Potpourri 15

The Last Day of School

I'm coming back from lunch on Monday around 2 PM when my cell phone rings; it's my sister Cate. She leads with

"Hey bro! Guess what?"

"What's up?"

"Today...was my last day...of high school!"

I paused. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

She responded. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

"So, this means that you never have to go back to high school ever again?"

"That's right!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

She was howling. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"

This continued for about two minutes before we ended the call. I was buzzing the rest of the day; how cool was it to be done with high school? I remember my last days of high school--man, you couldn't contain the excitement. Getting out of high school in a lot of ways--as much as I loved it--was like getting out of prison; you could see the promised land that is college and you could truly embrace the idea of the next step. For some of my friends, that next step was working a jobby job, but even for those folks, they seemed pretty fired up to not have to take classes in high school any more. Much like that hilarious Southwest commercial where the office employees leave work like it's their last day of high school (complete with grown adults throwing rolls of toilet paper in the air and one mom peeling out of the parking lot in her minivan), the final day of high school really is glorious.

Strangely, if you go to college, the last day of college seemed to be a much more mixed experience--people are truly sad to see the college experience end, because I think people realize the day they get their degree that the easiest times of their life are over...but, they're happy to get the next stage going with many solid memories in their pockets.

Fly Lounge

So, this past Friday night I decided to truly go out alone--i.e., go to a club where there was a shot that I would see no one that I know, save for the DJ, who of course was Enferno, the Greatest DJ of All Time. Going out by yourself, I now see, can be a bit odd in a place where folks are wondering why you came out to drink by yourself alone; I showed up at the new nightspot Fly Lounge (formerly, Red, on Jefferson at Connecticut Avenue in Dupont Circle) and sat in a corner for a while, soaking in the tunes and the scenery, which as you can see from the website is mostly stewardesses that serve RIDICULOUSLY expensive table clientele and bar customers drinks that enter the price stratosphere.

That stratosphere?

Amstel Light, Corona: $9 (no, the bottles are not glazed with gold strippings)
Bottled water: $5
Screwdriver, with rail vodka (Absolut): $10
Screwdriver, with "good" vodka (Grey Goose): $13

These drinks were served in glasses not big enough to hold my fist; probably a 9-oz. glass with a ton of cubes. No, there's no cover, but damn, do the owners make up for it.

And so does the ritzy clientele. Like Enferno and I talked about in-between songs, the mix of black, white, Asian and other cultures was great, the spot is small but still mixes it up with some dancing, and the interior of the lounge is smooth--the interior is meant to be like the interior hull of an airplane. For now, it works...IF you could afford to drop $50 in drinks on yourself at a tiny lounge. My buddy Gordon, aka "The Professional", showed up around 11 and we proceeded to stare at the pretty people for a while and get the shake on before we bounced; good times!

Thank Goodness for Beer

This past Sunday, my friends Katia and Kate hosted a baby shower for your friend and mine, Rob "Jellybean" Grant and the lovely wife, Ms. Colleen. One problem--I was invited.

Don't get me wrong--I'm progressive, I'm hip, I'm down with equal everything...but, in my mind, baby showers are STRICTLY for women. I don't know a single dude who is clamoring for more baby shower invites, gay, straight or otherwise. I don't know a single guy who didn't respond to my detailed Sunday plans by saying

"You're going to a fucking baby shower?"

In the days leading up to the shower, I would randomly drop that I was hitting a shower over the weekend, and all of the women looked at me like I had changed my name to Shiloh. "Why did you get invited to a baby shower?" All I ever responded with was disbelief, like "Damn, you're right...why DID I get invited to a baby shower?" I kept calling up other guys that were invited to the shower--mostly, The Professional--and openly wondered, dude, what the fuck do I bring to a baby shower?

Luckily, the hostesses asked both Gordon and I to bring a 12-pack (whew, now we're talking) and asked everyone to bring their favorite children's book to the party. I made this harder than it had to be, before settling on Oh, the Places You'll Go!; apparently, though, I should have bought The Brown Bear, which was given no less than three times as gifts at the actual shower.

But, the point that I was truly stressing me out the most? Baby shower games!!! In the days leading up to the shower, women couldn't tell me enough about the games that would be played after the gifts were opened; each time I heard about these games, my skin began to crawl, I could feel the walls getting closer around me, my brow became drenched with sweat and I started making excuses for why I was inadequate. (Wait a minute...) When Rob and Colleen's shower got to the gift stage, I was getting nervous because I didn't know what was going to happen next.

That's when it happened--nothing at all. Somehow, this shower had been set up only to include lots of hors d'oeuvres and lots of kids' books; after two hours, it was over, and the eight other guys in attendance all seemed to be gracious, thankful, even, that this turned to just be a party or a friendly get-together, and not a freakin' chance to measure Colleen's belly to guess the circumference or some bullshit like that. If I could be convinced that I would always be this lucky, I wouldn't mind being invited to more of them...but, I know that it's not the reality...

Dear Comcast, Fuck You

It really is amazing when you work with a company that has a virtual monopoly on a particular service in your area; as is the case with Comcast in Montgomery County, having the lion's share of the old-school cable market makes you not care at all about providing quality customer service to your subscribers.

To wit: I had my first appointment to set up my cable on Saturday, June 3rd. My "appointment time" was 2-5 PM, so naturally, I planned for the guy to show up late. At 8 PM, the technician called me to say that he was on his way. At 10 PM, the tech called to say that he wasn't coming at all.

After I let the supervisor have it that night after their boy decided he just wasn't coming at all to set up my shit--did I mention I waited EIGHT FUCKING HOURS for the guy to show up?--I expected that Comcast would just come out the very next morning to activate my services. Oh, no. "How does Wednesday, June 7th sound, sir?" It sounds like shit, cocksucker...but, I don't have a choice, because pleading with you only increases my stress level and does nothing to affect change, because who else can I get to do this through my condo association? (If I was the owner of my unit, I would have already gone with DirecTV, but then I still have the problem of internet service, and Comcast is the biggest provider of that service in my condo, too.)

So, on the 7th, my window is from 8-11 on a Wednesday morning. Naturally, he's late. At 3:30 PM--these muthafuckas are fucking out of fucking control--the guy shows up, and hooks up cable and internet...but there's a problem. He only hooks up channels 101 and higher, leaving me with only about half of my channels. Worse, the tech doesn't even run through the channels to make sure that they work, so even when he was here he didn't do his whole job. So, I berate a number of Comcast employees after this horseshit, and then we set up a time on Monday, June 12th for the techs to come back. On the 12th, the guy only misses the window by 90 minutes--late, but not crazy late--but does the best job of any of the previous guys: he shows up, turns the cable box to channel 6 (which wasn't working before), leaves it there, and never connects with the service to make channel 6 work. In other words, the guy left with my TV on, the message "Not Authorized" on my screen, and some footprints from where he stood while he did nothing.

I wish I was making this up.

So, on the morning of the 14th, channels 1-100 were mysteriously turned on overnight. Two weeks after my move-in, the cable is all working, but no thanks to Comcast's incredibly shit-tastic employees, who could give a rat's ass if I can watch "Let's Make a Deal" or not. I fucking hate you, Comcast!!!

Random Bellviews, courtesy of Bell and Longer Community Trust:

From the MTV Movie Awards: "Snakes on a Muthaf***in' Plane, Muthaf***a!!": Opening Weekend
Road trips: $9.50 Show
Having the opportunity at affordable housing...in Richmond: Matinee
Quiznos: Rental
Getting pregnant a second time and complaining of "nerve damage in your right buttcheek": Hard Vice

bellview--i love to nibble

Potpourri 15