Your weeks of waiting are over! The second incarnation of Happy Hour Trivia is tonight at the DC Improv Lounge. The theme is "Red, White and Blue" and it's going to feature a heaping load of patriotism in video, audio, and straight-up Q and A form.
If you're planning on going, get there early -- I'm pretty sure it's going to be full (capacity is 60). Doors open at 6:30 and the game starts at 7.
And if you can't make it, the next trivia night is Aug. 6. Mark your calendar.
Podcast Updates
The interview with Jake Johannsen is now a fully operational battle station. You can download it at the podcast page if you aren't a subscriber. Like you should be. Cough. Cough.
Also -- tonight I will be talking to Brett Leake, so I hope to have that online tomorrow. Should be neat.
Congratulations to the Golden Triangle Gun Club, winners of the second ever Happy Hour Trivia Night! The theme was "Red, White and Blue," and here are Jason, Ben, Zah, Craig and Libby, striking a patriotic pose:
My main concern in putting together trivia night is that I'm making things too tough -- if the game is impossible, no one will want to play, but if it's too easy, there's no real pride in winning. You have to have a balance.
That being said, the video questions this time out were total bastards. Here's a sample for you to try at home -- get your answers right here when you're done.
I've really enjoyed the first two trivia nights, and I think the third one should be intriguing -- it's going to feature improv comedians. Come see for yourself on Aug. 6!
Hey folks! The big show is once again upon us. I Take Requests is this
Saturday at the DC Improv Lounge. For $10, you are getting:
1) a trivia contest
2) funny videos
3) a 50-minute stand-up show, including jokes about Phil Collins
4) a grand finale
You're not getting that anywhere else, people. The show starts at 8, and I'll be
available to sign body parts with a Sharpie after the show. If you're free this
weekend, come on out and see it. You'll be glad you did.
Movie Review: Wall-E
Pixar never makes crappy movies, and here's why: When it takes 500,000 people
chained to desks for four years to make your movie, and when you don't have luxury
of alternate takes or massive editing, and when the movie can't really use a
bankable Hollywood star to guarantee turnout, and you put out one movie a year, then
you can't greenlight crap.
"Wall-E" is really, really good, and it actually has some pretty bold satire of the
human condition without being too preachy. It's also sweet, funny and eye-popping,
and it has Fred Willard. Go see it.
Each of these 30-second episodes is now in the rotation for the broadcast and internet feeds of Seattle's NPR affiliate. That means I am now a bi-coastal sensation. Dig it.
Thanks to the gang at KPLU for the very nice mention on their site -- people of Seattle, I hope you enjoy these things. If you do, don't hesitate to e-mail.
I Take Requests
Anyone in the DC area looking for a good time? Call a high-class escort service. If you can't afford that, then why not come to my show on Saturday at the DC Improv Lounge? It's only $10, which means it costs as much as a screening of "Kit Kittredge: An American Girl."
So why not go see "Kit Kittredge" instead? Because the Improv serves booze. CHECKMATE.
Even after the divorce, Alex Rodriguez is probably going to have tens of millions
in the bank. Barring catastrophic injury, he's going to be the all-time home run
king. And from what I hear, the guy's not that tough on the eyes.
I guess what I'm saying is that I'd marry A-Rod. He could cheat all he wants; I'm
happy to be a trophy husband of a legendary baseball player. After he's beaten to
death by a Southie five years from now, I'd basically have a career signing things
at baseball memorabilia shows.
While you might find this disturbing, all I can say is that turning gay to become
a gold digger would actually be one of my better long-term financial planning
decisions to date. Stupid NASDAQ.
Here's to Your Health!
Here's a pretty
persuasive argument for getting drunk -- it's a way to test your genetic
superiority! The best thing is, even if you aren't superior, you'll think that you
are.
Meet the new BIOS, Same as the old BIOS
I got a new computer this week, and it was my old computer! My 10-year armistice
with the PC kingdom came to an ugly end this week as my laptop was cruelly ambushed
by what computer experts call the Blue Screen of Death.
They call it this because computer people secretly want everything to sound like a
7th Level Wizard spell from Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.
I don't really ride my computer that hard (minimal smut viewing, no digital kitty
programs taking up the memory), so I'm not sure what broke its spirit. But I know
it's tough gluing that spirit back together again! It took a little bit of research,
but I quickly learned that most Windows computers are equipped with something called
"Safe Mode," which in the case of computer failures allows you to boot up your
machine and get your hopes up for about seven seconds before it crashes again.
Redundancies are the key to good design, though, so fortunately I was able to
boot Windows XP from a CD. This let me get into "Recovery Mode," which is a special
Windows feature in which you are asked for an administrative password set by someone
at a factory when back when your laptop was a gleam in your credit card's eye. You
can't get this password, and good luck guessing it. If you are going to guess,
here's a hint: it's not "f*** you you f***ing computer" or anything along those
lines. I tried.
As a last resort, I opted for a special feature on Dell models that allows you to
restore the system to exactly the way it was when you bought it, though it should be
noted that this does not make the keys magically unsticky from when you spilled a
pint glass-sized rum and coke on it during a particularly hilarious rerun of
"Frasier," nor is the resale value of your computer magically restored to 2005
levels. Three years of good times, three years of data, gone ... It's like it was
all a dream ...
My is finally like "Dallas." But not the fun parts.
Larry Legend
Hard-hitting stuff on Larry King tonight as he talks to kid psychics. You might
say, "I remember a time when if kids saw spirits, that was called having an
imaginary friend."
Well, that proves that a) you're jealous; and b) you've forgotten the obvious
proof that these kids can see dead people: they're talking to Larry King.
BANG BANG BANG BANG
Some excitement for you -- I got to interview John Witherspoon for the podcast. He's famous and
whatnot.
He did this really funny thing where he pretended not to remember that we worked
together a few years ago. That guy kills me!
Seriously, he's a nice guy. At one point he challenges his dad's ghost to a
fight. Go listen, I command you.
Tomorrow is the big day, peeps -- my third show at the DC Improv Lounge. I've been spending this week getting together the grand finale, and I gotta say, it's pretty grand.
Grandly disturbing, that is. You won't want to miss it. Here's a preview:
See you tomorrow night!
Keep On Truckin'
I got new brake pads on my car yesterday. Standard maintenance. The guys doing the work tried to sell me on more work on the car. Standard mechanics.
Having work done on the car is horrible; you know you're going to be spending a lot of money, and if you're like me you're not smart enough to know if you're getting hosed. And there's also the inevitable phone call where they let you know that, while they were doing the things you asked them to do, they found out that your car will explode within the week if you don't have $3,700 in extra work done immediately.
This phone call is a lot like death, in that it's inevitable, although it doesn't have death's relaxing afterglow. Instead, you get the great feeling that you're being screwed, combined with the guilt of being cheap, mixed with a sensation of total powerlessness and ignorance!
If I were a mechanic, I'd open a garage with the simple premise that THIS CALL IS NEVER MADE. People bring in the car for some work, the work gets done, and that's it. Even if your car is seconds from a catastrophic breakdown that would kill you and everyone in the four adjacent lanes of traffic, we would tell you NOTHING.
There might be a few legal issues here, but once we iron out the kinks it's going to make a lot of money. Guaranteed!
If I told you there was a movie in which Ron Perlman has to fight Gunnar Nelson to save the world, you'd go see it, right? Well, that's basically "Hellboy II," only there's lots of make-up involved, which is a positive considering Ron Perlman is involved.
This was a pretty good movie: mildly funny, great effects, well-choreographed action and a story that doesn't seem to have any giant holes. It helps to see the first Hellboy, but it's not entirely necessary to understand what's going on. I really like that the bad guy is an elf, since those supernatural prettyboys get off way too easy.
Basically, the elf prince, who is very upset because he looks like Gunnar Nelson, wants to start a war with humanity. To do this, he wants to use a mechanical army that was created thousands of years ago. Hellboy and his band of assorted freaks have to stop him from doing so, even though I'm pretty sure that one well-delivered tactical nuke would have the same effect.
I'm pretty sure a lot of the creatures were just leftovers on the cutting room floor from "Pan's Labyrynth," but they were still neat looking. Minus a million points for not getting David Hyde Pierce back, though. That guy is awesome.
Young Man River
I flipped a kayak on the Potomac River yesterday! You might think it's hard to flip a kayak on a slow-moving river with very little chop. Well, you'd be right! Here's why it happened:
As my kayaking amigo Michael and I were paddling away from the boathouse, he asked, "do you think these things flip over?" My answer: "Nah. I've done this tons of times. And they let any a**hole rent a kayak. There's no way they'd do that if you could flip them so easily."
Much like a Greek hero, but with worse abs, hubris was my downfall. This has happened before. While hiking down Old Rag in Virginia a few years back, a friend noted: "Hey Chris, you're pretty agile!" I answered: "Yes, I am agile!" Within ten seconds of saying that I had rolled my ankle. I had to hobble two miles off the mountain and bandage my foot for a week.
Fortunately, I have lived to tell these tales on my blog, and no one has never injured themselves writing a blAWWWWWWWWGRUUUUUUUUURKAAAUGGGH!
ow
I Take Requests Recap!
ITR3 is in the books. Thanks again to everyone who came out; it was a real pleasure to see you there, and I sincerely hope you had a good time.
If you weren't there, here's a little bit of what you missed:
If you haven't checked your feed lately, there are two new lessons in the Robust Method. The first is an interview with TV/movie star John Witherspoon. It rambles a bit, but there are some pretty funny moments if you want to tune in.
The second is actually off the shelf -- in honor of the All-Star game, I posted the "Star of the Game Show" for your listening pleasure.
Remember that you can subscribe through iTunes to get new episodes automatically -- instructions are on the podcast page.
Cover Me
The only magazine I subscribe to (or more accurately, that my mommy buys for me as a Christmas gift each year) is The New Yorker. I skip the mildly insulting political stuff and read the medical stories, but you can't think for a second that the magazine isn't liberal. The cover this week (it's all over the Web) is a joke IN FAVOR of Barack Obama, but somehow lots of people are livid that this thing was printed. David Remnick has the sense of humor of a pile of wet cardboard, but he should not have hesitated at ALL in running that thing, because if you're stupid enough to be offended by it, then you aren't the New Yorker's target demographic.
Sadly, among those stupid enough to be offended: the Obama campaign. Sigh.
Islands
The only other magazine I get is Islands, which features very nice photographs of, uh, islands, and hard-hitting stories like "What is Sumatra Hiding?" As it turns out, the answer is not Nazi war criminals. Don't be too disappointed. If you want to cheer up, go to the Islands Magazine Web site and keep refreshing the screen until you see the ad for all-nude cruises.
I say I "get" Islands because I never subscribed. It just started showing up at my house. I never signed any document asking for it, I never earned it as part of some awards package, and no one has ever asked me to pay for it. All I can figure is that somehow, the travel industry has targeted me as someone likely to visit, live on, or buy an island. They clearly have not been checking out my tax returns. Still, it's nice to know that there's affordable real estate in Fiji, in case I ever have to flee the country for some reason, and a boat full of naked people who can keep me company on my way there.
I really miss Adam West, who had the bravery and panache to wear spandex when he had the physique of a 150-pound bag of potatoes.
But I guess we can't go back, and so we're left with "The Dark Knight," which is grim and morbid and mildly depressing. If you read uptight and self-righteous film critics (and I do, I don't have a real job) it's also a profound comment on the awfulness of the Bush administration, though I'm pretty sure you could make a strong case for Batman represeting Dick Cheney, and being completely necessary in a world of evil people. Somebody write that up and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning.
I'm not entirely sold on the action -- the car chases are good (the truck flip is awesome), but it's sort of hard to follow what's going on any time there's hand-to-hand combat. There are also a few plot holes, I think (SPOILER: at one point the Joker anticpates that Batman will pull fingerprints off a bullet, but later on no one can match Joker's fingerprints to anything).
Still, it's a pretty gripping comic-book movie, and since I choose not to mix politics and comic books, I'm going to give it a thumbs up. Good acting all around, a convincing depiction of a terror spree, and I guess they can give Heath Ledger an Oscar if they want. The performance didn't change my life or anything, but apparently it'll mean something to the people who read People.
They're the saa-a-dest people in the world!
Movie Review: Wanted
As an action movie, this was pretty good stuff. As an expression of philosophical principles, it's about 10 notches below a Rush album.
Here's the deal: there's an ancient secret society of weavers who are also assassins. They noticed that for some reason, binary code was hidden in the fabric they were making. Somehow, it was obvious to the weavers that the code spells out the names of people who are fated to die. But fate apparently needs contract employees, so it's the job of the weavers to kill anyone whose name comes up. In doing so they are changing the course of history for the greater good. (Cue Shatner: "Excuse me -- why does God need a spaceship?")
Whether you need a super-special loom to make this fabric is unclear, and who would make that loom is also unclear. Also, why the forces of the universe would single out weavers, and not blacksmiths or soldiers, is a puzzler. Fate is apparently an EEOC employer. The weavers call themselves "The Fraternity," though they do let in women, and no one seems to have any decorative paddles or parties involving Natural Light and a Slip n' Slide.
In modern-day Chicago, there's a loser named Wesley with a crappy office job. Turns out he's actually the son of the greatest assassin in the world, Who was so great that he was just assassinated! Wesley gets trained by the Fraternity so that he can seek revenge. And in doing so, he takes empowering steps to grab full control of his life ...
... which now involves, uh ... being the agent of fate. Oh, and I forgot to mention, even if you're fated to die, no big deal if nobody kills you! Fate isn't really strict about these things.
Ten-year-olds could create more coherent fantasy scenarios, so my advice to you is: don't think about it at all! Just enjoy the mayhem! Lots of stuff blows up, there's fairly neat use of slo-mo, and a bunch of cutesy stylized visual jokes, if you're looking. You get to see Angelina Jolie's butt for about two seconds too, if that sort of thing is important to you. With all the CGI garbage floating around the multiplex these days, it's pretty tough to come up with something genuinely inventive, but I was pretty amped by three or four sequences in this movie.
I also enjoyed watching Morgan Freeman say "motherf****r." He should do that more often.
Joy of joys, I talked to Kevin Pollak last Thurday for ye olde podcast. He was in all sorts of movies, and also, I got him to talk about his time as an Ewok. No, really! You can get it over at the podcast page right now.
Much like western Pennsylvania makes quarterbacks and the Dominican Republic makes shortstops, the Northern Neck of Virginia makes presidents.* It's had a dry streak for the last 250 years, but you can't argue with results: three of the first five commanders-in-chief were born there, within 20 miles of each other.
If you think that sounds like a fun day waiting to happen, then you and I are going to get along just fine.
* The Northern Neck also makes corn, and rusted-out pickup trucks. But we'll worry about those some other time.
James Monroe Birthplace
On April 28, 1758, not far from the modern golf-cart community of Colonial Beach, Elizabeth Monroe squeezed out the kid who would one day become the ambitious, status-obsessed (and pretty good) fifth president of these United States. In honor of that blessed event, the fine leaders of our republic have seen fit, in all their wisdom, to install a road sign and small parking lot.
Farm living was relatively modest for the Monroes, who had slaves but weren't exactly loaded. I'd be very intrigued to know how his childhood experience stacked up against, say, the Washington and Jefferson types, because after he left the farm at 16 for William & Mary, Monroe always seemed to have SOMETHING to prove, not unlike Brenda Walsh in "Beverly Hills: 90210." Some of those resentments and motivations, which pushed him all the way to the top, would have formed in his early years, right?
I'm asking because I didn't find out at the James Monroe birthplace. There's a small visitor center (dedicated in 2008!) that looked very impressive when I put my face up on the glass door. It was closed, on a Saturday, during the one time of year tourists are most likely to be through the Northern Neck. There's a little garden that looks like it was planted and then completely ignored every day since. There's also an obelisk, and a plaque buried in a bunch of roped-off weeds that may or may not be covering the site of the long-gone Monroe home (there weren't any signs, or if there were, they were in the visitor center).
The pleasant way to put it: There's a lot of growth potential in the James Monroe birthplace industry, if only they can work out some of the management kinks. I envision the glorious, interactive day when visitors get to run through the woods, do chores (or have the slaves do them) and play fun colonial games like Don't Die of Smallpox, all while secretly hoping that George Washington's younger sister will go to the prom with you, even though you'd have to wear a shabby hand-me-down tux and pick her up in your dad's station wagon, which backfires constantly and all the kids are sure to see.
There's demand for this stuff -- I was pleasantly surprised to NOT be the only person at the site, as a nice married couple pulled up five minutes into my visit and started chatting about all the other presidential sites they had seen. This proves that having presidential site visits as a hobby is not a disqualification for eventual marriage. What a relief.
Anyhow, you're on notice, Monrovians. I'll be back in ten years, and it's technically possible that I could have a woman with me. If the animatronics aren't ready to go by then, a stern letter will be written. Consider yourself warned.
George Washington Birthplace
George Washington: first in war, first in peace, and first in kick-ass historical sites.
Boy George lived at the Pope's Creek Plantation only to the age of 3 1/2; all the original farm buildings are gone; and there aren't many surviving records documenting his time there. And it's STILL a great place to visit. At the very least, you're going to see some scenery:
That's a beach (believe it or not) of the Potomac River, and it's part of the plantation grounds. In the 18th century, it would have been an on-ramp to the commercial superhighway of the Northern Neck plantation system; today it's just a good place to catch some rays (or in my case, malignant melanomas).
Generations of Washingtons worked the land at Pope's Creek (and other plantations they owned), growing tobacco and that sort of thing; generations of Washingtons are now part of the land at Pope's Creek, since John Washington decided to situate the family burial ground there. Washington's father and grandfather are in the ground not too far from the river. The Washingtons also thoughtfully installed a delightful picnic area, with plenty of parking:
Just pull on up! The plantation buildings are long gone, but the tiny peninsula of land that sticks out between a marsh and the creek does have the foundations of the actual structure where Washington was born. Artifiacts recovered from that site indicate that the two-year-old George probably smoked a pipe, which would explain a) his lifelong dental problems; and b) the Christmas fire that burned the house to the ground. Before they discovered that site in the 1930s, they put up a memorial house where they thought the house might have been. It has no historical significance, but digital photos don't have developing costs, so here you go:
Not pictured is the living history exhibit on the site. I skipped it altogether, because I don't really want to know how to make candles using 18th century technology. I might live to regret this, if I ever travel back in time, somehow get stranded, and then am asked to bring a cake to the birthday party of someone really important. However, it's a risk I am willing to take.
With any plantation, it's hard to get your noodle around what it REALLY would have been like -- a fully operational farm, complete with family quarters, outbuildings, slave laborers and constant traffic and construction would have almost no resemblance to the quiet and manicured parks we visit today. I'm reading "Jefferson and Monticello: The Biography of a Builder," and it's hard to reconcile the descriptions of everyday life with the Monticello you see on school trips. So as far as birth sites go, I gotta favor Lincoln's. It's only a hunch, but I feel like it would have to be more authentic than most.
Still, just being on the land, you do get a better idea of the life Washington was born into. And a beach, too -- what more could you ask for? Other than the fossilized remains of a cherry tree stump.
James Madison Birthplace
James Madison, father of the Constitution and our fourth president, was born in a drainage ditch on the the side of US-301.
Believe me, I was shocked too.
James Monroe Museum
I wrapped up my day by cruising over to Fredericksburg to see the James Monroe museum, which is housed in his former law offices. Or so I thought! Turns out that carbon dating on the bricks indicates the building is too young for Monroe to have used it. But he did own some property there, and his office was somewhere on that immediate block. It might actually be in the wine bar next door. Who knows? Not the people at the James Monroe museum, that's who. But they were still cool.
Anyhow, for $5, you can see a few rooms of Monroe stuff and learn a little bit about the guy. I already knew everything in the museum, so it was probably not the best personal investment. One very cool item is on display, though: the desk Monroe used while president. That means the Monroe Doctrine was likely formulated on that very piece of furniture. It also had a secret compartment where Monroe kept letters to Jefferson and Madison, as well as the lyrics to all the power ballads he was working on later in life.
I never think to save my furniture, and so the desk where I formulated my plan to obsessively visit presidential sites is now in several pieces in a landfill somewhere. Just as well, because I don't think anything purchased at Office Max can ever become an artifact. But I guess that's ultimately up to the Smithsonian. I don't envy the historian who has to restore anything bought at Ikea, especially if the historical figure who owned it ever had to move and just asked his friends to help out. Sigh.
This week on the podcast I am talking to comic hypnotist Flip Orley. Flip has about a million stories just on hypnosis alone, never mind the everyday stuff he gets into by being Flip Orley. It should be posted by this afternoon -- I think you're really going to enjoy this one.
My free travel advice to you
If you're ever in a third world nation, and you need to get somewhere alive, don't take a ferry. Ever. There's at least one of these horrifying boat stories every week. I think you'd have a better chance of just swimming wherever you happen to be headed. Sure, there might be aquatic predators, and the water might be diseased, but DO NOT GET ON THAT BOAT.
That is all.
Mmm mmm good
I really enjoyed this Onion story. Even though I believe Prince Fielder is a vegetarian.
Peoples of the DC area: next week is the return of (cue ominous timpani) ...
This is the third edition of Happy Hour Trivia, and it's gonna be a neat one. Here's how it works: 1) You buy a ticket for the main showroom (this time, an improv comedy show starting at 8:30). 2) You get there between 6:30 and 7 to sign up for trivia in the lounge (max capacity around 60). 3) You play one hour of exciting games for fun and profit (profit being free tickets, and possibly chips and salsa). 4) Then you go watch the show!
Since there are improv comedians on the premises, we'll be getting their help dishing out some of the answers. There's also going to be another challenging video trivia round -- you aren't getting a trivia night anything like this anywhere else. Come taste the rainbow!
Wait, that's Skittles ... well, come anyway. It's awesome. More info through the link on the right side.
Your Fee Paid For This Blog
Last week I went to Fort McHenry in Baltimore (I was part of an undercover sting operation busting up a 4th-grade drug ring, and that was our summer school day trip, but that's another story).
It's a pretty neat fort in excellent condition. You pay $7 to get in. And everywhere you go are signs reading: Your Admission Fee Paid for This Exhibit. This has several possible meanings:
1) The visitors at Fort McHenry are generally so upset with the entry fee that they are regularly threatening to make the park rangers eat their ranger hats unless they explain why they have to pay. Since it's in Baltimore, this is actually possible.
2) The rangers at Fort McHenry are involved in something extremely sketchy, like embezzling funds to run a high-overhead drug smuggling operation (why not? It's on the water, it's Baltimore ...) and they're hoping the signs will keep people from looking too closely at the books. Since it's in Baltimore, this is actually possible.
3) They didn't want to lose any of their budget, so when the end of the fiscal year came up and they still had some unallocated funds, they paid someone $80,000 a sign to eat up that money and justify a bigger request for the next year. Since it's a government-run site, this is actually possible.
Personally, I would like a sign that says: "Your Admission Fee Paid for This Sign Telling You What Your Admission Fee Paid For."
"My friends have made the American people think me a sort of superman," Herbert Hoover said after his election as president. "They expect the impossible and should there arise in the land conditions with which the political machinery is unable to cope, I will be the one to suffer." And then there was a thunderclap, a timpani roll, the faint sound on the wind of an old woman cackling ...
We could use a man like Herbert Hoover right now! It's intriguing to think about a guy who, facing economic problems 10 times worse, rolled up his sleeves and did mostly nothing. He didn't think government should be fixing such things. (And he wasn't a hard-hearted bastard: he had a sterling record as a humanitarian.) Hoover might have been right -- some historians and economists think The New Deal made the Depression worse -- but now he's lodged on the blooper reel of presidential history, right after the clip of Chester Arthur getting hit in the nuts with a baseball.
It's a sad fate for a guy with a very impressive career. As a mining consultant, he was the
highest salaried man of his age (27); he was one of the most prolific and energetic Cabinet secretaries in history (Commerce); and most important, he wrote a book on trout fishing.
TROUT FISHING! FEEL THE EXCITEMENT! Or better yet, live the excitement yourself! Visit Camp Rapidan,
the original presidential retreat -- because when a significant chunk of the country is forced to live in tents, what better way to show them you care than by living in your own tent?
Here's the back story: After his election, Hoover (an Iowan) put out the word that he was looking for weekend digs away from the horrible godforsaken hellhole that is Washington (too many tourists on Segways), and the good people of Madison County, Va., stepped up to the plate by stocking the local streams and brushing the three teeth in the county to a brilliant gleam. One sales pitch later, the Hoovers dipped into their personal fortune to buy some land, and Camp Rapidan was born. Today it's part of Shenandoah National Park. (Hoover donated it to the government after his presidency.)
When they say "camp," they mean it. The Hoovers weren't nancies -- you don't run mining operations in China for a decade without learning a) how to rough it; and b) enough karate to fight off bears. The original plan was for everyone to stay in canvas tents, and also to hunt large game with obsidian-flake daggers while wearing loincloths. But trips to Rapidan became working vacations, and you can't tell the Prime Minister of England to bring his own sleeping bag more than once, so the camp was improved to include some more-permanent structures. That included "The Brown House" (get it? It's not white! Hah!) for the Hoovers themselves. Check it:
Cozy, and ... uh, brown. The house is right next to a trout stream, and the porch was built around existing tree trunks. I didn't get to go inside, because apparently you need a ranger-guided tour, which you don't get if you actually HIKE to the camp in a effort to have better fitness than, say, Herbert Hoover. But pressing my face against the screen, I was able to determine that Herbert Hoover had manacles for his slaves bolted to every wall, shelves full of satanic texts and several cast-iron bathtubs for his personal gin-making operations. If the National Park Service wants me to say otherwise, then they can damn well leave the doors unlocked.
You can chill out on the porch and enjoy the view, though, and there's a really informative little display in one of the other cabins on the history of the site and the Hoovers themselves. They were a pretty dynamic duo; Lou Henry (i.e. Mrs. Hoover) was the first American woman with a geology degree and apparently oversaw the entire construction and management of Camp Rapidan, right down to the proper techniques for lashing the camp's Filipino manservants. Mostly, though, you'll just want to soak up the atmosphere. I've never been a big camper or fisherman, but if the entire world was falling into crippling poverty and I was powerless to stop it, you know what? I might buy 160 acres in the mountains and bait a hook every now and then. That or buy one of those Nintendo Wiis. Whichever is in my budget.
FUN HOOVER FACTS!
The only president to receive our nation's highest honor: mention in a sitcom theme song.
One of two presidents to refuse his salary (JFK), opting instead for WHAT'S IN THE BOX!
The Filipino stewards at Camp Rapidan were reassigned from the presidential yacht, which Hoover transferred to his Chinese opium-smuggling fleet.
In 1927, Secretary of Commerce Hoover was the first person ever to appear on an intercity television broadcast, on the hit show "Hoover of Love."
At the opening of Camp Rapidan, a celebration for the locals was catered with 5,000 tin cups of squirrel stew. Squirrels mark this as the start of the Squirrel Great Depression.
FDR had Hoover Dam renamed as Boulder Dam to spite Hoover, who was a critic of the New Deal. FDR also refused to use Camp Rapidan as a retreat, complaining of lingering Hoover smell. Hoover tried to rename Hoovervilles as Crippletowns, to no avail.
Greetings from the Salt City! I am here at Wise Guys all weekend, so if you're within 300 miles, why not take the time to see the show? I'm working with a guy named Eric Lyden who is very funny and has a tattoo of Chief Wahoo on his leg. You gotta respect that.
Salt of the Earth
Last time I was here, I didn't get to see the fabled Salt Museum, because it was closed for the non-busy season (October through April -- SYRACUSE!). This trip, I was seriously AMPED to go learn about salt, since with my sodium intake it makes up about 43 percent of my body. So I hopped in the car this morning, cruised over to Lake Onodaga (the Most Polluted Lake in America, TM), and found out ...
That the Salt Museum is only open from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m.
You're teasing me, Salt Museum. You get one more chance.
Fortunately, I did have a Plan B, and once again I went for a jog along the lakeshore. It was much warmer this time out, which makes for much nicer running, especially when the sun hits the polluted water just right and releases that sweet pollution smell. I love summer.
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.
"My friends have made the American people think me a sort of superman," Herbert Hoover said after his election as president. "They expect the impossible and should there arise in the land conditions with which the political machinery is unable to cope, I will be the one to suffer." And then there was a thunderclap, a timpani roll, the faint sound on the wind of an old woman cackling ... 
August 2009: Jefferson.
Fall 2009: comic interviews on the podcast. 
