I love Sam Smith’s “DC CITY DESK.” It’s a great shot of progressive thought into my email every week. Commentary on DC that usually finds me nodding my head in agreement. Well, except when it comes to the DC taxi system.

Sam seems to forget, in his pro-cabbie missives, that taxicabs are not a welfare to work social program, but a bona fide service to DC residents. Sam says:

In a decision that effectively dismantles the best urban cab system in the country, Mayor Fenty has ordered local cabs to install meters. No other city has so many cabs per resident and at a reasonable cost. In no other city is the cab business such an important factor in upward economic mobility.

Now I question exactly how those two statements can equal each other. If a cab system is affordable, just how can it also be a path to upward mobility?

Sam seems to say that it’s possible because DC cabs are not cab company owned. That the myriad independent drivers gain from direct, often unrecorded payments without cab leases from cab companies. But exactly how does that translate into decent service?

I know that when I am in a London taxi, the driver has “The Knowledge”. I know that when in NYC, I can I can track my ride by GPS. In DC, I only have a semi-literate driver, following a crap map, who often doesn’t know Petworth from Pentagon City. And I’m expected to pay at least $6.50 for the privilege for a ride to nowhere.

If we want the DC cab system to be a step up, then let us have the government, not riders, pay for that service. If we want to have a decent taxi system, then let’s have free markets, and meters, prevail. But no matter Sam’s hope, we cannot have both.

Double rush hour whammy on the Red Line tonight:

1. Track flaws on a 39-foot section of rail necessitate reduced speeds between Medical Center and Friendship Heights, causing a mild cascade of delays in both directions.
2. More urgently, smoke in Union Station prompted an evacuation and closure in both directions, with shuttle buses being called in between Judiciary Square and New York Ave stations.

I got to Metro Center around 6:30PM, saw the trains backed up and the platforms getting crowded, and opted to try and catch a bus home. Murphy’s Law kicked in as soon as I got to E Street, just in time to see my bus leave the station, crammed full — so I set out on foot, having to switch sides almost every other block for one “Sidewalk Closed” construction sign after another, and catching pretty much every Don’t Walk pedestrian light between Metro Center and Capitol Hill.

I eventually made it home, passing one of Metro’s backup shuttle buses at Judiciary Square, crammed full of cross-looking commuters, its LCD sign naturally saying “NOT IN SERVICE.”

Good luck and godspeed tonight, Red Line riders. I hope you can all make it home speedily.

image courtesy of WaPo

No, this is not some uninformed anti-globalization rant. (side note: Firefox’s dictionary doesn’t have “globalization” – talk about blissful ignorance!) This is an anti-telephone rant. Specifically, telephone calls from WaPo.

One of the few persistent conflicts my darling girlfriend and I have had through our relationship has been over one of my favorite rituals: Sunday morning with the newspaper. It’s just not a relaxing weekend till I’ve spent an hour or three with some a lot of coffee and the paper.

The problem is that my dear dislikes sales calls in general and repeated “upgrade” calls in particular. And there’s no more sure-fire way to get WaPo to call you and ask for money than to give them a taste of it by opting for the Sunday-only option. They’re pretty clear that you don’t get to subscribe without harassing calls – phone number is a mandatory bit of information to subscribe. So since I’m the household luddite who prefers his news to leave black stains on my fingertips where my darling girlfriend is an online reader, it didn’t seem fair to ask her to suffer for my obsession. So if I didn’t want to scare up 6 quarters and walk a quarter mile to the machine I lived without my newspaper.

Solution? AIM digits, AOL’s new venture into online telephony for those who don’t already have too damned much phone in their life. If you’re one of the poor souls who uses the AOL client then this might make your computer ring, but as a longtime Trillian user all it does for me is generate voicemail that I ignore. WaPo gets to call and leave messages begging for service upgrades, I get my Sunday paper, and my darling girlfriend gets peace and quiet… or at least as much as one can have with me in their life…

I remember the first time I saw a sweet DC kiss. Last summer, a moving truck took a too-tight turn and ruined an Ohioan’s vacation. Then Brownpau saw a serious DC parking lot kiss, offender unknown. And who could forget the Metrobus DC kiss that sent passengers to the emergency room?

My very own DC Kiss

Each time, I felt sorry for the recipient and wondered if the kisser got away with their transgression. Saturday morning, I found the answer the hard way.

In mid-post about Dousing IMF Protestations, I get a call from my neighbour: “Did you hear that crunch? Sounds like someone just hit your Mom’s truck.”

That’s not the phrase you want to hear when your Mom is in Hawaii, entrusting you with her pickup after saying “Now don’t you wreck it. I think of your father every time I drive it.”

Sprinting outside, I found that my new neighbour, in her haste to move in, gave me a taste of DC parking problems, a DC kiss of my very own.

The neighbour, apologetic to a fault, was nice enough, and the fender, while bent past salvage, doesn’t hinder driving and can be replaced easy like, did put a bummer on my weekend.

While it might sound fun, a DC kiss ain’t – for either party.

World Bank IMF Protest

Originally uploaded by isisDC.

It wasn’t enough that you hit a woman in the head over the weekend with a brick? You had to go ruin the commute of half the city today? Due to your general asshattery, I extend my middle finger in your general direction. I am, apparently, not alone in my hatred of both you and your antics, though, as my Twitter Friends List is full of vitriol and bile concerning your decisions to march on the World Bank and make this city difficult to live in.

We’re just trying to make our way through life, go to work, do our jobs and go home at the end of the day. Blocking our streets and hitting us in the head isn’t going to win you any converts. It’s much more likely for me to say, “Hit ‘em harder, officer, they fucked up my commute!” and walk away while you’re getting the business from John Q. Law.

If that’s what you wanted, then you accomplished it. Enjoy your martyr complex, I’ll be toasting your beating at the bar.

Preferably in Georgetown, where I’ll go, despite my pathological dislike of the place, just to spite you.

Many thanks to Kerry Howley for this item: Lanna Action for Burma is encouraging women around the world to send their panties to the Burmese* embassies in their countries as a means of protest against the crackdown on pro-democracy protesters. Why? Because the generals who make up the military junta that runs the country are extremely superstitious, and believe that contact with womens’ underwear will deprive them of their power.

In case you’re wondering, the Burmese embassy’s address here in DC is:

2300 S St. NW
Washington, DC 20008

And you can address your, uh, statement of protest to: U Tin Win (Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary). Yes, that’s really his title.

* Yes, I’m aware that the “official” name of the country is the Union of Myanmar. But since the Union of Burma was the name the last time there was a democratically-elected government, and since “Union of Myanmar” is the name given to it by the military junta, I’m still going to call it Burma. When there’s a democratically-elected government in Burma again, I’ll call it whatever that government decides the country should be called.

Last night heralded the first skirmishes of the annual IMF/World Bank protests with DC’s first rain in months. And I think that was God sending a signal to the unwashed protesters: its time to get a life.

How many years have there been protests? And what’s been the impact? From what I can tell, not much besides screaming sirens and traffic snarls. These are children of global wealth, and unlike the hardcore WTO protesters, not about to die for their cause.

Smash a few shop windows, or pelt a passerby with a brick, yeah, but effect real change? Nope. Just another bunch of ineffectual protesters.

To them I gladly send the DC MPD Bicycle Corps:

photo courtesy of the Arlington police

While looking though some Arlington county RSS feeds I came across an entry titled “Free VIN Etching Event” where the entirety of the body was “The Arlington County Police Dept. and the Virginia State Police HEAT Program are sponsoring an auto theft deterrence event. Motorists can get their Vehicle Identification Number (VIN) etched into their exterior windows for free. Motorcyclists are welcome as well.” Well, okay – when? Where?

Unfortunately if you add one of the Arlington calendar RSS feeds you get links in your reader that don’t provide per-event calendar links – clicking this one just takes me to http://www.arlingtonva.us/police which isn’t much help. So I use the search box and find this story about last year’s October 21st event. I’m about to click away and keep searching when I notice this line midway down, emphasis mine.

101 vehicles were VIN-etched in about 4 hours, and one stolen car was recovered.

Wait – a stolen car was recovered? At a VIN etching event? Unless you can think of another interpretation I’m assuming this means someone brought in a car to be etched that was, in fact, stolen. I’ve dropped a mail to the police media representative attached to this year’s event to ask and I’ll let you know what he says. In any case, if you stole your current ride I’d suggest you skip the event.

If you’re not driving a stolen hooptie, this year’s event is scheduled for 10a – 2p on November 3 at the Arlington Assembly of God Church, 4501 N. Pershing Drive, Arlington VA.

As part of the Washington Post trying to get more involved in the local blogging community, Marc Fisher (“Raw Fischer”) has named his first Blogger of the Month: Wayan’s Betrothed Prince of Petworth.

Congrats to the Prince for being singled out for his “passion to make the place where he lives better”. Being featured by the Washington Post is a pretty cool honor and who knows, maybe Wayan will be next?

I hate to follow up the earlier feel-good with bitching but not so much that I’ll refrain, apparently. If for no other reason but to respond to Prontovega.

Just minutes after I posted that, I got a call from an automated dialer system – Comcast, stating they had an urgent matter to discuss about my bill, press 1 to talk to someone. Having done this dance with them before, I press 1 and open my online banking webpage while I wait.

After a few moments, during which I discover that yes, I have indeed paid them and they have indeed managed to jerk it up yet again, someone comes on the line…. and asks me for my phone number.

You know, the number that just rang when someone called it. Someone who I am talking to now.

But I have done this dance before, as I said, and I know the steps. So I read it to her and state, as always, that it’s pretty annoying to be asked for my phone number when it’s them who called me and maybe they should have some idea who they’re calling. “Thats’ the auto-dialer sir, not me.” I state, as I always do, that I understand that she did not punch the buttons herself, but never the less my phone rang and the person on the other end then asked me for my phone number. “Well, we’re calling about your bill and to ask if you have made a payment or if you would like to make a payment.”

I refrain from a ah-hah, you admit you called moment and state “I show that I paid X amount on 9/28.” I similarly refrain from commenting on how their inability to credit my account doesn’t seem to be accompanied by an inability to cash checks, and how unfortunate that is.

I don’t bother to share how completely delighted I am going to be not to ever have to deal with these chumps again once I transfer the account over to my former roommate, but it brings a smile to my face never the less. While he has no choice of internet providers there, I have several options in my new home and they haven’t gotten around to angering me yet.