About the pictures: the first half of the album are pictures taking while roaming the streets in Baltimore two weekends ago, mainly around the Inner Harbor area and Little Italy … the second half are pictures from Saturday’s fishing trip. I’ve been shooting in black and white lately — just ’cause I felt like it, the B’more pics seemed more suited for black and white anyhow.

I’ve been meaning to put up a list of good things (and perhaps not so good things) about where I live and work ala Shelly’s Texas list — it’s a bit more difficult here because, I think, where I live (Columbia) and where I work (Washington) are pretty different in character, and of course there’s Virginia, and Baltimore, and so on and so forth. So I’m thinking of making several lists. This would actually help me out a lot — put some perspective on the situation.

Weekend was quite interesting. Got a call from John on Sat. morning — our friend Rich F. is getting married next weekend, and so John, Gregg, Brian, and others helped plan out a day and night full of festivities. Anyway, John calls me up, says there’s an extra spot on a fishing boat that they’ve rented near Annapolis, so I jumped in the car and headed to one Deale, MD — the “Happy Harbor Marina” to board the “Anne Marie” … we cruised around the Chesapeake Bay for about 6 hours, caught loads of fish, drank PBR and ate stale cheese puffs, breathed in the salt-water air. Had a good time. And I caught the biggest fish of the day — a decent sized rockfish, it was no Catfish Hunter, but hey, I don’t own a mesh cap, or wear a T-shirt saying “support your local hooker.”

Which leads me to the evening part. No, no hookers per se, but there was certainly live entertainment to be had back in Annapolis …. arrived at the hotel room to find the bachelor party in full swing … I will say nothing else except, I drank very little, left early, and went to sleep in my own bed.

Woke up Sunday with what I could call a “second-hand hangover” — one induced by second-hand or proximity highs the night before. A mild hangover, to be sure. But it was definitely time to hit the gym. It’s cool, I’ve been hitting the gym for about a week now, still focused, eating a bit better and somewhat less, so I think I’m starting to gradually fall into a healthier lifestyle. That doesn’t mean I won’t tackle a chicken parmigiana or nice burger now and again. But the battles are won or lost in the trenches, and that’s where I’m fighting them. Getting on an Arctrainer is sort of like waltzing with a praying mantis, but man, the heart does thank me for it.

Anyway, work Monday, work Tuesday. I’m sitting here trying to mute the Bush twins on the TV. God, they really are as dumb as they look.

Sometimes it all comes full circle, albeit in an extremely convoluted way. And sometimes I am my own worst enemy. Fortunately, my little blunders are exposed and explained away, by me, to an audience of you, my friends, that I can count on my fingers, and not the entire free world. But then again, I am not a contestant on “American Idol”.

Yesterday morning, I arrived in my normal commuter parking lot near RFK Stadium. But the lot, which normally has plenty of spaces, was full. As it has nearly been all week, though this is the first morning I’ve not managed to score a spot. On the gate, was a hand-scrawled sign, “Parking for American Idol tryouts.” And sure enough, emptying out of the vehicles in the lot, boarding a charter bus to some hotel in Northwest DC parked at the curb, were dozens of bright-eyed hopeful young things, family and friends in tow. Hmm. OK. Interesting enough. But I still needed a place to park.

So I buzzed further down East Capitol, right up to Capitol Hill itself, avoiding the police checkpoints, to a nice little parking garage right next to the library, one which is super convenient, but wickedly expensive, which is why I only park there after exhausting all other options. But it can be very pleasant once in a while. Anyway, I give my keys to the attendant, who asks what time I will be returning, and who casually reminds me that the garage closes at 6:30PM. No problem, I thought, making a mental note, I’ll just come back at 6:30 and get the car, park it at a meter, then work the last hour of my day. So I say, yeah, I’ll be back at 6:30.

Hahahaha.

So guess who’s sitting at his desk, munching a Clif Bar and reading the New York Times online as 6:30 comes and goes, and then gets on the metro train to RFK like a trained mouse at 7:30, only to fumble around his bag to realize there are no car keys in it. And tucks tail and runs back to a locked parking garage.

That would be me. American Idol, meet the American Idiot ;-) As in, “Stimpy, you eeeee-diot!!”

My own worst enemy. As public transportation to Columbia ceased, well, about ten minutes prior, I had to settle for a MARC train to BWI Airport then a cab to Columbia. Then today, on my day off, I caught a bus to Washington to pick up my car. While driving back down East Capitol past RFK (right next to aforementioned parking lot, coincidentally) I stopped the car to answer my cell phone.

And who did I see while talking, but dozens of American Idol would-be hopefuls, some in tears, solemnly walking off the charter bus back to their cars. Real-life, reality television casualties. This was just too depressing for words.

For a brief instant, I envisioned Simon Cowell, hung (and not William) from his privates over the reflecting pool on the Mall, surrounded by his talent show rejects, and they’re all stoning him to death. Now that’s entertainment. We could even put a Coca-cola logo on his … butt … I digress. You know, I can laugh at myself. I’m doing so here. I just can’t laugh at these people anymore. It’s not funny. This “reality” business is so tired, so soulless, so cruel. If people can’t sing, don’t put them on the air. It’s Springer-esque. Just stop it.

As for me, I’m back home. TV is turned decidedly OFF. Long-suffering Toyota is back home once again. Next to me is a District of Columbia speeding ticket courtesy of my little thief friend. And I’m slowly becoming my own source of media. For better or for worse … better, I think … could it possibly get any worse?

So many random things on my mind this weekend. No one thing stands out above the others, so let’s just start at the top:

1. First, a big congrats to Stacey for her new position at Raytheon! Went in and interviewed literally at the buzzer and came out with it. So I’m psyched for her. So her and Bobbi will be working together, and Shannon in CA, so that’s three SIRLS grads getting paid! Just watch out for those crazy engineers and especially Don Ho!

2. Took a step towards a pretty ambitious weight loss goal today by joining a local gym. This urgency was brought by several things, including, but not limited to:

a) having the teller at DMV ask me after looking at my old Arizona license, “Is this really your weight” … (ummm…. no sir….),
b) my exercise machine out on the patio, slowly gathering dust,
c) recurring back problems,
d) following the advice of a good friend who always seems to be looking out for me.

The fact is, my current weight is the heaviest I’ve ever been. This is unacceptable. And I’m tired of talking about what needs to be done about it. Bring out the consultants. This corporate body is downsizing. Heavy cutbacks, elliptical and LifeCircuit machines ahead. And the starting gun has already been fired.

3. Hurricane Charley did not make an appearance in this area. Aside from some scattered rain, the weekend was pretty mild, though the skies never painted a pretty picture. I got scared back into the house a couple times, thinking, “oh Elizabeth this is the big one” but alas, nothing. Can’t say the same for Florida. I’ll have to get in touch with the Dews and Imries for a Jax report. Unless they happen upon this post?! Guys, are you OK?

4. Jim McGreevey’s coming out party. Oh joy. The guy puts his love interest on the payroll doing homeland security detail, then tries to bribe him out of a sexual harassment suit. This is gonna get ugly. Once again, New Jersey puts its best foot forward…..

5. The Olympics. Highlights so far. Seeing local boy Michael Phelps win a gold medal. Watching the table tennis finals which is like Crouching Tiger Hidden Paddle. And I could have sworn that I heard the announcer proclaim during opening ceremonies that Swaziland is famous for its neutrality. Isn’t that Switzerland?! If Swaziland was neutral about anything, would anyone notice?

6. I finally ditched Comcast cable TV. Now I’m left with the broadband and a basic 13 channel hookup. This freed up the necessary gym funds (see above).

7. Went to see “Metallica: Some Kind of Monster” yesterday. Mixed reaction. Though it is a bit annoying to watch mega-millionaire rockstars go through therapy, it did have its moments, like when they tell Clear Channel to go to hell. That was cool. huhuhuh. But it was an interesting look at their creative process. I’ll keep it at that.

How cool is this … Lebowski Fest is getting ready to hit New York this Friday. All things Dude will be celebrated. Even the original Dude, will be making an appearance. So head up to NYC to tell the world and our president that “this aggression will not stand, man” while dressing up as your favorite Big Lebowski character. I myself cannot attend (though it is tempting) but make a toast (White Russian) for one Jeffrey Lebowski, who, as everyone knows, is out there every day taking it easy for all us sinners. Don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that. Now how about another sarsparilla ….

I was sitting out on my patio tonight, shortly after drudging out the previous post, realizing that I was in a foul mood. Though happy to air my grievances, I was still simmering. I poured myself a bourbon and coke and lit a cigarette, something I rarely do at home, trying to get the edge off. It was (and is) a beautiful evening. Not too hot or humid, even cool, there was a whiff of autumn in the air and a brisk wind. I could hear faintly in the background a constant high-pitched wailing voice and wobbly guitar, sort of non-descript, I couldn’t really make it out, but that sad bellow sounds awful familiar — hey wait a second, isn’t that …

Not sure why, but I then jumped up out of the chair, grabbed my keys, got in the car. The fascination streets around the mall were lined with little goth kids, intermixed with some older ex-goth professionals who had pulled their Siouxsie tees out of the mothballs for one night only. The Cure were playing Merriweather Post, right down the road. Drove down the street, parked, snuck over to a sweet spot in the woods, an open crevice near the side of the pavilion. Peering through, saw old Robert Smith, snake-pit hair, red lips and all, up on the Jumbotron. So I spent about an hour taking in a free Cure concert on a pleasant summer night. Not being a huge fan, I recognized “Friday I’m in Love” but that’s about it. They were good. I even got what might be the worst Cure bootleg video ever recorded (1MB AVI — a friend said that this was “Lovecats”) to prove I was there.

So I’m back at home. Sucking down another bourbon and coke and smoking another butt. Difference is — I’m smiling. I’ve been Cured with a capital C, written in jet black eyeliner. ‘Cause even when I’m feeling low, Mr. Smith always seems to be a little bit more bittersweet, which makes me feel good. It’s 1986 all over again. The kids are all wearing black.

So that last post was rather depressing. Of course I don’t like it when Capitol Hill clenches its butt-cheeks up even tighter than they already are. But it’s just part of what’s eating me. Here’s the rest:

1) Due to me missing my bus on Wed. due to the closed streets, I had to take a severely delayed Red Line metro to Silver Spring, where, in another torrential downpour, I barely made the last bus up to Columbia, only to have it pass by all of us waiting in the rain without stopping. We had to scream our lungs out to get him to pause 100 feet up the road. Then we (and this includes an old guy with a cane) had to hop over a slick railing just to get to the curb.

I snapped. Demanded that he pull into a parking lot so we could get on like civilized humans, which led to a torrent of verbal abuse in my direction from the passengers already on the bus. I basically told them all politely to go fuck themselves.

So now I’m the bad guy (”Falling Down” anyone?) … ’cause I have to inconvenience them for 5 minutes so an old guy with a cane doesn’t get stranded 25 miles from home or so he doesn’t have to scuttle over a fence like some kind of wounded insect. Tough shit. What the hell is wrong with people anyway? These are the same bus passengers that routinely sit in the aisle seats of a two-seat row just so oncoming passengers can’t sit next to them. This is so lame, and I’m sorry, such classic east coast bullshit. I rode home on fire.

2) That episode really bothered me. It brought out ugly human nature including my own. Then, today, just as I’m headed to DMV, I check bank account to find that I’m 700 dollars overdrawn. WTF? Turns out the auto glass company that fixed my broken window, astutely put an extra digit in the sale price (think of Mike Bolton’s failed “Office Space” Initech scam) and ended up charging me 1777.72 for a 177.72 sale.

I called them and they said “We’ll fix the mistake, sir, no need to get upset”, meanwhile, my mortgage payment is bouncing, every withdrawal and purchase is bouncing, and my bank account is rebelling against me. Yeah, no problem. Not for you, asshole.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to give the lady at DMV a Discover Card for license plates, but Discover was not “everyhwere I wanted to be” at that moment in time, so I ended up draining my Visa card of its last cent.

Yeah, I know. Rant, rant. But I really had to get this out of my system. You know you’ve had a bad week when going to the DMV is one of the least stressful experiences. Positively mild. And the teller was even friendly!

Also on the positive side, it is a beautiful cloudless, mild and not humid day. And I’m going outside to put Maryland plates on my car. And get some fresh air.

And green clovers and purple horseshoes, just to round out a box of Lucky Charms cereal …

But seriously — took a short break from the blog, nothing too earth-shattering to report anyway. Started painting the living room in the condo, blue, of course, it was a no-brainer really, after my last trip to Lowes and hemming and hawing over the exact shade of blue that I wanted, this trip around I decided not to think too much about it and just work on instinct. A good move, I went straight for a nice sky blue, grabbed two gallons and some supplies and was out the door in 15 minutes. Of course, I made two more trips to the hardware store for things I’d forgotten the first time around. Ended up finishing one section of the room. It looks nice. Reminds me of a cross between my bedroom as a kid, the Blue Velvet coffeeshop in Amsterdam and maybe the Sonar Lounge in B’more. With some nice ambient lighting and some new furniture (the current couches have got to go) I will have my own little chill-out room. I’m psyched! The more I do, the more I want to do, the more ideas I get. Soon I will have designed the room I said I’d create if I ever got my own place. Which is very satisfying.

I’ve been turning another song in my head. “Pink Moon” by Nick Drake, off the album of the same name. This song was in a VW ad a few years ago, the riff was so memorable that I went to pick up the CD. Of course, the CD is gone now with the rest of them, I have an MP3 on the computer (listening to it now) but mainly I’ve just been humming it incessantly in the car, the guitar riff as well as the lyrics, first the opening riff, then the words come in “Saw it written and saw it say / pink moon is on its way / and all of you stand so tall / pink moon’s gonna get you all” and just repeat it ad nauseum, and I’ll be damned if this isn’t one of the best songs ever recorded. Certainly the best one clocking in at two minutes flat!

And with it’s apocalyptic overtones, the perfect soundtrack to defcon-orange Washington, circa summer 2004. Sigh …. every day, it’s another slice of paranoia at a certain federal agency located precariously close to the Capitol building. Whether they’re blocking off Independence Ave. to buses (causing me to miss mine), or evacuating the building in a panicked flurry due to a “suspicious package”, or an “unidentified substance” that turns out to be mayonnaise, it all amounts to what some D.C. leaders call “an opportunistic encroachment … by security officials taking advantage of terrorism threats.” (Washington Post). In other words, while you’re already scared, let’s give you a little more to be nervous about — maybe we can get some moolah out of it.

Whatever. I try to ignore this stuff, but it’s hard to do, whether the threat is real, unreal, or simply implied, the paranoia of too many people here is very real. And the power trips by some in Washington who wear badges are very real.

So they say, a pink moon is on it’s way. Cool. I’ll take one final dance in the library stacks, one in the streets, ’cause I know that if and when shit really goes down, there’s not a damn thing anyone here can do about it. Unless it’s a mayonnaise bomb. In which case I’ve got my bread slices ready.