There's no place like home.

[UPDATE: I found a $2500 studio on craigslist this morning. Sure, it's furnished, BUT IT'S A STUDIO! For more than some people pay for a decent TWO-bedroom. RIDICULOUS. Why would anyone -- even a rich GW undergrad -- spend that kind of money on a studio? I just don't get it....]

Let me apologize for breaking my relaunch rules and leaving you nearly a week without a post. Jen and Ryan were both here from out of town, I had issues with my new job (no worries! they've been cleared up), and it was my last week at PBS. It was actually REALLY sad to leave everyone. There was a little party on Thursday afternoon and there was so much food and I got gifts and well wishes -- it could make anyone feel all warm and squishy inside.

With my professional life coming together nicely, it seems like the microscope of self-awareness has focused itself on other aspects of my life. I'll save for another time the fact that I've been romatically alone so long that I'm giving serious thought to becoming a priest (I'd make an off-the-chain Pope) and that my gut is expanding at such an alarming rate that I should report myself to Homeland Security because all of DC might be in danger. Yes, those topics are better left unaddressed at the moment.

Instead, let's discuss that my apartment feels like it's getting smaller each day. As many of you know, I live in a small studio in one of the nicer DC neighborhoods. It's a quirky-cute apartment with high ceilings, lots of natural light, and even a faux fireplace. At the same time, it's pretty small, I have a two-burner stove with no oven, and my closet space is less than desirable. Then again, I've never really had all that much space. After freshman year, I spent two years in tiny, tiny singles and then one year in a spacious-only-for-college studio with a little kitchenette and my own bathroom. When I lived in Jersey City with Jared and Nula, while the apartment was huge, Nula's and my bedrooms were quite teeny. Still, I feel like I've earned more. I'm tired of living in what is, essentially, a dorm room. I want space. I want a kitchen with more than five inches of counter space. I want deep closets. I want a tub. I want to be able to lie in bed and NOT see my refrigerator across the room. I want doors that separate rooms. I don't think it's too much to ask.

So, over the course of last week -- when I should've been blogging -- I started lurking on the craigslist apartment listings. They were a bit of a downer. First off, things are so much more expensive than I remember them being when I last looked for housing (summer '04). A studio for $1900? Seriously? I would love to meet the guy who moves in there just so I can ask him why the hell he didn't just live in a one-bedroom for that amount of money. Even worse are the posts that seriously exaggerate neighborhood. Adams Morgan is based around 18th Street NW, north of U Street. So don't tell me that your apartment is in Adams Morgan if it's over on 14th Street! The mislabeling of neighborhoods really infuriates me for some reason. Maybe because it's so stupid. You got me to look at your post because you promised me a Dupont location, but I'm not suddenly going to live there when I see that it's nowhere near Dupont. "Well, I know that 16th and Harvard is a 30-40 minute walk to Dupont Circle, but if this craigslist poster says it's Dupont, then I'm interested!!!" Let people in the Casual Encounters section lie about the details. At least there you might get to a point where backing out is awkward. But if you're going to refer to something way north of U Street as "Upper Logan," you're not fooling anyone.

But craigslist found a great apartment for me in the past so I'm not giving up. I actually went to see my first place on Saturday. It was at M and 4th Streets NW. (Go ahead DC-ites, gasp in disbelief.) I know it's a bit out there, but it was a one-bedroom at a decent price so I felt like I had to check it out. It was perfectly nice, but it was rather small and there were three boarded up houses on the same block. I can give a little on either location or quality, but if I'm settling on both, I'm not getting the kind of deal I'm looking for. So my search continues.

If you hear of anything good in terms of one- or even two-bedroom apartments, PLEASE let me know. Ideally I'd like to live somewhere south of U, east of 17th St, and west of 9th, but I'm definitely open to stuff off the beaten path. I felt so lucky when I found my current place. I'd like to get lucky again. (See how I brought that back around to one of the topics I wasn't going to discuss?)

I belong.

The other night, I participated in a marketing event/dinner/thing for a new development here in the District. A friend of a friend was looking for "young professionals" in DC so I was recommended and invited to Indeblu for a night of free food and drink, and of course, some focus groupy discussion. Needless to say, they had me at "free food."

First off, for a DC focus group, the table was missing a pretty key element: WHERE WERE ALL THE BLACK PEOPLE? Indeed, for a second, I thought I was at a Boston area focus group because I was surrounded by a bunch of white dudes, a handful of white chicks, and three Asian women. I've been to Klan meetings with more diversity. (Ok, no. I've never been to a Klan meeting. Nor would I want to.) So we sat down around this big table, food was brought out, and, as a video camera captured our every move (and, I'm sure, the unfortunate zit on the right side of my nose that was angled DIRECTLY at the camera), we were instructed by the head of this shindig (let's call him Fearless Leader) to go around the room and introduce ourselves.

As we went around, I realized that the entire marketing team (5 people, I think) is in from NYC. I stupidly assumed that they were DC-ites, but I guess that was naïve of me. As I let this sink in, I came to the realization that they were not ready for what was about to happen. I think I was correct. From the very beginning, Fearless Leader kept having to interrupt us to get back on track. Why? Because DC-ers love nothing more that to whine about their city. The biggest re-tracking occurred after our discussion turned to the de facto segregation of the District (a convo that, I promise, I did not start). We also talked about crime, boxy buildings, and tourists. This was clearly not where Fearless Leader wanted us to go. Also funny was that he kept using the term "Downtown" as if it meant anything in DC. When asked to define "downtown" we all looked around blankly for a sec until someone said, "Well, isn't that the combination of, like, Metro Center and Gallery Place/Chinatown?" The concept of identifying neighborhood by metro stop was something the New Yorkers had difficulty comprehending. I also don't think they understood why we were all much more interested in what people did for a living than where they lived in the city. Silly New Yorkers.

The next step involved breaking into groups and writing on chart paper. After I reverentially took the chart paper in my hands and mentioned, natch, that I was a former educator, I was immediately volunteered to do the writing. I'm certain that the marketing folks were psyched when we suggested unattractive outer buildings to dissuade tourists, no chain eateries (one girl was particularly at odds with Legal Seafood), and a serious limit on things that might be considered child-friendly. There was also a series of pictures that we were asked to respond to, which I did by writing on them in magic marker. My two favorites were the Xs I drew over the faces of children on a jungle gym and the words "NO MORE FREAKIN' MONUMENTS" written over a particularly statuesque fountain.

Still, the best part of the evening came at the end. A bunch of the marketers (but not Fearless Leader) wanted to go out for more food and drinks so, of course, I obliged. The only other DCer (a neat lobbyist named Emily) and I took them down to Jaleo. Once there, there were more conversations about DC and jobs and whatnot. Before you know it, Emily and I, sitting diagonally across the table from one another, start talking about politics. We were so into our conversation that I actually didn't notice that the bill had been paid and one of the women had stood up and was making her way toward the door. Another was stifling yawns. Once we got outside, probably because Emily and I were still deconstructing Barack's performance at the debate last week, two of the marketers actually seemed to be running away from us. They barely turned around to say goodnight.

Afterward, I was standing on the street with Emily and the last of the New Yorkers (my friend's friend who hooked me up with this gig, David) and we just had to laugh. Truth is, this is what happens when DC-ers get together. Not exclusively or all the time, but definitely more often than not. We like to bitch about our city, not because we don't like living here (I think most of us do) but because I think we're all a little bitter. It's such an ambitious town that everyone, deep down, sort of wants to be President of the United States. The fact that none of us are the President probably provides the drive to discuss politics and other government-related things -- not to mention just enough bitterness to cause each of us to occasionally turn into our very own version of Furious Commuter.

I guess we don't see the average New Yorker's need to babble on and on about how AWESOME our neighborhood is. And that, I think, was what the New Yorkers were after. They consistently asked about where we lived and what we thought of it. The best someone came up with about their 'hood was that they don't let female friends walk around alone there late at night. I live in Dupont. It's all about older gay men and baby strollers. Big whoop. I rather get someone else's opinion on the the debate or talk about someone's work at the State Department or even hear about FCC filings.

I think last nightI realized that I fit in here. And that feels nice...particularly because I'm starting a new job here in two and a half weeks.

Furious Commuter

The whole point of life after high school seems to be landing the eventual steady job. I know a lot of people in law school who, for instance, toiled to get to that financial apex of the steady job: the associate position. (I was going to make a joke about it being the spiritual nadir of the steady job as well, but then I decided I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings -- besides, some consider hit men to have steady jobs, too.) Still, while I like having a job, I wish it weren't so, well, steady. All my days have started to look the same. Sure, some days are better or worse, more productive or less so, but what I can't shake is that, no matter what, it's the same desk, the same computer, and the same view from my window. What's worse, I've noticed that this monotony has had a very peculiar effect on me.

Depression? No. Hardly. I haven't been constantly jumping for joy the last few months, but I'm certainly not depressed. (See Alessandro circa first year of teaching for more on that.) Rather than sad, lately I've been experiencing a bit of a split personality.

Take this morning for example. I was lying in bed hitting snooze whenever my alarm or my phone (I set both) would go off when I noticed some rumbling noises coming from above. It wasn't that loud while I was still in bed, possibly because I was half asleep and not really cognizant of much, but once I got up, the noise became louder. And it started getting annoying. From my desk chair, it sound like a couple of people might have been playing a game of tackle football above me. Or perhaps someone was holding a ballet class and the students were practicing grand jetés across the floor. I started complaining out loud. (When you live alone, you tend to talk to yourself. Or so I've been told.) Once, I stood up as if to go upstairs but then decided against it. More noise. I was now cursing out loud. More noise. I stood up again. A loud crash above me....

I went completely blind with rage. The next time I was aware of my actions, I was holding my swiffer broom and slamming it into my ceiling. Luckily, my upper body strength is akin to that of a 12-year-old girl who doesn't like the outdoors, so I didn't actually put a hole in ceiling. But the blind rage was not new. It has come before, mostly when I commute. Actually, ALWAYS when I commute. The other day after work, I was walking from the Dupont Metro when my friend Jon tapped me on the shoulder. It took a good 3 minutes before I could string together coherent sentences. Why? Because I was so wound up with this peculiar anger that I couldn't think straight. I zone out completely. Like I'm a different person. I become...FURIOUS COMMUTER.

Furious Commuter is a pretty angry guy. He always sighs loudly when someone is standing on the left-hand side of the escalator BEFORE saying, "Excuse me." He finds it necessary to express his disdain with their standing choice and just asking to pass doesn't quite do that enough. Sometimes, when the fury steals his speech, Furious Commuter merely waves his arms in the air behind the unsuspecting idiot. He does this to show other commuters how furious he is (in hopes that they will join him in thinking the left-stander an idiot). Furious Commuter's other patented moves include swatting at departing trains with his Express, sitting sideways along two Metro seats so that no one will sit next to him, glaring at people talking loudly on their cell phones, and (in Furious Commuter's defense, only when no children are present) loudly exclaiming, "Fucking typical!" whenever there is a metro delay.

Furious Commuter has arch enemies. He despises tourists. They are his 2nd least favorite thing about DC (the first being the Bush Administration). He hates that they always seem to travel in family packs. Stupid mother pushing idiot baby in stroller with borderline-vegetable dad hurrying along two youngsters who indubitably ride the shortbus to school from their quaint home in Nebraska. I know that such judgment is elitist and unhelpful, but Furious Commuter doesn't care. He wants them to go back to their crap-ass midwestern town where they can vote Republican and study the Bible far from his morning commute. The thing that brought Furious Commuter out this morning was a glimpse of a clearly-from-out-of-town family of SEVEN where none of the children were over the age of seven. Furious Commuter thinks forced sterilization might not be a terrible idea.

Furious Commuter hates how the whole family stands in front of six farecard machines while dad is using all of his brainpower at just one. He despises how tourist families will rarely sit down (Furious Commuter guesses that minorities scare them) but instead insist on congregating right by the door, the concept of moving into the center of the car completely lost on them. Still, the thing that sends Furious Commuter into that wonderful blind fury within seconds is the clusterfuck at the turnstiles. Ah, yes. He hates people who don't own a SmarTrip card. He hates seeing a big ass in a jumbo skort with a fanny pack perched to the side standing right in front of a turnstile and not going anywhere. Peering over said fanny pack, Furious Commuter sees a hapless tourist attempting to force their paper farecard upside down into the "out" slot. Now, I know that someone who doesn't ride the metro regularly shouldn't be expected to get it on the first try. But Furious Commuter doesn't care. He much prefers the loud grunt of exasperation, sometimes with a bit of frustrated flailing, as he dodges around Fanny Pack's 10 children (all in CIA or FBI sweatshirts...oh, how Furious Commuter loathes those tacky sweatshirts) to another open turnstile. If none are available, the fury rises just a bit, but Furious Commuter deals by exchanging knowing, furious looks with his fellow furious commuters.

This morning, Furious Commuter (after seeing the aforementioned fury-inducing brood of seven), made his way quickly through the turnstile when he saw that a train was waiting on the platform below. He rushed to the escalator only to be stopped by one of his other archenemies: Woman with Rolly Bag. WwRB was with a companion and the two blocked the way (even after Furious Commuter's very angry "Pardon me") just long enough that he did not make the train. He turned around to glare at WwRB and noticed that she had on dark sunglasses. WwRB was a blind woman. Furious Commuter had grunted angrily at a blind woman on an escalator. I looked down embarrassed.

Then Furious Commuter thought, "So? Her blind ass should've gotten out of the way," and shot her another unseen glare.

More death by Metrobus....

After a fabulous long weekend in Chicago, I decided to catch up on a bit of television. At one point, I noticed a local news ad mentioning a Metrobus death. At first I figured it was DVRed during a program from last Thursday when two women were struck and killed. Then I realized I wasn't watching a program from Thursday night.

Just a few days after my post on the problems with Metro and the recent tendency for Metrobus manslaughter, yet ANOTHER person was struck and killed by a Metrobus. This time it was the W2 bus in Southeast. Read about it in the Post.

There was a time when all I feared about living in the District were the high crime rate and the potential for terror attacks. Glad to know I can add "getting hit by a bus" to the list.

Thanks, Metro!

Spotlight on DC: Metro opens doors...to death & despair.

I originally started this post as a whine about the latest massive Metro delays. A few paragraphs in, I went to the websites for WMATA and the Washington Post but couldn’t find anything about this morning’s Red Line fiasco. Then I found this article about two women who were struck and killed by a MetroBus last night. “The two women were on Seventh Street NW in the Penn Quarter neighborhood and had the ‘walk’ signal to cross Pennsylvania Avenue when a northbound bus turned left onto the avenue about 6:40 p.m., said Lisa Farbstein, a Metro spokeswoman.” As a DC resident who walks or uses public transportation to get everywhere, this freaks me the hell out. Everyone who lives here has seen those buses barreling down the road. There’s a supremely unsafe crosswalk at 20th and O St that I use everyday to and from work. I’m usually pretty forceful about asserting my right to have traffic yield to me and often step out (albeit cautiously) in front of cars, but I refuse to mess with the buses. More than once I’ve arrived at the crosswalk and seen a D6 hurtling down the street like it’s a fire truck headed toward a five-alarm blaze. I can only imagine how fast the fatal 54 bus from last night had been going -- and how criminally inattentive the driver must have been -- to hit TWO people with enough force to kill WHILE MAKING A LEFT TURN. It’s one thing for a bus to kill someone while on a straight away (those things are heavy), but on a turn? Something’s really wrong here. With that bus – and with Metro.

This was the third fatal Metrobus accident since June 2006. In that month, the H8 killed a woman crossing Park Road on 16th Street NW. Just last month, another woman (ladies, please be careful) was struck by a bus leaving a bus garage while crossing Wisconsin Avenue NW in Friendship Heights. According to the Post’s article, I’m not the only one totally disturbed by this. D.C. Council member Jim Graham (D-Ward 1), a member of the Metro board, “said he will seek answers about whether the three fatal accidents since June are isolated incidents or represent a more systemic problem." I’m leaning toward the latter. How can one not think that something is seriously wrong with the way Metro is being run, as evidenced not only by these tragedies but by the shoddy service and dangerous instances of late?

The Metro trains have been plagued with all sorts of issues. An editorial from the Post mentions the minor stuff and this article covers the most recent major accident when a Green Line car derailed at Mt. Vernon injuring 20 people. This very morning, I was halfway down the nonfunctioning (shock!) escalator to the Red Line platform at Dupont when I noticed that there was hardly a place to stand. I didn’t know how long it had been since the last train, but judging from the crowd (and admittedly it was rush hour) it had to have been at least 15 minutes. A glance at the board revealed that the next train would be in 6 minutes, a train after that had no time next to it (never a good sign), and then another train would be around in 10 minutes. So I waited. Finally a train pulled up AND THE FIRST CAR WAS UNLIT AND NOT CARRYING PASSENGERS. There appeared to be some sort of equipment on it. Fine. But, really Metro? Don’t have the first car of the first train you send to a crowded platform be closed. Take an extra 5 minutes and send a completely free train. It’s just a PR thing – people don’t want to see an unlit car and be faced with closed doors after waiting that long. An announcement then came on asking people not to crowd the train because another was right behind it. I didn’t even try to board. The train pulled away leaving the platform looking no less crowded and another announcement came on: “We apologize. The next train will be in 6 minutes.” I don’t know if my fellow commuters appreciated me laughing out loud, but I couldn’t help myself. I said goodbye to a friend that I’d run into on the platform, and walked out. Of course this had to happen on a cold, slushy day. The walk down to the Blue Line at Farragut West was not fun (except for running into Josh). The Red Line is bad news. Red, underground, often on fire . . . I propose that the Red Line is the topmost level of Hell. It serves Upper Northwest (think big money) and downtown including Judiciary Square (think my professional peers). I can almost guarantee that a fair share of the riders are big time sinners. Unfortunately, I’m stuck to suffer with them.

Metro needs to get its act together pronto. Currently in the works is a proposal to extend Metro out to Dulles Airport. Anyone who’s tried getting out there would know this would be a boon of not insignificant proportions. Still, with word of a proposed above-ground rail (a terrible, terrible idea only favored because it’s cheap), I worry about how much more Metro can screw up. Pervasive delays, while a nuisance, don’t kill anyone. Cheap construction alternatives might. Unsafe bus drivers definitely do. To the Powers that Be at Metro: The system is broken. Please fix it.