zzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sorry for the tardy post today (and for once I actually mean tardy opposed to my usual 'tardy), but I just woke up.

No, not for the first time today. See, I got up, went to work, and then just dozed off. I'm sure you can understand a woman's need every now and again to take a nap at work, right?

"RIGHT ON, SISTER!" yells the National Airport air traffic controller, who coincidentally also just woke up. "NAPPING RULEZ!"

It sure does, my man. I surrrre does. But wait a second. I can nap at my job because no one's life depends on it. You, on the other hand, air traffic control guy, you're kind of in a different situation, no? I mean, one of your main responsibilities -- actually, you're only responsibility -- is to keep human beings alive by making sure the rigid airships that contain them don't collide with each other. Right?

"Yes."

Yeah, so actually napping doesn't rule for you at all. In fact, let me go a bit further and suggest that this week would also be a great time to for you to quit sniffin' glue...



And I'm not just saying that because I, myself, am getting on a plane tomorrow; I'm saying that because glue is definitely not the right drug for an air traffic controller to be hooked on. May I suggest an upper, like crack cocaine? Ask a local elementary school kid about it...

But let's get back to my favorite subject and not yours -- me. I'm sure you're all literally not dying to know where I'm going tomorrow. Well, I'll end the suspense I wish there was and tell you. I'm going to Iceland! Why? Because I just don't want winter to be over yet. Also, they have bare butts in their official tourism ads, that's why.

stuff on stage: Mike Daisey's The Agony and Ecstasy of Steve Jobs

I had my doubts going in. The thought of seeing one guy talk about Steve Jobs for two hours sounded about as fun as having a cold sore. Do not want. But Anti DC Creative Director Terry the Tourette's Turtle insisted. "Mike Daisey is the sh-sh-sh-shit!" he said, adding "Donkey balls!" just for good measure.

Well, if my foul-mouthed helper turtle says so...

I decided to attend the Pay-What-You-Can preview performance last night at the Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company. Surprisingly, though, when I tried to pay what I could with a can of beans and a copy of an October 2007 Cat Fancy, they still asked for money of the legal tender variety. Fine. I'll call your bluff. Moments later, I was in the highest seat in the house. Back row balcony!

But that really didn't matter because the theater isn't exactly big. Mike Daisey, on the other hand...

Dude's big. Also, dude's sweaty. Five minutes in I was wondering whether we were going to have a heart attack situation on the stage. But in fact, the only heart that was attacked was my own. (Haha, I just made you read that.)

But seriously, this man was good. For a woman who still often thinks the phrase "killer app" simply means "I'm hungry," the fact that I didn't just enjoy The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs, but vociferously loved it, says something about Mike Daisey's skill. Part humorist, part journalist and part storyteller extraordinaire, Daisey's performance hooked me from the beginning like a DC elementary school kid on crack.

I mean, this man made me care about technology. He made me care about why I use it, how I use it, how I'd feel if I didn't have it, how I feel because I do have it. This man made me care about how I feel about technology that doesn't even exist yet, technology that I don't even know I'll need (or at least feel like I need). Most importantly, he made me feel something about how it's made. (Surprise! It's all handmade by 12-year-old kids and not machines in Shenzhen, China.)  

And while Daisey ended on a note of activism, handing out single sheets of paper containing Steve Jobs's email address among other things, his monologue never came across as naive. Clearly, he doesn't expect us to boycott Apple or any other technology firm (all of which, by the way, manufacture most of their products in the same way as Apple with kids in Shenzhen), but he does expect you now to think about this part of your life and become a more aware consumer human being.

Unlike the college students with clipboards in front of Whole Foods, however, Daisey's activism is actually enjoyable to listen to. He's funny. He's a natural storyteller. He has the performance quality I aspire to have, minus about 300 pounds and a penis.

However, until I put the finishing touches on my two-hour epic called The Vladimir and the Putin of Vladimir Putin, you should count on Daisey for enlightened entertainment and I strongly recommend you attend. He'll be performing The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs at the Woolly through April 10, on Wednesdays through Saturdays at 8 pm and Saturdays and Sundays at 3 pm. Mondays and Tuesdays are obviously for logging into the ol' Macbook and watching funny YouTube clips.

And speaking of the Internet, here's a clip of one of Daisey's previous performances, called Invincible Summer. Well, actually, it's sort of a clip of that. It's more a clip of him expertly handling a massive disruption during one of his performances of Invincible Summer at the American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Mass. (Amazingly, I guess people in Boston suck more than they do in DC...)



And here's a clip of one of of his previous shows called How Theater Failed America, uninterrupted.

high hopes

Just as I once had high hopes that this blog wouldn't look like it was designed by a precocious second grader who just discovered geometry and the magic of primary colors, so too I once had hope that anything on HBO wouldn't have a worse ending than Lost, which I think we all now realize was inspired directly by Hot Tub Time Machine and a giant butt plug. In fact, looking back, kudos to ABC for going there. Not many people do (unless you live in Alexyss K. Tyler's world...crystal snack.)

But whatever. Let's not relive that gigantic disappointment. Let's relive last Sunday's, instead, when Big Love ended in what can only be described as, "Wait, who is that and...nevermind, this whole season was ridiculous anyway considering, like Lost, it had no regard for the physics of the space-time continuum."

And here is where you may want to stop reading this and just go watch the rest of Alexysss K. Tyler's YouTube clips because, yes, there are spoilers here. So, if you plan to waste precious hours of your life watching this show even after I warned you, e-see ya later. Likewise, if you just don't give a sh*t about Big Love and don't care to read about why its last season was stupid, then leave, you honey badgers, because this blog ain't no snake in a tree for you.

Now, for those of you who remain, I'm going to assume you watched the show and saw Sunday's series finale. Great. Perhaps you can help me out here then: Besides Barb's storyline, how in hell did any of this season make sense? Specifically, what the hell was going on with the whole Margine, statutory rape thing? Didn't we learn from previous seasons that: 1) Margine worked at Home Plus for a number of years or at least a number of months before she met Bill, and 2) after she met Bill, didn't she then become his babysitter for another couple of years? That being said, if they got around to getting polygamist married to each other when she was only 16, wouldn't that have made her, um, 13 or so when she worked at Home Plus? Not to mention, there was one episode in which that curly-haired sad sack, son-of-a-dick annoying son of Bill's was at Home Plus and ran into some 35-year-old sleazeball who bragged to him about having made sex on Margine when she was an employee there. This means either everyone at Home Plus is a pervert or Home Plus doesn't comply with child labor laws. I mean, was she hired off the books? How is it even remotely possible that Bill didn't know her age? Did Margine have a fake ID the entire time? Or was he just a sick old pedophile? I guess maybe either of those are possibilitities, but I doubt it, which means under normal, presumed space-time conditions, Margine had to be at least 16 when she started at Home Plus, which would've made her probably 17 or 18 when she became the babysitter, and even older than that when they got polygamist married. That storyline just don't make nooooo sense. (Please intone that last sentence with the diction of Forrest Gump for full effect.)

So, I'll admit. When this Margine being underage thing first surfaced, I kind of knew this show was going to end badly. Considering the complete disregard for logic, I thought perhaps I was looking at yet another Hot Tub Time Machine-inspired ending, but instead we got something that was probably even worse -- the neighbor, who we've seen, what, all of six or seven times in the whole series, shoots Bill dead. OVER AN ARGUMENT STARTED ABOUT HIS LAWN. Uh...

The worst part is is that it wasn't even shocking. As soon as you see the neighbor approach Bill, you automatically think, "Yep, so he's probably just gonna shoot him." We hear, "Blah, blah, why you touchin' my lawn? Blah, blah and bang."

The wives come running out of the house, Bill suddenly radically changes his mind about everything he apparently ever stood for in his religion and dies. I'll admit I was relieved. For one, Bill was a huge dick and for another, this poor excuse for an HBO drama was about to end, meaning I would have more time now to get excited about another show that will inevitably end terribly, like [FILL IN ANY OTHER CURRENT AMERICAN TELEVISION SHOW].

But wait, I'm not done. So there we are, the wives are all hovering over Bill as he bleeds out. I guess the other 20 people in his houses didn't hear the series of gun shots, so they stayed inside. Doing what? Who knows. Meanwhile, not one of the wives thought, "Hey, maybe one of us should call 911," which, I guess, either means: 1) they're all complete idiots, or 2) they all secretly wanted him to die. I'm hoping for the latter.

Cut to "11 months later" (why not just make it an even year?) -- we see Margine with a horrible haircut for her face shape come in to announce she'd be leaving to go on volunteer overseas for a few months. Yay. Dreams. Meanwhile, we get the idea that Barb is now the spiritual leader of the family and even runs Bill's church, which also, for whatever inexplicable reason, somehow managed to gain the allegiance of all the compound people when their prophet Albie (the fifth best character in the show after Roman, Bill's mom, crazy compound Rhonda, and Very Truly Yours Hollis Green) went to prison (which, by the way, we learn not from any could've-been-so-great dramatic scene but from a casual mention of it from Bill to one of his wives or whoever). And what the f*ck? Why is anyone still associating with that stone-cold sociopathic bitch Nicki, let alone still "married" to her? Besides the best one-liners in the show, her character was horrible. I don't get it.

Not to worry, though, the two creators of the show recently let us in on the secret to understanding it all: it's all about feminism! Duh! Maybe if I wasn't just a dumb girl, I'd have understood. Or maybe I just preferred the first three seasons when the storyline actually made some sense, before the writers found an easy way to stop writing good lines for Bill's mom and gave her dementia, before the ridiculously fascinating Rhonda was downgraded to "single mom stripper," before the eldest daughter, Sara (the voice of reason on the show), left because the actress who played her was smart enough to get out before the show's two feminist male creators first jumped the shark, and then simply fed the show to it. Seriously, this season finale was about as fun as running into a piece of selachimorpha feces while you're snorkeling.

And while I'm pretty sure, my mind is made up where Big Love falls on my television scale of watchability (probably right between The Little Chocolatiers and Animal Hoarders), I'd invite arguments from the other side. Specifically, I'm looking for someone who thinks he or she can justify the Margine storyline. If you can and you're convincing, I'll promise never to mention Animal Hoarders again. Hell, I'll even move Big Love up in my rankings and put it between Facts of Life reruns and Geico commercials. So, what'dya say? Did you watch?

look away...

"I'm hideous!"

What? No you're not!

"Yes I am! I'm ugly!"

No! Don't say that! I think you're beautiful.

"But you're my mom! You HAVE to say that! Everyone else probably thinks I'm disgusting."

First of all, that's not true. And if anyone tells you differently, they can go f*ck themselves because, Blog, I think your new look is gorgeous.

"No! It's dumb! I look like I was designed by the same drunk toddlers who redid the Post."

YOU SHUT YOUR ANTHROPOMORPHIC MOUTH, YOUNG BLOG!

"But it's true! This new logo is childish. I mean, seriously, A stick figure middle finger? Really?"

WHAT?! THAT'S A TWIG! That is a twig that person is holding.

"Why would someone be holding a twig?"

DON'T YOU TALK BACK TO ME!

"The arm also seems to be coming out of that person's ear..."

I'M WARNING YOU, BLOG...

"Or what? You'll delete me?"

*smack*

DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN! Blog, I love you! Don't you realize that? I would never delete you. Ever! I thought you'd like this new design. I made the logo up especially for you with my own two hands! (And Mac Paintbrush...) I mean, don't you see the badass font I created? The eagle I cut'n'pasted? The middle finger/twig I drew? Not to mention, the entire redesign of the color palette. It's so much easier on the eyes! The lines are so much cleaner. One day you'll appreciate what I've done for you.

"I miss the muppet."

Blog, we will all miss the muppet. But you're not a baby anymore. You're almost four years old!

"Which is exactly what begs the question of why you deemed a child's refrigerator art a suitable logo..."

That's it, Blog. You're grounded. There will be no more writing on you at least until tomorrow.

"But mom!"

Nope. No buts! (Or butts!) Whining will not help. Now, pack up all your pixels and HTML and go to your room. And while you're reading your archives, I want you to remember what's really important here. It's not what's on the outside that matters as much as what's on the inside and that hasn't changed.

"You're right. I think I overreacted. I don't look that bad. Actually, I look kinda cool.

Aww, there's my sweet blog. Now can you give me an e-hug in the form of a painfully awkward, yet hilarious YouTube clip?

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do more. I love you."

I love you too, Blog. I love you too.

party hard

Not since this toddler trashed a bar in Las Palmas (and then proceeded to redesign the Washington Post's Web site) did a group of children get as wasted as they did yesterday, right here in DC, when four 8-year-olds decided to bump some rails through a rolled up report card in the little boys' room.

Yes, Washington, DC, is a wonderful place to live...if you love crack/cocaine. (You can even be a city councilman or the mayor!)

But take heart, it's Friday today, and we all know what that means -- FUN FUN FUN FUN!

brought to you by dan steinberg's floating head

Actual screenshot. Amazing.

Also brought to you by the THE EMPTY SET OF QUOTATION MARKS. What. The. F*ck??? The Washington Post's Endlessly Awful Web Redesign

It's only a matter of time now before Mayor Vince Gray develops a crack addiction and starts yelling at a bitch for setting him up, right? TBD/ABC7

Rebecca Black's 13-year-old friend must have been driving. Either way, FUN FUN FUN FUN! DCist

I read the Post this morning---"pause for murmurings of sympathy!"---and the only thing worse than the awful Web redesign (SEE ABOVE!) is that this passed as a column fit to publish. Washington Post

So, let me get this straight: Russia can petition for, plan and host the Winter Olympics by 2014, yet DC and Virginia can't figure out how to build a railway to our largest airport? DERP. Washington Examiner

Then I guess I don't feel guilty for wanting to convert the Chinese Food-Subs-Fried Chicken-Fish-Carry-Out establishment across the street into a millinery specializing in top hats. Washington City Paper

Marina Abramovic's performance art is pretty interesting, but in my heart, I think I'll always appreciate Roman Abromovich's taste in yachts more. Hirshhorn

Get ready to elbow college kids in the face! Sweetlife Festival tickets go on sale tomorrow! WeLoveDC 

Actually, they went on sale yesterday. Sweetgreen

Mistakes were made. AFP

design for dummies

There are horrible things going on in this world. Nuclear meltdown horrible. And that's not a metaphor...

But this isn't a blog about that. And that's OK. As fellow DC blogger/writer Lemmonex wrote recently, "Give the finger to that ass that cuts you off and mutter at the woman holding you up at the grocery store. It doesn't mean that you don't care about all the pain and suffering in the world, it just means that you are dealing with your world as best you can on a daily basis."

That's right, I'm coping. And I must thank The Washington Post for helping me along. See, they recently redesigned their Web site and it's helping me completely avoid so many of the terrible atrocities going on in the world. See?

Web designer 1: You like picture? The drunk toddler who's clearly in charge : DERP!

OK, so there's one tragedy I couldn't avoid. But think of all the ones I did! Libya who? Riots in Bahrain what? Yes, it seems the Post is the honey badger of the newspaper world -- it don't give a sh*t! One picture and a big-ass advertisement (not to be confused with a big ass-advertisement) for George Washington University School of Business and voila! F*ck everything else!

And it just gets worse... HOW MANY FONT VARIATIONS DOES ONE PAPER NEED?! As one commenter noted:

There are about a dozen conflicting font/size combinations on the front page alone, and they don't make any kind of intuitive sense. Sometimes section headings are in a serif old-school news font (e.g. "Featured Galleries"), where other headings are in a sans serif font (e.g. "Featured Videos"). Some headlines are in serif, while others aren't, and there appears to be no rhyme or reason for the differences. This very comment box uses a serif font of unique size to request that I "Weigh In," while I can count at least seven different sans serif text sizes in my view, not to mention varietals of bolded text, underlined text, all caps, no caps and grayed out text...

...I've been frustrated with certain aspects of the Post in the last few years, especially your op-ed contributors. But still I've relied on this site as my main news portal. The redesign is making me reconsider."

I couldn't have said it better myself. In fact, I suppose I didn't. Well complained, sir. Well complained.

a very scatological essay

If anyone reads this blog with any regularity, you probably have heard about my hatred of the slop served at Ben's Chili Bowl. With that in mind, perhaps I should've said if you read this blog with any irregularity...

Poop.

But for real, cultural institution aside, just thinking about the actual chili at Ben's makes my bowels go into a twister of agony that can only be relieved via a hurricane's force worth of winds. Yes, we're talking Category 5 farts, my friends. Sh*t ain't pretty...literally.

And just think of the environmental consequences! If every man, woman and child on earth dined on a bowl of Ben's, the resulting amount of methane released into the air would certainly kill everything on earth. It would be an explosion to put the Big Bang to shame! We'd bring about another ice age! The world would effectively end.

So, color me doo-doo brown surprised when I read this weekend that Ben's Chili Bowl received an award for environmental stewardship. Um...

I'm going to go ahead and call false advertising on the name of this "award." Now, if Ben's had decided to upgrade it's U.S.D.A Grade WTF meat to some sort of locally farmed and grazed variety, perhaps then we could talk. But this is an award simply for recycling cooking oil. And since, it seems, Ben's Clogged Toilet Bowl probably uses more than most -- 2,629 gallons to be exact -- they won. Or so I'm guessing.

But who cares. I know I'm in the minority when it comes to my opinion on whether Ben's is a food establishment or an enema factory, so it's not worth arguing about any longer. And who knows? Maybe one day, when I'm super pissed at my bowels, I'll even dine at Ben's again.

And speaking of local food, the Fojol Bros of Merlindia made a Top 20 list of American food trucks! Who knew mystery-restaurant Indian delivery food speckled with fake mustache hairs would be such a hit? Congratulations! Yes, these are the forefathers of the food truck bonanza currently happening in DC and I must thank them from the bottom of my black heart because they really paved the way for my own personal ambition -- Associated Smoothie Solutions. Instead of fake mustaches and wigs, however, my gimmick will be assless chaps (it'll make my decision to ever eat at Ben's that much easier). Despite my ingenious idea, though, I'm afraid to say the investors have not been filling up my inbox. I bet you they'd be into this idea in Portland...especially if I let them put a bird on it. (And yes, I'm still talking about my butt.)

Which brings me to Mike Tyson, well, the mention of the bird, not the butt. Has anyone seen his new show about pigeons on Animal Planet? It's amazing. It's the opposite of Ben's Chili Bowl.

Phew! I did it! I wasn't sure how I would get this blog to go full retard full circle, but I somehow managed, and just in time to watch The View, too. (Shut up.) And with that, I'll bid you a happy Monday. Remember, it's only five days till Friday!

oh dear lord god...

First thing this morning, I see this:

DC Ranks First in Lawyers Per Capita

Second thing I see? This:

DC Ranks No. 1 in Twitter Usage

Now I'm left to wonder, why is DC always best at the lamest stuff? More importantly, why am I reading the Avery Index and Men's Health?

The second question is actually quite easy to answer: Twitter. But wait a second...

O god of the e-heavens above, the irony! It's so blatantly exemplified in how I came across these two surveys! This can only me one thing: I am the reason DC is best at the lamest stuff! It's me, @theantidc! And judging from our No. 1 spot in "Twitter Towns, USA," (Jesus, that sounds so dumb) it's also @you and @everyoneelse in this town! We're all Tweet-tards!

But at least I'm not the worst offender; I'm not a @lawyer (or would that be an @lawyer?)...

But hey, being the best at embarrassing things is still better than being the best at nothing at all, right? Right. So, suck our @balls, middling cities with better things to do than tweet and litigate! You guys can keep your healthy human interactions in your pocket. We're doing just fine here and you can quote tweet me on that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go tweet that I just blogged. But of course, you already know that because that's how @you probably just got here! @@@@hhhh! Mind 'splode.

grab on!

Remember how I wrote about how awesome Baltimore-based electronic/rap duo Claire Hux was live? Well, that was already over two years ago now. *sigh* Back when we were all young sprites. But just because time has passed, doesn't mean any of us have lost our cool. OK, so I may have lost my cool, but really, it's debatable whether I ever possessed any to begin with. But Claire Hux? Well, all I can do is thank them for making me at least feel less lame whenever I listen to them. Check out their new video, follow them on Twitter, and cross your fingers that they'll come to DC sometime soon!

dmv vs. dmv as determined by a very elegant cat lady

Sometimes people ask me how it is that I compose a typical blog post. Do I plan it ahead of time? Do I compose an outline? Do I have a list of one-liners and Internet allusions by my side while I watch my helper tortoise Vladimir type away? No. No. No. And no. Everything that happens on The Anti DC, stays on The Anti DC. Really, save for the occasional Shambles P.I. event, which my new hire, a cephalopod named Nicodemus (duh, winning!), photographs by shapeshifting himself into a camera (no, for real!) and snaps days before the post goes up, most everything else that gets posted here is a last minute decision, or in today's case, totally by accident.

See, I was going to amaze you all with a vlog about my cat. Unfortunately, however, not everyone involved wanted to participate. In other words, my cat's an asshole. While the video started off nicely enough, by 30 seconds in, it had devolved into him attempting to scratch my face off. All this left me with was a set of comical stills and a new Facebook and Twitter profile picture that makes me look like a very elegant cat lady.

So elegant.

So stupid.

Not winning.

And so, we had to scratch that idea. (Get it?! SCRATCH? Ha!) and come up with something else. We'll go with the equally violent DMV Awards.

Well, I gotta say, violence at the DMV Awards comes as no surprise to me. Really, this news just reinforces all the stereotypes I already have. I mean, just thinking about these people makes me scared. I would really hate to meet one of these people on the street. They're vicious! Have you ever had to talk to one? It's bone-chilling! It also takes sooooo much time. It's like these people don't even understand what it's like to have responsibilities. All they do is just collect tax payer money --  my money -- and carry on like nothing's wrong. It's like they think that's how the world's supposed to work. It's sickening. Seriously, I hate having to go get my license renewed...

Wait, what? I sounded like a racist for a minute?! Um, you're the one assuming all Department of Motor Vehicles employees are black! Wait, what? Are you telling me DMV stands for something else? You're saying I should have researched a little before writing something? Well, that's an issue you should be taking up with Emilio, but fine, let me Google that for you myself...

Ohhhh, I see. My bad. DMV stands for DC-Maryland-Virginia and the DMV Awards was a ceremony honoring the local urban music scene. Did Wale win everything?!?! No? OK, fine. I'll stick to cat videos...

*Thanks in advance for the hair compliments. (I BETTER GET SOME!) Defying how it probably should look, this elegant cat lady style is called, "grow your highlights out for two years and cut your own bangs too short." It's what happens when your stylist skips town to go to business school (only in DC...). In other news, I should apparently start doing hair...

news that will make your children weep over your exploded body

Well, dip me in tiger blood and call me a winner, the attention whore White House party crasher sociopaths known as Michaele and Tariq Salahi are headed to Celebrity Rehab with Doctor Drew. He'll join the likes of other "stars" like David Hassellhoff's TV son on Baywatch, that Asian chick who guest starred on that one Lost episode that one time and Lindsay Lohan's dad. Yes, it's a group sure to amaze and astound, or at the very least confuse you because 1) Who are most of these people? and 2) What the f*ck has gone so wrong in my life that I seem to care?

Yeah, sadly, I'll probably watch this sh*t. I'll hate every minute of it and probably feel like doing all kinds of illegal substances just to mask the shame. Irony. Oh, TV, why must you be so cruel to us?! And I say "us," because I know with the Salahis on, you'll probably be sucked into this spiral of shame, too. See, sociopaths are fascinating...as long as they're presented to you via bad reality shows and not in real life. That's why working on Capitol Hill is so terrifying! ZING!

In other news, Washington City Paper underwent a redesign. I'm sure Dan Snyder will sue for that too.

Twitter and Facebook are more tool-infested than ever.

Why the f*ck is the demand for Type II Diabetes so high in DC?

Lastly, thank high priest Vatican assassin warlocks that this gif exists: SURPRISE!