This past Friday, when the Washington Post deemed me a "tastemaker," The Anti DC pretty much shrugged its binary shoulders and said. "Well, then. We had a good run."
There I am grinning smugly on the bottom-left corner of the cover of the Weekend section. While I'm a bit upset that I didn't get a full body shot like Thrillist's Leo Schmid (I'm not as handsome), I did get the coveted spot below Kojo Nnamdi's most-awesome-shirt-ever. More importantly, somehow I feel vindicated, like "The Man" has finally recognized all my glorious awesomeness. Like I was right all along and people have finally—finally—realized it. I am the supreme arbiter of dopeness, just below Kojo's shirt. Yes, the narcissist inside me is contorting to pat itself on the back right now.
But should it? Because while I'm flattered by this recognition, I'm fearful that I've become an unintentional parody of what The Anti DC would've endlessly mocked in 2007, the year this blog started. I mean, let's be honest about my "tastemaking" status here. Underneath all the bravado and cool beans (mostly pinto) exterior, I spend a good deal of my free time talking to my cat. And my cat isn't even one of my imaginary helper animals who answers in intellectually stimulating, snarky quips. No, my cat is a simple beast who only bothers to acknowledge me when he feels the wall he usually spends his time with starts ignoring him. In short, I'm lame as hell. If I'm "tastemaking" in DC, DC has some serious work to do, so please, take a moment to LOL at me at my expense.
However, before you laugh too hard, or I, as indicated two paragraphs up, become too proud, let me shart out some reasoned wisdom on your computer screen. I think maybe I was asked to participate in this article because two things finally came together—two things which explain why I'm still in DC and why I'm actually happy about that (or at least not miserable, let's not get carried away). DC has become a lot more tolerable and I've become a bit less of an asshole (although I'm still firmly on that spectrum). Here's the thing: DC is cool (certainly not because of me) but because of a whole host of people who are doing awesome sh*t here. At the same time, I've become a lot more serious about using the minority of my time, when I'm not sitting at home with my cat, to explore and write about said awesome sh*t. I'm not sure if maybe I was missing out before, or if stuff just didn't exist before. It's probably a little bit of both.
But isn't that life? Platitude alert: sh*t changes and stuff. And so have my goals when it comes to most of my writing about this city. While I still love a good rant, I'm more interested in hunting for things worth raving about. It's certainly proven to be much more challenging than most of my complaints, which honestly, pretty much wrote themselves (or my helper horse Sven would do it). Plus, now I have an ulterior motive. After watching a whole slew of my friends (and not just the imaginary ones!) move away, I aim to lure them back. Likewise, if I can compile a list full of enough decent reasons to live in DC, maybe the rest of you who've found joy in The Anti DC's hatery over the years will consider staying, too.
And to prove I haven't lost that "special" something—that I haven't sold out completely to fame (not really) and fortune (definitely not)—behold this image from the Post story, in which I manage to photo-bomb the picture I'm a subject in.
LOOK AT THAT IDIOTIC VISAGE! I mean, for God's sake, I'm touching my own butt. It's ridiculous. But, I think, it's a fitting final image. I am the girl with the stupid look on her face touching her own butt in the Post. As it should be.
More importantly than my final image on this blog, though, are my final words. Firstly, I want to thank you all for your comments and general awesomeness over the years, and secondly, I want to redirect you to where you can still e-hang out with me. Yes, just 'cause I won't be writing here any more doesn't mean we have to e-break up. I still have my other blog (where I'm sure I'll come up with the occasional rant should something strike me like a sock full with quarters, although hopefully not literally). And, as hinted here, you can catch my writings every damn day on your phone via a free app or online thanks to this awesome company that believes in my skills. In conclusion, see you around, never forget, I will always love you, live free or die, oh, skeet skeet goddamn and this. What more can I say?