Several months ago my friend Anna asked me if I had been to the Mayorga Coffee Roasters Coffeehouse, because she'd recently gone for lunch, and she really liked it. I had not. Now, you have to realize something about Anna. If there is anything lovely or of good report, Anna will approve of it. If there is anything shady or unseemly, Anna will gently imply that it might not be a good idea. If I'm ever concerned that my feelings on a particular topic might be out of whack, I can always run it by Anna and know that I'll be pointed in the right direction. I call her The Great Validater. So anyway, the point is, when Anna recommends something, I just do it.
On Monday, I was so worn out from being not very busy I took a sick day (some of which I slept away, thus proving to myself that if I wasn't sick and tired I was at least tired). The reason I mention it, is because it isn't very often I find myself with an entire Monday afternoon stretching out before me. That, my friends, is a luxurious feeling, and it seemed like a perfect opportunity to try out Mayorga's. So I stuck a book in my purse and headed off.
It was everything Anna said it would be. First of all, it was incredibly spacious. I'm so used to cramped places, it felt almost scandalously roomy. They had heavy linen curtains. They had soft lighting. They had abundant comfortable seating. They played world music. They had a tasty sandwich menu. And a prodigious drink menu. They didn't care if you stayed all day. There were freelancer types scattered about typing on their laptops, reading the newspaper, stacking manila folders onto wooden chairs, and rummaging in their battered leather satchels. In short, it was entirely cozy!
I settled in. And fully expected to spend the afternoon reading and nursing a Diet Coke on one of the leather couches.
I'd been there about an hour and a half, and had just about decided that I should chuck it all and become a barrista, when my senses started to pick up on a "commotion." I looked up lazily to see if I could see the problem when a man came running out from one of the back rooms.
"Fire! Fire!" he yelled.
I blinked. "Fire? Fire?" I scoffed. Who yells "Fire! Fire!?" What are we, in a movie? But sure enough, a couple of seconds later some thick smoke started billowing out from the back room. Frantically, the freelancers started stuffing their leather satchels with their scattered papers and hightailed it out of there. The barristas started running around in circles; I presumed they were looking for fire extinguishers. I, myself sat there and watched the show. This is the second time I've been in a fire this year, so I can afford to have a nonchalant attitude about it, I suppose. But I didn't see what good my running around would do. So I continued to sit until I could actually smell the smoke strongly, at which point I decided that this wasn't going to be resolved quickly. So I got up, walked across the room to throw away my trash and walked outside.
I was more put out that I had to get up and leave, than the fact that I was in danger of smoke inhalation. And I was, of course, disappointed that I'd barely found such an excellent coffee shop only to see it go up in flames a mere 2 hours later. But considering the spate of odd and shocking things that have been happening in the last week, my overwhelming thought as I walked away from the heavily smoking building was "Of course."
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
Beach DOs and DON'Ts
Mustard, Maria and I hit the OC beach on Saturday, and it couldn't have been more perfect. It was HOT, like skin-searingly hot. And HUMID, like wear your scuba mask humid. But when you're at the beach, that's just how you like it. That's how I like it anyway.
I'm a Pro Beach Goer. And as a PBG, I'd like to share some do's and don'ts with you. It's my duty to make sure your trip is as awesomely excellent as possible. Not that any trip to the beach isn't going to be great ... I mean, you're at the BEACH! ... but these tips will just make it better for everyone.
The DOs and DON'Ts of The Beach
DO think these waves are MASSIVE for the East Coast.
DON'T be timid getting in. Mustard's such a coward! Dipping his little Mustard toes into the surf like this certainly doesn't declare "Spicy Bold", does it?
DO go wild and get the sauce knocked out of you by that raging surf! (Don't drown though, that would really dampen the entire trip, for you and everyone else.)
DON'T mind people laughing loudly and Nelson-ishly (HA-HA!) at you if you do get pummeled by the surf. I'll admit I laughed at that wuss Mustard, but I shouldn't have because moments later I got rocked myself. Taken down so fiercely my ponytail holder was RIPPED from my hair. Which brings me to my next tip ...
DO bring a spare ponytail holder, as not all of us can be a sexy beach tart with perfectly sun/salt tossled locks.
DON'T linger after romping in the waves, or else that towel hogging punk Mustard will push you off of your own beach mat and hijack your iPod. He's such a little punk!
DO Flirt with the locals. They know all of the do's and don'ts of beach life. ....
DO cover up. Use as much cloth as it takes.
DON'T not cover up. There's no country in the world where backfat is ok.
DON'T ever underestimate the power of matching shoes to anchor a relationship.
DO get a Banana Chocolate Shake from Dumser's. The only thing you'll be sorry about is when it's gone.
... or if you share it with your vacuum-lipped friend, Mustard. You'll be sorry you did that.
DO win stuffed animals from the many carny games up and down the boardwalk. And coordinate them with your outfit.
DON'T wear your daughter's clothing.
Follow these DOs and DON'Ts and you will have as great a time as I did! In my official capacity as a PBG, I guarantee it!
Sunday, August 26, 2007
In The Ghetto
So you know how you can start to lose your credibility on a certain topic if bad things keep happening to disprove you? Like for example, if you keep insisting that you don't live in the ghetto, but then someone gets stabbed with a screwdriver a block away from your house? Like it or not, that kind of stuff just riddles your best defense.
In consequence of the screwdriver incident, I spent much of my Friday evening at a party trying to play down the ghetto card, and play up the "it's an up and coming neighborhood" card. I think I just about had everyone convinced. Which is good, because despite all appearances, I really don't think I live in the ghetto. It's just a neighborhood with some color. Vibrant, vibrant color.
It was important to really press the point because my friend Maria was planning on staying the night at my place (we were making an early start for the beach in the morning). I didn't want her to feel that coming to Silver Spring would be a life threatening experience. I really had my work cut out for me, because she already thinks I'm surrounded by crack-hos and gunslingers.
But to be fair, there is a precedent for her poor opinion. One time a bunch of us went to the movies at the theater down the street. When we came out of the theater and started walking back toward my house (and the parking lot where everyone had parked) we started to see a lot of police activity. Lights flashing, cops sitting in their cruisers, people milling around, and yards and yards of Caution Do Not Cross tape. When we got to the corner, what to our wondering eyes should appear? But a truck squashed underneath a tree. An ENTIRE TREE had fallen smack dab onto a moving truck and killed the driver. Talk about BAD LUCK.
Double bad luck, I'd say. Bad luck for the driver, but also bad luck for me. One wacko accident, and suddenly the entire neighborhood is never safe again. (I doubt the continual police presence in the downtown area has anything to do with the impression of safety that people are likely to get). To add insult to injury, I'm pretty sure Maria's car was behind the police tape and had some stray twigs and stuff on it. Now every time she parks at my place she's never sure what shape her car is going to be in when she comes back. I sort of feel her pain - there's a reason I pay through the nose to park in a covered garage.
So, you can imagine my disappointment at the waste of all of my hard work convincing people of Silver Spring's safety when I arrived home (with Maria in tow) to see those oh-so-familiar Police lights and caution tape strung around MY FRONT DOOR.
It appears that this time someone was shot on the front steps of MY VERY BUILDING!
This is the first time a shooting has occurred within zero feet of my residence (that I know of). I should probably be freaking out about it. In fact, I should probably be in line at the gun store to get myself one of those pearl handled purse pistols. But I have a long standing policy of not getting my feathers ruffled by things that ruffle other people's feathers. Thus I remain happily unruffled.
(However, I was not quite so sanguine about rampant crime and the consequential need for law enforcement when I was woken up at 6AM to the sound of a legion of squad cars running laps around my block for twenty minutes. With their sirens blaring. For TWENTY MINUTES. I was wishing I had a gun then, I'll tell you. I would have been doing some early morning shooting practice and the target would have been anything flashing.)
And call me stubborn, but I still don't think I live in the ghetto. I blame Maria, really. I mean, if she'd stop wearing that black cloak and carrying a scythe every time she came to Silver Spring we wouldn't be having these problems! I'm sure of it.
In consequence of the screwdriver incident, I spent much of my Friday evening at a party trying to play down the ghetto card, and play up the "it's an up and coming neighborhood" card. I think I just about had everyone convinced. Which is good, because despite all appearances, I really don't think I live in the ghetto. It's just a neighborhood with some color. Vibrant, vibrant color.
It was important to really press the point because my friend Maria was planning on staying the night at my place (we were making an early start for the beach in the morning). I didn't want her to feel that coming to Silver Spring would be a life threatening experience. I really had my work cut out for me, because she already thinks I'm surrounded by crack-hos and gunslingers.
But to be fair, there is a precedent for her poor opinion. One time a bunch of us went to the movies at the theater down the street. When we came out of the theater and started walking back toward my house (and the parking lot where everyone had parked) we started to see a lot of police activity. Lights flashing, cops sitting in their cruisers, people milling around, and yards and yards of Caution Do Not Cross tape. When we got to the corner, what to our wondering eyes should appear? But a truck squashed underneath a tree. An ENTIRE TREE had fallen smack dab onto a moving truck and killed the driver. Talk about BAD LUCK.
Double bad luck, I'd say. Bad luck for the driver, but also bad luck for me. One wacko accident, and suddenly the entire neighborhood is never safe again. (I doubt the continual police presence in the downtown area has anything to do with the impression of safety that people are likely to get). To add insult to injury, I'm pretty sure Maria's car was behind the police tape and had some stray twigs and stuff on it. Now every time she parks at my place she's never sure what shape her car is going to be in when she comes back. I sort of feel her pain - there's a reason I pay through the nose to park in a covered garage.
So, you can imagine my disappointment at the waste of all of my hard work convincing people of Silver Spring's safety when I arrived home (with Maria in tow) to see those oh-so-familiar Police lights and caution tape strung around MY FRONT DOOR.
It appears that this time someone was shot on the front steps of MY VERY BUILDING!
This is the first time a shooting has occurred within zero feet of my residence (that I know of). I should probably be freaking out about it. In fact, I should probably be in line at the gun store to get myself one of those pearl handled purse pistols. But I have a long standing policy of not getting my feathers ruffled by things that ruffle other people's feathers. Thus I remain happily unruffled.
(However, I was not quite so sanguine about rampant crime and the consequential need for law enforcement when I was woken up at 6AM to the sound of a legion of squad cars running laps around my block for twenty minutes. With their sirens blaring. For TWENTY MINUTES. I was wishing I had a gun then, I'll tell you. I would have been doing some early morning shooting practice and the target would have been anything flashing.)
And call me stubborn, but I still don't think I live in the ghetto. I blame Maria, really. I mean, if she'd stop wearing that black cloak and carrying a scythe every time she came to Silver Spring we wouldn't be having these problems! I'm sure of it.
A Pressing Concern
My iron was abducted ... I mean borrowed almost TWO WEEKS ago. I was on the phone getting some juicy details about wedding shower presents ... so I didn't pay very much attention to what the person was saying about where she lived and how long she wanted to borrow it. Basically all I could make out between talking about fuzzy handcuffs and lingerie were the words "borrow" and "iron".
I (wrongly, as it turns out) assumed it wouldn't be a big deal. It was an iron, after all ... who wants to keep an iron? I thought to myself, "Why not try to be neighborly. 'Can I borrow a cup of sugar' and all that. It's not like you use your iron everyday." And so I loaned it out. Fully expecting to get it back within a day or two.
Two weeks later, amigos, the deadline on neighborliness has expired. I've gone through all of my knitwear, and I need my iron back.
You know the saying, Desperate Times call for Desperate Measures, or in this case Wrinkled Times call for Subtle Hints in the Form of a Clever Missing Person Flyer. My neighbors all recieved a copy of this flyer under their door tonight.
I could have been more scathing in it - but I didn't want to scare off the non-iron-stealers in the building. I still have to ride the elevator with these people. I'll save my ire for the guilty party. To that end I'm in my apartment right now practicing my "stern and disappointed expression" in the mirror while I deliver a particularly fierce version of the Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be speech. I have to say, I look like a total badass. Albeit a pretty wrinkly badass.
I (wrongly, as it turns out) assumed it wouldn't be a big deal. It was an iron, after all ... who wants to keep an iron? I thought to myself, "Why not try to be neighborly. 'Can I borrow a cup of sugar' and all that. It's not like you use your iron everyday." And so I loaned it out. Fully expecting to get it back within a day or two.
Two weeks later, amigos, the deadline on neighborliness has expired. I've gone through all of my knitwear, and I need my iron back.
You know the saying, Desperate Times call for Desperate Measures, or in this case Wrinkled Times call for Subtle Hints in the Form of a Clever Missing Person Flyer. My neighbors all recieved a copy of this flyer under their door tonight.
I could have been more scathing in it - but I didn't want to scare off the non-iron-stealers in the building. I still have to ride the elevator with these people. I'll save my ire for the guilty party. To that end I'm in my apartment right now practicing my "stern and disappointed expression" in the mirror while I deliver a particularly fierce version of the Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be speech. I have to say, I look like a total badass. Albeit a pretty wrinkly badass.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Take Your Toolbox Out of Your Car, Just in Case
I have to drive this route almost everyday if I want to get anywhere valuable.
Seems pleasant enough, right? Let's look at it more realistically:
Welcome to Bonifant Street. The Evil Super Villian of Silver Spring. If you venture down it, be prepared for nothing to make sense anymore. Goodbye Farfegnugen. Forget what you learned in Driver's Ed. It will only confuse and anger you. On Bonifant, your only goal is to get out of there as soon as you can, and in one piece.
As the Evil Super Villian of Silver Spring, Bonifant's main power is a crippling Mind Suck. I've seen it a million times. A car turns purposefully onto Bonifant, only to slow confusedly to a stop. The driver then looks around frantically like, "WTF am I going to do NOW?" Then one of two things will happen. They'll either double park. I call it "double parking", but usually that term entails making some effort toward getting near the first row of parked cars. Here it's more like stopping in the middle of the lane, turning the car off, getting out, and then stumbling around in the middle of the street. The second option is for them to roll down the window, hold out their hand to stop any traffic, and make a U-turn. This is best done with a cell phone pinned to the ear. As an Evil Super Villian, Bonifant is indeed powerful.
To me it seems like a pretty straightforward street. No funny signs or one ways or anything. Just drive straight, avoid a couple of potholes, and that's about all there is to it. So I'm not quite sure what the problem is, but my excellent sleuthing skills have caused me to deduce that the global moronification has something to do with a lack of parking. (FYI, I'm pretty much a genius at figuring out what other people's problems are.)
I've often thought about posting about the ridiculous driving and parking behavior on Bonifant, but poor driving is so common here that it really didn't seem worth it.
Until, Edward Banya decided to take the problems on Bonifant into his own hands. His own civilly disobedient, hand tool wielding hands.
Apparently, Banya grew tired of waiting for someone to pull out of their parking space. So he got out of his car and proceeded to help them out by stabbing them repeatedly with a screwdriver in the hand and torso. (No word on if the screwdriver was a Phillips or Flathead). The other driver wasn't seriously injured, but that didn't stop the ENTIRE Silver Spring Police force from coming and closing the street down for four hours. [When I walked by 2 hours after the incident, there were still 10 police cars and a whole lotta standing around. Of course I rushed home to write out a big fat tax check to support their efforts.]
Now, I don't want to be seen as condoning violence. That's not me at all. In a Fight or Flight scenario all you're going to be seeing of me is my receding silhouette running away from you as fast as I can. But some part of me is giving Banya a high five. Who among us hasn't wanted to throttle an idiot driver? I certainly have. And parkers on Bonifant Street have achieved an extra special level of DUMB.
Frankly, something had to be done about it. I'm not really sure it needed to involve hand tools. But perhaps it did.
Perhaps it did.
Seems pleasant enough, right? Let's look at it more realistically:
Welcome to Bonifant Street. The Evil Super Villian of Silver Spring. If you venture down it, be prepared for nothing to make sense anymore. Goodbye Farfegnugen. Forget what you learned in Driver's Ed. It will only confuse and anger you. On Bonifant, your only goal is to get out of there as soon as you can, and in one piece.
As the Evil Super Villian of Silver Spring, Bonifant's main power is a crippling Mind Suck. I've seen it a million times. A car turns purposefully onto Bonifant, only to slow confusedly to a stop. The driver then looks around frantically like, "WTF am I going to do NOW?" Then one of two things will happen. They'll either double park. I call it "double parking", but usually that term entails making some effort toward getting near the first row of parked cars. Here it's more like stopping in the middle of the lane, turning the car off, getting out, and then stumbling around in the middle of the street. The second option is for them to roll down the window, hold out their hand to stop any traffic, and make a U-turn. This is best done with a cell phone pinned to the ear. As an Evil Super Villian, Bonifant is indeed powerful.
To me it seems like a pretty straightforward street. No funny signs or one ways or anything. Just drive straight, avoid a couple of potholes, and that's about all there is to it. So I'm not quite sure what the problem is, but my excellent sleuthing skills have caused me to deduce that the global moronification has something to do with a lack of parking. (FYI, I'm pretty much a genius at figuring out what other people's problems are.)
I've often thought about posting about the ridiculous driving and parking behavior on Bonifant, but poor driving is so common here that it really didn't seem worth it.
Until, Edward Banya decided to take the problems on Bonifant into his own hands. His own civilly disobedient, hand tool wielding hands.
Apparently, Banya grew tired of waiting for someone to pull out of their parking space. So he got out of his car and proceeded to help them out by stabbing them repeatedly with a screwdriver in the hand and torso. (No word on if the screwdriver was a Phillips or Flathead). The other driver wasn't seriously injured, but that didn't stop the ENTIRE Silver Spring Police force from coming and closing the street down for four hours. [When I walked by 2 hours after the incident, there were still 10 police cars and a whole lotta standing around. Of course I rushed home to write out a big fat tax check to support their efforts.]
Now, I don't want to be seen as condoning violence. That's not me at all. In a Fight or Flight scenario all you're going to be seeing of me is my receding silhouette running away from you as fast as I can. But some part of me is giving Banya a high five. Who among us hasn't wanted to throttle an idiot driver? I certainly have. And parkers on Bonifant Street have achieved an extra special level of DUMB.
Frankly, something had to be done about it. I'm not really sure it needed to involve hand tools. But perhaps it did.
Perhaps it did.
Filipino Thriller
I'm a little behind the times on this ...
But have you heard about or better yet, seen this "Thriller" recreation done by Filipino prison inmates? I just learned about it during Wait, Wait .. Don't Tell Me's Bluff the Listener segment. Mo Rocca did a v. clever and v. funny description of this prisonyard stomp. Starting with "So you think you can shank?" and ending with this Vincent Price-esqe poem:
And though you'd like to be set free
Your body starts to quiver
For no mere inmate can resist
This Filipino Thriller!
Check it:
But have you heard about or better yet, seen this "Thriller" recreation done by Filipino prison inmates? I just learned about it during Wait, Wait .. Don't Tell Me's Bluff the Listener segment. Mo Rocca did a v. clever and v. funny description of this prisonyard stomp. Starting with "So you think you can shank?" and ending with this Vincent Price-esqe poem:
And though you'd like to be set free
Your body starts to quiver
For no mere inmate can resist
This Filipino Thriller!
Check it:
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Beer Apologist
"Beer has no calories."
"Dream on dude! Booze = calories = fat. The calories are 80% of the reason why I don't drink. The other 20% is a little thing called 'eternal salvation'."
"Well, we already know you're screwed there."
"You're probably right. Damn."
"So you should drink light beer."
"Dream on dude! Booze = calories = fat. The calories are 80% of the reason why I don't drink. The other 20% is a little thing called 'eternal salvation'."
"Well, we already know you're screwed there."
"You're probably right. Damn."
"So you should drink light beer."
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