironic bag of burning dog doo-doo on the casino's front steps. That, or just go to Atlantic City. Nothing sticks it to a business by not giving them any business at all.