Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

I'm starting to get nostalgic about travel, pending my trip to Buenos Aires in two and a half weeks. Trying to get myself excited about leaving the plain ole normalcy of DC, I was browsing through some pictures of my last vacation abroad to Cambodia in 2003. Here're a few.

Neglected temple in the middle of nowhere.


They sell pizza topped with marijuana called "Ecstatic Pizza" or sometimes "Happy Pizza". Got me so high I forgot my name.


Thousand-year-old temple.


Live eels for sale.


Old land mine and mortar fragment, used as ashtrays at a bar.


I got this classy shot at a bar of two dudes dancing with prostitutes.


Roadside dentistry. Yes please!


There're a lot of Japanese tourists in Cambodia. Notice the sweet sense of style: string tie, fishing vest, mussed grey wig and crooked half-fade sunglasses. "Ladies, ladies, there's enough Mr. Koichi for everyone."

As a follow-up to my Important Traits for a Man Over 30, I'd like to throw a bone to the ladies who've arrived at their third decade. As before, these traits have to be taken as a whole, not piecemeal.

A solid fashion sense: If you're still shuffling around in your over-sized off-the-shoulder sweater, your nicest clothes are over five years old, or you wear Lane Bryant stretch pants, you aren't a Real Woman over 30. A solid fashion sense requires the ability to wear makeup right. Don't be a Try-Hard or a Sparkle-Fatty (Adams Morgan style). A woman over 30 should have learned that her beauty should depend---to a good degree---on her lack of trying. And it's important to have "a look". If you don't have "a look" by age 30, perhaps you should just lie, and tell people you're still 29.

Balanced sense of feminism: An overly "strident" feminist woman is struggling desperately with her sense of self in order to avoid being swept into the void of her own insecurity. But that's fine for age 26. A Real Woman over 30 is a feminist, but is one on her own terms---not just from reading Our Bodies Ourselves III, Andrea Dworkin, Gloria Steinam or---god help us---that "Men are from Mars" book.

Ability to verbally spar with men: Nothing is worse than the "Unfunny Giggling Girl." Somehow our culture has jammed it into women's heads that having a sense of humor just means laughing at men's jokes. What's more, a 20-something woman's common recourse in an argument with a man is to get crazy emotional. If you're over 30 and can't hang with a man's wit, and put it to him straight, you need to get to school. The School of Verbal Sparring, that is ...

Ability to walk like a woman: Ever noticed how many women in their early 20s have a quick-stepped, stiff-hipped walk like a teenaged boy? It's not their fault; they're just not over 30 yet. A Real Woman should have a walk that can never be imitated by a man, no matter how much surgery or hormones go into him. The walk I'm talking about is one of kind.

Decent knowledge of international politics and history: Nothing is worse than a woman over 30 who has no idea that Czechoslovakia hasn't existed in over a decade. Lord.

An interior decorating sense: Hard to pinpoint this one, but a few things are prima facie banned: an entire apartment whose only color is taupe/mauve; photographs of airbrushed children; Thomas Kinkead "paintings"; unicorns or dolphins posters; little unusable soap shaped like seashells or; everything being obsessively matched. If you're a woman over 30 and cannot make an apartment look impressive, you should've gotten a sex change like five years ago.

Sass: Needs little description, but could be the most important one. A sassy woman over 30 gives a man a little jolt in his bolt. I've never met a sassy woman who had any trouble finding a mate.

A sexy, confident tone of voice: If you've got that annoying sorority-girl-style downward tone at the end of all your sentences, you are a child. Grow up. And then have a seat next to me on the mezzanine in a lounge called Adulthood.

My dad mailed me a book he'd been reading a few weeks ago. I started it, and by the time I got about a third through, I came across a scrap of paper my dad had been using as a bookmark. It was a little note he'd left my mother, saying that he was out taking their dog, Lacey, for a walk.

At the bottom of the note, my dad had drawn a little heart with an arrow going through it---complete with marks where the arrow entered and exited the heart---with both my parents' initials, RAF & DWF, in it.



What a sweet little thing. They've been married for over 25 years and they still write cutesy things to each other.

The more I can be like my father, the better person I'll be. I've said it before.

You know when you’re traveling and you end up hanging with someone like this because he’s the only guy around that likes partying and when you’re really wasted you give him your address back home and decide you’re going to be buds forever and then he comes to visit you a few months later and you’re like, “How the fuck did I ever put up with this gay geriatric cokehead?”

Vice is getting worse and worse but their DOs and DON'Ts section still remains strong.

photo by Juliana Beasley

I spent Saturday evening out with 14 guys on a bachelor party. As is the norm, we caroused around to some of the finest establishments our fair city has to offer, the "gentleman's" clubs.

Here're a couple of descriptions of some of the drooling misfits I encountered:

- A very pallid, hunched guy in his late 20s, wearing a long black trench coat and sipping cognac from a snifter glass. He had "hipster hair"---you know, "bedhead" style---but it was a little too unkempt to be an authentic hipster. He had a sinister gleam in his eyes and a pursed-lipped half-smile. I saw him stand at Sniffers' Row (SR) a couple of times, staring just like my beagles stare at me when I'm eating a hot steak.

- A guy in his early 20s with cerebral palsy who had enlarged, red sores on the backs of his elbows and who was not shy about shuffling up to SR to gawk like a starved animal.

- A bouncer that was built like a mountain who I overheard complaining to a bartender about someone who "ain't got no balls". Later, I hear him yell at one of the strippers to "GIT YER CLOTHES ON!!"

- Two unattractive latino guys in their 20s who had loads of cash. They were surrounded by smoking hot strippers and were talking up a storm.

- A fatherly-looking guy in his 50s wearing a Mr. Rogers sweater. I asked him, "Whose cigarettes are those?" He responded over the din, "HERS", and pointed to the six-foot-five gorgeous blond woman dancing naked on stage.

Anyone who tells you that women are just as horny as men is dead wrong. If that were the case, there would be fucking in the streets, my friend. No one would go to work and the economy would just collapse.

I was doing some Halloween costume shopping today and was caught off guard when I spotted my good friend Greg's picture on one of their fine products:



Greg needed some extra money this summer so he posed for a costume company where his bandmate worked. But I never expected to see his bloody-toothed mug scowling at me from a plastic package in a Halloween superstore in the suburbs.

I just wish I'd found the package with the photo of him dressed as a 1970s pimp.

Most Esquire Magazine-style manly man "Rules for Being a Real Man" fall into three broad categories: 1) Dumb-as-shit; 2) Retarded, or; 3) Fuckin' Retarded.

But let's face it, gentlemen, we live in a feminized culture. It's self evident; lengthy examples would waste space here. A quality list is therefore in order. My list will include no braggadocio like, "ability to undo a bra with one hand", or, "ability to operate a wood lathe", etc. But I'm digressing. Onward!

Below is a list of traits and behaviors that all Men over 30 should have.

- Lack of squeamishness: I'm not talking about having a hard stomach in the rare case that you'd have to perform surgery on your best friend. I'm talking about things that run the gamut from bearing the sight of shit and blood to cleaning up someone else's pubes or gutting fish. These things should not make you flinch, brother.

- Lack of irrational fears: Walk into those dark woods, my friend. Black bears have killed fewer than 20 people in North America in 100 years. Nothing's gonna happen to you ... It's not to say a real man can't be afraid of something, but fear that defies logic and science is no place for a gentleman over 30. You should've gotten over that at age 23.

- Passion for a hobby: You should be willing to spend whatever amounts of cash on this hobby regardless of the short term consequences. When talking about your hobby, you should get a glaze in your eyes that no one else understands. If you've never gotten that glaze, you don't have a hobby that you care very much about.

- Decent knowledge of international politics & history: Nothing is worse than a man over 30 who has no idea that Czechoslovakia hasn't existed in over a decade. Lord.

- Ability to intelligently discuss at least one classic novel: By "intelligently discuss", it's important to note that all forced pontificating is fine at age 25, but not 30. In addition, you have to have truly enjoyed the book, and can break down its meaning on your own terms.

- Only rude on purpose: If you're being rude and you have no idea, you aren't over 30 yet. A real man over 30 should rarely be rude, but when he is, only when he sets out to do it. Not knowing you're being rude just makes you an asshole.

- Ability to drink like a man: This doesn't mean over-drinking or under-drinking, or even the ability to never puke. It does mean a good knowledge of what a man's drink is, and what it is not. The following are prima facie banned: vodka & juice drinks; any drink that is not, in fact, a martini, but ends in "-tini"; shots of "jager" or; any other train wreck in mixology, like the Cum in a Hot Tub or Mudslide. Could you imagine Dean Martin or Ernest Hemingway ordering any of the aforementioned drinks? I think not.

- Stoicism: By age 30, a man shouldn't say whatever's on his mind, whenever. A man with a slight degree of stoicism does not whine or complain, save for the occasional you-know-what-really-grinds-my-gears diatribe. That's ok once in while, but too much, and you sound like a little bitch.

- Grace under pressure: This one needs little description, but could be the most important trait of them all. Just think of Winston Churchill in 1940 during the "finest hour" speech. Yea ... now you got it ...

This is an obvious enough statement, but it means much more when you experience it firsthand.

On October 14th, I posted an email my dad had sent me from his business trip in Beijing, China. Early on October 17th, boingboing.net put a link to my post. By 3:00 PM, my blog had gotten a 5,500% increase in visits and there were already several other blogs linking to my post.

They were not portraying what my dad had written correctly. The gist of my dad's email was that he visited China's hydroponic and genetic research facilities and that the Chinese are creating human pharmaceuticals in cow's milk and they're growing millions of lettuce plants for consumers in massive, 200-yard tanks. The post did not mention that these activities have been around for a long time. While I wrote that it seems futuristic, it really isn't. In fact, my dad told me that as far back as 1983, he had proposed splicing bovine genes with human traits so biotechnology can produce more human pharmaceuticals cheaper. The Chinese are no different than the west, it's just that American/European scientists are only doing it in mice, etc.

The blogs linking to me and comments I got on the post were implying that McDonald's is selling consumers cloned & GMo beef, which is NOT true. Based on people's ignorance of modern biotechnology, China was being portrayed as some kind of Hollywood mad-scientist laboratory. I took down the link by 3:30 and requested that boingboing.net remove their link as well. I've now re-posted a more detailed version, which is not connected to the biggest blog in the world.

Why are people so freaked out by genetic engineering? It's always associated with Nazi eugenics, but that's so far from reality. What damage could gene-splicing do to people, outside of Hollywood-style fantasies?

Just saw Hitchens and---I think---his brother walk into a restaurant on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. I think this is significant, considering that they hadn't spoken to each other in like four years (Link).

Normally I wouldn't fawn over a celebrity enough to give them their own blog post, but I've been a fan of his during his leftist period and I stuck with him after his split. Plus, he just made the list of 100 top intellectuals. I remember seeing him pull out a pint of bourbon and take a swig during a book signing a few years ago in Baltimore. I was so impressed with his genuine brazenness.

And I said nothing to him tonight. I just walked by with my dogs and flip flops, staring like a huge dork.

More and more, I'm having conversations with friends about children. While a few of my close friends have children already, most do not, so the conversations mainly revolve around how much freedom will be lost (will, not might). I thought about all the things that would make me decide to have children, and even did a google search on it, but there are only two motivating factors for me to have kids:

1- Having children is just what you do when you're over 30.

2- Other people always say I'd be a good father.

In five years, if I still have the same two reasons for having children, should I do it? Or will I end up being the kind of parent that gives his children lunchables for dinner every night?

And no one who had children and regrets it, admits it publicly. That's not very helpful to people like me. How am I supposed to know?

"If you don't love life, you can't enjoy an oyster; there is a shock of freshness to it and intimations of the ages of man, some piercing intuition of the sea and all its weeds and breezes. They shiver you for a split second." - Eleanor Clark
_____________________

Just got back from an oyster festival in Maryland where I gorged on a dozen and a half raw ones with horseradish, hot sauce and lemon.

The more a food can be eaten in its raw, natural state, the better. And when it tastes so perfect in that state, it's clearly god's way of telling us, "I've put these here for you, my dear. For you." That one-of-a-kind texture of sea-salty, lemony Chesapeake oysters with a dab of horseradish, chased with a cold 16 ounce beer, makes my eyes roll back in my head and forces the world to escape me. No thoughts exist. My body undergoes pure seafood sensation and I revert to some primordial version of my pre-oyster self for a split second.

I've heard rumors that there are those on this earth who do not think that raw oysters are one of the best foods in the world. I feel sorry for those deprived people and thank the lord that I grew up on a coast.

I've been without alcohol since Labor Day weekend. In order not to go completely insane, I've begun the search for the perfect non-alcoholic beer. In case you ever end up projectile vomiting on all of your wife or girlfriend's clothes, and get yourself banned from the sauce, you can use this guide.

- Bitburger "Drive": All the luxuries of looking like you're drinking a fancy German beer without any of the authenticity. It's the beer drinkers' version of getting fake tits or liposuction. A++++++ Very Recommended!!!!!!!!!

- Kaliber: Made by the same folks who brew Guinness. If you took a real Guinness, boiled all the alcohol out, then added bleach, washed it with a load of clothes, and then replaced half of the original stuff with DC tap water, you'd have Kaliber. A +++. Recommended!!!

- O'Doul's: "Now richer and smoother" says the label. Richer? Yes, compared to drinking baby powder stirred into a glass of sugarless apple juice. Smoother? Well, yes, I guess. Most beverages that are devoid of alcohol tend to be "smooth", unless you're talking about un-sweetened cranberry juice. B++. Goes good with a ribeye.

- O'Doul's Amber: Wow! A pleasant surprise. Definitely drinkable, in an I'm-in-the-military-and-there's-nothing-else-to-drink kind way. B. Somewhat recommended.

- Sharp's: Last night, I had to ask every beer-seller at the MCI Center during a hockey game for a non-alcoholic beer. I quietly kept asking, "Do you guys sell any non-alcoholic beer?" and the person would respond with a loud, "WHAT?!" Each person gave me the same WTF expression and pointed me to some other kiosk in the stadium. After walking for about 20 minutes, I purchased a Sharp's. They poured it into a clear plastic cup with a plastic lid with a straw hole in it. I can honestly say that's the first time I've had beer served with a plastic lid. What can I say. It tasted like watered down swill in a freaking sippy cup. I think I lost about an ounce of testosterone by drinking it. C+++++ Sort of Recommended.

My dad just returned from a business trip in Beijing. While there, he toured a lot of their food production facilities, and it almost seems futuristic.

From my dad's email in China:

I visited a large industrial park where there were various kinds of companies operating and selling products. One company produced hydroponic lettuce.  Apparently they sell this lettuce to McDonald's, but I had no way of verifying this. The individual greenhouses were twice the length and width as a football field. The growing situation was a pond with blocks of styrofoam floating on the water.  Each block had a multiple lettuce plants dangling their roots through holes into the water. Above were light fixtures that could illuminate the plants.

I also saw other research-type activities. One place was a hi-tech R&D company that was working on cattle. They, like various organizations around the world, had done some transgenic and cloning work, and I was shown a few cattle that were claimed to be of both varieties. Here in the USA our R&D people usually work for a couple decades on some small animal, and then try to transfer the technology to a large animal, but not the Chinese. They go straight for the jugular and work directly on the cow. 

Biotech companies have long been interested in producing rare and important human proteins with pharmaceutical benefits in cow's milk. For example, why not produce human interferon in cow's milk rather than produce it via DNA approaches in yeast? The answer is that the yeast has a difficult time producing the modifications of human proteins exactly as those substances would be synthesized in people, but the cow can make them correctly. 

I was shown various animals and told that some were transgenic varieties and others were clones. I wouldn't be surprised to visit most any university in the US and find people working on similar stuff in mice. Given that most of Europe and the USA labs are ahead of the Chinese, I wouldn't invest lots of money in the Chinese operation or expect anything commercial to issue forth any time soon, but of course we've underestimated the will and determination of the Chinese before. 

I'm probably not the first to say it, but Matt Drudge and Ian MacKaye are probably brothers.

Ian:


Matt:


Maybe Ian MacKaye is such a pissed off leftie because his brother is a right wing d-bag. What would it look like if Ian MacKaye had a left wing blog like Matt Drudge's? I'd read it.

I first read about the UNICEF bombing the Smurfs story on BoingBoing.net exactly three days ago.

Early yesterday morning I did a little experiment. I did a news.google.com search on "Smurfs, UNICEF" and found only three (3) mainstream news sources that had the story. Next, I did a blogsearch.google.com search for "Smurfs, UNICEF" and it gave me 164 different results! And it took until tonight for it to make the evening TV news.

The Smurfs story isn't very important, but it's certainly newsworthy on a human interest level. It's amazing what a lumbering dinosaur mainstream online news has become. It seems like for those who want up to the minute information, you have to depend on non-"fact-checking" blogs.

Since I couldn't get out into the woods this weekend to go backpacking, a bunch of friends and I got our frustrations out in the forest firing high-powered shotguns at flying miniature clay Devo hats. For the uninitiated, shooting a gun is a lot more fun than the NRA makes it look. Be careful. If you try it, you might get hooked. I saw it happen to nine guys and gals today, no doubt.

And it's only around $35 for rentals, shells, etc. Afterwards we gorged ourselves on Chesapeake crabs. Can't think of a better thing to do on Columbus Day.

I felt the need to wear my brother-in-law's redneck cap.


Girls can play, too.

After my friend saw March of the Penguins, he told us that before the movie, he had thought that penguins were like six (6) feet tall. After a period of laughter, we realized he was serious.

We Photoshopped an image of him next to a penguin if it were the size he thought it was:


Isn't this an especially odd misconception? I mean, it's not like he thought penguins gave birth to live babies or something like that; he thought they were the size of grizzly bears, for god sakes.

I had a physical on Friday and have been trying to recover since. They injected my left shoulder with a shot of pure poison to protect me against something called "tetanus". God knows why they put something related to my anus into my shoulder, but I let them do it anyway.

This fucking tetris shot gave me a fever of 102 all Saturday. It took 'til Monday morning to feel slightly better. Now I remember why I haven't been to the doctor in ages. It was awkward when the doctor was nervous as hell because he had to give my twig and berries a feel, and how could I have known he'd inject some weird 16th century disease into my body?

Do I really need this bullshit? Unless I'm planning on jumping up and down on a bed of nails laced with horse manure, or digging ditches in the southeast Asian jungle, it seems fairly useless. What a wasted weekend. I'm never going to the doctor again unless I'm dying.

I ran across this NYT slide show (click on "Multimedia" - top right) of injured American soldiers from the War in Iraq. When reading about the war, most people focus on the number of deaths, which I think stands at around 2,000 right now. Less focused on are the people injured, which in March 2005 was well over 11,000.

By the time a man turns 40, he should have cleared his first million, written his first novel and seen his first child off to school. As of today, one of my best friends, Matt, has accomplished one out of three and he's a long way from 40.

His "Complete Idiot's Guide" book is now out and available on Amazon. In the book opener, he acknowledges his parents as "allowing me to pursue an unorthodox vocation." Knowing Matt as well as I do, I sometimes lose sight of the fact that his job really is unorthodox. He sits at home and edits crossword puzzles for a living, for god sakes. How many people can say they do that?

Congrats on the book, Matt. You deserve all the fame and glory it brings. You'll be snorting coke off Paris Hilton's bare heinie in no time.

Matt, in his spare time:

About a year ago, I was considering making bourbon on the back porch of my apartment. I bought the buckets and a metal tub, but before I got down to it, I did a search on homemade whiskey on the ATF website and discovered that it is very illegal. It's fine to brew beer in your home as long as it doesn't exceed 200 gallons per year, but you can't take it that next important step.

I'm glad I didn't do it. Like this boy, I could've gotten in trouble.

From the Post:

"In a midnight stakeout, government agents seized a Howard County teenager and the illicit moonshine distillery he allegedly built from a bucket, a trash can and some copper pipe in the woods ... Moonshining is a misdemeanor offense in Maryland, potentially punishable with a $10,000 fine and five years in prison."

This is freaking ridiculous. What's next? Banning marijuana?

God.

I finally saw Brown Bunny. Roger Ebert called it the worst film in the history of Cannes. I've never been to Cannes, but I agree, it's pretty damn bad. Here's the plot summary:

Man rides motorcycle. Man drives black van. Man kisses strangers. Man drives black van. Chloë Sevigny performs unsimulated fellatio on man. Man drives black van.

The movie lasts for 1 hour and 32 minutes. No kidding. I don't know what else to say.

My weekend backpacking trip might be rained out. If everyone decides not to go, I'm considering going by myself. But I've tried it before with bad results.

In 2001, I'd just gotten back from Poland where I'd been turned back from a Siberia trip by the Belorussian border guards. My friends continued on, while forlornly, I was "escorted" back to Poland. To get the forest bug out of my system, I decided I'd go solo-backingpacking when I got back to DC.

I headed out to Dolly Sods with enough food and joblessness to last me four days but I ended up starved for human interaction after one day. Going to sleep that first night wasn't even possible without a pint of bourbon. So I cut my trip short by two days and drove home.

I'm too gregarious to do go-it-alone backpacking, but I can't sit in this city for three whole days in the rain. If I do, I'll probably be giving the KBHC a call.

Earlier this year, thousands of bloggers were writing "10 Things I've Done That You Probably Haven't". I went through hundreds of these on Google's blogsearch, and came up with a list of the 10 best (in no particular order):

10. Used the phrase "I know my shit" in at least two different interviews for jobs that I did get.

9. Had a live donkey stick it’s head in my tent while I was sleeping, woke up and screamed so the poor thing ran away and knocked over most of our food, kitchen area and garbage cans.

8. Gone Urban Spelunking on a date, including skinny dipping in a basement industrial scale water tank.

7. Packed journalism, education, film & TV production, advertising, publishing, and social work in under 10 years. In alphabetical order, I've been a babysitter, cleaning lady, copywriter, editor, filmmaker, journalist, producer, production assistant, production manager, proofreader, teacher, therapist, transcriber, translator, tutor. And I sold fish right by the Twin Towers on Saturday mornings.

6. Been coated in dry-chemical flame retardant whilst engaged in sexual congress.

5. Screamed insults directly at Billy Dee Williams.

4. Worked as both a phone physcic for Miss Cleo and phone sex operator in the same day.

3. I've been threaten by a crack whore with a nail clipper.

2. Looked down from my plane at the burning runway, and thought, "Huh. This can't be good."

1. Dumped someone during sex.

Robert Neuwirth has written an interesting article for Fortune Magazine about squatter settlements the world over. Some interesting bits:

"There are a billion squatters in the world today, almost one in six people on the planet. And their numbers are on the rise. Current projections are that by 2030 there will be two billion squatters, and by 2050, three billion, better than one in three people on the planet. ... It would no doubt surprise residents paying millions for co-op apartments on Manhattan’s Upper East and West Sides to know that squatters occupied much of the turf under their buildings until the start of the 20th century." Read more ...

Like myself, those on the Left have long railed against the degree of economic inequality that capitalism produces. But who's to say that extreme levels of income disparity makes for political instability? If one in six people on earth live in a shantytown, and there's no world revolution anywhere on the horizon, maybe there's nothing wrong with vast gaps in income. History has long proven that huge periods of time can go by in which large numbers of people are living in misery and a small number are living in riches. Often, the two groups live side by side and nothing happens.

So what's the argument against it? Just that it's not fair? Neuwirth has visited squatter settlements on every continent and by reading his blog, he's never been for eliminating them. On the contrary, he's for letting them thrive. You'd think an expert would know better than the majority of lefties who'd surely disagree with him.

Now that I've re-connected with Frank Warren, the PostSecret guy, I'll be helping out and tabling at a PostSecret fundraiser sponsored by the Corcoran. All proceeds will go to the National Hopeline Network.

Details:

December 15, 2005 - January 8, 2006

Opening Reception: Thursday, December 15, 2005 from 6-10pm
Fundraiser: Wednesday, December 14 from 6-10pm for Kristin Brooks Hope Center (Open to the public, $10 suggested donation.)
Location: Former Georgetown Staples Store, 3307 M Street, NW, Washington, DC 20007
Exhibition Hours: Wed, Thurs, Fri 6-10pm, Sat & Sun 2-10pm




More

I can't believe it's been a month since I've had one drop of alcohol. As you may have seen from my posts here, the first few weeks went really well. I felt refreshed and energetic. I went through some stressful periods at work and didn't fall off the wagon, nor did I crave the sauce. Having said that, my main thought after a month is, "I get the freaking point, already."

Yesterday, I sat in a quaint beer garden at a German restaurant in Maryland with around 15 friends and acquaintances. I was the only asshole sipping tonic water while everyone else enjoyed the finest beer the world has to offer. And what good did this abstinence do for humanity? Normally, I would've had two, maybe three beers, and I assure you, good could only have come out of it.

Another thing that I'm realizing more and more is that there is not one single non-alcoholic beverage that goes well with a good dinner. Not one. I mean, would a normal person ever consider having a glass of water with a porterhouse steak? I've done it and I'm starting to have ethical problems with killing the taste of steak that way. I might as well boil the meat and eat it.

Please, please, give us some kind of warning when you light fireworks in our fair city. I mean, I expect to hear fireworks on July 4th or on New Year's Eve, but on October 1st? WTF? There was nothing mentioned all week about this bullshit.

When I'm sitting in my apartment and I hear huge reverberating explosions coming from downtown, and then see three (3) sets of emergency vehicles and firetrucks speed by my window with sirens screaming, why wouldn't I panic and think that our nation's capital is under attack? Plus, there was just a bomb attack in Bali, was there not?

For about 30 full minutes tonight I thought there was a real possibility that I could soon be breathing in deadly chemical toxins.

Then, I see on the news that there was some kind of Chinese new year festival going on downtown. Oops, forgot to tell you, sorry.

Thanks a lot.

Today at the Crafty Bastards show, I walked over to the PostSecret table and saw this guy I used to know, Frank, sitting there. I was like, "You're the PostSecret guy?!" And indeed he is. When I had just gotten out of college, I helped run my father's copying business and would have to spend a lot of time at the NIH library making photocopies of technical articles. Frank did the same sort of work at NIH, so I used to chat with him daily for several years in the late 90s.

He's doing pretty well with his genius project. He told me his PostSecret blog gets 2 million hits per month and he only launched it in November of 2004. People mail him around 70 postcards per day from all over the world with their secret confessions written on them. He said he sometimes even gets postcards in braille! And now he's got a book coming out. I gotta think of an idea like that ...

Frank, the "Post Secret guy", today:

Just got back from the Crafty Bastards show in my neighborhood. My wife was selling her pottery and earrings so while the cash was changing hands, I went and snapped some shots of the break-dancing competition taking place on the basketball court.