Little Monsters in the Big Apple Carnival

So.  Yours truly went to New York City and waited with thousands of others for the chance to see Lady Gaga perform on the Today Show.

There's more to the story, of course.  Around 3 pm, Thursday, a friend of mine, Lauren Hank, asked me to go up to New York to wait in line.  Her appeal was the promise of never-ending love and adoration, but she was being silly.  I expect those things anyway.

I enjoy Lady Gaga, but not to extent of waiting almost 12 hours with the "hope" of seeing her perform.  So I went for my friend and for the experience.  Turns out, it was kind of worth it.

We drove to Jersey City and took the Path up to the city.  I could have sworn Ryan Howard was on the same car as us.  Too bad that wouldn't make sense.  He looked JUST LIKE HIM.  Really.

The Path dumped us into the city around 8:30 and we were in immediate pursuit of the sound of screaming fans and the many clicking of flashbulbs.  Off to Rockefeller Plaza!  We heard the roar first, the unified noise of a happy crowd.

Our quarry greeted us like a many headed beast of Dorothy.  That is, thousands of gay men and screaming girls, Lady Gaga's main fan base.  We walked past each row, staring at the waiting fans.  They stared back through the bars of the barricades, lost little monsters in the Big Apple Carnival.  They had their gear strewn about, all necessary equipment for a marathon queuing session.  Blankets, cards, empty pizza boxes, water bottles, headphones, spilled out of bags torn open in careless haste.  The buzz and air was like that of a giant camping party.  Friends were made in an instance over card games and a shared pizza, group shots were taken, and the night was just starting.  Some of these people had already been in line for hours before we arrived.  Oh God, the headache was just beginning.

We plunked down near the end of the block and examined our chances of getting to see Lady Gaga in the morning.  Here's what we saw-

Now multiply that by a few hundred and you're almost there.  Also, add a third row between poofy afro kid and the caution tape behind him.  For a whole block.  I had no idea what would happen, but I was feeling adventurous.  

From 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., the night felt like one big slumber party.  Lauren and I played cards with our line neighbors, gulped down energy drinks and told our life stories, painted our nails... oh no, that was the guys near us.  The fumes made me high and I got confused.  The NYC traffic flowed past, slowed down in the wee hours, but never actually stopped.  It really is the city that never sleeps, and we were a part of it.

A few times I walked around the corner to watch the line grow behind us to a ludicrous length.  It stretched 5 feet wide for more from 48th street to 52nd.  The worst part is?  None of those people got in.  Ouch.  Here's Times Square at 3 a.m.  Just from the corner to McDonald's, I was offered coke twice.  Oh New York, you naughty city.  

                            

                                               

The energy of the line went from screaming cheerleaders to aerobics at the assisted living home.  The guy a row over kept trying to sing Gaga songs, getting a line through and then leaning his head back against the barricade.  Give it up, man.  I was getting pretty haggard as the night dragged on, but I never fell asleep.  I thank Lauren for her enthusiasm.

When the sun started coming up, so did the line.  Weary heads started popping up, the make up was smeared from sweat and makeshift pillows, the hair was a mess, but everyone was smiling.  Just a couple hours!  I just wanted a change of scenery.

                                       

                                              

Man!  Look at that ginger's jaw!  Could cut a hand off.  He was looking for a wristband, and I'm not sure if he found one, but he managed to sneak in.

Once security started letting people in, tempers started flaring up.  Never have I heard such vitriolic gay sass.  It was like "Will & Grace" went to the prison in "Oz".  A couple guys were actually barred from the performance for mouthing off to a security organizer.  Oh, they were just SO mad, like oh ehm gee.

As it turns out, I was the last person let in, along with a girl.  We were feeling pretty "meh" about Lady Gaga at that point.  But hell, I was there, and this was some bloggable stuff.  I was pretty far back in the crowd, and could hardly see Lady Gaga.  Thankfully, I was taller than most of the people and could see a short blond prancing around on stage, warming up and throwing around rehearsal directions.  She sang an excellent version of Someone to Watch Over Me and I was happy with that.  Also, this adorable Asian woman shirked her duties for an awesome view of the stage.

It was also easy to tell when Lady Gaga would start to do something on stage, because this is all I saw:

Everybody, quick!  Compulsively capture every single moment on camera and shaky Handycam videos!  Jesus, buy a new memory or something.  These antics, combined with my backpack and headache were making it harder and harder to wait for the actual performance.  I did get one shot of her, though:

Sweet moment, but seriously... COOL ARM, HANSEL.  Christ!  I finally cracked and left Lauren to find a bathroom to change clothing in.  I came to the Starbucks on Madison with the most luxurious bathroom I have ever seen.  Clean, dry, and enormous.  I took my sweet time, savoring the dry and fresh smelling clothing.  I bought an iced coffee and went to the steps of St. Patrick's cathedral, from where I could still hear the performance.  As an added bonus, I avoided the freak torrential downpour.  

I think the rest of the day was spent at the Met and eating at Chipotle, but honestly, my body was just too tired to soak in memories.  But I can say that Lady Gaga is better live.  

I think in order to rescue my tattered masculinity I'm going to hunt buffalo using my tickets to see the Black Keys as knives.  And then use the bones as weapons to hunt some dinosaurs.  

Also, by the time I went to bed, I had been awake for nearly 36 hours.  Never, never again.  

4th of July Weekend Wrap-Up

Holy lazy, Batman!  It was pointed out to me that I didn't finish my blog series from my Washington, D.C. excursion.  So I present to you the final installment of Seeing the Washing Tin Can Party Live.

Sunday was an epic day: the sun was boiling in the sky, shimmering like an eye watering with the pride of freedom.  Grills were flaring up like the passion of independence.  The people were flowing through the streets like the blood in the heart of America.

I went with some of my friends to grill up some dogs and burgs, kept it very classic.  I went from there to another grilling party and the excitement for the day kept amping up.  I ended the night at a third party, complete with store bought fireworks and trip to the parking garage of American University.

That's right, I didn't go to the mall.  I understand, you're probably wondering why I didn't experience the fireworks live in the best way possible.  But hear me out.

From the top of the parking garage we could see the main fireworks, as well as a few other shows, with a small group of D.C. locals.  We avoided the huge crowds.  We sang a moving version of God Bless America.  And we didn't have to fight our way home.  Kinda sexy, yeah?

Overall, this weekend was one of the best I've ever had.  I'm still recovering from the epic trips through the city.  The worst part?  I still have to wait a month and a half before I return.  I'm sure you're weeping for me.

For great pictures of the fireworks spectacle, check out Ben Miller's blog

"Hi, I'm Calling From Vector Marketing..."

"...did you know you would be receiving a call?"  Frankly, my dear, no.

I received a call from Vector this past weekend, asking if I would like an easy summer job to make some cash.  I was skeptical but not yet ready to hang up, so I asked how they got my number.  Apparently, a kid from my high school gave it to them.

He did what now?

I won't name him for privacy's sake, even though he doesn't deserve the respect.  Did he really think it would be okay to hand out my number to some random company?  Also worth noting, I haven't spoken to him in a very long time.

Given that the call woke up me, I politely asked to be called back.  Maybe this would lead somewhere.

Several hours later, rather than calling me back, they called my friend, Dillon.  He was sitting next to me when his phone rang.  Strange, indeed.  He put the call on speaker and asked for a few more details.  The representative gave the same story- the number was given to Vector by the same punk kid, and would Dillon like to make easy money?  Easy money doing what...?

Selling knives for Cutco!  The poor representative fought through her script, but at that point a group had gathered around Dillon's cell phone and we were all loudly discussing the company.  He hung up on her.

The next day I received my own personal call-back and my curiosity got the better of me.

"Hi, I'm calling from Vector..."
"Hey, guy, I know what this is about, and I'm really not interested in the job.  But you could kindly tell me how you got this number."
"[That asshat] gave Vector your number."
"I don't believe that, I haven't spoken to him in forever."
[The representative gets a little peeved] "Look, we have your number, written down on paper."
"Seems dubious.  Are you totally sure you didn't my number from Facebook or something?  Think hard."
"No, we got your number from [Asshat].  He works here."
"Whoa, don't take a tone, I'm thinking about working for Vector."
"Okay, would you like to hear about Cutco?"
"Nah, I'm just playing.  Have a good day."

I admit, I can be a little mean.

I felt something was up and this is what Google told me:

Vector's homepage lists candy-like promises for wholesome work experience, a resume booster, easy money, and being your own boss.  Gee, sounds almost too good to be true.  The "typical day" bio for Katie Fingerhut Heaney (is that really her name?) describes her incredibly boring life, from her ridiculously healthy breakfast, to how little work she does in a day (sounds she's just bothering realtors), to her boring nights with her husband.  Cheesy, a little stiff, but plausible.  But it still sounds like Vector is trying too hard to sell how open and easy this job can be.

Googling "Vector Scam" immediately comes up with several articles with big angry titles like "VECTOR MARKETING SCAM" and then a few other hedging titles like "Vector Marketing... Maybe a Scam?"  Unfortunately, this article is very very similar to this article and it seems like some of the whistleblowing is poorly researched.

The one thing that does come out of this that to work for Vector, you have to pay for a demo kit.  That kit is around $140, plus tax.  So even if the sucker doesn't manage to sell any knives, he's already shelled out cash to Vector.  And that poor sucker is advertised as college students trying to pay back loans.  Scam or not, that's pretty terrible.

So what did we learn?  Unfortunately, not much, but be wary of Vector and make sure you know who has your number.

Also, the third phone call was so much better live.  The frustration in his voice was priceless.

Seeing The Washing Tin Can Party Live, Part 3

Dillon has been treated to a cosmopolitan view of D.C.- Georgetown, the monuments, the embassies, and jazz at the sculpture garden.  Saturday was no different; we went to the National Zoo and Adam's Morgan for dinner.

The trip started out fairly well:  solid weather, an easy ride, and a small crowd.  We checked out the sloth bear, but he was being an uncooperative whiner.

"G'way I'm sleepy"

We went over to the infinitely cooler otters.  They started play fighting in the water with each other and one father was heard saying "They're like boys fighting, they really are."  Something about the zoo brings out the stupid in parents.

  

                                        

                                        

They really are.

Speaking of stupid, the signs for the exhibits were often questionable in quality.  The one for the red panda was like an advertisement for illegal furs:

                                    

                                       

RICH SOFT PELTS.

The author of this sign, for the new elephant house, confused being useful with being stupidly poetic.  It makes the building sound like it will be constructed by magic:

                                      

Maybe some Amish will come raise it in the night

But wait, there's more!

                                     

Thanks, sign.

Then we were led to probably the worst part of the entire zoo: the Think Tank.  Usually, some gorillas and orangutans are partying on giant towers, swinging from ropes and being generally entertaining.  But today, there were no such shenanigans and we were forced to go inside the building.  A mistake.  There are few animals and way too many signs about how animals learn and have "societies", often comparing them to humans.  This sign was my favorite in particular:

                                    

The answer is...

                                     

...there is no answer!  Thanks for wasting my time, Smithsonian.  The building just got better, talking about tools humans use.  There was... a hammer, a jackhammer, and a device for obliterating kidney stones.  Sweet, I love coming to the zoo and not looking at animals.  As we were leaving, we saw a tank.  Feeling hopeful, we approached, but were quickly disappointed:

                                    

Inside was just a plate of food.  My god.  But fret not, dear reader, the trip was not a waste.  I just want you to know what to avoid.  

Finally, onto the awesome stuff.  Comrade came out to show off:

                                   

                                   

This is where they keep the raptors

I also spent a lot of time fighting against my mediocre camera abilities so I could show you the awesome small mammal house and invertebrate house.  These are the shots I ended up with:

                                   

                                   

                                               

                                          

There was an awesome shrimp that would let me take his picture.  This is the resultant blur of amazing colors:

                                  

In the big cat area, we entered the jungles of Narnia.  Aslan meandered over and stared in my direction, clearly hungover from partying too hard.

                                  

We found the source of his headache: a kicked-over keg.  Jeez, Aslan, you can't just drink away the fact that you put the fate of a kingdom in the hands of children.

                                

No, really.  Here's the keg.  

The rest of the zoo is well-designed and put together.  And the best part?  It's free!  Definitely worth checking out and it's only a five minute walk from the Woodley Park-Zoo/Adams Morgan Metro stop.  And last, but not least, two crazy tourists.  Because some of the best times seeing it live are spent people watching.

                                         

                                         

I think the WoW-lover is outshone by the hat lady; her enthusiasm for America started a whole day early.  Beautiful.  

Seeing the Washing Tin Can Party Live, Part 2

The second day of my return to Washington was much like the first, except I was in a lot of pain.  I've got blisters on both feet, my ass hurts from riding bikes, and I got enough of a sunburn that my face feels a little tight.  But did that stop me?  No!  Because I've got to tell you what's awesomer live in Washington.

Around noon, while Brofessor Benjamin went to campus to work, I took Dillon to Dupont Circle park to each lunch.  We made some sandwiches and biked down Massachusetts Ave past many of the embassies.  Before we reached the park, I did a little bit of car shopping and came away with this beauty:

James Bond gave me some ideas

Dupont was the place to be.  Mid-70s, slight breeze, and low humidity.  All the D.C. locals were out ditching work.  Or being really damn cute like this one-year old Newfoundland named Moose.  He was frickin' huge.

                                       

 

Moose's owner is actually 3 feet tall

Sitting in the park and waiting for Ben was truly one of things that you need experience for yourself.  I've been to Dupont Circle many, many times, but I'm still filled with a keen sense of "rightness".  Being completely surrounded by high-rises, restaurants, jammed traffic, and the perfect mix of D.C. population gives a great sense of belonging.  That's not a feeling you can achieve just reading this blog.

After lunch, Ben met up with us and we headed back down Mass Ave to check out the embassies in closer detail.  I was too busy just looking at things to remember to take many pictures, and neither did Ben.  We agree that they are better live.  But first, Ghandi!

                                            

And Greece!  

                                         

Yo, Greece, straighten out your economy

This guy was talking near the Turkish embassy about powerful people manipulating the rest of the world.  

                                                   

He was gettin' a little crazy for me, so I quickly moved along.  I recommend not spending much time around people like this.  It's better from a safe viewing distance.  In front of the Turkish embassy, a large group of men were praying, so we took a couple pictures...

                                         

                                                

                              

...until some a-hole decided to yell at us for "not showing respect".  These guys have prayed thousands of times, I'm sure they don't mind.  Arrest me.

We moved along back up the MASSive Mass Ave hill to the National Cathedral.  It's one of those places close to campus that I somehow missed in the months I was at school.  It's definitely worth checking out at least once, although the ceaseless "Suggested Donation: $5" signs start to get on your nerves.  I ain't paying nothing, leave me alone.  

                                                

That's a big horse.

Ben got a delightful picture of the Darth Vader gargoyle.  And I liked this fountain:

                                                

The day was wearing on and we were still tired from the previous day (and probably still dehydrated) so we started heading back.  Our plans were to go to the sculpture garden for free jazz.  This happens every Friday during the summer and thousands of people show up for the music and the booze.  I find it hard to believe that this event is sanctioned by the city.  One person goes to buy the pitcher of sangria and then everyone else benefits, 21 or not.  Hells yes.  We hung out and ate hors d'oevres and soaked up the sun.  Bookmarked lunch in the park perfectly.

                                      

                                      

What a good day.  Today we're going to the zoo, so I'll update you with that later (hopefully tonight).  Also, sorry for the formatting of the pictures; Blogger sucks at media.

Seeing The Washing Tin Can Party Live, Part 1

For weeks, Ben Miller has been claiming that the party is in Washington.  Skeptical, but up for an adventure, I decided to see for myself.  With the help of my trusty sidekick, Dillon Kelly, I stuffed some clothes in my backpack, rolled up my sleeping bag, and set off.  It was like homecoming.

We arrived in the illustrious NW D.C. just before noon.  Aside from the gps sending us past the apartment, there were no problems.  Getting to the party was a breeze.

We parked the car at the Berkshire but had to get a parking pass first.  To get into the building, Ben suggested tapping on the glass.  Sure enough, a guy in a suit opens the door and we quickly get our pass for "visiting our friends".  Such security.

After everything was settled in, we started off with a tour around the campus of American University.  Unfortunately, we just missed Obama speaking at the brand new School of International Service building about immigration policy.  I think my invitation was lost in the mail.  Dillon was impressed with the pretty trees and flowers and big buildings.  Otherwise, not much is going on around campus besides orientation for the incoming freshman (more on that later...).  Still, I miss my school.

We took the shuttle to the Tenleytown Metro stop and bought Dillon his very first Metro day pass.  For... $9 effing dollars.  This rate hike sucks.  We were going to Dupont so Ben could pick up his new bike and one way now costs $2.10.  Maybe with all this money, they can maybe fix all the broken escalators.  Pretty please?

Dupont was as pretty as ever, but we skipped the park (we're saving it for tomorrow) and went straight to the shop.  The staff was extremely professional, or as Dillon put it "they're like doctors for bikes".  Washing Tin Can sure get you where you need to go.  He bought a Raleigh Detour 3.5 with all the trimmings, what a beauty.

Like a kid on Christmas.  I love when this kid smiles.

Quickly jumping into NW D.C. life, we headed off to Old Georgetown, down M street, starting from 23rd or so.  Ya know, where the very wealthy go to shop.  Man, this is the place to be if you've got a little money to burn.  The restaurants are variably good to excellent.  Some are bar/grills, other offer unique menus full of vegan or organic dishes.  Whatever your taste is, M street's got it.  A favorite of mine is Papa Razzi.  Best french toast I've ever tasted, hands down.  Go for the brunch, plan a date for dinner.  The one thing to do, no matter what your interests, is head to Georgetown Cupcakes.  It is much like a typical famous local bakery: long lines, insane prices (around $33 for a dozen), and so much cuteness My Little Ponies prance about in glee when you order, singing choruses of "RED VELVET IS DELICIOUS, THIS DAY IS SO AMAAAAZING".  Bee tee dub, they recently opened their new storefront a block away from the original.

"All the cupcakes.  Now."

Some of my faith in GTCupcakes was shaken when Dillon analyzed his bottle of water. 

                                                

Oh, what the...?  Sodium in my water?  It's more likely than you think.  Or is it:

                                                

HEY!  You liars!  We're dumb enough to buy bottled water but we can read, dammit.  Also, some accidentally artsy pictures while messing around with panaromas:

                           

Ben's ad hoc tour through D.C. lead us toward the water for a lovely stroll, but Dillon was distracted by the Frances Scott Key memorial.  Can't keep that history buff away from anything exciting and thrilling. He told us the trivia bits about the Star Bangled Banner for a couple minutes.  Still working on showing how Washington can party, not sleep.  

Past the memorial, down a slope and across a bridge, we came upon... (drumroll) the Rock Creek Park Labyrinth.  

                                               

                          

This little kid was tearing it up.  A winner's stride.

It was a gorgeous day indeed, especially to walk along the Potomac.  The rowers were out, the kayakers were testing their luck in the dangerous waters, and the hotties were sunbathing on their husband's (or new boy-toy's) boat.  The loop took us past the Kennedy center (Dillon: "So that's where they launch the rockets, right?") and up to the backside of the Lincoln Memorial.  The trip was wearing on at this point and our feet were crying for mercy.  At the Lincoln, we were far from any Metro stop and still determined to see more.  Ben promised a free concert at the Faragut North park.  So off we headed, but not without a quick stop at Einstein for some good luck:

                                   

Another adoring fan.

And then of course, we were right at 17th and Pennsylvania, so Dillon needed the obligatory trip to the White house.  And of course, the obligatory thumbs-up vacation picture:

                                    

One day, Dillon.

Feeling that the trip was wearing a little thin, we scurried from the White House hordes and followed the sounds of live music to the concert.  It was some unknown band called Cazhmiere (like "cashmere").  Basically, they sucked except when the awkward white D.C. folk started dancing, but Cazhmiere can't always count on that sort of awesomeness.  There are live acts at this park every Thursday and Ben claims that the other bands were better.  We left the show to go back to the apartment hungry, tired, but feeling like a lot had been accomplished over several hours.

Dinner was well deserved: a DiGiorno frozen pizza and Dr. Pepper.  As the evening wore on, the prospect of being a part of the freshman orientation loomed closer.  The chance to be Clawed Z Eagle pawed at me, images of grandeur and glory before my eyes.  I heard the chant of thousands, "Clawed, Clawed, Clawed..."  The job was simple, dance around in the suit for an hour, pose for pictures with incoming freshman, and get people excited about AU Athletics.

                                                

                                                

                                       

Send me into battle; I ain't no Hobbit

And let me tell you, it sucked.  Dancing around like a fool, baking in an oven, for a bunch of freshman too cool and awkward and who do not want to be entertained, is not an easy task.  But I got be Clawed, and I am very very sorry for the next person to wear the suit.  I sweat through the jersey.  I wrung out liquid from my undershirt.  

Today was pretty awesome.  I saw some neat stuff live and made sure Dillon got to see a taste of D.C.  And my skepticism was washed away.  I knew Washington could party, but I just needed to check up on it.