I'm Taking Over the World

I started a business today. It took like five minutes. I started doing some consulting work, and since I can't afford liability insurance, I decided to hide behind a corporate shell. Hurray laissez faire capitalism! No, for serious: appearantly, in America, by signing my name to a peice of paper, I can kill children as long as I do it as a representative of my fake corporation.

I can't believe that in the same city that cancelled my driver's license for no reason at the drop of a hat allows someone to set up a corporation in, seriously, five minutes on the webbertubes. Click, print, write a check and guess what? I'm the CEO of Square State LLC. That's right.

C. E. O.

I plan on taking a ridiculous compensation package and then getting bailed out by the federal government. Hurray!

90 Bus Versus 70 Bus, A Comparison

Some of you might think that I write about Metrobus a little but too much. Rest you assured, you have never been more wrong. There is no possibility for this to be true. Metrobus, even when awful, is awesome, even if it is awesome just for it's sheer awfulness. Circular logic? Never heard of it. Must be big in Japan.

Some friends of mine like to claim that the 90 bus is the worst bus in the District, while I contend, after living for more than a year on Georgia Ave, home of the 70 bus, that the 70 bus is the bus that epitomises the "bus" experience. What, pray tell, is the "bus" experience? You'll understand by the end of this post.

Today I had the pleasure of riding both buses. That's right. I did it on purpose. For you. I'm always doing things for you.

First, The Ninety Bus:

Requisite person with missing limb, requisite person in a wheel chair. These two things are required for ALL 90 bus trips. I don't know if Metro issues every bus with a set of each or if there is just some unstudied symbyosis. The bus stopped on average twice a second to let on ten people and let off two people. Buy the time I got off the bus there were people sitting on the roof a-la-indian train.

The Seventy Bus:

I sat in urine. When I jumped up in disgust/horror, the woman behind said "What, you didn't smell the seat before you sat? Foolish!"

Any bus line where customers would be expected to smell the seats for urine wins, hands down. Game. Set. Match.

Sidenote: Ignore the sirens you might be currently hearing. It's just the fire department attempting to douse a blaze in my front yard. It's amazing how much gasoline urine-soaked pants require to ingnite, but once they do, stand back, friends.

Metro staff perform a routine cleaning of a 70 bus.

A Primal Yulp

I cried when Barak Obama gave his victory speech. I won't lie. I had tears streaming down my face. Well, I mean I would have if I had let them stream down my face and then stood under a light to underscore the piquant portrait of a man moved by a historic moment. In reality I just wiped them with my sleve a lot and then talked loudly about allergies.

Will Barak Obama make a difference? I have no idea. But it was moving to cast a ballot for someone who I believed in, not just a set of ideas espoused by someone I wasn't sure about. Am I setting myself up to be disappointed? Of course. That's what politics is about, after all; it's all voting for ideas that are hard to achieve, and therefore, don't always come about.

But good God the man can talk; it's rain on parched plains falling in a soft light.

The district was a fun place to be (well, if you voted for Obama). I was at work the whole night, and everytime Barak won a new state, the shouts from the bar and lounge drowned out the bad techno we listen to (it makes the food tastier if you cook it listening to Eurotrash-pop from 1998). After I got done, all the cars along Pennsylvania Ave were honking their horns and everyone was giving high-fives. And for just a minute, it felt really good to think that maybe everything was going to be alright.