The chap with wings there. Five rounds rapid.
I try not to wade into politics. The whole thing is exhausting… But I’ll go ahead and cash in on the election fever so GS will get more hits and my five followers will stop asking me when the next update is going to be.
Continue reading ‘Boring Political Post’
It’s time for my bi-annual article about how much I hate Chris Van Hollen.
I almost let it slide this year because, at some point around 2008, I gave up. I stopped following politics, I stopped watching the news… I just can’t face the world anymore. And, let me tell you, I feel like a free man. I don’t know what the Tea Party is about, I had no idea who Glenn Beck was until his rally threatened to interrupt my evening commute, and I have no idea how Obama’s doing. Though I do know that he’s become a lost cause. “Nobama” to some and “Slobama” even to those who still hold onto a feeble thread of faith.
But, of course, I was wary of him from the get-go. As with all my causes (Van Hollen killing us all, Obama burning up on reentry, and the closure of 8407), I have prepared articles saying “I told you, so, assholes.” But, in the meantime, there’s nothing for me to do but rant.
So, anyway. Van Hollen.
Continue reading ‘Dead Zone’
Nixon was easy. We could go anywhere, really, but James had been talking about the 600 at Watergate South, which wasn’t really the sort of place where we belonged…but they had a full bar. We somehow managed to get in and get a drink, but it was clear that our time was limited, so it was just quick shots of bourbon for the three of us, giggling at the black tie and gown folks, talking in funny voices to the waiter and manager as we were herded back outside, and then onto the street with a shot of Nixon warming our bellies.
Continue reading ’44, part eight (conclusion)’
Back to DC. It was bourbon at the Hotel Washington for Eisenhower. I don’t know the connection, but I’m sure it seemed logical at the time. I also couldn’t tell you where we ended up for Truman, but a deep slice on my arm was bleeding steadily. I had several napkins stuck to it, fouled with blood and dirt.
Continue reading ’44, part seven’
“Thirty.” James said.
“Coolidge.”
“Notable points?”
“None.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Continue reading ’44, part six’
Twenty-eight. Wilson. The First World War. We ended up in Silver Spring, Maryland, at the Quarry House. None of us could remember how that happened, but it did, and so we made the best of it. Energy was flagging all around, and David and James had opted for Vodka and Red Bull while I played around with the wildly exciting beer menu. There was no link to Wilson’s era at the Quarry House, but the subterranean bar may have represented a warm place of safety for our tortured, withered souls. We were also moving into the Prohibition, and the Quarry House did have a vague speakeasy feel.
Continue reading ’44, part five’
At Jaleo, the next president was easy for James. Twenty-six was Teddy Roosevelt, and as soon as I said the name James was on his feet. “Parks! Woodley Park! The Zoo Bar!”
Continue reading ’44, part four’
We were in Chadwick’s, Georgetown, and still on Heineken. Like every bar in Georgetown, there was a pervasive atmosphere of evil and inhumanity.
“Twenty.” James said into his bottle.
“Um…”
“Uh-oh!”
“Oh, Garfield.”
Continue reading ’44, part three’
James leaned close to my ear: “Fifteen?”
“Buchanan.”
“Penn State. Single.”
“Yep.”
“Singles club?”
“No. Please.”
“Pennsylvania Avenue?”
“701. Mo’s Bar.”
James leaned back. “Expensive.”
“Yep. You’re paying.”
Continue reading ’44, part two’
The Patterson Protest and other Midterm Musings
It’s Election Day kids! I did my usual – vote straight Democrat or, if no party affiliation, then vote for the person with an Irish last name. Sure signs that I was born in the wrong era.
Continue reading ‘The Patterson Protest and other Midterm Musings’