stop spreading schminformation, new york times!

It's not often that I have time to mock any other newspaper besides The Washington Post, but today I'm making an exception. Did anyone see Sunday's New York Times? If so, did you see the article in the travel section entitled, "In Washington D.C., K Street Steps Out of Its Suit"? And by "article," of course, I mean "completely ridiculous, not even factually correct group of words." And that's being nice.

Now, I'm lucky enough not to have to spend a lot of time on K Street, or really, wear a suit (or pants) ever, but that doesn't mean that after three years of living here (Jesus...) I don't know a thing or two about what the hell goes down there. Oh, and unlike Sarah Wildman, the reporter-schmeporter who somehow got paid to check out eating establishments "on and around the K Street strip," I know where the K Street strip is.

The "strip" refers just to the sections with the highest concentration of douches -- the part that stretches from 13th St. to Georgetown. Yet, in this piece of sludge, not one of the establishments Ms. Wildman points out goes west of New York Ave., which I think is the last street east of 13th that falls into the "around K Street" category. None of the restaurants she mentions fall on the strip.

But besides this geographical misnomer, the real problem with this article is the assertion that whatever strip Wildman's talking about is somehow shedding its douchetastical image because of some "new entrants" focusing on "inventive and ethnic" dining options.

And that would be totally awesome ... if it were true, but, um, last time I checked, FIVE YEARS AGO wasn't new and CORNED BEEF is neither inventive nor ethnic. Not to mention, DC is still chock full of douches, but that's a given...

Turning back to the food and Ms. Wildman's article, Rasika, while, perhaps, an inventive and ethnic restaurant, is not new. It opened in 2005. Oh, and it's also on D St. at 6th. And Againn? Sure, it's new (it opened earlier this year), but is English and Irish pub food really all that inventive or ethnic in a city (or country) where Russians, Italians, and Somalis alike all celebrate St. Patrick's Day together? I don't think so. I mean, really, what the f*ck does "ethnic food" even mean to you, Sarah?

"The executive chef, Wes Morton, a Louisiana native, has created what is essentially corner-pub fare, with some haute twists: shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash, house-made corned beef."

Um, where are these "haute twists" you're talking about, Sarah? For Lucky the Leprechaun's sake, Duffy's, the Irish dive across from the 9:30, has more haute twists than that. Tell me when Againn starts serving an Irish burrito and we'll talk.

Along the same lines, of the four establishments Ms. Wildman declares as new, inventive and ethnic, the last is Taylor Gourmet, a freaking sandwich shop:

"For less than $10 each, Taylor proves a proper K Street meal no longer has to be a white-tablecloth affair."

It's located at K and 5th. And it's a f*cking deli. I mentioned that, right? Subway serves a meatball marinara. Is that ethnic, too, Sarah? Is it?? IS IT?!?!

Ugh. I need a drink. Almost as much as this toddler. And this toddler. Hmm. Who knew toddlers were so hardcore? They're probably also a better source of information about DC than the Times... Then again, so is this blog. Now, that says A LOT. Take note of the state of journalism, New York Times, take note.

mob justice thrice!

Mob justice is so 2008! For the third time in just over a month, a group of DC residents served up some justice on a khaki platter to a possibly retarded criminal. This time, instead of chasing down a gunman or Bob Novak, however, the criminal was an even sicker freak, who sexually assaulted three women within hours of each other downtown.

According to The Examiner, "Police have charged Edwin K. Wright, 23, with two counts each of sex abuse and assault, following a string of incidents that ended when a group of citizens tackled the man at 15th and K streets."

You go, mob!

Seriously, if the DC police aren't going to protect and serve, at least our neighbors will.

Luckily, though, the police decided to do some work and connected Wright's string of crimes together, which means he'll (hopefully) be locked away longer or given the mental help it seems he so desperately needs.

Anyway, Wright began his spree by punching a woman in the back of the head (uh, seriously?) on Pennsylvania Avenue. He then ventured into the Farragut North metro station, where he tried to go to second base with another woman, before moving out to 1500 K Street, where he really demonstrated how much of sick bastard he really was. While normally I'd conjure up a fine rape joke for the purposes of The Anti DC, I'll refrain from doing so because there's really nothing ironic or funny about this. It's just sick and wrong.

For real, DC's mob of justice, thank you for doing good and stopping this nasty, gnarly, sick freak.

dc salons or butcher shops?

Of the gazillions of style-, fashion- and attractiveness-related criticisms I have offered up here on this glorious little blog, there is one issue I have let stew in my sick and twisted mind for quite some time -- the haircut. Well, my friends, the time has come for me to declare: Salons in DC suck a lot of ass. (It's called eloquence. Take notes.)

And, as with 85-90 percent of all the witty observations made here on The Anti DC, this post will also be based on my incredibly narrow experiences and on no way, shape or form on any sort of "scientific research." I mean, having only lived here since May, I've had the occasion to have my hair butchered by just two local salons. Anyway, let's just cut (get it?) to the chase.

URBAN STYLE LAB

I should've effing known with this one. I mean, any salon with "Lab" in the title cannot be a good thing (as those of you in Moscow familiar with the mullet-tastic Persona Lab could testify), but I read a few online reviews and decided to give it a go. M-I-S-T-A-K-E. Those are the only seven letters that I think could even begin to describe the overall USL experience in one brief word.

The mistakes were twofold: It was my mistake not to trust my instincts about the whole "Lab" thing and it was several of my stylist's mistakes for not knowing how the hell not to make my hair look like a retarded squirrel taking a four-month nap on my scalp. Put simply, my hair was a serious gnarly mess after I left that place.

But let me break it down even more because I'm sure those of you who just LOVE my mentions of SHOES on this blog will equally love to hear about my hair type and texture and the corresponding instructions that make for a good cut. (You know who you are, ahem, TDF.)

Anyway, I keep my hair long. More importantly, I have a sh*t-ton (two eloquence points!) of it (ON MY FACE! LOL! J/K!), which means if there's one style my hair should never endure, it is a blunt cut (i.e. when all of your hair is one length -- think Supercuts). That is, if my hair isn't layered or chipped or razored or some other slightly advanced cutting technique, it will be huge, unwieldy and downright wig-like, especially with bangs, which I also have. To give you a visual, I left "Urban Style Lab" looking a bit like this, but blonder:

ANDRE CHREKY*

So, I pulled back my bangs for four months while I saved up enough money to get another haircut at a different place. (Oh, my bad, did I forget to mention I paid someone roughly $100 to f*ck up my hair? Yeah.) Having settled into Washington a bit more, I did some word-of-mouth research and found numerous recommendations for Andre Chreky's eponymous salon. What clinched my decision to give AC a go was my BFF Rose L, who gets her hair cut by Chreky himself. However, being the impatient (yet charming) bitch that I am, I couldn't wait the two-plus weeks to get an appointment with him so I settled for whatever bottom-of-the-barrel stylist was available. And that's exactly who I got. Worst. Haircut. Of. My. Life. What Urban Style Lab is to Supercuts, Andre Chreky is to hobo with a hacksaw.

Not only did I get a blunt cut, but I also got the other big no-no for long, naturally big-ass (three eloquence points!) hair -- a blow-out followed up by volumizing mousse. I had some serious helmet hair. We're talking Peggy Bundy (see above) times two. That sh*t was not tight. But what really gets me is that the woman (whose name for the life of me I can't remember) was so proud of herself. I (politely as possible) disagreed with this seemingly blind stylist, pleading with her to put in "at least a couple" of long layers. She failed.

After the trauma was over, I debated whether to actually pay the $90 (!) or just make like the victim I was and run. Alas, crime apparently does pay, as I settled the bill. And making the whole experience even more mortifying, nearly everyone in the salon told me my hair looked "amazing" or, worse yet, "divine" as I made my way to the door. I begrudgingly acknowledged their compliments, but refused to accept them as the women doling them out were all middle-aged lobbyist types with shorter versions of my new politically correct 'do. Ugh.

But Jebus! I get the aesthetic here, DC. I understand everyone actually wants to look like a tool and strives to become that middle-aged douche, but honestly, is it too much to ask to have just one go-to salon for those of us who don't enjoy looking like assholes? Seriously, are their any?? Anyone???

My hair situation has gotten so desperate that I decided to jet-set up to Boston to get my hair cut by a man who not only attended, but actually graduated from beauty school. (It seems some stylists in DC have yet to enroll.) Of course, I'm not so psychotic about getting a good haircut that that's the only reason I'm flying up there at the end of this month, but, hey, why not kill two birds with one stone? Or, more appropriately, why not pick up your Master's dilploma that's been sitting in the registrar's office for nearly a year (zoinks!) and get a haircut in one big ol' bitch of a trip? (Four eloquence points!)

*While the cut was ghastly, I also had my hair colored here. The colorist, Johannie (sp?), did a fabulous job (I say this with no sarcasm -- her sh*t seriously is tight), which made getting the horrible cut even worse. The cut did nothing to highlight the, well, highlights. Anyway, for serious, if you want an excellent colorist, call Johannie. For a cut, I'd steer clear unless you can go directly to Chreky himself, apparently.