Who Do You Have To Blog To Get Ahead In This Town?

'My room is comfortably small
With rubber lining the walls
And there's someone always calling my name;
He calls when I'm alone
And he calls when I'm not home
And he calls when I'm stuck out in the rain.
I'm insane.'
~~ They Might Be Giants, "Absolutely Bill's Mood"



"Candy doesn't have to have a point. That's why it's candy."
~~ Freddie Highmore, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory



Funny, that's how I feel about life.

Wait, I meant to say ... "comedy ..."

Anyways:

I'm back in action after a grueling housing search, and very happily replanted in the Ghettopia that is Washington, D.C. For those of you who are confused by my temporary disappearance, I took a reporting job at a D.C. press agency that covers all the various government departments: defense, FDA, homeland security, etc. My beat is the EPA.

I know, perfect, right?

So I'm enjoying a fabulous new job in a foul and terrible city. Seriously, folks, I've been to a lot of sketchy places in my lifetime (see my blog on San Jose, for starters). But nothing compares to D.C., a cesspool of parasitic human vulgarity, leeching life from the American dream -- every sidewalk slicked with the slime of greased palms, every corridor echoing with the whispers of extortion. I have personally witnessed acts of vicious violence, grotesque greed. This city is foul, dank, dirty, miserable, swampy and decrepit. If I've left any negative adjectives out of my description, feel free to apply them here.

On the bright side, the weather is a big improvement over Columbus. As swampy as things get in D.C., it is actually sunny more than one day a year here, which improves my mood immensely.

I have a series of blogs ready for all of you who have been pining (and yes, dear cynic, there are those who have been pining). I am touched by all of you who requested a blog / demanded a blog / threatened to steal my first born if I didn't post a blog ... Such compliments! And I heartily thank you all. Additional thanks to those of you who returned to read after such a long break in action.

Enough goopy talk. I thought I'd kick things off with style. My style. Randomness, mixed with vulgarity and shaken with humor. Enjoy.



So, several people have said the following:

'When I think about you reporting in Washington, all I can picture is the movie All The President's Men.'

I just wanted to tell all of you ...

You're absolutely right. My job is exactly like the guys in All The President's Men, in every conceivable way. As a corrolary, I am exactly like Robert Redford in every conceivable way. In fact, I've been mistaken for Robert Redford on at least nine occasions since moving here, although one incident concerned an awkward mishap with a blind woman, so maybe that doesn't count. Whatever, she'll never know my autograph is fake.



Naturally, the above reference to RR is completely untrue. However, it is true that I am told -- frequently -- by perfect strangers as well as close friends and even family -- on a regular basis -- that I look like Ashton Kutcher. This is quite the compliment, as Ashton Kutcher is attractive, fairly cool and was once a male model. The most recent barage of Kutcher kompliments kame at a wedding I attended in July. Several wedding ladies said, repeatedly, that I looked like Ashton Kutcher, and even devised a dashingly clever nickname for me: Ashton Kutcher. At some point late in the evening, my friend's older brother elbowed me in the ribs, with a sardonic grin, saying, "So, I hear you look like Ashton Kutcher."

"Yeah, well, the drunker they get, the more I look like him!" I replied.



In a bar, following that same wedding:

Waitress: Ooooh, you're all dressed up. Are you celebrating something?

Sketch: Mmm ... more like mourning the loss of a friend.



Ah, making my life just a little sweeter is this news story from the Washington Post: Behind A Brazen Brazilian Burglary.

For those who can't access the article, it outlines a robbery of $67.8 million from a bank in Brazil. The thieves spent three months digging a hole through the floor of a little shack, under a busy street, then up through the vault to steal the cash. Authorities can't figure out why alarms and security cameras weren't triggered. The robbery was similar to a $1.6 million heist that took place last year.

But here are the sweet parts. First of all, the Associated Press calls the burglar of the $1.6 million heist a 'mastermind.' If the AP calls you a mastermind, you win. Also, the fact that they call it a heist is awesome. The moviemaker in me squirms with delight. Also, the man who worked next to the shack said the owner -- presumably one of the burglars, if not the mastermind of the $67 million dollar heist -- was a terrific man, and bought everyone beers from time to time.

But best of all, authorities think both robberies were headed by the same man -- a convicted bank robber who was serving 25 years in prison when he -- get this -- tunneled his way out, freeing 100 other inmates along with him.

This is just awesome. We don't seem to have these sorts of modern day fairy tales anymore. No pirates plundering ships of gold, no outlaw bandits blasting safe doors open with dynamite. Instead, we get corporate executives and accounting nerds fudging records to steal from their own employees. They take the fun out of crime, people. The head of this heist is a 'mastermind.' The head of Enron is just a dick. There's no drama, no hard work. Just ... "oops, my eraser slipped ... well let me pencil in a few more zeroes onto my salary this year ..."

Sure, the Enron guys got their little documentary. But I bet way more people would see the movie about the Brazilian bank robbery. That's because those robbers are anti-heroes. Besides, the Enron guys probably never bought anybody a beer.



So I met Elvis Costello. Shook his hand, got an autograph. He was touring with EmmyLou Harris, so the concert, while awesome, had a distinct country bend to it. But the almighty EC is one of those characters you can just point to and ask him to play any genre of music and he'll do it.

Sketch: Elvis, play me ... minstrel music.

Elvis: No problem, my man.

Ok, so that conversation never really took place, but it damn well could have.

Anyway, Elvis appeared on the stage in traditional sharp suit and tie. But when I talked to him later, he was wearing ... a cowboy hat.

I have to admit, even if I hadn't gotten an autograph, seeing an Englishman in a cowboy hat was rewarding enough.



So, the Washington Post puts out this free newspaper every day, called the Express. It basically sums up the top three Post stories, then has lots of articles on entertainment and sports. When you're Joe Student, or in my case, Joe Young Professional, and can't afford the regular Post, this paper is fantastic.

Anyway, it's very lighthearted, and one day, they reviewed a play about this young high school prodigy named Jenny who invents a robot clone of herself to perform mundane physical tasks.

That's cool. But better, by far, was the headline over the review:

Domo Arrigato,
Jenny Roboto

I burst out laughing on the subway train, receiving a lot of uncomfortable looks. Don't get me wrong, I still hate 80's music, and the Styx are no exception, but seriously, people, that's the best headline I've ever read in my entire life. It's currently the only decoration hanging over my desk.

All-time greatest benchmarks in journalism history: 1) Watergate 2) That headline.

Then my editor told me a former journalist at our publication was once an editor at the New York Post, a position which requires writing many headlines. One day, he shared some of his best headlines with people in our office. My editor remembered only one: the headline over a story about the most married man in the world -- 16 wives! -- passing away. Not a single one of his ex-'s came to his funeral. Hence, a headline to die for:

No Ex Marks The Plot



My friend's dad, in a phone call with my friend's uncle, on the Fourth of July:

'So, what are you cooking tonight? TACOS?! It's the Fourth of July! The least you could do is fix a goddam hot dog!'



So, thanks to the ingenius Johnny Depp, Hunter Thompson's final wish was granted: the bastard was shot out of a cannon 153-feet high -- taller than the statue of liberty. They loaded his ashes into tubes of FIREWORKS and shot them over his ranch in Colorado. Rolling Stone published an account of the event, along with the last note HST wrote before he died, appropriately entitled: Football Season is Over.

From now on, Aug. 20 is my new favorite holiday.



One night after I moved here, I went out with a group of people which included two gay men. They later told a mutual friend I was both sweet and cute. Hey, I take my kicks where I can get them.

So, I made this pitch to my editor: 'You know how Hunter Thompson made a name for himself covering Hell's Angels? Well, I want to do the same, only I'm going to cover PETA.'

My editor frowned, so I made another pitch for the Symbionese Liberation Army or the Weather Underground, but it turns out they all disbanded in the 70's. Pussies.



A junior high science teacher once explained to us that women in high heels put more pressure per square inch on the ground than an elephant. This is because high heels force a lot of pressure on one tiny area, whereas an elephant's foot is spread over a much larger area, thus exerting less pounds per square inch.

So now, whenever I see a woman in high heels, I'm thrilled to share this fascinating fact from my childhood, thinking that she, like me, will be enthralled with the mind-blowing concept of 'physics.'

Instead, I usually get slapped.



Leebert: I'm a son of a bitch.

Sketch: Don't talk about my girlfriend that way!



Rejoice, friends, for they have discovered the world's oldest dildo!

See, this is where modern consumerism fails. When you're a caveman and you have no resources, you get this type of compelling creativity. But we take it so much for granted that we can buy a dildo separate from our knife sharpeners.

Come on, America. We consume more of the world's resources than any other country in the world. It's time to start using our ingenuity to save some of those precious resources. In an effort to smooth this process along, I have devised a few suggestions for combos every woman can appreciate, complete with advertising slogan:

The dildo / flashlight! Finally, it can see where it's going ...

The dildo / toothbrush! Freshens while you screw!

The dildo / hand blender! Just don't insert the wrong end ...

The dildo / waffle iron! It's always time for breakfast in bed!

The dildo / change purse! So you can keep your loose change in your loose ... nevermind!


Feel free to leave any further suggestions in the 'comments' below! My goal is for the comments to be as filthy as the blogs themselves.



One of my friends made this joke, and I'm terribly sorry I don't remember who you are, but I'm repeating it here because it's so funny, so take heart:

Friend: Ah, D.C. Imagine, 200 years ago, our forefathers looked across that land, and said to themselves, 'Just think! Someday this swamp ... could be a beautiful ghetto.'

So outside the building I work in is a poster advertisement for the navy. The navy has a new ship reffered to as the Littoral Combat Ship -- littoral meaning, "Of or on a seashore," according to dictionary.com.

SO the poster cleverly shows a picture of the boat, with the slogan, 'This is what Littoral Dominance looks like.'

But, some witty vandal one-upped the navy, spray painting the letter 'c' onto the poster, so that it now reads:

"This is what CLittoral Dominance looks like."

Complete with picture of a battleship.

I must admit, my day is made before I even start work.



I really should stop mocking conservatives. In America, it's impolite to mock the mentally retarded.



Interested party: Are you an optimist, or a pessimist?

Sketch: I'm a realist.

Interested party: Well, I mean, do you see the glass as half full, or half empty?

Sketch: It's half a fucking glass of beer. Drink it.



So I'm going to take a cue from our president's press conferences and call everyone who doesn't agree with me a Freedom Hater in a fierce whisper.

What? You don't like Muppet Show? Is that because ... you're a freedom hater? (LEE!)

How's that? You think the Beatles are overrated? That's the talk of a freedom hater.

Ho ho! You think global climate change doesn't occur, despite approximately GOBS of scientific data to the contrary? It must mean ... you're a freedom hater!



D.C. is much like Hollywood, only in Washington, everyone wears the same costume: the power suit. Most of the time, such people are all fun and games for me. But being a realist in a city of delusional people poses it's problems. For example, once in awhile I find someone who wants to defend this sham of a city, as if it serves some greater purpose than diverting terrorist threats from far superior cities, such as Columbia, Missouri.

In fact, it's worth checking out the link -- they actually list 'storm water management' and 'sidewalks' as amenities. Which goes a long way toward proving my point. Whenever someone defends D.C., they never say something like, 'This has been the center of government for the most powerful nation on earth for over 200 years. Look at the undeniably rich history! The grandiose architecture! The parasites masquerading as lobbyists!'

Instead, they say, 'Well, we've got ... sidewalks!'

Whoopty shit.

Actually, the arguments come more along the lines of, 'We've got nightlife.'

Hmmm, that is true. Unlike those other imposter cities, like New York, Boston, Miami, Chicago, L.A., Las Vegas, Seattle ... Indeed. D.C. certainly has all of them beat, what with its 'young professional restaurant scene' and its 'young professional dive bar scene.'

Noting that I could participate in a bar scene without having to fear for my life in other cities, D.C. Defenders say, with triumph, 'Well, there's violence everywhere!'

Well, not really. For example, D.C. has a higher murder rate than Detroit, New York, L.A., Miami, Chicago, Seattle and Vegas.

D.C. has a higher rate of all forms of violent crime (murder, rape, robbery and aggravated assault) than New York, Chicago, Seattle, and Vegas. Likewise, D.C. is higher than L.A. in all forms of violent crime with the exception of aggravated assault -- the two cities are tied. Congratulations, D.C.

D.C. also the highest rate of AIDS in the country. Even the simple pleasures in life can kill you here.

And of course, those stats just cover the U.S. I've walked the foul streets of San Jose alone at night, and felt perfectly safe, despite a few rather humorous encounters with a drug dealer and a hooker. How easy it is to forget cities such as London, Rome, Athens, Sydney, Tokyo ... all cities with lower violent crime rates than D.C.

Anyway, I guess, in the end, D.C. isn't so bad after all.

Wait, yes it is. It's a terrible place. But as I've said before, the weather's nice, and the ability to mingle with and mock the men in their corporate suits is bound to give me ample fodder for future blogs. Anything for a laugh, right?

Thanks again to everyone for reading!


Peace and love,

Sketch E.