Did You Vote Prime?

Feats of Pint-Size Strength

2008-07-17T13:13:00.002-04:00

Anjali told me it couldn't be done. But I did it.

Watch me eat an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting! And for my next trick, I'll text you while I'm in the bathroom for the next 6 hours! (click above to see the enthralling flickr photo set).

PS - future pint eating endeavors would be made way easier with a handy ice cream "pint sleeve". The paper towel I wrapped around the pint container just wasn't cutting it by the end.

My backpack of cologne

2008-06-03T12:30:00.002-04:00

As has been made abundantly clear, I like (Syracuse) Orange. Many months ago I saw this beautiful backpack on sale at LL Bean�s website and I could not resist. It is, quite frankly, the love of my life.

We have had some good times together. And the bag has received many, what I will call, "compliments." Yes, everyone loves it. Why wouldn�t they?

Several months ago I packed the backpack for an excursion into New York City. In the bag went clothes, iPod, camera, and my toiletries, including a bottle of cologne. But maybe I�ve said too much already.

As usual, things were going great with me and my bag. He held stuff securely as we had fun, looking so fresh & so clean the entire time. On my last day in New York City I had some time on my own before catching my bus ride home, so I decided to walk across town. Just me and my bag and an insatiable curiosity!

But as I made my way down the streets of NYC, I noticed that everyone passing by me was wearing a lot of cologne. No, not just a lot. It seemed all the men in NYC bathed in cologne. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 guys walked by me, all seemingly drenched in some strongly scented perfume. �Why,� I thought, �do so many men in New York wear so much damn cologne?�

And then finally it hit me. On a street corner (probably next to one of 150 H&Ms in NYC), I unpacked my bag to confirm my fears. I found an open bottle and a pool of cologne at the bottom of the bag.

Right there I cleaned the bag the best I could. I repacked it and made my way home, stowing it in the undercarriage of the bus. The smell held strong the whole bus ride. I hoped airing it out over time would do the trick. On my body the cologne usually loses its scent by the end of the day. Over a few weeks the odor on the bag did not relent. Since then I have soaked it in Woolight. I have thrown the bag in the washing machine. The scent has only faded slightly, but it will not leave. In fact, on a long car ride today I noticed the scent return with a new vengeance as it sat in the window, baking in the sun.

I like my cologne. It took me awhile to find a scent I was comfortable with and this one is perfect when used in moderation. But this stench that has grabbed hold of my bag is something completely different.

So I turn to you, Voters. What do I do? How do I send this uninvited guest home? What can I do to return my bag to its untainted and scent free existence?

Nissan Pavilion is Dead to Me (For Now)

2008-05-15T12:25:00.003-04:00

I sent this letter to Nissan Pavilion after an unhappy concert experience there this last Sunday. If I receive a response from them or the Virginia Department of Emergency Management (who also received a copy of the letter) I will post it here.

=====
Adam Gerard
[my address]
Washington, DC 20009

May 13, 2008

Nissan Pavilion at Stone Ridge
7800 Cellar Door Dr.
Bristow, VA 20136

To Whom It May Concern:

I attended the Sunday, May 10 Radiohead concert at Nissan Pavilion and I am appalled at the lack of preparation on the venue�s part for emergency weather conditions. With over a decade�s experience in organizing outdoor shows, your poor preparation for the storm that hit the DC area on Sunday is simply reprehensible. The result of this lack of foresight created an environment for concert goers so unsafe that I will not attend another concert at Nissan Pavilion until you have addressed these dangerous conditions.

The rain was not a surprise. Weather reports accurately warned us of what was to come including flood warnings throughout the region. You know that due to the design of the pavilion, flooding is a possibility. The venue should have been ready with trained staff prepared for potential flooding along with a contingency plan to help concert goers enter and exit as safely as possible. But it was clear that there were no special preparations for the weather. Attendees were left to completely fend for themselves. Just one example: the concrete walkway behind the 300 sections of your venue was flooded with water rising up to my ankles. Many people tried to exit out the front of the venue under the cover of the pavilion which had a clear path to a non-flooded and paved walkway. But your staff refused to let us through, telling us all to turn around and guiding us directly into the flooded walkway.

And the unsafe conditions continued. There was a complete lack of crowd control, no signage I could see guiding concert goers back to the parking lots in the dark and rain, and due to a lack of walkways, people shared the road with frustrated drivers who were just starting the multiple-hour trek out of the Nissan Pavilion grounds.

This is unacceptable and is an embarrassment for one of the premier concert venues in the DC area. I don�t expect a refund; I saw the concert that I paid to see. But I demand that you take actions to address the problems that have come to light as a result of this concert. Until this has been done, I cannot feel safe attending a concert at the Nissan Pavilion.

Sincerely,

Adam Gerard

cc: Virginia Department of Emergency Management

The Art of Sandwich

2008-04-18T02:37:00.002-04:00

My Lunch Sandwich.

If you join me at lunch, I will make you one too.

When Auto Stop Faucets Attack!

2008-03-19T09:52:00.001-04:00

I Died For Your Enjoyment of a DQ Blizzard

2007-12-25T21:00:00.000-05:00

Sent to me today, Christmas day:

Does Dairy Queen think I'm Jesus?

A New Day Dawns on Lotion

2007-12-12T11:22:00.000-05:00

The lotions have survived the evening. I feel they have gained acceptance into the men's bathroom. They are officially part of the environment. Now people just need to use them.

Overnight I realized that if we were going to make real progress in the men's bathroom, if lotioning was going to become an accepted practice in a public space, things would need to be a little different than in the women's room. No fragrances, no frilly bottles, and we will need easy access so it's possible to lotion up with no one seeing you do it.

Enter Neutrogena Norwegian Formula Body Moisturizer. Look at that manly bottle, large and in charge. Fragrance free, so dudes in my office won't be walking around smelling like buttercups or lavender or other crap like that. And this stuff was first used by Norwegian fisherman! If men can moisturize in between battling man-eating sharks and angry narwhals while trying to catch fish for a living in the Arctic, then the men in my office can certainly be confident in their masculinity while they moisturize in between meetings and cups of coffee.

So now the option is there. We will all just have to wait and see if anyone uses it.

Live Blogging the Bathroom

2007-12-11T11:00:00.000-05:00

Women's bathrooms are often different from men's. This is a fact that has recently come to my attention. And we're talking more than just that one tends to have urinals and the other does not.

For example, the couch disparity. Though not frequently, I have been told it is not surprising to find couches in women's restrooms (usually upscale or department store restrooms). As a guy, I know I have seen couches in our bathrooms, but I cannot remember the last time. In fact, it stretches my memory back so far that the last time might have been when I was a child young enough to be brought into the women's restroom with my mom.

Here at work I've learned that the entrance way to the women's restroom is carpeted. And in that entranceway there is a ledge and on that ledge are various beauty care products — moisturizers, lotions, hair sheen. In the men's room we got nothing!

Until today.

The office recently obtained two extra bottles of hand lotion that were going to be disposed of. Because I had whined about the separate but not equalness of the men's and women's restrooms in our office before, my coworkers decided I should place these lotions in the men's room. So I have done just that.

And now we sit and wait to see what happens. Will they get used? Will non-moisturizing men see the lotion and realize this is the cure to their flaky and cracked skin? Or maybe I'm underestimating the men in my building; maybe several of them already frequently moisturize and will truly appreciate the convenience of having lotions readily available for consumption in the restroom after washing their hands. However, it's also possible that these bottles will go untouched and will be thrown out by the janitorial service at the end of the day.

No matter the results, voteprime will be here all day, live-blogging the bathroom lotion activity!

11:05am Two bottles of lotion have been placed on the ledge in the entranceway to the bathroom. I asked the women in our office and they told me this is where the sundries are placed in their restroom.

Hmm? They seem sort of small there, almost too hard to notice. Especially since guys are not used to having the lotion option available. I almost feel I should add a sign, or a post-it.

12:28pm There has been absolutely no movement on the bottles. I'm tempted to throw a sign up there. However, I don't want to jump the gun. There will be more traffic a few hours after lunch. And maybe the idea of lotion in the men's room is so foreign to a lot of these guys that it needs some time to sink in. A few trips in and out and people start to notice the bottles. Maybe later in the week when it is obvious the bottles are here to stay, a few dudes muster up the courage to moisturize. Today, a sign might be overkill. But maybe that's just what we need! I'm torn.

For now, we continue to sit and wait.

1:13pm Enough waiting. A sign has been added. "Feel Free to Use." Simple and clear. Plus, I realized a whole diatribe on how the women's restroom has this and I'm just trying to give us all equal opportunities would have not only been distracting, but there is no way I could have fit it all on a Post-it.

I placed the note and sat down inside a stall (I had actual business to take care of). Almost immediately I heard someone walk in. I'd like to believe they paused a bit before going to a urinal. However, on his way out his footsteps were clearly aimed at leaving the restroom. There was no lotion to be had on that trip.

So now more waiting.

1:31pm No bathroom updates, but Voter Steve brings up a good point in the comments:
It's certainly possible that the lotion goes unused because the guys fear that it's used, and/or because they're worried that people haven't given their hands a good washing before using it.
This is an excellent point. Maybe I should add a bottle of hand sanitizer to the mix just to reassure everybody that this lotion operation is on the up-and-up.

I bet the women's restroom already has hand sanitizer.

2:35pm The lotions in the men's room have still not moved. Before you get discouraged, Voter LoLo has some encouraging words:
I think it might take a few days to get the men used to the lotion idea. You're sort of working against decades of culturally ingrained behavior that women are programmed with...men need time to learn to pamper themselves in the bathroom and to go in groups. Give it a day or two and I'm sure it will happen.
To think this simple act of bringing lotions into the men's room could make such a huge change in our society.

A female Voter wanted to know more information about the popularity of these women's amenities. Yes, they are there, but do they get used? Two female coworkers were very helpful with the information (while another laughed at me from a distance).

First, my coworkers think that these lotions and other items are provided by other women in the building, not by the building management itself. Second, they definitely see the lotions moving around so it seems they are getting used. Bottles get finished and are disposed of but they have yet to see a repeat bottle; once it's gone, it's gone. And third, some are definitely more popular than others. I was so inquisitive that one coworker went and grabbed all the lotions in their bathroom. The Victoria's Secret lotion and the Mango Jojoba lotion were both full when they were first brought to the bathroom and as you can see, they are both nearing the bottom of the bottle. The other two bottles seem to not get used much at all.

Also, most of the women don't notice the carpet in the entrance way to their bathroom. Oh, what I would give for a luxury like carpet in the newly designated lotioning area of my men's room!

3:26pm Still no movement whatsoever on the lotions in the men's room. This trip to the bathroom I actually picked them up and moved them around a bit, hoping it might look to others as if someone had used them.

5:01pm The bottles have been moved! In my previous trip I kind of scattered them a bit and when I returned this time they were very neatly put back next to each other, once again against the wall.

Someone might have used them! Or maybe the cleaning crew just tidied things up (they do clean during the day too). Sadly, we just don't know. We will just have to watch the lotion in the bottles and see if any disappears. They still look pretty full.

And that just about does it for today. I think I've live-blogged the heck out of two bottles of lotion. But I think we can agree that this was a necessary public service for all the bathroom-going men in the world.

Did we accomplish anything? That's a tough question to answer today. Only time will tell, really. Someday maybe all bathrooms will be equal and historians will look back on this post as the watershed moment. "I have a dream..."

Look for new posts down the road as the tale of the bottles progresses.

Unthankfulness

2007-11-24T16:01:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's Thanksgiving time and we're all very thankful for things like friends and family and cute dogs and lollipops and Miller High Life 6-packs being so damn cheap. But I think during this time of year we should also declare the things we are unthankful for.

So here are 10 things I am NOT thankful for on this Thanksgiving:

Lee Greenwood
Everyone who thinks "God Bless the USA" is a great song. Actually, even if you just think it's an "okay" song, I'm still unthankful for you.
Yes, I could combine numbers 1 and 2, but I am that unthankful for both that I felt they each deserved their own slot.
Really terrible toilet paper. It's called Charmin Ultra, people. Look it up. They ain't kiddin' about the "Ultra" part.
People who eat a meal for lunch like a Big Mac, a family size bag of Doritos and an entire box of Oreos (mmm, "double stuf." And no Google, I don't mean "double stuff!) but then wash it all down with a diet soda because they don't want the extra calories. Maybe I'm not unthankful for them, just confused, but they're going on this list anyway. Madame Pepperman, my 11th grade French teacher that was addicted to Diet Mountain Dew, I'm looking directly at you here.
The term "Double Stuf." Oreo, why did you leave an "F" off of "Stuf?" I'm not a parent, but if I were, I would hate to have to explain that one to my child. Shame on you, Oreo!
People who stand on the left side of the escalator in any DC Metro station. WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT! People that live in DC complain about this so much that it's almost clich�. But that is because this is common sense. And you're not all tourists! Some of you live in the DC Metro Area and still stand on the left. How do you not hear the rest of us complaining about this? We're annoying as fuck and we're whining about you! If you listen, we'll stop our whining.
Not only am I unthankful for the fake Krispy Kreme in Dupont Circle, but the Fractured Prune that opened up down the street has now closed. My mom has always told me that the doughnut Gods have a reason for everything, but this one has been really hard for me to deal with.
The color teal.
People who got angry with Ann Coulter for calling John Edwards a "faggot" but feel it's okay to attack his manhood by calling him a pansy. If these flowers could voice their outrage at the derogatory use of their name, there would be much more public outcry at this practice. Also, little known fact: John Edwards is a 3-time Ultimate Fighting champion. "Pansy" or "faggot?" Maybe. Could he kick your ass in a no holds barred fight to the death? Most definitely.
Those push button sinks in my office building bathroom. We are all adults in this building. There is a number combination on the door to keep out all the bathroom roaming ne'er-do-wells. Are you really that concerned about the tenants of the building running wild with the sinks that you have to keep us limited to about 5 seconds per push? It's impossible to wash your hands properly with these things. And not only is it unsanitary, but it's un-American. Yeah, I'm going there; if we are forced to wash our hands in 5 seconds or less, the terrorists have already won!

Are you unthankful for something as well? Tell the world in the comments!

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Festival of Shampoos

2007-11-16T13:56:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time there was a boy with very little hair, but still enough that it required shampooing every day. Not much shampoo — just a dime-size or less drop of Pert Plus into his hand, then on his scalp, rinse and do not repeat.

The shampoo came from a green Pert Plus bottle (shampoo plus light conditioner, for fine or oily hair) that was always within reach, placed in the metal rack hung from his shower head. The bottle seemed to sit there forever, getting lighter as the weeks went by until one day the dime-size (or less) drop struggled to come out. Squeezing and shaking, the boy finally got enough to wash his hair. He placed the bottle upside down, back into the metal rack but made a note to pick up a new bottle of Pert Plus that evening (and realized then that it had been almost two years since he had last bought a bottle of shampoo).

With new bottle at the ready, the boy continued to use his upturned shampoo bottle. A surprising amount of shampoo collected near the cap thanks to the force of gravity, making it look as if the new bottle would not need to perform any washing duties for a few days, maybe even a week. "New bottle, we'll get to you eventually, don't you worry," the boy said reassuringly to the inanimate object.

And then the miracle of all miracles happened. The old standby, the shampoo bottle whose beginning days were now just a faint memory, refused to give up. Days turned into weeks, which turned into a month, which turned into a month and a few more days. Until finally, the bottle gave its all, sputtering out its last drop of bright green hair soap.

And so began Pert Plustival, the 34 day long celebration of a shampoo bottle that should have lasted just a week, but instead miraculously shampood freely for a full 30 + 4 days!

Festivities include

The Laying of the Drops. Every morning, a drop of Pert Plus is placed along the edge of the bathroom tub for each day of Pert Plustival.
Upturning of all plastic liquid-containing bottles. Turn upside down all of your plastic bottles in your household that contain liquids, just like the boy did with the Pert Plus bottle during The 34 Days.
The Cutting of the Hair. All Pert Plustival participants must cut their hair very short so that only a dime-size (or less) drop of shampoo is necessary during the celebrations.

Plus, there are a lot of Pert Plus-related snacks and sporting activities.

Mark your calendars! The next Pert Plustival will begin October 13, 2008. Have your Pert Plus bottles and hair trimmers ready! Before you know it, The Festival of Shampoos will be upon us, once again.

I Don't Want to Know All the Crazy Things You People With Hair Do (heh, I said "hairdo")

2007-09-07T12:40:00.000-04:00

That's a comb in a stall of the men's bathroom at work.

Combing your hair while on the can? It's been awhile since I've even owned a hair-taming product of any sort. Is this something you haired people commonly do behind closed stall doors?

Why Don't We Have That Kind of Relationship?

2007-08-16T00:24:00.000-04:00

My apartment building has a security guard that sits behind a desk in the main lobby and makes rounds in the building during off hours. The one security guard in the building ends up being a rotating set of repeating faces. They are all friendly enough and we talk constantly, exchanging salutations and schmoozing about the weather or about how we're doing or about the package I have waiting for me in the leasing office. We're all very close, or so I thought.

Yesterday morning on my way out the door one of my fellow tenants saw the security guard on duty and the two of them had a bit of a moment, doing one of those manly hand shake/friendship things, grabbing each other's hands, pulling each other together and gently bumping. One of them might have even thrown in a, "Good to see you, man!"

Then today I walked in to hear another tenant spilling his guts about his failed long distance relationship while the security guard on duty sat behind his desk listening so intently. I almost felt like I was intruding on someone's session with their psychiatrist.

But now I'm a bit jealous. How did the other residents build these relationships with the security guards? I hear people talking about family and kids and now ex-girlfriends. How do you bring that up?
Me: I have a package.
Security Guard: Oh, here it is. [hands me package] Anything else?
Me: No. Oh wait. I've always felt my mom loves my sister more than me.
Security Guard: [gesturing downward] Please, take a seat. That must be quite the burden to hold inside all these years...

Is it that easy? Am I just a cold prick? And once we've discussed our personal lives, does that mean I have to have this deep conversation every time I walk by? Or any conversation at all? It seems rude to open up one day and then just nod the next. Because regardless of how cathartic my security guard session is, sometimes I'm just going to want to walk to my apartment without saying much. Or I'll want to walk downstairs to do the laundry, and that's it.

Do I sacrifice that freedom for friendship? Those other tenants looked so happy. That manly friendship embrace — I want that. If only there were a friendly ear to bend about my dilemma.

Oh but there is, waiting for me right outside my door.

I Love You, But I Hate You Too

2007-08-14T09:56:00.000-04:00

I want to meet the man responsible for this handiwork; this complete dedication to toilet seat coverage when going #2. I've been preaching this sort of thing since high school. It's step 2 to the 5 Step Process! But this guy takes the coverage to a level beyond what I've ever even imagined. Look at that total coverage, not a speck of seat peeping through. His ass is well protected, as it should be.

He and I may be twin shitting souls, separated at birth.

Unfortunately, when we were separated at birth my mom taught me cleanliness and respect of others while he, I can only assume, was raised by monkeys. Where is the common courtesy of cleaning up after yourself for the next guy? Have you no decency, oh kindred spirit?! Flush! Flush the TP away when you're done! And stick around to make sure it all goes down to flush again if necessary!

::takes a breath:: I'm sorry. My emotions are getting the best of me. I should give Seat Protector the benefit of the doubt. He must just be very proud of his TP seat layering technique (and I certainly don't blame him). Maybe he is leaving his artistry behind to brag anonymously. Or better yet, maybe he's trying to educate the lost souls of the world who are shitting with bare ass on seat. A noble cause, but the execution is flawed. Impeccable hygiene is being confused for a complete lack thereof. Without proper guidance (a simple instruction manual left behind alongside the TP covering, perhaps), his efforts will reach nobody. Poor shitting technique will still be practiced across the world and I'll be left to clean up the perforated cotton mess.

No sir, I don't like it. Clean up after yourself! Stop giving proper TP seat protection a bad name! And for gosh darn sake, flush everything down when you're done!

My Lunna and Me

2007-08-01T00:03:00.000-04:00

Lunna and I have both been so busy lately that we haven't had much time to hang out. So we decided to take a few days off of work and spend some time together, just the two of us. And finally we got outside of the house with one another for a change!

It really ended up being some special times. Luckily we hired our own photographer to capture the memories.

Opening Day to see the Washington Nationals!

We enjoyed the nation's pastime while enjoying our own pastime of sitting and eating hot dogs...together. Lunna laughed at me when I got mustard on my nose. How embarrassing!

Lunna loves Disney movies so I bought her tickets to Disney On Ice: Lion King.

The costumes were beautiful. Unfortunately, Chia Scooby snuck in with us and I got a little angry; we could have all been kicked out! Lunna is always so good at calming me down though. I've gotta watch my temper.

A few years ago, Lunna came out of the "living room," so to speak. You go girl, be proud of who you are! Well, this year thanks to the timing I had the honor of joining her and her pals in the Capitol Pride march. Boy was that fun. What a bunch of crazy gals!

You probably can't read it in the photo, but my shirt says, "Corduroy is gay." And now Lunna is reupholstering herself in rainbow corduroy. I guess I'll have to buy a more colorful rug for the apartment to match.

And finally we tried to stay up all night outside the big, scary Scottish Rite building.

Lunna really knows how to tell a good ghost story. It's a wonder I ever got to sleep. Who am I kidding, it's no wonder. Lunna is so comfy!

On the last day of our adventures together, Lunna surprised me with this t-shirt she had made for me.*

I am a LUNNA-tic! Isn't she just the greatest chair a boy could ever have?!

* — Lunna had a little help on the shirt from her friends at Current Configuration, R Design and some unnamed sources.

50 Air Guitarers Can't Be Wrong

2007-06-13T10:47:00.000-04:00

"You haven't lived until you've seen the sun set over the Rockies."
"You haven't lived until you've felt the rush of jumping out of an airplane."
"You haven't lived until you've ran with the bulls in Spain."
"You haven't lived until you've seen 50+ people on stage all air guitaring their hearts out to Lynyrd Skynyrd's Free Bird"

Well, I have officially lived. Last week as part of the grand finale of the Washington, DC Regional US Air Guitar Championships, I witnessed a mob on stage at the 9:30 Club air guitaring through every second of Free Bird. Yes, that kind of air guitar. And yes, it was an actual competition. With judges. Heck, this was just a small potatoes regional championship. The winner of DC competes in New York City at the US finals. And the winner there competes at the World Championships in Finland (for the chance to win a real guitar, that as it was pointed out, the winner will likely not know how to play).

Here's how it worked: in the first round 24 people got up on stage one at a time and air guitared for a minute of a song of their choosing, and were scored by the judges. The five best scores moved on to the second round (scored like figure skating, which as we all know has a high score of six. Wait, am I the only one here that knows that off the top of my head?). At that point the finalists heard a surprise song together and in order of their scores improv'd air guitar to the music. Add up the scores and we have the best fake guitarist that will be representing DC in the US Championships.

Before you ask, YES, there is clear difference between the good and bad air guitarists. Performers can apparently even have that hard to pin down "it" quality, even if they are holding nothing but air in their hands.

For example, the first performer on stage gave it his all. He had the energy and the moves, the tight pants, he even had the mohawk hair. But he just tried too much too fast, ripping off his coat and immediately "playing" his "guitar" between between his legs, behind his back and even with his tongue. Impressive moves, but he wasn't feeling the music. Much later, the audience was treated to the real experts. One performer came out in a flannel shirt and straw hat slowly rocking to a twangy tune (in the same genre as "The Devil Went Down to Georgia") and built his performance up as the music picked up, eventually pulling an air fiddle out of nowhere and jamming with that too! The crowd went wild! (for the record, you must focus on air guitar during your routine, but other stringed air instruments are allowed as well). Another competitor threw his air guitar into the air, did a somersault and caught the guitar, ALL WITHOUT MISSING A BEAT (and without his air guitar evaporating into thin air)! And yet another...oh, just watch this video (he eventually went on to win).

From start to grand finale — which you can experience yourself thanks to video taken from the chaos on stage — this was all a sight to behold (seriously, everyone was air dedicated for the entirety of "Free Bird," which must be something like 87 minutes long).

But there is one problem. There were no female competitors (at least in DC). I know women can air guitar it out just as hard core as the men. I've seen you in the crowd at concerts; I've seen you in your cars at stop lights and traffic jams. Air guitaring women of Washington, DC: I'm calling you out. Let's see you on stage next year!

And remember, Make Air, Not War!

photo taken by flickr user dtnemail

All Day I Dream About Orange

2007-05-22T17:36:00.000-04:00

I'm obsessed with the color orange, I'm willing to admit that (not that anyone would believe me if I tried to deny it). So when I found some bright orange sneakers on sale, my heart skipped a beat and I couldn't resist.
But boy are they bright. So bright that I've noticed people looking, no, staring at my feet as they pass me. My orange shoes shuffle by and all eyes are just following their every step.

Hello, people! Eye contact, ever heard of it? My eyes are up here! Show me a little respect, please. What, am I just a nice pair of orange shoes to you?! Did you not hear about my "glorious ass" you should be staring at too? Or maybe, just maybe, you could talk to me instead of treating me like nothing more than an expertly dyed combination of leather, nylon and rubber.

This has been an epiphany. I want to apologize to all women for years of trying to secretly stare at places my line of sight should not be venturing. I realize now how disrespectful and humiliating this can be. And I promise to never stare at your chest or other various body parts again. Unless they are swathed in orange, in which case I have absolutely no control on how my eyes react.

An Even Mega-ier Lie

2007-05-04T14:04:00.000-04:00

Whistleblowers stand up for what they know is right, even if speaking the truth could lead to threats and retaliation, and maybe even their own death. There is a long history of whistleblowers in the United States. Serpico taking on police corruption. Jeffrey Wigand taking on Big Tobacco. Sherron Watkins taking on the Smartest Guys in the Room. Jose Canseco taking on steroids in professional baseball. Linda Tripp taking on the White House intern industry. All brave. All honorable. Some more attractive than others. And some even portrayed by really cool actors in movies.

And now a new individual is sounding his whistle to reveal lies and corruption surrounding one of our nation's most sacred entities. "Soggy" is taking on M&M and the Mars family.

I've already sounded off on the mega lie that is the Mega M&M. But it seems the issues I touched don't even break the hard candy shell of lies and deceit surrounding the Mega M&M. And our friend Soggy can no longer hold the Mars secrets inside. Fearing for his life and not wanting the truth to die with him, Soggy reached out to me. His story is frightening, but it must be told. What follows are his words as left in the comments section on this website:

I am finally coming forward with this information from an undisclosed location because I am in hiding. It seems that Mars, the maker of M&Ms, has a team of assassins out to kill me to keep me from going public with the information I have about the conspiracy to release the a sub-standard "MEGA M&Ms" candy product & that Mars executives knowingly designed an M&M that's size fell far short of the "MEGA" standard.

I had a good friend who worked at the M&M factory. There was quite a buzz among the employees on the factory floor prior to the first run of the so-called "MEGA M&M." So much so that my friend confided in me his pending excitement of being appointed Quality Control Lead on the assembly line for the new "MEGA M&M's" candy product. This was a big step up the ladder for my friend & he wanted to be very diligent at making sure that this product line would be up to snuff when it came to the "MEGA" label. He continued to update me on the progress of the M&M factory's upgrade in machinery to accommodate the much larger M&M.

When the assembly line rolled out the first batch my friend rejected every single so-called "MEGA M&M" for insufficient size. He told me that he brought this problem to management & they said they were not going to ship any of the "MEGA M&Ms" from the first batch because the new machinery needed some final adjustments before the "MEGA" size could be achieved. He told me that he suspected something was up. He told me that the next few batches came out the same: bigger, but not big enough. He also learned that the sub-standard "MEGA M&M" product batch runs were being shipped to stores anyway.

One day he came over to my apartment & told me that he found out that the machines were working as designed. He also found out that Mars executives always planned to release an only slightly larger M&M under the "MEGA M&M" name to increase profits (and their salaries as well. Hhhhhhmmmmm?). He told me his intention of threating management with blowing the whistle on this sham if they didn't either remove the "MEGA" label from store shelves from the first batch runs & to increase the size of the M&M produced to meet MEGA standards.

That was the last time I saw him because the very next day he went missing... A few days later I survived an assassination attempt from those hired by Mars executives. My friend must have been broken by torture & told them that he told me the truth about the so-called "MEGA M&Ms." They came for me so this information could never reach the public ...I must continue to evade these assassins so now up to you to let others know the real story.

Soggy, wherever you may be, whether it be on this earth or now up in heaven, your story is being told. People will hear the truth about what Mars is doing and the company will not get away with this. And when their chocolaty sweet empire has come melting down, we will all remember that it was you, Soggy, that first blew the whistle and made it all possible. And then we'll all take a nap after coming down from our sugar highs.

Life on a Chain

2007-04-28T17:32:00.000-04:00

A chain link license plate frame is an attempt to tell the world you're a bad ass, no? "You can't contain me, dawg! Not even thick metal chains can contain me! My other car is a tank with a big ass gun on the front. And my mother could kick your mother's ass." And so on.

So if you have a chain link license plate frame you have to drive your car appropriately. Feel free to rev the engine occasionally. If anyone looks at you funny just point to the rear of your car, they'll get the idea. Run through yellow lights. Ignore yield signs. ("ME, yield to YOU?! no no no, I don't think so!") Drive fast on local roads, even if there are kids around. Seriously, these things are all okay thanks to your license plate frame.

But with this new found freedom comes great responsibility. You cannot drive like a sissy. Think of them chains, kid! Here is an incomplete list of things you cannot do now that your car is officially labeled as tough juice.

AS A CHAIN LINK LICENSE PLATE CHAIN DRIVER YOU MUST NOT:

Drive just at or below the speed limit in the far left lane on the highway.
Slow down as you approach a green light at an intersection.
Accidentally leave your blinker on with no intention of turning.
Constantly tap on the breaks. You've got a need for speed!

And yet I've recently witnessed all of these happen at the wheels of chain link license plate frame drivers. For shame, you posers!

Or perhaps they were confused. Maybe they had intended to get into their other car, which has this license plate frame:

In that case, the above rules don't apply. With this license plate frame you can drive as you wish, you just have to do it all fancifully and with a little bit of flair.

Help Me Name My Cock

2007-04-05T00:41:00.000-04:00

My new cock.

Isn't he beautiful?

He followed me home from the metro today and now he's watching over my apartment from my kitchen table. I'm not allowed to have pets in my apartment, but this guy's pretty quiet, so I think I can get away with keeping him a secret.

He doesn't have a name yet though. Help me name him. But first, I'll help you get to know him.

I noticed immediately that he's quite proud (as he should be. look at those beautiful feathers!).

But he can be sweet and demure when he wants to be.

And yet you definitely won't forget this face if you cross him in a dark alley.

Gives me shivers!

Coincidentally, he loves the Syracuse Orange, just like I do.

And he's already making friends with Chia Scooby.

This really says a lot because Chia Scooby picks his friends very carefully (him and the Beatles DO NOT get along. Long story for another time).

But don't forget the bling! He prefers his bling to be white and fuzzy.

So what's the perfect name for a bling wearing, orange crazed, proud, yet menacing and demure at the same time rooster who lives on my kitchen table? I'm open to all ideas. But be nice, because he's got his eye on you!

Mrs. Peacock or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Just Use the Bathroom

2007-03-06T16:30:00.000-05:00

You're out with some friends at a restaurant. You walk to the bathroom and are faced with two doors, one for the men's room and the other for the women's. But instead of being clearly labeled as such, you see the following pictures on the doors:

Door #1:

Door #2:

Which do you go in?

"Hmm? Feathers are sort of feminine, that must be the female peacock. Wait wait wait, doesn't the male want to attract the female with the feathers? Hold up, are these even peacocks? Oh man, I wish I'd done that zoology minor in college 'cause I really gotta pee right now."

No! This is not how going to the bathroom should work. I should not have to be familiar with the mating rituals of the peacock to pick the right restroom. There should be no entrance exam! (though providing reading material via a handy peacock quiz inside the bathroom would be perfectly acceptable) These photos (actual signs on the bathroom doors at The Helmand in Baltimore) had me so confused that I ended up going in the wrong door. Luckily it was an individual bathroom, but maybe next time I won't be so lucky.

Restaurant owners of the world, listen to me: KEEP THE BATHROOM LABELS SIMPLE! There is nothing wrong with using an M or a W to label the door. A stick figure of sorts has never done anyone harm. And if you want to get creative, please be sure to add a clearly identifying label as well. Because what might seem obvious to you, might not be so clear to everyone else.

I Will Never Wash My Hands Again

2007-02-28T13:46:00.001-05:00

Well, I may have won the battle, but it seems I lost the war. The magical, non-stop faucet, is now back to faithfully performing it's automatic shutoff duties.

And really, I can't blame anyone for this because it is out of our collective controls. Sure, the maintenance man probably fixed it after someone turned in the faulty faucet for being "broken." But really, like all things that happen to me in the bathroom, this was clearly divine intervention. God felt it was necessary to bring this magical faucet into my life and now, for whatever reason, has felt the need to take it away. Maybe washing my hands was no longer the tedious yet life affirming task it was meant to be. Maybe this was His way of teaching me that I can't take the good things in life for granted. Or He could be punishing me for snickering last week when that guy in the stall next to me let a loud one fly (but God, he laughed too! I was laughing with him, not at him!).

Whatever the reason, I know there is a lesson to be learned. And it makes me feel at ease to know that God is next to me when I'm shitting and is guiding me when I'm washing my hands. And I am aware of the honor this comes with, but also the burden. Every courtesy flush suddenly carries so much weight, as it is no longer solely benefiting my stall neighbor, but also our Lord and Savior.

God Bless. Amen. L'Chaim and all that.

Bikram Yoga is Sweaty

2007-02-26T11:43:00.000-05:00

The invite was innocent enough: Do you want to come to hot yoga with me today for the 4pm class? Sure, let's check out this "yoga" thing all the hippies are raving about. Little did I know that a mere hour later sweat would be seeping from every pore on my body.

Let me be clear just in case you are skeptical the next time you hear about Hot Yoga (I'm refuse to call it "Bikram Yoga." That seems deceptive. It's hot, so that's what I'm going to call it). This class was the sweatiest 90 minutes of my life. My shorts, the only thing I was wearing, were drenched. When I was done, my towel that I'd been standing and lying on felt like it had been dunked in a pool. I had a view of myself in the mirror the whole time, and though I have to say that I looked damn good doing the various stretches, I could also see the sweat pouring off my body.

I should have known how serious this would be when my friend told me the room would be 105 degrees. That's just not natural for people to flock to. That's the type of heat you run from while thanking Mr. Carrier for inventing the air conditioner. Still, here I was paying good money to workout in the heat for 90 minutes?!

Then when I told the instructor this was my first time, her only suggestion to me was, "Just focus on getting used to the heat. Don't try to do anything else." How could that not frighten me a little? But at that point it was too late.

And yet, I might go back. I definitely felt relaxed afterwards (if not a bit woosy and very drained). It certainly was a workout like none I've ever had; my heart rate went up, my breathing got a little heavy and yet at no point did I feel like I was exerting myself. Plus, I made it out alive. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? And in this case, it also makes you more flexible.

A Moment With Krispy Kreme

2007-02-12T01:45:00.001-05:00

Fellow Voters, I need a moment alone with Krispy Kreme, if you wouldn't mind. Feel free to avert your eyes, step out of the room, whatever you need to do. Krispy Kreme and I need to have a conversation just the two of us.

Krispy Kreme, I love you. You know I do. Which is why I've decided to be honest with you. I cheated yesterday. Right in your own back yard. And I loved every second of it.

Baby, don't get that look on your face. We've talked about this. A few times. And yes, it's that new store in town you were all worried about, The Fractured Prune. When you asked, I said I didn't care about her donuts (she calls them "donuts" by the way, not "doughnuts." I know how you hate that). I said I prefer your hot glaze over her hand-dipped. "All those toppings and crazy 'specialties' are just for show. No one can match your basic hot glazed, baby!"

But from the moment I walked in to her store, I knew this was going to be special. All the glazes ready for dipping. All the toppings in a row. And when they yelled, "first timer!" and handed me an O.C. Sand (honey glaze, cinnamon sugar), I felt so special. Like they wanted me there.

I ordered the Reese Cup (peanut butter glaze, mini chocolate chips) and my friend ordered the Peppermint Patty® (mint glaze, mini chocolate chips). And let me tell you, they were wondrous. The Fractured Prune, she makes the donuts fresh and tops them after you order. So the donut is still hot and the frosting is still oozing when it arrives at your table. But really, it's the donut that is so special. It is baked (in the store) to be crispy on the outside but soft, warm and a bit cake-like inside. And so moist.

Krispy Kreme, I think we can work this out. We've been together far too long to just give up on us now. But you've gotta be real with me. No more fake doughnuts and pretend hot glazing. And until you can promise me that, I think it's best that we see other people, at least when we're in Dupont Circle.

Openin' Pickles

2007-01-06T02:24:00.000-05:00

We prepared the pickles. And they sat. But as I waited to open the jars I also planned. I knew that these pickles would taste glorious and I wanted to properly mark the occasion with an equally glorious "Pickle Opening Ceremony."

And just like the Olympic flame lighting tradition, our Opening Ceremony featured very special pickle torch lighters, The Beatles!

From left to right: Paul McCartney, John Lennon, Ringo Starr and George Harrison. Not pictured: The Yellow Submarine they all arrived in.

And finally, we opened a jar.

And tasted them.

And they were everything I had hoped for. Crisp and salty with a spicy kick. I have to say that they are quite possibly the greatest pickles I have ever eaten.

But they're all mine! (well, half are mine) Yet for some reason the Beatles felt entitled to some pickles of their own. Maybe it was because two of them had risen from the dead to make the ceremony and the other two had traveled to DC from England. Whatever! The lads didn't have to tortuously wait 6 weeks for these damn things to pickle. I was having none of it and refused to share with any of the Beatles.

However, I think I got a little distracted during the bliss of tasting my second pickle because both George and Ringo slipped through my guard.

But really, I can't blame them. These pickles are absolutely impossible to resist.

Could you be the one to taste them next? Only if you're lucky.

Post-Its Should Not Be Allowed in Bathrooms

2006-12-18T13:18:00.000-05:00

In my office building bathroom we have those automatic stop faucets. You know, the ones where you push the knob down and after about five seconds the water stops, leaving your hands still soapy and you have to repeat the process about five more times before you actually get your hands clean? Man, I love 'em!

But early on I discovered a bathroom miracle. The hot water knob on one of the sinks gets stuck when you push it and stays on until you actually pull up on the knob to turn it off. It's a blessing from the heavens.

Yes, technically the faucet is "broken." And the other building residents seem to be focused on this fact, rather than what this broken faucet can offer us. One day I walked in to the bathroom and saw a note scrawled on a paper towel and stuck over the "broken" faucet stating that the knob was out of order. I threw the paper towel away and took my time washing my hands. Another day I was...uh...sitting down in the bathroom, and I heard two people walk in and carry on a conversation about how maintenance really needed to be notified about this broken faucet.

Those fools! Ask not what you can do for the broken faucet, but what the broken faucet can do for you!

Well, Friday afternoon this reached the breaking point. I walked into the bathroom and found a post-it note stuck on the mirror just above the infamous sink (what is it with Post-its in bathrooms anyway?):

"Note: This hot water push button sticks. Please pull up to shut off (can someone notify maint?)"

Yes, everyone must know about this faucet. I'm with ya man! Let everyone enjoy the good fortunes the bathroom gods have brought us. But wait, did you say something about notifying maintenance? What's that all about? They'll take the faucet away from us all in the name of "fixing" it. No, I couldn't let that happen.

I almost threw the note away. And then I realized that this was my chance to have my voice heard! So I left a note of my own in response

"No! Don't fix it. Don't you see that this broken faucet is a blessing? Who wants to use the automatic stop ones anyway?!"

I walked away beaming with pride. I will be heard. People will read my note and minds will be changed. Who does want to use the automatic stop ones? What an excellent question.

And then the greatest thing in the history of the world happened: I got a response. A third note appeared on the mirror above the sink.

"Yeah, and why should we, who are disciplined enough to shut faucets after use, be inconvenienced by those who do not shut off faucets."

Yeah! Hit 'em below the belt. Those "undisciplined" idiots! It seems we have you outnumbered! Victory will be ours.

And that seems to remain the case now. As of today (Monday), the notes are all gone and the sink is still "broken." My people have won the first battle. But will we win the war? Only time will tell.