NextBus Has Some Work To Do

I’m standing at stop #1001178, at the corner of 14th & I, waiting for a bus going north. I decided to wait and try out NextBus to see how it works. For the past 20 minutes, my bus has been between five and two minutes out.

Bus 6422 just pulled up, 21 minutes since I’ve been waiting. Looks like NextBus still has some work to do.

Robbed on the Metro

I was sitting on the Metro platform at Mt. Vernon Square yesterday evening. It was a quarter to six.  The Cubs were in town playing the Nationals, and I was waiting for the Green Line train down to the ball park for the second game in the series.  I had come down the first set of stairs onto the platform, and saw that the Metro employees had set up one of those huge industrial-strength fans blowing right at the bench that is tucked under the escalator, and a couple of them were sitting there cooling off, so I had joined them.

A baseball game always means a busy evening for the Green Line, and this evening was no exception.  There were plenty of people milling about on the platform, some in Cubby blue, others in Nats red.  In retrospect, the bench I was sitting on is isolated from the rest of the platform; “sketchy,” Hedda called it.  But I’ve ridden the Metro a thousand times before, and felt uncomfortable only a few of those times; my hackles weren’t raised this evening.  I was playing solitaire on my iPhone.

And suddenly my phone was snatched out of my hand by someone behind me.  After a half-second of stunned incapacity, I spun around, and saw a body disappearing around the other side of the escalator.  I jumped up and followed and caught up to the person before they got much farther.  Honestly, I was expecting to see a friendly face, perhaps one of my friends from Hedda’s days on the Nader Campaign or from my game group, pulling a prank on an unsuspecting me.  Instead, I was met with a face I’ve never seen before: a large black man, several inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than me.

At this point, a strange calm came over me.  I knew what was happening, and I knew he had nowhere to go.

“You took my phone.  Give me my phone back.”

“What you talking about? I a’int got your phone.”

“You took my phone.  Give it back.”

“You’re crazy, man.”

If my phone had been back in my hand at this point, I probably would have dropped the whole thing.  Instead, I realized this is getting nowhere quickly, and so I started yelling “Police!  Police!”  (I know, so cliché!  But it works.) A pair of faces framed in Cubs royal blue peered around at me from the other side of the escalator; I made eye contact with them and said, “Go get the police.  This guy just stole my phone.”  They nodded, and left, and I turned back towards the thief, and told him again to give me my phone back.

He did.

He walked around the platform, and I followed him – back a bit – to make sure I wouldn’t lose track of him.  After a bit, a Yellow Line trained pulled up in the station, and he boarded.  I stood outside the open door and stared at him, memorizing what clothes he was wearing, the color of his shoes, his hair cut, the number of the car he was on.  He taunted me to get on the train with him.  Ten seconds later, the doors closed, and the train started to move.

It was then I noticed a station manager walking up to me from the tunnel side.  I ran up to him, pointed out the guy in the car as it was passing, gave him the car number, and explained he’d tried to rob me.  He immediately went over to a phone to call in the Transit Police, and then he took me up to the kiosk to wait.  We chatted for a bit, and I learned a great deal about the problems with kids that they have on the Metro, in large part because they have unlimited-ride cards.  They get on the Metro system and then just goof around, and the employees can’t do anything to stop them unless the Transit Police happen to be nearby.  (I can’t seem to find any reference to this program online; I’d love to learn more.)

After a few minutes the Transit Police arrived.  I filed a report with A. France and M. Bradley, and got myself an incident number.  While we were talking, they got a call that they searched the train he was on, and didn’t find him.  I’m sure he got off before they were able to stop the train.  Hopefully my description will be of some use, though.  All was done, so I left and went to the baseball game.  While I was waiting for the train – again – I played solitaire on my iPhone.

The Cubs won!

Desi Deschaine – You Will Be Missed

I write with a heavy heart that our good friend Desi Deschaine has passed away. As a staffer for Mayor Williams, and later Councilmember Jack Evans, Desi tirelessly worked for the betterment of the District of Columbia and Ward 2; and as the Vice-President of the Logan Circle Community Association, he continuously worked to improve our neighborhood.

His boundless energy, enthusiasm, laughter, and love for life will be missed by everyone who knew him, and thousands more who didn’t.  His positive impact on our lives cannot be overstated.

Update: Story in the Post

Jury Duty Takes Its Toll

I’ve been on jury duty all week this week. The experience has been a fascinating glimpse for me into the inner workings of the criminal judicial system, as well as a fascinating glimpse into my own psychological and emotional limits. The trial isn’t over yet, so I
cannot say anything about that; however, I can talk about my personal experiences.

This is my first time on a jury – or even called up for jury duty. I take such a civic duty quite seriously. Though serving on a jury is second only to voting in importance for securing trust and transparency in our particular civilization, it easily surpasses voting in the impact it on the lives of other people. The responsibility is enormous, even greater than I imagined. Sitting in judgment of another person, with life and liberty at stake, is weighty indeed.

The case has continued on a couple of days longer than the judge expected. From my first night home after a day at the courthouse, despite no more than an hour actually in the courtroom, I was simply overwhelmed. There was so much in my heart and mind, and I simply couldn’t get it out. Our instructions from the bench are to speak with nobody about the case, including spouses. Cut off from Hedda’s amazing ability to listen, I quickly devolved into a near-depression. Except for a short interlude of wine and beer on Tuesday evening, my week has basically been:

1. Wake up;
2. Go to courthouse;
3. Come home and eat;
4. Sleep.

This reaction surprised me. I wasn’t expecting to be so affected. I didn’t realize how greatly I needed to talk to somebody – anybody! – about these life-changing judgments placed (partially) upon my shoulders.

Today I’m feeling better than I have all week, though. We started deliberations this afternoon, and with deliberations is lifted the restriction on speaking to my fellow jurors. Upon finally speaking with them, I felt a great tension drain from me, as the reservoir of thoughts and emotions pent up inside me finally had somewhere to go.

I’m looking forward to finishing our deliberations – hopefully tomorrow!

I’m Running For ANC

I’m running for ANC 2F03!

This morning, I picked up my petitions for inclusion on the ballot. Soon (probably tonight), I will start collecting signatures in my Single-Member District. If you live in ANC 2F03 and you see a guy with a funny hat carrying a clipboard with pink pages on it, please take a moment to stop and sign. You must be a registered voter, but that’s it!

Chris Dyer, the current and long-serving commissioner for ANC 2F03, announced at the last ANC meeting that he would not be seeking reelection this fall. He will be missed. And though it will be impossible to fill his shoes, I am personally looking forward to the opportunity to fight for our neighborhood as best as I can.

I guess I have to get on the ballot first, though. Wish me luck!

My Last Will and Testament, Part 2

Following along the lines of Part 1, I would like it on the record that my funeral should be a Speaking, and be at least as awesome as this.

My Mother Was Right

When I was younger, and even still today, my mother would claim that I was dropped off by space aliens. Turns out, she wasn’t that far from the truth.

Apparently, I’m A Horrible Person

It’s not church parking, nor is it Adams Morgan parking, but parking arguments seem to be in vogue these days, so I decided to start one of my own.

Meet “The Volvo”. For over a month now, the driver of this Volvo has been parking illegally in front of our building overnight. She usually parks in the evening, after official ticketing stops, and usually leaves in the morning before the DDOT officers make their way down 13th Street – if the even do. We know it’s a she because we’ve seen her now and then in the vehicle.

Now, Hedda and I came to one of two conclusions about this female: Either she is willfully violating the law, and parking in the fire lane in front of our building, or she’s a buffoon, and thinks she’s the luckiest person alive for finding the exact same spot every night just steps from her front door. (We’re pretty sure she lives either next door or across the street.) We’re guessing it’s the former, though, because we know for certain she knows it’s illegal.

How do we know? Because not only is it clearly marked no parking, but she’s even gotten a parking ticket once! (Yeah, we called it in. Hedda actually put a service request in online, and it worked!)

After her ticket, she had stopped parking there for a week or so, but then, a couple of weeks ago, she was back. And back again. And back again. Tonight, while Hedda and I were eating a delicious chicken Caesar salad, she pulled up in front. Except, because there were some folks loading into a car in front of our buidling, she instead pulled forward and right into the fire hydrant zone next to our home. She dawdled a minute, as though waiting to see if the folks there would leave before she got bored, and then shut off her SUV, got out, and walked away.

At this point, we were livid. Not only is she continuing her pattern, but now she’s endangering ours and other buildings in the neighborhood. So when we saw her coming back towards her car a few minutes later, I walked outside and hollered, “We told the people to move their car, so you could have your usual spot back!” A bit cynical and passive-aggressive, sure, but what the hell.

She flips her long, blond hair over her shoulder as she turns her head back towards me and says, “Thanks!”, in either naive sincerity or irony that put me to shame. Sensing my message wasn’t getting through, I added something about how that’s an illegal spot, and so is the one in front of us, and please don’t park there anymore. After another return volley of excuses, I let loose with, “Look, you don’t have some special privilege to park illegally, even if you are from Kentucky.”

She stops. For a moment, I wonder if this pregnant pause will be the end of this, but instead she begins walking towards my perch on the top step of our porch, behind our gate. “Are you being hostile with me?”

“Damn right I am. I’m tired of you parking illegally.”

I’ll admit right here: Things get a bit out-of-order here, as we devolve into a full-fledged street argument. I’ll do my best to summarize her arguments, and my responses.

• Me: “I’m a taxpaying resident of DC, and you’re not entitled to just park wherever you want.”
  
  Her: “So am I.”
  
  Me: “That’s bullshit. Then why do you still have Kentucky license plates. If you live here, you should have DC plates.”
  
  Her, after a pause: “I’ll look into it.”
• Her: “Do you want me to park my car three blocks away and walk home at night in this neighborhood?”
  Me: “We’ve lived here for three years, and this neighborhood is pretty benign. And everybody else around here has to find parking – what makes you so special?”
• Me, trying the Crime and Punishment approach: “I know you know it’s illegal, because you got a ticket right here! Stop parking here, or we’ll call in and get them to ticket you again.”
  
  Her: “You did that to me?! You’re a horrible person. You’re a horrible person.”
• Her (and this is where it gets weird): “Do you want me to get raped? I’ve been raped! It’s not pleasant.”
  Me: “I’m sorry, but this has nothing to do with that, or you. It’s about the safety and respect of your neighbors. You’re parked in front of a frickin’ fire hydrant!”

Basically, she repeated those same arguments, over and over. The weirdest part was this random dude walking down the street, who tried to get involved. “I park illegally all the time. What’s it to you? What’s it matter to you?” I pretty much ignored him. But the whole fire-life-safety thing seemed not to factor into his mind, either.

So finally, after accusing me of “accosting her”, despite the fact that she physically approached me and I never left our property, she said, “I’ll pray for you,” and walked away.

Yup, leaving her car parked in front of the fire hydrant. So Hedda called 911. An officer arrived a few minutes later, and gave her a ticket. Hopefully the tow truck will be here soon.

Bitch Still Set Me Up

Time flies when you’re having fun. Or smoking crack.

Can you believe it’s been one whole year since I created bitchsetmeup.com? Unbelievable. The domain is set to expire today, unless I renew it. But is it really worth $15 a year for such a lame joke?

I think so.

My Last Will and Testament, Part 1

No, I haven’t been diagnosed with anything. I just saw this article on Wired about green funerals that are coming into vogue, and I just wanted it on the record as to how I’d like my remains disposed of:

Bury me in a shallow grave in the forest.

Barring that, which I’m sure would violate several jurisdictions worth of laws, one of these green funeral things would be a decent second choice.