The District Chatter

It seems that the Real World DC crew is facing some new challenges since people can follow the cast around on Twitter. They are not to excited that people can stand right outside the house and listen to conversations either. Go by the house and get your self on camera.

Hey, I used to love the Real World. I am cool with them being here. Of course, it seems like the crew is being obnoxious. Read this  article and watch this video from WUSA9.

First, let me extend my sincere condolences to those who lost loved ones in the Metro accident last week.  My heart goes out to those who have suffered on account of this tragedy.

I’d also like to extend a big “fuck you” to the following people:  woman on the metro last Friday who complained loudly for roughly six minutes straight about Red Line delays…people died lady, so get off your horse and shut your mouth; the man who indicated that the whole thing “wasn’t a big deal” and that he “didn’t understand what all the fuss was about”… again, people died and you’re a callous prick, so save the commentary for your home so I won’t be around to hear it and think you’re a terrible human specimen; and finally, I’ve saved the biggest “fuck you”  for John B. Judis at the New Republic.  You, sir, are an asshole of epic proportions.

Mr. Judis’s article can be found here:

http://blogs.tnr.com/tnr/blogs/the_plank/archive/2009/06/28/who-killed-the-washington-post.aspx

In the wake of this incredibly tragic event, it’s important to review the causes and how we can prevent needless accidents on our public transportation system from happening in the future.  I understand that.  It’s an important part of the process.

Exactly what the greater Washington region does not need right now is some useless navel gazing, some condescending finger pointing and a big “I told you so”.  Well done, Mr. Judis.  You have actually proved yourself to be on of the more callous assholes I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.  Do not tell your readership how you, “saw this coming,” and how, “the system is broken, if only someone other than me had noticed this could have been prevented.”   Alas, Mr. Judis, you were the sole avenger of the ongoing problems at Metro.  We are so lucky to have you using your journalistic prowess to point that all out to us peons after the fact.  Yes, lucky us.

You, Mr. Judis, are as relevant as a “psychic” that claims to have seen a tornado coming in a dream after the storm has already blown through town, killing people.

So, fuck you, John B. Judis.  You are not nearly as clever as you think you are, as this tragedy has nothing to do with the Washington Post or any other organization other than WMATA.  They fucked up, they’re investigating and they’re moving on, lesson learned.   Unfortunately, the lesson comes with a hefty 9 lives price tag, but it’s how things work; problems rarely get addressed in large systems without a serious event occurring.   See: the government; large corporations; McDonald’s frying oil and menus.  Moving on…

Now that we’ve moved to Petworth, I have a 10 block walk from  my office to the nearest Green Line train.   This is fine, except for fucking Greenpeace.   Typically they stand right outside Whole Foods with their little clipboards and their t-shirts.  This irks me for the following reasons:

1.) Do not assume, Greenpeace, that people who shop at Whole Foods give a rat’s ass about sustainability, the environment or animals.  They likely don’t.  People who frequent  Whole Foods are there for one of two reasons: it is either their local grocery store (sad day for the checkbook if it is) or they drove a significant distance to get there because they believe it to have better quality.

2.) I know I look like a sympathetic target, Greenpeace.  You hit me up for the “let’s have a personal chat about how you can save the environment” talk every time.  I understand that most days I dress like artsy non-profit worker and some days I look close to homeless; but let me explain one thing: I am not sympathetic to your organization.  Your business model is shit.   Sending out barely 18 year old kids, who haven’t had a shower in anything other than patchouli body spray, to collect addresses is not an effective way to communicate with people.   Collecting addresses and spamming members of congress’ contact pages does not a legitimate, useful organization make.  I lump you in with other groups who also use this model, including the supporters of Lyndon LaRouche.  Any time I can compare what you’re doing to a LaRouchie… you are not a legitimate organization.  You are, in fact, crazy.

And, I typically like the things you like- I like whales and seals alive rather than dead.  I love the rain forest.  I would snuggle just about any animal assuming that snuggling would not lead to poisonous biting and intense pain.  But you, Greenpeace… you need to seriously reassess your organzations’ plans and methods before I ‘ll consider stopping to talk to you, let alone donate money or sign your useless petition.

The days that Greenpeace isn’t attempting to flag me down outside of Whole Foods are happy days for me.   So, imagine my horror when I see a Greenpeace kid standing outside of the Rite Aid across from the U Street Metro.   I had my headphones in, which is an action that to normal people means, “Leave me the fuck alone, I do not want to talk to you,” but I guess that’s not what ear buds mean to you, Greenpeace Kid.   You see my headphones and think, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to talk louder.”   I really don’t appreciate being screamed at.  I pass you and move across the street, only to be hit up again, not 30 feet later, by another one of you.  Are you kidding me?  Once I can understand, you tried, I said no… but let’s move on.  But twice?  Seriously, guys.  Increasing the number of times you have contact with me does not increase your chances of having me stop to hear your little song and dance.  It does, however, greatly increase the chance of me hating you.

The one thing I was most looking forward to in our new condo was decorating.  The joy of moving from 750 square feet to more than double that amount were the limitless options available to us.  It was finally my chance to acquire furniture knowing that there was no lease to expire and I wouldn’t be moving again within the year.  Needless to say, I was stoked.

I probably spend at least 30% of my day (sorry, Bossman) looking at design and craft blogs.  I talked a big game about what I was going to do in our condo when we moved in; we’d paint every room, have the guest room operational within a month, host a dinner party in early July, blah, blah, blah.  Currently, we’ve painted the upstairs (no small feat), have no furniture that could be transformed into a guest room and own a busted-ass table with two folding chairs.   Big thanks to Time and Money for being flaky little fuckers and petering out just when I needed them.  Like always.  You guys suck.

So, we’ve been slowly acquiring furniture as our budget and schedule allow.  We’ve had great success on Craigslist and things are starting to come together.  Despite that fact that I pinky-swore I wouldn’t spend a dime more on home furnishings until June 15th, my route to the metro takes me right past Miss Pixie’s and Hunted House on 14th Street.  So I had a little peek today after purposely avoiding both locations for two weeks.

Miss Pixie’s was fine- no complaints.   Not to rush this, but frankly, I want to get to the part where I have beef.  Specifically, with Hunted House.

I remember when Hunted House used to be Nu2U.  There was a lovely woman that owned Nu2U (maybe she still owns newly-named Hunted House, I don’t know) and she was always there.  While her furniture was pricey, it wasn’t out of this world expensive.  I bought a necklace there once for one dollar that I still get compliments on.

Upon walking into Hunted House, I was excited to say the least.  It was more or less rooms and rooms of Eames era furniture.  I love old things.  I love old people, old places, old furniture and old knick-knacks.  The object of my furniture lust was a small bench with an orange cushion.   I was thinking it would go well in our bedroom.  I pick up the price tag: $485.    “Shit, that’s pricey,” I think to myself.  Then I look at other items: lamps for $250, metal chairs for $300.  The clincher was a number of small pieces of unsigned art you could pick up at a flea market for $2… priced at $54 each.

The sales person they had there was moderately aggressive.  When I passed the room that contained his counter he’d ask, “How’s it going,” or, “Find anything you like.”  When I walked into the back room that contained a lamp that was very familiar to me- I’d made acquaintances with an old man in my hometown in upstate New York who had given me a higher quality lamp for free a few years ago- that Hunted House was asking $250, I’d had it.  I turned around and started for the door.

“Did you find anything that tickled your fancy?  What do you think,” I heard from the counter as I passed.  If you’re going to ask me what I think, I’m going to tell you: I think your stuff is over priced.  I said as much.  That’s when shit began storming:

“Well, I’ll have you know that most people think we’re moderately priced.   The Washington Post did a write up about us and they said we’re a moderately priced option.  I don’t know where you come from, but if you take a walk down U Street I think you’ll find that to be the case. But, thank you for your input, now, buh-bye.”  If these phrases were said with anything less than tangible disdain, I might have been okay.  If he’d let me explain why I felt that the store was overpriced, we’d have been fine.  The fact that I was dismissed and treated like an utter ignoramous was my issue.

So, a few points I’d like to add, Hunted House clerk, because you refused to let me:

1.) I don’t know who “most people” are, but I doubt you have people in your store who walk in and state, “My, what moderately-priced items you have.  My lucky day!”  There were three other people in the store at the time I was there.  They all left empty handed and I have a sneaking suspicion it was because you are not, in fact, moderately priced. It might also have been because you were an overbearing dick.   It’s a toss up, really.

2.) The Washington Post saying that something is moderately priced is the equivalent of Andre Leon Talley decreeing that, say, you are underdressed.  Maybe in some alternate universe that exists solely in the fur-and-brooch-laden-head of Andre Leon Talley, where Andre Leon Talley is the norm, you are underdressed; but I bet you woke up this morning and said, “Gosh, this outfit would be great for work.”  Andre Leon Talley’s thought process is not the norm and neither is the Washington Post’s assessment.   I understand the whole “taking the DC market into consideration, blah blah blah” argument.  I get it.  People will pay up the ass here for things to be convenient.  Your store is convenient.  Doesn’t mean it’s well priced or that the person who buys your overpriced furniture isn’t a moron with too much money to spend on things like overpriced furniture.  Moving on…

3.)  Walking down U Street will not give me an accurate look at your competition.  You are surrounded by boutiques selling brand-spanking-new furniture (which, for the record, I think are overpriced, too.  This is because I make a average salary and don’t have $1500 bucks to burn, you know, whenevs).  You sell used furniture.  Yes, it’s classified as “vintage”, but that doesn’t make it automatically have value.   Someone owned it before the people you’re trying to sell it to.  And that’s fine.  But don’t tell me that unsigned art that is marred by watermarks and is wrinkled (this tells me it probably spent a brief amount of time in a hurricane or years in some old lady’s bathroom) is worth $54.  It’s not.  And please don’t quote the Washington Post in regard to this.  If you have questions, see point #2.

4.) Do not treat me like an uneducated tourist yokel simply because I have an opinion about your store that you do not like or agree with.  You asked.  In the time between patronizing me and acting as though I was a fucking peon, you failed to let me explain myself.  I grew up around antiques*.  My father is an amateur many-things (gemologist, plumber, photographer, etc.), but the man is fucking ancient and loves a bargain.   We don’t agree on much, my dad and I, but we do share a love for bartering and for antiquing.  We would go all over Upstate New York going to garage sales, antique stores and the Bouckville show.   My dad taught me a lot, but I’m certainly no expert.  I can’t tell you what year a piece of furniture was made in and I can’t tell you its market value (I’m not on Antiques Roadshow…but I do fucking love that show).  I am, however, aware enough to know when I’m being ripped off.  And you, sir, are ripping people off.  I frankly don’t care about the Washington Post ballwashing you received.  I know what this stuff is worth in Upstate New York (or Southern Maryland and lower Virgnia… same thing) and you put such a ridiculous mark up on it, that I can’t possibly see paying for it.

So, DC, can we put a mortorium on paying for this crap?  Can’t we agree to go to a garage sale or a store in a ‘burbs and be proud when people come over because you didn’t overpay for something?  It’s not too much effort (get in the car, hit up a ice cream stand, do some shopping, load up, go home).  I think everyone would be happier, especially me because I am currently very irked.

* My fiance tells me this is not the norm and I’m being slightly irrational.  He’s probably right because he often is.

Washington has been named fittest city by the American Fitness Index. More here. Go Washington. I am going to eat and think about exercising.

Top 5 Fittest Cities

1. Washington, D.C.
2. Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minn.
3. Denver, Colo.
4. Boston, Mass.
5. San Francisco, Calif.