Success!

Somehow, I got into grad school. I'll be going back to school in the fall, which means I have to fit in 3 years of fun I won't have over the next 3 years into 6 months of fun over the next 6 months. I hope you like that redundancy. I'm looking forward to commuting on the green line and being an awkward mascot gag at parties, like my man Testudo here.

Into the fray...

After several years of neglect, I finally got motivated to get my finances in order. I've had money sitting in a few different retirement accounts and I never really bothered to check and see what they've been up to. It turns out they were automatically dumped into money markets for some reason, which are good for, say, loose cash you don't need, but bad for long-term growth. So I rearranged everything and now I'll be a multi-billionaire when I retire in 10 years.

Relatedly, I've also gotten interested in stocks. After only two weeks or so of research, I've come to the realization that playing the stock market isn't too much different from playing roulette. I don't gamble at casinos except for roulette, and when you play you get an energizing sense of anticipation as you watch the ball go around and around until it lands on "00" and you lose $50 in 45 seconds. Stock investments seem to be kinda like that, though it's much different because you at least have an opportunity to make an informed decision about your investments rather than blindly choosing "red" and "black".

Does anyone know what these people actually do?

Yesterday I plunked some change into E*Trade, having been watching it oscillate between $3.50 and $6.00/share over the last two weeks, and having read about potential buyouts by other firms. I couldn't help but check the ticker every 30 minutes, expecting it to shoot up. Of course it didn't, but I did know that going into it.

Sure, a financial firm with a big mortgage debt doesn't seem like a great pick right now, but that's why I think it is. The chance of it going under is slim, and before it does it'll very likely be bought out. It's been crippled with debt and has seen its stock tumble from $26.00/share in June to where it is now. If it's bought out, I win, and if it recovers over the next few years, I win. I think the same strategy will work for Citigroup, though it's probably more of a long-term investment than E*Trade. Of course, I'm a blind novice, so I'll probably lose my shirt, but hey, it's a good way to learn, and the more I try, hopefully the more successful I'll be.

I have some other stocks I'm eyeing, and I'll probably be updating the ole' blog as I buy in.

For those interested, I bought 100 shares of E*Trade on 11/28/07 at $5.30/share.

Here's the latest ticker.

What's better than a big box of NERDS?

¡¡¡ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING!!!

Super Mario Bros. 2: A Cover-up...REVEALED!

In case you didn't notice when you were 7 years old, Super Mario Bros. 2 kinda sucks. The game deviated entirely from the original's formula of enemies, attacks, movement, health, and even level design. Instead of Koopa Troopas, we get Shy Guys, which look like psychotic Ewoks wearing Jason masks (fortunately these nightmarish chimeras can be injured by a thrown turnip or sundry other veggies). Instead of your Seattle hippie-style mushroom-based health regeneration scheme have to collect cherries seemingly nailed to thin air. And instead of Bowzer, the inimical lizard-tyrant at the end of the first SMB, you get Wart, a bloated, effete, burping frog that's deathly allergic to thrown vegetables as the final boss. And oh yeah, the whole game is a fucking dream. Snooze.

(LEFT) Super Mario Bros. 2. (RIGHT) Doki Doki Panic. Fuck you, Nintendo.

As it turns out, there's a reason for this: SMB2 isn't actually a Mario game. Wait what? Indeed, the U.S. Super Mario Bros. 2 game we were all playing was, in fact, a very slightly doctored version of a Japanese game called Dream Factory: Yume Kōjō: Doki Doki Panic. The levels are identical, the enemies are identical, and the playable characters are identical, except for the graphical sprites themselves. So while the Japanese were all enjoying their actual SMB sequel (now titled Super Mario Bros. All-Stars in the U.S.), we were gullibly swallowing some cheap Japanese knock-off. Seriously, did they think we'd never figure this out? Well, it took 20 years, I suppose.

The thing on the right is the effeminate final boss to SMB2, Wart. I guess that's an Asian crab on the left.

Truth be told, I didn't figure this out. Some guy in search of YouTube glory put together a whole exposé which I'm just summarizing here. Oh, you want to watch it---and I strongly suggest you do---well then here's the video. Credit goes to NJB '08 for this find.

The Spanish Exposition

However belated, I put together some final thoughts, observations and impressions developed during my recent trip to Spain. This was the first time I'd ever been to Europe, and the first time I'd really ever been to a truly foreign country (not counting Mexico and the Caribbean), so whatever I write may seem pretty obvious or self-evident to those of you who've had the benefit of traveling abroad, but this is my goddamn blog and I'll say what I want, alright?

The Royal Palace in Madrid

1. Pickpocketing is rife, especially on heavily-trafficked streets and plazas. Maybe I was a little paranoid, but anytime I walked through large crowds I'd casually put my hands in my pockets. But hey, I didn't get my wallet taxed, did I? I actually stopped on the side of Las Ramblas a few times to watch the people watching the pea game to see if I might spy a pickpocket on the job. The best thing you can do to protect yourself from these people is to know all their tricks and keep very aware of people around you. This isn't always easy, because...


2. The sense of personal space is VERY different than the U.S. I found myself saying "pardón" a lot when I'd rub against someone or nearly knock into them when I first got to Spain, but then I realized that they never said it back. People constantly bump into one another, cut each other off, and dodge in and out of pedestrian traffic. Aside from the obvious language barrier, this was probably the hardest thing to get used to.

LEFT: The Barri Gotic, or Gothic Quarter, in Barcelona.

3. Some people in Barcelona know English well enough to communicate, but many in Madrid definitely don't. I found myself needing to use my Spanish far more often there than in Barcelona, though I always tried to speak Spanish regardless.

4. Servers at restaurants are definitely not very friendly at all, possibly because they're not really working for tips and thus have many more tables than they do here. It was actually kind of annoying dealing with unfriendly waiters constantly, I definitely enjoyed coming back to the States and having friendly service, even if it may be put-on a bit.

5. Madrid quite literally shuts down at 3:00pm for siesta, though Barcelona pretty much stays open throughout the day. This is probably because Barcelona is about 10-15 degrees cooler than Madrid.

The Toledo cityscape.

6. Traffic laws are more like suggestions, particularly in Barcelona. Rush hour in Barc. was an amazing site. In one cab ride home I saw two people riding a large ATV in the middle of the city, cutting back and forth across lanes, cleverly dodging the countless dirtbikes, motorcycles, and scooters. The whole scene looked like some sort of varied vehicle race.

7. I'd like to know why the DC Metro can't work the way it does in Spain. In both cities, trains came every ~2.5 minutes. I really never waited longer than that, and there's no such thing as off-peak. The trains just keep going and going and going.

8. Prostitution seems to be A.O.K. in Madrid, where you can find hookers lining the streets and sketchball Spaniards sidling up to them once the sun starts to go down.

9. The beaches are topless, which in my opinion is most triumphant. It's actually kind of interesting, too. Since Spain is such a vehemently Catholic society, you'd expect them to be more conservative, but of course my definition of "conservative" as an American clearly differs from theirs. Kudos to nudity.

10. I saw a lot of Yao, LeBron, and Iverson jerseys while over there, which was surprising.

11. As beautiful and awe-inspiring as the palaces and cathedrals are---particularly in Madrid and Toledo, respectively---I can't help but think the Monarchy and Church completely fleeced the people to build these things, forcing everyone but the elites to live in abject poverty.

The Cathedral in Toledo. Yes, that's all gold.

I guess that's about it. Now leave me alone.

A Modest Proposal

So I'm engaged. And here's how I did it.

[Proprietor's note: for those who don't know me, I've used a transgender eponym throughout this post, see if you can spot it. If you can, you win!]

I proposed to my beautiful Moroccan boyfriend, Michael, last Wednesday, and he said "yes." I put "yes" in quotes because a) it's the proper thing to do grammatically (please don't double-check this) and b) he didn't actually say the word "yes." In reality what happened was that I proposed and then Michael broke into song about how his father would never accept this love. Fortunately I hired a string and horn section to help convince him by musical counterargument. My ragtag orchestra quickly picked up on the unusual Dorian C-flat he was using and things went pretty well for me from there, ultimately leading to a dramatic but light-hearted climax by the strings section during which he exclaimed "yes!" in response, and we all went into a delicate and timely pianississimo outro. I really hate musicals, so this meant a lot to Michael.

Michael and I at our celebratory happy hour. Confused?

This is how it all went down like a clown.
-------------------------------------------------

Michael was heading out of town for a friend's engagement party last weekend, so I knew he wanted to show off his shiny new precious to all his friends. This meant I had to act fast, considering I didn't really decide until Wednesday at 4:00pm to "pop the question" that evening. Michael was getting home from work late that night, around 8:30pm, so I had time to put some rudimentary plans I had been working on into motion.

Getting home from work at 6:30pm didn't give me much time, but I went into action quickly, and being someone who likes to work under pressure, some natural gay inspiration struck.

The general idea was for Michael to come home at 8:30 on Wednesday night, walk in the entryway, and find a note telling him to meet me at a predetermined (but secret) location, and that there's a cab waiting outside to take him to meet me. Upon meeting me at the location (the Reflecting Pool between the Lincoln Memorial and WWII Memorial), I'd get on one knee and propose. The trick was for the proposal to be a "sneak attack" (thanks to Jewish Nate for this tactic) by making him think it'd be on Thursday, since it was somewhat expected to be coming. Things weren't quite that simple, as I found out, and didn't quite work out as planned...

So the first order of business was to trick Michael, which I did via text message by saying "we should go to a nice dinner tomorrow night." He replied "that sounds nice..." and I knew he'd taken the bait. The next order of business was to get some flowers.

So I walk into the flower shop on Q St just off Connecticut Ave in Dupont and ask for a dozen roses and the woman running the shop goes to retrieve them. Then that really creepy, sometimes-eye-patched, one-crutch Pakistani dude who runs the $5 "claw" umbrella outfit atop the Dupont North metro stop showed up and started conversing with the woman getting my flowers. That's when I knew things were about to get kinda awkward. Upon bringing my flowers back, she asks "what's the occasion: anniversary, birthday?" I said, "uhhhh, proposal, actually." What came next was completely unexpected and bogglingly long-winded. It's as if I had been thrown into the middle of a fucking Friends episode. I won't bore you with a transcript of the entire one-way "conversation", but it was highlighted by comments like these:

• "you'll be lucky if you only end up getting married 3 times," and,



• "you're young, marriage is fun, but when you get old it's absolutely miserable," and finally,



• "If I had to do it all over again I would never have gotten married, NEVER!"

Seriously, where did this fucking woman come from? If I were a pious man I'd have thought this was a sign. Thankfully, I'm not, and instead realized that this woman is probably just married to the creepy, sometimes-eye-patched, one-crutch Pakistani dude who runs the $5 "claw" umbrella outfit atop the Dupont North metro stop.

So I got back to our apartment and started planning the night out. I set up a little pedestal in the entryway with a single rose in a vase and taped this small Ikea spotlight that I haven't used in years to a doorjamb to make it all dramatic. I wrote out a note about the cab, etc, and stuck it in an envelope and put it next to the rose.

The next order of business was to arrange the taxis; one for me, and one for him. I thought this would be easy, but it turns out that DC taxis won't pick you up at a scheduled time unless you're going to an airport or train station. That would've been good to know beforehand, huh? So I spent 45 minutes trying to find a cab company that would send two cabs at the needed times. Finally, I found this dispatcher with Diamond Cab that, after explaining my dilemma, volunteered to help. He offered some advice though: "Something will go wrong tonight, whether it's the cork on the champagne shooting off and killing a squirrel that falls onto your girl's head or something else, something always goes wrong." Sage words.

So with the cabs coming at 8:15 and 8:30, I was all set. What was supposed to happen next was that I'd get in the first cab and take off for the Reflecting Pool close to the WWII Memorial. Then Michael, getting home from work at 8:30, would go up to our apartment, see the note, and go back downstairs to get in the second cab which would take him to the same place. Upon arriving I'd be standing there in a suit with a little boombox playing "our song" and propose there under the watchful eyes of Honest Abe a handful of teary-eyed tourists. By the way, "our song" is Waltz #2 by Elliott Smith, who stabbed himself to death in his kitchen ...lovely.

So, as I was coming down the stairs of our apartment building to go and hide around the corner in case Michael got home early, this black sedan pulls up. I had no idea who was in it because the windows were tinted black, but just in case I tried to run down a little ramp and duck behind some of the landscaping. Of course, as Michael got out of the sedan he saw me feverishly running around the patio in a suit carrying a dozen roses and a backpack. The next thing I hear is "What are you doing back there honey?"

So I had to pull the trigger early and I proposed in our apartment. The story wouldn't be complete without adding that when the similarly hopeless-romantic cab dispatcher called to tell me the first taxi was outside, I told him that Michael got home too early and the plan had to be aborted. To which he replied "I told you something will go wrong, something always does." Touche cab dispatcher, touche.

If you're thinking about proposing and need an idea, feel free to take mine, but just do me the courtesy of telling me if it worked. And if you're not 100% confident in your decision to pop the question, I wouldn't recommend going to the flower shop on Q St between Connecticut and 19th.

So...what's new in my life?

It's been over a week since I posted something, and that's probably because life's been a bit hectic lately. Let's see why it has been:

1) Big meeting next week that still isn't fully planned
2) Weekend away in the hills
3) Caught the plague from Bon-Journey
4) Planning a business trip to Spain
5) Got engaged

More on these, and other far more important topics, soon.

Kids show predicts end of mankind

I've been meaning to post this for awhile now, but it took me some time (another way of saying "awhile") to find the clip.

Those of you in my immediate demographic will remember Talk Soup, a show that played clips of various talk shows---then in their hey day---and then tore into them hilariously. The show fell into the doldrums during a five year stretch after its host (and only on-air personality) left, but was miraculously reborn (not unlike Jean Gray from X-Men, or Jesus from the New Testament) when a Rose Bowl ring-wearing Seattleite named Joel McHale stepped in.

The new reincarnation, called The Soup, ruthlessly chides the absurd world of reality TV, celebrity gossip, and just generally the vacuous self-import people on TV give themselves.

While it may not fit into any of those above categories, a few months ago, McHale derided this underproduced kids show called "Gina D's" that included a bizarre song and dance number that manages to unite the creative space between Nostradamus and Barney the Dinosaur. With her voice creepily enhanced by that weird Cher-"Believe" underwater effect, Gina D tells her youthful progeny that:

"There's a land of all dinosaurs/
spread around American shores/
waiting for the day and planning their way/
to rule all the world."

I'm sorry, what? First, there's a secret land of dinosaurs hidden somewhere among the coastline of the U.S.: the most populated part of the country? And second, these maniacal reptiles are working together to devise a plot to rise up and take over the entire planet? This is like the DinoBots teaming up with Cobra Command, for god's sakes. But does Gina D offer unilateral progressive bargaining arbitration with the dinosaur aggressors, or a campaign of preemptive special forces strikes to incapacitate their fragile clam-shell communication network? No, she just keeps fucking singing in that tin-can aqua-voice.

Later in the clip, other Soup staples such as Mankini and Running Prostitute wander around the set. All in all, it's pretty damn funny. If you think otherwise, you're wrong. Dead wrong.

More "Soup" clips can be found on the show's YouTube channel. New ones air and re-air Tuesday's at 8:30am and 9:00pm, Wednesdays at 1:00pm, and Thursdays at 6:30pm. Send me a check, Joel.

Chinatown shenanigans

I live in Washington, DC, it's a fun place to be. It has the quirks and conflicts of any city: creepy rush-hour street musicians who use too much chorus effect on their guitars, volatile homeless people, and an atmosphere of vehicular lawlessness.

While DC is the mecca of international political intrigue and 18-year old bootsniffers in silk suits, the city itself has some fun political history all its own. It what many people (particularly sociologists) will remember, DC's former mayor, Marion Barry, was caught in an FBI sting smoking crack cocaine. What did he have to say for himself of the affair? "[The] bitch set me up." Nice. He went to jail for 6 months, and then immediately ran for seat on the city council under the campaign motto "He May Not Be Perfect, But He's Perfect for D.C." Truer words could not have been spoken, because he was elected to the council and then to the mayorship two years later. As Kent Brockman so eloquently put it, "I've said it before and I'll say it again: democracy simply doesn't work."

Anyway, the point of this is not to go on about Marrion Barry's countless offences (he forgot to pay his taxes again), but just to give everyone a sense of DC's whacky, laissez-faire political texture.

So this story ran in the Washington Post about two months ago, and I'm not sure why I'm coming back to it now. I guess it's because it just keeps pissing me off. For the record, I haven't met another person who had heard anything about this.

District May Fund Arena Upgrades,
$50 Million Urged For Verizon Center
Link to story

The rub-down: DC Council members get a tricked-out luxury suite at the Verizon Center and the ticket-holders get to foot their bill for the next 40 years.

"Three D.C. Council members introduced a bill yesterday that would provide $50 million in public funding for improvements at Verizon Center, a move that supporters said would spur more economic development near the Chinatown arena.

As part of the deal, the city would take over ownership of the building from Washington Wizards owner Abe Pollin in 2047. In the meantime, the city would get a rent-free, 24-seat luxury suite, which includes a private bathroom, two TVs, a refrigerator, a food service area and an
unobstructed view of the arena floor.

The legislation, under which the District would issue $50 million in bonds and increase the tax on tickets and merchandise at the center, was requested by Pollin, who built the arena with private financing. The Wizards, Washington Mystics and Washington Capitals play in the 20,674-seat arena, which also hosts major concerts.
... more...
Under the proposal, the city would issue the bonds, which would be repaid by a 4.25 percentage-point increase in the tax on tickets and merchandise at Verizon Center. The current tax at the arena is 5.75 percent, so the legislation would push the tax to 10 percent.

Because about 60 percent of patrons at the center are from Maryland and Virginia, Evans said, much of the increase could be considered a "user tax" on nonresidents. "People who use the arena are going to the pay for the arena," he said."

First of all, they may as well strap C4 onto the Verizon Center if it is actually turned over to the DC government in 2047. It's better off as a heap of rubble than in the hands of DC's incapable politicians.

Now, usually when politicians take bribes for handing out pork, they at least try to make it a little less obvious. But the bar is set so low for DC politics, these guys gladly (and overtly) took a 24-seat luxury booth---worth probably $300-$400K/year---in exchange for doling out this "public funding"...which comes straight out of the pockets of eventgoers.

Doesn't that seem strange to you? What this says to me is that the Verizon Center wants to buy the right from the city to double the tax on tickets so it can buy itself some new stuff. The V.C. doesn't have to worry about the DC Gov't getting in the way because they give it a suite, and the DC Gov't doesn't have to worry about spending out of its own pockets because the cost comes right out of our pockets. It's win-win! So who doesn't come out on top of this one? Everyone else.

Further, why does the Verizon Center need $50M worth of upgrades already? It was built less than 10 years ago and from what I understand recently got a brand new JumboTron.

Ironically, this same issue came up in 1997 when Barry was mayor, but public outcry nixed the deal.

Finally, the last paragraph of this is hilarious. 60% of eventgoers are out-of-towners, so we feel comfortable doubling the tax on tickets. And I assume as a DC resident (one of whom comprises the other 40%) that I'll be exempt from this "user tax" on nonresidents, right? What better way to encourage attendance at events than by increasing the price for no perceptible reason!

So I have a better idea for you, DC Government. You can still take that extra five bucks out of my pocket when I go to a Caps or Wizards game, but instead of putting it into new carpeting and plasma TVs for the luxury boxes, why don't you put it into the shitty teams I inexplicably pay to watch lose?



(ABOVE) "Alright, who else wants to come to the game tonight. We have 9 free seats left and plenty of standing room. You're with me tonight, alright?"

Let's get physical

No matter what you think I mean by the title, it should annoy you.

For the first time since I was 12, I used my bike to get somewhere I needed to go to. Okay, that's not quite true. I used it Freshman year at Michigan to get to crew practice a couple times, but it's fun to think about being 12, and it's quite depressing to think about being a Freshman in college.

Today I rode my bike to work. I went from Dupont across Q St and took a right on 7th, down to K St, then over to and down 6th to where I work---about 2 miles. I was planning on leaving at 7:45am because I wasn't sure how long it'd take. Of course, I woke up late and left at 8:00am instead.

It only took me 15 minutes. That's faster than taking the Metro and even faster than driving, I was pretty surprised. Of course, the way back is going to take twice as long because it's uphill, but there's no rush going home.

Not sure why I decided to try this, or while I feel good about it. I certainly don't want to become one of those annoying bikers who complains about how few bike racks there are in this city or how everyone should bike to work to save the environment.

So, I'll leave it at this: let's get physical.

Of course someone else on the Internet has already thought of that

Sometimes I'm just amazed by the internet. If you think you're the first person to think of something, you can immediately prove yourself wrong. And, if you're like me, you enjoy having silent arguments with yourself even though you somehow manage to lose them more often that not.

So after receiving a poorly phrased email one day, I thought it'd be funny to have a day where everyone talks like Yoda, or "Talk Like Yoda Day." It wouldn't really be funny, but when you're at work for 9 hours a day just about anything can be amusing. The feeling of blinding boredom and monotony itself can even be amusing in that sort of hopeless put-your-head-in-your-hands way.

Surprisingly, but not really, it took me 5 seconds to find www.talklikeyoda.com. I like to think that I'm a pretty random individual, but the internet showed me otherwise. It was pretty foolish of me to think that I had been the first person to become so bent of mind at work to conceive of Talk Like Yoda Day. People have been bored at work for centuries, who am I to be the big shit? What gall. And not only does TLYD already exist (as a website no less), its warped creator went so far as to pick a day: May 21. Why May 21? Who the fuck knows.

1:33:59

That was my final time for the Cherry Blossom 10-mile run. My pace averaged about 9:24 minutes per mile.

The race started off pretty slow, I think we hit like an 11-minute split on the second mile, which was way too slow, so we needed to pick it up. I increased the pace by about 0:20 each mile after to make sure I had enough left to finish strong. By mile 7 I realized I had plenty of juice, and I ran the last two miles at about an 8:00 split or faster in an attempt to make up the slower early pace, and try to hit my goal.

That goal was to finish in 90 minutes, which I missed by a couple minutes. This being the first time I've ever run more than 3 miles (other than during training for the run) I'm still pretty happy with my time.

Maybe next time I'll be up front with the Kenyans and Ethiopians, who managed to finish 10 miles in a modest 46 minutes, at a 4:37 minute splits pace, or 13 mph.