Case of the Mondays...on Friday

Morning world, as many of you know from reading my blog and from knowing me, I work in downtown Washington DC and I, like all humans, occasionally have bad days.  This is a quick story about how today started.

I rolled out of bed at the my second alarm and just kinda fumbled around the room grabbing clothes, writing a check, and singing "Jukebox Hero" out loud to myself.  Typical morning, right?

So once I'm dressed, I hop in the car and head to work.  Seeing how I got to where I park about forty five minutes early, I decided I could take a thirty minute rest and listen to the Junkies on the radio for a bit before starting to walk a few blocks to my building.

This is where the bad case of the Mondays comes in and is also kinda the point of this post, if you thought the point of the post was so that you guys could all picture me fumbling around the bedroom shirtless singing Foreigner songs, I appreciate it, but it's really just a nice little introduction and great way to pointless ramble on and on and on.

Some of you who have been reading my blog for a while remember me retelling the story of my favorite member of the Washington DC Homeless Society, "Tony Romo", if you don't, please read the quoted section from my "Gotta Love the WMATA" post...

I've seen "Tony Romo" around the area before, he's usually sitting around the Navy Memorial behind the Archives building, guarding his cart full of needles (there's no needles in his cart...that I can see), sleeping bags, tin foil, and American flags. There's a story behind those flags and I need to hear it in the worst way, but that's not the point.

So I saw "Tony Romo" sitting on a bench near Constitution Avenue throwing some random tooth-sized things at his feet, attracting pigeons who were eating whatever it was. I looked away thinking that he was just feeding pigeons, people feed pigeons, people usually don't do something crazy and drastic when you look back at them feeding pigeons. 

"Tony Romo" did something crazy and drastic.

"Tony Romo" f*cking kicked a pigeon. Like, he pulled his leg back and swung like Adam Vinetari winning a Super Bowl. He drew this pigeon in with malicious intent, I was speechless. All the damn birds could do was scatter all about the place, all I could do is pick my jaw up off the ground and walk by like I didn't just see that happen. I wish I had more words or jokes to sprinkle on top of the ice cream sundae that is the story of pigeon kicking, but I think it sums itself up so damn well I don't want to taint it with more words.

Rocket J. Squirrel, aka "Rocky"

So getting back on topic, I was walking down the block near the "Washington Design Center" blasting Alex Clare's ""Too Close" and just looking around when I see a squirrel that looks really, really, happy.  Why was  Rocket J. Squirrel so happy?

Now, I was just grumpy this morning, I was tired and hungover-ish (Well, I was just straight hungover I think), and I just decided I didn't want any squirrels to be happy on this day.  

So I kept walking, cursing squirrels under my breath, when I notice something.  A pile of peanuts next to a tree that had clearly been placed there by someone who doesn't hate squirrels on Fridays.

So I took them.  I took peanuts from those four legged versions of seagulls.  Am I proud?  Not really.  Did it feel good?  Little bit.  I just threw the peanuts in the garbage and listened to the squirrels weep, or something.  I dunno, when I threw them away the bass dropped on the song and I couldn't hear them.  Am I a bad person?

Eleven Years Later

Everyone remembers where they were on September 11th, 2011.  It's probably safer to say everyone remembers the fear, anger, confusion, and that crushing feeling of helplessness that came with the events of that dark day.  The dead silent skies over most of the country, except in Washington and New York, where and shocked silence was shattered by the sounds of sirens and fighter jets roaring through the skies were the norm for a day or two.

As for me, I was sitting in Miss Parson's science class, right next to the turtles.  We were kids, totally oblivious at the time that the Towers were hit, that the plane went down in Pennsylvania, and only 25 miles away the Pentagon was hit and a we just kept going through the motions.

All of the sudden though, Dr. Love, or principal, came over the PA system and started rattling off names of students to report to the main office.  A ton of kids got called out for early dismissal by parents who saw the news, leaving those of us left in classes to wonder what the hell was going on outside the walls of school.  The teachers knew, but for whatever reason (Probably to keep the level of sanity at a normal level) we weren't told, we all found out from Mom or Dad driving the carpools home.

Now, like I said, most of us remember how we felt watching and hearing what was going on.  I was confused and scared but beyond that I just felt like it wasn't happening. I'm sure people will tell you they instantly felt angry, but it was like taking a punch to the face from Joe Louis; you're stunned, you're not ready to throw your hands up, hell, maybe it knocked you to the mat for a few seconds, but you were gonna get up, eventually seeing the footage of the rubble of three buildings and the plane down in the field in Pennsylvania would pull you off that mat and into the ring again.

Then, as the referee started calling numbers, American pride and the human condition rose out of the rubble of three buildings and a field in Pennsylvania, and stepped up into the fight.  First responders flocked to New York and Washington, American flags flew in every neighborhood, the military started chomping at the bit, and for once, everyone across the United States, black or white, Democrat or Republican, KFC or Popeyes, picked each other up, dusted each other off, and said "How can I help?"

Now fast forward five years, I was watching a "first account" documentary from New York and that's when the magnitude of 9/11 hit me.  Seeing everything all the footage that had been put in front of us on a seemingly endless loop with the addition of survivors accounts and stories from the families of survivors had me (A) crying like a baby and (B) it made cry like a baby.

After probably three hours of watching, I realized I was leaning off the couch (Which was literally right next to the TV set) glued to the TV, emotionally drained, and just shocked at all I had seen and heard from the documentary.  It's amazing stuff to see these people who lost parents, lovers, friends,

So why am I writing this?  Because I still think about that day and those events a lot.  Working in Washington DC clearly brings it up from time to time, the first time I was in New York City reminded me of that day, and naturally watching "United 93" made me think of it.  I'm writing about it because, well, because it's been on my chest and on my mind for a while.  It is one event I will truly never forget, along with Osama Bin Laden being killed, the Beltway Sniper, a few major breakups (one comes to mind), and (as sad as it sounds in comparison) the Rangers/Caps playoff game where Federov scored the OT game winner.

Also, if you haven't seen "United 93", go out and see it as soon as possible.  Also watch "Rescue Me" (It was on FX for like seven years), which tackles the issues of the NYFD/NYPD post 9/11, and all the seasons are on Netflix.  And if you're a fan of the blues, check out this song by John Hiatt.

Epilogue

I've made a lot of fun of the WMATA on here (For good reason) but riding it every day lets you meet a lot of different people with different stories on the world.

Today, I was speaking to a friend of mine, Jason, who works on Capitol Hill and he was telling me that they were on the second floor of the Capitol Building and watched the plume of smoke rise from the Pentagon.  He got pretty much everyone listening a little misty eyed and choked up, if by everyone we mean me.  The most lasting image for me is what he told me he saw when he left the building; women's shoes scattered all around The Hill from women who decided to run and couldn't do it in heels.

Then the gentleman sitting in front of us turned towards us and chimed in with his story, and a new perspective, at least to me.  This gentleman is blind and worked with the Parks Service as a guide (Irony not lost on anyone) and talked about what is was like to hear people bustling around the National Mall and then chaos broke out.

Sadly, Jason and I reached our stop before he could finish his story but for the three blocks we walk together, we talked about it nonstop.  Picture that, being there in middle of the darkest day in American history, and not seeing a thing.


Never forget.

The Good Ole Hockey Game

It's hockey season, and maybe for once people outside the diehard Washington Capital's fans are taking notice, tuning in, and rooting for the Weagle (If you didn't know, that's what we call the logo here in the DMV).  Even people that have been watching hockey their whole lives, like myself, feel a rejuvenated feel in this season, and it's really tough not too be giddy about each game.

That's not what I'm here to talk about, but I'm gonna talk about it anyways.  This Caps team feels like they're built for something big, something special, something maybe...worthy of a parade.

Thousands and thousands of people groan for shots off the post, hold their breath when the puck comes flying towards the Cap's net, and explode with cheers when the Cap's turn on the lights.  They celebrate with strangers in bars, feel euphoria for days after a big win (Or maybe that's just me), and most important have faith in a team that is a winner.  Something this city has been craving since the early nineties.  As someone who was raised a DC diehard, it feels great to finally have a team that I don't feel will let me down (I'm looking at you, Skins).

So what am I saying?  To be honest I don't know.  I could just say this, when Saturday morning comes and you're getting dressed, Rock The Red.  At every red light, roll down your window, honk your horn three times and yell "LET'S GO CAPS!", at 8 'o' clock, start chanting "O-V" for a few minutes, punching Penguins/Bruins/Flyers/Rangers/Canucks/Canadiens fans in the face, blow your speakers out with the "Unleash The Fury" video on YouTube, and if you're building something, make it "America's Hockey Capital" (That one was lame, but it's the team slogan...).

Time to play seven.

Go Caps.  

Sorry if this is a crazy random post.

Gotta love the WMATA

So as many of you know, I work just off the National Mall in Washington DC. Many of you also know I take the Metro to work from New Carrollton or College Park to Smithsonian. And some of you text me and ask "So do you see any weird stuff on the Metro?" "Do you get mugged on the Metro?" and my personal favorite, "Do you remember when Dave left us standing on the Metro platform as he rolled away to 'The Rally to Restore Sanity'?"

The answer to the last question is yes, that was an unforgivable event. But not really. I also have never been mugged on the Metro, even though my Mom likes to remind me the last three stops my train makes (Cheverly, Landover, and New Carrollton) are the top three crime centers for the Metro. I don't know if that's true or not.

As for the first question, yes, I have seen some weird shit on the Metro and around the Metro stations so I'm sitting here at 3AM typing this post so I can share the stories with you. Yay!

Weird thing number one, codenamed "Fat Nikki Minaj". So I get on my train, sit down, and get out my iPod and put in the headphones (Whoah Black Betty, bam-a-lam, whhhhoah Black Betty) without looking up. I wish I hadn't looked up.

First off, I'll say Nikki Minaj is ugly as sin and really lacks talent. Bam, sorry if I just rocked your worlds, Minaj fans. "What did you see when you looked up, Bro?" I saw fat Nikki Minaj. It was a woman who must have weighed about two hundred and eighty pounds, taking up the whole seat, wearing about four gallons of make-up, a black tank top, and wait for it...what seemed to be leather pants, that were pink.

They say you can't look away from a train wreck, well you also can't look away from a woman the size of a VW Beetle dressed kinda like a hooker at 6AM. And myself and about ten of my fellow Orange-Liners just kept stealing glances at it, I wanted to take a picture, but instead I got out the old legal pad and wrote down "Write about Fat Nikki Minaj" and this blog post was born.

I saw a lady in nurses scrubs pick up someone's leftover "Washington Post" and look at it for a second before ripping a strip off, throwing it on the floor, looking at it there, then repeating the aforementioned activity till there was a pile of ripped up "Washington Post" on the floor.

I mean, what the hell. She either wanted to make a pinata when the train pulled into Federal Center SW and decided not too by the time she got off the train and New Carrollton, or she needed to pee and needed the newspaper for it's power to adsorb and maybe to wipe. I wish I had a clever nam for this one, but it literally just happened today (well, yesterday, seeing how it is now 3-07AM, I need to re-fill my prescription cuz apparently when I say "Sleep is overrated" I'm wrong. I have to be at work in like, four hours, time for another cup of coffee...).

Let's see what else...

There's always those kinda weird wet spots on the train at like, 5-50AM, I'm one hundred percent sure that those are from homeless people peeing. I once stepped out of my car in the morning, looked down, and saw a condom in my parking space. That was kinda weird, but I didn't really think twice about it. If I had gotten out of my car to no condom, then gotten back into my car and saw a condom there, then I'd have problem with that.

So I have only one other story that kinda trumps them all in my opinion. I was walking around the Mall one day after lunch and saw something that has forever changed my life.

If you've never been to the Mall, it's a gravel walkway on each side with benches facing the grass fields between, lined by museums, government offices, and monuments. Well, these benches attract all sorts of people. Tourists looking to rest wary feet and children, old couples looking to just sit around in white shoes, pants, and visors, government employees like myself enjoying lunch or light conversation, and finally, the homeless.

The homeless, or more specifically one of the homeless, let's call him "Tony Romo". I've seen "Tony Romo" around the area before, he's usually sitting around the Navy Memorial behind the Archives building, guarding his cart full of needles (there's no needles in his cart...that I can see), sleeping bags, tin foil, and American flags. There's a story behind those flags and I need to hear it in the worst way, but that's not the point.

So I saw "Tony Romo" sitting on a bench near Constitution Avenue throwing some random tooth-sized things at his feet, attracting pigeons who were eating whatever it was. I looked away thinking that he was just feeding pigeons, people feed pigeons, people usually don't do something crazy and drastic when you look back at them feeding pigeons.

"Tony Romo" did something crazy and drastic.

"Tony Romo" f*cking kicked a pigeon. Like, he pulled his leg back and swung like Adam Vinetari winning a Super Bowl. He drew this pigeons in with malicious intent, I was speechless. All the damn birds could do was scatter all about the place, all I could do is pick my jaw up off the ground and walk by like I didn't just see that happen. I wish I had more words or jokes to sprinkle on top of the ice cream sundae that is the story of pigeon kicking, but I think it sums itself up so damn well I don't want to taint it with more words.

So yeah, that's just the best of my Metro tales and DC tales. There will be more, and more other weird stories of stuff I've seen but this is all for now.

He. F*cking. Kicked. The. Pigeon.

Holy ball(s).