Panel of the Week

From Detective Comics #855:

Geekgasm

Normally, I think the idea of paying full price for video games is offensive. So I wait until they're on sale or get them really cheap on eBay. But between Ghostbusters, Madden, and now this, I find myself playing right into the video game industry's hands.

Life was so much easier (and affordable) when it seemed like almost every game that came out was either a boring RPG or crappy Tomb Raider sequel.

Every lunch break should be this cool

"No, wait, I'm the gringo!"

When I was at Eastern Market over the weekend, I decided to grab a pretzel from the stand over by the aquatic center. There was this family in front of me in line, and...

Actually, hold up. Let me get this out of the way first: These are, hands down, the best damn pretzels ever made. Seriously. Next time you go to Eastern Market, you need to get one. If you're in line and you see, like, a toddler wander into the street or something, don't get out of line, because every moment you haven't had one of these pretzels is a wasted moment of your life.

Anyway, I'm in line. The family in front of me--a husband, a wife, and their teenage daughter--get up to the stand, which is being run by three Hispanic guys. That'll be important in a second. At this point, all the father has to do is tell the guy waiting to take his order what he wants. That's all he has to do. That's all anyone ever has to do in this situation. Having worked food service for a number of years, I assure you, nine times out of ten, your attempts at conversation or worse, schtick, are neither invited nor appreciated.

So does he say, "Hi, can I please have three lemonades?" No, of course he doesn't. That'd be too easy. Instead, he gets this big stupid grin on his face and says--in what I can only describe as a "cowboy accent"--"Hey there, hombre! Got any tequila back there?"

I winced. Like someone had actually hit me, I winced. Yes, the world is probably too politically correct these days. But still. That doesn't mean you have to go out of your way to be politically incorrect, either.

Interestingly, the wife and daughter seemed mildly embarrassed, but that's about it. I guess they're used to it. Whereas, if my dad ever said something like that, I'd be looking for a pointy object to fall on to commit seppuku just to get away from the awkwardness.

The pretzel guy didn't really seem to know how to respond to this. After a moment, he said something I didn't catch, but I think he was trying to politely explain what "hombre" means. Now, as far as I know, "hombre" isn't an offensive term, but the father quickly said, "Oh, I'm sorry." Pause. "Got any tequila, muchacho?" I started looking at my feet.

And I guess it should be said that he wasn't trying to be a dick. Or racist. He just has a really, really, really lame sense of humor. Still, his daughter was becoming increasingly mortified, and clearly just wanted to get her lemonade and leave. His wife, who I guess has been putting up with this for years, was unfazed and casually suggested he try "gringo" next.

"Yeah, I...no, wait, I'm the gringo!" he said, apparently happy to finally find a Spanish word he actually understood. Then to the pretzel guy, "So, no tequila, huh?"

How the pretzel guy didn't dive across the counter and strangle him at any point in this conversation is beyond me. On behalf of idiotic white people everywhere, I'd like to apologize. I've been wracking my brain for a way to make up for this horrible, horrible incident, and the only way I can think of is to buy two pretzels next weekend. Maybe three. Hey, whatever it takes to improve race relations, right? I'm like a one-man United Nations.

On a totally unrelated topic, this was going on in the flea market area for some reason:

I was tempted to buy them, but frankly, I don't know what to do with the ones I already have.

The Kastles win it! The Kastles win it! Oh, my God, the Kastles win it!

Two things I never thought I'd see in my lifetime:

1) A D.C. sports team win a championship.

2) A stadium full of people chanting, "Olga! Olga! Olga!"

And then last night happened.

Before D.C. got a franchise, I'd never heard of World Team Tennis. When I did first hear of it last year, I had to check to make sure it was real, and not something from an Onion article. Because, I mean...team tennis...you know? Once I verified that team tennis did indeed exist, I figured it must have been some new, gimmicky sports league that was being launched. It turned out it's actually been around since 1974. Who knew?

I didn't go to a Kastles match last season. I actually didn't go to a Kastles match this season. I was thinking about going to either the match against the New York Sportimes to see John McEnroe play, or the one against the St. Louis Aces to stare uncomfortably at see Anna Kournikova play. Then I found out the WTT Championship would be held in D.C., and figured that would probably be better. After all, how many championship games of...well, anything come through D.C.?

By some great cosmic coincidence, the Kastles ended up playing in the championship against the Springfield Lasers, which is especially impressive, considering the Kastles started the season 0-4. And just like the D.C. Armor game I went to a few months ago, I ended up having a hell of a lot more fun than I had at the more mainstream sporting events I've gone to recently.

And just like the Armor game, there was an enjoyable sideshow atmosphere:

-- I felt somewhat bad for the Lasers, as they were at a distinct disadvantage. The announcer informed us before the match that the court was considered neutral territory for the purposes of the championship...even as stadium staff members were passing out large "Go Kastles!" signs, which we were constantly told to wave around. The Kastles had their cheerleaders, but the Lasers' cheerleaders didn't make the trip. And because this particular Springfield was in Missouri, it's not like many of their fans could, either. (There was something like three or four people wearing Lasers T-shirts, and in his post-match words, the Lasers' coach made sure to give them a shout-out, which was a classy move.)

-- Geico was the main sponsor of the match, so it was pretty much wall-to-wall Geico around the stadium. Including...the Geico Caveman! The actual one! In full make-up! It wasn't quite as elaborate as on TV, but it was close, and he was wearing the fake arm hair. For about half of the match, he was sitting next to Billie Jean King in the front row. They talked quite a bit. It was...odd.

-- As I mentioned before, WTT has cheerleaders. When they came out for the player introductions, the woman behind me sniffed, "Well, this certainly isn't Wimbledon." Aside from cheering, they also serve as ring card girls, for lack of a better description, carrying signs that read "Mixed Doubles," "Women's Singles," etc.

In the first event (WTT matches consist of five events: Men's Singles, Mixed Doubles, Men's Doubles, Women's Doubles, Women's Singles), one of the serves sent the cheerleaders scattering. "Wow," I thought, "there's some serious potential for injury." Then, sure enough, during Mixed Doubles, another serve hit one of the cheerleaders right in the face. Play briefly stopped as Leander Paes called for some ice, and the Lasers player who had served the ball came over to check on her. At first, she seemed okay, and was even laughing about it. Then she sat down by the ambulance that was on-site, and was tended to by the EMTs. After a while, she left and didn't come back the rest of the match.

In between games, another cheerleader went up into the stands, apparently under the impression she was about to participate in some audience giveaway or something. When she was on camera, her boyfriend popped up and proposed to her. She said yes. Everyone applauded.

-- Darrell Green was there. After the match, he set up a table and charged his fans obscene prices for his autograph. No, I'm kidding. But only because he didn't think of it.

-- At one point, there was a contest where the Caveman played a little kid at Wii Tennis on the court monitor. I'm sure this seemed like a good idea, because kids are good at video games, and cavemen aren't, right?

Well, this kid sucked, and the Caveman was soon up 30-Love. The announcer made up a new rule and said that next point won the whole thing. The kid hit the ball out of bounds. The Caveman sort of threw up his hands like, "Hey, I tried to let him win. What do you want me to do?" The announcer then lied and said the kid scored the point and won a hat autographed by the Kastles, even though we could all see the monitor said 40-Love. Personally, I think this was a horrible lesson to teach a child, but whatever.

-- DJ Kool was the halftime entertainment. And he was great, but DJ Kool and tennis fans--even team tennis fans--probably weren't the best combination.

You know how at a concert, even if the fans are really into the show, the performer will make it seem like they're not quite into it enough, and try to pump them up even more? It was kind of like that, only the fans actually weren't into it. DJ Kool started his song by shouting, "Where's everyone from?" and got nothing but silence. He asked this about four or five times, and never got a decent response. I guess if one wants to be really generous, one could point out that D.C. has a highly transient population, and perhaps people simply weren't sure if DJ Kool was looking for an honest answer or for them to just say D.C., so they played it safe and said nothing. But the simple fact is, it just wasn't a let's-everyone-shout-back-to-the-rapper type crowd. Similarly, DJ Kool tried to get people to jump. But people really didn't seem to want to jump. So most of them didn't.

-- Teddy finally won. For anyone who doesn't understand the significance of this, at every Nationals home game in the fourth inning, there's a race between the four Presidents: George, Abe, Tom, and Teddy. Teddy's never won. Teddy probably never will win. But he made an appearance at the match, played some tennis against a couple of other mascots, and actually won, something the announcer seemed to take glee in. I'll let you decide if this was, A) A welcome change of pace, or B) Damaging to the integrity of the Nationals' signature gimmick. But regardless, it's a nice bit of D.C. sports trivia.

-- They had a drawing for two tennis rackets, one signed by Serena Williams, and the other signed by Roger Federer. I didn't win either. If I'd won the Federer racket, it would have been prominently displayed in my home, and become a treasured heirloom. If I'd won the Williams racket, I'd be directing you to my eBay auction right now. (Sorry, I've never been a huge Williams sisters fan. Even if Serena does play for the Kastles.) They also auctioned off an all expenses paid trip to the Super Bowl. It went for around $6,000. I'm glad the recession is over for some of us.

-- The end of the match was actually pretty tense. WTT has a rule designed to make sure the match doesn't end after only three events, and it works like this: If the losing team wins the final event, even if it's the only one they've won out of the five, the match goes into overtime. If the team that's ahead wins one more event, it's over. But if the team that's behind can keep winning, all they have to do is surpass the other team's total.

The last event was Women's Singles between the Kastles' Olga Puchkova and the Lasers' Vania King. (And not for nothing, but every sporting event should probably end with two hot, athletic, sweaty chicks duking it out.) The Kastles were ahead three events to the Lasers' one.

Between a combination of errors and getting outplayed, Puchkova wasn't doing so hot in the beginning, leading the crowd to start chanting, "Olga! Olga! Olga!" in support. She rallied. The Kastles won. Everyone cheered. Olga was hoisted up on her teammates' shoulders. Mark Ein, the owner, ran onto the court and hugged everyone. "We Are the Champions" was played. And stunned D.C. sports fans were left to ponder this weird, alien sensation of seeing one of their teams win a championship. A good time was had by all.

In closing, three things:

1) My experiences here and at the Armor game have convinced me to largely eschew the bigger sports leagues from now on, and seek out more of the fringe sporting events in the area. They just seem more fun, somehow.

2) Anyone who can, really needs to go to a WTT match next year. Even if you're not a big tennis fan, and especially if you live in D.C. I'm planning on going to three or four.

3) Now that the Kastles are WTT champions, they need to get better merchandise. I spent about five minutes at the merch tent trying to find something even halfway aesthetically pleasing, and had a hard time doing so. When I did decide on a T-shirt, the material was flimsy and even though it's a large, when I tried it on after getting home, it was kind of tight. (I assure you this was the shirt's fault, not mine.) If a decent-quality Redskins T-shirt goes for $20, even with the NFL mark-up, you should be able to get a decent-quality Kastles shirt for the same price.

Other than that, though, a fantastic match, and a fantastic sport. And perhaps best of all, no one from the D.C. Sports and Entertainment Commission was allowed to speak.

Summer Movie Scorecard

Have Seen:

Drag Me to Hell: A+
Orphan: A-
Up: A-
Star Trek: B+
The Hangover: B
Brüno: B-
Terminator Salvation: B-
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen: C+
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince: C
X-Men Origins: Wolverine: C
Year One: F

Definitely Seeing:

Funny People
G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra
District 9
Final Destination: Death Trip 3D
Inglourious Basterds
H2: Halloween 2

Might See:

The Hurt Locker
The Collector

A Perfect Getaway
The Goods
The Time Traveler's Wife

Weekend Beer-Off! U.S.A. vs. Germany

Beers

Brand/Brewery

IPA--Southern Tier
Bitburger--Bitburger

IPA: I've never been a huge fan of India Pale Ale. Which obviously puts a beer called India Pale Ale at a bit of a disadvantage here. But much like life, the Weekend Beer-Off! isn't always fair. That said, I didn't hate IPA. It didn't seem quite as sweet as other IPAs I've tried, but it wasn't bad.

Taste: B
Label: B+
Appearance: B
Overall: B

Bitburger: Strong, crisp taste. It goes down smooth, and there's no unpleasant aftertaste. I always hate giving anything German a compliment, due to a little thing called WWII. But I have to admit, this is mighty fine beer.

Taste: B+
Label: C+
Appearance: B+
Overall: B+

Winner: Germany!

Panel of the Week

From Freddy vs. Jason vs. Ash: The Nightmare Warriors #2:

Road kill

A couple of months ago, I was over by the White House at the intersection of 15th and Pennsylvania Ave, when I saw a family of six tourists trying to hail a cab with no success. A cab driver on the opposite side of the street noticed them, pulled over, honked, and waved them over. As anyone who's ridden in (or almost been hit in a crosswalk by) a D.C. cab knows, cab drivers' concern for the sanctity of human life often borders on the nonexistent. Still, I have to think that in this instance, he did actually intend for them to wait until they were able to cross safely.

Not this family, though. The father saw the cab, and I guess fearful that some rude, city-slicker type would come over and steal it before they could get there, promptly marched his entire family into a street full of oncoming traffic. That would be him, his wife, three kids, and some older guy who was probably a grandfather or uncle or something. They didn't even make any attempt to warn the cars of what they were doing. They just strode on out there.

And here's the amazing thing: All the cars just stopped. No honking. No rude shouts. As far as I could tell, not even any dirty looks. The family just continued along their merry way, hopped in the cab, and took off, with no idea how close they came to being a national news story.

I was disappointed. I mean, I'm not saying I was rooting for an entire family to get run down right in front of me. (Well...not entirely, anyway.) But if they had been, I have to think it would have been a valuable cautionary tale for other people.

Like the woman I saw last week crossing Wisconsin, and not even having the good manners to walk quickly, causing traffic to wait for her.

Like for the Segway Tour Guide who almost got him and about half of his tour group killed yesterday by crossing a street just as the traffic light was turning green, because he wasn't paying attention. (This group, I really was rooting for to get hit. Because let's be honest, people who ride Segways deserve to get hit by cars. Even if they're on sidewalks.)

Like the guy this morning who, when it started to pour, decided that he absolutely had to make it across the street to the Metro station right that second, and sprinted across F Street, causing a couple of cars to have to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting him.

I keep hearing stories about how the MPD is cracking down on jaywalking and all, but I have yet to actually see any evidence of this for myself. Now, if I were mayor of D.C., I'd just make it legal for drivers to run these jerks down. But I guess I can see how that might ruffle a few feathers. I have no doubt there are some people who would get a kick out of turning on the news every night to find out how many jaywalkers had been killed that day, but unfortunately, just not enough to make it a viable option. Also, the Supreme Court would probably say we couldn't do it. Fucking Supreme Court. Randomly placed snipers at various intersections would also be a no-no, I guess.

I'm going to make the same point here I did about Metro and its complete lack of enforcement when it comes to eating and drinking, despite being in the red: If the city needs money--and it does--let's fine the fuck out of these people. And I'm not saying we should be dicks about it. If someone crosses the street when the Don't Walk signal has just started to flash, whatever, it's no big deal. But for the people who risk getting themselves killed--and perhaps more importantly, causing some significant hood damage to a really nice car? Make them pay through the nose. Are you telling me the MPD can't position a couple of plainclothes cops on either side of a few busy intersections, and then nab the really blatant jaywalkers once they've crossed? That family of six I saw by the White House? That was some pretty significant potential revenue, right there.

Of course, the usual suspects would come out and complain about it being borderline-Orwellian or how cops have better things to do, so I'm sure it'll never actually happen. Nor will my idea of legalized vehicular manslaughter. Or snipers. (God, seriously, don't you just love the idea of snipers? As an added bonus, they could also take out a few of those goddamn Greenpeace or ACLU hippies who harass people just trying to grab lunch.)

So remember that the next time you see one of these assholes running across the street, almost causing an accident. We can't kill them. We can't fine them. It's probably not even legal to punch them in the face. But it might be fun to try.

WJFK

Fair warning: This isn't a standard blog post, so much as it is an extremely--and I'm not fucking kidding about that--long collection of memories about a radio station and various radio personalities that have meant a lot to me, that I basically just want to put down for posterity. I'm letting you know so you don't get halfway through and start to wonder what the point is. Other than self-indulgence, there isn't one.

The year I finished fifth grade, I went to summer school. Not because I was a stupid or lazy student (although I was), but because my parents forced me to take what was called a "summer enrichment course." Because God forbid I just relax for a couple of months, Mom...but that's a topic for another post. While there, I met a girl who forever changed my life with just eight little words:

"Have you ever listened to Don and Mike?"

I hadn't. But because I was at the age where looking cool was starting to matter, and nothing looks as cool as a kid wearing headphones looking disinterested in the world around him, I took out my Walkman and set it at 105.1, WAVA. And that morning (when not in class), and for the rest of the summer, I laughed my ass off.

It was my first time hearing this sort of comedy. Grown men talking and acting like they were...well, my age? Genius! (At the time, the show was called "The Morning Zoo," but I was too young to realize that was corny, not awesome.) My parents were less than pleased with my taste in radio stations, but to their credit, they never stopped me from listening, and would even let me take over the car radio, at least until Don or Mike said something really offensive, at which point the radio was immediately turned over to WMZQ.

The best morning of my life...and I literally mean the best morning of my life...came one day in winter when there was a huge snowstorm overnight, and Fairfax County was good enough to give us the day off. Seeing this as a great opportunity to listen to my favorite radio show, I grabbed my Walkman, put on my coat and boots, and went outside.

The snow had stopped, but since this was back when the area actually had proper snowstorms, there were at least eight or nine inches on the ground, so everything was covered in white. And I just walked and listened to Don and Mike. It was a great show, they were really killing, and even though they ended pretty much on time, it felt like hours, and I loved every second of it. I would spend the next year trying to recreate this experience with every day I had off from school, but it never happened.

I listened as regularly as I could over the next couple of years without dropping out of school. I even tried entering a few of the call-in contests which required you to be caller 105, and repeat "the phrase that pays": Fun all morning, music all day, 105 WAVA. Yes, it's lame. What? I didn't come up with it. I guess I have no excuse as to why I still remember it, though.

Then one day, Don & Mike weren't on anymore. There was something like a month of repeats. Back then, with no message boards or DCRTV, I had only the radio column in the Post to find out what was going on.

Eventually, the Post reported that Don & Mike were gone from WAVA over some sort of contract dispute. They were soon replaced by a show starring--get this--their old producer and news guy. And to twist the knife even deeper, WAVA started running promos about how they'd "lost the fat." (Don and Mike were...well, not thin.) Not long afterwards, this arrogance was rewarded by WAVA being flipped from rock to Christian talk, which it still is today. Talk about a complete waste of some great call letters.

Weeks passed, and no word on Don and Mike. I'd pretty much given up hope of ever hearing them again. Then the big announcement came: They'd be doing afternoons at 106.7 WJFK.

At the time, WJFK was a jazz station whose only claim to fame was running Howard Stern in the morning. And even that wasn't much of a claim, as this was before he really got popular outside of New York. I'd never listened to him, but with Don and Mike doing afternoons, I started to. So for a few years there, you had a combined 8 hours a day of Howard Stern and Don and Mike in their prime.

Eventually, the higher-ups decided to ditch the jazz crap and go all-talk. They got G. Gordon Liddy to do afternoons. This may sound like a horrible decision, and God knows, I hate pretty much everything he believes in, but I have to admit, the man actually put on a decent radio show. Not long after that, the Greaseman Show started in evenings. How big a deal this was depended on how big of a radiophile you were. Greaseman used to do mornings at DC101, where I think--but don't hold me to this--he used to kick Stern's ass in the ratings, but he left when CBS/Infinity hired him to do his own syndicated nighttime show. So you had arguably the three biggest radio shows in D.C. history (and Liddy) airing on the same station. This is what I consider to be the First Golden Age of WJFK.

Greaseman wasn't long for the station, though, as America wasn't ready for the type of show he did, which is very much an acquired taste. (He would go on to fuck up his career with the dumbest racist joke anyone's ever told, before doing a brief stint at Saturday mornings at DC101.) He was replaced by the Sports Junkies, the only show surviving today's transition to a sports station, and the station's line-up remained static for a number of years.

Around 2000 or 2001, Don and Mike had been syndicated on a couple dozen stations themselves, but very few in what could actually be described as desirable markets. Many of them on AM stations. So when the chance to be aired on the biggest talk station in New York City came, they jumped on it. There was just one catch: They had to move to middays. CBS/Infinity had Opie and Anthony doing afternoons on WNEW, and wanted to run their show on WJFK. Someone had to change time slots.

Liddy was given the boot, and the line-up became Stern, Don and Mike in middays, Opie and Anthony in afternoons, the Sports Junkies, and also out of WNEW, but on tape delay, Ron and Fez. They'd prove to be the most significant additions to the station, but I'll get to them later.

This was a weird period for the station in general, and Don and Mike in particular. With this line-up, you might think I'd label this the Second Golden Age of WJFK. But Opie and Anthony, while a great show, never really fit in with the station. More importantly, though, Don and Mike never really fit in with New York.

This was due partly to the kind of show they did. By this point in their careers, they were far less raunchy than any other show on the station. For example, the typical Opie and Anthony bit was Whip 'Em Out Wednesdays, where women were encouraged to flash anyone with a WOW bumber sticker on their car. The typical Don and Mike bit was bowling with the cast of One Life to Live. They also somehow convinced King of Queens' Leah Remini to join the show on a part-time basis, which I'm sure sounded like a good idea at the time, but turned out to be anything but.

More importantly, it was due, seemingly, to Don's ego. You could always tell there was a bit of friction between Don and Mike and Opie and Anthony. They had initially seemed to bond over their mutual dislike of Stern, who had successfully lobbied for a gag order on all CBS radio personalities being able to talk about him, but that didn't last long. It came to a head when, in an on-air phone call with their boss, Don suggested he give them their old afternoon time slot back on both WJFK and WNEW, and move Opie and Anthony to middays. Opie and Anthony weren't amused. Pretty soon, it was all-out war, with both shows openly mocking the other. The problem for Don and Mike is that Opie and Anthony A) Had home field advantage, B) Had higher ratings, and C) Weren't afraid to occasionally be vicious.

One of the most awkward, painful things I've ever heard on the radio was when Opie and Anthony were badmouthing Don and Mike one day, Don called in. They let him rant for a while, then promptly hung up on him. Don called back. And again, they hung up on him mid-sentence. And for whatever reason, Don kept calling back. As a longtime Don and Mike fan, this was really rough to listen to. I imagine it's sort of like being a kid and seeing your dad get beaten up.

Before too long, Don and Mike were off WNEW. (Their feud with Opie and Anthony didn't help, but their ratings were anemic.) So not only were they off in New York, but they were still stuck in middays in D.C. I imagine they probably would have left WJFK at their first opportunity, but then Opie and Anthony self-destructed. In short order: Don and Mike got afternoons back, Bill O'Reilly's show was picked up for middays (ugh), and the Sports Junkies moved over to WHFS to do morning, dropping the "Sports" from their name. As a result, Ron and Fez, the last survivors of WNEW, were finally aired live on WJFK at night.

At first, they broadcast from New York, but eventually moved down here. And they pretty much hated it. They didn't say so at the time, but since going back to New York, they--Fez especially--have made it clear that working in Fairfax was akin to working in hell. But they never let it get in the way of a good program. For a while, in addition to doing nights, they also did a live hour between 11-12, bridging Stern and O'Reilly.

For the record: Ron Bennington is maybe the funniest man in the world. I'm not exaggerating. The way his mind works is nothing short of incredible. I'd go so far as to say that he's to comedy what Einstein was to physics. You're highly encouraged to go here and see what I mean. Of all the radio shows WJFK ever broadcast, this was probably my favorite. I was actually driving in Fairfax one afternoon, and saw Ron walking down the street towards the station. It took all my willpower not to pull over and go into full-on fanboy mode.

About this time, I was listening to the station one Saturday night around 10 or 11, and discovered a show I'd never heard before called El Jefe's Hideout. Back then, WJFK's weekend programing was this bizarre hodgepodge of shows like Goss's Garage (cars) or The Wedding Show (weddings, obviously) or The Bald Truth (treatments for male pattern baldness), which were basically little more than infomercials. This was something new. I forget exactly what the topic was, but it had to do with serial killers, and I was hooked. After a few more weeks on Saturdays, the show was moved to weeknights from 11pm-2am after Ron and Fez.

And this--with the exception of Bill O'Reilly--was the Second Golden Age of WJFK: Stern, O'Reilly, Don and Mike, Ron and Fez, and The Hideout. (They changed the name from El Jefe's Hideout to just The Hideout after Dubs complained about lack of billing, and then, in a boxing match on the Ron and Fez Show where the name of the show was on the line, kicked Jefe's ass.)

Don and Mike, who had always been somewhat antagonistic with other shows on the station, started to open up a bit, having other hosts occasionally sit in with them. One of the funniest things I've ever on the station came during one of Don and Mike's absinthe shows, where Fez (who's gay) was in studio, getting drunk, and blurted out that he and Don had a lot in common, including that they both loved Don's teenage son. It was one of those brilliant awkward WTF? moments that you hardly ever hear on radio anymore.

There was even more interaction between Ron and Fez and the Hideout, as both Jefe and Dubs worked as producers on their show. And for a while, it was great. So great, in fact, there was no way it was going to last.

One day, WHFS was suddenly flipped to Spanish music, which created a couple of problems. First, the Junkies were put back on WJFK in middays after Stern. That meant O'Reilly had to be moved somewhere else, and that somewhere else happened to be after Ron and Fez, leaving the Hideout out in the cold. (Apparently, whoever decided to move O'Reilly did so without consulting his superior, who happened to be a friend of O'Reilly's. O'Reilly understandably threw a tantrum, not wanting his show to air at 11pm on tape delay in Washington, D.C., and he was quickly put back on in middays, albeit later than before, which meant only half his show was live.) The Hideout was still screwed, though, because HFS had carried Loveline at night, and that had to go someplace. Jefe and Dubs stuck around for a couple more months, doing the Hideout on Sundays, before leaving for a job in Orlando.

By this point, you could tell that Ron and Fez were desperate to get off the station, and the station seemed to feel the same way. One night, Fez apparently wasn't talking enough for the program manager's liking, so he called up and asked Giant Brian, their producer, "Where's Fez?" Brian relayed the message, and to call Ron's reaction to this a meltdown would be putting it kindly. Perhaps to best illustrate this, in between angry threats to quit that night and/or beat the program director with the phone, Ron asked why no one was eating any of the pizza that was in the studio. The response he got was, "Everyone's afraid to move." Ron and Fez soon left for XM in New York, and were replaced by a guy named Peter Rosenberg, who, no lie, is maybe the least-talented DJ in the entire world.

Then Stern left for Sirius, and even though the station finally got rid of O'Reilly, the line-up hit an all-time low: Junkies in the morning, Rosenberg moved to middays, Penn Jillette's syndicated show (which actually wasn't terrible), Don and Mike, and Jay Severin, a conservative talk show host just as insufferable as O'Reilly, but even less entertaining, if you can believe that. The good news is that Severin didn't last long. The bad news is that he was replaced by something called Unzipped With Michelle and Checkoway, which was a relationship show hosted by two people who had absolutely no business giving relationship advice.

I was barely listening to Don and Mike at this point. The show had almost become unlistenable. Don's wife, Freda, had been killed in a car accident in 2005, and it had hit Don hard. But even before then, the show just wasn't the same. They--and by "they," I mostly mean Don, but Mike went along with it--were routinely dicks to callers for no good reason. They'd retired a lot of their early bits, and the new ones weren't as good. Listening to them had become more of a chore than anything else.

Honestly, if the station had flipped formats then, it would have been a mercy killing, and I probably wouldn't have even cared.

Then, amazingly, things started to improve.

Big O and Dukes (starring Oscar Santana and Chad Dukes), a show that had originated on JFK following the Junkies when they were on at night, but I never listened to, took over the evening time slot. Don retired, and the show became simply The Mike O'Meara Show. Big O and Dukes moved to middays. Sadly, WJFK picked up Jim Rome's show for evenings, but it was easily ignored.

The first time I really realized something special was going on is when Big O and Dukes producer Drab T-Shirt was offered considerable money to make out with Sven Lloyd, a gay intern at the station. Almost everyone from the station showed up, including the Junkies and Mike O'Meara. This never would have happened just a couple of years beforehand, especially since for reasons unknown (but one can probably guess) Don had demanded that he and Mike broadcast out of a new studio in Rockville, as opposed to the main one in Fairfax with everyone else. But with Don gone, Mike was back, and the station had gelled into one cohesive...I mean, the word "family" is obviously a bit corny, but not entirely inaccurate.

The last year or so of WJFK was the Third (and final) Golden Age of the station. Aside from providing consistently hilarious radio, members of various shows were once again popping up on other shows, you had some really entertaining satellite shows added to the line-up (Snack and Soda, Red Ring of Death Radio, Mediocre Poker, Tech 411, and BDK's Movie Show), and there was a genuine sense of fun. Anytime you weren't listening, you ran the risk of missing something you would have wanted to hear. (But if you did, WJFK had started making podcasts of each day's shows available.)

The night Chad and Oscar sat in with Mike during one of his drinking shows, and they ended up just sticking around for hours after 7 for no reason other than that everyone was having a blast, brought back the same feeling I had when I was a kid, listening to WAVA the day in snowed. The last day before everyone left for Christmas vacation, WJFK put on "Dysfunctional Family Friday," where the entire station was basically just one big show from 6am-7pm, with various people going in and out of the studio at any given time. No one was doing radio anywhere remotely like this in D.C. It wouldn't surprise me if no one in the country was doing radio remotely like this. And once again, the station was great.

And once again, it was too good to last.

At some point in the past couple of years, the way radio ratings were calculated changed. As far as I can tell, the old system worked a lot like the Neilsen system does for TV, where people filled out a diary of what they listened to and for how long. The new one involved "Personal People Meters," which supposedly provided more accurate data. The old system was really kind to WJFK. (At one point, I believe Don and Mike referred to it as D.C.'s highest-billing station). The new system wasn't.

Starting in 2009, rumors of the station flipping formats to sports talk began, and for whatever reason, lots of people couldn't wait to dig the station's grave. DCRTV breathlessly reported a new rumor each day. In his Washington Post.com chats, Paul Farhi repeatedly said he didn't see how the station could possibly be making any money. At one point, Opie and Anthony announced that it'd happen in April. Even though it didn't happen, the writing seemed to be on the wall. The weekends were handed over to Fox Sports Radio. Tanner Cooley (Chris's brother) came in and did a test show one weekend. Certain hints were dropped on the air, some more blatant than others, as a sort of gallows humor took over the station.

Then, earlier this month, the other shoe officially dropped: WJFK would become 106.7 The Fan, the first broadcast day of which is today. Junkies stay (although they're once again the Sports Junkies), Washington Post columnist Mike Wise takes over middays, LeVar Arrington and Chad Dukes are on afternoons. Oscar, and the entire Mike O'Meara Show crew are out. At least Oscar's staying with the company. After almost 20 years on the station, Mike was simply shown the door.

And I get that this sort of thing happens in the industry, especially since "guy talk" or "extreme talk" or whatever you want to call it, seems to be a dying format, as people shift more towards their iPods and away from radio. But it doesn't feel like that should be the case. I mean, I'm glued to my iPod as much as the next guy. But I can't listen to it all the time. Occasionally, I need something different. So the idea that not enough people were interested in listening to truly entertaining talk radio makes no sense to me. It seems possible--likely, even--that if WJFK had been given a decent advertising budget, it wouldn't be in this situation. But for whatever reason, CBS/Infinity seemed hellbent on doing nothing to promote the station. When Stern left for satellite radio, Clear Channel sprang for fucking TV commercials to advertise Elliot in the Morning. The only time I've ever seen anything for WJFK (and by "anything," I mean just an ad on the Metro), was when they added Bill O'Reilly to the line-up. It doesn't matter how good your product is if no one knows about it.

Anyway. I knew this was going to be long. I had no idea exactly how long it was going to be. So if you've made it all the way through--or if you were smart enough to just skip to the end--sorry. Actually, if anything, it'll only get longer, since I have every intention of adding to it as new thoughts and memories occur to me.

To the people who did listen to WJFK over the past 20 years, especially this last year, I don't have to tell you how lucky D.C. was to have this station. Radio in this area has never been great, but it's gotten progressively worse as of late. Currently, there's no classic rock station. There's no alternative station, and now, there's no talk station. Look for even more "no more"s as everything becomes even more consolidated and less diverse.

To the people who never listened, you really missed out. Some of Big O and Dukes' and Mike O'Meara's podcasts are up in iTunes, although who knows for long. I highly encourage you to download a few of them and get a sense of what you didn't get to listen to. You should also check out Chad Dukes' blog.

So, for what it's worth, thank you to everyone who ever did a show at WJFK. Even during the really dark periods, and even when it came to the people I couldn't stand, I never doubted that they weren't doing their absolute best to entertain. One of the things you'd constantly hear on the station at any point in its run was callers wanting to thank various shows for helping them get through some really tough periods in their life, and WJFK definitely helped me get through some tough periods in mine.

At the end of his pre-recorded farewell segment last Friday, after saying that he hopefully wasn't finished in radio, Mike O'Meara played Sinatra's "The Best Is Yet to Come." I really hope he's right.

Weekend Beer-Off! U.S.A. vs. Argentina

Beers

Brand/Brewery

Red Nectar Ale--Nectar Ales
Quilmes Cerveza--Cervecería y maltería Quilmes

Red Nectar Ale: Not bad. Not great, but not bad. The flavor isn't quite as sharp as what I normally tend to enjoy, but certainly not to the point of offensiveness. On the whole, a solid, though not spectacular brew.

Taste: B-
Label: C
Appearance: B
Overall: B-

Quilmes: This was a bit odd. It tasted okay when it first entered my mouth, but then I detected this weird...not really even an aftertaste, more like a secondary taste. Not an especially pleasant one, either. Sort of like I was drinking beer-flavored water.

Taste: D+
Label: C-
Appearance: B-
Overall: C-

Winner: U.S.A.!

Weekend Beer-Off!

I love the Fourth of July. It's the one day a year where Americans can sneer at the inferiority of other countries, and revel in the knowledge that with a push of a button, we can annihilate the entire fucking planet if we so choose. You know all those pesky problems like free trade squabbles and terrorism and North Korea having a lunatic for a leader? They wouldn't be problems for very long if the planet consisted of the U.S.A. and a big pile of ashes, now would they?

But on the Fourth, as I did my eating and drinking and fireworks enjoying, I noticed something distressing. There I was, celebrating the birthday of the United States of Awesome, and I suddenly realized...all the beer I was drinking was brewed in countries far less awesome than this one.

Me! Drinking foreign beer! On the Fourth of July! I wanted to put a gun in my mouth and do the honorable thing right then and there, but fortunately, I was physically restrained.

No, I'm kidding. Actually, I didn't care. And why? Because I've always turned my nose up at domestic beer. And I don't mean to make it sound like I'm some sort of beer connoisseur. The fact of the matter is, I'm not very experimental when it comes to beer, typically drinking the same few brands over and over.

With this in mind, I started thinking of a way to kill a few birds with one stone: 1) Expand my beer horizons, 2) Have something to post on weekends, when I typically don't feel like posting anything, 3) Hopefully proving that the United States of America is as good at brewing beer as it is winning wars. (Wars against Europe, anyway.)

And so, The Weekend Beer-Off! was born! Each week, I'll try two brands of beer, one domestic and one imported. I will then determine which country has thoroughly dominated the other one and made it its bitch for the week.

These beers will be chosen purely at random, with no consideration whatsoever given to whether or not they're ales or lagers, or the same size, or the same price, or have any sort of weird flavoring added. As such, any actual comparative value will be practically nonexistent.

Also, I'm not a trained beer reviewer. So if you're looking for flowery descriptions of the "perfect balance between hoppiness and malts" or orgasmic accounts of what the head looked like when poured into a mug, check out Beer Advocate and leave me alone.

Look, basically I just want an excuse to drink more beer, and feel as though it's for something at least semi-productive, okay?

Anyway, the beers have been chosen, so come back tomorrow for the premiere of the Weekend Beer-Off!, pitting the United States of America vs. Argentina! Should be fun! And even though I haven't had them yet, I feel confident in saying there's no way the U.S. of A. is going to blow the very first Weekend Beer-Off! It's. Just. Not. Possible.

Or is it? I dunno. I guess I don't want to sound too confident, otherwise if the U.S. wins, the Argentinians are going to claim the whole thing was fixed, kind of like how the goddamn French whined about Lance Armstrong every year.

U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!

Panel of the Week

From Blackest Night #1:

Blackest Night #1

"Death compels us because powerful or weak, loved or hated--no one escapes death. That includes you." - Black Hand

A little over a year ago, DC Comics released the first issue of Final Crisis, its big summer mini-series event for 2008. (That due to various delays, ended up stretching well into 2009, but that's not important.) Whether you loved it or hated it, one thing was clear: Unless you knew as much about DC Comics history--not to mention, metaphysics, philosophy, story structure, and God knows what else--as Grant Morrison did, it was, at times, confusing as fuck.

Well, it's 2009, and it's time for another big summer mini-series event. And this time, DC is keeping it simple. How? Zombies! Not just zombies...superhero zombies!

Spoilers below, just as soon as I try and figure out where this weird feeling of deja vu is coming from...

I'm not entirely sold on what Geoff Johns and DC have done with Green Lantern over the past couple years. "The Sinestro Corps" was a kick-ass storyline, but by subsequently introducing so many other corps of various colors, the whole thing began to feel a bit cluttered. More importantly, I think it takes away from the uniqueness of the Green Lantern Corps, which is one of the best concepts in all of comics.

But, okay, that's the route they went. So now we have the Black Lantern Corps, which as of this issue, consists mainly of thousands of black rings flying through the galaxy, looking for dead bodies to affix themselves to, at which point the dead rise and tada! Zombies!

So far, it's difficult to really know exactly what to make of them. One of the things I really dug about Marvel Zombies is that for all intents and purposes, they were the exact same characters you knew and loved...only they now had an insatiable hunger for human flesh. So when Spider-Man started moaning about how he'd eaten Aunt May, or Iron Man suggested ways to lure out any survivors, the whole thing was extremely disconcerting.

By contrast, these zombies seem like completely different characters than who they're apparently meant to be. For example, we know that the spirits of Ralph and Sue Dibny are happy, off being being ghost detectives or whatever. So is this really them back from the dead and suddenly evil and killing their friends?

I'm guessing not. There's also the distinct lack of people-eating, all of which I think combines to make for less interesting zombies, but we'll see.

Other than that minor nitpick, though, the issue is great. Aside from the zombie stuff, I liked touches such as Barry finding out about all his dead friends (although, you would think someone would have already brought that up at some point since his return), the "day of remembrance" that the whole story hinges on, and, of course, the supervillain morgue, which will likely get quite a workout.

Most importantly, though, it's hard in general for a superhero comic to be creepy, but Blackest Night pulls it off in spades. The brutal killing of Hawkman and Hawkgirl, Black Hand walking around carrying--and...er...licking--Batman's skull, the Guardian getting his heart ripped out, and of course, the panel featuring dozens of pissed off zombie Green Lanterns (including Ch'p!) rising from the dead. Good stuff, and a promising start to a mini-series that DC desperately needs to be good after last year's semi-debacle.

Also, thank you to DC for making Black Lantern rings a promotional item for stores to give away along with each issue. When I first heard about them, I assumed they'd be given out to the lucky people who get to go to the San Diego Comic-Con next week, as seems to often be the case with the best promotional stuff, so it was a pleasant surprise. And even though, intellectually, I know I shouldn't be excited about a cheap plastic ring that can neither raise the dead or allow me to fly, I was still jazzed to get one.

I wonder if any comic book geeks out there who have access to dead bodies have tried putting the ring on one of them. You know. Just to see what happens. I guarantee someone has.

TV stuff

Random thoughts on TV shows:

-- Thank God Harper's Island is over. It was a fun experiment, and I'm glad CBS had the stones to try it (of course, being CBS, it wasn't that long ago that the show would have featured a bunch of people on the island for their 50th high school reunion instead of a young couple getting married, and Matlock would have been the one to save the day), but man, did it drag from about the third episode to the finale. If they'd cut it from 13 episodes to, say, 8, more people probably would have stayed with it.

As for the revelation that Henry was the killer...I mean, really? Henry? I guess it makes sense in a TV show sort of way, but I have to think there would have been easier ways for him to ask Abby out than killing everyone they knew. Also, it's too bad Danny and Sully got murdered, as they had great spin-off potential.

-- I liked Eli Stone from the very first episode, but I didn't really love it until the scene at the end of the very last episode, where he's talking to his father/God in his vision. I'm always a sucker for that kind of stuff. In general, I've always enjoyed lawyer shows (I'll even cop to watching Ally McBeal back in the day), but in recent years, that interest has started to wane.

Even Boston Legal was getting on my nerves towards the end. Eli Stone, though, seemed to have the perfect balance of drama, comedy and whimsy that's missing from most TV shows nowadays. In retrospect, they probably went overboard with the visions in early episodes, and I can see how a viewers might be turned off by it, but it's a shame more people didn't give it a shot.

-- There were a couple of pilots filmed in D.C. that didn't get picked up. One of them was called Body Politic, which is described on IMDB as "A look at Washington politics through the eyes of up-and-coming staffers." So basically, it's The West Wing, only instead of being about some of the most important people in the world, it's about fungible people who don't matter that much at all. I think it's safe to say that TV dodged a bullet, there. (Although, it would have starred Minka Kelly, and the possibility of seeing her around town filming would have totally been worth one more crappy hour of television a week.)

It sort of reminds me of that show D.C., that came on almost ten years ago. It starred Zack Morris and the female Terminator and was cancelled after about a month. I never saw it, but being set here, it got a fair amount of local coverage. When he was doing press for the show, Dick Wolf said something along the lines of how one of the things that drew him to the concept was how in D.C., people right out of college were entrusted with major responsibilities, like writing pieces of legislation. A Washington Post writer--probably either Lisa de Moraes or whoever was writing The Reliable Source at the time--expressed considerable skepticism about Wolf's understanding of how D.C. works, but I get the sense that's pretty much how Hollywood generally thinks, or at least wishes, it does. So had Body Politic actually been picked up, I have no doubt that the show's characters would have been doing all kinds of fun, awesome shit that their real-life counterparts don't, which would have led to either a fair amount of grousing or a fair amount of swelled heads.

-- Any Chuck fans going through withdrawal, the trade paperback of the comic book that came out earlier this year, is out now. Normally, comic book adaptations of TV shows suck, but this isn't half-bad. Certainly worth mooching in Borders, if not buying.

-- Syfy: I thought the first episode of Warehouse 13 was fun, albeit, extraordinarily derivative. But it should be a good way to kill time over the summer. Eureka...I hate to say it, but it might be time to cancel. I mean, It's okay, it's comfortable, and all that, but it recycles the exact same plot each week. I'm still trying to figure out how Stargate: Universe got Robert Carlyle.

-- Even though I haven't seen it, I think we can all agree that The Listener is the stupidest TV show in forever. I can't help but wonder, though, did the producers initially have a really cool title in mind for it, and the NBC suits forced them to go with the retarded one? Or did some allegedly creative person wake up one morning and actually think, "I have this great idea for a show about a guy who reads minds...and we'll call it The Listener!"

Flea markets: They're not just for women anymore!

I love flea markets. I have my entire life. There's something I find really appealing about buying something that someone at some point treasured, but has since decided is disposable. The old saying, "One man's trash is another man's treasure" is never so true as when you're wandering through a flea market.

For example, as I type this, there's a really incredible painting I bought at the Georgetown Flea Market a couple of years ago for a relative pittance, hanging on the wall above my computer. I guess the vendor thought she got a good deal. Personally, I think I fleeced the fuck out of her, because of all the paintings I own, it's by far my favorite. There's no date on it, but it appears to be fairly old, and the framing was done by the Veerhoff Galleries, so who knows what hoighty toighty Washington home(s) it hung in before I got it.

There's also something really cool about seeing all the complete and utter crap that's for sale. Crap that vendors literally couldn't pay me to take off their hands, much less, convince me to pay them for the right to do so. But again, what I consider crap, other people consider not crap. Many a time, I've seen someone carrying an object that can best be described as repugnant, and I have to stop myself from saying to them, "Really? That's going in your home?" And yet, they seem happy with it. C'est la vie.

I never actually knew there was anything unusual about a guy enjoying going to yard sales and flea markets until a few years ago when a female friend of mine asked if I wanted to be her "yard sale buddy," because she enjoyed going to them, and her fiancee loathed them. The fiancee seemed indifferent about her spending Saturday and/or Sunday mornings out with another guy, and I quickly realized that as far as he was concerned, "yard sale buddy" meant either "girlfriend" or "gay shopping companion." Since then, I've noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm from fellow guys were flea markets are concerned.

The two big ones in D.C. are Eastern Market and the Georgetown Flea Market. Eastern Market is fun, but over the past few years, I've noticed that the smaller artists and vendors have seemingly been pushed aside by the bigger, more established--and needless to say, more expensive--ones. Which is a shame. Once, I bought a beautiful painting of Rock Creek Park from a guy who seemed to quite literally be a starving artist. I didn't even have to haggle. I asked him how much it was, figuring it was probably out of my price range, and to my amazement, he said $20. Between the materials and time spent on it, I can't image how this didn't represent a considerable loss for him, but I wasn't going to argue. You just don't see guys like that there anymore. There are certainly some quality artists, but no one whose stuff really excites me.

The Georgetown Flea Market, I hit up almost every Sunday, though. Because unlike Eastern Market, which features mostly furniture dealers, professional artists, and various other crafts merchants, the Georgetown Flea Market is primarily made up of what can best be described as high-end junk dealers.

So it's a great mixture of really nice, really expensive stuff, and there's also a lot of crap and oddities, some of which are expensive, some of which are not. Needless to say, the crap and oddities are the most fun to browse.

If I suggested you give me money for old cassette tapes, you'd be perfectly justified in slapping me for my arrogance. But at a flea market, it's perfectly acceptable. I occasionally check such bins for hidden gems. I have yet to actually find any, but I keep looking.


The Georgetown Flea Market: One of the few places in the world where a lovely antique desk and whatever the hell a Spirit Ball is can peacefully co-exist.


A photograph of Harry Truman signed by Roger Moore. No, I'm kidding. It's actually signed by Harry Truman. Any D.C. politicos out there looking to share a genuine West Wing moment with their boss/staffer, tell me this isn't the sort of gift an Aaron Sorkin character would give someone.

"Hey, honey? You know what would look really good in our living room? A portrait of some old guy we don't know."


Is there any more beautiful sight in the world? I don't even buy old comics anymore, but I love the idea of old comics being for sale. Should I ever win the lottery, though, I will eschew giving to charities, and make vendors like this very rich.


The face makes it art. The penis makes it fine art.

A book of old pin-ups and a vintage Alfred Hitchcock board game? Best. Table. In. The. World.


This is a photo I took back in January. Get it? Inaugural balls? At the time, I balked at the $20 price tag, but now I kind of wish I'd gotten one.

Now...men? Tell me you don't want to go to a fucking flea market.

Panel of the Week

From Green Lantern #43:

No, no, no. Just...fucking no.

This is Drafted: One Hundred Days, the latest in a long...long...long...line of comic books to feature President Obama in a blatant attempt to goose sales.

I've already discussed why this trend is a horrible idea. I had no idea it would actually find a way to get even worse.

It's weird. I'd naively figured that if Power Girl's costume couldn't make me embarrassed to read comic books, nothing could. Wow, was I wrong.

Yes, you just saw a panel where Sasha and Malia Obama get disintegrated by an alien attack. All for the sake of dramatic tension in a third-rate comic book from a fourth-rate publisher by a creative team I've never heard of. I mean, if it had to be in there for the sake of the story (and I use that term loosely), did we have to see it? It couldn't have just been implied? Or mentioned in dialogue? This was actually supposed to elicit some sort of emotional response? Other than disgust at the people behind it, I mean.

I like to think that in general, I'm fairly difficult to offend. In fact, I kind of take pride in it. But Jesus fucking Christ.

Marion Barry's dick

I almost feel sorry for Marion Barry. Almost. Not quite. Sort of. But not really.

Still, no man deserves to have his voicemails to a woman recorded and handed over a newspaper for mocking and ridicule. Especially if, as he claims in them, he's freaked out over her ex-husband supposedly threatening him.

Of course, this being Marion Barry, it's entirely possible--likely, even, given the later voicemails--that the ex-husband was legitimately looking out for Donna Watts-Brighthaupt, Barry's girlfriend/paid political crony, by doing what he could to protect her from the crazy, elderly, tax-cheating, drunk driving dude stalking her. Then, the voicemails take on a whole new meaning.

Anyway, it seems pointless to call for Barry to resign (he won't) or for Ward 8 voters to stop giving him a pass because of a summer jobs program he launched 30 years ago and force him out of office (they won't). So instead, I suggest we just look for clues in Barry's rambling, incoherent voicemails to find out exactly what makes him such a love machine.

Here are my favorite Marion Barry lines that I can't wait to try out on women:

"Only thing I’m doing is helping you with your life, I enhance your life..."

"I enhance your life." It's kind of like "You complete me," from Jerry Maguire, only less poetic and more self-aggrandizing.

"Anybody I tell that to be disgusted with you. So wake up, Donna. Come down here and enjoy yourself."

Implying she's disgusting, and then asking her to come down and enjoy herself? Can anyone go from insult to invitation as fast as Marion Barry? No wonder he constantly has a woman on his arm.

"…you need to focus on the fact that the person who is responsible has to step to the plate or get the heck out the way of those of us who want to step to the plate. But I’m not gonna step to the plate as long as the person who’s responsible for getting you into this don’t step to the plate..."

Women. Love. Sports. Metaphors. (The good ones do, anyway.) Granted, maybe not the exact same sports metaphor over and over, but still. Way to woo, Mayor for Life.

"Even if you had your ID you can’t come in, so don’t even come back down here because you part of this conspiracy to hurt me and harm me."

You know, if there was a conspiracy to hurt and/or harm Marion Barry, it's the worst conspiracy ever, because he keeps handing them ammunition, and they're not really doing anything with it.

But I like the idea of putting her on the defensive. Next time a girl dumps me, I'm going to accuse her of being part of a conspiracy to destroy me. And when she denies this, I'll say, "Prove it, don't break up with me." And she'll be trapped by my cunning.

"Don’t call me. I won’t call you. I won’t do anything crazy. I won’t call your mother. I won’t call any friends of yours or mine. I won’t do nothin’. Donna, watch right now. I’m gonna be off the radar screen. You oughtta take me off your radar screen. And you go about caring about yourself and you go about workin’. Put this to bed."

Next time I break up with a girl (admittedly, a rare occurance), and every break-up thereafter...this is going to be my break-up speech, word-for-word. I'm even going to leave "Donna" in there, even though chances are my girlfriend's name probably won't be Donna.

If nothing else, it'll soften the blow of getting dumped by me, as she realizes what a complete nutcase I am.

"Donna, you don’t have to answer your home phone but let me just say that I’m addicted to you."

And this will be how I try and win her back. (Still calling her Donna, even though it's not her name.)

And just like Marion Barry, I'll probably be accused of stalking. For good reason!

My Superheroic Mayoral Endorsement

This almost strikes me as the sort of thing a junior high class would do in order to learn about politics, but because it features D.C. and comic book characters, I kind of dig it. (Even though the last time superheroes and politics mixed, it wasn't pretty.)

The New Organizing Institute, a "progressive advocacy and campaign training program focused on cutting-edge online organizing techniques" is apparently using fake campaigns for the D.C. mayor's office as a learning tool. And in an attempt to keep things light and fun (and probably so as not to make Fenty paranoid by thinking this might be a real challenge to his reelection, to the point where he brings the full weight of his office down on them, as he has so many of his foes), they're using DC comics superheroes--and Spider-Man, for some reason--as the candidates. The mock election will be held July 10.

Here are the candidates (listed in order of name recognition), as well as links to their campaign sites: Superman, Spider-Man, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Batgirl, the Atom, Batwoman, and Cyborg.

Now, a lesser political and/or comic book blogger would simply say, "Hey, just elect Superman. Duh." But I don't play those kinds of games here in The D.C. Universe. And why not? Because of the D.C. part in the blog's title. The future of this city is just way too important for me to endorse any candidate, even a super one, without a thorough vetting.

So let's run down each candidate, and their qualifications to be mayor.

Superman

On the surface, this is the obvious candidate. He's smart, he's powerful, and he can get things done. If he says D.C. is going to have representation in Congress, you damn well better believe that D.C.'s going to have representation in Congress. I don't just mean a voting House member, either. We're talking a House member and two senators. Maybe four senators.

Also, he has executive experience. Granted, this took place in a story in Action Comics Annual #3, in a possible alternate future timeline in which the Man of Steel became President of the United States. A timeline that admittedly never actually came to pass. But still, I think it counts.

However--and this might just be me being racist--but do we really want an alien running the city? I mean, if he wants to be mayor of a Kryptonian city like Kandor, hey, more power to him. But D.C. is a human city, and it deserves a human mayor. Also, have you seen Metropolis recently? It's constantly getting destroyed by various supervillains who go there to kill Superman. Do we really want that coming here?

Spider-Man

I want to make this perfectly clear: Spider-Man is completely unfit to be mayor.

First of all, can you imagine the indignity of a city named D.C. having a Marvel character as its mayor? Jesus Christ, why don't we just elect fucking Tony Romo?

Second of all, he has serious character issues. You think Mark Sanford is bad? Spider-Man literally made a deal with the devil to make his entire marriage disappear from all existence! True, there might have a couple of extenuating circumstances, but still. This is not an acceptable family values candidate.

Wonder Woman

Heh. A woman mayor. Right. Because that gimmick worked so well with Sharon Pratt Kelly.

Seriously, though, how can D.C. possibly take someone seriously as a politician who struts around in a swimsuit? And while it may not be fair, her looks would just be too distracting. Remember how every straight man in America, Republican or Democrat, wanted to bang Sarah Palin last year? Imagine that, times a thousand.

Green Lantern

On the surface, Green Lantern seems like a good choice. He knows no fear, strong law and order background, and his ring is one of the most powerful weapons in the universe. And I especially like his valiant bust of Marion Barry last weekend.

The problem is, he's not just Green Lantern of D.C. He's not just Green Lantern of the United States. Hell, he's not just Green Lantern of Earth. He's Green Lantern of the entire Sector 2814. We can't have our mayor constantly flying off-world in order to help people who aren't us. Also, you never know when the Guardians of the Universe will send him on a long trip to some remote part of the galaxy to deal with the Manhunters or Sinestro or whatever, and then we'd be stuck with Guy Gardner as mayor.

Batgirl

"Hi, I'm Batgirl. I barely speak any English, and I recently spent some time as a mind-controlled supervillain. Can I be your mayor?" Uh...no.

The Atom

Okay, here's my problem with the Atom: There are two of them, and it's not even clear which one is running.

The Atom most prominently featured on the campaign website is Ryan Choi, the new Atom. BUT, the Atom pictured elsewhere on the site is clearly Ray Palmer, the original Atom (whose ex-wife went crazy and murdered the Elongated Man's wife by shrinking down and walking on her brain, but clearly, that's neither here nor there). So which Atom are we voting for? Until this is resolved, I call shenanigans.

Also, in his YouTube video, the Atom kind of comes off like a know-it-all prick, and after four years of Fenty, I would think we'd want to move away from that.

Batwoman

I can not, and I will not, support a superhero candidate who's stupid enough to put her secret identity in the bio section of her campaign site.

Also, I don't want to start any rumors, but have you ever noticed how you never see Batwoman out with a guy? I'm just saying.

Cyborg

Finally! A candidate I can totally get behind! As anyone who read New Teen Titans back in the day knows, Cyborg was far and away the coolest character in that series. Also, his Super Powers action figure is really rare and goes for a lot of money on eBay, so you know he has to be awesome. And to be perfectly blunt, he's the only African American candidate of the bunch, so you know that gives him a huge advantage in D.C. right there.

Okay, now yes, there was the time he attacked Earth as part of the race known as the Technis with the intention of turning the moon into new world for that species, and it took all of Earth's superheroes to stop him. And yes, he has this really horrible habit of getting blown up, so he'd be unable to serve as mayor for months at a time while he's getting rebuilt at S.T.A.R. Labs.

But come on...should these tiny little details really disqualify him from being mayor? Yes? They should? Really? Sigh...fine.

Okay, well, apparently, I'm unable to endorse any of the candidates. Personally, I'd start a draft Mr. Terrific movement, but I doubt he'd be interested.

So instead, I urge all D.C. residents to email the NOI, and demand they add a real consensus candidate to the ballot.

Someone who has proven himself to be a pillar of the community.

Someone who has unmatched leadership experience, having run organizations ranging from Lexcorp to the Injustice Gang to the Secret Society of Supervillains.

Someone who has executive experience in this timeline.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next Mayor of the District of Columbia...Lex Luthor!

He's tanned, he's rested, he's ready, and he can't wait to kick a little superhero ass.

Dating for D.C. Dummies: Marion Barry Edition

Date Lab is in the middle of one of it's irritating dull streaks where the couples featured are relatively decent and normal. (Aside from wanting to sign up for Date Lab, anyway.) So instead, let's take a look at the dating and/or stalking habits of D.C.'s Mayor For Life, Marion Shepilov Barry, Jr.

Through a spokeswoman yesterday, Barry called the charges unfounded and asked prosecutors to drop them. Natalie Williams, the spokeswoman, said that Barry feels "betrayed" because of the emotional and financial support he has provided Watts-Brighthaupt, 40, over the years and that he suggested she is unstable. In April, Barry made news after he paid $800 at an auction to buy Watts-Brighthaupt an opera jacket even as he struggled to repay back taxes.

Dude, you're Marion Barry. You don't need to be buying $800...er...opera jackets (okay, I'll show my cultural ignorance, here: what the hell is an opera jacket?) for women, especially when you're in the red already.

Now, I know some will say that the reason a 73-year old ex-felon was able to date a woman over 30 years younger than him in the first place, was precisely because he would do stuff like buy her $800 opera jackets. But I disagree. I think Marion Barry is one of those charismatic older guys who women are just inexplicably drawn to. He didn't have to buy her expensive trinkets. He himself was the expensive trinket.

I guarantee that if it hadn't been for all his legal troubles back in the day (and by "back in the day," I mean as recently as a few weeks ago), he'd routinely be seen out on the town with women young enough to be his granddaughters on his arm.

Williams said Barry and Watts-Brighthaupt met Saturday afternoon for lunch before Barry attended several Fourth of July events. On his way home, Williams said, Barry once again came into contact with Watts-Brighthaupt near the park after they saw each other's vehicles.

I'm going to call bullshit on Barry, here. D.C.'s a small city, but I don't think I've ever just randomly encountered someone else's vehicle before. Now, I don't know if intentionally running into a woman necessarily counts as "stalking" in and of itself, but let's not pretend this was some weird occurrence that happened purely by chance.

Watts-Brighthaupt said she worked on Barry's 2008 council campaign as a paid consultant and they began dating during the Democratic National Convention last summer. She said they broke up three days before his kidney transplant in February. "It was a wonderful, insightful, history-telling experience," she said of their time together.

Dumping a guy three days before his kidney transplant? Man, that's cold. I mean, you have to figure she was the dumper, not the dumpee, right? No guy dumps his girlfriend right before he goes under the knife.

Also, I'll buy "wonderful" and maybe even "insightful." But "history-telling experience"? I don't really think "I dated Marion Barry" carries quite the same weight as, say, "I dated JFK" or "I dated Sidney Portier" does. Not unless she has shockingly awesome stories about the sex or something. (You're welcome for that image.)

Watts-Brighthaupt said she is angered by the accusations Barry's spokeswoman made at the news conference. "I'm not emotionally disturbed. I did not siphon money off him," Watts-Brighthaupt responded. "I've never asked for a thing. I've never asked for a . . . thing -- including the $800 opera coat."

See, this illustrates a really good point for all stalkers to remember, regardless of whether you're an expert like Barry, or just starting out: Always wait until after your alleged victim decides whether or not to press charges before accusing her of being mentally unstable. If he'd just kept his mouth shut, this whole thing would have gone away. But now Barry's in a bit of a pickle. If he's saying she's mentally unstable, and she's saying that Barry actually wasn't following her that night, using Barry's logic, doesn't that mean that he probably was?

Whatever. I guess it doesn't matter. Laws clearly ceased applying to Marion Barry a long time ago. In fact, if I were him, I'd establish this as fact by simply running someone down with my car in front of witnesses. And at my trial, when my attorney asked me why I did it, I'd just grin and say, "Bitch set me up!" Everyone would laugh at what an adorable old rascal I was, and the judge would dismiss the case, and I'd go out and easily win reelection from my retarded Ward 8 constituents.

Summer Movie Scorecard

Have Seen:

Drag Me to Hell: A+
Up: A-
Star Trek: B+
The Hangover: B
Terminator Salvation: B-
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen: C+
X-Men Origins: Wolverine: C
Year One: F

Definitely Seeing:

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Orphan
Funny People
G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra
Final Destination: Death Trip 3D
Inglourious Basterds
H2: Halloween 2

Might See:

Dead Snow
Brüno

I Love You, Beth Cooper
A Perfect Getaway
District 9
The Time Traveler's Wife

Fluffington Post

I know The Huffington Post routinely runs stories of questionable journalistic merit. And in general, I like the way the site combines news and entertainment on its front page.

But come on.

It's Otis Tobias Maguire, in case you were wondering. So actually, maybe a horrible name like that is news.

Panel of the Week

From Batman and Robin #2:

I hate that people like this even exist

It's becoming increasingly obvious that the problem--the real problem, if you will--isn't the Real World D.C. coming into town. It's the pathetic, breathless people already in D.C. who are acting like they've never seen a house, cameras, or people in their 20s before, and who will evidently stop at nothing to latch onto all of them in some form or another.

And then get interviewed right outside the house, stupidly detailing their scheme to get into said house.

2009 Real world dc from streetroachpics.com on Vimeo.

Girl: No one should actually aspire to be The Random Person a Real World Cast Member Fucks in the Hot Tub. Come on! You're better than that! Probably.

Seriously, name anyone, man or woman, who has found a way to turn this role into a net plus. (I'm actually bluffing, here. I haven't watched the show since...the Seattle season? For all I know, people who have gotten screwed on the Real World have gone on to do really important things in life, like cancer research or being Miss California.)

No one should really care this much about getting into the house, either. It's just a house. It's. Just. A. House. You'll get to see it for yourself on TV a few months from now. Who gives a shit about actually getting inside?

I guess I could go off on a rant about how everyone is a famewhore these days, and desperately needs their promised 15 minutes, but what's the point? You know that old saying, "Those who can't, teach?" Is the 21st century version of that, "Those who can't get on reality TV themselves, fuck those who can?"

Oh, one more thing: IT'S JUST A HOUSE.

White dude: You are, in fact, not D.C.

Hmm? What's that? No, you're absolutely right, I'm not D.C., either. Because people who claim "they are" a city or "they are" rock and roll or whatever, are invariably douches. And yes, like everyone, I certainly have my douche moments. This may well be one of them. But I get the sense that for you, it's a lifestyle choice.

Also, you can't say, "I'm not gay," and then immediately follow that up by happily offering your ass to the inevitable gay cast member for admission into the hot tub. Remember, in every jest, there's a little bit of truth.

Black dude: If you're going to make a claim like, "When I get wasted, I always end up with celebrities," you should A) Expect to get called out on it, and B) Have a better answer prepared than "Wee-Man and...uh...some UFC guys," that really test the boundaries of the definition of "celebrities." Seriously, just lie. If you'd said, "Darryl Strawberry, Charlie Sheen, and Keith Richards," people would probably believe you, because all three sound insanely plausible.

In closing, I know that most of the original anti-Real World D.C. sentiment originated in reaction to the expectation of an incursion of loud, drunk cast members and rude, pushy production staff. But I think before it's all over, it'll be the locals who prove to be the real nightmare, and the Real World-ers who go home with horror stories about the people they met here.

For what it's worth, I hope all three of the people in the video make it into the Real World house. Ideally, without having to offer up their bodies in trade. It seems really super important to them.

Ghostbusters: The Video Game

For the past few days, I've been obsessed with a video game that brings back fond memories of the 80s. A game based on a beloved pop culture franchise. A game that, at first glance, you may not think would be any good, but you'd be wrong.

Of course, I'm referring to Michael Jackson's Moonwalker.

It took a while to find a ROM that would work with my version of MAME, but once I did, I've been playing it constantly. It's a great game that was almost certainly written while under the influence of drugs. See, you play Michael Jackson, and you can shoot laser beams out of your hands, and if you touch Bubbles the chimp you turn into a Michael Jackson robot, and you can actually kill bad guys with your dancing. Fun, eh?

The plot of the game involves Michael running around trying to rescue kidnapped children who...er... You know, in retrospect, a game about Michael Jackson and children might have been a mistake.

(What? Too soon?)

Anyway, as I obviously have tons of free time on my hands, I've also been playing another great game based on a beloved 80s franchise:

Ideally, one is able to play a game all the way through before attempting any sort of review. But based on A) How quickly I lose interest in games (other than Madden, naturally) before moving on to something else, and B) How little time I typically spend playing video games in general (other than Madden, naturally), that won't be until some time in 2012.

So really, I just have some first impressions to go on. I'm currently only on the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man level, which, if you're familiar with the game, should give you an idea of what painfully little progress I've made.

Early verdict: I like it, but it's not perfect.

First, the voice acting is wonderful. If they'd attempted this without the original cast members, the effect would have been sub par at best. Even if they'd gotten the guys who did the voices for The Real Ghostbusters, who were actually pretty good, it would still have to be considered a failure. It's especially awesome to hear Bill Murray getting his Peter Venkman on again.

The characters look great, too. (In high-def, you can even see Murray's pock marks. That's commitment to realism.)

It's too early to judge the story, but I'm leaning towards considering it a miss. Rather than attempt a new and original plot, they're going back to the franchise's roots: Gozer is apparently back again, the story kicks off at the hotel from the first film again, Peter gets slimed again, and it's not long before Stay Puft shows up. Again.

Of course, they tried a new and original plot in Ghostbusters 2, and that really didn't work out so well. So maybe they were right to shove as much from the original film into the game as possible.

So far, my one real complaint is the actual busting of ghosts. I've been trying to think of a way to phrase this without sounding lazy/impatient/out-of-touch with modern video games, but the bottom line is, it's often just too much of a hassle to capture ghosts. In the movies, it's easy. The guys got the ghost in their proton streams, moved it over to the trap, and it's all over in a few seconds.

Even the old Apple IIc Ghostbusters game I played when I was a kid seemed to get it right:

Here, the ghosts put up more of a fight, and can escape the streams with ease. Just to make things even more complicated, the proton packs need to vent after a few moments of use, rendering them briefly useless, which then allows the ghosts to get away. Even when the ghosts are actually in the process of being sucked into a trap, they're able to escape.

And I get why they did this, and that it's not really different from, say, an enemy soldier needing to be shot four or five times before dying in a game like Call of Duty. Because while it would obviously be more realistic to have him go down after one shot, it wouldn't make for much of a game. But for anyone who saw the movie as a kid and imagined what it would be like to capture ghosts, I don't think the game quite captures the experience.

Also, despite Egon occasionally shouting warnings not to do it, I've crossed the streams on a fairly regular basis, and nothing especially bad happens, much less, "All life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light."

A lot of the reviews I've seen have said that hardcore Ghostbusters fans would love this game, but everyone else might not. And while I definitely agree with that, I would add that if hardcore Ghostbusters fans are the nitpicking kind (Hi, there!), they'll probably find enough stuff to irritate them from time to time.

Having said all that, I would also say that this game is an unqualified buy for any fans of the movie. Especially since it's probably the closest we're ever going to get to Ghostbusters 3. Harold Ramis and Dan Aykroyd have recently started talking about making another one, but I'll believe it when I see it. Murray looks fucking old, and Aykroyd has both gotten about as large as the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and developed one of the biggest, most distracting bald spots I've ever seen. Ramis and Ernie Hudson might be able to pull it off, but let's be honest, no one's going to see a Ghostbusters film for Ramis or Hudson. Even a "passing of the torch"-type film seems like a stretch. So if there is ever another Ghostbusters film made, I'm thinking reboot.

Maybe if I push myself, I can get the game finished by 2011. Maybe.