image found here.

Dear Metblog readers, indulge me in a brief personal story and the use of this forum to say thank you to someone.  Hopefully you’ll just find it a heartwarming little story about how good people can be in our area.  

Dear Random Girl who eventually got off at the Naylor Rd. Station:

Thank you for finding my Iphone.  Although I’ve never met you or saw you or know anything about you-I appreciate your finding my Iphone.

See, I was heading home to drop off the comic books I had bought at SPX and to get changed to go out for the evening.  In my fervor of comic book delightedness I must have only half-heartedly put my phone into my sweatshirt hoodie pocket after checking it (like I always do) coming over the river on the yellow line bridge.  Questions of whether to go all the way to Clarendon or not coupled with handfuls of newly signed books must have distracted me as I left my train at Crystal City because it wasn’t until I got outside and reached for my phone again that I realized it was gone. 

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This past weekend (very last minute or I would have altered alerted you dear MetBlog readers) I found myself at the first ever Buffalo Battle-aka the “War of the Wings.”  The scoop?  J. Paul’s Chef Darrell “Big Wing” Hughes faced off against Old Glory’s Chef Richard “The Pit Master” Brooks in a four round cook off to see just who has the better wings.  For the price of admission spectators got two complimentary drinks and (wait for it) all the wings you could eat.  Proceeds went to the very worthy cause of the DC Central Kitchen.

As a native Western New Yorker, both hungry for wings and willing to donate to a good cause, I felt uniquely qualified to show up at this event and cast my own judgment on these so called “Buffalo Wings.”  Yes much like the native of Philly who is fond of saying ”that’s not a real cheese steak”, the Chicago transplant who says “ugh! you call this pizza?” and the New York City tourist that can’t wait to tell you just how much ”better the <fill in just about anything> is in New York”-I too become a food snob when wings are brought into the mix.   Especially when someone calls them “Buffalo Wings.”   

So on this, the alleged anniversary of the Buffalo Wing (Happy 44^th!) allow me to share my thoughts with you:

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In tonight’s mail, I received a very interesting letter from “Mary Holder” - she and her husband want to buy my house. All I have to do is email her at mh.pronto@gmail.com or call her on (301) 841-7316 and she sounds like she’ll come running with a bucket of cash.

Sound too good to be true? Yep, sure ‘nuf does. Especially when a closer look at the handwritten-looking letter shows that its actually mass-printed, with only my name and address written by hand.

Then there is the matter of the reply address on the card. 611 Pennsylvania Avenue SE is a UPS Store, not an office, so dear mary is looking more suspect by the moment.

Last but not least, there is the problem (for her) that not only do I love my house, I can actually afford it too. So I’ll be trashing her letter and I suggest you do the same.

The last time I was at Proof, the “wine-centric restaurant” opposite the American Art Museum, a friend and I nibbled on an enormous charcuterie platter with meats and cheeses and honey and nuts and - an hour passed before we realized we were far too stuffed to try any of the entrees or smaller plates. Not to mention our indulging in the champagne cart made ordering more from the extensive wine list redundant. No matter, I thought, I’ll be back.

Friday night found me revisiting Proof with the always entertaining Don Whiteside (I have to reveal he drank only beer, dear reader, shocking!). I managed to explore one dish more, the smoked salmon flatbread, but just couldn’t pass up the prosciutto and cheese again. Nor could I really get past the bubbly. Completely failed at trying anything else, despite a very tempting variety. Oh well, this whole “wine-centric restaurant” deal confuses me anyway. No doubt it’s an economic decision to branch out beyond wine bar nibbles, and obviously it doesn’t bother me at all, I just wonder if I will ever get to try anything else on the menu. Willpower, whatever, this whole branching outside of your comfort zone is vastly overrated anyway.

A note on atmosphere - the first time I went was quite close to its opening, and it was jam-packed with your usual Washingtonian power suspects. Luckily that appears to have mellowed by now. With a sleek yet romantic design, ably managed by a cheerful and helpful staff, this is not an intimidating place to try wine. While we were there a girl asked the bartender for “just a glass of white wine” - and without raising an eyebrow he gently steered her to something she might like after a few questions. Education without condescension. Nicely done.

Another parking meter letter, this time on Woodmont Street in Bethesda:

Dear Kind Parking Enforcement Officer:

Came for lunch with my attorney, who assured me this ‘IOU’ was sufficient because I do not carry coins. I just can’t be bothered with them; they rattle too much in my pockets and throw off my game. How’s a guy supposed to get some action when he’s got coins rattling so close to his junk? Anyway, IOU $2 for overpriced parking for my overpriced lunch.

Yours Truly,
Don Whiteside^*

Have you seen any love notes, IOU letters or broken meter complaints? Are you opportunistic enough to watch for them and take that spot, then claim you were the note writer?

^*Not really Don Whiteside, who is an honest, law-abiding fellow, not a scofflaw like the Johnny Nogood who left the note.

In case you haven’t noticed, the anti-meter taxi strike started at 6AM this morning and will go till 6AM tomorrow. D.C. Yellow Cab general manager says they’re operating with just a quarter of the fleet today, word from Union Station is that the taxi queue gets pretty long as more trains arrive, and hotels are getting limo services to fill the gap.

Halloween revelers tonight, remember that SoberRide will still be running, providing free cab rides for up to a $50 fare. Nonetheless, it’ll be a good idea not to get too wasted if you can help it, and make contingency plans to get home or crash with a fellow demon/goblin/witch/wizard/Jedi.

RumorsDaily is seeing DC taxi scabs at work, The DC Traveler cries “Shame!”, ansaphone4 found her drive far more pleasant without taxis to deal with, and GoneOutDC had a conversation with a taxi driver about why he’s striking — and he says it’s not necessarily about the meters.

How about the rest of our dear readers? How is the Halloween taxi strike treating you?

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…

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.

When Jakob Dylan and the Wallflowers (recently sans Rami Jaffee) took the stage at the 9:30 last night, it was the first time they’d been on tour in two years, and the first time in DC in nearly four. It was pretty clear that they’d not been on stage in a while, but it didn’t show in the music, just the pacing. Long breaks were frequent between the songs, as Dylan tuned one of about six guitars he played during the evening. When he noted some restlessness from the near-capacity crowd, he explained he didn’t use electronic tuning, which seem to mollify the crowd.

It was a great show, overall. Dylan’s vocals were fresh, yet full of a rasp that was not borne of fatigue but rather a unique part of his genetic heritage. The songs were all heartfelt and sincere, Dylan’s voice could lend Happy Birthday a degree of gravitas usually reserved for songs of triumph or mourning. The highlight of the night for me, though, was Fred Eltringham on the drums. The man’s just have a good time. Not in that kinda-creepy Mick Fleetwood way, though, but in more of an “I love my job and everything that comes with it” sort of way. New guitarist Stuart Mathis was simply amazing last night, with a virtuoso’s touch on lead guitar, with soaring melodic solos that were not mere approximations of the studio versions, but added depth and character to the live performance. I don’t go for the jam band philosophy of rock concerts where each song should be 20 minutes long, featuring lengthy solos based on jazz reinterpretations of the cuban cover of the song, it doesn’t work for me. Mathis’ excellent solos captured the essential character of the songs without straying too far afield into the land of the jam band, from whence many concerts do not recover.

The set was a mélange of their catalog, featuring tracks from Red Letter Days, Bringing Down the Horse and Rebel, Sweetheart, but nothing indicated that they’re headed back to the studios for a fifth album, which was a bit of a disappointment. In contrast to the Killers show I saw this summer, the Wallflowers show was entirely business like. There was no set. There were no antics. Just a band getting up and rocking out. It was just what I was looking for, and just what I got. I left the 9:30 with my ears ringing with the last chord (as they still are this morning), and looking forward to their next stop in DC.

Two final notes from the show:

1. Dear TR Kidd & the Visions. Please consider going back to your day jobs. If you don’t have day jobs, please look into them. Your opening set last night was quite possibly the worst live music performance I’ve ever seen.

2. Dear guy behind us who was totally rocking out. I respect your enthusiasm for the show last night. I recognize that you likely worship the man’s entire catalogue, but that was no reason for you to gratuitously shout “WOOO!” in quiet moments. Also, the Night at the Roxbury dance routine was entirely uncalled for.

Annie Leibovitz is an icon of modern photography. Building her career from scratch, she has become one of the most recognized, sought after, and important photographers in the world. Over the span of her career she has photographed countless celebrities including Demi Moore, Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, Al Pacino, Robert Dinero, and Scarlett Johansson. She has worked for such magazines as Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, and Vogue and created ad campaigns for The Gap, American Express, and the Milk Board. She was designated a “Living Legend” by the Library of Congress and Smithsonian Magazine has called her one of the “innovators of our time”. She has photographed the last two sitting presidents and many of their cabinet members. Hell, she recently photographed the Queen of England claiming that “they had fun” during the shoot. When asked by a reporter if she has a “dream shoot”, that is someone she’s been dying to work with, she sort of scoffed at the question. From a professional photographer’s point of view, her life has been a dream shoot.
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