You Arrogant Bastard

A homeless followup

Just to follow up on that last post...
On Tuesday I was walking to Chipotle to get my CD/Game Lunch, and who do I see but that wily character in the dread cap, muttering to himself as usual, inside Popeye's. No worries, I figured, he will be long gone by the time I sheath my aluminum bullet and walk back to 4533 Wisconsin. So I ordered myself up a standard sw-recipe steak burrito --- with pintos, mild salsa, sour cream, [cheese optional], and guac. I got my student drink and I was out of there like wang in tainted poon. Outside I look for him, but he is nowhere to be found. He probably hopped a bus and is on his way to Georgetown to compete with the legitimate beggars, like that wonderful man with the steel drum. He steels my heart every time!
I cross Windom street and I figure I'm safe. But alas! I see the motherfucker walking towards Wisconsin from 7-11.

Hey. HEY!

He shouts.

Do you have a quarter or something? I got nothin', man.

So he has lowered his asking price, eh? Maybe he remembers the last time he shouted at me for a dollar and I denied him... after which he called me a 'redneck' and sat down. Whatever, I say to myself. Its not worth the bullshit afterward to not give him a quarter. It's the store's money, anyway. Here you go.

You got a quarter? Ok. Do you have any cookies or anything? Some corn chips? I'm starving, man.

This is the part that really sort of burns me. I gave him the fucking quarter. What was that shit right there? Are the homeless witty enough to make subtle nuances towards my stature? Do I look like the kind of person that would carry around a big paper bag full of cookies? Or fucking corn chips?! I really wish he didn’t say that. Maybe he remembers those many times when I turned down his kind proposal (shouted amicably at me from 25 feet away) of me-giving-him-free-money. I guess this is his way of ‘sticking it to me.’ He certainly stuck it to me, that fucker. He stuck me with the notion of being verbally bested by a man who has to beg the manager at a fast-food restaurant for access to the restroom in order to take a shit.

Come on you've gotta listen unto me, Lay off that whiskey and let that cocaine be.

I’m feeling prolific and its time for my leave of absence to end. I spent the last week popping pills and watching DVDs. I’ll explain what I remember of that later.

I worked a shorter-than-usual shift today, but it was without the support of the usual 25-minute lunch break, which has become a crutch that I am more than happy to lean on. Standing up for 9 and a half hours turning keys and opening drawers for people can really take the energy out of you; I was promised a burrito, reparations for some late-evening turmoil (read: early morning turmoil), but I what I got instead was a cheese Danish and a rain check. I also scored a classic Johnny Cash album, an Israel Vibration disc, and a promotional copy of the newest Fishbone CD (I have learned not to pass on black-sticker promo CDs: see the Lee “Scratch” Perry ‘Jamaican E.T.’ saga. It continues to impress and dumbfound me.) Late in the hot joints takin' the pills…

I gathered up Stew, the slick young Jew, from his posh GeorgeTOWNHOUSE, and we checked out Laura’s ‘Hip-Hop Massive’ down at Ben and Mo’s in Dupont. The place was everything it was cracked up to be and more. A hip club, a sushi bar, a hookah bar, a smoothie bar, a bar, and an internet café, all twenty-four hours a day. Only a $3 cover, and we were inside. A were rented a hookah by the management- unparalleled generosity which not only reimbursed us for the combined money we spent to get in, but also gave us an additional 7 dollars in tall brass pipework and flavored tobacco (Shisha, you fucking purists). Stew didn’t touch the hookah because he hasn’t gotten the stitches out of his mouth. It seems that this has been the week to get that surgery done. Hell, I never got any well-wishes from no John Lichman. Anyway, the hip-hop was of good quality, though we did not wind up staying for the much-hyped emcee battle. I think I’ll go back next week, though. Of course, well… pre-club ‘arrangements’ will be necessary, as the whole thing carried a ‘party’ vibe. Stew, are you going to be in town?

Read this next part if you are in the mood for a rant/story/analysis.
If you are not in that mood, try sending a this site’s link to somebody who’s not such a PUSSY.

When we went down there, I found convenient parking on N street, where a homeless man stood to greet me as a I got out of my car.

“Help me out man. Help me out. Gimme something man, it’s my birthday.”

Seven cents. This guy’s clothing would suggest that he is a crackhead and not a homeless man, as he was not quite dirty enough to really scream ‘homeless.’ Plus, that added fear of the archetypal “unpredictable” crackhead gave me a bit of a suspicion. As Stew and I walked off, I periodically glanced over my shoulder to see that he was still standing right outside my car. No, I wasn’t afraid he was going to steal an ’87 Chevy Nova. People often make the common mistake of attributing the knowledge of the rather complicated act of hotwiring a car to people like that. I knew he wasn’t smart enough to steal it… I just didn’t want him to piss all over the fucking seats. Anyway, call me a bigot, but I’ll sooner aid the filthy hobo than the emaciated crackhead. And you double your money if you are playing an instrument, I don’t give a shit if you are good or not. But, I figured, if this fellow truly is homeless, he could probably win some nickels if he got the image right. He ought to make some rounds up in upper Northwest, we’ve got some classic looking hobos up here. This man could take some pointers from that bug-eyed beard guy who lays down outside the 7-11 licking his lips all damn day. At least he’s corpulent. Corpulent and jovial. Who knows? Maybe he’s got some sugar on his lips. Well, it’s all one… I challenge you to find a vile of urine that smells as bad as this man. I once smelled him behind me in CVS- he had some money and he bent forward to whisper in my ear gleefully,

I’m gonna let everybody go ahead of me!

This made me think for a minute. You give a homeless man five dollars and the stores can’t turn him down. And as long as he is a paying customer, he can hang out in that store as long as he damn well pleases. … Now, back to Dupont…

Less than a block later a cracked out lady confronted me with some surprisingly cordial tactics…

Excuse me sir, Could you spare some change for me? I am homeless and I am pregnant. I am an eighteen year old girl, I need money for food to feed the both of us.

Now, this was something new. I wasn’t aware that, even in the hip liberal hotbed that is Dupont Circle, the homeless too were evolving and trying new tricks. Maybe the homeless world mirrors the homeowner’s world. Perhaps only the most shrewd and businesslike homeless can afford to make their rounds downtown. Either way, I can’t say it was very effective. See, maybe if I was a complete fucking idiot, I would give you some change. You are not only rail-thin, but you have wrinkles on your face and a smoker’s voice. You would have been better off giving me the old “You got some blow? I SUCK YO’ D-E-E-I-C-K!” At least that would have scored some sympathy points with me. Or cheap blowjob points … wait what? And I like the reference to Boyz ‘n the Hood, it makes me think about Lawrence Fishburne’s role in that movie— a damn good role, and well played, says I. Anyway, lady, with your deceptive pregnancy bullshit tactic, you have no more of a chance of scoring my pocket change than that guy that wears the filthy baseball hat and hangs out outside of Borders and gives you nothing but a raised forefinger and a chilling, hoarse, incomprehensible supplicant whisper.

I really ought to go talk to Bill with Gbake, I’m sure he has shit on all these guys. I know he told Gbake that the bug-eyed lick-lips fellow was a “filthy Jew”, but I forget the rest. Tell us the story, Gbake.

And while we’re on the topic of homeless men, I fucking hate that guy who wears the dread cap and hangs out near Popeyes and Chipotle. His approach is all wrong.

“Hey man can I have a dollar?”
“Sorry, man.”
“FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHIT!!!!!!!!!!”

Somehow I always manage to encounter that motherfucker. He gets around, man. I have seen him as far east as Georgia Avenue and as far north as Bethesda. He must spend all his damn beggar’s change on public transportation. Ugh, I gotta get some sleep. FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!! SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!

Hypocrite in a broad daylight, Parasite in a dim light, Dreadlocks in moonlight, Scorpion at Midnight.

This afternoon was a unique one, as my summary will commence with the defining point of the afternoon, the annual charity baseball game at St. Albans that we read about in Tvlad’s blog between the “DC Allstars” and the “Dominican Rangers”—a game that served as a microcosm of the bitter struggle for absolute world domination currently raging between the United States and the Dominican Republic. I don’t feel obliged to describe the game as I’m sure Tvlad will take care of that. I are the Dread at the Mantrols.

Post game festivities took place at Starbucks where I read an enthralling Post article about the US embargos on Cuba and travel bans for US citizens, which have recently been enforced more strictly by the Bush administration.

I had a bite to eat at the Mongolian Barbeque out in Bethesda: Let the record show that I have created a bombass recipe for calamari and shrimp that will kick the fucking shit out of any beef or chicken recipe; I challenge you. It contains mainly the aforementioned seafood along with some veggies, ladles of sesame oil and black bean sauce along with some seasonings. The bottom line is it tastes fucking great with some white rice, savvy?

I was surprised to learn from one of the Mongolian grillers that pepper spray is nothing more than cayenne pepper! I haven’t fact-checked this yet so don’t ‘flame’ me if I’m wrong.

Pepper spray… It tastes good on a burrito. Shit ain’t none more than cayenne pepper. Don’t eat mace though. That shit is chemicals. You eat mace and you’s gonna die.

I learned something from a griller! I thought all they did was knock metal sticks on a huge grill and sing pop songs… by the way, I’d really like to see the training for that job. It doesn’t seem that hard, but they are supposed to be constantly upbeat, I wonder if that is forced upon them in training. I would also like to know if that pres-elected soundtrack is made only because it contains songs with easy-to-remember lyrics, because the grillers are constantly singing them. False enthusiasm? It looks like it. If I had to stand over a 6-foot-wide blazing hot piece of metal for 6 to 8 hours a day I would certainly not be singing Avril Lavigne songs with people I don’t really know. And how about this shit? One of the grillers was a blue-haired fellow that I had encountered at the 7-11 just hours prior. He stepped in front of my car! Good thing I didn’t run him down, because then he wouldn’t have been able to make my fucking dinner. Why is it that Northwest DC dines in Bethesda? Fucking neighbors won’t allow development all up in my hood. Sorry, I had to throw back to that City Paper article. And while we’re on the topic, I’d like to see more Northwest Current articles about Citizen Cope and that kid who set the world record for swinging, and less articles about middle-aged white women that don’t want a new parking lot near their house because it will attract minorities. The only ANC I want to read about is the African National Congress, and I don’t even care that much about world issues.

Cut to four hours later. After a long bout of phone tag I am picked up by some rising college freshmen. The normal chat ensues… “so what should we do?” “I don’t know…” Luckily for us, fate had a twist in store. We were instructed by Klein to pass Fort Reno to see something he did (?). Though the trip was fruitless in that respect, I did see some kiddies on top of the hill, presumably getting high. I shouted to them, asking who they were, but they didn’t reply. We began to drive away when suddenly, BANG! POW! WHIZZ! A hybrid car passes us. It is none other but the man himself, Scorpion! Vicki calls my attention to the situation, and Sara puts the car in reverse. We pursue Scorpion at speeds in excess of 30 mph- backwards- up Belt road, until finally we turn around and are able to flag him down on the Wilson-Deal corridor of Nebraska Avenue. We all went to Vicki’s to rendezvous with Melissa and Talia for some conversation and OLD CHILI [cold chillin’--- did you get the reference?]. A conversation about chin-dos, fore-dos and nutsack-clip humiliation, a glass of ice water and one full-color photograph of DCOHEN1 later, the evening began to wind down. We all filed out quietly as the Bohemians discussed their art-gallery plans for tomorrow [the Bohemian plan-making process is a spellbinding ritual. Plans are laid out meticulously in time-chunks, accounting for all possible scenarios.]. Scorpion gave me a ride home in his-environmentally friendly vehicle. I pointed out the irony of the car being stained with the smell of his father’s pipe smoke. He was saving the earth and ravaging his health all at once. Siebens would have thundered with high-pitched folk-guitar laughter.

Speaking of art galleries, if you didn’t see the REMINGTON NOCTURNES at the National Gallery, you missed out. I caught it yesterday. ... Pretentious enough for you? If I was Trevor, I would exault in saying this right now: “Woo-hah! I got you all in Czech.”

tenleytowners

The City Paper had a really good cover story on the developmentally conservative Tenleytowners and how their own selfishness is impeding the economic growth of the city.

In the 2000s, Tenleytown's stretch of Wisconsin Avenue is the Georgia Avenue of Ward 3. The east side of Wisconsin one block south of the Tenleytown Metro stop, for example, would seem a likely spot for high-quality neighborhood-serving retail. In the late afternoon, young professionals coming home from work and students from American University and Wilson High School fill the sidewalk, creating a semi-lively street scene. What they pass is a carryout, a psychic, a store peddling beepers and cell phones, a frame shop, a pawn shop, a computer-repair store, a Mattress Warehouse, a Subway, a sushi restaurant, and a Masonic temple.

I myself would love to see them smack a condominium on that old Sears/Hechinger/Art-O-Matic building.... it may be a landmark, but its still ugly as hell. At least put in a Best Buy, so more people can fence their shit at the Exchange. As far as the sushi restaurant goes, I haven't sampled Hibachi Brothers, and I'm assuming that's what the article refers to, but I remain proud of the exquisite selection of Japanese cuisine we have up in here.

The article goes on to explain a much-observed problem that I have found both bothersome and hilarious.

Commercial offices aren't the only overproliferated outfits in the neighborhood. The old Tenleytown-as-mattress-
district saw may not be viable any longer—one of the three showrooms between 4400 and 4600 Wisconsin Ave. is now vacant—but it's really easy to make up some new too-much-of-something saws. It seems that Tenleytown residents may be all set on box springs, but need to get their posters framed. They have their choices: Framers' Workroom at 4431 Wisconsin, Allen Custom Frame and Sports Gallery at 4620, Wonder Graphics Picture Framing at 4622, Picasso Gallery Custom Framing at 4707, or Presentation and Framing Service at 4901. And if they're still in the mood for comparison shopping, there are five dry cleaners and four travel agents between 4400 and 5000.

All in all, this article furthered my shame for coming from upper northwest. But at least I live in the city, unlike all of those even-richer suburbians trying to cash in on the Chocolate City name and legacy.

"Where are you from?"
"I'm from DC."
"Me too! What part?"
"Northwest. You?"
"Potomac!"

Lexus SUVs, roads that intersect with themselves, "Washington Fine Properties" Realtors.... doesn't sound like DC to me. I've never seen a "Washington Fine Properties" property inside washington. My shame can be summed up in a single final "blockquote"

Tenley residents want to live in Dupont Circle—except without the nightlife, the noise, the crowds, the traffic, or the homeless people.

Click here to read the article. (Note: That link will probably take you to a different article if you access it on or after Thursday, July 10. If this is true, try clicking here. That is where it will probably be.)

An Austrian in Japan

I meant to mention this a few days ago, and many have already seen it, but I still find it funny. We have all heard of typically sellout-shy American artists and stars taking their image overseas to promote the latest Asian gadget or food-like product, but I never really had much to substantiate these rumors until I saw this. Japander.com is a huge archive of Japanese ads featuring western stars.
Currently, in my opinion, the high point of this site is the Arnold Schwarzenegger page.
Is all of this another Japanese attempt to get their hands on American pop culture? Or is it a sign that they are far more humane and more prepared for an integrated global economy based on mutual equality and respect? I'm guessing its the first one. Why else would all the fucking anime characters have impossibly wide eyes? I'd like to see what would happen if we started filling our beer commercials with the likes of YOICHI KURODA MOTOAKI KIEGAMI
KATSUNORI MAEHARA NORIKO SUZUKI TETSUO OFUJI KIYOSHI SAEKI
KAZUMI IKETANI HIROSHI NOGUCHI HIROSHI ITO MITSUKO NANBA TOMOKO SUGIYAMA KATSUJI SUZUKI. anyway check that all out.