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.

it's a hax off.

Capping off an incredibly slow week over here on account of lots of people who can read skipping town for "vacation" (assholes), I've decided to take a little vacation of my own. That is, I'm going to add absolutely nothing original to the blogosphere this Friday and, instead, simply do what I've done before (here and here) and just rework Carolyn Hax's weekend advice column into something much more entertaining, albeit far less useful, for your and my reading enjoyment.

Of course, the rest of the day won't be all fun and games (well, until I hit up the Mets Nationals game tonight). Nope. I've got business to give to handle. I've got some B-roll to go shoot today for an upcoming new video feature that will blow your minds like a light breeze. Look out for that next week. But for now, look out for this:

Dear Carolyn The Anti DC:

I have been with my boyfriend for seven years. We began dating because I asked him out. I was the first to say, "I love you." I was the one, after two years, who brought up moving in together. He had no children and wanted a child, but I am the one who brought up children: My daughters were adults when my boyfriend and I had our child. In seven years, I seem to have been the only one making decisions about our future.

So I refuse to bring up marriage. I wanted it to come from him, I needed him to want it, and I waited very patiently. I find myself becoming bitter that this man obviously does not want to marry me. I know he would if it became an issue.

I do not want to break up my family. I want to be in a relationship knowing the other intends to spend the rest of his life with me. We split expenses. He has a financial cushion, I struggle paycheck to paycheck. I was a single young mother and struggled all my life. He lived with his mother for the majority of his life and has managed to invest and save.

It is not about the money, though I do feel as if we are two separate islands. I feel so very lonely. I feel like I would be happier without him, but what cost would my child pay for my happiness? My boyfriend and I rarely argue and get along quite well. Our child is happy and content. Only I seem to be miserable.

T.

First of all, that was WAY too in-depth. You really could've just written, "He lived with his mother the majority of his life," because that's the only thing that's really relevant here -- THE DUDE LIVED WITH HIS MOTHER THE MAJORITY OF HIS LIFE! The fact that you expect him to be anything less than really f*cking weird is your fault. Leave him; get a Brownie Husband.

And because that advice was so damn obvious and boring, I'm going to take a look at last weekend's column, as well. Let's hope it's something more exciting than, "I want marry to a middle-aged child..."

Dear Carolyn The Anti DC:

If a woman's husband has been verbally and emotionally abusive toward her throughout the course of their marriage, and the wife finally becomes fed up and wants to leave, what do you see as her obligation toward him and the marriage, if he says he -- now -- wants to change his behavior?

Is she obligated to give it a shot, go for counseling, give him another chance because he says he needs her help and feedback in order to change? I don't want to give it a shot, but he has me thinking I should. I feel as if I've given him many chances over the years and he ignored me until faced with the prospect of losing me.

Not a hypothetical question

Well, your husband's clearly not a hypothetical DFL (Dick for Life), he's a real one and possibly the DFL spokesman of the decade because he's obviously still trying to manipulate you by guilting you into "helping" him change. And if The Anti DC knows anything about helping a DFL, it's that it should never be done unless you're a prostitute and your "help" is being reciprocated with cash. (Get it, girl!)

So, there's that: You can become a hooker. However, if you're not into that (although I cannot understand why you wouldn't be), you only owe this born-a-dick, grew-up-a-dick, and-shall-remain-a-dick-forever one thing -- a junk-punch telegram telling him you're leaving. It's just like a singing telegram, but instead of a song with the message, he'll receive a swift punch in the junk instead. That will be the entire message. If we learn nothing else today, remember abuse can only be solved with more abuse, as long as that abuse is amusing.

Dear Carolyn The Anti DC:

My husband is angry that I won't see a marriage counselor. I have asked him for a divorce. I have been unhappy a long time, and have been in individual therapy. I am not in love with him anymore, and the reasons I want out are not external, but those internal things that add up to a strong distaste as an intimate emotional partner. I still enjoy his friendship. I don't want hum to hold a grudge as we move forward, but I think counseling together would give him false hopes.

D.C.

This is Lisa from The Room, right? Are you sure you want to talk about it? I know you don't love Johnny anymore and Mark's your "lover boy" and all, but he's also Johnny's best friend. I'm pretty sure he told you that. I don't understand you Lisa, Johnny treats you like a princess and you stab him in the back. I don't like all these stupid comments that are coming out of your pocket right now, Lisa. In fact, I feel like I'm sitting on an atomic bomb, waiting for it to go off. And while that may be because of the scotchka or that weird, gigantic loaf of bread you passed off as food at Johnny's birthday party or maybe even "me underwears," I think more likely it's because you're TEARING ME APART, LISA! You're a chicken -- cheep cheep cheeeeep. Don't you know lahv eez blind? I fed up with this world! Oh, hi Mark! Anyway, how's your sex life?

all this over a bike rack...

I'm not sure which genius first proclaimed, "Haters gonna hate" (Confucius? Plato? Rollerblading Batman?), but I do know that whoever said it was probably, most definitely talking about Georgetown's hatred of bike racks.

Seriously, as if I really needed another reason to complain about Georgetown...

But on to the latest story to apprecihate: I went to the new Apple Store in Georgetown today to wait 45 minutes to get my computer repaired. The official diagnosis? "Um, actually, everything seems to be working fine." Well, that's fabulous...

No really, that's actually definitional of fabulous because it means I don't have to pay any money to repair anything. (The nice people at Mac will press Ctrl+Alt+Del for free.)

No, the Apple Store isn't the problem. In fact, I quite like that an Apple Store exists in DC now. I just wish it didn't exist in Georgetown, the proverbial grand wizard of hatery when it comes to neighborhood bike racks. Even the street-sign posts there are too fat to fit a medium-sized U-lock around! In fact, the only sturdy apparatus near the intersection of Wisconsin and M that could even compare to an actual bike rack is the garbage can! And what does that tell us? It tells us that Georgetown hates freedom, that's what!

Stay with me here...

Riding a bike frees the streets from congestion. It frees the air from pollution. It frees our bodies from morbid obesity. Indeed, besides growing an Abraham Lincoln beard or singing the National Anthem whilst wrapped in an American flag (I've got that activity scheduled in for 4 p.m. today), there's nary an activity that shows the world you love Amurrica more than cycling over to an overpriced store in an overpriced neighborhood to fix your overpriced technology that isn't even broken in the first place, which you would probably know if you didn't go to an American public high school that devalued learning so much that they employed a teacher who taught us about the Holocaust via REENACTMENT. USA! USA! USA!

And I'll have you know, Georgetown, I'm not the first one to complain about this! I know this because when I told one of the nice Apple employees, he said, "You're not the first one to complain about this!" SO SUCK IT! Or, actually, maybe instead of sucking it, install some dang bike racks!

M Street and Wisconsin Ave. are a couple of constant clusterf*cks because of cars. Wouldn't it be to the neighborhood's advantage to welcome bikes and, thus, de-clutter the streets and make it more pedestrian friendly? I mean, I'm not a businesswoman (unless, of course, we count "giving people the business" as a business), but it seems to me that local retail shops, such as the Apple Store, would welcome a less clusterf*cky street, where people could more easily access their storefronts, because it would drive business up. I mean, who wouldn't enjoy a friendlier looking façade that didn't smell like an exhaust pipe?

I'll tell you who -- Osama bin Laden! That's who! Whose side are you on Georgetown?! Ours or the terrorists?!

And while you're contemplating that question, Georgetown, think about this one: Which city are you located in? While it seems you'd rather exist in Arlington, Va., state and District lines say you exist in DC, which means you don't have as much room for parking lots to accommodate the kind of motorized traffic to which you seem to cater. Because right now, Georgetown, you have all the generic charm of a shopping mall without the necessary convenience...

Now, I'm not saying Georgetown should completely uproot its entire aesthetic (after all, I said just paragraphs ago how nice it is to have a Mac Repair Shop in DC), but there are ways to make the area a lot more friendly to people who aren't commuting in via any bridges or highways, you know, THE PEOPLE WHO LIVE HERE. Bike racks are just a start...

And you better get used to it because, if my schmientific calculations are correct, you're on track to soon become the new H Street. So, look forward to this...