Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Highlights From Hill Hotties 2008

Okay. Surely you know the drill by now. Every July, THE HILL puts out their annual Most Beautiful People On Capitol Hill list. It's always about 20 people too long, and the writing is kinda bad, and it's filled with inexplicable shit, and we sort of kind of run roughshod over it. We've been doing this for years. Here's 2007's and 2006's and 2005's and 2004's. Read and enjoy, and cue a million bloggers with their "Hollywood For Ugly People" jokes, which are just as funny now as they were 76,272,172 times ago.

Tulainia Elisa (legislative assistant, Ed Markey)

Tulania Elisa is stylish and attractive and single. A catch! But even though she's given the top spot by THE HILL, she's subjected to some of the worst writing I have ever read. Consider this:

"I'm very clumsy," she says during an afternoon chat last week in the Longworth Cafeteria.

True to her word, when she was 12 she rode the train alone with her friends for the first time and got hit by a car. The car hit her ankle. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, she went on her way and tried to ignore the pain. But soon she saw her ankle dangling off the bone and was immediately rushed to the hospital, where she got a growth plate and a cast up to her hip that she wore for a month.

Ooookay, I am really having a hard time with the whole narrative there. She got on a train...alone...but WITH friends. And on that train, she was...hit by a car? And the car hit ONLY her ankle? In that accident she had? On the uhm...TRAIN. And then there's the whole "not wanting to make a big deal about" her "ankle dangling off the bone." Can an ankle dangle off a bone?

And the whole thing is framed as her being "true to her word" that she was clumsy? But I hardly think that somebody gets hit by a car on a train that they're riding alone but with friends resulting in a bone dangling off the bone because of CLUMSINESS. I think that these mishaps come about because she smashed through nine parallel universes at once, each with their own corresponding and constrasting sets of rules that govern physics and anatomy.

Brecke Latham

Last year, THE HILL made a big deal about one of their subjects who wore red, ALL THE TIME, and then included a picture of her wearing green. Here, Brecke Latham is lauded for her "stick-straight, long blond hair that matches her outfit of a yellow- and white-striped seersucker suit," so naturally she's pictured in a black, satiny sheath dress.

Roy Zimmerman (Capitol Police)

Roy Zimmerman gets to be the Capitol Policeman featured in the Hill Hotties this year, and we'll also note the return of the Towering Hat Of Justice.

Elizabeth Kucinich (Crimson-Tressed Peace Goddess)

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: no matter what else you think of Dennis Kucinich, you need to NEVER FORGET (TM) that the man is the motherfucking mack!

Crystal Dollins (legislative correspondent, John Sununu)

Crystal Dollins, who THE HILL misidentifies as Mustafa Ali, because she is a secret al Qaeda sexbot maybe, enjoys wearing dresses that pay homage to her favorite punctuation mark, the brackets. She enjoys massaging her ovaries in public. She says, "Recently I was walking down the hallway and someone just straight-faced looked at me and said, 'You are delicious.'" That person? Elizabeth Kucinich. And, my friends, things got a whole lot more delicious from there.

Emily Zammitt (legislative correspondent, Mario Diaz-Balart)

Zammitt is pictured here participating in her favorite hobby, self-delousing.

Rep. Gresham Barrett (R-SC)

"Rep. Gresham Barrett (R-S.C.) is proof positive that a high school quarterback can marry his cheerleader girlfriend and live happily ever after." Phew! Glad that's been proven! It's certainly an improvement over the quarterback who was proof positive that being a fake cowboy moron could only take you so far if you were a crypto-racist goon (George Allen).

Kristina Spiegel

"Kristina has already begun to master the skill of being friendly without giving too much away," which makes her the heroic Late Night Shots bonerkiller of 2008! She also says she has an "interest in philosophy, especially the work of Immanuel Kant, but prefers not to explore his intricate weavings on a first date." Word. Best to start slow with Spiegel...start off with some light Descartes or Spinoza. No one wants to feel like that first date has some sort of categorical imperative. Take it easy, and play your cards right, and by the fifth date you will be Foucaulting her Hegel like a Jung Schopenhauer on (Karl) Poppers.

Aaron Gardner (DCI Group)

Likes to drink the ghetto latte, which apparently flies at Dunkin Donuts but will earn him a mad dickpunching at Murky Coffee. In fact, I prefer to think of this picture as a post-dickpunch portrait.

Andrew Noyes (Congress Daily)

Hmmm. Meet Mr. Declined to Specify! Though the prose tends to be a little leading: "Noyes, who's in a five-year relationship, says both he and his dog require little maintenance." Also declining to specify: whatever the FUCK is going on with that hair!

Andrew Savage (Communications Director, Peter Welch)

Basically, this dude is depicted as perfect - handsome, athletic, artsy and soulful maker of his own furniture. THE HILL wonders "what would happen if he ever decides to run for office?" Uhm, basically, he'd be the white Barack Obama*, and we'd be calling his supporters Savagebots and Harold Ickes testicles would shrivel to the size of pine nuts.

*Except he's probably right on FISA.

Angelle Kwemo (legislative director, William Jefferson)

Kwemo is said to have "a mysterious kind of beauty - the kind that unfolds by the minute." But she works for Louisiana Representative William Jefferson, so hidden in those folds are thousands of dollars in bribes.

Carl Baloney (legislative correspondent, Charlie Melancon)

Yes, as you might have guessed, THE HILL went right for the Oscar Mayer joke.

Coty Wamp (intern, John Ensign)

Man, I showed up. Pimpin' ya cold up. I head straight to the bar just to post up. I roll the dro up, my cup mold up. Bitch don't just stand there wit ya nose up. C'mon WAMP! WAMP! What it do?

Crystal Chiu (Nancy Pelosi)

Chiu is depicted here in her Official Rachael Ray terrorist keffiyah, ensuring that she will be figure prominently in all of Michelle Malkin's internment camp bondage fantasies.

David Ward (press secretary, William Burr)

Precisely what and how many animals were killed to manufacture Ward's hair is not known, but in a statement released this evening, PETA says, "Ehhh, it doesn't look like it was any animal we give a particular fuck about."

Elizabeth McWhorter (staff, John McCain)

McWhorter, who we'd tour the Capitol with any day, "attends classes at the Naval War College, where she's learning about national security policy." As long as she's not learning about it from her boss!

Elizabeth Murray (staff, Richard Shelby)

"Murray says only that she's 'amused' when people say she looks like the weight-challenged celebrity Nicole Richie." To say the least! Even Rachel Zoe wouldn't dress Richie in that crap!

Jenny Harp (staff, John Dingell)

According to THE HILL, "Harp shares a house in Columbia Heights with six other girls, known to them as 'the Mantionette.'" I haven't a fucking clue what a mantionette is, but it sure sounds gentrificalicious. I wager even money she's one of those people who call the neighborhood "CoHi" - or worse: "Cheights." Such people will be among the first against the wall when the revolution comes.

SIDE NOTE: Read her entry carefully. It seems that THE HILL has Craigslist, and Emily's List confused.

Jill Davidsaver (lobbyist, National Cattleman's Beef Association)

THE HILL writes: "Growing up, Jill Davidsaver wanted to be a veterinarian and for a stint she did the whole vegetarian thing. But she never thought her life would revolve around cows."


Kelly Shields (staff, Virgil Goode)

"It's fun to get up in the morning and hit balls." And indeed it is! Especially if they're Virgil Goode's.

Kristie Muchnok (House Admin Committee, Washington Wizards Dance Team)

Muchnok (highly suggestive last name, btw), says she sees "a lot of promise in [Wizards] rookie JaVale McGee." Matt Yglesias replies, "She has her HEAD IN THE SAND. Kosta Koufos is the pick for robust liberal internationalists."

Kristin Sutton (staff, Tim Walberg)

Sutton looks like a normal human being most of the year, but when midnight strikes nigh on the Winter Solstice, "her hair turns brown as a bear and her complexion" becomes so pale that "you can actually see through" her. Yes, Sutton is a were-wraith, and the villagers fear the winter months, and the harvest of souls she leaves in her wake.

Laurie Coleman (spouse, Norm Coleman)

"Some politicians' spouses stay in the background," quoth THE HILL. And some politician's spouses invent the "Blo and Go" a device that has suffered some brand identity problems in her native Minneapolis ever since Larry Craig christened the airport bathroom with the same name.

Mike DuBois (legislative assistant, Kit Bond)

DuBois changed the pronunciation of his last name from "doo-BWAH" to "duh-BOYS" per Republican Party diktat that stipulates that any elite, French-sounding name be changed to something that sounds like it was uttered by the mouths of illiterate Hill People. THE HILL repeats this fact over and over again, because it is the only thing about this man that is remotely interesting.

Moira Bagley (RNC)

Bagley was probably the NOM NOM NOMMIEST thing that ever worked at ROLL CALL. She refers to Chardonnay, though, as "Chard," which is unfortunate, but hey, cf. Republican diktat/illiterate Hill Person.

Otto Mucklo (legislative assistant, John Ensign)

2 Fast 2 Furious 2B 4Gotten!

Rana Abtar (Capitol Hill correspondent, Al Hurra)

Abtar is the pretty face of our failed neo-conservative propaganda efforts. What, you thought it was John Bolton?

Steve Ellis (lobbyist, Taxpayers for Common Sense)

Ellis moved from Adams Morgan because "he was tired of waking up at 3 a.m. to vomiting drunks." For this reason, he also refuses to live near the Brookings Institution.

Rep. Vito Fossella (R-NY)

It says something about the quality of Capitol Hill hotness that THE HILL felt the need to round out this list with Vito Fucking Fossella. I'm sure that someone on staff said, "Really? Fossella? The scandal plagued fucktard who fathered a child out of wedlock?" Some editor replied, "Dammit! I know that! But it's about THE BEAUTY. THE MAN IS QUITE SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL!" Oy.

Rick Keller's Office

This office won the 2008 award for Most Beautiful Office. And what can I say? I would fuck this office silly.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

So, That Was Three Minutes Of My Life I'll Never Get Back

So, I went over and checked out Cuil today, and let me tell you, if you love search engines, but find that Google and Yahoo simply lack the je ne sais quoi of a "magazine"-like page that looks like it's been edited by a demented monkey with a lawn sprinkler, Cuil is the one for you!


I read a bunch of blog posts about this "Bodega Party In A Box," which is some sort of NYC neighborhood initiative to help New Yorkers relate to the proprietors of the city's ubiquitous corner stores. Gawker pulled this quote that caught my eye:

"Eating out every night can get expensive. If you are known to get hungry and are a slave to convenience, then it's the no-brainer since corner stores are usually right down the block and full of ... food. Most of us aren't able to anticipate every single grocery need during our weekly mega-shopping trips to the big grocery store/farmers market/etc. Plus, independent corner stores usually help recycle money back into the neighborhood by hiring locally and helping out local folks and groups with informal arrangements."

Just so we all have our terms defined properly, "informal arrangements" refers to "weed." That is all.


Via Amanda, it seems like Balk's got a meme going:

Category is “Songs That You Can No Longer Hear Without Somehow Imagining Them Playing During The Closing Moments Of An Episode Of The Wonder Years, Whether Or Not They Actually Were Played During The Closing Moments Of An Episode Of The Wonder Years—Because Although You Never Particularly Enjoyed The Wonder Years, You’ve Certainly Seen A Few Episodes (Or, At Least, Enough Of One Or Two Episodes To Have A Sense Of What Kind Of Music They Would Play During The Closing Moments), But You’re Not, Like, The Kind Of Wonder Years Obsessive Who Can Name All The Songs They Played During The Closing Moments—Which You Are Too Lazy To Google For Verification."

"Clit Licker," by GG Allin and the Scumfucs, obvs.


Wow. Thanks to one and all who contributed to a steady onslaught of birthday wishes over the emails and twitters and facebooks and even the more traditional cell phone text messages in my direction today! It sure made me feel fortunate to have such fine friends, and the sentiments were much appreciated on a day that otherwise felt like the passing of a gallstone. Ryan Avent will be happy to know that I was most overjoyed to have received a picture book called Transit Systems Of The World. What can I say? I like transit systems.

Anyway, that was super nice of everyone. I now turn over the birthday mantle to a pair of fine women, Garance Franke-Ruta and Sarah Grace McCandless. Those two should really consider some manner of superheroine team-up!

Sunday, July 27, 2008

"I bought a ticket to hell a long time ago, and I am a lot happier for it."

I think the Elizabeth Banks is among our finest humans right now, and we should endeavor to respect and honor her. One way you can do this is by respecting and honoring the Governess, who is like Elizabeth Banks in Our Real Lives. Also, go see Zack And Miri Make A Porno.

Hmmm. Maybe the Pyggies should make a Porno!


Amanda's post got me thinking about the most shameful omissions from my cultural life. Books never read, movies never seen, that sort of thing. Ultimately, I think there are two examples that truly are humiliating. Indeed, they sort of call into question whether I belong doing anything right now other then reading/seeing these things. I have never read Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov. I have never seen Gone With The Wind. I own the latter. I could watch it right now!

Sort of puts the hours of your life spent watching Alias reruns in perspective.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Robert Novak Subjects DC Pedestrian To Painful Vette-ing Process

So, earlier today, Robert Novak apparently ran down a pedestrian not far from our office, as he was blithely and dementedly tooling around in his black Corvette, looking for "sources"...sweet, sweet, "sources."

Novak apparently hit the guy square and then continued to drive off. He was stopped by a lawyer on a bicycle who executed some derring-do that will surely earn him the Shayna Medal Of Lawyerly Valor. One of the things that Ana and I joked about in our vlog (yes! we do that now, apparently, and the only reason I haven't told you is that we're still perfecting it, but this time out, I think we've made the vlog about as good as a vlog that features me in it can possible get...will post a link after it's live) is that after weeks of cyclist/motorist sparring, I think that this makes cyclists the heroes.

I guess Novak, denied his Crossfire forum, where he used to harm all of America at once, has taken to simply harming America one pedestrian at a time. In a way, I sort of admire him for this: on Crossfire it was his job to hurt people. Now, he's clearly doing it for the love.

Oh, apparently Novak blamed the whole thing on NPR's Morning Edition, which, admittedly, hasn't been the same since Bob Edwards left.

Dancing About Architecture

A few weeks ago, Amanda told me she was looking for a few good music writers to fill out DCist's stable, and she promised me that wasn't in any way a subtle dig at the fact that I haven't been to a rock show in ages, unless you count the rocks I pounded on my head during the Democratic primary process. Anyway, she seems to have found at least one person, who wrote up last night's Ting Tings (English for "Moe Tkaciks") show at 9:30. However, I don't recall her ever using this really cute picture of her in a pith helmet. So, there's that then. Write for Amanda! She's nice!

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Team Elizabeth!

Sad. Wife of DCeiver TiVoed me Elizabeth Edwards' appearance on the Colbert Report that I missed whilst in Austin. (Missed Rush, too!) No Comedy Central at hotel, which is FAIL. Anyway, LOVE her, and I'm sad that I might be witnessing one of her last happy moments for a while.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Print Media Slowly Covers Murky Story.

Ryan says that the Post's subhed, "Man's Tiff With Barista Spills Onto Internet," is among the best he's read. And it is! The funny thing about the tiff, spilt on the Internet, is you can enjoy it on ice everywhere in the world but Murky Coffee.

Last line of story: "Can't we all just get a latte?" UGGGGHHHH. Joe Heim, that's precisely the sort of thing that gets one dickpunched. But your paper is leaching so much revenue, that we're gonna lay off.
[image via Cat Andrews.]

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Hook 'Em!

In just a few short hours, I will be boarding a plane bound for Austin, Texas, for this year's Netroots Nation Conference - the SXSW of earnest liberal bloggers! There, I shall defend what is defensible and expense what is expensible. Exploits shall be recorded over at HuffPo, and, why not start following my Twitter or something, too? There you go! Here's hoping our nation's air traffic controllers get some rest tonight!


...His Terrible Death Whinny?

Oh sweet sassy molassey. Act I of Joss Whedon's Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog is up on the intertubes and it is pretty fantastic. Go get! Available on iTunes or Hulu, which was sort of behaving like Jeff Zucker's Sing-Along Web Video Crapfarm tonight, be warned.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

The Official End User License Agreement For the Murky Coffee Triple Espresso

End User License Agreement

THIS END USER LICENSE AGREEMENT (the "Agreement") dated this 15th day of July, 2008 (the "Execution Date")

BETWEEN:Murky CoffeeNick Assbag, Owner (the "Vendor") OF THE FIRST PART and You Fucking Customers Who Seem to Want to Get Dickpunched (the "Licensee") OF THE SECOND PART

The Vendor wishes to license a coffee drink to the Licensee and the Licensee desires to purchase this amazing coffee under the terms and conditions stated below, and shut up, and like it, including the part where they shut up.

IN CONSIDERATION OF the provisions contained in this Agreement and for other good and valuable consideration, the receipt and sufficiency of which is acknowledged, the parties agree as follows:

1. Under this Agreement the Vendor grants to the Licensee an exclusive and non-transferable license (the "License") to use Triple Shot Of Espresso (the "Drink").

2. "Drink" includes the espresso and any related product for containing the "Drink." The "Drink" shall not include ice in any form, not even ice brought from home. Not even ice from outside. The Licensee may not leave the store in an ice storm. Even if it becomes clear to all parties that the only way to save a life or avert some sort of terrible, global consuming disaster is to add ice to this espresso, tough titties. Any demand for ice shall be met with a dickpunching.

3. Vendor Nick Cho retains the right to act as if the brewing of coffee is something he invented himself, as if the whole idea sprung from his golden fucking head like Pallas Athena, its practices too arcane and mysterious to even try to fucking explain to you little goatfelching cockmasters. I mean, the Vendor is so full up with sweet, sweet knowledge of coffee that it has literally robbed his brain of the capacity to do simple things, like fulfill his tax obligations. ANYWAY, YOU WILL BE DICKPUNCHED.

4. This Agreement grants a site license to the Licensee, entitling him to imbibe the "Drink" on the premises. These privileges can be revoked at the discretion of the Vendor should the licensee fail to adhere to cafe standards. Guests are expected to be tragically disaffected, pretentious douchebags who are largely failures at any formal type of employment. Anyone who falls asleep or shows any general sign of well-adjustment will be dickpunched.
5. ALL DICKPUNCHINGS WILL TAKE PLACE IN THE CUPPING ROOM. THAT'S RIGHT: We are the type of establishment that has a goddamned cupping room. There is also a teabagging room, but this is for the exclusive use of the owner, Nick, and his star dicktard barista, obvs.

6. The Drink may not be modified, reverse-engineered, de-compiled, altered, augmented or enhanced in any manner through current or future available technologies. Additionally, the Drink may not be enjoyed in any way other than the way the owner, Nick, intended. In fact, why the fuck are you reading this EULA? Don't most people skip to the end and just agree to this shit? The espresso is losing heat! It must be enjoyed at the temperature at which it is served! Drink it now! Now! GOD DAMN I WANT TO PUNCH A DICK SO BAD!

7. Failure to comply with any of the terms under the License section will be considered a material breach of this Agreement, and then I get to punch your dick. MAKE MY DAY! I AM A COMPLETE FUCKSTICK WITH NO REGARD FOR SOCIAL NICETIES

8. Full consideration for this agreement will be obtained by proferring $2.25 USD paid by the Licensee. In addition, the Licensee must, at all times, evince an almost histrionic appreciation for the entirely quotidian task we perform, which is making coffee.

Chandra Levy, Redux

Strong debut posting for the new WhyIHateDCer, Liz, who hones right in on the utter lack of honesty in the redredging up of the Chandra Levy story:

Now we have this. The Washington Post hops back into the middle of a seven-year-old story under thin cover of, "Recapping the twists and turns of an already incredibly highly publicized investigation will be a PUBLIC SERVICE because the original investigation LET A KILLER GO FREE." (Editors walk away, whistling, as we all ignore the press's original role in the debacle).

Pretty much spot on. Though, if we're being fair, it is possible that the press was poised on the precipice of doing some serious soul-searching and self-examination on the matter, only to get distracted after everything started blowing up on 9/11. Come to think of it, though, the press sort of had a role in letting those killers go free, too.

Godspeed You, Rob Goodspeed.

Way back in 2004, Rob Goodspeed and I met up at the Big Hunt, to discuss, despite all of the available evidence that pointed to it being a terrible idea, the possibility of me coming on board at DCist. I was like: hell, yeah I'll come on board at DCist! And Rob Goodspeed said, "Let us celebrate these arrangements by ordering a plate of hot wings." Later, we were interviewed by German Public Television or some such shit about the election. We never found out if our quotes made it to broadcast, but I'm pretty sure that the Germans know what the effing score is!

Anyway, we regret to inform you that Rob Goodspeed, having received all of the academic degrees that are offered by the schools here in the city, is decamping for Boston, Massachusetts. There, he will finally fulfill his lifelong dream of getting fired from the Harvard Crimson by Mike Grass. Also, he will enjoy long, soulful and contemplative walks down the middle of the street, as shown in Ally McBeal, televisions seminal depiction of Boston. We wish him luck in maybe finally getting a fucking job or something!

Me Wanty!

Want to make my upcoming birthday really special? Make me an MP3 of the second worst song ever recorded: "The Party's Cancelled" by Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. I want it for my ringtone! KTHXBAI!

Monday, July 14, 2008

Murky Responds To Jeff Simmermon

Nick, the manager of Murky Coffee, has taken the time to respond to Jeff Simmermon. And that's too bad, because, as it turns out, Nick is sort of an assbag.

Nick equates the ordering of an iced espresso - a hilariously common drink, one that Murky ITSELF SERVES - except it adds water, know...GLORIOUSLY thin out the flavor of its roast as the LORD OUR GOD intended for MURKY COFFEE! - with a dude who got banned because he kept falling asleep in the shop. Except Kid Narcolepsy was affecting everyone else's experience. How many people in the world were impacted by Simmermon's request for ice? Here's the total figure: Uhm...ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOBODY.

By the way! Murky has now had two opportunities to specifically explain why they have a no-iced-espresso-policy (and there is an okay reason for having one! it involves chemistry and stuff!) and have, on both occasions, passed on actually making an attempt to breed an informed customer, choosing to instead couch their policy in the most pretentious terms possible. Does Mr. Simmermon not deserve to know something about espresso, or does no one at Murky actually know? I'm going to go with the latter, for the time being.

Anyway, evenbtually, he tells Simmermon that he'll punch him in the dick if he sees him again. I'm going to have to say that if that happened, I'd recommend that some sort of posse chuck the SOB in a trashcan and roll his dumb ass up and down Wilson Boulevard. TO THE DELIGHT OF CHILDREN OF COURSE. But that's not going to happen because Nick is a pussy coffee shop owner who Boing Boing and Metafilter made cry. know what happens when idiot coffee shop owner responds to perfectly legit gripe with the threat of crotch harm? BOING BOING AND METAFILTER FIND OUT ABOUT IT DUMBASS! And then who's "overplayed their hand?"

Anyway, Nick is both a muncus and a fungdark. And a dumbass! And if you're in Arlington, and don't want your coffee filtered through a douchebag, head to Java Shack (whose coffee is better anyway!).

The Audacity of Dopes: That New Yorker Cover

In a final analysis, it's probably likely that I have lost the debate on the New Yorker/Obama cover kerfuffle. That's a pity, because I, of course, am right.

Here's Some Murky-Ass Reasoning

On this day, this is Jeff Simmermon's world. We're all just living in it. He's written the funniest shit you will read all day, and the hilarious thing (to me) is, the drink he attempts to order is the drink that Wife Of DCeiver has every single day. (But decaf...she's orthostatic.) Anyway, to Murky Coffee: y'all got a lot of shit to think about. And a barista to fire.

Stepp Right Up

Now that Laura Sessions Stepp has vacated the Washington Post through buy-out, in order to travel the land, dispensing her psycho-prude brand of disastrous hysteria, one wonders: who might take her place at the paper, to serve as that paper's de facto source of kooky-ass, teen-themed think pieces. Tracy nominated Marguerite Kelly, and I think she might be on to something.

In this July 4th Q&A, Kelly is asked about whether teenagers should have an open-or-closed bedroom door policy when "entertaining" in their bedrooms. The questioners daughter has a good case for the allowance: she's a good student, has earned trust through her behavior and actions (according to the mother), and her cited reason - pestersome little brothers - is cited by the mom as valid. Then again: teens love to fuck. So what's a mom to do.

Now, I don't think you'd be a fool as a parentif you mandated the "open-door" policy or even forbade the use of the bedroom as a venue for mixed-gender "entertainment," though, since a lot of activity now takes place in front of computers, this might be harder than it was twenty years ago. But I doubt I'd talk about the matter in terms that make my stomach quease over with pure skeeve:

Most children between 3 and 7 will play doctor sooner or later, and if a grown-up isn't around, the little boy may try to take the little girl's temp by poking a popsicle stick or a spoon up her bottom. This leads to giggles and, if they're caught, to embarrassment and tears, but it also leaves them with a yen to do it again. That's why experienced parents insist that the door stays open whenever young children are playing in a room by themselves.
Uhm, okay, gross. Just...gross. I...uhm. No. No. Just wrong. On so many levels. On all levels. I'm sorry, but when we shoved spoons up each others asses as children, we didn't call it "doctor," we called it the Shove Spoons Up Each Others Ass game. And it never "led to giggles." In fact, it always ended in tears. That was the object of the game! If your kid really is playing the Shove Spoons Up Each Others Ass game, then you had better be ready to shell out for some mad therapy.

Anyway, there's this:

Tell your daughter you love her and trust her, but her boyfriend may not always be able to resist temptation if they're alone in a closed room. To allow her to close her bedroom door would be unfair to him and to her, since 14-year-olds aren't mature enough to handle the feelings that would pour over them when they crossed that chasm between adolescence and adulthood, nor would your daughter be ready for her friends and her world to know that she had made that leap. There is no such thing as a secret, especially in high school.
Doesn't that seem to be terrible parenting to you? Man, I gotta tell you, my "don't get some random girl pregnant" came with a fucking cost-benefit analysis that taught me in riveting, down-to-earth, mortal-terror terms about how much my life would suck if I got saddled with a zygote at age seventeen. I took a long, hard look at the girls from my neighborhood and school and was like, nuh-uh...not these ladies! Nuts to that! But in this case, mom and dad tell their kid that some overwhelming urge of horniness is going to "pour over them" and they wouldn't be able to resist it. That's just a crazy thing to say!

Anyway, some personal experience comes to bear here. I had a friend back in high school whose mother was so crazy a'scurred about what might happen in her home that not only was I - and indeed, all males - not allowed in her bedroom, we were not allowed to ascend from the ground floor under any circumstances. To her, teen urges were purely a product of elevation. Looking back now, I wish I had thought to tell her, "Look. I'm going to honest with you. There's about seven other places in this house I could have nailed your daughter many times over by now. I cannot stress enough just how not-fucked she is going to be with me. I am going to not-fuck her brains in."

Because that's the thing: if two teens want to screw bad enough, they aren't going to let a bedroom ban stop them. They will fuck in the woods if they have to. They will find a warm ditch to get nasty in. Not because they are subsumed with uncontrollable urges. No. Just because they want to, and have wanted to from time immemoriam. The very fact that this woman's daughter seems to want to be able to see her bf behind closed doors suggests to me that she boffing him elsewhere.

Look, if you want to ensure that your kid remains chaste, a door is not going to cut it, neither is the denial of a single location. You best option, then, is classic parenting - create a climate of fear so random, oppressive and pervasive in your household that it becomes impossible for your child to even contemplate misbehaving without breaking out in a cold sweat and heaving bile backwards up the gullet. Remember, your face is the atom bomb bonerkiller for your teenaged kid.

And remember, if nothing seems to be working, or if you remain worried about your kid, put the shoe on the other foot, and leave your own door open while fucking. I promise you...that will take years to get over. Not all children even fully rebound from that.

Rusty Hits A Walk-Off

It's got to be pretty vindicating for Rusty to close out his tenure with this news from the world of the Montreal Expo experiment. Can't say I'm surprised in the least. It looks like attendance numbers are about where he predicted they'd be as well. No surprise there: DC's coterie of baseball fans, while loud, aren't very numerous, and this is sort of the same as it ever was in this city. Back when all of the stadium plans were ongoing, I wondered why the city was bent on building a stadium with 20,000 seats too many. Seems to me that if they'd kept things realistic, they would have cut cost considerably.

Rusty's apparently taken shots in the DCist comment threads for his stance on the matter, but they've historically been a sad venue of denial. One thing that people just can't seem to get their heads around is that the citizens of the District of Columbia really are on the hook for buying this stadium. You'd be surprised how many people really believe otherwise. But the facts are these: the city took out $535 million in municipal bonds to pay for the thing. True, the city has made arrangements for this money to be repaid, as best it can, through other sources, in the hopes that they can bypass the taxpayers - through "stadium generated revenues and by a tax on businesses within the city."

Here's the thing though. If DC can't come up with the scratch through those sources, it's not like the people to whom this money is owed are going to be knocking on the doors of the Nationals' ownership or those businesses that have agreed, for the time being, to be taxed. No, they are going to come right to the District. Now those hero owners are sandbagging the District. Don't call it a surprise!

And as far as those taxes on businesses goes, remember: the day may come where those folks get let off the hook, as well. Just because a tax gets imposed during the course of one legislative session doesn't mean an ensuing one can't undo it. I remember there used to be some commenter on DCist who used to swear up and down that the "big lawyers" and the "K Street lobbyists" were going to pay for the stadium. I just had to laugh! If there's anyone in town with the means and the skills to get out of paying those taxes, just as soon as they feel they've been magnanimous enough, it's the big lawyers and the K Street lobbyists.

Meanwhile, the Nationals are what, the third-worst team or so in the major leagues? Yep. That was just some all-around smart thinking by a bunch of fucks who are no longer in office!

Saturday, July 12, 2008

Endorsement: Vote For Juniper Lane

Coldplay is coming to DC and Amanda will be liveblogging it, for some reason. So give her something to show up early for! Vote for Juniper Lane to be the opening act of the show, because they are friends of friends and are a great band and their lead singer has even FACED DOWN DEATH ITSELF. Go here, and vote for the YouTube that looks like the one, above. They are in second place, right now. Put them in first!

Oh, Be Quiet, Chez Pazienza

Other blogospheres in other cities have successfully bred chimpanzees that no longer aspire to bang at their typewriter and make Hamlet. Instead, they pick at their crotches and flash their best "Blue Steel" at the world, as a thousand tumblrs clack along in desperation.

I had made my way through most of Chez Pazienza's biliously self-righteous and relentlessly dumb column on the (I'm not going to indulge all the self-centeredness of these people to say "now-infamous") kerfuff that occured between Tracie Egan and Moe Tkacik of Jezebel when they went on Lizz Winstead's show entitled Whatever The Fuck This Woman's Show Is Called Again. Pazienza's lickspittle can be rebutted simply by resubmitting Spencer "Reality-Tested/Wife-of-DCeiver Approved" Ackerman's defense in its entirety. That should have been sufficient. But then I got to the part of Pazienza's nonsense that got me reaching for a cold compress - that's how hard my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

[Tkacik] was a cliché. I found myself wanting to give her a fucking hug or something and tell her it's not her fault.

It's Emily Gould's.

Now, because most of my readers aren't infantile, hypocritical, assbags, let me explain. About a month or so ago, it became very popular in parts of New York City to declaim that a writer named Emily Gould was the worst thing that ever happened to America. One of the great things about DC is that, here, we fight for shit like our Fourth Amendment rights and you have to hump a country mile to find five people who even know what that last sentence means. Let's keep it that way, and say only that it was a myopic obsession with a bunch of bourgeois turds from elsewhere.

Why Pazienza's clearly a little bit more pathetic than most of the dumbassed chimpanzentsia who twiddled themselves into a froth over it, is that here he comes, breaking out a dead horse to beat it again, months after most everyone else moved on to a new shiny stick with which to savagely frappe their rectum. It's a sad attempt to wolf-whistle the rest of the monkeyhouse into a round of derision at Moe and Tracie using their last nimrod obsession as a message force multiplier.

Well, there's no reason to go on. Chez Pazienza: YOU ARE THE FUCKING CLICHE.

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Days Of Whine And Wuerffel

Friend and neighbor JG and I spent our evening bus ride home reflecting upon one the dark periods in Washington, DC history - the Steve Spurrier era. Easily the worst coach the Redskins have had in my lifetime. Maybe the worst coach the NFL has seen in my lifetime. Of all of Dan Snyder's ebulliently dumb decisions - and they are legion - none loom so large as the decision to bring the out-of-his-depth "ball coach" to Washington.

The Spurrier offense seemed to be predicated on a set of conditions that were entirely alien to professional football. Blocking packages were rudimentary, there were no blitz reads in the offense, Trung Fucking Canidate was to be our primary rushing option. And the quartbacking was a grim parade of busted ass and incompetence.

JG recalled listening to a sports radio show, to whatever QB (I forget now which one he said it was) break down a play from the previous Sunday, where he described coming to the line of scrimmage, reading the defensive set, and calling "the audible." THE audible! As in, the offense had ONE fracking audible. I believe his recollections, too! Because I can just picture Spurrier in the locker room at halftime admonishing his quarterback, "Dag nab it! I was saving the audible for the third quarter!"

My most distinct memory of the time was an post-game presser after another loss, in which ersatz gunslinger Danny Wuerffel has totally shit the bed. "I don't understand it," Spurrier said, "I've seen Danny play in a lot of games, but I've never seen him make those kinds of mistakes."

I wish I had been there, because I would have said, "Asshole. That's because the last time you ever saw this shitdick play was at the University of Florida, where you never faced a defense that could get within a country mile of him, and he got to use all five of his fucking Mississippis before wildly tossing the ball downfield against a secondary that was usually sucking wind by the end of the first half. But now Danny is playing grown-ass men, and I have seen him play in a lot of games against grown-ass men, and if you had done the same you'd remember him making those kinds of mistakes. Indeed, you'd be aware of Danny Wuerffel's pioneering work in the field of error."

Amanda and I, who enjoy texting each other our hoopla and our angst during Redskins games, have decided that the only way to approach the Redskins this year is to treat the team as if they were a first year expansion team. That way, expectations are managed. I have no idea of Jim Zorn is going to be a good coach or a terrible one. But one thing's for sure: he won't be the worst.

DCeptette: New Adventures in Crypto-Herpetology

  1. Happy Birthday, Butterstick! [DCist]
  2. Someone really needs to explain precisely what the fuck is wrong with Jim Graham. Has there ever been anyone so methodical in their idiocy? He does realize that he's going down in history as the thinking-man's Marion Barry, right? [The Bellows]
  3. "University of Phoenix Online: It's just like regular college except without parties and hate sex!" [Noelle Hancock]
  4. I just wish all angry drunks showed this sort of initiative. [Consumerist]
  5. Words cannot describe how awesome this porno set up is.

Rusty Bids Adieu

Over at the Washingtonian, Rusty gives DC his official kiss-off. And hey, I love the city, there are things where we are in obvious agreement. Especially about me! But more importantly, solidarity in the matter of Miss Carpentier. To this day, the decision to drop her from Wonkette baffles me. Now, Rusty is moving to Columbus, Ohio, and man, I've gotta tell you, that is one stone cold, dull-ass burg. The days are boring and the nights are lame. But! As it turns out, he's heading out there with his gf, who is a pretty stupendous person, so this is actually pretty much a no-brainer. Esperance, Rusty, and I hope the two of you hit Columbus and Burn That Motherfucker Down.

Carbon Offsetting With the Aristocrats!

Awww. Would you look at the adorable little shitheads of the G8, at play in their arboreal field of self-congratulation? I'm sure that veteran ranch-hand George W. Bush brought all his brush-clearing wisdom to bear on this mighty tree planting task. You can bet that Dmitry Medvedev didn't do a goddamned thing until Vladimir Putin explained it all to him. Later, they all dined on filet of komodo dragon and condor omelettes.

Anyway, hurry up and grow, little trees! Zimbabwe needs the wood for more coffins!

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Area Restauranteur Does Battle With Celebrated Douche

I didn't catch tonight's episode of Throwdown, or, as I like to call it, Bobby Flay's Dickhead Move, but I hope Granville Moore's Teddy Folkman took Flay to the woodshed tonight. I read somewhere (cannot find link now) that Flay said the restaurant was located in northwest DC. It's sort of hard to take a guy seriously who says he's coming to your house to "throw down" in culinary combat who cannot read a fucking map.

This Is Actually Pretty Nice

A few days ago, Wife of DCeiver showed me this video of Matt Harding, who was sent to numerous far-flung places on the globe by the people that make Stride gum to do a silly little dance in front of a camera. Along the way, people joined in. Many people. And the video these travels spawned has hit the big time, garnering the attention of the New York Times. As well it should, because it's really not possible to watch the video and not get at least a little bit happier. It just goes to show that as bad as things may get, maybe the human race - and the lemurs - doesn't deserve to get obliterated from the face of the planet. Though if this video ever made it's way into the hands of brutal, conquering aliens, that is almost certainly what will happen. So take a minute and experience a very simple and powerful expression of joy, and we will return in a moment with your regularly scheduled dose of arch cynicism.

DCeptette: Taking The Train Home

  1. The essential Grand Theft Auto IV/TriBeCa Film Festival mashup. [Videogum]
  2. The incredibly true story about how every Flickr user got jacked over the weekend. [Information Leafblower]
  3. When I caught wind of the report that the HPV Vaccine had been linked to a number of deaths, I sighed, and mentally prepared myself for a forthcoming column from public health irrationalist Courtland Milloy. Happily, as it turns out, Courtland will be stowing his pen for the time being. [Feministe]
  4. Via the DCFeed, "For the third consecutive year, more than 200 million people rode the Metrorail system during a fiscal year, and for the 12th consecutive year ridership increased on the rail system." Obviously, someone needs to tell Metro riders about just how badly they are hurting the feelings of drivers.
  5. Curious as to how bad the Gessening of America is getting? Now there are statistics! [F.U. & The Blog You Rode In On]

Ha, Ha. Your Medium Is Dying.

Dana Milbank is best known to the world as a guy who got dressed up like some sort of crossing guard because he thought it would make some sort of effortless point about Dick Cheney shooting somebody in the face. But mainly, he only served as the inspiration for halfwit conventional-wisdom regurgitron Mark Halperin to wear a bunch of creepy costumes in his own PageCasts.

Anyhoo, Milbank is also a newsman and a dinosaur and a twit. Or so he comes across in this ridiculous video from Wonkette, where he gets drunk and snooty and self-righteously declares, "I will not read blogs, I'm sorry." Hoo-okay, dude! You know, your own paper has got a number of really good ones!

He goes on to say, "If something is important enough, it will be brought to my attention." That's right! Brought to his attention by his MIGHTY ARMY OF NAKED, NEWGATHERING PYGMIES, LET'S SAY. Poor thing. He probably has no idea how much is being brought to attention by those blogs he's not reading.

Dana! Dana! Here's something important! You sort of come off like...well, an ass. Film at...uhm, right now.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

The Audacity of Dopes: First, They Came For "The Cables"

And I did nothing, because, as usual, I didn't have the slightest fucking clue what John McCain was even talking about.

The Latest In Crass 9/11 Collectibles

I don't know if anyone out there caught the television commercial for these monstrosities - collectible "currency" themed around 9/11 - but here it is for you to watch and become deeply ashamed. I'm not sure what my favorite part is, but the following moments are in the running:

  • The part where the narrator brags about how this commemorative trinket is so large that it "dwarfs" all other legal tender. YEAH! SUCK IT, DOLLAR BILLZ! FUCK YR PRE-9/11 MINDSET!
  • The part where they explain that one side has a "standard twenty dollar denomination," but...BUT!!!! On the other side, it has the numbers NINE and ELEVEN, and you will never guess what! NINE PLUS ELEVEN EQUALS TWENTY.
  • "This is the first time ever the two numbers have been used to add up to the twenty dollar face value!" THE FIRST TIME EVER. And here, we've been at war with al Qaeda, when what they really wanted to do was help us experience these bold mathematical innovations.
  • Remember that Times Square recruiting station that got bombed by a bicyclist on March 6, of this year? Well, WHERE'S MY GODDAMNED NINE DOLLAR BILL?
  • "The frosted Twin Towers stand out against a mirror-like background, much as they did in the gleaming sunlight of that fateful morning." Yes, we were all marvelling at the mirror-like background of the New York City skyline when terrorists struck and destroyed our innocence. And hey! Guess what? SEVEN YEARS OF BAD LUCK FOLLOWED.
  • The Freedom Tower is a "silvery tribute to all who were lost." A silvery tribute!
  • They were going to sell this shit for $39, until they learned to add 9 and 11.
  • These come with a certificate of authenticity attesting to...and I quote: its non-circulating Liberian legal tender currency. There's just something about the concepts of "authenticity" and "Liberian legal tender" that seems mutually exclusive.
  • Strict limit of 5 per customer, unless you are Rudy Giuliani, and plan to use them to jack off.

DCeptette: I Got A Red Light Turning Back To Amber

  1. Wherever the Washington Post makes a keystroke error in a press release, Erik Wemple is there! Because he is JUST THAT BRAVE a journalist! [City Desk]
  2. Agent Scully to tackle Ibsen at Donmar Warehouse. Lucky, lucky London. [Variety]
  3. Hey! Follow DCist on Twitter! For some reason! [DCist]
  4. Or don't! Maybe you "are not here to make friends!" [FourFour]
  5. Sooner or later, all of your most powerful memories shall be commodified. [Cajun Boy]

Oh, Yeah, The Olympics

Uhm...yeah. I've been staring at this picture for a good long time and I really don't know how I'm supposed to react. This is apparently the Chinese counter-terror unit training for the upcoming Olympics on their Battle Segways, with rayguns. I have to think that if these bitches came rolling down Tiananmen Square, there would have been more than just that one guy willing to stand in their way. This shit looks like the beginning of an Upright Citizens Brigade sketch. But, when you consider the fact that these Olympics will take place in poisoned air, in front of gleeful genocidaires, it's just one more reminder that these are going to be the most fucked up Summer games ever. Of course, I laugh now, but chances are this is what your Trinidad Neighborhood Clampdown looks like, circa 2009.

Monday, July 07, 2008


Not to belabor the point, but four years ago today, I came to a decision to start blogging. Last year at this time, it was looking like a pretty wise decision. This year, even moreso.
Thanks, blog!

Friday, July 04, 2008

Today Is Founder's Day

You better recognize.

The will of the people is the only legitimate foundation of any government, and to protect its free expression should be our first object.

Enlighten the people, generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body and mind will vanish like spirits at the dawn of day.

In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock.

Shake off all the fears of servile prejudices, under which weak minds are servilely crouched. Fix reason firmly in her seat, and call on her tribunal for every fact, every opinion. Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason than that of blindfolded fear.

The spirit of resistance to government is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it always to be kept alive.

Monkey Gone To Hell

Funny thing: I actually thought Jesse Helms was already dead! Where was he these past few years, during which I thought he was dead. Was he in a home or something? He sure as shit belonged there, from about 1961 on.

Anyway, Jesse Helms is dead. Ding-dong, I guess? Really. I ain't mad at Jesse. Jesse was a fucked-up turd of a man who had a poisonous egg yolk for a brain. He was a gleeful bigot and poor legislator and he's one of many hundreds of thousands of people who pass through this life without contributing anything positive to it. But there's plenty of people out there like him, what makes him special? Basically, a large group of North Carolinians decided that Jesse Helms belonged playing a part in running the country. And to those people, I say: Gank on a roman candle today, bitches.

Thursday, July 03, 2008


I have to admit, my eyes got big when I read that Choire wrote this:

At the beginning of the year, the pay rate per pageview on Gawker was $7.50, according to Portfolio's Felix Salmon; it went to $6.50 for the next quarter and it is now $5. (Other sites vary, based on overall traffic and ad rate.)

It's the only place in this article that makes this mistake. The actual rate is per thousand page views, obviously. I imagine, though, there were people who read this article, saw that sentence, though about their own wage, and immediately shot themselves in the fucking face. Hey. If that were true, that's what I would do. But think about it, at $7.50 a pageview, who on earth would the typical Gawker editor have to be jealous of? Like Dave Lowery sang, the creative underclass ain't gonna suck itself.

The Next Big Thing: This Storm Is What We Call Progress

In this election year Sabbatical of mine, I've been remiss in informing you of the quality Rorschachery we have got cooking up. No longer! Come see our new joint, Jason Grote's This Storm Is What We Call Progress. The essential reviews from WaPo and DCist ought to whet the whistle for another good night out. As many of you know, we are between homes at the moment, but have found hospitable refuge from our Exile(TM) from the good people at Georgetown University. So, as far as added selling points, there's air-conditioning, I believe, which would be a positive break from the typical Rorschach in the Summertime traditions. Also, it stars Karl Miller, one of my favorite actors and human beings.

We'll be mounting two other productions this summer at GU, including Thornton Wilder's The Skin Of Our Teeth and the four-part experiment in serialized theatre called Dream Sailors from Randy Baker. More news on that when we have some.

A Rorschach Theatre World Premiere
This Storm is What We Call Progress
By Jason Grote
June 22 – July 20
In the Devine Theatre at Georgetown University's Davis Center For The Performing Arts.

directed by Jenny McConnell Frederick
starring Sara Barker, Rena Cherry Brown, and Karl Miller
sets by Robbie Hayes
lights by David Ghatan
costumes by Franklin Labovitz
props by Francoise Bastien
fights by Casey Kaleba
and the usual peerless Stage Management from Kyle Jean Fisher, with Alex Aki

For tickets, click here. For further details, click here.


If you're hoping to create a Tumblr rip-off site, you'd better act quickly.

These are all taken:,,, (“the short attention-span porno site”),, (“the site for people whose personalities are the complete opposite of those arrogant, self-important assholes who populate Tumblr”),,,,,,

[Via Catbird.]

DCeptette: Division Street

  1. I love public transit and I love subways, and I really love these cool t-shirts by What's My Stop for the El in Chicago. Someone should do something similar here! And then you can buy me some. [Chicagoist]
  2. Unsurprisingly, this is what you'll find at the dead center of the blogosphere. [S/FJ]
  3. Casie does what she can to save the lives of all you pedestrians. Just read it! [Southern Bellicose]
  4. We heartily approve of the new Landrum joint - just remember what we told you about parking! Also, with regard to "...anyone exiting the west Columbia Heights Metro -- surrounded on three sides with Potbelly's, Pete's Apizza and Five Guys -- will be hard-pressed to not grab something to eat," we say you'd be hard-pressed to do anything other than walk into Pete's Apizza. [DCist]
  5. "Bhutan's national assembly has banned laptops, nominally to prevent officials from distracting themselves with games and 'pictures.'" Betcha that wasn't in the Folklife Festival! [BoingBoing]

Clay Bennett Will Have His Revenge On Seattle

Redskins fans - or just human beings! - who might have been taken aback - or even grossly disgusted! - by former WhyIHateDC blogger James Furdell's "hole in their free safety" crack from last January, rejoice! The news came in today, and James' pwecious wittle Seattle Supersonics are splitting for the dusty wilds of Oklahoma City. At some point in the future, Seattle might be able to get another basketball team and call them the Sonics - but they'll never be Xavier McDaniel's Sonics.

And...ha ha.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Trembling Before G-d

I meant to say this last week, but forgot and then it slipped, but in the matter of the Anti-Defamation League/Commentary getting fangy and unhinged over Joe Klein, Spencer Ackerman really deserves kudos for calling out those motherfucking ganefs. Bookmark away!