Moving In

I've spent the last couple of weeks moving in to my new home in North Arlington (about a mile from the Ballston Metro, for those of you who know the area). The house is really nice, and I share it with a couple of great people. I have been putting everything together -- setting it up just the way I like it. I always hate the logistical nightmare of moving OUT of an old place, but I love the POSSIBILITIES of moving into a new place. I am definitely of the mindset that My Home Is My Castle -- but, more accurately, I would say that My Home Is My Sanctuary. I love to feel peaceful, comfortable, safe, relaxed. That is what I am trying to set up.

Because it is late and I am tired and I have to get to work in the morning (yay being a real live communications lawyer!), I will leave you with this candid shot (artfully edited in post) showing Yours Truly preparing to rehearse the 1812 Overture for last week's July 4th concert on the Mall. It was a blast!


(Photo credit: Nathan Mitchell, CASW Bass)

Another Double Rainbow Over DC

Double Rainbow Over DC, 6/23/08, originally uploaded by CaseWriter21.

A second double rainbow within a week. Was it another Russert miracle? Or was someone else behind this one? I report live from our nation's capital.

Segway vs. Other Forms of Transportation

With gas way over $4/gallon, many people have begun considering alternate forms of transportation. As someone who actually owns a car, bicycle, and a Segway, let me briefly recount my experiences using each method (as well as public transportation and walking) commuting 3 miles to work in Washington DC:

• Car: Driving 3 miles to work takes about 8 minutes. Oh, I'm sorry, are you looking for a time quote DURING rush hour? Oh. Well in that case, it takes 20-30 minutes. During the summer, it's also 90+ degrees here, which means I have the A/C blasting and am burning through the $4.15 gallon of gas far more quickly than the 25 mpg I'm supposed to get. When I finally get to work, I can park in a garage for around $10 (a good price for this city), or drive around for a while, find a meter somewhere, and keep pumping $1/hour in quarters into it all day (thus ruining my productivity at work as I constantly have to break my train of thought to go downstairs and feed the meter). Or I could just pay the $235/month for a monthly garage pass. Either way, we're talking lots of time, lots of gas, and lots of money for parking.

SUMMARY: ~25 minutes, $10+ in parking and gas, NOT stinky when I get there.

Initial cost: $12,000-40,000+, depending on how fancy you want to get.

• Bicycle: The most common response when people find out I have a Segway is, "Why didn't you get a bike?" Well, I have a bike. Thing is, biking up and down hills for a few miles in 90 degree weather with swamp-like humidity tends to cause incredible levels of perspiration and general stinkiness. What a great way to start the day, huh? Sure, I could shower in the little locker room at work, but I don't always want to deal the logistical questions of bringing clothes to work, showering there, etc. That said, when I do take the bike, I go down hills at about 20 mph and up hills at about 8 mph. On average it takes about 15 minutes to go three miles.

SUMMARY: ~15 minutes, no transportation cost, STINKY when I get there.

Initial cost: $200-2,500+, depending on how fancy you want to get.

• Public transportation: I don't live near the Metro, so my only option is to take the bus. Some people might like waiting 20 minutes in the heat for three city buses to arrive in a clump, and then standing crammed in there like sardines for the next 25 minutes while drunken homeless men breath on you. I don't.

SUMMARY: ~45 minutes, $1.35 in fare (one way), not TOO stinky when I get there (but have to deal with a lot of stink on the way).

Initial cost: NONE.

• Walking: I always love how health-minded people get when confronted with the prospect of riding a Segway around. "What ever happened to WALKING?" ask Comic Book Guy lookalikes who rarely venture out of their basement. But let's be fair and examine walking as an alternative. Sometimes, when it's a really beautiful day, say 65-70 degrees and sunny with a light breeze, I'll walk home from work. It only takes about 50 minutes and sometimes I stop off at the bookstore. How pleasant. Problem is, I don't generally like to take my sweet time walking TO work in the morning. Also, the weather is not usually as cooperative. DC humidity will make dress clothes stick to your body in about 10 minutes.

SUMMARY: ~50 minutes, no transportation cost, KINDA stinky when I get there.

Initial cost: NONE.

• Segway: At its top speed of 12.5 mph, you can glide a mile (silly as it may be, that's the verb we use) in about five minutes. When you throw in waiting at crosswalks, it takes about 17 minutes to go 3 miles. Going downhill, I am passed by bicycles. Going uphill, I pass every bicycle. Either way, I never break a sweat. Riding the thing is incredibly fun, and after a while you tend to not notice the fact that people are staring. (Note: Most stares/shout-outs are of the "Holy crap it's a Segway!" variety, as opposed to "Holy crap it's a Nerd!" variety.) I lock the Segway up against a pole outside and set the alarm. Don't have to worry about changing clothes.

SUMMARY: ~17 minutes, a few cents in electricity to charge it (takes about 10 cents to fully charge and gets 20 miles on a charge), NOT stinky when I get there.

Initial cost: $4,500-5,500, depending on how fancy you want to get.

[I cannot compare driving a scooter (Vespa, etc.) because I haven't done that. Scooters get very good mpg so that saves you money, but you also have to buy insurance so that more than cancels out any savings. You also have to deal with traffic, and the fact that some people wouldn't really feel safe driving a light motorcycle around the city -- I know I wouldn't.]

Anyway, that's the breakdown. I've absolutely loved my Segway and put on about 600 miles in the year I've had it. It's not a perfect solution (not as fun to ride in the rain or cold), but it's better than most I've found! If anyone in the area would like to take a test glide, feel free to contact me.

Vote for your favorite personalized license plate!

I am registering my car in DC, and I realized that I can pick out a nifty vanity plate for just a pittance more. I've narrowed my choices down to these four (all of which are available), and I would love if you could voice your opinion in the comments!

I have a definite favorite, and I will explain my reasoning after the vote. (Don't want to do it beforehand because I don't want to taint the voting pool.) :-)

Two Mile Jog... via Segway!

For those of you who have the curiosity to click over to my Fitness site (graph on the right will get you there), you know that I have attempted to take up running lately. Err, jogging. Using Google Earth, I mapped out a nifty 2-mile jog that happens to have a lot of hills, which sucks, but goes through my very pretty neighborhood, which rocks.

Because I can't bring you all on my jog, I have decided to bring my jog to you! I hereby present the 2 miles I have so-far jogged three times... VIA SEGWAY! Enjoy.



Edit: My goodness, that looks like Shiite after YouTube gets through with it... hmm. Well, I have reduced the physical size of the video so that might look a little better. If you want to see the original, come on over to my place! :-)

Turning Down the Virgin Islands

Tell your standard work-a-day drone that you just got offered a yearlong job in the Virgin Islands, and the response is immediate.

"Awesome! A year in paradise! Congratulations!"

Tell him that you are not sure whether or not to take it, and he will look at you with a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Are you kidding me? You even have to think about this? It's the Virgin Islands, man! Have you ever seen the place? It's heaven! What do you have to think about? You don't have a full time gig lined up here... this would be a full-time job, partying on the beach every night... Why are you even hesitating? TAKE IT!"

Tell him that you've decided to turn it down, and his look of shock and confusion becomes tinged with resentment.

"I can't believe you're going to turn it down. If someone offered me a job in the Virgin Islands, I'd take it in a heartbeat! The average temperature in the winter there is 73 degrees. In the summer the average is 84! Beaches and deep blue water and glorious sunshine! How DARE you turn that down? What is wrong with you? Are you mad???!"

The answer, of course, is no. I am not mad. Perhaps you would be mad if you turned down this offer. The Virgin Islands, to many, are paradise. But for me, the idea of going to the Virgin Islands for an entire year - possibly two - is simply not paradise. I have been to the islands twice. Each time, for no more than a week. It was great! I had people waiting on me hand and foot, I had fresh water delivered to my doorstep daily, and don't forget the rum that was placed in my hotel room every day. Yes, living in a luxury resort on the fabulous island of St. Thomas was an amazing experience.

That is not what I would be doing.

Contrary to popular belief, the Virgin Islands are not as heavenly as they first appear. The crime rate is unbelievable. People are poorly educated. Customer service is an absolute joke. It's basically a third-world country with a nice view: the only thing that's really nice about the Virgin Islands are the beaches. And I sunburn! Seriously, I am not the kind of person who takes pleasure in spending every night, beach with a beer in my hand I am sure many of you are. There is nothing wrong with that. It is not for me.

Oh, sure, the work would be interesting. With such a high crime rate, the criminal cases alone would be worth the experience. Further, due to the general lackadaisical nature of the workers in the Virgin Islands, there is a tremendous backlog of cases - almost 300 civil cases have not yet been decided. People have been waiting for years. The current judge told me that he works every day from approximately 8a.m. to 7p.m. He is in desperate need of a clerk - someone to give all of the work to. I am sure he would love to have me. And I would learn a lot too.

But a working environment in which I would be doing something interesting and helpful to my future career is not the only consideration when taking a new job. The fact is, I love Washington DC. I love it because of the vibrant culture. I love it because of all the singing opportunities. I love it because of all the educated young people here. I love it because of all the Starbucks.

Yes, I said it. I have learned from experience that my general level of contentment with a place will be directly proportional to the number of Starbucks. Starbucks and big bookstores with coffee shops. No, I am not insane. I just recognize that these kinds of establishments are emblematic of the level of civilization that a society has developed. No Starbucks means no higher civilization, to which I am so accustomed. St. Thomas has no Starbucks. The Virgin Islands have no Starbucks. I would not be happy.

I have built the last several months around the idea of returning to Washington DC to pursue a career in telecommunications law. A trip to the Virgin Islands would be, at best, an interesting experience that would not help with my chosen career path, or at worst, an unnecessary detour that leaves me sunburned and bug-bitten. I don't need to be in the islands trying to stem the tide of crime. I need to be here in D.C., where my life is. I need to be making professional contacts. I need to be attending communications bar events. I need to be publicizing my indecency article. I can do none of that from the Virgin Islands.

And, more than that, there is the fact that my primary form of leisure here is singing with various choirs. From September through May, the Choral Arts Society of Washington is my main form of release. I get paid to sing tenor at a church in Maryland. I am in the process of auditioning for the holy day services at various synagogues around the area. And my voice coach recently told me that she thinks I'm ready to audition for the Washington National Opera. How could I leave now? What would I do in the Virgin Islands? Join a steel drum band?

Relaxing on the beach with an alcoholic beverage in my hand is a fantastic way to spend a week or two. It may be a fantastic way for many - if not most - readers of this blog to spend not just a week, but a year. Or two. Or the rest of their lives. But it's not for me. I am a Washingtonian, through and through. I love it here, and I would not give it up. Even for a year in the Virgin Islands.

Answering Our Own Questions

(This is a joint blog entry, composed by Matt and Sweetie.)

Most people know Matthew Lesko as Question Mark Guy (or some derivation), the man who screams about free money on infomercials late at night. But for my Sweetie and I, he has long been a metaphor for our sometimes uncertain relationship. The first time we saw him, Sweetie and I were just starting out. It was September 2005, just a few weeks into our nascent relationship, and we were taking in a movie in Chinatown. At the time, I was uncertain whether Sweetie, a Latin teacher, was playful and quirky enough for me, or whether her "magistra" tendencies (magistra is Latin for "teacher") would dominate. A question mark lay before us. That night, for the first time in our lives, we saw Matthew Lesko.

Fast forward to December of 2006. We had already broken up, but Sweetie came to my Christmas Concert with the Choral Arts Society anyway. During the concert, she sat alone, wondering what would become of us. At intermission, from the balcony, she saw him: a man decorated head to toe in question marks -- dress question marks, no less!

After the concert, Sweetie brought the sighting to this tenor's attention, feeling it was a terrible omen. Sweetie was distraught, because she saw Question Mark Man as symbolizing the end of our relationship. It had now come full circle -- questions in the beginning, when Matt wasn't sure if she was right for him -- and questions in the end, when Sweetie didn't know if they would ever really spend time together again. We spotted his question-mark-adorned car in the parking garage, and decided to wait for him, intent on questioning the man ourselves. What do you mean?? we wanted to ask. Why are you always here during times of discernment? Do you have any answers for all your questions? We would not get the chance to ask. After waiting in an empty parking lot for half an hour, we realized the Question Mark Man would remain a mystery that night. As we drove out of the parking garage, we noticed yet another question-mark-adorned vehicle, and realized that the man had decoys, likely to prevent insane people like ourselves from stalking him down and trying to squeeze out of him answers to the greatest mysteries of existence.

The third time, Sweetie saw the Question Mark car through tears. I had just returned from London, and we decided to go to dinner and the theatre together. It was Sweetie's favorite kind of evening, full of feelings of love and affection. This night was an experiment: We wanted to see if we could still go out and enjoy a nice evening together whilst remaining single. The experiment failed. As we sat in my car at the end of the night, Sweetie consumed by emotion, we looked across the street and our jaws dropped as we saw the Question Mark Car yet again. It was parked right in front of Sweetie's building. It was definitely a sign. But a sign of what? Alas, there would be no answers to these incessant question marks.

Fast forward yet again. Although the future remains unclear, the Sweeties find themselves in a place of relative calm, having made plans to take an educational road trip next weekend and teach Matt a little bit about our nation's history. Today, just after Sweetie dropped off Matt's lunch at his place of employ, she happened to glance into the Starbucks across the street. She left a frantic voice mail on Matt's phone.

"Sweetie. I just happened to pass Starbucks, and -- Guess. Who. I. Saw. Question Mark Man." Her voice didn't sound surprised. In fact, it sounded like she completed expected to see him. "I swear, every time something exciting happens for us... there he is. This would be a great time to talk to him. Call me back."

I bolted through the stairwell door, confident I could run six stories down faster than it would take to wait for the elevator. I couldn't let this chance to talk to Question Mark Man -- to get some ANSWERS -- pass us by.

I ran across the street to find Sweetie pacing outside the door of Starbucks. "He's right in there!" she shouted breathlessly. "What should we do?"

"We should go in and talk to him, of course!" I said, calmly.

"Sweetie, I can't go in!" she said. "What would I say? I'm scared!"

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Sweetie was scared of everything. Now, at the prospect of finally getting answers, she was scared to find out the truth. I told her to Wait Here, and I walked inside.

Question Mark Man was on the phone. I beckoned Sweetie in, and had her grab a table just across from him, as I waited in line for a perfunctory iced chai with which to wait him out. I returned to the table where Sweetie was conducting not-so-covert surveillance, and there we waited.

"Sweetie," I said, "stop staring!"
"I want to make sure he doesn't leave."
"Sweetie, we don't want him to think we are stalkers."
"But we ARE stalkers! We need to know the truth!"

I sipped my chai and glanced at the newspaper as I waited for Question Mark Man to get off the phone. He had the handset pressed to his ear, doing so little talking that Sweetie wondered aloud if perhaps he wasn't really on the phone, but was just holding it up "to look busy." I responded that if he wasn't really on the phone, he was holding it up so that he could avoid being accosted by people like us.

"Maybe we should leave," Sweetie said.
"WHAT?! We get so close and then you would have us leave?"
"He could be on the phone for a long time."
"He's RIGHT THERE! All our questions, waiting to be answered!"

She looked a bit sheepish and agreed that, as usual, I was right. [EDITOR'S NOTE: Sweetie disagrees with that line, calling it "revisionist history."] After a few more minutes, Question Mark Man ended his conversation. Sweetie and I looked at each other excitedly, and then, after quickly arguing about who would speak first, we approached him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lesko?" she said.
The bequestioned man looked up and smiled, knowing a fan when he saw one. He stood to greet us, shaking our hands.
"We have been wanting to talk to you for a long time," Sweetie said.
"Really?" Question Mark man looked surprised.
"You have been present at every important stage in our relationship."
His eyes widened as he realized he was going to be here a while. Boldly, pulling up a chair, Sweetie told him, "Take a seat."
I chimed in. "Do we have a story for you."

Several minutes later, after recounting his fortuitous appearances throughout our entire relationship, and offering him sound business advice ("You should ride around on a question-marked Segway!"), it became apparent that he had no answers for us. In telling him the story, we had answered our own questions. Instead of him telling us what his purpose was, we told him what he meant to us.

He looked a bit overwhelmed. In person, this friendly man was not wild and crazy at all, but rather soft-spoken and contemplative. He paused, as though taking it all in. Then he smiled.

"Gee," he said, "usually people just want to tell me how I helped save them a lot of money!"

(Under my breath) "Sweeeetie.... why aren't you waaaaaviiing...."

Matt Inaction Day

A proposal by one of our interns (yes, that intern). Although he has known me but a few short months, he understands me better than many who have known me for years.

The following e-mail was forwarded throughout the legal department:

The day will be spent watching ways in which Matt highlights his inactivity.

Potential observed activities include: watching Matt update his blog, watching Matt delete inappropriate comments from John made on his blog, watching Matt read his NAB emails and craft pithy responses, watching Matt send off pithy responses to nearly everyone he knows, listening to Matt snore, attempting to listen to Matt snore over the drone of his fan, attempting to overhear the swill Matt listens to on his FM radio, watching Matt's body slowly decay as he eats only the spinach and prune shakes he makes in the morning, watching Matt draft long and winding memoranda on various and sundry arcana of telecommunications law, observing Matt as he slowly wanders into the intern office to level baseless insults at the interns.

For the record, my radio is more commonly tuned to AM (Rush Limbaugh, of course!). Also, my shakes contain not just spinach and prune juice, but also protein powder, thus ensuring that the decay will be minimal.

UPDATE: Neil the Intern, in a comment to this post, recommended that I publish the original e-mail I sent out, which led to his proposal. I think that is a fine idea.

In response to an e-mail from my boss soliciting suggestions for the next legal newsletter, I e-mailed the following spur-of-the-moment article to the Legal Department (edited for Google anonymity):

STAFF ATTORNEY CALLS LEGAL INTERN 'BIGGEST REGRET' OF HIS LIFE

By Matthew S. ___
NAB Staff Reporter

WASHINGTON, DC -- From the first day John H___ set foot into the legal office, staff attorney Scott G___ knew he had made a mistake.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes,” G___ says, rubbing his eyes wearily. G___ looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His office is strewn with empty tea bags. “This kid was wearing hot pink pants. I [expletive] you not. Hot pink.”

G___ had been responsible for selecting three interns to work in the legal department for the summer. One, Evan M___, was a known commodity, having interned there before. Another, Neil M___, had political connections that might make him valuable (Neil is the son of a Congressman).

Then there was H___. On paper, he looked like a sure thing. A rising second-year law student, he had gotten himself published in the New York Times. He had also achieved the highest echelons of Scouting, attaining the storied realm of “Eagle.”

“When we talked on the phone, he seemed nice enough,” G___ recalls. G___ had skimmed several hundred resumes sent by eager up-and-comers across the country. Another thousand envelopes sat unopened underneath his desk.

Unopened they would remain. G___ decided to go with the Eagle Scout.

To this day, it is what he calls his “biggest regret.”

“I’ve made mistakes before, no doubt.” He leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling, a slow smile spreading across his face. He is thinking about college, grad school, all the poor, uninformed, underinformed, misinformed youthful indiscretions of the past ten years. “I could tell you stories!” Suddenly, he turns serious, and looks a reporter square in the eyes. “But John… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

To be fair, H___ gets high marks from the rest of the staff. “He’s a good kid,” says Marsha M___, head of the department. “Always gets his work done quickly.”

Gruff contract attorney M. Scott S___ agrees. “I have no complaints,” he says. “I like his pants.”

None of this consoles G___, who to this day wishes he had taken the time to look through the thousand unopened packages under his desk, instead of burning them all at an alcohol-inspired bonfire he threw to celebrate the vernal equinox.

“I’m chalking it up to life experience,” G___ says. He vows that next year will be different.

Will he read all the summer intern applications? a reporter asks.

G___ looks down at his shoes, appearing to think deeply. Just when it looks like he is about to fall asleep, G___’s head lifts back up. “I’ll open all the applications,” he says. “I can’t promise any more than that.

“One man can only do so much.”

On Stupidity

A. Half the world is in the bottom 50% of intelligence.

I was watching "1 vs. 100" the other day -- that NBC show in which... well, because I'm too lazy to type the description out, I will paste in what Wikipedia has to say about it: "a single player (the 1) goes up against 100 other contestants (the mob). The 1 gains money for each mob member eliminated, but loses all winnings with an incorrect answer at any point. The host is actor-comedian Bob Saget, and the top prize is $1,000,000 US."

Okay. So the first question in these types of shows is always insanely easy, and the broadcast I was watching was no exception. The question was: "Which of these life forms has the fewest number of cells?" The choices:

1. Eastern Grey Squirrel
2. Calista Flockhart
3. Amoeba

Now, any reasonably intelligent person would laugh at how ludicrously easy that question is. An amoeba is, after all, a one-celled organism. We all learned that back in elementary school. Imagine my shock, then, when the "1" had to use one of her lifelines (or "helps," or whatever it is the kids are calling it these days), in this case choosing to "Poll the Mob." Of course, the most popular answer was the amoeba.

But that's not all: they revealed how many people got the question right versus wrong... and of the 100 people, 89 got it right.

This means ELEVEN GOT IT WRONG. You read that correctly: 11 people out of 100 did not know that an amoeba has fewer cells than a squirrel or a skinny actress. Granted, said actress only has 100 cells, but that's still an order two orders of magnitude greater than one. I just wanted to strangle them all, but I contented myself with the knowledge that they will soon likely weed their genes out of existence through natural selection.

B. The District of Columbia Street Signage Department

Parking around my building is usually quite plentiful, except late at night. As I am a veritable Party Animal, routinely rocking the house in Adams Morgan until the wee hours of the morning, I often have to search for an open space. I recently discovered a treasure trove of spaces just half a block down the street, with a street that indicated Zone 3 parking from 7 am - 8:30 pm! Awesome! But then I noticed the sign just above:



Which is it?! And can someone please tell me which Civil Sadist gave the go ahead to install these two contradictory signs right next to each other? And what do I do? One friend told me I should park there and, if I get ticketed, show them this picture. Another said that I can't park there because the negative sign supersedes the positive sign. Yet another said that I can't park there because red signs are legally superior to blue signs.

Someone please help. I cannot cope with all the idiocy.

Happy Independence Day!

CAS-Capitol-Fourth, originally uploaded by CaseWriter21.

Tonight I had the pleasure of ushering in the 231st year of America's existence by singing in the Capitol Fourth concert on the West Lawn of the Capitol. The concert was broadcast live in HD on PBS, and I made it on screen a few times! This image is actually a photograph I took of my television screen, then cleaned up a bit in Photoshop. Click through for a larger size -- the HD image is truly stunning.

Last year I didn't do the concert, and as I watched it from home, I balked at its cheesy nature -- the Vaudeville style, the dancing girls, the pop artists. This year, it was still as cheesy as ever... but I actually got into it. There is something amusing about Tony Danza tap dancing with a bunch of hotties and singing about how "You're a Grand Ol' Flag" is "one of those songs that you hear now and then -- you don't know just where, and you don't know just when..."

I still prefer a more serious, stately celebration... but this was really fun. AND: I got to keep the tie.


Choral Arts sings backup for Elliot Yamin in "America, the Beautiful"

My Fraternity

Michigan Review Editors-in-Chief, originally uploaded by CaseWriter21.

Tonight the Collegiate Network (CN), which funds hundreds of conservative student newspapers across college campuses nationwide, held a cocktail reception for all its members and alumni in DC. My alma mater, The Michigan Review, had a strong presence, with several current members and former editors present. Pictured are five editors-in-chief running a 17 year span. Incredible to get us all together! (Note that as the years progress, the human race seems to grow smaller. By 2032, the average editor-in-chief is expected to be 3'6" tall. I believe this is all part of Evolution's master plan.)

During college, I spent most of my free time in Suite One, the home of the Michigan Review. From 40-hour Production Weekends, to those evenings I was there so late that I decided just to sleep in the office, the Review was my college experience. When I think back on college, the clearest images in my mind are moments from the Review. Being awake at 3 a.m., editing the latest issue in a campus computing lab with my best friends. Sitting around in Suite One, working on our new hand-me-down computers while Sinatra plays in the background. C.J. cracking jokes. Driving the finished paper to our publisher in Howell, MI, at 6 a.m. on no sleep... and returning a few days later to pick up 5,000 finished copies. To this day, my best friends are drawn from those kindred spirits I met in Suite One almost 10 years ago.

Ah, the Michigan Review. It stole my youth and killed my GPA... and I wouldn't trade the experience for anything.

The Sexual Appetites of DC Interns

• "I once had online sex in Second Life.
  I just wanted to see what it was like.....
  It was weird." -Neil the Intern

Clearly Monica was not the only lascivious 20-something to intern in our Nation's Capital.

A Tale of Speed Dating: Second Time's a Charm!

Good day everyone! Welcome to another installment of "Hurry Dating on U Street!" Last year, the subtitle was "OR: Hurry Up and Get Me Outta Here!" -- but this year, things were a bit different.

That they were, Gweepay, that they were. Whereas last year we had to deal with several incredibly unattractive women, and one who may or may not have been the Biggest Witch of All Time, this year... well, I can't think of a single girl who would take the new crown as Bitchy McBitchBitch. They were generally pretty pleasant, with a couple definite winners in the bunch.

Gweepay: The girls this year were, in the aggregate, highly preferable to the motley crew whose presence we graced at the last event. First, the median level of physical attractiveness was much higher at this event than the last. Of 13 girls, I would say that I found all but 2 fairly attractive, and even the two that I didn't find attractive had great personalities. There were no Bitchy McBitchBitches at this event. You won't get to hear me utter my catch phrase, "what a bitch!" on this post. It was just that good.

Matt: That it was, Gweepay, that it was. But I'll bet I can make you utter your catch phrase yet!

Gweepay: Ho ho, go ahead and try! But why don't we get started. Let's go through the girls one at a time. When we were first asked to take a seat, I decided to sit as far away from Matt the Red and the Tough Talkin' Texan as possible. That's not because I didn't want them to hear my game. As everyone knows, I don't have any game. It was largely because girls would get freaked out by meeting three lawyers in a row, two from Michigan, two who went to Georgetown Law, and at least two who had many of the same jokes. I headed to the far left side of the room and sat across from this Indian girl, Virpal.

Matt: Dave, is that pronounced like "Purple"?

Gweepay: No, Matt, I believe it rhymes with "Beer Call." Anyway, because it took a few minutes for the event to start, I was able to converse with Virpal for a far longer period than the 4.5 minutes typically allotted for each girl. My experience with her was very positive. Since I was the first one that she talked to, she had tons of stuff to talk about, and I found her charming, pleasant, and generally the type of girl I like, complete with a love for banter and sufficiently assertive without being bitchy. I checked yes for Beer Call. Er, Virpal.

The next girl I remember talking to was a cute Asian girl. Yes, yes, Young Shin. She was very much an Asian girl... and I don't mean that as a pejorative! She seemed upbeat, fun, cute, and playful. I can't remember a thing we talked about, but I did get a good impression.

Now, the guy directly in front of me was a real piece of work. Every time the moderator blew the whistle, we were all supposed to end our conversations, get up, and move on to the next table. Well, this guy took his sweet old time, trying to make sure he got a few seconds of post-whistle conversation in with each girl. This meant that I had to stand over the table and wait for him to move. This also meant that I got to hear what he was saying. As he got up from one table, I heard him tell the girl at the table that he was an archeologist/oceanographer. Then, I sat down across from her. This girl reminded me of Matt's ex-flame, Sweetie. She was a stately brunette dressed in a very dignified manner. She was from the south. She was very sweet. Anyway, we started chatting and naturally she asked me what I do. I replied, "Oh, I'm an archeologist/oceanographer."

• "Really?!" she said as she looked at me in shock.
• "No, I'm just playing. I just heard that guy," I said. She laughed and laughed and laughed. She had a great laugh.
  

Matt: That she did, Dave, that she did. There's nothing better than a great laugh. Her name was Amanda, which is a pretty good name, despite the fact that it has the word "Man" in it. That kind of gives me pause. You may remember that when we saw her before the event, I mentioned that it looked like she was wearing a wig... she was all dressed up and looked kind of like one of Jennifer Garner's spy characters on Alias!

Dave: Yes, I do recall you mentioning that! You two seemed to get along well... Tell us, Matt, was it a wig?

Matt: Funny you should ask. During our HurryDate, I specifically questioned whether her hair was real, or whether it was a wig! She feigned shock and told me it was real. But I wasn't convinced, so I actually reached over the table and tugged on it! Admittedly, it wasn't the most gentlemanly thing to do, but she was my final HurryDate, and by this point in the night, I had already consumed a very well done Long Island in addition to those three Yuenglings, so my impulse control was not exactly operating at peak efficiency. Anyway, her hair was on there pretty good and tight, so I'm assuming it was real. Now, by this point, I had established a rapport with her, and negged her as recommended in The Game. My four minutes were almost up, and so it was time to use my Gold Material.

Gweepay: The wig thing wasn't your Gold?

Matt: No! That was just a way for me to A) be memorable, and B) physically break the plane, so to speak, that was separating me from the end zone. So, as all BeforeISleep visitors know, I purchased a Segway a couple weeks ago, and it's awesome. Just passed 100 miles. So I ask Amanda if she knows what a Segway is. She perks up and says of course. So I say, "If you circle Yes to Number 27....... you get to ride a Segway." She laughed and laughed! "Do you say that to all the girls?" she asked. I nodded and smiled mischievously. Ah, that sweet laugh.

Gweepay: Wow, sounds like you won't forget her anytime soon. Now, the girls I definitely won't forget were a group of three sexy chicas who were apparently in attendance only for purposes of general amusement. One conversation went something like this:

• Girl: So, this your first time?
• Me: Nah, I've done one of these before.
• Girl: Oh. Get you laid?
• Me: What?
• Girl: Did the last event get you laid?
• Me: Heh. I wish.
• Girl: I mean, that's why people come here.
• Me: You're telling me.G
• Girl: What's your favorite position?
• Me: Sexual?
• Girl: Is there any other?
• Me: The bottom.
• Girl: Really? Why?
• Me: The top is too much work.
• Girl: Hahahahahaha. That's horrible!
• Me: So are you gonna mark me down?
• Girl: I told you, I'm leaving town. I'm not marking anybody down.
• Me: Come on, just mark me down and we'll do some of those things we talked about.
• Girl: Hahahahahahahahahaha!
  

The last girl I spoke with is the Girl Who No One Remembers. Neither Matt the Red nor Tough Talkin' Texan remember anything about her. Her name is Jodie, and she was very shy. She is a major introvert, or an "I" to the Myers-Briggs groupies, and she told me that she was exhausted having to talk to so many people. I can relate, I'm a pretty solid "I" myself, but I doubt she'll get many matches. Especially since I had to explain to her that she had to go home and enter her choices into the system in order to even, you know, receive a single mutual match. But she was still cute. And I still checked yes.

Matt: Yeah, I remember her now. She was very cute, but very quiet. I think I circled Yes, but only because if I don't remember someone, that means they weren't HORRIBLE. So I give them the benefit of the doubt. Actually, I think I circled yes for 12 out of 13.

Gweepay: I checked yes to 10 of 13 girls. Two of the three I didn't select I just wasn't attracted to, and the third got off on the wrong foot with me. I told her I found it interesting that she was from the Bahamas, and she got all defensive and asked me why it was so interesting. Perhaps I just touched a nerve, but it rubbed me the wrong way.

Matt: Wow, what a bitch.

Gweepay: I know, what a -- ooooh, you almost got me!

Secret Video: Choral Arts Society Audition, 2007

Every year, we have to reaudition to get into the Choral Arts Society of Washington. Each year brings a new kind of audition -- two years ago it was individual auditions, last year sectionals, and this year quartets. I LOVE this method! After running through scales, we read through a couple pieces we performed this season. Here we are singing a snippet of Lux Aeterna by Morten Lauridsen. I love singing with small groups, and I also love the Lux -- I'd go so far as to say it is my favorite piece of music, from any genre or time period. So, yeah. Stress-free audition.

(For personal friends of BeforeISleep.net who are not yet personal friends of Yours Truly, I am the one who starts the song.)

Gliding in Washington, DC

Ladies and Gentlemen, after several days of anticipation and one sleepless night of editing, I present to you: Gliding in Washington, DC. Join our hero, Matt, as he meets up with the DC Segway User's Group for his first time on a Segway Human Transporter! For the first time in the history of the World Wide Web,* you will get a first-person view of what it's like to ride (or "glide") through our Nation's Capital on a Segway. Excitement! Humor! Speed! Adventure! Heckling Hillary Clinton!

Highly recommended.**

* Well, at least on my World Wide Web.
** Must be 16 or older. No one over 250 pounds, please. (Segway's limitation, not mine. I am a friend to all, including fatties!)

Cool Segway Man

Cool Segway Man, originally uploaded by CaseWriter21.

After two hours touring about town on a Segway i2 today, I was an old pro. SO MUCH FUN!!! Lots of video coming soon...

The Horror that is the DC Public Library, Georgetown Branch

Yesterday, because of a downed tree on Reservoir Road, I was forced to take a different route than normal to get to Wisconsin Ave. This proved fortuitous, as I saw a lovely building on a hill at the corner of R and Wisconsin. The sign outside said, "DC Public Library -- Georgetown Branch," and the building looked regal and expensive. Whenever I move into a new neighborhood, I like to scope out the closest public library, and if it is pleasant, I like to spend a lot of time there. I was looking forward to checking this out. (Ha! Catch the pun? Checking out! the library! Because -- you know -- you check out books at a -- oh, forget it.)

Today I had my chance to check it out. Oh, the horror. How can I explain... okay, remember back when you were in college, how pretty and impressive those frat houses on fraternity row were? With their red bricks and columns and fancy lettering on the front? But then when you got inside, it wasn't AT ALL what you thought it would be, with old, ratty furniture, and the whole place was run down and had a musty smell to it? Because, you know, frat boys don't care about making things look nice; they just want to party and throw up.

(Please direct all hate mail to: who-do-you-think-you-are@frat-boys-are-people-too.org)

Anyway, that's just what this library was like (minus the partying). As soon as I walked in, my reaction was, "You've got to be kidding me." What promised from the outside to be fancy and modern and clean turned out to be old, run down and dirty. There are three largish rooms, literally four or five seats in each room for people to read or study at, and the entire place had a musty stench that made my eyes water and my nose run. The one bathroom in the building is an exact replica of those disgusting bathrooms in a frat house -- paint chipping, cobwebs everywhere, very dirty, and, of course, THE SMELL.

Unfortunately, I had put an hour and forty minutes worth of change in the parking meter, and I was planning on working on my paper. So I couldn't just leave. I walked back and forth between the three rooms looking for a suitable chair. The first room had three chairs at three tables, all of which were taken. The middle room had a row of 8 old terminals, but no place to sit and spread out. The third room had an empty chair, so I decided on that, and when I sat down it creaked so loud that it became apparent this chair was NOT meant to exist in a library. (Shhhhh!) After I finally sat still enough to silence the chair, and opened up my computer and spread out my papers, I realized that there was NO electrical outlet in sight.

Sighing, I stood back up (CREEEEEEAAAAK!!!!!) and walked into the first room, which by now had some empty seats. I sat down again, unpacked all my stuff, and went to plug my computer into the outlet -- which, it turns out, is so old that it only takes a two-pronged plug. I got back up and sat at the table in the middle of the room, but first ensuring that it had a three-pronged outlet in the floor next to it. I unpacked my computer, etc, and plugged into the outlet. The charging light did not go on. I looked around in dismay, looked back at the outlet, and looked back at the light, which was still not on. A woman at the next table over said, "That outlet doesn't work." Now you tell me.

So I moved to her table, which had an extra seat and an extra outlet, which mercifully worked! But by this time, I had been in the musty library for so long that my sniffles were becoming unbearable. I stood up and walked to the librarian's desk.

"Excuse me," I said quietly, "do you have any Kleenex?"
"What??" she said.
I spoke louder. "Kleenex!"
She took a cursory glance at her desk, looked up at me and blinked. "No... sorry..."
"Um, anywhere?"
She blinked twice. "Sorry..."
My nose was rebelling against the mustiness. "Well, what do you suggest?" I asked.
She blinked three times. "Sorry..."

A fitting end to my pathetic experience. Perhaps I'm spoiled, used to the brand new library constructed just a few years ago in my hometown, complete with three stories, a cafe, a hundred computers two hundred and fifty computers, and plentiful seating, all for the value-conscious price of only $38 million.

I tried to spend some time at the Georgetown Branch of the DC Public Library, but the poor lighting and musty smell gave me a headache and made it exceedingly difficult for me to concentrate. And so, thus ends the Great Library Experiment of 2007. One thing is for sure: I will NOT be returning. (Get it? Returning? The library! Because -- you know -- after you "check out" the books, you "return" them at the -- oh, forget it.)

Tales from the District

I'm back in DC! I've been here for over a week now, settling in to my new place near Georgetown, meeting with temp agencies, setting up informational interviews, singing with Choral Arts, and just generally enjoying the delight that is this City. I have some stories and observations for you, my 3 loyal readers.

• I was the target of a con-artist the other day. Well, I'd say "artist" is too generous; let's call him a con-finger-painter. I went to the Cherry Blossom Festival with Sweetie (before the cherry blossoms froze -- pictures here), and all was generally pleasant until a large goateed man in a "wife-beater," his arms covered knuckle to shoulder in tattoos, approached us. He was holding a cheap disposable camera. He pointed to my camera -- a digital SLR that set me back quite a pretty penny -- and said, "I'll trade you." What? "You take my picture with mine, and I'll take your picture with yours." Now, I like to think that I am somewhat street-savvy, but frankly this guy would be lucky to trick a mentally disabled 10-year-old. I told him No Thanks but I'd take his picture. He protested and got a bit pushy. "Come on man," he said, "you two should get a picture with each other." "We've got lots of those," I said. "Come on, let me just take a picture of you guys." This man REALLY wanted to get his hands on my camera. "No," I said. "I'll take your picture though," I said, trying to remain friendly. I grabbed his disposable camera --

AND RAN!

No, I actually just snapped his picture, and then I quickly grabbed Sweetie and got the hell out of there. I kept my eye on him, though, and sure enough, about a minute later I saw him trying the same ruse on another fellow with expensive gear. Would anyone really fall for that? And does the man honestly think he'll just be able to run away with a big camera and no one would stop him or call out for the police?

• I was dreaming that I was in a musical, and I had been performing in it for a couple weeks, and now, finally, my friends and family were coming to the show. It was the opening scene, and we were all singing a big musical number, and I was putting together a bird cage on stage, and all was going swimmingly. Then, right in the middle of a big crescendo -- MY ALARM CLOCK RANG! And i I realized, in my dream, what had happened: that this was indeed a dream, and nothing more. And I remember the disappointment I felt in my dream that I wouldn't get to continue the musical, and my disappointment at the knowledge I now possessed that the dream would soon irretrievably fade away. I was also annoyed that I was being awakened by the Beep instead of the Radio; I could have sworn I had set the clock to waken me with music! Then, within a few seconds, the stage, the audience, the music faded to oblivion, and I was laying in my bed, listening to the new music of the day: "Beep! Beep! Beep!"

• I am really torn on Bluetooth headsets. They are so much more convenient than wired headsets, but they don't sound as clear. I'm left to choose between sounding clear to people on the other end but being TANGLED by wires, or sounding *okay* but being able to walk around totally free and clear. Tough choice. Of course, I could always just hold the handset up to my ear, but what's the point of living in an era of modern conveniences if I don't use them? I wrote a review of my Plantronics 510 on Amazon.com -- check it out, and when Amazon asks if this review was helpful to you, click Yes! :-)

• The day after the Great Cherry Blossom Con of 2007, I had yet another run-in with a less than savory individual. I was driving down Reservoir Road when the guy in the next car knocked on his window to get my attention. "Hey, I can fix that for you," said the Arab man. "Much cheaper than a body shop. Why don't you pull over and I can give you my business card and an estimate?" Now, as noted above, my street savviness is through the roof, but I had a feeling that this guy wasn't about to mug and/or rape and/or murder me. I had some time to kill, and was interested in getting my broken front bumper fixed, so I pulled into a nice little subdivision. He pulled up behind me.

"This is my day off, and I can fix this for you really cheap," he said.
"Well, how much?" I said.
He walked around the car and estimated he could fix my front bumper for $600, and sand and re-paint the scratches on my left front panel for $100. A pretty good deal, considering it would likely cost a couple thousand were the auto mechanic to do it.
"Let me think about it," I said. "Why don't you give me your card and I'll let you know."
He started to get evasive, and my Savvy Meter went off the charts. "The thing is," he said, without even checking his pocket, "I'm out of business cards."
"Okay..." I responded. "Well, why don't you give me your phone number."
He recited a number, but then got pushy. "The thing is, today's my day off, and I really need the money. I can do it right now."
"I don't have cash right now," I said firmly.
"That's okay, man, look at you, you obviously got money. I can take a check."
"Listen, I'm not going to do it today. I've got appointments. But I'll call you and let you know. What's your name?"
He paused, for just a millisecond too long. "Alex Johnson," he said. I had never before met any Arabs named Alex Johnson. He was almost certainly lying. "The thing is, man, I'm on my way to the hospital right now," he continued. "My wife and I are having a baby today! A son."
"Oh really."
"Yeah," he said, smiling.
"What's his name?" I said, looking for details.
He smiled wider. "Danny Blue." (Beautiful Arabic name, isn't it?) "And I really need the money, because I want to go get my son some clothes, you know, help him start out right."
"I see." I was positive he had chosen the stereotypically Irish sounding name "Danny Blue" because I have red hair and, as far as he knew, could very well be Irish. Tryin' to play on me sympathies, now, are ya? "If you really need the money," I continued, "you can do it later and still get the money. When's your next day off?"
"I'm free every day!"
"Every day? Where do you work?"
"I'm on my own. I'm an independent contractor."
Uh huh. First it was his day off and he wanted to give me a business card. Now every day is his day off and he doesn't have any business cards. I was more direct now. "I'll call you. I have to go."
I got back in my car and took off. I sure hope Danny Blue doesn't turn out like Alex Johnson.

---

Addendum: Speaking of cons, I can't stand it when I call a gym to ask what their prices are, and they refuse to tell me over the phone. "Why don't you just come on down! Are you in the area? You can come on down and we can go over all the prices with you! We've got a lot of specials. Just come try us out!" Of course, if they get me down there, the chances that I'll sign up increase exponentially. (Well, the chances don't increase for ME, because I am aware of their schemes. But the average unwashed stands no chance.) Anyway, I was planning on stopping by anyway to try out their one week free trial, but the membership director's evasiveness on the telephone left a bad taste in my mouth. Anyone had any experience with the Washington Sports Clubs?

Wandering

Last night I went out for beers with my sister, came home around 10:45 and promptly fell asleep. Awoke 8 hours later, refreshed. Went to Tim Horton's for a delish Tim Horton's Breakfast Sandwich (THBS) and OJ; read the paper; came back home and cleaned out my car. Took a long time, because, well, my car kind of looked like this. Looks much better now though.

I am now sitting at Panera Bread, using their Internet access to look for DC jobs on the Georgetown law job board. After that, maybe I'll work on the next great American novel. :-)

Need to find a job soon though. I'm getting pretty antsy. And I really want to get back to DC so I can continue my pleasant existence in my favorite city. So vibrant! So much history! So much culture! So many singing opportunities! I miss it. A lot.

A tale of speed dating -- HurryDate on U Street, or, Hurry Up and Get Me Out of Here!

"So, I went speed dating last night."

That statement has provoked several reactions: amusement, confusion, laughter, and most of all the question, Why??? Well, I went because I wanted to get out of the house. I wanted to meet some people in real life as opposed to just clicking through them listlessly on match.com. I wanted to dip my toe in the Dating Waters. I guess -- if you wanna look deeper -- I wanted to find a Soulmate.

What I found was more like a Krispy Kreme donut: a creamy center of 2 or 3 genuinely nice girls, surrounded by a boring and pedestrian cushion of cardboard cutouts with no personality to speak of, and covered with a sprinkling of Total Bitches.

Speed dating is supposed to let you figure out in 4 minutes whether you're interested in seeing someone again. Although it does perform that function, I'm not sure that's how I would phrase it. Let's try this: Speed dating lets you figure out, within 1 minute, who you absolutely NEVER want to see again.

I know that's rather a negative construction, but it's accurate. The girls for whom I circled yes, I can't say for sure whether they're a "match." All I can say is that I wouldn't mind hanging out with them to find out. But it takes a lot longer than 4 minutes to open up, lose the nervousness, ignore the absurdity of the 4-minute date, and really start to get to know someone.

But 4 minutes is PLENTY for figuring out who you never ever for the rest of time ever want to talk to or see again, ever. Period. Ever. Some people are so humourless, so devoid of spirit and playfulness, so fundamentally evil and bitchy, that their very existence is an affront to all that is Fun and Just and Good. These are the kinds of people who could scare a puppy simply by looking at it, or who kill plants and drain all the color out of flowers just by walking past them.

It's time for some examples! And for help recounting the evening, I hereby introduce everyone's favorite ne'er-do-well, the jolliest man you'll ever sit next to on the Metro, it's none other than the Earl of Gweepshire, the El Senor Gweepay himself, in the flesh!

Dave, why don't you get us started.

Thanks Matt. Direct from Alabama was the woman I like to call the Stealth Bitch. I give her this moniker due to her initially sweet, fun demeanor that evaporates upon any sort of male contact. But don’t just think this girl is a man-hating feminazi; oh no, it goes much deeper than that. Nay, this particular female falls into that rare but seemingly all too frequent category of individuals who possess the uncanny and likely diabolical ability to suck all of the energy, fun, and goodness out of a person, situation, or room. It’s the Midas touch with a twist, and to say it’s not pleasant would be an insult to unpleasantries.

Unfortunately for me, Stealthy was my last “speed-date” of the evening, meaning I had to end things on a bad note. I had high hopes for the Stealth One --- she appeared relatively cute from afar and seemed fun if a bit demure. As Ursula the Sexy Sea Witch blew her whistle-of-sorts, indicating that it was time to move to the next table, I happily took my seat across from Stealth. I introduced myself and shook her hand. She smiled. Then she dropped the bitch bomb.

“So, what do you do for a living?” said I.
“Oh, I’m a math teacher,” she said.

I then attempted to impress her by telling her all about the magnet program that they had for smart kids in the crappy part of the crappy state which I hail from, and how I was placed into that magnet program in high school, and how I was good at math, but I ended up hating it. Naturally, I thought this story would accomplish two objectives. First, it would allow us to develop a connection based on a shared experience: she teaches math; I had a neat story about being taught math. Secondly, it allowed her to learn more about me, where I’m from, and so forth.

Bitchy’s response? A look. A sort of bitchy look that communicated to me: “Stop trying to pretend we have things in common.” She then moved on to another topic. I tried to soften her up by pointing out that I could read her subtle accent, and that she was obviously from somewhere down south. For a moment, she let her guard down. She was from Alabama, she reported. I told her I was from Michigan.

“Yeah, you have a northwestern accent,” she replied.
“Northwestern? You mean like Washington and Oregon?” I said, knowing that she misspoke and really meant “midwestern,” and trying to add some joviality to the situation.
“No! NORTHWESTERN!” she said, defensively.
“So…Washington and Oregon?” I asked again.
“Oh, I meant midwestern,” she said dismissively, almost offended that I dared to point out her mistake, even in a fun way.

Now contrast that with the many more pleasant vixens that were present, all of whom may or may not turn out to be less than perfect for the Dynamic Duo of speed dating, but all of whom brought a certain sort of charm to the speed dating experience. Like the second grade teacher from Baltimore who was as inquisitive as she was perky, asking all sorts of interesting questions that made one pause to think and ponder.

Oh, I liked the second grade teacher. Of everyone there, she made me smile within the first ten seconds of talking to her. There was just something about her demeanor that radiated friendliness -- requisite, I suppose, when dealing with little kids all day. I can tell you this: If Bitchy McBitchBitch had to deal with 2nd graders all day, there would be no 3rd graders. The 2nd graders would all die from lack of sunshine.

Let's keep talking about the Bitch for a few more minutes. I asked her for three words to describe herself, because, you know, we've only got four minutes and I'm trying to figure out what makes people tick. Now, I've had problems in the past with this question -- a few years ago, someone's three words were "honor, duty and loyalty." Somehow I didn't think that Marine answer would go well with my "creative, musical, curious." The next few minutes were spent in near silence. Ugh!

Hoping for the best, I asked what her three words were. "Loyalty," she said. I started having flashbacks to the Marine. "Feistiness." Coming from the 2nd grade teacher, that would have been great; coming from this one, it didn't bode as well. "And I'm not going to give you a third word."

Me: "Why not? Too many to choose from?"
B-McBB: "I'm just NOT. It's just those two." No smile.
Me: "Okayyyyyy..... well, um, explain a little. How are you loyal?" I say, in my best grin-and-bear-it style.
Her: "I'm very loyal to my friends and family."
Me: "That's great. But let's test it..." I say with a mischievous grin. "Let's say your best friend got into an argument with somebody, and things got chaotic and she ended up somehow pulling out a dagger and--"
Her: "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Me: "Okay okay but let's just say--"
Her: "No, I am not going to answer your question. My friend would never pull out a dagger."
Me: "Okay, then let's say it's just a regular knife, not a dagger."
Her: "I am a mathematician," she says with an icy stare. "We don't speculate about things that would never happen." I didn't tell her that as a law student we speculate about this stuff all the time.
Me: "Well, as a mathematician surely you study probability, so what if, though it's improbable--"
Her: "I'm NOT talking about this."
(beat)
Me: "Well I sure see the feistiness."
Her: Icy stare.
Me: Shudder. "Speaking of loyalty, did you hear about the homeless guy in Dupont Circle and his dog, Precious? Apparently they used to be there all the time and the dog was very friendly. Well a couple days ago he was chasing squirrels in the Circle and a cop came to the homeless guy and told him to put the dog on a leash. The homeless guy hesitated and the cop started shouting, going ballistic. So Precious is curious and runs up to see what's going on. She stops a few feet from the cop, who by this time has pulled out his GUN, and suddenly shoots the dog!" This really did happen a few days ago. I was trying to see if she was at all sensitive, or if she would feel any remorse for the dog or his bum master.
Her: "I'm not surprised," she says coldly. "It was a police officer."
Me: "I always thought police are supposed to help."
Her: "They DON'T. They just harrass. I was harrassed three times this year by police!"
Me: "Wow, what happened?"
Her: (Very angry.) "The first time, I was driving and a cop pulled me over for NO reason, and started HARASSING me. Just because my registration had lapsed or something. The second time, I turned when the sign said not to, and again a cop came up and started YELLING at me and TOTALLY harassing me. I didn't do anything! And then..."

She went on to talk about another time when another cop "harrassed" her for "not doing anything," but by this time I was so fed up with this bitchy girl and her warped sense of reality and her inability to be playful or funny or even SMILE at all, I was wondering how the laws of physics had inexplicably altered so as to turn four minutes into four YEARS, and I was wondering why I had shelled out $35 for this.

What a bitch! But there were some good ones... like the spunky architect, also from Baltimore, who had a quirky temperment mixed with a no-bullshit attitude, which your humble correspondent loves, because that means she’ll do all the stuff in the relationship that requires confrontation (which I hate), but also won’t be a bitch to me personally (which I also hate). In that sort of relationship, everybody wins! And by “everybody,” I mean me.

And who could forget the Italian minx from Long Island, who now lives in Baltimore, who was sweeter than, er, something incredibly sweet, and who loved San Francisco. And then of course there was the Asian architect, and she too was from Baltimore, who was a proud INTJ. Once again, is it too early to say whether any of these girls would be even a halfway decent “match” for our Heroes? Absolutely. But were they eons and eons more pleasant to chat with for four minutes than Bitchy McBitchBitch? You better believe it.

I really liked the Asian architect. I didn't know she was an INTJ, but as a fellow INTJ, I'm not surprised we clicked. I met her by the end of the evening, and after two hours of meeting a bunch of random girls, I was done with it. I told her as much. I told her I'm an introvert and I really would rather be somewhere else. She asked why I would come to one of these speed dating things, being an introvert and all. I explained that my introversion gave me even more of a reason to sign up -- it would force me out to meet people! All in all, we had a good chat and it was a pleasant way to finish the evening. She was a definite Yes... I wonder if she said Yes to me too? But wait a sec -- even if she did say yes, she's in Baltimore! What's up with that? Am I going to have to drive all the way out to Baltimore??

Why were there so many girls from BALTIMORE present? Look, I got nothin’ against B-More. It has a certain charm to it, if charm can be measured in gunshots and drug deals, and I’m sure it’s a fine city. But come on, Hurry Date, do you know how FAR B-More is from DC??? Me? I’d have to take the Metro, and then switch lines, and THEN take the “MARC” train for an hour, and then, once in B-More, take a cab to my damsel’s place. That’s too many transfers for me to even calculate.

I don’t want a girlfriend who lives in another city. Because, as the guy, we all know that I’d be the one having to sacrifice and go up to friggin’ Baltimore every friggin’ weekend. At that point, the only way to sustain the relationship would be to talk on the phone for an hour or two a day. I run out of things to say on the phone in 7-10 minutes. This is all very upsetting.

In any event, with just hours to go until I find out which of our fine Hurry Daters selected me as a match, I am being realistically optimistic. I’m hoping for 2-3 mutual matches. I predict that the following girls will select me:

1) One of the three quirky architect girls from Baltimore. Hopefully that spunky gal, but probably not.
2) One of a) Long Island chick or b) inquisitive 2nd grade teacher, but not both.
3) One random girl who I haven’t thought much about, possibly even someone I marked “no” to, like the girl from Nigeria named after a brand of shoe.

I said no to the shoe also. Overall, I marked yes for seven of the 14 girls we met, but a few of those were pretty borderline. I am also hoping for 2-3 mutual matches -- actually, I want the same ones as you! The 2nd grade teacher or one of the architect girls. They seemed to like me. I went up to them after the event was over and said, "Now, I know you're all friends. And I just want to tell you: Please don't fight over me."

But ultimately, if no one picks me, I won't be too down about it. After all, HurryDating, SpeedDating, FrenzyDating -- whatever you wanna call it -- is fundamentally unnatural. I much prefer to meet my women the old-fashioned way: On the Internet.