DC en Fuego

Two nights ago, I happened to fall asleep at a decent hour only to be quickly jolted out of bed by what sounded like a car accident. I stumbled about trying to find my glasses, then managed to open the shades after only the briefest of struggles. Now, I'm always convinced I hear something, like an intruder, a ghost, a knife fight in the street (hey, this is DC, after all). And it's always nothing, just the wind or the chronic ringing in my ears or (where have you gone?) my imagination. So imagine my surprise at the sight of a gigantic fireball 3 doors down, with a pickup truck in the middle. That's right: a truck blew up on my street. The truck was totally engulfed, like it was protesting the war in Vietnam. You could sort of make out the truck in there, but it was really just a giant ball of fire. Obviously, I felt pretty great that my own car was parked 4 spots behind the fireball.

Like the rest of my new neighbors, I stumbled out into the frigid night, wearing only my jammies and a look that suggested, "where the hell have I just moved to?" Amy stayed inside and watched from the windows, missing all the neighborly chitchat. Soon, we were herded aside by the incomparable DC police force (none of whom, unfortunately, brought their Segways), while the fire department got things under control in a matter of moments. The most excitement came when a stretcher was wheeled toward the truck, bringing gasps from all assembled. Was there actually somebody in there?

Fortunately, there was not. But maybe if there had been, I'd actually be able to dig up a shred of news concerning this event. A truck BLOWS UP on my street, two white males are observed fleeing the scene, and, well: NOTHING. You can't imagine how disconcerting this is. Where's the media? Where's like the police department Press Release, or something on the website, or, I don't know, a tiny item in the next morning's paper. Has DC slid so far down the drain that a vehicle being bombed doesn't warrant any follow-up? I mean, I can't even find anything about it on my neighborhood's crime blog...which, by the way, is even more disconcerting. My neighborhood has a crime blog. And the posts don't read like "Got a parking ticket on 15th Street". Oh no, these posts are more along the lines of "Girl raped in broad daylight outside convenience store" and "My boyfriend was jumped by 3 black guys in an alley off Mt. Pleasant." This is not good.

Neil Diamond's "I Am...I Said" just came on the shuffle: "LA's fine, but it ain't home. New York's home but it ain't mine no more."

I need a drink.

Our Oven

This is what I've been dealing with pretty much full time for the past two weeks:




That is a detail from INSIDE our oven, depicting what remains when you let mice nest in your stove for two years. Apparently, the animals who occupied our house previously had no problem with this state of affairs, nor with the unimaginable odor which emanated forth from the stove as a result. What's worse, our slumlord sees no problem with this. To him, this constitutes a perfectly safe, sanitary, and acceptable living environment. Not only that, but he views me as the problem, a high-maintenance tenant who insists on making his life miserable.

But, aha: here's where attorneys and the DC housing inspector come in, to strike the fear of God and citations into slumlords everywhere. Like the cockroaches no doubt slumbering somewhere inside this oven, the slumlord scurries out into the light of day when said slumlord's ass is held in close proximity to the proverbial fire. And thus, tonight I purchase a new stove, and the slumlord pays.

Just a note for all my readers. Why have I not been writing any amusing entries of late? Because I've been far to busy dealing with this unbelievable bullshit.

Working from Home

Just a little note to cheer the spirits of those of you working in cubicle-land: at 1pm today, an exterminator and I will explore the inner catacombs of my oven, in which appears to be residing a medium-sized community of disgusting rodents. Working from home: it's fantastic!

I Am Still Alive, But Barely

My God, moving blows. Seriously, it's the absolute worst. The last two weeks have been a series of ever-maddening moving related imbroglios. Everything has completely fallen by the wayside. I'm a shell of my former self. I'm essentially still living out of a bag. Everything is weird and upside down. Oh, and I'm in a new city where I don't know anyone or my way around. Uh, I think I'll deal with those facts later, possibly with the help of an accredited psychoanalyst.

Things have been such a blur that I believe only an observational list will do. And so I present, Observations on Moving from NYC to DC on a Whim:

1. An hour at the Chelsea U-Haul outpost will cure any of your I'm-Sad-To-Be-Leaving-NYC bittersweet nostalgia real, real quick. As will driving your U-Haul truck through the streets of Manhattan. Awful.

2. Dropping said truck off in the middle of one of DC's various ghettos will instantly make you pine for the Chelsea branch, and NYC in general.

3. Working from home = awesome. Working from home in bed = super awesome.

4. If you're planning a major lifestyle move, don't also plan to shoot a trailer for your documentary during the same week. Trust me on this.

5. I still haven't processed what went down with the Phillies yet. Attempting to comprehend the past 2 weeks in Phillies' history is about on par with pondering the near-infinite dimensions of physical space. Suffice to say, the Phils were just another layer of my preposterous last two weeks. Overwhelming isn't even the word.

6. That said, I'm not sure I've experienced greater pleasure than watching Mets fans openly weep during the final day of the regular baseball season. Now I know what it feels like to be alive.

7. My girlfriend and I moved into a house previously occupied by the only pair of disgustingly filthy gay men known in the Western hemisphere. These two managed to singlehandedly torpedo every gay stereotype I know of. I wish they'd spent less time maniacally tending to the garden and a little more time addressing the rodents in the stove. Oh, but at least the plants look nice. I was trying to think of a Queer Eye for the Slovenly Gay Guy joke here, but it made my head hurt.

8. I can actually see trees out the window. Lots of them. I forgot about those things.

9. Painting sucks.

10. If you ever wondered what would be the first thing about you life you'd stop doing if you ever got really, really busy, I've got your answer: blogging. You'd stop blogging.