This week I'm at the D.C. Improv with Jake Johannsen and John Garrett. That's a pretty good show. Come on by and check it out!
Vegas, Baby
I got the word this week: I'm going to Las Vegas in November as part of the Lucky 21 contest. Special thanks to all those who took the time to vote for me. Hopefully I'll be able to make you proud.
Perfect Pitch
When the entire Alaskan congressional delegation is forced to resign for ethical reasons (torn from the headlines), the governor appoints a grizzly bear to complete Ted Stevens' Senate term.
Naive and optimistic at the start of his appointment, Senator Grizzly learns the true ways of Washington as he finds himself railroaded into voting on behalf of the evil hydroelectricity lobby, which want to expand salmon-killing dams throughout his state.
The day is saved by an attack of conscience, and also several maulings during a filibuster.
They call George Washington "The Indispensable Man," and here is what
they mean:
Jefferson greeted White House guests in his pajamas. He had a terrible
sense of humor, and though he fancied himself an innovative farmer he died
buried in debt.
Franklin was pushing 70 when the revolution started, and for all his
mental acumen he was never going to figure prominently in the new nation.
What with the syphilis and all.
Adams was lawyer by trade and had almost no political acumen; he was
so manipulated by Alexander Hamilton that his policies fractured the
political class into two separate parties.
Monroe held grudges to a fault, thought he was better than almost
everyone else and died penniless.
Madison, for all his intellegence, was reportedly insufferable and
dreadfully ineffectual as a commander-in-chief. He died broke.
When you inventory the Founding Fathers, when you think about the fate
of America, you realize it wouldn't have happened without George
Washington. It's the same dynamic in every office in the world: Idea men
are worthless without someone to get s**t done. It's one thing to say
everyone deserves a sausage. It's another thing altogether to actually
make the sausages and hand them out. George Washington was a
sausage-maker hander-outer. And the name of that sausage was AMERICA. YEAH! CUE TOBY KEITH!
Check out the operations at Mount Vernon and you'll see what I
mean (I went with superfriends Don and Bethany a few weeks back). Jefferson was a farmer, Monroe was a farmer, Madison was a farmer. George Washington, though, was a SUCCESSFUL farmer. He knew how to run a
business. He was a practical innovator. His estate was a model of
efficiency. When all his contemporaries were dying broke, George was worth
half a million, back when half a million was not just the downpayment on a
one-bedroom condo in the D.C. area. He was growing wheat when everyone
else was killing the soil with tobacco; he was running the land's largest
distillery when a young nation was itching to get hammered out of its
gourd; he kept it crackin' like pistachios, made money, and he really
didn't love hos.
And it wasn't just farming. He had solid military command experience
from the French and Indian War, a knowledge of the land from his days as a
surveyor, and enough time running with the brainiac crowd to hold his own
in the new government. The guy was THE celebrity of the 18th century. He
could have been king if he wanted, but he had the judgment to walk away
from the spotlight TWICE -- retiring his military commission after the war
and stepping away from the presidency after two terms. The man was a
leader. He wasn't perfect, but without George, we're all sipping tea and
eating krumpets right now. Krumpets are delicious. But tea? Bleh.
Let's put it this way: You know how you have that one friend who knows how to fix
his own car, built his own deck AND somehow has $100,000 in a retirement fund at age 29 even though you eat most of your meals off a folding card table and can't pay the minimum on your credit card? GW was that friend. For a whole nation.
Mount Vernon is definitely worth your while. It has its drawbacks -- because of visitor volume, you'll probably have to wait in line to see the house, and then you'll be whisked through without much chance for questions. Important questions, like "Would you validate my existence by telling me how thoughtful I am to ask about the patterns on the dining room wainscoating?" But it's something else to see the rooms where he dined, the bed where he died, the guest rooms where the 18th-century equivalents of the Rat Pack stayed ... The first presidential chair is in his home office. That's gotta be the closest we've come to a throne in this country.
And there's much more than the house -- the outbuildings are pretty cool. There's a "pioneer farm" that demonstrates some of the agricultural techniques of the day and provides a home for the most dedicated costumed guides of all:
They don't break character and they even eat grass. That's impressive. There's also the wharf on the Potomac where Washington shipped out his goods, a forest walk, George and Martha's tomb, and a swanky new visitor's center and museum. They even have a disturbingly lifelike
statue of Washington that was made with science and stuff. He doesn't talk, like the much cooler statue at Disney
World, but it's still pretty impressive.
If you get the chance, go three miles down the road to
Washington's mill (background) and distillery (foreground). If you owned a mill back in the day, you were a big shot -- it was actually the law that you couldn't hog it all for yourself, but instead you had to rent out milling time to your neighbors. So yes, Washington was a wheat pimp. Both the mill and the distillery are reproductions, but they're functioning -- so you get a chance to see 18th-century technology in action. The distillery was at one point the biggest whiskey-making operation in the country, run by Washington's Scottish estate manager. They finished rebuilding this year, and while they don't have booze for sale yet, they will soon enough. And that's when we party FOUNDING FATHER STYLE. That means we shoot our flintlock pistols into the air when we're drunk, and then send couriered notes on parchment to our ex-girlfriends. Now, you are wondering: if Washington was planning on going into the whiskey business later in life, does that explain the crushing of the Whiskey Rebellion in 1794? OF COURSE. It was all part of Washington's evil business plan, which you will understand perfectly if you a) drink a fifth of whiskey and b) then read these pamphlets ...
Some general advice if you're visiting: If you get the chance, talk to the costumed workers outside of the main house -- they're the hard-core historical pros. The highlight of my day was asking the kind woman at the distillery the difference between the costumed and uncostumed guides, and her describing it as a "house slave / field slave" relationship. Get to know your guides. They're just as fun as the history. And for that matter, don't be shy about going twice. You're going to get some variety at Mount Vernon. My recent trip, for example, they had a recreation of one of the Jamestown ships parked at the wharf. Three ships like this carried all the Jamestown settlers to their happy new home 400 years ago:
I'm the one in the Indians T-shirt. If you think you might make it back within the year, go for the annual membership. Not only do you save money, but you get a Mount Vernon photo ID. And let me tell you, it opens some doors with the ladies.
Washington had red hair as a youth, though he powdered it to avoid the
persecution that the genetically superior often face.
First in war, first in peace, and according to some first in the buffet line.
The only president elected with no official party affiliation. But most
historians agree he did rock the party that rocks the body.
Served as President in New York City and Philadelphia. Out of modesty, he
refused to refer to the new capital (then under construction) as "Washington,"
instead calling it "Me Town."
Though not inherently musical Washington greatly enjoyed dancing, and in fact
defeated Conrnwallis at Yorktown by serving him in front of all his
troops.
Washington's Mount Vernon office includes a bust of John Paul Jones -- oddly
enough, not the father of the American Navy, but the bass player. Almost no
one was granted entrance to Washington's office, especially on days when "Ladies in
Petticoats Quarterly" came in the mail.
Total strangers often crashed at Mount Vernon after showing up unannounced to
meet the national hero. Washington honored them with a plaque in the guest rooms, reading "Some Rude A**hole Slept Here."
George and Martha had no children of their own, but GW did act as a father to
Martha's kids and grandkids (from her first marriage). Washington's nephew
Bushrod went on to become the Supreme Court Justice with the most embarrassing name
ever.
Due to the difficulty of keeping pigs in a pen, Washington allowed the animals
to run wild on his estate; they would then be hunted as needed. The same
as with British POWs.
The exterior of Washington's home is wood that has been cut and painted to
appear like stone. So go ahead and try to drive your car through it. It'll be
easier than you think.
Washington invented a 16-sided, two-tiered barn for treading wheat, and also
probably because it served some sinister freemason function. Obviously. As a
master mason, Washington presided over the ceremony to lay the cornerstone for U.S.
Capitol, and also the groundbreaking ceremony for the secret dimensional portal to the demon plane Xaxx.
The introductory video at the visitors' center stars Pat Sajak. Do you need
another reason to go? I certainly hope not.
Washington's tomb is at Mount Vernon. Originally, the crypt under the rotunda of
the Capitol was intended as Washington's permanent resting place. But Martha decided to keep the body at home, and now the only dead person in the Capitol building is Robert Byrd.
I signed up for Google AdSense last week -- it places various kinds of ads on Web sites -- and started including some small links on Dcstandup.com, the comedy site I operate for the Baltimore/Washington area. It's not exactly a high-traffic site, and I personally never click on advertising links, because I have everything I could ever want, right here in my arms. So I was skeptical. I wasn't planning any canoeing trips on this particular revenue stream. Especially since I recently rewatched "Deliverance."
Well DOUBTS BE DAMNED! We portage no longer, because one week later, I now have $4.22 burning a hole in my cyber pocket. Ladies, 4/5 of a drink is on me, assuming you are not the kind of lady who orders a $10 drink, in which case I probably do not want to buy you said drink and so kindly move along. Right now I am lighting a $1 cigar with a burning quarter, and it feels great.
All joking aside, I am about $4.17 above my expectations. I love the Internet.
My favorite thing about AdSense is that it scans your page and tries to pick out the most relevant ads for your readers. For most of Dcstandup.com, that means ads for comedy clubs or improv classes or whatever.
On the MonoBlog page, there are ads (as of this writing) for "10 Diet Rules That Work," "Army Ringtones," and three different self defense companies, including Krav Maga training in the DC area. I might need to rethink what kind of jokes I'm posting there.
Reminder: Eastern Market Walking Tour
"Reminder" is a nice way of saying "no one downloaded my walking tour." Just in case you missed it, I put together an audio walking tour for my neighborhood. It's a two-mile trip with six major stops, covering parts of D.C.'s history and culture from the founding of the city all the way to the present day. The whole thing should take about an hour or less, depending on how much meandering the listener wants to do. The picture here is Christ Episcopal Church -- it's one of the stops. Aren't you more excited than ever to download?
All you need is a an iPod or other MP3 player, and you start at the top of the Eastern Market Metro station (blue/orange lines, between 7th and 8th Streets on Pennsylvania Ave. SE). If you happen to try this out, please let me know what you think, good or bad.
The 11 MP3s that make up the tour saved in one zipped file. You can download it through this link.
You shouldn't need a map (it's a simple route and directions are included in the narration), but here's one just in case.
A few weeks back it was my great fortune to visit the Maryland Renaissance festival, because if there's two things I love, it's history and really fat people wearing clothes meant for really skinny people. In school they tell you the Renaissance was all about culture and art, right? Wrong. It was mostly eating things off of sticks and trying to show skin. The greatest engineering advances of the era all had to do with producing more cleavage. So sayeth the good people of Maryland. And they would know, because jousting is the state sport. No, really.
I don't have much in the way of photographs of large veiny bosoms, but I can at least prove the food part:
Yes, that's a sign for macaroni and cheese on a stick. The many times I've had macaroni and cheese, I've always had the nagging suspicion that something was fundamentally wrong. Now I know that it was missing a skewer. You'll also notice the sign (slightly out of focus) in the background for "Sir Lance-a-Wurst," which sells sausages. On a stick. Not pictured: Steak on a Stake. Also not pictured: Cheesecake on a stick. I do not know if Tropicoladas come on a stick, but I would bet that they do, for the right price. The RenFair industry is entirely banked by the skewer industry. Look it up.
This is me eating a fried pickle. I am generally enjoying the pickle in this photograph; if there is any dismay in my face, it is only because the fried pickle was not on a stick. As we all know, fried pickles were a staple of the Renaissance diet, as it was near impossible to sustain corset-bursting weights without frying everything. The taste wasn't all that great, though, so I had to wash the taste out of my mouth ...
... with a regular pickle. Sold by this guy. Two pickles in one day? I know it sounds crazy. But you have to appreciate the salesmanship. This guy really sold the hell out of that pickle, while wearing authentic Renaissance garb. I'm glad he wasn't selling suits of armor, or else I'd be a thousand dollars poorer right now. And I wouldn't have enjoyed that delicious pickle.
Similarly, these girls are really selling the pretzel pretty hard. I mainly include this photo because you can also see another pickle stand in the background. I cannot emphasize how important pickles were to the Renaissance. Western Civilization would have died without them.
This is Jared Stern enjoying a turkey leg. While we can forgive Jared for eating it, it should be noted that the primary use of the turkey leg during the Renaissance was to beat poor people to death. It's how the Medicis entertained themselves. In fact, killing people was the second most popular pastime of the age. A good night in the 1500s involved eating two or three things off a stick, then stabbing someone in the eye with the sticks. If you were still hungry, you could then cook and eat the eye off of the stick. We did our best to carry on the violent tradition:
That's me, along with good friends Allyson, Becca and Jared, preparing to throw axes. You have probably seen axe throwing on TV all the time, and you probably think it's easy. The throwing IS easy. What's hard is summoning up a fountain of rage with each toss. Here's how it's done:
Notice the perfect form, the beautiful rotation of the axe ... and that the motion was so violent that it took the hat off my head on every toss. How do I do it? I think about paying taxes to the girls who never went out with me in high school, all of whom are now married to rich guys with popped collars on their polo shirts. GGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH! I also threw knives, and beer steins. All traditional period weapons. Thanks to superfriend Maegan for the excellent camera work.
You can also go shopping at the RenFest. These particular outfits would have been for someone weighing a minimum of 500 pounds. You can also buy swords, armor, jewelry, hammocks, board games, figurines ... I did not see any booths where you could buy elf or fairy costumes, complete with pointy ears. But I give my thanks to those who honored those species, which were wiped out in a series of pogroms during the 1650s, by suiting up. Also, thanks to everyone in a pirate costume for not going too far and trying to rape people.
All told, it was a fine day. We took in some shows, we ate things off sticks ... I can hardly wait for the Depression Fair.
In a discussion with my brother Dave yesterday, he reminded me that there would not have been turkey legs in Europe during the Renaissance, since turkeys are a North American bird.
Brace yourself, because what I'm about to say may be shocking:
It appears the Maryland Renaissance festival is not entirely historically accurate.
If you have paid the admission fee this year and would like to join me in a class action suit, please e-mail chris@dcstandup.com. Any pictures of you eating a turkey leg will help our case.
I Take Requests
Some of you might have been holding off on buying tickets for my super awesome show on October 27 at the DC Improv Lounge. You were probably thinking, "he might cancel this whole thing. How do I know he's serious?" Well, do unserious people have fliers?
The answer is: no. No they do not. This show is as serious as communism.
And yet much funnier! Just consider, in the space of one hour, you will hear jokes on Boy Scouts, eating babies, body hair, camping, body piercing, quadratic equations, pet names, odors, ancient Sumeria, cars, carpentry, and zoos. And let's not forget the SUPER SPECIAL SURPRISES (assuming the zoning permits come through)!
ROSE and DOROTHY are trying to write a song about Miami to win a contest. ROSE tries to insert the word "thrice" into the lyrics to fit the tune she's written. DOROTHY objects.
ROSE: Thrice is a word!
DOROTHY: So is interuterine! But it has no place in a song.
ROSE (singing): Miami, you're cuter than, an interuterine ...
Bang the Drum Slowly
The Phillies are done. And the Braves have been done even longer. But it would be cruel to deny you a picture of a man with a baseball for a head hitting a giant drum.
And what the heck, here's one of my trademark glamour shots from that same day. Note how the careful framing and use of natural light indicates that the photographer is a stuck-up douchebag.
Rushmore
If you missed it, scroll down to earlier in the week for the 20th entry on my "Dead Presidents" list. I finally scratched off Washington, which means I now have the four Mount Rushmore faces covered.
At this point I've covered over half of the dead presidents in some capacity, but I'm quickly running out of anyone new that's really convenient to visit. James Madison's plantation is a day trip away from my home; so is the Eisenhower farm in Gettysburg. I also could beef up entries on Monroe (law office in Fredericksburg), William Henry Harrison (plantation in Virginia), Washington (birthplace in Virginia) and Wilson (grave/home in the District).
I've also already seen the Hermitage (Andrew Jackson's Nashville home), but it was before I started this mess. I think I need to go back. Besides, I gotta see Polk's grave when I'm in town.
Yes, I am a dork.
Fun fact: The one president with no listed state or national historic site is ... Zachary Taylor. He's from Virginia, but there's nothing nearby to mark his time here. About the only thing to see would be his second gravesite in Louisville. The first gravesite? The public vault at Congressional Cemetery, about 8 blocks from my house. His body was there for a few months. I don't think that counts, though.
If you like your history in 5-minute chunks, swing on by 10th St. in Washington for the creatively named "House Where Lincoln Died." It's right across the street from Ford's Theater, next door to the Lincoln Souvenir Outlet. You can't miss it.
You won't see too much -- the house is original, but all the furnishings are period pieces or replicas. After the death of Lincoln, a cloud hung over the building, which is a boarding house; though people kept on staying there (even in the Lincoln room), the owner (William Petersen) felt a profound sadness about the place; to the end of his days he felt nothing but grief had come to him over the whole incident. Plus people were constantly barging in and stealing souvenirs. So when he closed up shop, he sold off everything in the building. The actual deathbed is in Chicago, but most of the furniture is lost to history. They have one blood-stained pillow left, but it's not on display because the house doesn't have decent climate control. Which is a shame, because it's not every day that you get to see a blood stained pillow, unless you have chronic nosebleeds.
But thanks to the magic of lithography and a few eye-witness accounts, they do have a pretty good recreation of what the room looked like back on April 14, 1865, when Lincoln was carried in from across the street at the urging of a boarder who heard the commotion outside. They carried him to the back of the first floor, into the room of Thomas Proctor, a 17-year-old clerk at the War Department who was out for the evening. It's a tiny, tiny room. Lincoln probably didn't fit on the bed, and with a Who's Who of Washington flitting in and out all night, it's easy to imagine how cramped it must have been.
When Abe kicked it on the morning of April 15, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton supposedly said, "He belongs to the ages now." Though some insist he said, "He belongs to the angels now." And still others believe that he said, "I guess I should update my resume, just in case."
On April 22, 1865, Thomas Proctor attempts to get his cleaning deposit back
Mr. Petersen! Thank goodness. My train leaves within the hour, but I was hoping to talk to you about the bill. What's that? The rate? No, the rate was fine, it was as we agreed upon. I was merely hoping to discuss this small matter, right here at the bottom, of the cleaning deposit ...
Yes, Mr. Petersen, I am aware that the room was, in many ways, less clean than when first I rented it, but sir, please, hear me out -- Thank you. I simply wanted to say, with the utmost respect, that perhaps I should not be held responsible for --
Mr. Petersen, remarks on the quality of my parentage are uncalled for! No, I am not responsible. Who? You actually have to ask? Oh, I don't know, maybe President Lincoln? Stop crying Mr. Petersen. Stop! Yes, we all miss him. Maybe me a little less than others, since I have been finding small pieces of his duramatter on my headboard for the last week, but still ...
The scuff marks? Well, the scuffs on the floor probably came from Mr. Stanton. What with dragging his feet all over. I know he's a great man, Mr. Petersen! I'm not implying otherwise! I think we were all moved by his words. I didn't get to hear exactly what he said when the President passed away, as I was trying to catch up on some paperwork while laying on a pile of dirty rags behind the building. Which, by the way, there's a rather large and rat-infested pile of dirty rags behind the the building.
Well, where was I supposed to go? Mrs. Lincoln refused to allow me to roll in a cot! Even after I asked her nicely. And by the way, I don't see her stepping up to chip in for my boarding fees, plus I think she purloined my copy of Harper's, but I'm more than happy to let that slide on behalf of the country. All I'm saying is that I question Mr. Stanton's choice of such heavy footwear when entering a room with hardwood floors.
So what if there are chips on the furniture? Look, there were 321 people in the room last week! I'm not paying for this! Maybe the one water ring on the nightstand, but that's it. I certainly am not paying for the blood stains on the baseboard. Can I prove I didn't do it? Do you see any gaping headwounds, Mr. Petersen? Well if you insist on keeping my cleaning deposit you might.
The smell? Listen, have you ever tried asking the Speaker of the House not to smoke? Oh, wait, of course you haven't, because YOU WERE THERE. YOU can't believe this? I was out enjoying a meat pie and some ale, and when I come back, with a fine young lady I might add, half of my wardrobe has been comandeered as blood mops. Take them to a dry cleaner and all they do is sob uncontrollably. And do you know how much it kills the mood to have our nation's leader dying in your bed? Not that you'd probably want to touch Mrs. Petersen anyway from the looks of her.
What I Learned From Spending an Hour in the Trunk of My Volkswagen Jetta Yesterday
I don't think I'd enjoy being held hostage in a trunk. Sure, it sounds like fun, and at first I'd probably enjoy the novelty. Who are these people? Where are they taking me? Why does the gag taste like garlic? There'd be so many answers to look forward to.
But then the cramping would set in, and the darkness ... after about 30 minutes, the grass probably wouldn't be as green, and new questions would arise: Why couldn't I be held hostage at a ski chalet, or on a private island, with total freedom to wander around any unguarded areas in a bathing suit, or evening wear? It always seems to work out for the captors in James Bond movies, up to the point where James Bond shows up, and since he's fictional that seems like a pretty good deal for all parties involved.
So, what I'm trying to say is, if you're rich and evil, please feel free to abduct me for whatever reason. My November is looking busy but I'm happy to make a few phone calls and move things around.
Volks Rant
I was in the trunk fixing the lock. I went to open my trunk Thursday morning, as I often do on Thursdays, to haul large amounts of tin cans and old phone books to the bag lady swap meet. You have to get there early if you want to trade for the good cat food.
The trunk didn't open. I couldn't open it with my keyless entry device, with the button on the door or by unlocking it with the key. That's right, the key didn't work. That's because it turns out the only function of the key is to activate the same mechanized system that the keyless entry system and door button use. Why would anyone design a lock that way? Good question. But then again, why would anyone build tanks for Hitler? Mysteries both.
At this point I was in a bad mood, because I was probably out $47,000. If you think that sounds high, you do not own a Volkswagen. Imagine that you spot a small mole on your forearm, and you figure, "I feel great, but I guess I'll get this checked out." Then you go to the doctor, and he says, "You have a new virus that's a genetic combination of HIV and ebola. You're the first person to have it, so your insurance doesn't cover it. And also, you're fat." That is what having a Volkswagen is like. I had to have the windshield wiper motor fixed last month and it cost $500. For $300 plus a sandwich, I'm pretty sure I could get a homeless guy to lay on my roof with a squeegie for a year.
A trunk lock seems simpler than a windshield wiper to me, so I figured that by Volkswagen logic it would cost at least 50 times as much. Before I paid, though, I figured it was worth going to the reliable 'ol Internet. I found the usual: angry people in message boards swearing never to buy a Volkswagen again. I also got some basic instructions on accessing the lock mechanism.
I popped down the back seat and crawled into the trunk with a flashlight, where I had to unscrew the cover on the interior of the hood. It is gray and fuzzy, right down to the heads of the screws holding the cover in place. Why would you need fuzzy screw heads? A) who would care about the interior appearance of your trunk, B) why are they riding in your trunk, and C) why do they have light in there? Historically speaking, people riding in the trunks of German vehicles usually have bigger issues to deal with. The decision probably went something like this:
German Guy 1: Let's finish the trunk. How about a lock that opens without the aid of an electrical system in case of emergencies?
German Guy 2: Uh, can we budget for both that and the fuzzy screws?
German Guy 1: Oh, crap. I forgot about the fuzzy screws. Well, we have to have those.
German Guy 2: Done. Thank god we're such an efficient people!
Also, I just realized "Fuzzy Screw Heads" is a good name for a band.
My cursory expert inspection of the locking mechanism revealed that it appeared to be made of metal and plastic, and that no part of it seemed to be on fire. Poking various parts with a flat-head screwdriver for 20 minutes confirmed this analysis. Then I broke for dinner, thought about things for awhile, and returned to the trunk to poke various parts with a Phillips-head screwdriver for 20 minutes.
Just when I was about to quit and resign myself to a trip to the service deparment, I had a brilliant idea: why not poke things with a PAPER CLIP? That revealed a tiny piece of loose black plastic jamming the latch. After roughly 15 minutes of paper clip magic, I worked it loose. And presto, the trunk now opens. Where did the plastic come from? I do not now. Why did it break off? I do not know. All I know is that my trunk seems to open and close just fine, and that I saved $47,000. TAKE THAT, YOU SAUERKRAUT EATING BASTARDS!
Please tune in next week, when I discover that I somehow manged to damage my trunk lock in such a way that it requires a totally new transmission.
Industrial decay is a growth industry! I spent my Scranton Saturday at Steamtown, which is not in fact a tense 1970s thriller about a series of hooker murders, but a National Park built on the old site of the DL&W Railroad yard.
Steam locomotives were the workhorse of the United States rail industry until World War II, when steam rationing forced a switch to diesel as all available steam was shipped overseas for Army saunas, because a relaxed, toxin-free soldier is a solider who's going to kill a lot of Germans.
So what goes into a train yard? Well, first, you need lots of tracks. Then, you need lots of sweaty immigrants. Then, you need a few buildings, in particular a "roundhouse," which is a big garage for locomotives. It's built around a giant turntable, so that you can roll in a locomotive, spin the table to line it up with a stall, and roll the train into it for maintenance and whatnot. Then you need to hire some private security people to shoot a few of the immigrants every now and then to keep them in line.
See, it's easy!
The museum is in the rebuilt roundhouse, and it has sections on the technology of steam engines, the history of the DL&W and the general evolution of railroading. It's sweet. There are tons of locomotives on display (including a Union Pacific "big boy," the largest type of steam locomotive ever built), plus freight cars, mail cars, passenger cars ... they even have trips on functioning steam trains, and it's very cool to see one of those babies fired up an pulling down the line. They even have one train cut open in cross-section so you can see how the engine looks on the inside, and while there is no special enchanted compartment for fire pixies, it's still intriguing. And if you like listening to The Cure, then you'll also enjoy the numerous rusting and splintering cars exposed to the elements and off to the side. Even dilapidated trains are kind of romantic. For some reason, when we imagine a generic train, it's a steam engine -- even though they haven't been in use for decades. That's like considering the Model T to be the generic car, or Al Jolson to be the generic black movie star. Strange.
My favorite factoid: in one weekend in 1886, all the railroads in the South agreed to convert to Pennsylvania's "standard gauge" -- meaning the rails would all be 4 feet, 8 1/2 inches apart. That means, if you wanted to kidnap a lady and put her on the train tracks, she would have to be at least 4'6" to be in serious danger. The South, with its greater concern for the wellbeing of gentle ladies, used a 5 foot gauge, thereby preventing thousands of dastardly abductions by men in black top hats.
Previous attempts to standardize in many areas (such as Erie, long considered the South of the North) had resulted in violence, because the people in charge of switching cargo from one train to another didn't want to lose their jobs, and back then if you didn't want to lose your job the best way to deal with it was to set things of fire. But when the Southern railroads finally went for it, they did it in TWO DAYS. Thousands of workers pulled up spikes, moved one rail three inches closer to the other, and respiked the tracks. They did this for thousands of miles of tracks, in TWO DAYS, and there wasn't a hideous string of derailings after the changeover.
I would like to see someone try this today, just because I'm pretty sure it would be impossible. That really, truly blows my mind. See what human beings can accomplish with cheap labor and minimal concern for safety?
Steamtown. Check it out.
The ELECTRIC City
Exciting post-show exchange on Friday night:
Girl from front row: This is Scranton. We're all hicks here.
Girl from the front row's date, unironically: I ought to kick you in the face for saying that.
Girl from front row, also unironically: That's exactly what a hick would say!
The same thing that makes you laugh can make you cry.
That Japanese reliever for the Red Sox who doesn't look at the plate (Okajima) is ridiculous. The Phillies have several relievers who do look at the plate and can't throw strikes as well as that dude. Japan: keep up the great work.
Joe Buck just talked about Jonathan Papelbon's intimidating stare. This is ridiculous. Papelbon is intense, but he is not intimidating. He has a babyface. He looks like, after the game is over, he might hop on his bike and go door to door selling wrapping paper to raise money for the big trip the marching band hopes to take in the spring. If you want intimidating, go with Dave Stewart. Dave Stewart used to stare at the plate with a look that said, "Win or lose, I'm probably going to find you in the parking lot later and stick sharp objects through organs that you need to live, and also, I'm going to bring friends." I don't know who made Dave Stewart that way, but may god have mercy on their soul.
Tim McCarver is now officially useless. For that matter, Joe Buck is mostly useless. I don't expect detailed analysis from every announcer, but there's basically no value added with the Fox team. They are telling me nothing new, insightful or interesting. Is there a Ron Jaworksi out there for baseball? If not, can we get Ron Jaworski to start watching baseball? P.S. the TBS team also sucks.
Why did the first 9 innings take 4 plus hours? I'd like to think that an 8-year-old could stay up ON A SATURDAY to watch the end of a playoff game. I am 30 and I am getting pretty tired at this point. Remember, every hour that this game goes on, the New England economy (outside of bars) grinds to a total halt. You're risking a depression, guys. Hustle up.
I love that the infield has the Red Sox logo mowed into the grass. More people should do this with their lawns. If I ever get my own lawn, you can be sure that I will mow my own face into the grass. That, or maybe the masonic compass, just to make people wonder.
Oooh, Trot Nixon just drove in the go-ahead for the Indians. A beloved former Red Sox player sinks his old team. That's always fun to see. And now they're showing shots in the stands of Red Sox fans looking like their parents just died in their arms. Get over it, dudes. Yes, late-inning home playoff losses are tough to swallow. But I sat through a World Series game at the Vet which the Phillies lost 15-14. So, you do not know pain. Also, "Trot" is a great name for a baseball player. This would be like having a wide receiver named Highstep Johnson or a point guard named Rimhang Smith.
Well, if you blinked, you missed the Cleveland Indians scoring seven runs. Been there, seen that.
This all seems pointless because the Rockies are obviously going to win the World Series in a sweep. When they're done with the Mitchell report someone should look into the deal Colorado made with the devil. It doesn't seem very sporting.
Speaking of the Mitchell report, isn't that scary? So far none of my favorite players (i.e. the Philles) have been implicated in this steroid crap. I hope it stays that way after they release their massive list of cheaters after the World Series. It's like being cheated on by your girlfriend. You just gave these guys unconditional love for years, and suddenly you find out it's been a lie? It makes you feel dirty.
This isn't a new theme for me, but I hate anti-smoking ads. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate them. I would like to know who the hell signed off on these things. The "Truth" spokesguy right now has those monster old-person glasses, no chin, dirty-looking three-day stubble and unkempt hair. He's skinny and wears clothes that look like they were bought in a thrift store just for the irony. He projects the "I'm a prick who hangs out in coffeeshops and reads the New York Times" vibe. His name, according to Wikipedia, is Derrick Beckles. That even SOUNDS like the name of a prick. Worst spokesman ever.
For all the unethical and crappy things tobacco companies have done over the years, do you know how hard it is to make people SYMPATHETIC to their cause? That's what the Truth guys are doing.
You know what? Maybe they're underwritten by the tobacco companies that's the only thing that makes sense.
We're now about a week away from "I Take Requests," live at the DC Improv on October 27.
It's gonna be a hell of a show. I am promising, right here and now, that "The Final Countdown" will be played.
That's as much information as I'm willing to part with right now. If you want a little more info and would like to get your tickets online, here's the place to do it.
Hurry up and reserve your seats -- we're running out of tickets (about 25 are left).
The pitch meeting for this movie must have been great: "Yeah, a guy in his late 20s orders a sex doll off the Internet and thanks to a mental breakdown starts carting it around town and pretending it's his real girlfriend. No, it's not a comedy."
There are points where the absurdity overwhelms you and you have to laugh. But it's basically a sad and sweet story, not at all bawdy, set in a Wisconsin town where there are no malicious people and everyone just wants their friend to get better. On the advice of the town doctor, they go along with the delusion to see how it plays out. The more you learn about Lars' history and watch his relationship with the doll progress, the more you start rooting for the guy.
I'd recommend this one. It's a little slow, but even with the crazy premise it actually manages to be understated -- for an art film, it's not annoyingly arty. The "small town" vibe makes it seem almost plausible. And Ryan Gosling is really, really good.
All in all, a fine date movie, especially if you are dating a sex doll you bought off the Internet.
Comparison Shopping
NBA Radio: I don't care about the NBA.
NHL Radio: Totally free through NHL.com. That's a bunch of games at ... uh, zero cents a game.
MLB GameDay Audio: For $15, you get online access to the home OR away radio broadcast of every regular season game for every team. That's 2,430 games of the one major sport that's really suited to the radio. The average is 6/10 of a penny per possible game.
NFL Field Pass: For about $50 you get online access to all the NFL games (regular and postseason). That's 271 games, or about 18.5 cents per game, for a sport that is almost impossible to envision based on a radio broadcast.
Who is buying NFL Field Pass?
Mount Vernon II
I went back to Mount Vernon this weekend, this time with a different set of friends. Here's what I learned:
1) The house tour gets crappier if there are more people visiting. A lot crappier. They basically herd you through the open rooms while a guide in each room gives the same one-minute speech on a continuous loop, with no time built in to answer questions. Not that it would help to ask -- I actually asked a question about some statues in the lobby. I already knew the answer (I asked because I am a jerk), and the guide, who didn't know, TRIED TO FAKE IT. Inexcusable. They also left out lots of really interesting details about some basic features of lots of the rooms -- things that Washington himself put on display. I'm going to go back in the dead of winter on a weekday when schools aren't in sesson and nobody is visiting. The tour must be awesome then. I bet they let you jump on the furniture.
2) The new on-site museum is cool. There's a decent chronology of Washington's life, a nice collection of his personal effects, and lots of 10-minute video presentations that you can blow right by without watching. Museums of the world: no more videos. I can watch TV at home.
3) Flashing your year-long membership ID doesn't get you access to George Washington's secret masonic ritual basement. Sigh.
There are about 8 tickets left (as of Tuesday evening) for "I Take Requests," my big show this Saturday at the DC Improv Lounge -- if you want a guaranteed seat, make sure you stop by the box office or order online ASAP.
This afternoon I stopped by the Lounge to do a tech run-through. There's a chance that the special pneumatic stage elevator won't be ready in time, but all the video stuff seems to be working great.
Prepare to be stunned!
STEAMTOWN!
The miracle of film developing has paid off yet again ... here are some exciting shots from Steamtown in Scranton. If you like trains, go visit. If you don't like trains, what are you, some kind of communist?
If you travel the Midwest, you do see a lot of grand trunks. And yea, there is much junk in said trunks. Here's a different kind.
This next car really symbolizes what we all think about New Jersey.
I think it's great that a New Jersey company uses a New York monument for its logo. This is right up there with putting Washington Crossing the Delaware on the state quarter (the Delaware is only half New Jersey's). New Jersey: Get some pride, would you?
Next, did you know they have trains in Canada? I assumed it was all dog sled. But what do you know!
DC is like the city-sized equivalent of a sculpture park -- there are a lotta "gimmie" photos. But I have never been one to shy away from a lay-up. First off, I see the Capitol dome almost every day. But very seldom to I see guys hanging from it on rapelling gear. These dudes were either cleaning the building or rigging it with C4. Either way it was cool.
And here's a view from the Capitol steps in early October. Ho hum, I live in one of the most beautiful cities in the country ...
For kicks, here's me outside the Petersen boarding house, where Lincoln died. Note my awesome emoting.
For even more kicks, please note the awesome T-shirt deal at the "Lincoln" gift shop next door to the house where Lincoln died. Tasteful stuff.
All the tickets are GONE. You can try to bribe your way in on Saturday, or you can turn to the black market, but for now, it looks like my show this Saturday is SOLD OUT.
To celebrate, here is a picture of a 29-year-old woman eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the first time ever. Great things are happening for everyone!
That's right, through the miracle of modern technology (i.e. an error in the ticketing system), there are still (as of 5:35 p.m. on Friday) 10 SEATS LEFT for my show tomorrow!
This is what we call a computer error in your favor. This is a divine power's way of telling you, yes, you can have a second chance to do the right thing and go to Chris White's show. Do it for Truth! Do it for Puppies! Do it for AMERICA!
Buy your tickets at dcimprov.com. $10, show starts at 8. Good times guaranteed.
That is all.
Monoblog!
I entered a Slate current events joke contest. Here's my entry and a few of the castoffs.
Thanks to everyone who came out to "I Take Requests" on Saturday night at the DC Improv Lounge. I had a really good time putting that show together, and I hope that you enjoyed the end result.
And now, I need a bunch of new challenges to work on! You can get an idea of how this works over at the Challenge page. Send your ideas to chris@dcstandup.com.
I Have Seen the True Face of Horror ...
And it is the "Viva Viagra" ad. Here's the problem: men do, on occasion, talk about sex. But when talking about sex, they do not discuss each other's erections, let alone sing songs about them. It just isn't done. I don't even know how you could bring the subject up without getting punched.
I Have Also Seen the Embodiment of Joy
And his name is Bubb Rubb. There is so much to enjoy in this clip that I don't know where to begin. I particularly like that one of the "whistle" cars is a station wagon. Wow.
As part of my show on Saturday, I put a trivia challenge on everyone's table for them to work on before the show. That's how cool of a show it was. If you missed the show, shame on you. Shame shame shame.
But, if you couldn't be there for a legit reason, like hospitalization or a hostage situation, I don't want you to miss out on the fun. So here's the Trivia Challenge -- print it out and do it over lunch. Answers tomorrow. And NO CHEATING.
1) Chris White's actual favorite movie is "Back to School," but he tells chicks it's "Casablanca." Who directed "Casablanca"?
2) The Phillies won the 1980 World Series over the Royals in a matchup of two of the best 3rd basemen ever: Mike Schmidt and George Brett. Brett famously had to leave game two early due to excruciating pain from what medical problem?
3) According to 19th century rumors, which never-married president would be best suited to appear on the $3 bill?
4) Up until about 1981, Stevie Wonder was the greatest artist on the planet. What is Stevie Wonder's actual first name?
5) During the Watergate investigation, Attorney General John Mitchell warned that Washington Post publisher Katherine Graham would get something stuck "in a wringer" if the paper kept pursuing the case. What was it?
6) List the first and last names of all four Golden Girls. (The characters, not the actresses.)
7) In 2005, University of Richmond President William Cooper was basically forced to resign after making this statement: "The entering quality of our student body needs to be much higher if we are going to transform bright minds into great achievers instead of transforming mush into mush, and I mean it." Other than milk, what is the primary ingredient in actual mush?
8) Richmond was the second capital of the Confederacy. Danville, Va., was the third. What was the first capital, in 1861?
9) Not-famous humorist Chris White has been to Hawaii twice. What famous humorist wrote a series of colorful articles for the Sacramento Daily Union in 1866 regarding a trip to Hawaii?
10) What country is the most likely home for the fictional town of Macondo?
11) Chris White has been a legal resident of two of the four commonwealths. Name all four.
12) There are no presidents named Chris. There have been SIX named James. List them.
13) Proper nouns aren't allowed in Scrabble, but how many points would you get for spelling CHRIS? (assume no bonuses)
14) Which composer, the son of a trombone player, was born four blocks from Chris White's current home on Capitol Hill?
15) Chris White is a redhead who played in a marching band. If you count "Take the Money and Run," so was Woody Allen. What instrument did Allen's character play in that movie?
16) Super Dork Challenge: Shakespeare wrote comedies, histories, tragedies and romances. List the four romances.
This is something from the "I Take Requests" pre-show -- it's a cause I really believe in. Please help.
Happy Halloween!
One year I went dressed as a table. It was a square piece of cardboard with a hole in the middle, where a "pumpkin" centerpiece covered my head. We had a tablecloth hanging over the side to cover my legs, and place settings for four. I couldn't fit through some doorways so I had to stand on the lawn at many houses while my friends got me candy. As dumb as that costume was it always makes me laugh to think about it.
So I was thrilled to read a great story today on how the "slutty" costume trend has now made its way firmly into the preteen girl market. THAT is what the holiday is all about!
Isn't it great that society is intent on keeping males fixed at the "boy" state of development, while females are now supposed to skip right over their Nancy Drew phase and go straight to "sex object" at the age of ten?
Here's why: No family sitcoms. Kids do not have discriminating taste. They have to watch what's on. When I was in elementary school I regulary watched "ALF," "The Cosby Show," "Growing Pains," "Full House," etc. with my parents. They weren't particularly awesome shows (except for "ALF"), but we enjoyed them, and they were at least mildly wholesome, filled with teen characters who generally had puberty issues.
Now almost everything in the 8 p.m. - 9 p.m. range is focused on sex, irony, or people in their 20s having ironic sex, because apparently the fans for these shows are the prime marketing demographic. Even now with the variety that we have from cable, most of the options fall into the sexy/adult category -- on occasion you do have something like "High School Musical," which is now such a rarity that it gets elevated to the level of pop culture phenomenon. (The demand for family program exists, but since there is almost none, when such a program comes along it gets ALL the demand.)
So who are young girls supposed to pattern themselves after? Almost every recognizable young actress in TV or movies appears on the covers of the 500 women's mags (which have to be run by men, I'm guessing) along with five cover blurbs every issue about having better orgasms and driving your man wild in bed.
Maybe they could try to emulate their parents, but pop culture, a human creation shaped by a select few people trying to make a lot of money, has worked pretty exhaustively to undermine traditional family structures in the last 30 years. By the age of 11 it's too late, girls are already starting to think of themselves as adults, even though they aren't physically or mentally ready to handle that burden.
We're still sort of picking through the wreckage of the late 1960s -- all the people who lived through that and became parents passed alot of issues on to their kids. What's it going to be like in 20 years when all the current teens and twentysomethings, who have been force fed prolonged adolescence AND adult sexuality at the same time, start dealing with their own preteens? Scary stuff.
So, I guess what I'm saying is, MORE RERUNS OF "ALF."
WONDER!
I'm fulfilling a personal dream today by seeing Stevie Wonder in concert at the Verizon Center. If I don't stow away on the tour bus, I'll let you know all about it tomorrow.
Trivia ANSWERS!
Here are the answers from yesterday's quiz. No team at the show on Saturday got more than 12 questions right without cheating. I got a perfect score, but then again, I wrote the quiz.
1) "Casablanca" was directed by Michael Curtiz.
2) George Brett had ... hemroids!
3) Pennsylvania's own James Buchanan.
4) Stevie Wonder's real name is Steveland. Steveland Morris.
5) Her tits. Seriously.
6) Dorothy Zbornak, Sophia Petrillo, Rose Nylund, Blanche Devereaux
7) Corn meal
8) Montgomery, Alabama
9) Mark Twain
10) Colombia (Macondo is the invention of Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
11) Pennsylvania, Virginia, Massachusetts and Kentucky
12) In order: Madison, Monroe, Polk, Buchanan, Garfield, Carter
13) Ten (C=3, H=4, all other letters are 1)
14) John Phillip Sousa
15) The cello
16) The romances were Shakespeare's final four plays: Pericles, The Winter's Tale, Cymbeline and The Tempest
On Tuesday night I got to see the man who is probably my favorite musician perform live, probably for the only time in my life.
It was neat. Really neat. I was near the top of big arena, off to the side of the stage, and it was still neat. The guy can flat out sing, he beams enjoyment when he's performing and he feeds off the crowd. You'd never guess that he hadn't performed live for most of the last decade.
The crowd breakdown: expensive floor seats were a bunch of middle-aged white people with a limited knowledge of Stevie Wonder music (judging from response to less-famous songs). Upper deck was a mix, mostly middle-aged black people with extensive knowledge of Steve Wonder music. And me and my date. Do I feel cool? You know I do.
The look: Simple stage, two video screens, nothing too fancy as far as lighting goes. You're obviously not going to a Stevie Wonder show for the fireworks, so I liked this. Steview was dead center with a piano and synthesizers. He's also looking a bit healthier -- he was wearing a big black billowy jacket, which might have been covering up the guy, but he definitely looked thinner than some of his recent TV appearances. Watch your weight, Stevie -- you're a national treasure, dude. Although, it needs to be said that at this point he needs to lose the braids. His hairline is now behind his ears. Plus the braids are pulled so tight that on close camera shots his hair looks like a parasite trying to eat his head.
The band: If I was seeing things correctly, there were THREE drum sets, two keyboard players (other than Stevie), a bass player, a guitarist and three backup singers. The keyboards cover the horn parts. Everyone was tight. No complaints at all.
The set list: Opened with "Love's in Need of Love Today." Good choice. Over the course of the show he did 2/3 of "Innervisions" -- everything but "Jesus Children of America," "Mistra Know It All" and "All in Love is Fair." He did a classic Motown set: "My Cherie Amour," "Uptight," "Signed Sealed Delivered," 'For Once In My Life," "I Was Made to Love Her." He also did a lot of slower stuff: "Ribbon in the Sky," "You and I," and something from the newest album which, predictably, got almost no response. He also worked in "Overjoyed," "Master Blaster," "Boogie On Reggae Woman," "If It's Magic," "Sir Duke," "I Wish," and for his closer, a medley of "Do I Do," "Superstitious," "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" and "As." I'm probably forgetting something in there, but it was a nice variety. He probably overdid the slow stuff in the middle, but since he's over 50 ... we'll allow it.
Extras: He started out the show by talking about his reasons for going on tour and dealing with the 2006 death of his mother. Unusual opening, but pleasantly personal. He did a little talk box work, including some D.C. shout-outs and an ultra-funked version of "I Heard It Through the Grapevine." He directed a crowd singalong during "Ribbon in the Sky." He also told a story before "My Cherie Amour," but because of the speaker positioning, my section couldn't hear about 80 percent of what he said. Judging from the 20 percent we could make out, it sounded like the story of how he lost his virginity. If that was the case, ewwwww. He had TWO moments where he made the case for "peace" -- in the current age, I think most of the morons in the crowd took that as a slam on the war in Iraq. I'm not so sure. Stevie Wonder has always been a big-picture, let's all love eachother kind of guy. (It's part of his charm.) The odd thing was hearing the frustration in his voice -- during "Visions" he started ranting, and at the very close of the concert, he again asked for everyone to turn to their respective faith and put an end to fighting. He recorded a lot of these love-in songs 30 years ago, and I guess three decades of seeing humanity underperform takes its toll. Maybe I misheard (again, the acoustics were bad whenever he started talking instead of singing), but I swear he ended by telling anyone who wanted to be hateful to "die and go to hell." Uh ...
All in all, a great show with an odd ending. I love a lot of artists who hit their stride in the 1970s, and one of the worst things is seeing them live in this decade and witnessingthe deterioration. That wasn't the case here. At the age of 57 Stevie Wonder is still a showman. I feel really bad about how little I've accomplished, considering that I have the gift of sight and whatnot. I suck.
Love is Blind
After the show, my friend and I were speculating about what it's like to be blind from birth -- how do you think if you can't think in pictures and that sort of thing. We also realized we'd never, between the two of us, met any blind gay people. So we were wondering if there were any people born blind who turn out gay.
The answer is: yes there are. But in the online search for this info, I came across this old message board on the American Federation for the Blind site. It includes this excellent entry:
ISO of a blind gay man / Posted by at1234ta on 04/26/2006 / I am a gay man, I am not blind but always wanted to meet a blind gay man to be my life mate. lf there are any sites where I can search for a blind mate please let me know. My email: tanlikesuntan@yahoo.com. Thank you, Tan.
Movie Review: Blade Runner, The Final Cut
I enjoy a bleak vision of the future as much as anyone. But some questions:
1) Why is it raining all the time in Los Angeles in 2019? DAMN YOU GLOBAL WARMING!
2) Why are there no blacks or Hispanics in Los Angeles in 2019? DAMN YOU ... uh ... er ... GLOBAL WARMING!
3) When Darryl Hannah has Harrison Ford's beaten to a pulp, her fingers in his nostrils and his neck trapped between her superhuman thighs, she releases her grip to kill him with ... a TUMBLING PASS! Really, she goes into a floor routine from the women's all-around. And she dies because of this. Why didn't she just kill him? That's what you get for doing gymnastics.
4) Why do they have ceiling fans in the future? We had central air pretty much licked by the early 1990s.
5) Ridley Scott has very specific visions and works hard to create remarkably detailed cinematic worlds. The guy colors in the margins. But do you get the impression that his movies aren't quite as deep as they're supposed to be?
Mount Vernon? I Hardly Know Him!
Oh, I kill me. Here's Jared Stern, who is very happy to be near a dung repository. Yes, George Washingtons' crap slept here.
And here's my friend Allyson doing the "Thriller" dance outside Washington's tomb. Now, to be fair, she wanted to pop-lock. But I requested a Thriller pose, what with the tomb and all.
Legal Stuff: If you have questions about this Web site, why? You should spend your time questioning the moral nature of any god who would let Chris White exist. But anyhow ... copyright 2009, Chris White Sucks Inc.
Mount Vernon is definitely worth your while. It has its drawbacks -- because of visitor volume, you'll probably have to wait in line to see the house, and then you'll be whisked through without much chance for questions. Important questions, like "Would you validate my existence by telling me how thoughtful I am to ask about the patterns on the dining room wainscoating?" But it's something else to see the rooms where he dined, the bed where he died, the guest rooms where the 18th-century equivalents of the Rat Pack stayed ... The first presidential chair is in his home office. That's gotta be the closest we've come to a throne in this country.
If you get the chance, go three miles down the road to
Washington's mill (background) and distillery (foreground). If you owned a mill back in the day, you were a big shot -- it was actually the law that you couldn't hog it all for yourself, but instead you had to rent out milling time to your neighbors. So yes, Washington was a wheat pimp. Both the mill and the distillery are reproductions, but they're functioning -- so you get a chance to see 18th-century technology in action. The distillery was at one point the biggest whiskey-making operation in the country, run by Washington's Scottish estate manager. They finished rebuilding this year, and while they don't have booze for sale yet, they will soon enough. And that's when we party FOUNDING FATHER STYLE. That means we shoot our flintlock pistols into the air when we're drunk, and then send couriered notes on parchment to our ex-girlfriends. Now, you are wondering: if Washington was planning on going into the whiskey business later in life, does that explain the crushing of the Whiskey Rebellion in 1794? OF COURSE. It was all part of Washington's evil business plan, which you will understand perfectly if you a) drink a fifth of whiskey and b) then read these pamphlets ... 
"Reminder" is a nice way of saying "no one downloaded my walking tour." Just in case you missed it, I put together an audio walking tour for my neighborhood. It's a two-mile trip with six major stops, covering parts of D.C.'s history and culture from the founding of the city all the way to the present day. The whole thing should take about an hour or less, depending on how much meandering the listener wants to do. The picture here is Christ Episcopal Church -- it's one of the stops. Aren't you more excited than ever to download?
August 2009: Jefferson.
Fall 2009: comic interviews on the podcast. 
