by JRM

March 14, 2007

Disclaimer – If you’re looking for funny…this isn’t funny…well, maybe a couple of parts a little bit.

I honest didn't know what I thought about D.C. when I got there for the first time yesterday. It was clean and easy to get around in (of course I never left midtown). Tons of people were walking fast with cold empty stares on their cold empty faces. They reminded me of the fishing grounds in the movie Finding Nemo.

I went to my hotel, which happens to be only four blocks from the White House, and it is nice. I went to my ninth floor room, walked in and looked at the back of the door where they post the rates in accordance with not-a-State Law and jumped back when it said $699 per night. Of course, that number is the highest possible rate that the hotel would charge and in no way came close to representing what I paid...which was zero. In short, the room was nice.

I spent the day looking at shit that caused me to just about freak out. There are few words to explain the weirdness that is standing there and looking at the Spirit of St Louis hanging next to Spaceshipone, which happened to be mere feet from Apollo 11's lunar module. Fucking mind boggling. That stuff should be stored in a closet to keep people's heads from exploding over the goddamned importance of it all.

Then I went back to the hotel and got cleaned up for a meeting where a couple hundred of us paraded around as though we were important and drank expensive liquor in each others' general directions. When it was over, I had been schmoozing for an hour and a half and I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. I decided that tonight would be a good night to drink rum and diets and play video games.

I changed out of my whore suit and put on regular people clothes and started walking in the direction that I thought was north in search of a liquor store. Eventually, I made it to Dupont Circle, where I heard the faint, yet distinct sound of a marching band. As I grew nearer, I could tell that the drums were definitely a kit, and that it was all brass. When I finally arrived at the scene, the music sounded like Nawlins fucked Dixie in a church while drunk on blues scales and had one funky-ass baby.

I stood and watched as the people swayed back and forth, clapped and put money in the trash can that the group of ten or so musicians had placed on front of them. There was a sousaphone pumping out a bassline accompanied by all manner of low brass wailing away with exaggerated slides and ornamentation that would've pissed my old jazz instructors off something good. It was then that I realized that my face hurt. It finally donned on me that I had been smiling so wide and so big for so long that my face was sore.

After a while, I left and kept walking, fighting off the tears that were inexplicably forming in the corners of my eyes. I got what I needed and headed back, thinking of all manner of things. Also inexplicably, a scene from the movie Titanic popped into my head (now you know how important it is to me to tell this story, because I admitted that I have seen the movie Titanic). It was the part where what's her fuck went down to third class and swilled shitty beer and danced with Jack and had the time of her life, all the while regretting her first-class lifestyle. Tonight, I was what's her fuck. I wonder if anybody wants to sketch my nudes...

I was just about back to the hotel when 23 police bikes 17 cars and 3 heavily armored limos flew past at about 45 mph. Someone walking in the group of young professional assholes next to me was heard to remark, "Hey, check it out, it's fuckin' Cheney!!!"

Yes, fuckin' Cheney indeed. To quote babycakes, "Shit matters."

      
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