DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> DC Viking: January 2006

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Mayor for 3 to 5

What an amazing and screwed up city I live in. Marion Barry has once again tested positive for drug use. The same Marion Barry that failed to report half a million dollars of income to the IRS over the last few years. The same Marion Barry that was convicted of cocaine possession in 1990, when he was set up by ‘the bitch’. The same Marion Barry that has incidents like these dotting his record. How did this guy manage to keep stepping on his own dick so publicly? Why did people keep giving him the chance? Those aren’t rhetorical questions. I’m really asking.

It’s not like the personal and legal troubles were the only things to raise red flags regarding The Mayor for Life. It’s well known that he and his cronies managed to mismanage DC and its finances so heinously that partial financial control of the city was given to the federal government and DC home rule was set back at least 10 years. Yet he was given another chance on the City Council.

He is still tremendously popular in Southeast DC’s Ward 8. The tone of the man on the street reactions in the papers this morning was not one of anger. They feel sorry for the guy. They empathize with him. I’ve never understood the allure of wanting to elect the candidate that you can most relate to on a personal level. This goes for Marion Barry as well as George Bush. I want my leaders to be better than me. I want them smarter and more experienced. I don’t want to have a beer with them. I sure as hell don’t want them smoking crack with some broken down hooker in a cheap motel room. I want them to be so damn sharp that I would be intimidated by their intellect. Most people don’t see things that way. The sheep want to be comforted by the fact that their elected officials, while wealthier and more famous, are just as stupid as they are.

Ward 8 elected Barry as their councilman to give a big middle finger to the rest of a city that is growing and prospering while they are not. While I can respect their sense of anger and disenfranchisement, I can’t respect their judgment. The single finger salute is not the way to tell the rest of the city that you would like a piece of the prosperity pie. Going out and getting some slick, calculating representative like Adrian Fenty would go a lot further towards that end.

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posted by DC Viking at 10:49 AM 1 people of discerning taste are saying

Monday, January 09, 2006

Older. Wiser? Drunker!

What would you have if you held a dance party and nobody could dance? You’d have DC9 on a Friday night, the final destination of my birthday fiesta this weekend.

I’m a big fan of the Liberation Dance Party they throw on Fridays. It’s energetic without being packed, the drinks aren’t totally overpriced, and the DJ spins a great mix of music that you wouldn’t normally hear in a place that is expecting people to dance. I never knew that you could shake it to The Arcade Fire. Apparently it’s not only possible, but extremely entertaining; both for myself and for the young women sitting in the booth by the dance floor. Not for the same reasons though.

That’s OK though, because here’s the thing, somebody forgot to invite the cool kids. Other than one or two members of the fairer sex that were moving just well enough to avoid embarrassment, I didn’t see one person that I would describe as a good dancer. Because nobody can dance, everyone does. This is good for me. Actually getting me on the dance floor requires an amount of liquor that precludes being able to dance for shite.

This goes without saying on U Street, but there was nary a popped collar in the joint. (Do people still do that? I haven’t been to Georgetown in a while so I may be a little out of the loop.) There doesn’t seem to be a bar ‘uniform’, either. I saw the requisite T-shirt, jeans, and Chucks. I saw someone that looked like they came straight from their office X-mas party. It says something about the atmosphere of the bar that I didn’t think either was dressed improperly.

Maybe I have a skewed perspective because it was my birthday and I had a few too many two buck Schlitz’s at The Velvet Lounge before we made it to DC9, but I dig the vibe of on a Friday. Everyone seemed to understand rule number one of the drinking code, you go to the bar to have fun.

In contrast, I was at the 18th Street Lounge last weekend. Physically, it’s a great space. Early in the evening it’s a great place to chill, but by the end of the night I found myself wanting to throttle someone. Call me misanthropic, but the place was packed with wall-to-wall assholes. The bar was four deep, and everyone was boxing out and throwing elbows like it was the Final Four. Relax a bit people. There is plenty of booze for everyone. Wait patiently, know what you are going to drink when you get to the bartender, and be polite. It will make your drink ordering experience much more pleasant. It also helps if you don’t pay for your apple-tinis with a card and ask the bartender to close your tab right away.

There wasn’t much standing room to be had anywhere, so you had to do the ‘moving-sideways-through-the-crowd’ dance all night, which happens. If you go to a bar, occasionally it’s going to be a little over crowded. I understand that nobody likes to be jostled, but if you’re standing in the middle of the doorway some people are going to need to get past you. Tossing a hip at every person that needs to move past you to use the bathroom does not mean you are the alpha in the bar. It means you have a small penis.

Right. So a good time was had by all at DC9. The hangover didn’t rise above a low throb, and I didn’t do too much damage to the bank account. I did gain a painful reminder of a universal truth that should be ignored only at great peril. When your evening beverage census consists of Schlitz, Jaegermeister, and bourbon, you should not make a 3AM run to rotten Ronald’s for a quarter-pounder and chicken McNuggets.

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posted by DC Viking at 1:00 PM 5 people of discerning taste are saying

Friday, January 06, 2006

I may be getting older but I refuse to grow up

Today is my birthday. I know this because my mother called me at work this morning and sang to me in her slightly off key, MinnesOta accent. I've been in existence for 29 years. As I have been informed several times today, that's almost 30.

Having a quarter life crisis is all the rage these days, but I haven't been able to muster the grandiose sentiment that would be neccesary for this kind of self examination. I'm supposed to be thinking about settling down, having kids, and moving to the suburbs. Aren't I? Am I allowed to have a quarter life crisis about not having a quarter life crisis? Should I be more concerned that I'm not married with 2.5 children and living in Reston? Or should I be worried that I'm not one of those high powered assholes you see Blackberrying their way through their metro ride to some very important meeting? If I am I guess I missed that memo.

I'm a 29 year old man/boy that lives in a house with three roommates. I still drink a little too much. I can still sit for hours at a time killing zombies in front of the HD. There was a keg at our Festivus party. I'm basically a college kid with more money, a marginally better understanding of life, and a less ego-centric world view (not much less, but every bit counts).

My Dad took me out to lunch today. He mentioned that when he was 29, I had just been born. He didn't say it in an accusatory manner. It was in no way an indictment of me or the way I'm choosing to live my life. It was an observation. When he was 29 he had started his family. I'm 29 and I'm going to go to the Velvet Lounge tonight and drink Schlitz from a can. I don't have the same responsibilities that he had at my age. I'm cool with that. Sometimes I am a grown up. Scratch that. Sometimes I'm an adult. A grown up is someone that doesn't see the intrinsic value of a water balloon launcher.

As I was saying, sometimes I'm an adult. I have somehow managed to fall back asswards into a great career, despite the fact that I didn't finish college. I take night classes because I know that I'm going to need that piece of paper somewhere down the line. I pay my taxes and invest in my 401(k). I almost never show up for work with a hangover.

OK, so maybe I did have a little introspection in me today. To sum up my self-analysis.

DC Viking = case of arrested development

DC Viking also = Adult

Groovy. Now if you will excuse me I have to decide what I'm going to wear the bar tonight.

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posted by DC Viking at 3:23 PM 3 people of discerning taste are saying