do not touch

Of course, Kardashian and Van Sustren. What a scoop.

As a former reporter (although still-aspiring long-form journalist), who has never been even close to attaining an invitation to a soiree like the White House Correspondents Dinner, I feel good about the scathing critique of such events that Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank published this morning. He says he won't be attending this weekend because these black-tie events have gotten "out of control."

And it's true, although I argue, were they ever really in control? Sure, the influx of what Milbank calls the "cool kids," which he understandably describes as Hollywood actors and musicians before oddly adding Bristol Palin to that list, makes absolutely no sense. It's like inviting remedial kids to the Mensa soiree (or probably, actually, the other way around). These "cool kids" have nothing directly to do with politics or the news media, so why is Charles Krauthammer getting a handie under the table from Paula Abdul? (Hypothetically, I think.) The only celebrity Krauthammer should let caress his balls is Donald Trump.* Why? Because he's different than Abdul. Although both often act like meth addicts, Trump at least has something (unfortunately, yet laughably) to do with what a political reporter or columnist might talk about. 

But here's where I really have a problem with these dinners and, yes, I'm going to keep talking about Krauthammer's junk. He shouldn't be getting touched by anybody -- celebrity or politician -- so why is there a special event that not only makes this possible but practically encourages it? See, here's the thing about these dinners: they're pretty unethical. They're meant to be bonding nights between the reporters and the subjects they are supposedly impartially covering. As a news consumer, I don't want these people becoming friends. That goes against what the news media is supposed to be doing, which is covering the actions of these people through a critical, unattached eye.

Yup. Love-Hewitt and Powell. This makes sense.

And really, what a missed opportunity for the smart reporter. I mean, think about it: these lucky journalists aren't just getting these politicians together in one room, they're also getting them plied with liquor! You'd have to be an idiot to choose "bonding" -- a Trump handjob, as it were -- over YOUR JOB, especially in this scenario because when people start getting tipsy, they also start saying dumb things (although Trump does that sober). These dinners are where state secrets should be vomited all over the world!

But instead everyone will get distracted by Cee-Lo, who'll hopefully serenade these people with the uncensored version of "Forget You." They'll spend the entire night trying to decipher what Steven Tyler just said to them. They'll tweet that they just met Courtney Cox...

And maybe that's for the best, because if it's a choice between the reporters we depend on losing their credibility because they got a little too personal (or biblical, in the case of Trump and Krauthammer) with their subject matter or the reporters and politicians, alike, just ogling celebrities, I'd rather they choose the latter. Unfortunately, though, for both the news industry and us readers, they'll probably choose all of the above.


*To Krauthammer's credit (something he doesn't earn very often, in my opinion), he's actually been a pretty big critic of Trump's new political ambitions. It'll be interesting to see if anything changes after tomorrow's handie dinner.

math to make you rage

I voted yesterday in the city council special election. Why? I have no idea. I guess it's because as a registered independent, I don't really get to vote for mayor. (For those of you who don't live in DC, this city swings 90-plus percent democratic, so the mayor is always decided in the Democratic primary, in which I'm not allowed to vote.) Of course, though, just as I feared would happen, my and Washington City Paper's choice didn't win. Instead, in true DC fashion, we got a guy who used to be on the Council, quit to take a job with one of the region's most controversial companies, Pepco, then decided to come back because, well, who knows. Is it the fame, the glory, the prospect of being the second most powerful Vincent in DC? (Our mayor is Vincent Gray.) Maybe. That sounds status quo enough to be true, and if there's any words to describe Orange's run, "status" and "quo" definitely come to mind.

What's even more disappointing, though, is realizing how Orange won. He won with just 28 percent of the vote, meaning of the roughly 43,000 votes cast (which by the way, equals a whopping 9.5 percent of residents, says the Washington Post), he won with just over 12,000 supporters. Now, to put this shockingly low number into perspective, consider this: DC's population hovers around 600,000 -- 12,000 equates to just 2 percent of that. And yes, you read that correctly: TWO PERCENT of this city just managed to elect this guy.

Not that it seems like such a big deal, I guess, considering the overall dismal voter turnout, but now consider this: the second through fifth place candidates of the total field of nine, garnered a combined 66.1 percent of the total vote (26 percent for the sole Republican candidate, Patrick Mara, 20 percent for Sekou Biddle, 13 percent for my pick, Bryan Weaver, and 7.1 percent for Josh Lopez). In other words -- and numbers -- that's approximately 28,423 combined votes for candidates other than Orange. That means at least 4.7 percent of this city's residents oppose Orange, which is over twice as many as those who support him!

Honestly, if over 90 percent of Washingtonians didn't give a sh*t, I think this city would be outraged right now because how is this in any way just? Even in Russia, candidates must win with a real majority (over 50 percent), meaning in a case like the above, there'd be a runoff election between the top two or three candidates. And judging from the numbers, I'm guessing Orange probably wouldn't be as victorious under a fairer system, where a true majority would be needed to win. I, for one, know if I got to vote again and the choices were narrowed down to just Orange, Mara and Biddle, Orange would still not be my first pick. Nor, I bet would he probably be the pick for most of the other voters, most of whom didn't vote for Orange in the first place.

Whatever. I'm just going to start writing in Sexy Saxman Saxagram from now on. All he does is win.

i'm longwinded, but at least i'm not racist

I'm not sure if I've ever written anything about how seemingly baseless some of Washington Post columnist Courtland Milloy's arguments usually are, but a bunch of other people have. See, Milloy occasionally writes about race and when he does he almost always insinuates how racist white people are. And no, he's never talking about a particular white person, but all white people. We're all racist, apparently, and if you think you're not, using Milloy's logic, it probably means you're actually even more racist.

Really, the only thing this brand of Milloy writing proves is that he isn't a particularly insightful columnist. And no, just to be clear, I'm not asserting that because Milloy is black, I'm asserting that because he sometimes sounds like a reactionary moron.

Which brings me to his latest piece of "work," which supposedly is based on a recent talk given by Charles Murray called "The State of White America." OK, so at first, that sounds like something kinda racist to write about. But if you actually click the link to watch Murray's talk, the first thing said is, "Despite the title of this evening's lecture, those expecting to hear a discourse on race, are not going to hear it." (Which begs a question for Murray, why the f*ck did you pick such a race-baiting name?)

Instead, here's Murray's argument, which I actually have a whole set of problems with that I'll get to later (and yes, I watched the whole damn 90 minutes). Basically, Murray says he decided to study "non-Latino whites" because this group is usually the reference point for sociologists/politicians/wonks when they study American societal trends. He says: "When you read about the latest poverty statistics, for example, what you read is usually like, 'Here's the black poverty rate compared to the white poverty rate,' 'Here's the latino poverty rate compared to the white poverty rate, and here are the implications for how America is doing.'" The problem here, he says, is that it's easy to lose sight of what that reference point actually means -- who are these pale people we're comparing everyone else to? And so he decided to study white people for the sake of illuminating the depth of the larger cultural trends that "are tearing America apart at her seams" that "cannot be remedied by eliminating racism or resticting immigration policy." The conclusion, of course, is white people have problems, too.

Well, duh, says anyone who's ever seen an episode of Cops/Jerry Springer/The Real World/Bad Girls Club or any other reality-based programming featuring white people acting like rodeo clowns without the rodeo.

But for Milloy, this seems to have been revelatory news, causing him to utter a Nelsonesque "ha-ha!" and write this sentence of pure vitriol, describing all whites as "a group that has long managed to deny the extent of its character flaws by projecting the worst of them onto black people."

I'm not about to deny that some members of this "group" definitely do that. Those people are called racists and they should be described as a subpopulation of a group. But to categorize all white people as racist is inappropriate, shortsighted and destructive because had Milloy made his argument more accurate, it could've been great. Instead, it's just kind of stupid -- as dumb as, say, those idiotic white people who blame everything bad about America on black people.

But because I'm bored with Milloy's easily argued-away thesis (and extra shame on him for not taking advantage of the material Murray really gave him), I'd rather go back to some of the things Murray said in his lecture. Like I said, there's a lot to contend with here. But unlike Milloy, whose argument is based on inaccurate assumption, Murray's arguments are actually based on facts and statistics, meaning it's not the rationale I don't agree with, but Murray's basic worldview. (Again, Milloy, why did you choose to skip the main course for the garnish?)

Murray's study compares statistics from 1960 and 2010 among the top 20 percent of rich white Americans to the bottom 30 percent of the poor white Americans. Then, with the addition of some de Tocqueville quotes he makes a basic moral argument, which is not dissimilar to that of the religious right. He thinks marriage, heterosexual two-parent homes, greater industriousness and religion will save the United States from becoming a big un-American blob. Lo and behold, the average rates of those things have declined slightly among rich folk and greatly among the poor, leading Murray to conclude sh*t be funky now.

OK, well he didn't word it like that, but he did say the decline in the number of marriages, the rise of single-parent households, and a whole new slew of lazy-ass white working-class secularist hobos, who refuse to coach the local Little League team are changing us for the worse -- they're evidence of the "unraveling of our civic culture."

Hmm, fine, I suppose, if Murray's only point is to point out possible causes for why everyone's bowling alone these days then sure, maybe. (Incidentally, Murray did mention Bowling Alone author Robert Putnam.) What was missing, however, at least from this 90-minute talk, was evidence that the above and this perceived civic unraveling are definitely connected. That is, I don't buy, at least with the evidence Murray provides, that the decline of traditional values necessarily correlates to a worse-off nation.

Times change, people's minds change, their lifestyles and attitudes change. This is the natural course of events, which is why when it comes to very morally conservative folk, I tend to find their almost worshipful devotion to eras past wholly unrealistic and a little bit creepy. Let's not forget, in 1960 segregation still existed (and prior to the aptly named Loving vs. Virginia, interracial couples still couldn't marry in some states under the law!), most homosexuals were forced to suffer in the closet, women were largely discouraged from working outside of the home, and this would have been my hairstyle:

Let's just say the 1960s weren't necessarily pretty. And because of that, I have a hard time finding practical value in studies like Murray's. While I admit civic involvement is important to a nation like ours (and probably to sustainable nations around the world), and yes, there was higher participation in it when more people happened to be married or going to church in 1960, saying those were the reasons why and then advocating either of those things today as a solution (or, as Murray puts it, "the right track") seems suspect. Should we start forcing poor people to get married? Do we send them unwillingly to mass on Sundays? One, that's not even possible; and two, even if it was, that's inhumane. Really, It seems the only solution for reachieving life as it was in the past is a time machine, preferably of the Hot Tub variety.

And so maybe a more feasible and useful question to ask would be what can civic groups and communities do to attract more participating members in 2011? Obviously, if a group is unwelcoming to thirty-something single moms, those single moms (who are growing in numbers, say statistics) will not participate.

Perhaps, what we need to study is a way to start purporting a different set of values to get people engaged (and not necessarily to be married) again -- a more evolved set that emphasizes personal responsibility and education. And I'm not just talking about formal or public education, but the ideas of knowledge, inquisitiveness and, most importantly, critical thinking, which is something I think, unfortunately for their survival, organized religions often discourage. (For the record, like Murray, I'm also a self-described agnostic, but I strongly believe in living my life as it intersects with others' in a secular humanist manner.) With increased personal engagement with our own brains, it seems industriousness -- the one point I agree completely with Murray on -- might improve on its own.

In short, while I don't have any empirical evidence to support my loosely crafted theories, which I admit need a ton of tons more work than what I have time for on this blog, I believe I've at least touched on a few counterpoints worth exploring. At the very least, I didn't just pull a Milloy. (I hope.)

the evolution of Bruce Boudreau

For those of you who know who Bruce Boudreau is, congratulations. He's awesome. But for those of you who don't, allow me to ask: Where have you been, sh*tbums?! Because, like I said, Bruce Boudreau is awesome. He coined the term sh*tbum! He also looks like a waxed Santa. Oh, and he coaches the Capitals, who are arguably the best team in the NHL. (Finally, a sport Washington doesn't suck at!) In short, Bruce Boudreau is the opposite of sh*tbum. But in the words of the immortal Levar Burton (or mortal, is he still alive?), you don't have to take my word for it...



Actually, I meant don't take my f*ckin' word for it.

And because I love Bruce Boudreau more than I love making money doing my job, I decided to take some time to find out a little more about him and, luckily, thanks to Wikipedia and a Google image search, it wasn't that hard. I can haz biography and employment.

So, without further ado, look at this hair!

Before he was waxed Santa, he was bowl cut Jerry O'Connell. He was also a pretty good hockey player. Who knew? (Answer: Wikipedia, probably any real hockey fan, Google, etc.)

And sure, that's Boudreau skating above, but that isn't a regulation game. Nope! That's Bruce, as bowl cut Jerry O'Connell, in the 1977 film (or rather, f*ckin' film) Slapshot. It starred, um, well whoever. All that matters is Bruce Boudreau was in it as an extra and even in his short three seconds on film, he managed to prove himself a better actor than Leonardo DiCaprio. Then again, so does just that hockey stick he's holding. And the ice. And the skates. Well, you get the idea; you've all seen Blood Diamond...

 

Hey, friend! Bruce Boudreau has some bad-ass friends (not to be confused with bad ass-friends). There he is with Alex Ovechkin, above. Perhaps, he's telling a joke about a bald Canadian and a toothless Russia walking into a bar (ow!), or maybe he's just saying something like, "Holy f*ck, my friend, you are the greatest f*ckin' hockey player alive and I am the must lively f*ckin' coach. Together, we've finally f*ckin' made a f*ckin' sport that's actually f*ckin' fun and f*ckin' interesting to f*ckin' watch for The F*ckin' Anti DC!" That's definitely probably what's happening there.

And so, thank you, Bruce Boudreau, for piquing my interest in local sports. I chose to watch the playoff game over American Idol the other night, which is not the biggest of deals, actually because it's not like American Idol is Extreme Couponing (shut up, those OCD hoarders are fascinating!), but hey, it's something.

But speaking of Extreme F*ckin' Couponing...someone needs to body check these assholes in the pasta aisle. Bruce?

it's not the tourists...

Duane Hansen, Tourists II, 1988 

I'm not sure what's more annoying: tourists not understanding Metro etiquette or the people who keep complaining about it. (Of course the worst is this blogger complaining about the complainers.) My advice, though? Just give up. Tourists are like the socks to DC's sandals. It will never be OK, no matter how much we may wish it to be.

And so, with that in mind, articles like this one published by The Examiner come across as pretty pointless to me as far as their general scope goes. However, there was one minor detail that piqued my interest.

"On the Metro, when I'm coming here to work, everybody knows, ' right side, you stand, left hand you walk up.' You say 'excuse me,' but they just don't move," said the man, who declined to give his name because he's not allowed to speak with the media." (Emphasis mine.)

Ooo! I love a good scandal! Who could this mystery man be who's "not allowed to speak with the media" even to say something totally innocuous? His employer must be some sort of secret government agency or someone close to the President or, well it's gotta be something.

And maybe I'd have wondered that if I hadn't have just read the previous sentence: "One vendor selling ice cream and drinks near the Lincoln Memorial also offered advice about tourists using Metro escalators." (Again, emphasis mine.)

Yes, it seems this mystery man is actually the ice cream man -- the ice cream man! It's the seller of frozen treats to children who's been slapped with a "no media" policy! What the f*ck?

Is DC just that lame that the overlords of the ice cream cart industry are so paranoid their vendors are going to give out some sort of trade secret that they must use a blanket policy to silence them? Are there even any trade secrets to reveal about selling pre-packaged ice cream? Have the Push-Pops been tampered with?!

Whatever the issue, something seems totally wrong/unjust/illegal with all of this, and judging from this article I wrote some years ago about the semi-criminal racket behind DC's hot dog carts, there probably is. Of course, not having the time right now to investigate myself, anyone who wants to take this as a news tip, please do.

However, considering this is DC, the place where people get fired from their jobs because they have an entertaining hobby, even if said entertaining hobby doesn't have sh*t to do with their jobs (never forget), I wouldn't be surprised if the ice cream overlords are just a bunch of controlling a-holes.

Like I said, tourists aren't DC's main problem. A pair of Tevas will look like crap whether you wear them with socks or not.

shambles p.i.: the false positive edition

It can all change in a passing sentence. You wake up feeling great. But then you flip on the radio and learn Melissa Joan Heart a.k.a. Sabrina the Teenage Witch, is thirty-f*cking-five years old today. Thanks, NPR, for making me feel old as hell. And I know it will only get worse when I make it to the bathroom, and God forbid, flip on the light while I wipe the anti-aging wrinkle cream from around my eyes, which, by the way, I've been using since I was twenty-four because my passive viewing of roughly 50 kajillion air-brushed beauty ads has effectively scared me into forking over $45 dollars per half-ounce bottle twice a year to this $40 billion industry in a desperate attempt to defy physics.

Yup, welcome to the life and mind of a 31-year-old woman. (See also, "Babies, babies, babies, babies...") I found my first gray hairs last week, too. Which means I'm pretty sure I've reached the peak and it's all downhill from here. I should probably just give up. And with that in mind, this weekend I decided to wear this:

At first glance it all looks fine, if not a little boring (it is, after all, just a pair of jeans and a Hanes T-shirt, which actually, I did cut-up and re-tailor together, although you can't see this handiwork under the blue Member's Only-style jacket that I picked up in Latvia in 2002). But take a closer look:

I think maybe you see where this is going... If not, let me give you a hint -- I'M WEARING SANDALS AND SOCKS!

Yes, for all intents and purposes, it seems I've already given up. Either that, or all the toxic chemicals I've been applying near my mucus membranes for the past seven years have affected my judgment... Whatever the case, it's clear the shambles have set in. It's almost like I have fashion Alzheimer's. There'll be a popped collar here, a pair of pleated khakis there... All I ask is that if anyone ever sees me trying to wear a pair of Crocs, please first whap me hard upside the head with a rolled up Women's Wear Daily then employ the Ludovico technique using alternating images of Junderpants and Paris fashion week.

Oh wait, what's that? Sandals and socks in certain combinations are in? HA! SUCK IT, HATERS! And also, cancel that re-education procedure. I'm back in it!

Also, you know you're old when...



...This is actually the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the name Melissa Joan Hart.

yes.thatcan.be/my/next/tweet

I've finally figured out a way (two days later than everybody else) to make sure I have 38,000 tweets by tomorrow -- Yes.ThatCan.Be/My/Next/Tweet. It's brilliant, at least if your pool of original tweets from which this tweet generator pulls the words is decent. Turns out, mine was prime for this tool. It even gave me some future blog topics! Anyway, here are my "next tweets" in the order the Internet generated them for me. If you laugh even an eighth as much as I did, then this cop-out post about nothing was worth it. Have a fine weekend.

Got what.

I'm literal.

I think I mean "holy sh*t."

This one seems within the realm of reality.

I've been told I'm a great day starter, actually.

Good work, tweet generator!

NO WATER IS MY BALLS!

This might be the greatest tweet ever written.

I wish!

Um, now this sounds like a tweet I once posted word for word...

This better not be my subconscious speaking via a random tweet generator.

I CAN'T BE MY BALLS!

I've prayed for puffin to come out my house.

Now with front and back near death experiences!

...

arrested but still not expected to get respected

You know, I hate to be the party-pooper when it comes to yesterday night's mayor-getting-arrested-sticking-up-for-DC-budget-autonomy thing, otherwise known as derp-derp-derpa, but I just can't help myself. DC's local government is like a laxative to me. I just have to plop this out.

So, like you, I'm sure, I was initially fascinated by the mayor's seemingly bold stance on DC's right to control it's own tax revenues. "Wow," I thought, "He's actually taking to the streets, fighting for the rights of all of us unfortunate, stupid, or self-loathing enough to live here! You're the man now, dog!" Then, when one-liners started seeping out on Twitter from news organizations about "DC Mayor being arrested!" and such, I even felt a second of respect for our elected crew. Hell, I even took to the Twitter myself, expressing my pride in 140-characters or less.

A few hours later and I'm sure a self-congratulatory pat on the back, he was free. So, now what?

Probably nothing, but does that matter? Shouldn't this seemingly ballsy move stand on its own? Shouldn't it show that Vince Gray and his political pals actually care about this city and not just pillaging it for SUVs and six-figure salaries? (Incidentally, that is why I figured the Mayor would've been arrested.) Shouldn't this move demonstrate that we finally have someone in office who is truly looking out for our basic rights as citizens of the United States of America?

It should, but after reading some analyses about the reasons why the Mayor attended yesterday's rally, my cynic bells are ringing in my ear as loud as a DC teenager on a bus. According to DCist, who spoke with mayoral staffers, Vince Gray had no intention of joining the rally until he was told there were a lot of people there. This makes me think that it wasn't so much the actual issue that attracted Gray to the event that eventually led to his arrest, but instead, simply a matter of seizing on our emotions as a city and finally doing something his constituents could applaud him for rather than hiss.

Courtesy of the AP or some such thing.

See, our newly elected mayor doesn't have the most immaculate of records. There's Sulaimon Brown (for which the FBI is now involved), SUVgate, the chief-of-staff thing... Really, in the last three-and-a-half months or so since he's been in office, he's just been kind of a douche. His less-than-stellar antics even got him booed at a recent baseball game. So excuse me for thinking that maybe just maybe this whole getting arrested thing was just a high-profile publicity stunt to either try to dissipate the past indiscretions of this Marion-Berry-like administration, or even worse, a means to distract us about whatever shady sh*t we don't even know yet that's going on right now. I won't get into the individual records of the City Council members who also got arrested, but I'm sure if I did, I'd probably discover similar reasons to be cynical about them.

So, yeah. I apologize for the giant turd I just left in the middle of this protest party, but I just can't feel overly celebratory about this right now. Maybe that will change if Gray and his cohorts keep pressing. After all, while it may be legal, it's highly unjust for Congress to dictate how DC is allowed to spend our own tax money. I just hope that Gray's ultimate goal isn't just to gain control of the funds to do something stupid with them...

---

Despite all the above, though, I'm glad that Gray and the Council went to the protest, no matter what their reasons. Doing something right for the wrong reasons is still better than not doing anything at all or, well duh, doing something wrong for the wrong reasons. However, I really think it's sad that we can't get a local leader in office here who we can fully trust to do the right thing for the right reasons. Trust me, although sometimes it feels great to poop all over a party, it doesn't win you any friends... Eventually, I'd like to stop.

thanks for the scraps, stupid

The United States Congress is like the nasty-ass honeybadger. When it comes to DC, it just doesn't give a sh*t. Instead, it takes what it wants and we're a snake in a tree. Indeed, honeybadger don't care. And so, color me unsurprised (which is the exact same color as yellow-tinted cat vomit, by the way), when I heard other states' elected officials reached a budget deal on Friday that leaves Washington, DC, with only a few scraps of autonomy. Basically, we're like the special kids on the short bus and Congress is our abusive caretaker. Apparently, we're incapable of independence. Then again, after the early signs of idiocy Mayor Vince Gray has displayed, maybe they're right...

And so, really, the only reasonable response here is anarchy. It's high time we, individual second-class citizens of DC who have the ability to wipe our own asses, all become our own nasty-ass honeybadger rulers and tell both Congress and our own inept elected officials (by the way, who the f*ck are you people electing these fools?!) to keep away from our delicious bee larvae. All our own hive are belong to us! And sure, we may get stung, but as we already know, honeybadger don't care! Honeybadger doesn't give a sh*t. WE TAKES WHAT WE WANTS.

By the way, the above argument will make much more sense after you watch the below clip. Although unless you're a time traveler from the past and don't know about the Internet (which doesn't even make any sense), or you haven't had the displeasure of reading this blog before (because I'm pretty sure this is something like the 8th post in a row I've mentioned the nasty-ass honeybadger), you've probably seen this clip and, more importantly, love it already.



Moving on (because the scraps in this post's title also refers to the scrappy kind of content I'm providing today), news broke, or actually, more like trickled down like a tear on the overtanned cheek of John Boehner that Bravo schmreality program Real Housewives of DC will not get a second season. May I be the first to say, who cares? That show sucked balls. The only good parts were the Salahis, whose 15 minutes have already expired since it seems they've become an iota bit self-aware. No one wants to watch crazy and delusional people pretend to act reserved and sane. No one wants to watch people conform to the boring conventions of "DC society," which is ruled by a pleated pair of Dockers and Terry Burch flats. If I wanted to see that, I'd just go outside...

Finally, I want to end this post with the best scrap of all -- what I overheard at Q and 17th Streets on Friday evening. A man walking toward me on the phone said, "I need to get some money again." *pause* "That's right," he continued. "In my butt." WHAT?! This brought up so many questions in my mind that I almost turned around to follow him just to hear more. Was this money to be inserted in his butt? Was something going to be inserted in his butt for money? Or was this an entirely different conversation he was now embarking upon? If you're out there, sir, please, fill me in! Honeybadger does care!

gettin' hobo with it

With all this government shutdown sh*t hitting the khaki-colored fan, I've come to a bit of a bizarre revelation -- I don't really know very many people who work for the Feds. In fact, I think I know only one, maybe two of you douches (I say that with love). And while I think that's because I have no friends hang almost exclusively with a menagerie of imaginary helper animals and, um, lawyers (embarrassing, I know), I think this is a sure sign that I should probably get out more. At the very least I should probably get to know the side of Washington, DC, I so love to mock.

So, in an attempt to broaden my horizons, I want to invite all of you Federal furloughers to come experience my world, or at least the part of my world that involves day-time drinking, a worthwhile past-time I engage in every Monday, all Monday. And while I'd offer to buy, I think actually you guys should, considering you're the ones eligible for the sweet discounts.

So, in conclusion, this is what I'm offering: You, federal employee, may purchase me, your awesome e-friend (and probably a helper animal or two), several libations during the afternoon of Monday, April 11, 2011. In exchange, I can offer FUN FUN FUN FUN!

i actually hope to see you all in hell

I must admit, I'm actually excited to be back in DC. I blame Spring. See, while I miss Iceland and all of its hipster-coiffed horses, I must say, the end of March isn't exactly the best month for tourism there.

In fact, in many places it's still pretty much winter there, which means half the roads are either marked "IMPASSABLE" or they're not, which will lead you to wind up the side of an icy mountain where your non-automatic rental car with over 100,000 miles on it will start slipping toward the 70-foot cliff with no guard rail that forms the edge before you think to yourself, "Yep, this seems like a great time to execute a 15-point turn." But I digress...

Besides certain death, the worst part about the icy road conditions means you can't go to Hell. Ironic, no? Hell is actually frozen over. However, just because it's too cold to drive there, doesn't mean you should stop telling people to go there. In fact, I recommend you all go straight to Hell. It looks awesome. Even DC's fake Congresswoman Eleanor Holmes Norton wishes Congress to go there!

And with their imminent self-imposed time off, surely they'll have time to try...

But for real, let me just proclaim my sincere love for fake-Rep. Holmes Norton. What's even better than her telling Congress "to go straight to hell," is her visibly disturbed shoulder shrugs and adamant scowl of discontent. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if this interview ended in a HULK ELEANOR HOLMES NORTON SMASH! Actually, I wished for that to happen. But, like actually getting to Hell in March, not everything is possible, so instead I had to settle for this interview ending with the angriest rendition of "my pleasure" that I ever heard. Not a bad compromise. It's good to be back.