The Black Keys, Better Live? Stupid Question

I saw the Black Keys for the second time at Penn's Landing on Friday.  Definitely near the top on my list of favorite concerts.

First, the venue is amazing.  For those who haven't been to a show at the River Stage, put it on your to-do list.  It's an outdoor amphitheater with a small flat area in front of the stage.  I was one of the first people through the gate and planned on rushing up to the stage but my friend pointed out that standing a couple steps up was the best spot.  We were eye level with the band and still only 15 feet from the stage.  Brilliant.

The crowd, too, was very good.  Hipsters and young people (hipsters aren't people) filled out with some older folk rocking out with beer.  Our experience was almost ruined by a couple drunk assholes, but luckily they were too wasted to be truly obnoxious.  Overall, it seemed like everyone there was on the same wavelength, but that could be attributed to this guy:

Kurt Vile.  "Would it be curt to call this vile?" -- Ben Miller

Kurt Vile is a Philadelphia native and he was recruited to fill in for The Morning Benders to open.  It was him, an older guy with greasy hair, and a woman on harp.  The crowd was settling down, waiting for the Black Keys but possibly patient enough to sip a beer through the opener.  In other words, this guy had one chance.  He started finger picking his acoustic guitar.  Heavy reverb and delay masked any possible sense of melody.  The greasy guy started playing guitar; the noise just got more confused.  I could steal a few notes out of the cacophony from the harp.  

And then he sang.  

If I could type the onomatopoeia for yodeling into a kazoo, I would.  Instantly, everyone in the crowd started looking around to see if their neighbors were listening to the same thing.  What the hell?  Kurt kept on singing, his hair covering his face, most likely in shame.  Greasy guy wore sunglasses.  Harp lady was oblivious.  Pluck pluck she went, rocking out.

Every song sounded the same- off-key screaming and finger-picked guitar shoved down an endless hallway.  It's funny I said hipsters aren't people above, because I found that picture of him on this blog, Hipsters Eat For Free (but please, don't feed the hipsters.  It just encourages them).  I think 'Andrea' had a lobotomy before seeing Kurt Vile because she describes him thusly-

"You know how some people seem to have an aura around them? Kurt Vile is one of those people. Although not much taller than me, he seemed to loom like a giant over the crowd, his face rarely peeking out from a thick, messy mane of hair."

More like, he hid behind his hair and sort of mumbled at the microphone, encouraging the crowd to bond over their mutual hatred of all things Kurt Vile.  If you do read Andrea's blog, just keep in mind that anything she says is actually the complete opposite.

So... I spent most of this blog complaining about Kurt Vile instead of gushing about the Black Keys.  But there's not much I can say without sounding like any other fanboy.  They are one of the best musical acts touring right now and you have to see them live.  The guitarist, Dan Auerbach, adds so much to the show, so much that their studio albums are boring and cookie cutter by comparison.  Pat Carney plays the drums like an over-developed twelve-year old plays whack a mole.  And it's all amazing.  Here are a couple pictures.  Sorry for the fuzziness, I was too excited to focus on quality.

                                                  

                                      

                                      

Theroux Examination

Note: I intended to write a blog comparing two of Paul Theroux’s books- The Great Railway Bazaar and Ghost Train To The Eastern Star using a scribbled junket of half-formed thoughts and sentences.  Unfortunately, I accidently returned the second book to the library with all of those notes inside.  Whoever checks out the book next will find themselves overwhelmed with thoughts, recommendations, revelations, and inside jokes, all of which were my planning stage for an long post.  I was annoyed, but writing from the top of my head proved to be a useful exercise, even if it is poorly executed journalism. 

And, believe it or not, the result is a much shorter piece.

If you missed it, I raved in short about Paul Theroux and his modernization of the travel novel a few posts back.  Basically, I loved his observations and wit and I truly liked Theroux, the perfect traveling companion.  He makes the reader feel as if they are both with him and alone, traveling in Theroux’s place.  Most importantly, he instilled a sense of magic (excuse the platitude) on traveling by train. 

In the second book, Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, Theroux retraces his route across Europe and Asia, thirty-three years later.  What a difference those decades made.  He is thirty-three years more wise, world-weary, bitter, self-important, and old.  Gone is the adventurous and open-minded man I traveled with in Railway Bazaar.  He begins Eastern Star by stating he dislikes most travel novels, which are simply recounts of visits to museums, artifacts, and notable places, with a hint of “mystery” and, most likely, invented characters encountered on the path.  Just a couple pages in and Theroux is getting on my nerves. 

He spends several paragraphs explaining how he lost his wife during his first four month journey and then several more on how he doesn’t wish to sound like one of those tired folk, “Back in my day…”.  To paraphrase some of his meta-discourse, he tells those rhetorical old people to shut up about times past and move into the future.

I pushed through the dreadful opening to get to the meat of the book.  Theroux is an excellent writer and I assumed Eastern Star would pick up and entertain.  Nay, dear reader.  Nay.  His trip out of London into France starts on a dreary and cloudy day and he pines for the lost days of charming travel.  He leans his head against the window and makes observations about changing times and changing scenery.  In no way did he avoid sounding like one of the rambling elderly that he slanders in the introduction.

Frankly, Theroux pissed me off.  He’s hypocritical, more sarcastic (in all the wrong ways), tired, and vastly self-important.  He instantly gives off the vibe that he wrote the book to show up the legion of travel writers who followed in his footsteps.  In his eyes, they are cheap imitations of himself, writing only to tap the cash flow of vicarious adventurers.  Oh, Theroux, how can we possibly live up to your expectations?  You set the bar so high! 

I confess that I did not finish the book, and I haven’t read any of his others.  Still, first impressions are half the battle.  If the author’s ethos makes me hate him or her, why should I finish the book? 

This also makes me wonder about the longevity of “seeing it live”.  Clearly, I won’t be writing this blog for thirty-three years, and maybe not even a fraction of that, but Theroux’s change from joyful observer to bitter traveler scares me. 

Life is a series of experiences, each event affects how future events are perceived, and not all of these situations are controlled.  This is an obvious statement but one that needs to be observed because it brings up an important question- what was it about Theroux’s chain of life experiences that changed him for the worse?  Case in point- had I embarked on the same trip as Theroux in Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, I would have seen an exciting new landscape and interesting characters, rather than a dreary landscape and poor people. 

Is it even possible to retain that sense of excitement for travel after spending a lifetime making a career of it?  Is this a case of too much of a good thing?  I wonder if this happens to all people who choose to make a normal life activity into a job.  Do racecar drivers dread the thought of driving home through traffic?  Do accountants hate balancing their own checkbooks even more than the average Joe?  I imagine chefs find the thought of cooking a family dinner to be a heinous chore.   I hate to imagine that this is the rule or even a common occurrence.  I plan to make a career of international service; God forbid I can’t enjoy a traveling retirement. 

And it may seem silly to worry about this now, before I’ve even started a career, but I hope that I can avoid becoming like Paul Theroux, a bitter old man with a massive ego (although I have one of those, too.  After all, I photoshopped myself consoling Leonardo DiCaprio on the movie poster for one this summer’s biggest blockbusters).  So, we’ll see what happens.  For now, I’ll just go with the flow, but it’s never a bad idea to look into the future.

Your Mind on David Lynch

I'm planning two posts about the affects of seeing it live, one about David Lynch and the other about the difference years can make.

The David Lynch post will tell the story about how I and four other impressionable young minds subjected ourselves to the madness lurking in David Lynch's cranium.  Who is he?  One of the most prolific, effed up directors to grace Hollywood.  He created dirty gems such as Blue Velvet and Mulholland Drive.  And what was the level of subjection?  We watched four of his movies in a row, which is equivalent to an eleven hour nightmare.

In this post, I want to share with you my mental state near the end of the marathon.  The following day, I was closing out programs on my computer, and found a document open on Word.  I don't quite remember typing this out, and I'm a little impressed with it.  But DAMN.  Here we go:
...............

Look at the couch.  It’s one of those couches without armrests, you know, the ones for laying down.  Fashionable from the 20’s, Gatsby-style.  Look again, it’s the piece your grandmother burdened on the family.  It’s where you had your first kiss.  There’s the cigarette burn from Aunt Tara.  Underneath, a foot pulls itself under.  It curls up. 

Now get closer.  The cracks between the cushions, separate them, push them apart with your finger tips.  Really dive in next, slide your hands down, palms facing out.  Inexorably, you push down, arms akimbo.  You’re afraid.  You touch something sticky.  You remember the foot.  It is disconnected, and you’re really looking down now, you know if you look up, look up at the wall, you will see the face of the man it belongs to.  You know he will be smiling, lips pulled back framing crooked teeth. 

Lost in these thoughts, you stop.  You’re in front of the couch again.  The foot is sticking out from under the couch.  Out from under the couch.  Why?  You slowly crouch down.  It’s an exercise to see how slowly you can move, not make noise.  So quiet you can hear the joints in your knees groaning.  The foot is always there.  What’s under that couch?  You slip onto your knees, and then onto your hands.  A noise behind you.  The foot?

You walk into the room and see an old couch, God, what a piece of trash.  Burns and stains.  You close the door, but you struggle against the warped frame.  The bolt slips into his housing.  Finished, straightforward, case closed.  Door closed.

“And that’s it.” 

“That’s it?”

“The whole dream.  Almost a nightmare, I guess.  You can’t tell me how you arrived or why, but you were in front of that couch in that house.”

“What does it mean?”

................

So yeah, I'll probably be doing another Lynch marathon in the future, and watch for when I finish my post.  It should explain everything.  And by everything I mean nothing.  

Because I Couldn't Put It Any Better Myself

In my last post, I referred to cloud computing and I realize I gave a less than satisfactory explanation.  Sorry!

This excellent article from the Opera portal explains everything in a handy dandy, non-techy style.  The author uses starting a small business as his example, and I'll be honest, who cares, but you get all the good details.

Oh and check out this girl's Tumblr- http://thisisappalling.tumblr.com/.  Love her style and her GIFs.

Cloudy with a chance of Photoshop

In today's post I want to share my excitement about some great new software.  Some of it I plan on using to make my blog more fun and engaging.  Fear not, luddites, this could be of use to you.

The first application I want to talk about is called CloudApp.  This great app (Mac only, sorry Windows users) allows you to quickly upload files from your computer to the cloud.  

First, what is the cloud?  I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the concept, but basically it allows for greater data sharing, faster data access and greater power for mobile technology.  Yes, I'm drooling right now.  This website has five great videos explaining the cloud.  I like to think about it this way:  many of those great apps for your iPhone or various Android powered phone use the cloud to overcome the limitations of your hardware.

Okay, before I stray into territory that I can't quite explain, I'll simply talk about CloudApp.  When you upload the file from your Mac to the cloud, it is backed up by Amazon's Simple Service Storage and saved multiple times, completely safe.  That's pretty cool.  Your file is also given a unique URL that you can copy and paste anywhere for other people to download.  For example, in iTunes I simply highlight the desired song, hit the hot key (for me it's Shift+Alt+Command+Up) and it immediately starts to upload.  A few seconds later I have a URL that I can paste on Facebook and the song is instantly available.  

Try this:  Four Hours in Washington.  Great song, by the way.

This is my personal screen.  I've only been messing around with it for a day, but it works just like I would expect it to.

It is also a really awesome way to create screen caps.  I simply hit Shift+Command+4, make my selection, and the picture is uploaded automatically.  Then I have a downloadable URL at my disposal.  Should make my job easier on here and make me more able to share music and ideas.

Next is a program everyone is familiar with- Photoshop.  But not only do I have Photoshop, but I also have the entire Adobe Create Suite 5.  Oh yes.  

Really, I don't have terribly much to say except that I can't use probably 90% of the power here.  I'll need to hop on some tutorials as soon as possible.  Especially for the new Photoshop, because I used to be fairly accomplished at CS4.  Maybe I'll learn to use Dreamweaver and finally eschew the crap that is Blogger.  C'mon Blogger, you are a tool for multimedia expression; learn to handle multiple media!  

                                       

This is what I see when I open my Applications folder.  Be very jealous.  And a little afraid.

Lastly, and this is something I'm very excited for... Starcraft II will be released July 27th.  

                                     

I want to stress how huge this is-  I was raised on the first Starcraft and have waited many long years for this one.  For those of you who don't know what Starcraft is, expect some updates in the next couple days and then a lengthy post once it's released.  I'll make it entertaining between all the glowing adjectives.  Maybe try out some videos, screen caps... I'll be holed up for a few days.

"Inception": A Review Within A Blog

Was Inception better live?  Silly question, given the medium, but yes.  Oh God yes.

Don't worry, Cobb, your crazy problems don't bother me

Never have I ever walked out of a theater feeling so satisfied and fulfilled.  The action, the dialogue, the cinematography, the vision, the crowd experience, the sour skittles (how you burn my tongue)… wonderful. 

I usually choose to pick on some aspect of a movie.  Some obvious plot hole, a glaring omission in thought process, something that gives me an itch to scratch, but this time… oh no.  Not for Inception. 

Now, I’m not some rabid fanboy, suckling at Nolan’s teat (although come to think of it, Memento and Dark Knight are among my very favorite movies…).  I’m sure if I watched the movie again I could point out a few issues.  But the rest of this blog will be nothing but gushing and cooing.  Sorry, film elitists, but sometimes a boy’s gotta express himself.

First off, what an attractive and well put-together lead cast.  Leo?  A no-brainer.  Joseph Gordon-Levitt?  Plays an awesome action hero.  Intelligent and calculating, reminded me of Daniel Craig's Bond.  Then there's Tom Hardy, who hasn't had too many lead roles, but plays the wise-cracking tough guy like he was born into the role.  Christopher Nolan once again taps the talents of Cillian Murphy who has the chops to casually mention his $10 million insurance from kidnapping and make it seem natural.  Out of the primarily male cast, Marion Cotillard and Ellen Page stand out prominently.  Page is adorable as ever, but Cotillard manages to evoke that crazy heavy-lidded sensuality that she procured in La Vie En Rose.

She doesn't need a gun to stop me in my tracks.  Just sayin'

And the action.  The most beautiful fights scenes ever choreographed (okay, forgetting classics like Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon)… I could weep for the inventiveness.  I’m sorry, but a zero-g fight like that will be hard to top.  Also, the car chases are straight out of Dark Knight scenes, but I don't care, Nolan practically made the car chase relevant again.

Also, I've read that Inception is "Kubrickian" and I feel that statement must be referring to The Killing, which I mentioned in my previous blog.  Both are perfect heist films, but Nolan eschews Kubricks taut dialogue and still camera shots and instead uses inventive movie magic and clever timing to keep the audience on the edge of its seat.

Overall, it's the perfect summer movie.  It's the big-budget thriller that appeals to a huge audience- Appealing cast, excellent action from a director known to deliver the goods, thought-provoking dialogue on dreams, and an ending that keeps you guessing.  Ebert pointed out that the film will be discussed on the internet for ages to come and that's what makes it so great.

Oh, and the audience... dead quiet for two and a half hours up until the very last moment when we all erupted with the same response.  Perfect.  HNNNGG

And for those who didn't like the score.... BRAHHHHH BRAHHHH.

Rain or Shine, Make Up Your Mind!

Before you start reading, load this youtube video and listen.  





Due to the past few days of finicky, irritating weather, I have elected to stay inside where the air is a regulated 72 degrees.  And during these past few days, I've done a lot of reading and watched a lot of movies.  Here's what I accomplished:


Finished reading the Harry Potter series.  Nothing remarkable here, just continuing the tradition of the summer read-through.  I have determined that the third book is the best in the series, hands down.  The tone of the series starts trending toward darker themes (although some could argue that the extinction of mudbloods in book two is pretty hardcore) and the story stands on its own quite well.  The plot twists are gripping and the characters believable.  I'm pretty sure every other fan wishes they could read the series as if for the first time.  Obliviate!


It's not quite the same, but I'm almost done watching the Harry Potter movies, too.  Damn, they suck.  I probably could have avoided disappointment had I watched the movies and then read the books, but it's impossible not to compare the gaping flaws in the movies to the books.

Masters of ruining a beloved childhood tale.  The four most ironic smiles I've ever seen

I also did more than reading children's books.  I finished The Great Railway Bazaar by the master, and arguably the inventor, of the travelogue, Paul Theroux.  

                                                          

He travels from London, into Turkey, across Asia, over to Japan, back across Siberia, and back into London over three months, using railways as much as possible.  He recounts the entire tale with sharp observations, a keen sense of humor, and a traveler's intuition.  The man can write.  I've always wanted to travel to Asia, but this book made me ache with desire for an adventure via railway.  

In movies, I watched She's Out of My League.  It's an exercise in formulaic movie-making, and nearly the definition of bland.  It has its moments- Jay Baruchel plays an endearing, almost painfully shy young man named Kirk who is genuinely easy to root for.  His best friend, Stainer (played by the poor man's Seth Rogan, T.J. Miller) is a delightful asshole who pushes the plot forward, but in a very funny way.  Unfortunately, the movie seems a little disconnected at times.  Kirk and his unlikely hottie girlfriend (I think he used Sparkling eyes technique.  If you get that reference, high five) go through the paces of a comedy movie, but the real stars are Stainer and Patty, the respective friends.  They stand outside the storyline (and sometimes out of the realm of social norm), while Kirk and Molly (the hard 10) are trapped in a circle of hell, destined to awkward situations and the peer pressure of their friends.  Anyway... this mini-review was still too long for a movie this inconsequential.

I also watched The Killing, but Stanley Kubrick.  You could say I have a bit of a crush on Kubrick.  This is one of his earliest films, in his black and white era.  I'm not going to touch it with a review.  I will say that it's one of the finest heist films of all times and it influenced Tarantino when he made Pulp Fiction.  That should be all you need to know, anyway.  So go watch it.  Now.

Now, for that song I made you listen to.  St. Germain is the pseudonym of Ludovic Navarre, French electro-jazz musician.  And it's a truly wonderful experience.  Sorry about the terrible quality of the Youtube video, a good version can evoke visions of a night time stroll along a lit waterway.  No homo.

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.

I'm a Regular

The chick at Saxby's Coffee recognized me AND knew my order.  What a glorious day.  I was actually annoyed that I couldn't tip her this time.

It might be 104 degrees today, but that won't get me down... I'm a regular.

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.