Finally, you can get decent spices in the DC area, as Penzeys has come to Rockville. Now, I know that there are a bunch of you out there saying, “Dude. McCormick. Red tops. In the Baking Section of any supermarket.” Yes, but those are the spices your mom and your grandma used to make their cookies. I’m talking about real, honest to god, cinnamon, curry mixes, chili powders with multiple gradients of scofield ratings, and the best damn oregano I’ve found anywhere in the world. They’re also coming to Falls Church this summer. Now, I don’t have to go to Pittsburgh when I run out of something.

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Is this you? Do you commute out to some distant suburb well beyond the DC Beltway? Can I ask why? And how?

Why would you subject yourself to at least an hour each way, 40+ hours a month, of traffic. How, once committed, do you physically and mentally make the journey? By bus? Car? iPod?

And here is the deeper question: do you enjoy it?

Back in the day I commuted to Old Town by car, and while I detested the drive overall, speeding across the 14th Street bridge, windows down, music blaring, while a jet roared overhead, was often a highlight of my day.

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Let’s face it, part of living in the big city is having your car treated like a rag doll. Unless you can afford a dedicated parking spot, you have to park on the street like I do. You take a huge gamble every time you park because most people like to think of parallel parking as a big game of bumper cars.

I’ve seen it all. Some people try to wedge their ’88 Oldsmobile into a spot that only a Mini Cooper could fit in. “Bam, bam, bam!” Nope, won’t fit. Just last week I parked in the last legal end spot on New Hampshire and R thinking that my rear bumper would be safe. Hah! Later I went out and saw a black Lincoln Town Car belonging to the chief diplomat of some African country parked firmly on my bumper. It was parked illegally and fully touching my bumper as if to say, “I’m a diplomat and can do whatever the f*$! I want to do.” Needless to say I was pretty pissed off.

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Add this to the list of laws that get broken in the city every day. Jaywalking. U-turns in the middle of the street. Bicyclists running through stop signs and red lights. People letting their dogs off leash. Hell, I break most of those laws myself. But picture this: You’re stuck in rush hour traffic, creeping along, and the person in back of you bashes into your bumper. You both pull over to assess the damage and you see a nice new dent in your car along with some paint missing. Would you say, “Ah, no harm done. See you later!” No way. You’d get their insurance information and get your car fixed. How is this any different than when someone bashes into you while trying to park their car? I just don’t get it. You can also find Jeep Cherokee rates for cheap at sites like ZeCoverage.com.

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Ah, there’s nothing quite like being awakened by the vibrant sound of firetruck sirens at six in the morning, to wake up and stretch your arms and look out the window at your grand view of the alleyway, and to see acrid white smoke billowing out of a door of the neighboring building (which just happens to be a massive power station) while a cadre of fire fighters march towards imminent disaster. Isn’t downtown city life awesome?

(The smoke eventually stopped, and the fire trucks left with nary an axe swung or a gas mask donned, so I guess PEPCO had everything well in hand.)

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I love me some funky-fresh graffiti, especially when its done with permission. That disqualifies both Disco Dan and bOrf (what ever happened to the latter anyway?)

But it just may include this truck spotted parked in various Shaw neighbourhood locations. Its an impressive display of tagging artistry. I only wish I could read “tag” and figure out what the tagger is trying to say.

Also, I wish more of the boring white vans driving around DC could be “colorized” the same way in which this one has. Not only would it individualize those boring white boxes, it could also be a fun way to nurture local artists.

Not all vans would have to be spray-painted, but the net effect would be much more colorful and visible than the Pandamania or Party Animals collections.

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Hooooooly cow. Got an email from the Beastie Boys (well, their info-blaster – me and Mike D haven’t been close since that misunderstanding about a primate) today and was looking at their tour dates when I noticed the link for the Virgin Festival in Baltimore. I figure, okay, I’m more a 50-people-in-a-dark-club kinda guy than a festival-goer, but I’ll look at the info. Hmmm, Beasties, Tenaglia, Digweed, could be cool.

Then I noticed tickets just went on sale on the 5th so I figure I should look into it. And then my late-30s ticker almost gave out – $175! I guess I’ve been spoiled since the only big shindig I’ve hit in the last ten years has been the Warped Tour, where the prices are a little more restrained than that. More my kinda crowd too, even if a lot of them are getting close to thinking I’m someone’s dad along for the ride. (I was listening BEFORE Milo went to college, buddy). I’ll have to put the mohawk back before next time…

Any of you gonna drop their hard-earned coin to see their favorite bands for 30 minutes in the August heat? I think I’ll keep sticking with my small venues….

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It requires an incredible suspension of disbelief to work in Washington and read the papers on a daily basis. It’s not like living in California or Wyoming or Minnesota, where the politics that happens on the national scene is in a faraway place. Instead, it’s like watching a pack of poo-flinging monkeys take up residence in the abandoned shack in the corner of the big park downtown. It’s all here and God Help Us if we try to escape it.

When Hillary claims that her Southern Accent counts toward bilingualism, you can’t ignore that kind of stupid. It gets hashed and rehashed over beer, over food, over sex, over rock-n-roll, it’s the kind of thing that gets the political bloggers positively horny.

Better yet, when Mitt Romney decides to arbitrarily alter France’s marriage laws in the middle of a speech, it causes the other side to get positively loopy. They start to remind me of one of my college roommates, who’d get baked and start laughing like a hyena over and over and over again at the same reel of Sportscenter Bloopers he’d tivo’d. They just can’t help themselves.

So here we stand, in the Nation’s Capitol, a city occupied by a bunch of poo-flinging monkeys dead-set on making life for the other tribe as difficult as possible. Better yet, the candidates for head-monkey have a more warped worldview than your average high-school dropout who thinks that he can get rich quick if he just buys those tapes he heard about.

But I’m busy ignoring politics. Or trying to. As best you can in this town.

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I recently had the pleasure of having breakfast at Whitlow’s on Wilson over in Clarendon. I had not been there before but when my wife suggested it I jumped at the opportunity. I love the idea of having breakfast at a bar. I suppose it makes me pine for those younger college days when I spent a lot more time at bars and would stumble to the local IHOP or Waffle House to get a bite at sunrise, just before going to bed.

I can’t do that stuff anymore, nor would I want to relive it if I could, but those years provide me with good fodder for storytelling.

Whitlow’s gave me that fun sense of nostalgia, except with better food and a nicer atmosphere. The hostess, who was very friendly and forthcoming with information, explained the history of the restaurant to me and pointed out some interesting aspects of the Clarendon location. The original Whitlow’s, once a fixture in DC, is long gone but the Clarendon version has a lot of old fixtures and memorabilia from its predecessor, making it a cool, visually appealing place.

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Normally the John Kelly’s Washington column makes me want to stab myself in the eye, although marginally less than Bob Levey’s column did. However I am willing to put aside my enmity to point out today’s column talking about a vanity license plate in danger of not being added to the roster. We all know about my sick fascination with license plates by now, so I felt like I should give a little back and show you this one which is angling to be added to the roster of over 180 plate options here in VA. If realtors, bowlers, and fans of the wild turkey (and not the kind from the bottle) can have plates, why not fans of peace?

VA won’t commit to the plate unless 350 people pre-register and commit to it – just not worth the money otherwise, apparently. It’s hard to believe any idea gets rejected, but a number failed to reach the threshold.

I wonder if Wayan would be willing to quiz those with Friends of Tibet plates to see if they’re sufficiently well-informed by his standards to have the plates?

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You know the one. The memo that says:

Dear Sir or Madam:

We’re writing you, the happy owner of a gas guzzling, overpriced, road hogging SUV. We hope that you’re truly enjoying your new vehicle and enjoying it to the fullest. By now you’ve gone through 100 tanks of gasoline, costing roughly $6,000, and you’re probably due for a new set of giant, noisy tires to go with that mammoth vehicle of yours. We know we shouldn’t encourage this, but we’re sure you’ve found the hidden benefit of being able to cut people off without worry, as you know they’ll get out of your way. God save them if they don’t. We know, it makes driving down the toll road such a pleasure.

But by all means, we really hope you’ve put that battle ready tank to the test and taken it offroad like it was intended. We didn’t engineer this thing to take your selfish ass from your oversized home to work and back, or to simply go to Tyson’s Corner to buy some new D&G sunglasses. We designed this thing to be able to drive on the moon! So we’re glad to see that you got the memo, and have been thoroughly enjoying your giant hunk of steel. Good on you!

Sincerely,

GM

PS – We see that you’ve also read through the manual on how to park your POS too. Congrats! Take up as many spaces as possible because it’s your God given right. Have you installed a gun rack yet? If not, you should see an accessory catalog in your mailbox shortly.

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Have you been outside today? Stick your pale neck outside the cubicle for a few minutes and enjoy the sunshine before it’s time to go home.

I found this buggy of treasure outside Murky Coffee when I went outside to feed the meter. The owner was nowhere to be seen but this guy has the right idea. All of us benefit from a little sunshine and some fresh air, even the stuff that fills our homes. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

Taking your stuff for a walk is a great excuse to go outside, so grab the keyboard from your desk and head out to the grace and wonder of a beautiful day while you still can.

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The PNC Bank at 301 7th Street NW has a painted-on set of windows and bricks on the east side of the building. For some reason, this really pissed me off and made me want to take my money somewhere else. I suppose I should be a little more rational and think before doing something so rash but it really rubbed me the wrong way.

I suppose I should be delighted by this building mural as public art but this really got under my skin. It felt to me like a visual laugh track. Maybe I’m just an old-fashioned guy. I like my gin with tonic and my murals not to try to deceive me. The whole thing felt like the mural equivalent of sofa-sized art – a painting more of convenience than inspiration.

PNC Bank – here is your chance to redeem yourself and explain why you have fake-ass windows and fake-ass bricks painted on your building.

I’m not saying it’s not well done. The craftsmanship is high and I am sure it took someone a good bit of time and sweat to do. It just sticks in my craw. Maybe it’s just that Dr. Zaius would not approve and thus neither do I.

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Tomorrow, Tuesday, May 8th, at least 20 bars and restaurants around the city will be donating a portion of their proceeds to the Capitol Hill Community Foundation, which will be using the funds to help the merchants and producers who depended on Eastern Market for their livelihoods.

Eastern Market Rescue has the list of participating establishments along with the hours during which they’re participating (some are doing a happy hour, some are designating the whole day) AND, my personal favorite, the actual percentage being donated. EMR has been recommending a 5% donation, but some places are going above and beyond, and you can reward that generosity if you so choose. There’s also a flyer you can use to ask your favorite establishment to participate.

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While this week’s cold snap feels more like fall than spring, summer is on its way. And summer in DC can only really be enjoyed on a porch.

Where else can you watch the neighbourhood goings-on with a drink and a shout? How else can keep that ratty college couch when you girlfriend moves in?

My neighbours know this to be true. That is why they are busy rebuilding their porch before the weather gets warm. Come June, July, August, that is where you will find us.

Where will it find you?

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The Washington, DC area is by far the most cosmopolitan and international place I have lived (even more than Rensselaer, NY) but I have a problem with it. Where are the Tibetan restaurants in the area? Now and then a fella gets a serious hankering for some tsampa and yak butter tea. As good as it is, 7-11 just doesn’t cut it. Can anyone recommend a Tibetan restaurant in the area? I haven’t been able to find one but I am sure there is one here.

Somebody had recommended Mt. Everest over on 18th St. NW but it is now closed, from what I can tell.

What is your favorite place to get delicious Tibetan delights?

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It’s the second and last day of the Avon walk and Kira is the last of our spotlighted walkers. Her personal page at the Avon site is light on details about what her personal connections to the disease are… except for the picture of her and her friend Debra, seen here, who her caption indicates is no longer with us.

Help fight breast cancer and support Amber here. Click the “click here to support me” button on that page and donate.

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For all those who ran the windy 6.2 miles of Haines Point this morning, congratulations! You can now have that greassy Bloody Mary brunch with out guilt.

I will be looking for Krispy Kreeme since the Sallie Mae post-race foods were way too healthy. Apples and yogurt is for those who slept in, not for 10K runners.

Especially those who ran a 7:30/mile pace for 46 minutes of speed.

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Oh it is a cold morning to be in race shorts. With a chilly breeze cutting through thin licra, teeth are chattering more than feet are running- for now.

In moments there will be a few thousand runners streaming down Ohio Avenue for a six mile log. Before them we wait.

Waiting to find a parking space. Waiting for our race packet. Waiting for the toilet. And now waiting for the race.

Wish us luck. We will need it.

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Has anyone else noticed the cattle chute being constructed in front of the White House? After being eyed suspiciously by Secret Service guys as I photographed it, I asked one of them what it was for. Supposedly it’s to create a secure zone for when H.M. the Queen is here.

Somehow I doubt it. What does the Queen need with a cattle chute anyway? I smell a conspiracy.

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There’s been a lot of buzz about Robert Wiedmaier’s new restaurant Brasserie Beck , which just opened a few days ago. Beyond the hype, I had two personal reasons for wanting to try it – celebrating the end of the construction of the new office building it’s located in, which has been making a hell of my morning bus commute for the past several months, and casing it as a potential pitstop on my new post-work walking routine (who needs a water break when you can have a Tremens?).

Beck is on the “unfashionable side” of the K Street Corridor at 1101 K, where there are many empty lots under heavy construction, bound to eventually be unrecognizable when the old Convention Center site is redeveloped. Given that, I was curious how crowded it would be at 1pm on Friday (not at all) and what kind of diner would be present (business casuals). It will be interesting to see what happens as word gets out that it’s open and it picks up. That much-quoted “European train station” interior could get very loud indeed, and I’m not sure about the almost cafeteria-style tables. Hopefully when filled with people it will have a lively, inviting feel perfect for its Belgian beer and comfort dishes.

But enough of the obligatory atmosphere rap, how was the food?

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