The View

The view from my new apartment. I'll have to enjoy this, since it's only for the summer. I had to work late tonight, but at least it's rewarding work. Plus, the week is half over. Come on weekend!

The Things You See On The Subway

Far be it from me to criticize the work of others -- especially work I haven't even read -- but I find this hilarious:



"Flip" Flippen? How can I take anything the man writes seriously? I find hard to believe that a man whose first name is "Flip" -- a sitcom wacky neighbor name if I've ever heard one -- has anything pertinent to say on what's holding me back. If I wanted advice on how to handle dating problems or my arch-nemesis down the hall, then I'll call Flip.

OK, I'm done being an asshole. Maybe his book makes some important points. Next time I'm at a Borders, I'll flip through it a bit.

My Desk Without Me In It

Before I left for New York, I had a glimpse of what my life could have been.

On a whim, Brian and I visited DOT's new building. It was my last day, so I figured why not; I could see what I'd be missing.

The old building sat right atop the L'Enfant stop and was, in every way, a typical Federal building: rooms full of cubicles and offices saturated in boring tones of gray and taupe. The new building was only two more stops down the Green Line, at the Navy Yards stop. After a loud ride full of freshly released school kids, we climbed out onto New Jersey Avenue and found, much to our surprise, a very modern facility waiting for us. A circular bay of huge glass doors; a giant DOT seal on the lobby floor; actual Security turnstiles; two huge atriums(one of which houses much improved cafeteria and snack shop facilities); and huge, clean, talking elevators. Was I missing out?

Apparently not. Cubicles had made way for a honeycomb of workstations, clustered together with no thought given to privacy or headaches. People had been grumbling about this since the workstations had been revealed almost a year ago, and they've been vindicated. I don't know how good vindication feels when you

At that moment, though, we were hopefully optimistic. Or at least Brian was, since it was probably my first and final time there.

The web team had been prepping to move for the past two weeks. Crates were packed, computers, monitors, keyboards and mice labeled. Here, names were taped to every one's new assigned desk. Including, curiously, mine.




A strange site, considering I'd never work at this desk. I thought about everything I was leaving behind. This would have been security -- for the most part -- and stability. This could have been my life. I sat in it, just so I could say I did it once. It was comfortable...perhaps too much.

So Far...

Last week, I moved the rest of my stuff out of my old apartment and cleaned it top to bottom. I only lived in Columbia Heights a year(actually, a little less), and it showed. There wasn't much stuff to move. The only big furniture item was my bed; other than that there were just boxes of books, DVDs, bags of clothes, and my laptop. So it didn't take long to get from this:





To this:



Most of my stuff is still back in DC; I brought my clothes and my computer. The essentials.

It's so far, so good. I've seen two places, and I want them booth. I have a good vibe about one. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Happy Mothers Day, and to everyone back in DC/Maryland, I miss you already.

Surprise Sunday Snow

I wake up Sunday, and what do I see. Snow. All over the place.



I thought we were done with snow this year. Wasn't it just a week or so ago temperatures were climbing to almost sixty degrees? I go to New York, it's freezing, come back to DC, it's warm. I figured that meant an early Spring and no more snow for us. Nope. Can't pack away the scarves and gloves yet.

At least this time it wasn't around long, and it didn't bring bitterly freezing air with it. One day it's a winter wonderland, the next day most of it's melted away. A one day decoration, the way it should be.

A Power Trio

I'm not going to lie. My room almost froze Sunday night, what with losing power sometime around one in the morning(I gathered from the difference between the blinking alarm clock and my cellphone). The low that night was 11 degrees, the temperature in my room didn't feel any warmer Monday morning. I'm still sick and cold. The situation is dire and bleak. But I have a plan.

And now, I shall unveil it(with some help from my family for picking up some heavy duty extensions cords).

My Power Trio:

Heater One.

Heater Two.

Heater Three.

Between these three machines, I can sleep somewhat warmly. According to the digital readouts of Heater One and Heater Two, it's about 60 degrees now.

In a weird twist of fate, the next installment in my series of 2006 hidden musical gems is Mastodon's Blood Mountain, and I originally wrote this while freezing(as noted in the text). So, enjoy!

Artist: Mastodon
Album Title: Blood Mountain
Record Label: Reprise/Relapse
Release Date: 9.12.2006
Rating: 8.7
Bands Web Site: http://www.mastodonrocks.com/main.html
Sound: Heavy Metal, Alternative Metal
Similar Artists: Killswitch Engage, Iron Maiden, Tool

Something is going to leap out of my closet, I thought. Something is going to leap out of my dark, cold closet - a giant wolf, like the one from The Never Ending Story - and tear my throat out...and it will fucking rock. Listening to Mastodon's Blood Mountain in my unheated, cold dark apartment, these were the kind of thoughts I was having. Maybe it was a mild hypothermia induced delirium, or maybe it was just how immersing Mastodon's brand of heavy metal can be.

Blood Mountain is a concept album based around the trek up, well, a mountain, and all the scary shit you would endure and encounter. Upon first listening to the record, this might be hard to pick up. Bassist Troy Sanders' vocals are not the easiest to understand, especially when they wander too far into cliched "Cookie Monster" territory(Sanders actually sings on most tracks, though).

A feeling of eminent doom is layered throughout songs like "The Wolf Is Loose", "Sleeping Giant", and "Circle of Cysquatch". A Cysquatch, incidentally and for the curious, is "a one-eyed Sasquatch that can see into the future", according to Sanders. You know, kind of like the cyclops from Krull, only with lots more hair and a bad-ass soundtrack. One thing I love about bands like Mastodon; they take shit like this very seriously. Another thing I love about bands like Mastodon is they really, really play the hell out of their instruments. Not many bands can stand up to Mastodon's technical skill, from Brent Hinds and Bill Kelliher's shredding guitars to Brann Dailor's mind-blowing drumming. They aren't afraid of diversifying their sound either, ranging from the blazing, Iron Maiden sounding epics to the eerie, melody driven songs featuring rich vocal harmonies, echoing Alice N Chains.

Even with my heat out, I was managing with a space heater. While I was listening to "Bladecatcher", though, the space heater shorted out the electricity to my room, right at the part when the song went over the edge with an assault of bizarre sharp sounding "vocals"(or at least I assumed it was the heater, maybe the fuse box just couldn't take one of Mastodon's more extreme tracks). Actually, the problem wasn't with the fuse so I listened to the rest of the album on my iPod, and as Mastodon blasted very epic, immense, unforgiving music it fit perfectly with the bleak white walls of my room, barely lit by the dim light of an overcast winter's day. I didn't know perfect music to freeze to death in your apartment existed, outside of whatever the hell was on the St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack.

Blood Mountain is a superbly constructed album. No song feels out of place, and the record not only holds up to repeated listens but actually makes you want to peel back it's dark, snowy layers. For their first record on new label Reprise, Mastodon hasn't dumbed anything down, in fact, this might be their best work

It's Colllld Outside!!! What Is This, Miami Beach?

While I was in NYC, my landlord had the "heat guy" over Sunday to figure out why my room was freezing. Turns out, the track of baseboard heating in my room is broken. And, best of all, it would require major work to finish. Clear out your room, be gone for a few days, "heat guy" becomes "contractor heat guy" type work.

So...I'm pretty much screwed. My space heater works, but I have to run it from the bathroom because it shorts out the bedroom circuit. That limits it's placements, and it has a hard time heating a ten square feet, let alone the room.

So...a discounted rent, and reimbursement for the space heater. What else can I do?

At least the neighborhood Giant can cheer me up. They brought CDs back a few weeks ago, but they were all lame greatest hits CDs. Yesterday, though, something peculiar jumped out from the cardboard rack at me...



Is that...a fat naked man?



Yes. Yes it is. Among the silver and golden Best Of discs, the unmistakable sight of The Bloodhound Gang's Hefty Fine. How the hell did that get there?

Limp Lizards

I love a good insult. It's not often you find that in advertising, at least since the Cola Wars(the Apple Switch ads being the exception). This, however, is hilarious:


An ad from one of Geico's rival insurance agencies in New York, taking aim at that annoying, inexplicably British gecko. A literal shot below the belt(the flaccid tail is priceless).

Speaking of lizards in New York, my girlfriend and I saw Primeval over the weekend.

All I can say about this movie is, at some point, the following phone call must have taken place:

A disheveled man, pockets inside out, pay phone receiver between his shoulder and ear as he ruffles through his blazer, makes a call from a deserted city street

PRODUCER: Hello? Fuck, Mike! For the love of God tell them you'll accept the charges! Yes, yes this is Mitch! Your producer Mitch! Look, we've....we've got sort of a problem with Primeval...well, um....what do you think about having a subplot about a man eating crocodile? Oh, then I guess you wouldn't want the entire plot to be that either...

pulls phone away with a wince(manic shouting coming from the receiver), slowly returns it to his ear

PRODUCER: OK Mike, here's the thing...I went drinking last night, I met some guy who used to do animation for Beast Wars, we had some shots, one thing lead to another, and I gave him over three quarters of our budget to animate a fucking crocodile...well I don't know what we are going to do with all the civil war footage we shot! Look, all isn't lost, this thing's based on a real crocodile that's killed over three hundred people over there....What's that? Hmm, three hundred thousand? Really? That's a hell of a civil war...guess that's why we were making the movie! Hahaha...ummm...yes I know this isn't funny....

poorly lit city bus drives by, drowning out the conversation for a few seconds

PRODUCER: I SAID YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT JENNIFER CONNELLY OR FUCKING DEREK LUKE ANYMORE! What? I'm shouting because you couldn't hear me! What? Yes, they are both off the project! Well, why do you think? I don't know, some movie about diamonds with Leo and the black guy from Gladiator...something with Tim Robbins...yes because of the croc....well he worked on fucking Beast Wars Mike, how do you think it fucking looks? Yeah....yeah....well also...I might have drunk dialed Jennifer last night...look what does it matter what I said? We can't afford any of them anyway anymore with all the croc money gone...something nasty about that albino husband of hers...not a real albino? You sure? Wow...well, don't worry, I have already have some replacements lined up...

poorly lit city bus drives by, drowning out the conversation for a few seconds

PRODUCER:...yes Mike, Orlando fucking Jones. Well I don't know what he's been doing since the Seven Up commercials, but he was pretty damn funny in them, wasn't he? What? He was in the same bar. Yeah, what are the chances....oh, for Tim I got that guy from Prison Break...yeah I know it's a good show...no not that one, the dumb one....the one who needs to be fucking broken out of prison...yes, I'll tell him to keep his shirt buttoned...no that's not a fucking promise...look, I've got to go, I'm not even sure where the hell I am...oh real mature Mike...yeah...yeah...see you tomorrow.

The Game

The game Sunday was fun, even though the Redskins lost. They lost, after going up 14-0 early, in the first game I've been to in almost twenty years. Which means, as a friend pointed out, the last time I was at a game my youngest brother James - who was sitting next to be - had yet to be born. Of course I was eight then, but that's beside the point. I was there with Scott(my other younger brother, but the oldest of the three), his girlfriend Devin, and James.

I only have a couple pictures of us tailgating:

Scott, drinking while wearing his Laguna Beach sunglasses.

James, who only slept two hours the night before(Scott, zero)

We waited for the local liquor store to open at 11 am before heading over to FedEx Field. Without a parking pass, we had to pay $30 for the privilege of parking in a nearby strip of brown office buildings and taking a Metro shuttle to the stadium. We managed to kill about half of a 30-pack of Coors Light(Scott's girlfriend's preferred beer, which does taste as if it was brewed in a mountain stream: cold, watered down dirt). In the middle of our Rocky Mountain fun, though, a man walked up and asked us:

"Are you under the influence....?"

I panicked. Was James(who is underage) drinking? Are we going to get busted?

"...OF THE REDSKINS!" he finished, producing some Redskins buttons. He asked for a donation of a couple of bucks to some charity in return, and we obliged, even if the charity was probably "The Button Guy Charity".

After this, Scott announced for at least the fourth time he really had to pee. I gave him my advice, which was to think about fucking(I read in Men's Health that this helps by blocking the urinary tract, but I could be mistaken). Since his girlfriend was right there, I didn't think it would be too hard, but it only worked for about five minutes. We set off to find him a bathroom.

Circling the brown office building(which was locked), all we could find were some small bushes surrounded by other Redskin fans. The only possibility was to run across 202 to the woods on the other side, or pee in some empty AMP and beer cans in the car. He took the second option.

James, Scott's girlfriend Devin and I surrounded the back of the SUV to prevent any peeping and Scott proceeded to fill up one tall can of AMP and half a can of beer. The AMP can was a stroke of genius; before disposing of it he loudly announced if anyone wanted anymore "AMP" before he poured it out.

On the way to catch one of the last shuttles to the stadium, we found a porta-potty just over the crest of a hill. Scott was not nearly as amused as I was.

The bus dropped us off on the opposite side from where our seats were. After a little hike to the correct gate, we split up; James and I going to our seats, Scott and Devin going to theirs.

I gave James twenty dollars to get us two hot dogs and a soda before we went to our seats. If I hadn't actually seen the lady ring the items up, I would have accused my younger brother of trying to steal from me when he gave me my change: $4. I finished the hot dog before we even got off the escalators up to the upper deck.

You can read about the actual game here.

Afterwards...well, right now I'm finding it hard to write because I keep getting up to help my roommate clean the kitchen. Every time I feel we've finished and sit down, she starts cleaning something else. She's sweeping the front room as I type this. I'll get the dust pan.

Anyway, after the game, we couldn't find the right shuttle back to the parking lot. Scott tried to get us to board the bus back to the Landover Metro, despite the fact that we didn't park at the Landover Metro. We found what we were told, by a Metro employee, was the correct bus.

The bus was packed; Scott and I stood while Devin and James sat. We traded disappointed banter and looks of dejection and fatigue. Suddenly, I had a nice kick in the shin to go with my dejectional bantering.

A drunk girl seated behind me was going on and on about her asshole boyfriend, and in between repeated exclamations of "is it me, do you understand?" to her friend, she was kicking her leg out with an exasperated sigh before bringing a hand to cover her bloodshot eyes. What followed was the most cliched conversation I've ever heard: the dying relationship pep talk. The girl's friend and the friend's boyfriend kept telling the drunk girl how strong she was, how independent she could be, and that she was too good for the asshole boyfriend. Before the bus ride was over, everyone in the back of the bus had shared knowing glances of annoyance and laughs under their breaths. Scott and I wondered if we should turn around and offer some kind of intervention in the form of an inspirational rap, or repeated slaps to the face.

After running off the bus, we realized we were in the wrong parking lot. Sure enough, there was a brown building, just not our brown building. In fact, there was nothing but brown, nondescript office buildings for as far as we could see(if you didn't count the stadium mocking us in the distance). We wandered between the buildings, crossing grass fields and hedges, ending up behind a warehouse.

We found the road to our lot at the front of the warehouse, where Scott and James also found two small pumpkins. In the middle of an asphalt parking lot, just chilling, doing whatever it is pumpkins do in the wilds of Landover business parks. Whatever that is, it couldn't have been has thrilling as the aerial ride the pumpkins took before their untimely demise a half mile before we finally found the car.

We had dinner at Outback, and there - in the usually tranquil burg of Bowie - something happened that will now forever be known as the Tabasco Incident.

After Scott and Devin went to the bathroom, I dared James to put Tabasco sauce in Devin's cosmo(because I'm an evil asshole), but he put Tabasco sauce in Scott's water(because, being related to me, James is also an evil asshole). The trap was set, and what James did when Scott got back should be in the set-up hall of fame. It should be framed and studied by spies, negotiators, and con artists.

Scott sits down, and James simply says: "H20!", to which Scott replies "H20, yeah!" and takes a HUGE gulp of water. There are no words, in English or any other language, that can accurately describe the look of horror that was on Scott's face when the taste hit him. He froze for a second, then spit the water back into the glass.

"You FUCKERS! Watch out! Watch out, see what happens when you get up!" he said, pointing his steak knife at me and James.

James' plan for me was almost as brilliant. When I returned from the bathroom my potato soup and obviously been tampered with, so I reached for a piece of bread. Luckily, one side was very, very damp from the Tabasco sauce and I didn't eat it. If he hadn't gotten greedy and soaked it, he would have fooled me too.

And that was the end of that. It was a good day.

The Boys

A father and his boys. I found this picture while going doing some late(by about three months) unpacking. It was taken - I think - three years ago. I don't remember whose idea it was, but all the boys of the family where asked to stand together: My younger brother Mike, me, my younger brothers Scott(the Marine) and James(in the red), and my father.

It's the only picture I have and may be the only picture that exists of all five of us together. In the three years since it was taken, Scott has left the Marines with an honorable discharge, Mike and James have both graduated from high school and gone on to college, and I've gone through a divorce.

For most of that, we weren't together. Mike and James still lived in the house we all grew up in, Scott was at various times in California and North Carolina, and I was in between places in DC. Wherever I was, I had this photograph. At one point, I had two copies; one for work, and one on my nightstand, resting on the lamp(I was always meaning to get a proper frame, but I kept forgetting).

Through the hard and hardest times, the photograph would remind me I was not alone. It was taken before my grandmother's funeral, one of the hardest. And even in the wake of grief, we managed some joy. We were all together,all four of us; and when that happens, something unspoken - that assurance of home, comfort, and belonging - takes over. It's having three best friends who will always be there; they will always have your back.

Now, instead of four boys, my parents have four men. James, the youngest, is 18, and I, the eldest, will turn 28 soon. The bonds that bridge ten years are strong, but men need more room then boys do. As boys we played, went to school, fought, cursed, and laughed with each other for what seemed like endless days. As men, the times together are shorter, and they come less and less. School, jobs, careers, and girlfriends all take up our time now. The endless days have ended.

Yet, when we get the chance to hang out, get drunk and play some video games, and fuck with each other the way only brothers do; we get to go back in time. Even if it's only for a night.

My father has one brother, and they rarely speak. That's what years, distance - life - can do. I can't imagine that happening to us, even though as of today, I haven't spoken to Scott in weeks since he moved to a new apartment in Crofton. Where do we find the time? Besides, I will see him(and the rest) at Thanksgiving. Right?

I hope that photograph is never the only reminder I have family.