Brad Kanus

Uber is great – Uber Hijackers are not

I love Uber, that’s no secret.  I have a long standing inebriated relationship with the coolest car company in the world.  They are one of the few companies that keep me saying “I like the hitch in your giddy up” time after time.  Just kidding – I would never say “I like the hitch in your giddy up” because I have a full set of teeth.  However, I’m not kidding about my love for Uber.  Unfortunately, there are people out there trying to bring Uber down and this is a story about them.  

It was just last Sunday night that I arrived to Reagan National from Birmingham Paris at around 9:00 PM.  I waited for my bags rare paintings to emerge from the carousel of impatience and disappointment and mashed the “set pickup location” on the Uber app as soon as I had eyes on them.  I headed to the door. 

Outside I reaffirmed my good decision to use Uber when I noticed that the cab lines were impossibly long.  I don’t know why the cab longs suck so terribly, but it may be because people being asked “DC or Virginia?” stare at the guy like it’s the hardest question they’ve ever been asked.  It proves there’s an intelligence gap between cab users and Uber users.  If you’re in a bar trivia league – grab the guy who showed up in a black car.  

Kwame, my Uber driver, rang me as I made it to the island of anxious anticipation where people with loving friends and family are retrieved.  I told Kwame that I was at door eight and what I looked like all the way down to the distinct burnt orange Longhorn hat I was wearing.  Kwame told me he’d have his emergency flashers going and to wave him down just in case.  Everything seemed perfect as I watched his little car make its way cartoonishly past Terminal A on the Uber app. 

Soon I saw a black Town Car with its emergency flashers on  approaching  and I was confident I would be home in time to be turned down for sex by an exhausted, underappreciated Janis Kanus (her description of herself, not mine – exhausted people don’t watch Project Runway until midnight while chatting with their sister on the phone... in my opinion).  Then everything went to hell. 

At about door four Kwame ducked into the lane near the curb and appeared to pick up someone.  Seconds later my little Uber screen went from white to purple meaning the meter, so to speak, was running and I was paying for it.  I was pissed and called Kwame to ask him how my ride was.  Kwame was confused and I explained to him in the calm collected voice of a Marine Drill Sergeant who just caught Private Pyle leaving an upper decker in the latrine that my ride was not going well because I was not the asshole thief sitting in his back seat.  Kwame hung up on me and probably had a good laugh with the two shitheads enjoying my Uber scholarship.  Well, I canceled the trip before he got out of the airport and was charged $25 for canceling.  I do not know if things were so cheery after Kwame and his new friends came to the realization that Uncle Brad was no longer picking up the tab on their little joyride. 

I dialed up another car and Blaize in a Chevy Suburban rumbled up a short time later.  Now, Blaize was awesome and his Suburban was too.  Town Cars are pimp for pulling up to your dilapidated mud hut in Clarendon, but a Suburban is better.  Ask a four year-old boy and he’ll pick the truck over the car every time – and we know four year-olds have impeccable taste in luxury transportation. 

I didn’t have time to chit chat with Blaize because I had to get an email off to Alex over at Uber (@Uber_DC in the twitosphere) and my hands were shaking with so much anger I could barely type.  At this point I had even lost the desire to be turned down for sex by Janis Kanus – shit was real.  I was nice and didn’t blame Alex – it wasn’t his fault.  It was an FYI with the hopes he’d get me my money back and have Kwame sent to a never ending toddler princess tea party in room lined with tile.  

The good news is that I got my money back with an apology from Uber.  They are awesome like that.  Kwame, from what I understand, was not sent to a princess party. No solution in life is perfect, I guess.

Here’s the scam as it was played on me and likely a ton of other people who are way too drunk to know what’s going on. 

Every time you get in an Uber car there’s a little process.  He stops, you open the door and he says “Brad?”  It’s crazy, but they ask everyone if they’re name is Brad.  I love it.  Just kidding.  They identify you so that they know they have the right person.  The only problem with that – they’re opening themselves up to be tricked.  

The only thing an Uber driver knows is that you’re a little blue pin waiting for them on a map and your name.  Last year during the clusterfuck they call “after a Nats game” I saw a way to be a dick and steal someone’s Uber.  All up and down the street were people waiting for cars.  I had three little chickadees I picked up at the game and was attempting to send them on to my single homies waiting at Cap Lounge.  Black cars kept pulling up and I’d open the door and they’d say “Fred?”  I’d say “Nope” and close the door.  What was keeping me from just saying “yep” and getting in and being on my way?  I’m an asshole, but I’m not a criminal.  

Unfortunately there are a lot of assholes who are also criminals in DC and I think Uber Hijacking happens way more often than is known.  I chatted with my other Uber friends and they each had “a-ha” moments from drunken nights where their car never showed up and the screen turned purple and they eventually canceled thinking the driver bugged out.   The multiple emails and texts from Uber can all run together and some of the upper income folks don’t really notice $25 or $30 extra bucks missing after a night of heavy drinking.  

One friend told me exactly how the airport scam works – the hijackers stand down by door 1 and just wave down Uber cars as they come by and jump in agreeing that they are whoever the driver implies they are.  Once they are on the way into DC, the car with the asshole thieves will be out of the airport with nowhere to pull over (no man’s land on the parkway if you can picture it).  If the ride is canceled and the driver sees there is a problem, he has to drive them all the way to Roslyn or DC to let them out.  It’s a free ride to a cheaper ride in the city and it’s criminally brilliant.  It’s also a dick move.  Pelase stop doing it or you'll ruin Uber for everyone else.  

Ride on people, ride on.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Washington City Paper’s "Best of DC" – Not Really the "Best"

First of all - if it's a vote on the matter, the winner isn't the "best," it's the most "popular."  You are the "best" when you compete for your spot. You are "popular" when you are well liked by many.  Sorry to be a dick about that, but it has always irked me.  

So... I’m not saying that I know that the City Paper’s  “Best of DC” is rigged to reward advertisers or to flatter certain businesses into advertising with them.  What I am saying is that it’s likely.  I’m saying that because I do have some carnal knowledge of the “Best of” movement in America. 

First off, the rigging of the results…  These things are always supposed to be the results of a “vote of the people.”  In many categories, that’s probably true.  I don’t think Chipotle gives enough of a shit about the “Best Chipotle” category to buy a victory for one location over another.   Same thing goes for the  “Best Go Go Band” category.  Those contests are won by good ol’ fashioned social media promotion – something we’ll talk more about in a second. 

Having been close to three of these “Best of” contests in other cities, I can tell you that some categories aren’t decided by the voters.   A bar does not spend tens of thousands of dollars advertising with a weekly arts and entertainment magazine only to have them name a bar that doesn’t advertise with them the “Best Bar.”  That’s a bad way to please an advertiser.  So, you know and I know that in at least a few categories the City Paper likely went with their prized advertiser over the vote of the public.  You can’t blame them for doing it even though they’ll lie and say they didn’t.  Again, I’ve been on the inside and I know how these things work – or don’t.

The second thing about these contests that make them suspect is the way in which voters are gathered to vote.  In a perfect world people would be inspired to vote in the contest via telepathic waves of encouragement from the editorial staff at the Washington City Paper.  In reality it’s a contest of which business can browbeat the greatest number of their friends, relatives and customers into going to the ballot and picking them.   Social media networks and email lists are much more important to winning in these contests than whatever actual service or product the business provides. 

Knowing that all of this likely bullshit, let’s wade through my picks of their picks…

Best Restaurant:  Sushi Taro – Never heard of it.

Best Asian Restaurant: Pho 14 – Personally I think Pho 15 is just a smidge better and Pho 13 just a tad less tasty.  Glad we are following that “Asians all look the same” mantra with “all Asian foods are the same” attitude. 

Best Bagel: Bethesda Bagel – It’s a bagel… it does not belong in competition with other bagels.  It’s like having a contest to see who can walk the fastest.  Bagels are eaten by people who want a doughnut, but have the self control not to order one. 

Best Bakery: Sticky Fingers – I’m indifferent on baked goods, but the name of the place would better suit a popsicle stand. 

Best Bar: Boundary Stone Public House – Is this the best bar in DC or the place with the most over the top trendy name?  Great place to drink expensive bitter tasting beer and admire aged barn wood and strategically exposed brick walls.

Best BBQ: Rocklands – It’s DC so it’s not really BBQ, it’s some over-priced poor imitation of the real thing.  We’re talking an Asian Elvis impersonator here. 

Best Burger:  Five Guys – Now we know this whole thing is full of shit.  Five Guys isn’t the best burger in DC or anywhere.  Its existence can be traced to the fact that the DC area just doesn’t have anything like it.  Most cities have four or five competing chains that resemble the makeup of Five Guys.  However, those places actually have good burgers.  Case in point - you never hear of someone running out to a cab at Reagan and demand to be taken to the nearest Five Guys.  This happens with In-N-Out burger and other truly iconic burger joints all the time.   If you ran out of Reagan and demanded to be taken to Five Guys the cabby would simply ask “why?”  And that’s why this is bullshit.  DC has a bad burger culture. This will not change.

Best Charcuterie: Stachowski Market & Deli – We’re on minute 14 of Charcuterie’s popularity, so I could care less.  All I know is that whoever is buying this crap is getting ripped off. 

Best Cocktail Selection: The Passenger – Cocktails are for people who don’t drink very often.   Basically this contest was like cat owners judging a dog show. 

Best Coffee Shop: Peregrine Espresso – Same coffee scam, different feel. 

Best Contemporary American Restaurant: Founding Farmers – This whole “farm,” and “farmers” thing is getting a little old, but I’ll play along for one more year before I get hostile to the lie they are pedaling.

Best Craft Beer Selection: ChurchKey – This is the beer drinking assholes category and you had no doubt who would win.   Having a lot of something does not make it better. 

Best Culinary Event: Turkish Restaurant Week – Sure… whatever you say.  I’m willing to bet I’ll find a unicorn in DC before I find a Turkish restaurant and I can bet the unicorn will taste better.

Best Dish: Palak chaat at Rasika -  Now they’re just making shit up.  I don’t know that is, but I’m almost certain Ben’s Chili Dogs weren’t invited to the competition. 

Best Dive Bar: The Raven Grill – Rule #1 for dive bars = they don’t win popularity awards in magazines.  Stupid wins again.

Best Downtown Lunch:  Founding Farmers – No. 

Best Food Blog:  Eater DC – Never been.  Bitches Who Brunch seem to be much more popular. 

Best Food Truck: Rito Loco – I don’t work in construction, so I don’t buy my food from a truck.  I’ll let you know if things change.

Best Gluten-Free Menu: Everlasting Life Café – Why not have a real category for a made up food allergy?

Best Gourmet Pizza: 2Amys – As far as snooty pizza goes, you can’t beat2Amys.  Again – as snooty pizza goes.  Two words on all other pizza – Italian Store.

Best Hangover Breakfast: The Diner – Hardly.

Best Happy Hour: DC Reynolds – Never heard of it.

Best Hookah Lounge: Chi-Cha Lounge – The best place to get mouth herpes participating in the last acceptable form of smoking.  How proud they must be.

Best Irish Pub: Fado – I’m assuming nobody asked the Irish about their thoughts on this. 

Best Italian Restaurant: Dino – Maybe next year, Pines of Florence.

Best Kid-Friendly Restaurant:  Ted’s Bulletin – Gentlemen, this is where you take your girlfriend to get her to shut up about marriage and kids. 

Best Late Night East: The Diner – I’m noticing a trend, are you?

Best Local Brewery: DC Brau – Shocker given the half page DC Brau ad running adjacent to the announcement. 

Best Margarita: Lauriol Plaza – It’s not necessarily that they have good margaritas; it’s just the only place people have them the one nice day a year they sit outside at the popular restaurant.  The whole thing is obligatory. 

Best Guacamole: Rosa Mexciano – This is funny because the City Paper’s verbatim on this is that it’s better because “they make it right at your table” – that’s not a testament to how good it is, but where it’s prepared instead.  These idiots should take the table side prep and be aware of just how easy guacamole is to make and exactly how much they are being ripped off while they watch a dude mash an avocado together with some onions, tomatoes and salt. 

Best Restaurant When Someone Else Pays: Komi – Now everyone will know you are trying to f*ck them over when you suggest Komi.  BLT thanks you for this.

I was giong to comment more, but we're way too many words into this already, so I'll let you add your disgust below. 

 

 

 

 

 

Politico - I'm going to delete you!

Politico App – stop sending me useless alerts

I like Politico.  I like them so much I downloaded their app to my phone.  I’m about to delete it.  Here’s why.

There a lot of things I hate about the iPhone. What I hate most are those stupid little red circles with numbers in them that sit on the upper right-hand side of apps.  It’s a little wife-like thing that’s saying “you’ve got shit do, get over here and do it.”  A select few apps with that little red number showing deliver some kind of good news.  Most of them require you to do something and a good portion of them want you to enter a password, which is like replacing a spent toilet paper roll – just way too much work.

With news apps like Politico you have to leave the little indicator on because they signal breaking news.  I know you can turn it off, but it’s news and I don’t want to miss important things.  I need to stress *important* things.  Much of the time Politico does not back those little annoying red numbers up with important news! 

I do not care if the entire senate just released a Harlem Shake video.  I could care less what bill is on the floor in the house at the moment.  I only care about important people dying.  Add annoying celebrities to that as well. 

What I’m saying here is that Politico needs to have a tiered alert system for breaking news.  I would pick the one that only reports the deaths of sitting members of congress, presidents (current or former) and Lindsay Lohan.  And… well… that’s it.  

Repost - DC shirtless guy in February

I wrote this last year when DC had an abnormally warm late winter.  It applies to abnormally cold spring as well. 

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If you're an observer of DC outdoor life like I am, you'll know that there are certain weather conditions that seem to bring out the occasional joggers.  Today the temperature is supposed to top 65 degrees and that qualifies as a "certain weather condition" as mentioned above. 

You've probably noticed that anytime the temperature is between 65 and 85 degrees (Fahrenheit) half the city turns into Prefontaine (if you get that reference I both adore and pity you).  Everybody is a runner when the weather isn't too cold or too hot.  It's rather lame to base your dedication to cardiovascular health on the weather, but that seems to be the trend here in DC. 

Inevitably today's weather will inspire hoards of undersexed jackasses to head out to a sidewalk near you to run shirtless in 60 degree weather.  Bare chested men will gallivant down the street hoping you will notice their milky white, rock hard (you would hope) bodies.  They think you're fixated on their underwear model-like physique as they glide by and you stare at them.  Little do they know you're actually thinking "Why the f*ck is that guy running shirtless in 60 degree weather?  Douche bag." 

Other men shouldn't be shirtless in any weather, but feel the need to be free and are unfortunately at peace with their hairy blubbery bodies.  These men will ruin your lunch as they jiggle on by forcing you to be calorie conscious against your will.  In severe cases these hairy hippos may render a woman unable to have sex for days, possibly weeks, due to the horrifying image burned into their short and medium term memory.  The ramifications of their shirtless actions are much more severe than the perpetrators ever seem to know or understand.

Do us all a favor and say to any jackass running shirtless today "Hey asshole, it's 60 degrees out - put a shirt on."  Or you could just laugh, point and make a mental note to watch out for them on match.com. 

It's Spring in DC - Jeep Douche Advice

There's no greater place in the world to see people flip the seasonal switch than in DC.  We don't have the harshest winters or the worst summers, but we do have the most devoted fans to the subtle weather changes we do get.  The only problem is that we go a little overboard.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I was once the kind of person I’m going to describe below, so don’t get all whiney.  This hurts me as much as it’s going to hurt some of you.

My wife sent me a text today reading, “the nice weather welcomes people to roll their windows down and express themselves musically - ps. the dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.” The dish thing isn’t our topic here, but it’s bullshit because I leave them in the sink all the time and somehow they get back into the cabinets without my help. Sometimes it takes a few days, but it happens. 

My wife does have a point – the weather gets nice and people roll down their windows and decide whatever they’re listening to is what you should be listening to as well.   You learn about people this way.  As we noted on Sunday afternoon in Clarendon (where way too many dudes were running with their shirts off and it was barely 70) white males between 25 and 32 driving BMWs like to blast rap as if what Jay-Z says is directly speaking to their soul.  Of course, it may not have been Jay-Z, but I wouldn’t know because I stopped listening to rap in the seventh grade (like all of you should have). 

By far the worst offenders were the douche bags in Jeeps.  Not just any Jeep, we’re talking the Jeep Wranglers that have exploded in popularity since they now offer more amenities than the traditional no heater, no air conditioner and single speaker AM stereo system from back in the day.   The tops are easier to remove and replace so they make good winter (4wd) and summer (top down) vehicles – hence the popularity here.

Now, I’m not down on Jeep owners.  I had a Jeep for years when I moved up here.  My family and I are huge Jeep people who modify them to crawl around on rocks and generally rip shit up.  I love me some Jeep.  However, I can’t speak for other Jeep owners – they can be assholes and this nice weather has them popping up everywhere.

First of all, anyone who has ridden in a Jeep with the top down knows that it gets pretty cool with the wind rushing through the open cockpit.  When it’s 70 outside, it’s 60-65 degrees in the Jeep when it’s on the move.  You look a little silly sitting in your jeep in shorts and a tank top with goose bumps all over your arms.  People don’t wish to be you, or to ride with you when it’s the cold out.  They wish you had worn a jacket or kept your top up because it’s obviously not warm enough for Barbie Beach Jeep weather.  Riding around in 30 degree weather with the top off and a parka on = badass.  Riding around in 65 degree weather with the top off in flops and shorts = dumbass. 

Second, know how to properly roll your top back if you have a soft top.  Nothing looks worse than a mess of faux canvas awkwardly bunched up and sticking up too high behind the rear seat.  It’s made to nicely fold back into place so that it appears nice and neat.  You look like an idiot when you don’t know how to use your Jeep.  Also, it’s a commitment to run with your top down, so don’t be a pansy and pack what you took off in the back seat in case it rains.  You’ll look more like an idiot trying to put your top back on in front of crowd than you will simply sliding your seat forward or carrying some towels.  Worst case – pull into a parking garage or under a bridge.  Most importantly – watch the weather forecast.  Don’t take your top off it’s going to rain for the next three days. 

Third, be aware that the entire world can hear what you are saying or listening to because you fail to adjust your volume when you stop at a light.  I learned this the hard way – many times over.   Things get pretty loud in a Jeep with not top on it even at only speeds of 20 MPH.  You tend to speak louder to compensate if you have friends with you and are likely to turn up the radio as well.  When you come to a stop at stoplight, it often doesn’t register to you that your voice, or your radio volume, is still cranked up to a level you can comfortably hear while moving.  This can be quite embarrassing.

True story – many times over…  So whenever I was out cruising around in my Jeep sans doors and top I’d have the radio up pretty loud.  Oh, and since even with my soft top on it was pretty noisy and I’m a douche by nature, I had a pretty good sound system installed.  For some reason “Little Red Corvette” by Prince (like I had to tell you how sang that) would come on whenever I was somewhere with lots of stoplights (Wilson Blvd, Constitution, Connecticut come to mind).  As my wife will tell you (while rolling her eyes), I love “Little Red Corvette.”  However, I didn’t really want the world to know that without really knowing me first.  I theorize that my addiction to Prince is somehow more palatable if I get to explain why a guy like me loves a midget like that. 

As you can imagine, on more than one occasion (try 20) I slowed to a stop at a light next to a car full of hotties (who writes “hotties?” I *am* a douche) and blaring at concert level was:

“But it was Saturday night I guess that makes it all right And you say, "Baby, have you got enough gas?" Oh yeah.” 

Or worse, for those of you intimately familiar with the song and its non-radio version:

“Girl, you got an ass like I never seen, And the ride... I say the ride is so smooth, You must be a limousine!”

There is no way to recover from that.  The girls are giggling and the only thing I could ever think to do was turn down volume and say to them “holy shit! My girlfriend must have fallen out – you wanna take her place?”  I shit you not – this never worked once… not even close.  I know, I’m as surprised as you are. 

The other situation was talking too loud with top down and having some chick’s body builder Ninja Navy Seal boyfriend reach into the back of your Jeep and start whacking your buddy with his cinderblock like fist because he announced to the world exactly why he would spank her and for how long he intended to do it.  You can crank up “Little Red Corvette” as loud as you want, but it won’t stop some meathead with elbow muscles from raging on your friend with a daddy fetish. 

Your own rage at other drivers can also be heard by everyone if you’re not paying attention.  Most of the time when you scream at the idiot who cut you off, your windows are up.  Nobody can hear you; they can only see you essentially mouthing words.  As far as you are concerned, and they’re concerned, you’re saying the most awesomely humiliating thing about them and their driving skills, or lack thereof, ever said.  Nobody really knows because nobody can actually hear what you are saying and you’re so mad, you’re not sure what you even said (but you know it was good). 

The reality in an open to Jeep is that you pull up to that asshole who cut you off and say “YOU F*CKING SON OF SHIT BURGER ASSHOLE FACE!”  All of sudden people waiting to cross the street are pointing and saying “did that guy with Prince blaring on the stereo just call that guy’s mom a shit burger asshole face?” It is then that you know that you have achieved nothing – possibly in your entire life. 

So that’s Jeep douche bags, that’s what I have for you.  Don’t keep on doing what you’re doing for the sake of your virginity that we all know you likely still have. 

 

The many different ways Nats fans interpret a weather forecast

Jesus Herbert Christ (you always wondered what the "H" stood for, right?)...   this was going to be a very funny post on Monday night when I started writing it in my head, but three days of newborn crying has erased the whole thing. 

So here's the deal, it was opening day at Nats stadium and at some point prior to the game there were forecasts for a high in the mid 60s (Fahrenheit is what we deal with here in 'Merica) and partly cloudy.  That all changed the day of the game - high 50s with maybe wind and rain.  People at the stadium for the game got neither of those forecasts... or they didn't get them right. 

Some people were in winter parkas like they were about to assault the south side of of Mount Everest.  Hat, gloves and snow boots were their response to mid 50s with some light rain.  

Some people were in tank tops, shorts and flops.  This attire was not appropriate for even the most favorable forecast for the game from the previous week.  The best possible forecast in the previous seven days had the high at 68, which is 20 degrees away from the acceptable temperature for such attire.  It should be noted that all of the people sporting this poor choice of outfits were shitfaced at the game.  

The proper play here was jeans, tennis shoes and a water resistant windbreaker.  My buddy Alex had it as close to perfect as anyone in the stadium could have had it.  In fact, he enjoyed the game while the Eskimos marveled at the grass and the beach bums snapped open beers on their rock hard nipples. It was beautiful. 

Actually, it wasn't.  The stadium staff isn't used to having a full house and lines everywhere were impossibly long.  I'm not sure how these people got drunk at all.  We saw the beer guy twice and it took a few minutes for my collateral to be cleared by the bank in order to get a loan to buy a beer.  I was way too sober for a two run ball game that lasted like one hour.  

You ever notice the Circa by Georgetown is full of assholes?

Love the Gays - Or at least stop hating them so much

Rock Hudson kissed more beautiful women at work fifty years ago than I’ll ever kiss in my lifetime either on the clock or off.  The sad part is that Hudson probably didn’t enjoy it one bit as much as I would have.  Why?  Because Rock Hudson was a gay homosexual.  We know that now, but it was a secret the movie viewing public was never let in on back then.  Why?  Because 50 years ago people in American were pretty down on homosexuality, to put it nicely. 

My, how times have changed.  You can’t flip on the TV without seeing a primetime show that features at least one gay character and many have multiple homosexual characters.  Gay in front of the camera, or behind it, does not matter a bit to the vast majority of Americans these days.  It’s apparent that my generation doesn’t have a problem with the gays.  In fact, gay is in.  Gay is popular.  Gay is more than okay – it’s celebrated.  And this is precisely why the Republican Party, has to join the rest of the country in embracing the gayness. 

I know what some of you are dying to ask me right now - “why should we give into the gays since they are such a small part of the population?”  That’s a good question, I’m glad you asked.

If you believe Gallup, 3.4 percent of the adult population in the United States calls them self some version of gay.   If you know your demographics you’ll know that there are roughly 312,000,000 people in the U.S. and about 75 percent of them are above the age of 15.  So, the adult population of the U.S. is roughly 234,000,000 and of them around 8,000,000 are gay.  Wow, all of sudden that 3.4 percent number doesn’t seem that small, does it? In an election where about 400,000 votes in three key states are what kept Romney from winning the Electoral College, that number is huge.  If we had won half of them we would have cruised to victory. 

The bigger number we can’t compute is how many Americans out there are so sympathetic to the cause of gay rights that they won’t even consider voting for a Republican because of our stance on the issue.  Exit polls may have shown that Americans cared more about the “economy” than “gay marriage” in the last election, but that doesn’t mean their feelings about the latter didn’t take precedence when deciding who’s best at dealing with the former. 

What I’m saying here is that the Republican Party’s stance on gay marriage is keeping them from talking to people about their biggest concern – the economy.  These people may love what we have to say about fixing the economy.  However, they’re not even going to give us a minute to explain our solution as long as they think we’re against gay marriage.  Is it rational for them to be that way? Maybe… maybe not.  That doesn’t change the fact that we Republicans are losing voters over an issue that’s already been decided in the public’s mind.  We’re simply on the wrong side of history here.

We’re losing the argument on conservative fiscal values and a smaller government as well as the argument on gay marriage.  Why don’t we shed the one that is proven to be wildly unpopular with what is becoming the bulk of the voting population out there (my generation)?  I don’t know about you, but gays getting married is not at all important in comparison to sound fiscal policy and a limited government.  I’d let people marry stuffed animals if it meant we could implement our plan for smaller government and less spending. 

We have to stop worrying about the horse that has long left the barn.  To put it into context, as I stated above, it doesn’t really matter if Republicans don’t want to let go of this issue now.  When my generation takes over we will remove it from the platform.  Leaving it in will only make it harder for us in the future, but we will eventually overcome it.  It’s best to start now.

I suggest Republicans do one of two things over the next year.  They can solve the problem with federal legislation letting gays get married.  Or, they can simply say that the issue should be left up to the states to decided and that they will not stand in the way not matter what they choose.  Doing either will take the “you hate gays” excuse for not listening to our solutions off of the table.  It will require critics to search further, think harder and be more thoughtful in their criticism of our ideals. 

That is all – have a fabulous day. 

Rules for Washington Tourists

Here's something I wrote for FamousDC a while back.  It's in honor of all the spring breakers out there screwing up our commute!

 

http://famousdc.com/2011/04/20/rules-for-washington-tourists-3/

Born in DC - What it's like to be my 5 day-old son in the Nation's Capital

We had a little father son talk after five days of life and here's what he had to say:

Stand right, walk left. 

He's over the Cherry Blossoms. 

It's a cross walk, not a contest to see who can walk the slowest. 

Wants to ban tour buses.  At least tax them heavily.

He's tired of hearing "so you're actually from DC?"

He's pretty sure your neighborhood isn't in transition - and will never be. 

Ben's is all it's hyped up to be and more.  

Hotel Washington (The W in the parlance of our times) - great view, weird crowd.  

Has no idea which color tap represents what flavor of DC Brau

Is not completely confident Snyder won't f*ck this up. 

That's not the Hawk 'n' Dove he knows and loves.

Why do rich people live near metro stops and drive to work?

As my wife is known to do sometimes, she's shopping for houses we can't afford this week.  About every three months or so she starts looking around at realtor.com and gets herself all worked up like a person imagining how they'd spend their lottery winnings if they actually won.  Instead of being critical of the exercise, I actually try to learn something from it.  Here's what I have learned.

Rich people who can afford cars and parking downtown like to buy houses near metro stops they will never use.

You'd be lucky to find a house in the Court House to Ballston corridor that is less than $700,000 with the average being somewhere around $1 million.  Do you think someone who can afford a $200,000 down payment for a house takes the metro to work?  They don't.  

I know that there are some high rent pockets away from the metro lines, but they don't bother me.  They don't take up valuable space within walking distance of mass transit.  I do not begrudge them their wealth because I don't have to walk by it in the rain on the way to the metro every morning.  

Do you know how nauseating it is to watch some single dude with a giant house a block from the metro roll his Porsche out of the garage every morning so he can drive one mile to work downtown.  It's pretty demoralizing.  However, I'd do the same if I could... we all would.

I think the next time I read a million dollar listing that says "just steps from the metro" I'm going to call and give the realtor a little shit about it.   They should have to put "ha ha" in parenthesis after that claim in the listings as a matter of law.  Or maybe they just up that in there as a means of full disclosure.  They're being honest and warning potential buyers that poor people are going to trudge past on their way to the metro and it's a little annoying to have to watch. 

Blast from the past - I was almost Catholic once

I wrote this way back in 2005 when my wife was encouraging me to join the Catholic faith so we could have a full mass for our wedding.  I'm going to spoil the surprise - we did not have a full mass.   Enjoy...

-----------------

So I started my official classes to become Catholic last night.   I was excited as hell to say the least.  It was a spiritual journey through which I’m sure lots of people have been tortured with in times of war.  I will recount to you my experience in order to better prepare you for your journey into Catholicism some day.

My fiancée Janis and I made our way down to the basement of the Catholic Charities building a few minutes before 6:30.  Upon entering the room of about 8 individuals I happily exclaimed “If knew it was costume night, I’d have come dressed up! How neat!”   Bad news, it wasn’t costume night. These people apparently look like this all the time. Strike one.

There was a crock pot with what looks like beaver vomit in it, two plates covered with cloth napkins and a pitcher of water sitting right next to the door.  We immediately get swarmed by those who had come early to talk about the bible and swap stories about who they met on the Christian’s Singles webpage the night before.   I was immediately and acutely aware that Janis and I were the most sexually experienced people in the room… in fact most 6^th graders could have held that title safely in this crowd.

We are informed that these people are "sponsors."  These people are there to answer questions on the Catholic faith or questions on how to become the totally creepy cat lady with a smelly apartment.   Literally two of the women were wearing warm-ups, bedazzled sweatshirt tops, socks with little bears on them and sandals – Janis cried for them. 

There were at least four of the women who had not cut nor brushed their hair in months.  Facial hair was plentiful among men and women in the group and looked to be strongly encouraged on and around facial moles.   It appears that I signed up for Catholic special ed… great I’m learning about God with the short bus seven and my fiancée.  

WE ARE FORCED TO SIT IN THE VERY FRONT… ALONE. 

The teacher is an undersexed woman of about 35.  If there was a national ranking for public speakers she’d be right around where Bobcat Goldwaite is ranked.  After a short, but annoying, intro she indicates there will be singing.   The spook crew in the back breaks into a childish hand raising contest to see who gets to lead the damn song like it’s American Idol for cat ladies. 

I’m screwed at this point because in church I don’t sing, I pretend to sign the words to the song so people think I’m participating the only way I can.  That shit isn’t going to fly here because I have a feeling these losers definitely know sign language.  The words aren’t even on a sheet of music so you can see how long you’re supposed to draw them out.  My only option is to try.  Thank God we picked one of the guy’s favorite songs because he sang loud enough to cover the fact that I was barely humming. 

When the singing was over, we followed along with her monotonous droning in our binders.  We have binders with diagrams… I don’t need a Jesus flowchart, but I was given one anyway. I get where I fit in. I’m the guy who writes the checks in the process. 

We talk about how God gives us the opportunity to do nice things each day and it’s our responsibility to be aware of that and do those nice things.  She uses an example of being in line at a bakery where there is one biscuit left and instead of buying it for yourself, you let the person behind you have it so that you win favor with God.  I raise my hand, Janis jerks my arm down.  We are seven inches from the podium so the virgin with the mic notices and calls on me.  

Janis whispers “shut the f’ck up!”  

 The virgin says “oh my,” and Janis quickly follows with “that’s what Jesus doesn’t want you to say.” 

I ask the woman why God didn’t tell the person behind me in line to let me have the biscuit instead of the other way around?  She told me that in this case God has chosen just me to grace others in this situation.   I thought that was bullshit so I followed up with the question “what if that bagel had been there for days because God had told everybody to let the next person have it and everybody that came up there didn’t order anything because they were being nice and the baker had to go out of business because nobody wanted the last biscuit and so his daughter had to leave school because he couldn’t pay her tuition and now she’s a hooker downtown with rap sheet longer than the neck of the Giraffe on Noah’s ark?” She said “shut the f’ck up Brad!”  I did.  The cat ladies were pissed. 

About this time the Monsignor came in.  He was this really tan dude wearing the collar thingy and had like five gold bracelets on and talked like he was from Jersey – I loved him.  If anybody was having straight sex with people of age it was this dude.  He wasn’t your normal Catholic priest, he was cool.  All the cat ladies secretly hoped his profile would someday show up on the Christian Singles website. 

The Monsignor's arrival signaled a change in the tune of the lecture.  All of a sudden our teacher was merely babbling in an effort to impress Guido the Priest   Guido the Priest was wearing a belt with a pager and a Nextel radio phone attached to it.  Apparently the direct connection to God isn't through Cingular or Verizon, it's Nextel.   I fully expected the Monsignor to radio for some Catholic backup once the head cat woman started putting him to sleep.

Finally she stopped and indicated that it was time for us to break up into focus groups and go over what we have discussed… strike two.   Before we were forced into conversation with the short bus seven the beaver vomit had to be blessed.  Monsignor did a little ditty over the crock pot and WHAM! The food still sucked.   

Janis and I plead "strict diet" when asked if we wanted some grub.  Of course the cat lady says "what is on your diet?"    Without even missing a beat I said "fly larva in chicken broth sure the hell isn't and I don't care what priest gives it Christ's blessing."  Captain cat lady was not amused and neither was Janis so I said "just kidding, I'd love some."   I spent the next 20 minutes shoving spoonfuls of beaver vomit into my mouth and chasing it with water. 

As I was trying to swallow the foul crock pot creation as punishment, the lady quizzed me on why I thought God had delivered me to this class.   All I could think about was how the other people in their groups were shoveling this drivel into their mouth like it was ice cream. I told her that God didn't like me and that's why I was here watching the short bus seven fight over food on a Tuesday night in the basement of a church.   This was apparently the last straw for the blessed virgin bible study teacher and we were asked to leave.  I think she actually said "get out of here you little f'ckers", which was my cue that she was serious.  

It was kind of awkward leaving because everybody was staring at us and the Monsignor asked for Janis' number.  For grins I blew out the candle on the table with the bible and ornate cloth on it and made a wish – I couldn't get Janis to start "Happy Birthday", so I had to go it alone.   Once I was at the door I yelled "get a life!" and ran like hell.  Half way up the stairs I realized I forgot my jacket so I went back down and retrieved it while being pelted with empty Styrofoam cups and empty bowls of beaver vomit, it was not pretty.    At least it was over.

I learned my lesson and I'm going to get married catholic, but I'm taking my courses on the internet next time.

Short Break - Replicating

So, my wife has decided to give birth (again) and apparently I need to be involved.  I'm surrounded by family and need to tend to them while my wife passes a watermelon through her nostril (her words, not mine).  And by "surrounded," I mean in it the way wagon trains referred to hostile Indians in a dire situation.  

I will have a brand new slate of posts on Monday. Do not quit me and I will not quit you.  See you soon. 

Women Are Astonishingly Smarter Than Men

I'll cut to the chase here because this has to do with baby showers and that tends to turn readers off rather quickly.

Some women have a second baby shower when the child is of a different sex than the first.  I don't think there's a need for new baby stuff if the second baby is not of the same sex as the first, but then again nobody gives a shit about what I think - especially my wife. 

When these women have the second baby shower they register for stuff they already have.  Yes, they ask people to buy them things they already have and likely received at the first shower.  This sounds stupid to most men, however, it's brilliant.  It's also a sign of why you should never bring a man brain to an argument with a woman.

Unlike men, women learn from experience.  There's a reason that men are bigger and tougher than women - we make the same mistake over and over again because we don't learn from experience.  Our bodies need the durability to keep up with our lack of intelligence.  Those dainty little women and their powerful brains can't throw a baseball very well, but they sure can save you some money on diapers.

What?  Good question, I'm glad you asked.

Women having a second baby shower will have made a mental list of what was purchased for them the first time around.  She will ask for those items again knowing she'll likely receive them (that whole learning from experience thing).  When her second shower yields all the same items from the list, she simply returns them and buys diapers or something else she really wanted. 

Now, some of you are like "who cares about buying diapers?"  You are obviously not a parent.  The general rule about diapers is that if you are not presently leaving the store with diapers in your hand, you need to pick some up because you are out.  Nobody at these showers ever buys diapers.  I have no idea why they don't, but it's annoying because all parents really want is a shit-ton of diapers (shit-ton = 1,500 cases of each size up to 3t-4t including night time diapers).

After our first kid my wife and I would spend most nights looking at all the stuff we know we'd never use and tried to wish those items into diapers.  Hell, I looked at crap we got for our wedding and wished they'd simply sent us diapers instead.  Diapers are a serious commodity among those damned blessed with children.  Sleep and diapers - that's what you never have enough of with children. 

So, when I found out that women were purposely registering for stuff they already have in order to solve the diaper problem they're about to have, I was in awe.  So freaking smart.  Just amazing.   How we haven't had a female president is beyond me.  

Valentine's Day - What Does it All Mean?

It's Valentine's Day and we'd like to take a closer look at some of the things guys do for women on this sacred day invented by the greeting card industry and further propagated by greedy women looking for gifts they haven't earned.   Here are a few common Valentine's Day gestures and what they really mean.

Sending Flowers – Nothing says "I love you" like taking a living oarganism, cutting it from its vital organs, placing it on life support (vase with water) and having it delivered via Rastafarian bike messenger to that special someone in  your life.   This "harvesting" from God's garden is done so that your girlfriend/fiancée/wife/person you're stalking can proudly display this slowly dying organism on their desk as a symbol of the the sacrifice involved in your love.  The flushed cheeks of your faux-embarrassed woman says to all of her coworkers  - "please appreciate this thing my man murdered for me – isn’t he wonderful!"  I think this gesture says; we’re killing things, watching them die slowly – we’re in love!

Note - I'm not some Sierra Club burnout with an agenda.  I'm only kidding and I fully support the multi-billion dollar floral gift industry.  Although, I'm a huge proponent of free-range flowers, and not the flowers forced to live their lives in a cramped greenhouse where they are tended to by exploited illegal aliens caught in a trap of under-employment due to the draconian immigration policies of the supposed greatest nation on earth. 

 Note 1.0 - Just kidding!  Doesn't bother me one bit and please feel great about the flowers you bought today and don't think at all about their journey to your loved one's desk.  Just know that you are likely going to get some action in exchange for something of value, which makes you a... I need to stop.   Next...

 Writing a Poem – Ah, the timeless art of expressing your feelings in rhyming iambic pentameter.  Feelings put into words and arranged into short sentences have been convincing women to make poor choices in men since the beginning of time.  But what is a poem really saying about you?  I think I know. What writing a poem really serves to do is convince the opposite sex that you are not only literate, but also have a grasp of descriptive adjectives.  In fact, your grasp of adjectives is so good that you can select only the ones that rhyme and best describe your affection for another person.   

What you are doing here is proving that you have intellect that can be used to earn money and financially support that person.  It's less about what you say and more about the fact you can say it at all.  An alternative strategy to poetry, but having the same kind of effect, would be to provide them with a copy of math test you did well on, or a complete dNew York Times crossword puzzle or your college transcripts (an official copy of course).

Here are two sample poems for those looking to wow that special someone.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Everybody else said "no"
So I picked You!

 or...

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Somebody just got roofied
and I think it was You!

(Date rape is not funny!  So stop laughing and make a donation to RAINN.  Take a moment to think about not hitting women on Super Bowl Sunday while you're at it too.)

Box of Assorted Chocolates – This is probably one of our favorite gestures when first presented to us and most certainly our least favorable after indulging.  For years we've been giving large heart-shaped boxes of candy to our love interests along with roses or other non-skin irritating plant life to show our love and affection for them.

The only problem is that the chocolates are "assorted" meaning that some of them have caramel centers, dark chocolate centers, nut centers and the occasional horseradish center.  For some unknown reason the people at the candy factory thought it would be nice to move away from good tasting fillings that we like and include nasty tasting things like pink goo and clear silicon gel inside the chocolates.   Maybe it's a way to keep us from eating the whole box or there's some candy God out there who enjoys the look on your face when you bite into a chocolate covered onion.  We may never know.  With that said, I can only assume that this gesture is saying; I love you, now make funny faces and spit food into a trash can.

The White Teddy Bear – What a nice gesture, a bouquet of pretty flowers with a little (or large) white bear strapped to their dying carcasses. It's almost as if the bear is being tortured for our amusement. If we don't remove him soon enough the flowers will die and he'll fall into the vase full of water, drowning for our love.   If the bear happens to survive the fishbowl of death, he's placed neatly on someone's bed along with other stuffed gifts from years past.   Ultimately the bear's owner gets a little boy dog who's not quite over the fact we cut his little balls off without his permission.  That angry little dog has no bigger sexual fantasy than to dry-hump that little bear until the stuffing comes out of him in a metaphorical climax so spot on you’d think it was planned.   Somehow the bear now thinks the fishbowl of death would have been a better life lived.  So for that gesture I'm thinking it means; here's something your dog can hump while we do.

Note - that was based on a true story.   Sadly the woman involved wanted all males in her life neutered and things didn't work out.  I'm not saying she turned out to be a lesbian, but she's the captain of her softball team and has dog that is part wolf - you make the call. 

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you.  I hope you get too drunk to perform and end up having a Thursday full of regrets, excuses and apologies.  I'm married with a kid so my night is going to be spent pretending to be impressed by a two year-old's scribbling on a red piece of paper under the watchful, and judgmental eye, of my wife.  I was even forced to wear a pink shirt and tie to work today in order to show my daughter how much I love her, which subsequently proves how much my wife hates me.   Marriage is awesome - you should try it if you want to see what prison is like, but can't take the time off of work. 

I'm Never Going to Rockville for Brunch

I posted recently wrote about my problems with DC area brunching. My wife, being my biggest fan, failed to read my blog as usual and sent me THIS.  Yep, it's a "Bitches Who Brunch" review of some place called "Quench" in Rockville... Maryland... of all the Godforsaken places on earth.  She is demanding we go there.  Naturally, I have many problems with this.

First of all, we need to pay homage to the "Bitches Who Brunch," who are apparently so awesome at blogging that car companies give them vehicles to go brunch in for the weekend. I own a vehicle and I'm not allowed to borrow it... from my wife.  These women are blog icons pushing the brunch envelope and encouraging all the behavior I abhorwhen it comes to what was once a straightforward Sunday institution.  I'm sure they'll take a moment awayfrom driving whatever new car they were given this week to mock my thoughts on brunching and then go back to being fabulous.  Let's not kid ourselves - I'm a caper on the smoked salmon of the blogosphere, they won't know this was even written.   

So, the review looks fine.  I give Quench points for having chicken and waffles without bones involved.  I know chicken tastes better when cooked bone in, but wrestling through the finished product and always ending up spitting out connecting tissue negates the advance in taste.  It's a waffle chicken sandwich with syrup - great... if you're into that. The grilled cheese sandwich, whichisn't at all a grilled cheese sandwich, looks pretty good.  The food is likely good overall.

Is it drive ten hours to Rockville good?  No.  Does my wife understand this?  No. 

We live in Arlington - Court House area, if I may brag like the asshole I aspire to be.  DC (NW) is close.  Pentagon City is close.  Del Ray is Siberia. Alexandria is the moon.  Bethesda is Jupiter.  Rockville is an undiscovered galaxy that we don't even have a space satellite telescope powerful enough to take a picture of yet.  I am not driving to an undiscovered galaxy because they serve boneless chicken and waffles.

I do not like Maryland.  I don't know what it is, but I dislike it.  To get me to wake up early on Saturdayor Sunday to drive to Rockville with a screaming two year-old in the back seat, they better be holding a "trade your family in for a pool table and a beer fridge" event at place that serves bacon macaroni and cheese pot pies.  It is unlikely such a place exists in that state, much less this country.  I'm sure Bangkok is overrun with such places.

With all of that said... I'll likely be found in Rockvilleat Quench this Sunday.  I'll be the defeated man holding the two year-old shooting fire tornadoes from its mouth.  Pray for me and somebody tell the Bitches Who Brunch to keep their Rockville related thoughts themselves - our wives are impressionable!

DC Brunch - Why are you wearing spandex? And other thoughts...

DC does brunch like no other city I've ever lived in (I have never lived in New York City, so shut up).  It's a big deal these days.  Although, it wasn't always like that.  The DC brunch experience has devolved quite rapidly over the past ten or so years.  It looks and feels nothing like it used to.  Frankly, it's gotten stupid and somehow less enjoyable than it originally was, which I thought to be impossible. 

Obviously "brunch" is the commingling of the words and the common offerings of "breakfast" and "lunch."  I tend to think brunch is a meal where there's a half-assed attempt at serving both and drinking before noon is not frowned upon.  It's not a relatively new concept in America, but it's definitely a regionally celebrated meal that is closely tied in with socio-economic status and race.  So, what I'm saying is that it's something that rich white people do in big cities. The most annoying things on earth are the creation of rich white people - do not doubt that scientific fact.  

(Note: sorry if that offends you, but I'm from Texas and I can guarantee you that nobody in the Segundo Barrio of El Paso is "brunching" anytime soon. Nor are they going to climb the tallest mountain in the world and risk certain death for "fun" and a rare photo-op.  Seriously, rich white people are weird.)

In 2001, when I moved to DC, brunch was still pretty much exclusively a Sunday thing.  Now there are no rules - you can probably get brunch somewhere in DC at midnight on a Tuesday and it will likely require a reservation.  The demand for brunch has driven providers to do away with the constraints under which brunch could be served - namely late morning to early afternoon on Sundays.  If you don't think that some places offering a brunch menu until 4:00 p.m. is ridiculous, stop reading here because you're not going to get my point at all.

Brunch was also a semi-dressy affair back in the day.  My girlfriend at the time insisted we brunch every Sunday and that I look as if I might have emerged from a church before sitting down to eat.  I hated this part because I hate being dressed up on the weekends.  The girlfriend that finally made the cut (my current wife) insists that brunch hasn't always been a dressy affair as she puts on what looks like a prom dress to meet the girls at some Georgetown brunch hotspot.  The fact is - people used to dress for brunch.  Nowadays things are little different for the majority of brunch goers.

Maybe you have noticed the packs of spandex wearing women at brunch who give you the impression that a Body Pump class is about to start at any moment.  They are fully made up so you know they haven't been to the gym and after pounding five mimosas they aren't going after they brunch. So... why are they in workout clothes?  Workout clothes, mind you, that leave little to the imagination - and I have a quite the imagination.  This is both a really good thing and in too many cases, a really bad thing. 

What's the point of wearing workout clothes to gorge yourself with pastries and bacon?  And when did the saying "nobody looks good in spandex" become advice not taken?  I mean, the material of the form fitting pants they are wearing may no longer be called "spandex," but it is de facto the same thing with all the same embarrassments built into their design (the foot features of a middle eastern humpbacked horse anyone?).   Am I supposed to get the impression that while these women are hogging down this week's newest riff on eggs benedict at the moment, they are actually top athletes who may bang out some wind sprints between trips to bloody mary bar?  It's as almost as strange as the millions of city dwelling women who don't have access to a horse donning English riding boots to go to the grocery store.  It's a mystery we may never solve.

I'm also a little worried about the escalation in the complexity of bloody marys at DC area brunch spots.  Unlike the time honored tradition of simply hiding your drinking habit in a glass of OJ, the bloody mary has become a complicated, and expensive, way of getting hammered at breakfast.  The top brunch spots are sticking all manner of things you can't drink (bacon) into the cocktail turning into what amounts to a cold soup.  Read a current list of things people are putting into a drink that didn't need any help to begin with.   I was happy with the original bloody mary form.  At no point did the hangover helper ever scream "put frog spleens and the sweat glands of a koala bear in me!" Three weeks ago I received a bloody mary and I had to send it back - it looked like they planted a garden on top of it.  Not everything has to be customized to the point of being unrecognizable. 

 The establishments with "bloody mary bars" have completely given up on the simple task of  making the drink and now hand a glass of vodka to their patrons saying "here you are, go f*ck up your own drink."  I have to laugh at the idea of you doing all the work for your own drink being a selling point for a restaurant.  Then again, people pay $20 for a brunch buffet and eat about $6 worth of food and brag about it on Facebook.  If Whitlows could only figure out how to get their customers to bus the tables and wash the dishes, they'd only need someone to unlock the doors and collect the cash. 

I guess one good thing about the burgeoning brunch phenomenon is that it's no longer, what Anthony Bourdain described as, "a dumping ground for the odd bits left over from Friday and Saturday."  Brunch anytime and all the time has required that ingredients not be leftovers, but instead fresh due to the constant demand.  However, that doesn't mean the quality of your brunch options are getting any better.  How many places in DC are just tossing some obligatory egg dishes out there with a frou frou waffle option as their breakfast qualifier for being technically "brunch."  A lot I would say.  Dragging out that pink smoked salmon mess with rabbit turds on it has to be the sorriest excuse for a brunch food I've ever seen and it's a staple option at these places.  Give me a break.  I want breakfast pizza!

Here are my suggestions for DC's brunching future...

1.  Ladies - put some clothes on.  There's a solid one percent of you that I actually enjoy seeing in your spandex.  It's the hippos without a care that ruin it for everyone.  I know you want people to embrace your confidence in your body, but I'd rather not start that project when I'm eating.  And just like wearing a space suit doesn't make me an astronaut, wearing a workout clothes doesn't make you fit. 

2.  Turn Brunch back into a 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. exclusive Sunday deal.  It doesn't mean as much when you can get brunch at anytime any day of the week.  It's like eggnog.  Eggnog wouldn't be eggnog if you could get in July.

3.  Brunch is more than offering mimosas and bloody marys.  Have true breakfast and lunch options available.  A blended, pared down menu of the chef's "take" on whatever staple brunch item is hot at the moment is not enough.  I want to be able to get biscuits and gravy or a cheeseburger - possibly a combination of both. 

4.  No matter what my wife says, don't let her order the new flavor of the week eggs benedict.  She only likes the original eggs benedicts laid out in the Bible and always regrets ordering it any other way. 

 5.  I know what you're doing with the home fries - stop.  Nobody in their right mind would eat that many potatoes.  I don't mind some white space on the plate if it means not throwing out a pound of potatoes.

6.  I shouldn't have to worry that consuming my bloody mary will leave me no room for my meal.  I have a hangover and need a little hair of the dog.  I do not need to eat one meal out of a glass and another off of a plate. 

7.  Why does every omelet have to be bigger than my face?  Two chicken eggs, not two ostrich eggs - okay?

8.  Breakfast pizza.  Seriously - it's the easiest thing in the world pull of, but I can't get it anywhere.

9.  Last but not least... if someone walks in with a race bib attached to their person - do not seat them.  They smell and are violating my published rules on race bib etiquette. 

That is all... you may now commence brunching again.

Uber DC - I was sent a Volvo last night...

I love Uber.  Uber is the modern version of sliced bread.  Before Uber - pain and suffering.  After Uber - morphine induced euphoria.  Unfortunately, they're letting things go a little bit.

I liked it when they added the SUV feature and was also impressed they added the taxi cab option to their service (I'll never use that - I'm fake pimp'n my ass in a black car).  What I don't like is the fact that I was picked up in Volvo SUV last night.  It was like being  ferried around by a  yuppie mom.  Not what I was expecting - or wanted.   If I wanted my wife to drive me places, I'd just ask her (she would say "no" FYI)

The Volvo was technically a black vehicle - it did pass that test.  Other than that - it was a soccer mom's car commandeered into service as a high end carriage for the drunk and upwardly mobile. 

Others have told me that they've been picked up in some suspect vehicles recently as well.  I won't complain about the Mercedes I have been sent a few times - that's pure awesomeness.  However, anything that isn't a Town Car or a Mercedes or a Maybach should be relegated to the taxi part of the app.  I have an expectation built by Uber's original business model - nice cars that needed something to do while they waited for bona fide rich people to summon them. 

I can assume what happened is that every Tom, Dick and Aziz with a black car signed up to drive drunks like me around for a profit.  It's easy money and the barriers to entry are insignificant.  You need a vehicle with four doors that is black and somewhere to plug in their iPhone paging system and that's it.  That's also the reason the quality of service is being degraded.  They can't keep out the pretenders.

I have nothing against my Volvo guy from last night - he was a great driver and didn't bother me with pointless chatter.  However, I would have prefered a true black car.  I have a fantasy I'm living out when I'm cruising through DC in the back of a Town Car.  There's a mystique to riding in that car.  I see myself emerging from it like some foreign dignitary heading into the Hay-Adams.  A Volvo is not a part of that daydream.  No bad ass emerges from a Volvo.  An overwhelmed father of two wearing mommy jeans fumbling with car seat buckles is who rolls in a Volvo (me). That's not sexy.  I want sexy.

I think Uber ought to make sure they stay true to the dream here and not let just anyone into the Uber club.  At the least add another selection on the app labeled WTFK - "Who The F*ck Knows?"  Whatever car shows up would be a surprise.  Maybe even a bike taxi painted black or legitimate rickshaw piloted by a guy named Rick Shaw...  Bottom line - don't roll the dice for me on what gets sent to pick my drunk ass up.  Give me that choice to make. 

And keep on doing everything else you do so awesomely (not a word, I'm sure).  

In-N-Out Burger in the News - What They Are Really Trying to Tell You

The In-N-Out burger chain is iconic.  People love their burgers.  Business nerds love everything about the company from its management to its fanatical customers.  It is truly something special to a lot of people.  Unfortunately, it's likely to change in the near future and the news media is trying to warn you about it now.

Click HERE to see one of the many articles written on the burger chain this week.   As you can see the media is carrying this story with the "surprisingly young billionaire" theme.  What they really want you to take away from the story is that the beloved burger chain is in jeopardy because the person who is about to control all of it is a flake with a funny name.

I've never had an In-N-Out burger and I'm not sure why.  Oh, that's right - I'm never in control of my own destiny when I'm in Southern California.  That's another story about my wife for another time.

However, I do realize that people do dearly love their In-N-Out burger and that it's greatness is rooted in its simplicity.  As Colin Cowherd (sports talk radio guy) often says, the key is the simplicity of what In-N-Out does.  It doesn't do kids meals, chicken nuggets or seasonal menu items.  It does burgers, shakes and fries - that's it.  And because they have a very narrow focus, they are very good at what they do.  In-N-Out burgers (the whole place, not just the burger) are specifically regimented to produce the kind of experience people have come know and love and even the slightest change would ruin it for them. 

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"I've got information man! New shit has come to light!" - Jeffrey Lebowski

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The company has stayed in the family and lived through the untimely death of two of its former head honchos - the sons of the original owner (Guy and Rich).  Their devotion to the brand is what made it great.  Now the franchise is set to go under the leadership of the daughter of the last brother to die.  This is where the problem lies.

(Side note:  Lynsi's father's name was "Harry Guy Snyder" - I shit you not.)

First off, her name is Lindsay and she spells it "Lynsi."  There's a little rule a I live by...  If your name is stupid in the manner of the way you spell it, it's a signal you are also stupid.  Do not trust anyone named "Jesika" or "Traycee" or "Lynda" or "Hilorie" or "Ryen" or "Barburra" - there's something wrong with them.   It could be that their parents were dumb enough to spell their name that way and their stupidity would likely be passed genetically onto them rendering them useless for anything other than a job in the cosmetology world.  Or they were dumb enough to change the spelling of their name themselves when they get old enough.  Either way - it's not a good sign.

I do have to ask, was Lensee not available?  Lyn-z? Lensie?

So that's strike one. 

Strike two is her lack of a college degree.  I know college isn't everything and it's only a measure of one's ability to navigate a bureaucratic system, but it's expected of the rich.  If your mommy and daddy have hundreds of millions of dollars and you went to an elite private school, you go to college.  The only way you don't go to college is if you are an actor.  Lynsi isn't an actor. She's a drag racer...

Yes, she's into drag racing.  So am I.  Nothing wrong with the sport except for the fact it's full of people who are leeches and bad with money/bad with life.  Head out to the drag strip on any given Friday or Saturday night and you're going to find that 25 percent of the people are alright folks.  The other 75 percent are pieces of shit.  Trust me, I've been around the sport since I was 16 years-old and you don't want the CEO of your profitable company to be someone from the drag racing community.  The drag racing community is a poor life decision incubator. 

Speaking of poor life decisions... she's 30 and been married three times.  I know divorce has become our national pastime, but three of them before you are 30 signals a problem.  God knows the first two could have been innocent mistakes, but the current one is a drag racer... see the above paragraph on drag racing.  Bottom line - there's a problem here.  I know men and women who won't date someone who is 40 and been divorced once because they think it's a sign of a problem.  Two divorces in the 12 years she's been eligible to enter into marital congress does not scream "good decision maker" or "I surround myself with trustworthy people." 

If you add all that together you have a scenario where the restaurant that everyone knows and loves is in jeopardy of not being what it once was.  There are two ways this plays out.

Option 1 - It's no secret a ton of people want to buy the chain.  She's going to get offers.  I assume the first guy to show up with a hot 69' Camaro and some pit passes would get control of the company - if not a marriage proposal from her as well. 

That spells disaster for the chain because investors don't buy companies to keep them exactly as they are.  They either fundamentally change the corporate culture of the place or a major aspect of the company's product line.  Either move would ruin In-N-Out's unique qualities that appeal to their loyal fans.  Those who know a lot about the company know exactly why they haven't expanded rapidly - that would change under new ownership faster than you can say "Animal Style." 

Option 2- When she gets full control at age 35 she either neglects the business all together or decides to get actively involved and expose the chain to her special talent for making bad decisions.  Fans of In-N-Out can only pray she leaves the business in the hands of the people who are observing the profitable status quo right now.  However, that's not a likely outcome here.

Any way you cut it, people are worried about the future of their favorite burger joint.  I only wish the real media out there had the balls to say what they were thinking.   Lettuce pray for In-N-Out Burger's greasy soul. 

Senator Reid is either dumb or bluffing - you be the judge

As I linked to this morning in the "Around Washington Today" post you all dutifully ignored - Senator Reid has given the Republicans notice that he's going to take the "nuclear" option on Senate filibuster reform if they (Republicans) don't start playing nice.  He is either stupid or lying.

Historically the filibuster rule has been a problem when there's not a 60 seat majority held by one party in the senate.  The mere threat of a filibuster seems to work quite well at stopping everything.  The senate has become a place where men and legislation go to die. 

This problem existed before the current Democratic majority and was not remedied by the Republicans during their last stint as the majority.  Why?  Because leaders of both parties in the past have had the foresight to realize that one day their party may not be the one in power and there'd be no way to stop the other team from cramming legislation down their throats using their own rule change against them.  Turnabout is fair play when it's written into the rules.

The far left has been screaming for Reid to go with the nuclear option making filibusters pretty much useless and a simple majority the deciding number of votes for just about everything.  It would allow the Democratically-controlled senate to steamroll the Republicans on every vote.  It would relegate Republicans to the role of the human appendix - present, but useless.

There are two problems with the nuclear option:

1.  The 2014 cycle doesn't look good for the Democrats in the senate.  That link will take you through just the basic math of which party has the most seats to defend (hint - it's the Democrats).  If you care to get further educated on the Democrat's dim outlook for 2014, take a moment to research how many seats they are defending happen to be in Romney states.  It doesn't look good for them at all, now does it?  Nope.

Reid would be changing the rules to use in his party's favor for a scant two years before Republicans take over and use those same rules to undo everything he did and then some.  Once he hits the big red button, the senate will never go back.  He could be, in effect, screwing his own party in the long run by changing the rules to his favor now.  Is he willing to take that chance with his majority status in doubt in the very near future?  Republicans hope so - and here comes problem #2.

2.  Unfortunately for the Senate, there's the House.  Most things in the American government don't happen unilaterally.  Cooking up and serving wildly liberal pieces of legislation and expecting the Republican controlled house to eat them up with compliments to the chef is a non-starter.  The housewill go into lockdown and stop whatever legislation they don't like from ever getting to the president's desk.  Stalling for two years is nothing for this Republican-controlled house that hopes to bring the president back to budget issues every quarter for a new round of verbal fisticuffs. 

Reid's chances of getting a democratically controlled house to play with post 2014 are very slim.  I'd say there's a 55 percent chance he loses his majority in the senate and a 100 percent chance the house stays Republican. 

Reid would be a fool to give himself these new powers only to have them never fully realized and then handed over to his enemy to be used against him.  Or, he's just bluffing.  I bet he's bluffing, right?  He's not that dumb is he?  Let's hope so not.

It's going to snow and we're all going to... live

I had no idea that snow was in the forecast because frankly I don't care.  However, the people in my office are pretty much convinced we're getting 72 feet of the white stuff and we may never have to return to work again.  I have advised them that that is not a feasible scenario.  They do not care.

The snow people in my office break into two group.  Group one can't wait for the day off.  Group two thinks they are going to die.  Group one and two are annoyed with each other.  Exactly zero work is getting done.  The Flavia machine has been very busy providing hot chocolate for all the snow day and end of times planning going on.  The word "snow" is a hot chocolate trigger - I think. 

One woman already went to CVS and bought toilet paper.  I always thought that was a joke until she came back with four packs of them.  I'm sure they cost $10 a piece considering CVS is only slightly less expensive than shopping at Hermes.  I wonder what she thinks is going to happen to toilet paper supplies and I'm a little curious as to what would cause her to blow through that much toilet paper in two days.   I take that back - I don't want to know.

Other people are worried about the water situation.  They don't think it's clever when I point out that it will literally be falling from the sky if they run out of the underground stuff.  It's supposed to snow for a few hours tonight and be gone in the morning - what is inspiring people to buy all of this water now?  Do they not have any left over from the hurricane?

The people hoping to get the day off are fervently trying to figure out what's going to be open tomorrow if it snows. They got shit to do and places to go.  One woman called Target to ask about their snow policy.  I would have given anything to hear the response. 

My wife called and asked me if there is anything we should be doing.  I told her to go to the store and buy them completely out of tortillas.  She asked me why and I told her that I thought she'd spark a run on tortillas and that would just be hilarious to see on the six o'clock news. 

"We go live to our channel five severe weather team in the field with Sarah Martin.  Sarah, what is going on behind you at that grocery store you are in?  It looks like they've been looted after a riot."

"That's right Bill, I'm at the Giant here in Falls Church and they're out of the usual snow storm staples, water and toilet paper, but you can add tortillas to that list now.  We talked to the manager of this store and he has no idea what's going on, but he does know one thing - burrito blankets are flying off the shelf.  We found one Hispanic gentlemen who's from Mexico and an expert on tortillas - here's what he said when we asked him what he thought of all the people buying tortillas..."

"Pendejos"

"Well, Bill there you have it.  I don't know what that means, but he's the expert and I won't argue with him.  Back to you." 

Let's hope my wife listened to me and did what I asked.  You can thank me later.