the Change I Wish to See

Dedicated to Dick Cheney and that sales associate from Banana Republic.

Ooh I love it when you call me Big Sloppy. Forgive me for my
indiscretions like you actually know what they are. Tell me again how
stupid I look with this brain. You make me feel like a natural moron.

Dumb it down. Make it good sense to me. Better yet, don't waste your
time. Prey on me like I'm at the bottom of your food chain. I feel
unsafe when I'm important. I don't like to think. It makes my tummy
hurt. I'm short on food for thought.

You are so wise you see problems that don't exist. I am too slow to
invent such cause for alarm. And I could certainly never keep up if
reason is a moving target. But you... You have eyes in the back of
your head. You are like a surveillance camera.

Remind me to thank you for your service. For I may not appreciate the
true gift it has been to make your acquaintance without being coached.

Sent via iPhone.

Sorry if the Mallrats lead-in is misleading. But I needed something to paint my horror.

Commit even if it means you're alone.

At the Archives' free screenings of the complete documentary and short categories... Submerged myself as wholeheartedly as possible this weekend. In the last four days, I've seen 18 out of the 20 screened. I've worn the same hoodie/coat combo three times in a row because I've been here too often to do laundry.

But I've gone to 16 out of 18 by myself. And maybe that's not a complaint. It's at least an observation. I saw the opportunity for free movies and dropped the world in front of me to create a better one. Because I had to. Because if I didn't, I would've been miserable about it for a while. That I'm the only person I know here who felt that or wasn't otherwise legitimately occupied might bother me more than it should. But I'm not apologizing. It's disappointing that this weekend has been as close to perfect as it could be: what I did aligned with who I am. The fact that I'm not sharing that, though, means either I'm the only one here or everyone like me had more important things to do. The resulting question seems obvious.

Wishing this weekend has some permanence.

Sent via iPhone.

I've seen this bill a few times now.

Obviously the WMATA ad council doesn't read this blog. I guess I'm fine with that. But the claim it makes is only slightly truthful. You know, truthful much in the way that believing every day we're not attacked stands as a testament to homeland security. Truth is, it's really just a matter of perception: some of us can see, others would follow Hellen Keller through a maze.

And the half-assed swipe at NY is noted and shameful.

Sent via iPhone.

Reporting live from the basement auditorium at the National Archives as a panel discusses primary reform.

I don't know that there's much of a story here. I suppose I just thought you should know. There are, of course, the tell-tale signs of grassroots political theater: old men asleep, middle-aged men in fanny packs, men of all ages in beards and overalls, rants via mic abductions (rants without mics for that matter), blind assertions, seemingly wilful blind assertions... Standard operating procedure. Oh right: and scattered laughter at "jokes" for no other discernable reason than to have the room acknowledge you were cool enough to show up at an event (aka the rat-bastard-masturgiggle).

And so, somewhat sadly, nothing new here. Politics as usual, in some ways.


Sent via iPhone.

But before we get to that..
 

GW football doesn't exist (despite what the t-shirts at the bookstore say). There are many rumors as to why. Some say it was contractual, to guarantee the building of the Smith Center. Others say it's because Georgetown was upset that we'd finally have a chance at being better than it at something, and so we caved in to protect the "natural order of things," -- Georgetown's actual words -- when it threatened to put us on its basketball schedule.



Yet others say football teams add school spirit, and building classes of kids who care, about anything, certainly their school, would hurt GW's image and hence its recruiting with the "I'm too sexy for my Uggs - juicy-assed - collar-poppin'" Lawn Guyland apathetics crowd.



But after a night like tonight, where we sat right behind the end zone, knee-deep in student pride for a slow, dull-witted creature, it hit me: I can't feel my toes.



It was really, really cold. And I was soaking wet because some genius had spilled his entire Pepsi on my back and legs. The whole thing. It was like the dude behind the counter had put me directly under the soda fountain rather than a cup. He might as well have thrown ice in my eye. I looked like I had been in the trenches, with shin-deep soda stains on my jeans from wading through a caffeine river. He tried to help dry me off, but at that moment, it was the kind of help that doesn't stop you from wanting to punch him in the face. And through it all, there was this sopping bag o' douche a few rows ahead, who just could not let it go. Whether it was 2nd and 4, or 3rd and 19, he was screaming, "Gimme five [yards]." He yelled during timeouts. He yelled at halftime. He embarrassed his wife. He made me sad for his kids. He smelled like hobbit feet.



And it's that kind of "god, this sucks," "I should be anywhere but here" mentality that we are sorely missing. Because we would lose. We would lose hard. And we would lose interest if GW didn't put the game out of reach in 15 minutes or less. But we could be one in our failure. We could be nothing, together.



GW, the ball's in your hands.



Give us something new to complain about.





Sent via iPhone.

I'm standing next to a guy wearing a Blackwater baseball cap.
It wasn't a guy in a three-piece suit, wearing the hat because he was on his way to a board meeting. It was a guy in a polo and khakis reading a newspaper with a Blackwater cap on. An actual display of Blackwater love? Really? An emblem on his sleeve, or a super-imposed logo on the American flag pin on his lapel wouldn't have been enough? He really needed to show his appreciation like a fan?

Anyway, I wonder if he's on his way to Capitol Hill. But I'm on the redline headed west, so maybe he's doing reconnaissance (badly, which would make sense). Maybe my train is a threat to national security because too many people are reading The Onion. Or maybe there have been reports that menacing kids on their way to one of DC's public schools are causing havoc (they can be pretty threatening). Those reports, of course, would be unconfirmed because who has time to fact check?

I'd just blend into the shadows... But that's where all of the metro's creepy underbelly already lies. And standing next to that guy who rubs up against women with his "happy face" on, probably only increases my chances of becoming an "unfortunate incident." So maybe I'll -

Oh. He's gone now.

Sent via iPhone.