February 27, 2011

So I slept through almost the entirety of Sunday only leaving the house to go to the food store. 

I know what you're thinking: "WTF!? Jeff, you just made a deal with yourself like two weeks ago to not be worthless, which almost explicitly means not sleeping through Sunday. In fact the only reason you are writing this right now is because of that."

I never said that.

Yes, I did. But I have a good reason for sleeping all day Sunday. Here it is:

I live with six other guys and they (I?) are friends with a bunch of girls that decided to have a "girls night in on Friday". So in a fit of ovary envy, a "dudes night out" was planned. And it just so happened to coincide with a Megabus deal one of my roommates had that meant free bus trips until March 1. So eight of us headed up to New York on Saturday with really no direction other than north.

Naturally, I wake up at about 1pm. I thought that was an accomplishment. Our bus is at 230 from 10th and H. We didn't really check the exact time of the departure until we were at the Gallery Place metro stop at 220. Now I have on my drinking shoes, which happen to be yellow like lightning/Usain Bolt's Olympic shoes. Here is the before picture of said shoes before we left, you know, because what better way to judge the success of a night other than by the filth accumulated on one's shoes:

So they're a little different than Usain Bolt's. But if you were on the other side of the Metro tracks as I was sprinting through to get to the bus on time you probably would have been like "Damn, Usain Bolt must be on rough times training in the DC metro, but he doesn't look like he's lost a step. But that skin bleaching thing that some people, like Sammy Sosa, are doing is really weird. (That picture is not fake--it is that fucking weird.)

Well, we made it on time. And I almost died in the process because that was only second time my body has reached the pace of anything above a brisk walk in like 18 months.

Commence 5 hour bus ride up 95 to New York.  

Thank god for Sporcle. It occupied 97% of the ride up there. I said it felt like the trip went by pretty quickly. Thomas said it was worse than he expected--a good indicator of our respective personalities. 

"CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW TALL THE BUILDINGS ARE HERE?" is how I monotonely breathed in the New York air as I stepped off the bus. And many times later over the course of the night, "CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW THIN THE STREETS ARE IN THIS CITY?" My roommates got tired of that one I think.

So half of us split up to go to our friend from Tennessee's apartment that lives in the city to eat Pizza 33 and drop stuff off. The others went to a bar somewhere else.

I am going to be honest, this night started off slowly with hardly a mark on my shoes. As I mentioned earlier, we had almost no direction whatsoever. Eventually we decide to head towards the East Village (to Ludlow Street I think). We end up in a hipster bar and the only person that could look even a little bit like they belong/are comfortable is myself, which I am not, because I never am. Well what is the best way to feel better about yourself? Tear others down of course! So some quiet hipster bashing ensued and the thought of "Did we really need to sit on a bus for 5 hours to feel this uncomfortable?" is palpable. We move on.

We find ourselves on another corner wondering where we are going to go next and across the street, which again are remarkably smaller than anything not considered an alley in DC, is a sign on a window for $3 dollar imperial pints. We payed $6.50 for a Brooklyn Lager at the previous bar, which I am pretty sure was made in the same city we were currently in/aka that should only be an acceptable price for noteworthy imports. So we're sold on the $3.

We are about to enter when I hear one of my roommates say "You will give me $68 for jumping the hood of this car?" BOOM. Night started. I enjoy watching people fall as much as next guy so I am rooting hard core for the clipping of the toe on this hood of this car. So Thomas is out in the street holding up traffic and my tall, lanky roommate is running to clear the hood of this car.

He made it, unfortunately. As he lands the guy who owns the Acura he just cleared comes seemingly out of nowhere and high fives him, doubling my wish that he had tripped and fallen.

The $3 imperial pints was no joke, except for Thomas who asked for their specials and gets handed a $7 dollar IPA. Sucker. A roommate then signs us up for a game of beer pong in the bar, which I can't believe is really there, but it is. Morally, I was thinking I couldn't go to New York to play beer pong but I'll play just one. Then we dominate and there is what I perceive to be a free keg sitting next to the table. I fill up and walk away. A roommate later hears someone say that it was the most expensive keg he has ever bought for $500. And it was kicked shortly thereafter.

So I walk to the bathroom and ask this girl if there are separate ones for guys/girls and she says yes. So I walk up to the door and see the two genderly dressed stick figures on the door and there obviously were not separate bathrooms. All the while this girl is looking at me like I'm crazy and so I tell her I thought she said there were separate ones and she's like "No I said yes they are the same." and I say "Well that explains why you were looking at me like I was crazy." "Yea that explains it, " she says. Then I ask her if she's with the private party in the back and she comes off all nervous like "Yea, kind of. It's for a friend of a friend but I am not really with them." Maybe room reservation parties aren't cool in New York. "O, no I was just asking to see about the free beer situation." She laughed and went to the bathroom. Then I was thinking it's probably situations like that that normal people flirt but I am in no way normal/capable of/wanting to flirt. I never did find out about the free beer either. Bummer.

The unintentional bar crawl continues. Eventually we end up at Schillers where we think our New Yorker friend is going to be meeting up with her roommate but it was the wrong bar. Upon entering I know I have seen this bar somewhere. I was convinced it was from Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations, but it wasn't and later that I realized it was from the movie Morning Glory, which was much better than expected. My one roommate had just said that he wants to stay for more than 15 minutes at one place. I don't think we made it that long and after one beer we leave.

I had one fear for this idea to wander aimlessly to New York with like 10 people that either everyone or no one would have any idea what to do and it would be frustrating. It was the latter. A couple roommates were smoking $20 cigarettes so I bum one to see past the annoyance of a lack of direction. And it's like 1 am but it feels like 10 and the bars are open until like 4.

Eventually we end up at a bar where there's air hockey and things are a little hazy from there on out. If we took a taxi to get there it was in that one I lost my phone. I am not sure when I realized I lost it but when I do someone answers, which is a good thing. But she's not into the idea of meeting up at 4am to get it back. I think at one point I asked her if she had paypal so I could send her money to send it back. I don't think that was taken seriously.

The only plan that we did have before arriving was chinese food from china town at the end of the night. China town in New York is like a ghost town at 5am. Again, things are hazy at this point but I think we were lucky to find the place we did. I got vegetable lo mein and hot and sour soup, which I was told was awesome.

So after walking the ghost town that was china town at 5am we find a cab. Next thing we know the big buildings are behind us and we're crossing a bridge. My friend lives on the upper east side and there are no bridges between us and china town. Luckily the driver turned off the meter as we reached the bridge.

I pass out on my face at like 530, Thomas wakes us up at 7 to get the 8am bus back to DC. I sleep the entire way back and when we get back to the house I sleep for another 6 hours.

An there goes Sunday.

And I found single packets of Advil and an ace of spades in my pocket.  

It was worth it.

Here are my shoes after all that:

February 20, 2011

So I got up at a reasonable hour (the 11 am one) and decided to make my destination this Sunday that I leave the house the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. Apparently it is as large and ornate as its name. It is the largest catholic church in the US, the eighth largest religious structure in the world, and the tallest building in DC--according to my bff wikipedia. Also, it's only like 2 miles away from my house. So it has that going for it as well, which you should note if you are one to make amendments to wikipedia entries.

Now I put on some weight during the holiday/winter terribleness season so this little hike to the basilica not only serves the purpose of exploring more of DC but also of helping me fit into my pants like I used to. I am not a large person by really any definition, other than maybe height if you would say someone that is like an inch taller than the national average for guys is tall, but who wants to buy new pants.

But this has nothing to do with anything that even I should care about (but I really don't want to have to buy new pants and I would like to be able to fit into the really tight pants I bought for new years) so let's get back to the relevant topic.

The short of it is that I never made it to the basilica. Not because I went right back to sleep and gave up on leaving the house on Sunday already, but because I got distracted along the way--in a positive way--which is the long of it and is as follows:

I am walking along Kenyon St. toward the basilica when I come across a man that says to me "Hey, do you have any cigarettes?" I tell him that I do not. He says "Sorry, didn't mean to imply that you were the type of guy that would smoke." I say I am not offended and once was a smoker for a short six months, so you were not entirely off. Then we get to talking about our names and such and the whole time I am thinking "man this guy looks like leader of Libya, Muammar Gaddafi" but not nearly as appalling. Lucky for him. (Seriously, is there a more noteworthy person as unattractive as this guy? Even more seriously, contact your representatives in Congress to press for the US to take action against his human rights abuses.)

So I ask him if he has been following what has been going on in the Middle East and North Africa. He says "No, why, what happened?" I find this endearing. "O well there is kind of a revolution sweeping across the region with leaders that have been in power for decades stepping down, including in Libya. You kind of look like the leader of Libya, but not nearly as ugly." He laughed and said he gets that a lot. I said "really?" and he said "No, but thanks for the non-insult."

Then he asks me if I want to maybe purchase one of his antiquities so that he can use the money for cigarettes. I say sure, why not and ask where they're at. He says at his home. He seems like a moderately trustworthy guy so I agree to check it out. Also, I have been trying to branch out and say yes to things I normally would not just to see where it may lead me and this is the first time that it really could lead me to something completely new/regrettable. I mean who says yea to follow some random guy to his house, or least what I thought was going to be at his house.

Well, his house is in the sewer about a block away. I can't turn back now so I follow him pretty much completely intrigued as to where this is going to go if not to my death, but I have a good feeling about this guy. Have you ever seen someone open a manhole before? Neither have I before this instance. Before we enter I ask if he plans on killing me as I laugh as unnervously as possible. He pauses and looks at me and says, "Do you have any idea the extent of negative karma that is bestowed upon a murderer?" I'm sold.

So we climb down the ladder into the sewer and tied to the ladder is a box of his "antiquities". Amazing. I ask him he has ever seen any adolescent mutant reptiles that look like they might be able to roundhouse someone quite skillfully. Either he didn't hear me or he chose to ignore me (probably the latter--I get that a lot), so I ask him if he lives here by himself, which he says he does. "Do you get lonely?" "No, I haven't been lonely for years." "Wow, that must be nice." "Well, you can't really stay sane or endure this lifestyle if you're dependent on interpersonal relationships to be content." "O, I just assumed everyone had that necessity to some extent." "First, I convinced myself that I don't need connections with other people to be happy, then I packed a bag and have been on my way ever since not once lonely." "How did you convince yourself you don't need interpersonal relationships to be happy or at least content? I have been trying to do that since like the 6th grade when I realized it's a lot easier for me to not make friends and dislike people than accept everyone and present myself as being a potential asset to others and that they should consider taking my phone number and use it for entertainment/company every once and awhile." "Yea, it's not easy. And I am not saying it's not just a perpetual case of thorough cognitive dissonance, but as it is for you it was easier for me to put the energy towards thinking I can't make friends than step out of my head and be a social person. But don't get me wrong, this isn't about me feeling sorry for myself and giving up on being social. Your interpersonal relationships aren't really much more than a collection of memories with other people (and finding someone to impregnate of course, but you just have to think that there are probably more than enough people on earth). Anyway, it's just that most people choose to acquire those memories readily from a lot of the same people throughout life. I've compiled quite the memory bank from hundreds of people I've met but never kept any that close. And I've accepted the idea of not passing along my genes, which was a challenge." "Ha, I guess so. So you choose to live like this? I mean you seem pretty intelligent and all I would assume that at at least one point you would have been able to get a job somewhere." "Of course this is a choice. But more than that this lifestyle just felt more natural than living the 'get a job, start a family' life." (Now I was convinced he was related to Gaddafi, who descends from nomadic Bedouin.) "That sounds quite counter-evolutionary." "HA. Don't be foolish, man. Evolution isn't flawless." "Is that where jesus comes in?" "I wish. That's where the fallibility and power of the human mind comes in."

"Anyway, want to buy a real Native American arrowhead for $10 so I can get a pack of cigarettes?" "O, sorry man I don't have any cash."

So at that I bid him farewell and exited the sewer, leaving in as much disbelief of the reality of it all as I had entered and never did make it to the basilica.

Because I made that all up. Really I went home to Bethlehem, PA this Presidents' Day weekend. I ate a lot, drank a lot, saw some friends, saw the family and watched my friend win $500 at the casino by my house. And I got a haircut. It was a good time but the closest thing I saw to Muammar Gaddafi was in the news. But really that guy is terrifying looking.

Sunday February 13, 2011

So I'm naturally disposed to sleep 10-12 hours a night. People know this about me or at least that I sleep until the PM any chance that I get. Given the fact that I get 6 hours of sleep during the week on a well disciplined night, that's a lot of sleep to catch up on the weekend. And my body gives it a go.

With this being said, I respect the sabbath de factoly most of the time other than a burgeoning ritual to Pho Viet, which makes my entire weekend most of the time. (Now chances are, if you are reading this, a random pho place in DC is borderline completely irrelevant, but if by chance you stumble upon this please don't take it to mean I am recommending you go and try Pho Viet. Not because its not like the best pho ever, which is probably is, but because it's small and the Washington Post article about it almost ruined my weekly trip last week with all the newbies. Don't be like them.)

I digressed.

I don't get out of the house much on the weekends because I'm usually really tired and I live in a house with 6 other people that I really enjoy, so we often end up drinking a lot at the house and either don't go out and, if we do (and if we don't), I wake up Saturday and/or Sunday too hungover to do anything other than cure the hangover with a bowl of pho.

But this weekend some friends from Tennessee were in town and they're real go-getters and non-lushes, which is a good thing at this age (25). One of them had never been to DC before so tourism was in store. This national capital virgin is also a really motivating person and said something like, "Jeff you need to stop being worthless and go out and see this exciting city of yours rather than drinking and sleeping your life away." Touche, but in my defense I work at 7 every day and get up at 530 during the week, so I'm only worthless on the weekend. But I have no defense on the drinking front.

So Beth inspires me to go out beyond the friendly confines of 14th St in Columbia Heights and I suggest, "Hey you're real creative. How about you think of one thing a week that you would do on the weekend if you lived here and tell me and I will go do it?" Well, we never really reached an agreement if she would be the brainchild behind the things I actually do on the weekends, but she was definitely the brainchild behind the idea to weblog my adventures.

Coincidentally, I had just watched the film, "Pushing the Elephant," as part of the Human Rights Watch Film Festival here in DC and had been thinking I lead a pretty worthless existence in comparison to this woman that has like ten children all of whom survived the civil war in the Congo and now not only does she have a healthy, adorably cohesive family in Phoenix but shes also a reknowned advocate for woman's rights and conflict victims throughout the world. Now I am not saying I need to save the world as she is well on her way to doing, but I should get out of the house on the weekends and take advantage of all there is to do here in DC, which is a lot. A side hope, other than feeling productive on the weekend, is that maybe the more exposure I have to people other than my roommates the less awkward of a human being I will become and the greater chance there is to socialize outside of my house. Not likely though. Baby steps.

As I mentioned earlier, friends I already have (well Beth brought a friend that I didn't know but after the following transpired it's like we've known each other for weeks) and are well adapted to my awkwardness were here. This is what happened on the first Sunday I left the house (not really but if time were measured starting with when this was created then it would be the first, and is):

We had every intention of meeting up with a couple other college friends at Busboys and Poets at 1030 but at least I had no pretensions that that would actually happen. So instead we made The Heights at 1130. Now I've heard that bloody marys are great for hangovers, so, fittingly, one of the weekends that I am actually not hungover is the first time I have ever had a bloody mary. Quite good. I'm feeling productive already. Just being associated with brunch will do that.

Some food was ordered and eaten, natually. Now nourished, we were off to commence the tourism; although we did some tourism on Saturday, too, that day of the week is not in the title of this blog. A year and a half ago I had just returned from Guatemala as a human rights observer and moved to DC in hopes of finding a job some time over the summer. That failed but I did visit all the Smithsonians, my favorite of which was the Portrait Gallery, and this Sunday was the last day in the Hide/Seek exhibit that caused some controversy. So while also satiating my need to feel relevant, my suggestion was to start the tourism at the Portrait Gallery. Landon Donovan looks like Daniel Webster and the Hide/Seek exhibit was well done. We did check out the Museum of Censored Art too but, honestly, the David Wojnarowicz video, "A Fire in My Belly," was a little too ADD and intense for me.

We then said goodbye to Laura, rested at Cosi, and stopped in the Museum of Natural History to see some dinosaur bones and the Hope Diamond. Some guy proposed to his gf in front of it while we were there. I said "lame" because I also have no heart.

Next up was the White House.

On the way Beth asked "What's that?" Me: "That's the Old Post Office. We can go to the top and see all of DC." I knew Beth liked high vantage points (might be redundant). Beth like the vantage point of the Old Post Office like I knew she would. It was also at this point that Beth recommended I do something with my life and write a blog about going to different tourist spots and such on Sundays in the city. Changed my life (hopefully).

And then we arrived at the front of the White House and like everyone else ever they were unimpressed and thought the back was the front. So we walked around back and they were more impressed.

Now it was dark and we were getting hungry. But first we were going to walk around Georgetown. So we take the Circulator there, walk on N St. to campus, sit in front of the main building to rest and hope we fit in as students, although it wouldn't matter, and talked about how we can find ourselves some sugar spouses so we wouldn't have to worry about money/doing anything other than what we really wanted. None of us was successful in this on the steps there.

Next up was killing three birds with one stone: getting my pho fix, introducing Beth and Liz to pho, and eating because we were hungry. Miss Saigon on M did the trick just fine.

Beth had also never been to Urban Outfitters so we stopped in there and read their books. Beth had also never been to Georgetown cupcake so we walked down to just miss it closing by two hours. Sunday. On the way there Beth tossed a mint into Liz's mouth and later when I asked what was everyone's favorite thing about today Liz said the mint incident.

Maybe all these words were for naught.

Beth said the Old Post Office.

Thanks for reading all this. Not even I wanted to read it all again so if you made it this far and thought, "damn, Jeff, if you're going to make me read all this, the least you could have done was proofread," I understand. But not enough to go back and proofread.