For those of you still reading this, here's my latest story...

On Friday, I had an unfortunate accident while dismounting a bar stool.   Despite varsity lettering in bar stool dismount, I executed poor form and ended up spraining my knee.  I knew things were bad when my knee cap was 3 inches east of its proper location, and my friends were hovering over me in disgusting disbelief.  I forced it back in (thank you whiskey), and utilized unknown forearm muscles to hoist myself back up to a bar stool.  Luckily, I was drunk enough to hobble out to a cab and go home.

Now at this point, the girlfriend, who I can only describe as the most amazing girlfriend in the world, took complete control over my survival.  She fed me vodka until I passed out, walked my dog, woke me up, fed me advil, walked my dog, made me dinner, walked my dog, and harassed me about going to the hospital, which I would have never done except she had supreme bargaining power.

Sunday my best friend woke up, extremely hungover of course, to drive me to the GW ER.  I fucking hate hospitals, but I have to say, it was relatively not so painful.  Except when the doctor says, does this hurt?  Here's a hint: the answer is always yes.  They gave me a knee brace, some Percocet, and sent me on my way.  Keep in mind, I never complained about pain.  Because I'm Irish.

After two days of being confined to a couch, I have to say, I have the best girlfriend and dog in the world.  Bacon sacrificed his long daily walks for some gentle spooning and Lifetime movies.  My girlfriend sacrificed any idea of me as a rough and tough hardass to feed spagetti-Ohs to her invalid boyfriend.  So, I'm pretty lucky I guess.

Despite my prognosis of healing in 4-6 weeks, I'm already walking on my own.  So maybe I'm tougher than people think.  That doesn't mean I don't want to spoon with Bacon.  Mario Lopez is a great actor.  And if you think you're tough? Try taking a crap without bending one of your knees.  I hope you have a large bathroom and a wiper.

There's nothing like reading about a millionaire spending millions of dollars to divorce another millionaire.  Who would have thought a wealthy 50 yo man would cheat on his 54 yo wife with an 18 yo toy store clerk.  No worries though, children of third world countries with curable diseases, these old rich fucks are arguing over who gets the three boats.  At $700 an hour.  What's worth more than a child's life?  A rich Manhattanite's pride.

I adopted a dog, finally.  He's eight years old, about 45-50 pounds, black lab mix.  I adopted him through Homeward Trails from a family that had to give him up due their infant.  He's doing great, and is proving to be instrumental in meeting all the cute girls that are moving into Columbia Heights now that it isn't "scary" anymore.  Finally I can be included in the dog society that has shunned me for so long.  You know, picking up poop gives you a sense of entitlement.

• Ever wonder when are they going to do something with the old Visions Theater space?  Well, the short answer is never.  I ran into a friend who used to work there - he said that the rent is too high for an operable business, and the owners of the space are rich as hell and really don't need the money.  Maybe the city should force them to do something with the space or forfeit their liquor license, because it's really a shame to have that awesome venue in a great location only to have it sit empty.
• Why do the scenesters at the Black Cat insist are wearing tshirts that are so tight that they flagrantly display their PBR man boobs and beer guts?  Are scenester girls really not put off by moobs?  I mean, I'm not saying I'm the fittest guy in the world, but I also don't purposefully display a spare tire with a shrunken shroud of irony.
• Go Caps!!!

I, for one, want to take some time out of my busy day of drinking $5 lattes and listening to Vampire Weekend to welcome the most irrelevant spriritual leader in the realm of modern theology.  Hey, press, let's forget that he's the decrepit leader of an antiquated religion, I just want to know whether he likes bacon or sausage for breakfast.  I mean, there's some occupied nation somewhere fighting for their independence in the wake of glorified global sports-based commercialism, but that's okay.  The encroachment of civil rights is only bad when it hurts our sponsors.  Anyway, lets pretend this guy is important, neverminding his discouragement of condoms in AIDS ridden countries.  Hey, let's put him in our brand new stadium and throw him a parade!!!  Yeah leader of everything I don't believe in!!!!  You rock.  Go hide some pedophiles.

How many hot dogs can Tom Brady fit in his mouth...

18.  He chokes on 19.

Oh man, so easy.  I feel sorry for the girl Randy Moss is raping right now.

Too far?  Yeah fuck you, he's a degenerate.  Huntington is not almost heaven.  Almost Kentucky maybe.

I feel like it's a good time to end this.  It's the "dog days" (what does that even mean) here in DC, so by ending this blog I have the chance of making headline news.  What, Dakota Fanning got picked up for Meth?  Another McCain staffer quit?  Another republican congressman paid a Grant to suck off a guy in the parking lot of a Roy Rogers?  Next you're going to tell me it's hot outside.  So before I begin the (expected) bitter diatribe, I want to thank Mike Grass (the father of DC blogging as far as I'm concerned), Rob Goodspeed, Jason Linkins, and Catherine Andrews, as well as everyone else that inspired me to blog.  I want to thank everyone after me that inspired me to keep going (too many to list, but Roosh, Brunchbird, BAL, Jordan, and Arjewtino are up there).  I want to thank Phil for being the best friend I've never met.  Hammer for being an artist of decapitated heads.  AUA for being a person I could vehemently agree and disagree with at the same time.  And of course, my fans - you really should find something better to do with your time.  And last but certainly, not least, Kathryn - the best friend I've ever met through something so entirely dorky.  Seriously, we met for the first time at Eyebar for the first happy hour that we planned.  But UVa alumni status and Foxfield pics go a long way.  And finally, I'd like to thank WAKA.  Because drunk sweaty girls in workout clothes crying on the corner at 10pm really make me laugh.  No, I thought he really liked you too!  I'm shocked.  On with the show...

Over three years of blogging, countless posts and comments, numerous friends, a few angry kickballers, three jobs, 6.3 million hangovers, 5 bastard children, an oddly shaped mole that was removed via santeria, a stalker who violated a restraining order only to become the executor of my will, 6 months of Marshall Law in Manitoba, a grail-shaped beacon, and an unwritten manifesto later, I'm done.  No, wait.... Ughhhhhhh... yeah, I'm done.  I'd like to say it's been real, but it hasn't.  Let's just say it's been.  I love you all like I love taking a good dump.  Our history together is like the skidmark on the tidy whitey of my creative mind.

Delete me from your blog roll as the carcass of a blogger if you will, but please don't delete me from your feeds (DC Blogs, I'm looking in your direction).   While regular posting will cease, I have been toying around with other ideas, especially after the success of Phil's Manpoo video.  Also, I'm writing a few music tracks.  But daily blogging is done here.   Sporadic video and music blogging may remain.  But if you really can't get enough of me (and who could - unless you've dated me: apparently cynicism, self-righteousness, and bitterness are only funny 30 minutes a week), then you can check me out at the group blog I'm joining.  Starting now, I'll be blogging with Bad @ Life, Scott the Shot, the Drunk Astronaut (that narrows it down), and The Token Female at TickleMyKittens.com.  The first time I read Good At Drinking, Bad At Life, I remember thinking "i should have written that."  So I'm delighted to join a group of like-minded bloggers that reduces my blogging responsibility by 80%.  Hey, I'm lazy.

I'm not good at breakups, so I'll leave you with one of my all time favorite quotes in modern literature:

 "There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing. " Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho

I walked into The Bar last night to find a girl I used to date.  Briefly.  So briefly there was no cause for awkwardness.  We exchanged pleasantries and her date showed up.  It was the three of us at the bar, and god knows I didn't want to hear their conversation, but I wasn't giving up my favorite stool.  Long story briefer, I overheard something to the effect of "sorry mumble mumble I didn't know he'd be here."  He said "whatever" no big deal. 

The only reason this is worth mentioning is because I'm the biggest creature of habit the world has ever known.  I don't care if former interests come in - I'll be happy to see them - but no one I've dated can act like they don't know I'll be there.  That's my living room.  That's my family.  My two best friends live 3,000 miles away, my other close friends have moved away or are married.  My bar is not a place for alcoholism - ok, well it is - but no more than every waspy family Christmas.  In this city, you should be so lucky to find something so permanent and reliable.

Which winds this lazy river to my point.  In late 2003, my live-in gf and I broke up.  It was a rough time.  Six months later, I started this blog.  It stands as a chronicle of my experience taking on this city on my own.  It was hard, but I learned with minimal effort, you can find your niche.  And maybe yourself.

So here's the RCR guide to DC.  In group houses you'll meet people you'll learn to hate.  On kickball teams, you'll meet people that you regret fucking.  At clubs you'll meet people who are beneath you.  At college bars/georgetown/any bar you wait in line for... well, you'll meet someone with standards as low as yours.  At Smith Point, you'll meet someone with standards as low as yours and they will post it on a forum.  On Capitol Hill you'll meet... well, there's a reason those places keep burning down.   Craigslist missed connections are from people so uncomfortable with themselves, how could you possible respect them.  The Black Cat and Wonderland might as well do some lock and key party, where random scenesters end up with each other through random selection because god knows anyone who tried that hard to be different has to be the same.

Tattoos are the hypercolor of the oughts.  Being jaded and disaffected is out, being apathetic and self-medicated is in.  The 80's are cool as long as you're real 80's, like Duran Duran, and not 80's, like 90's Duran Duran.  Coke is in, but only as long as you still get a hard on or keep your nose from bleeding.  Pearl snaps are out unless you have a beard, or you're gay, or you used to have a beard, or you're really really into Uncle Tupelo.  Skinny jeans are for people with crotch rot. 

Comparing DC to NYC is out.  Comparing DC to Baltimore is a draw.  If the two cities combined, I think that might be kinda cool.  Comparing VA to MD is like comparing a soccer mom to a lacrosse mom.  Bitching about the heat is par.  Bitching about the cold is par.  Welcome to the mid-Atlantic: the happy trail of America - close enough to smell your morning breath and close enough to smell your sweaty crotch.  But bitching is the District hobby.

DC voting rights?  Representation is for people who aren't disaffected and lazy.  So, you know, well... 

Gentrification might be bad, but without it, who would the gang of tweens rob?  I want DC's youth to learn there is no consequence to their actions.  You were mugged in Cleveland Park?  Yeah, well bus fare is only $1.25.  And forget about those mini motorbikes that the cops seem to ignore as they are ridden up the sidewalk during evening rush hour.  You shouldn't have your iPod so loud that you can't hear a minibike.

You will get ticketed in a zone area before a meter.  Why?  Because meters require marking your time and coming back later.  Meter maids can collect more fines by moving on to the next out of state plate in the neighborhood zones.  

If you you are a new resident of DC, DC will do everything she can to scare you away.  With confidence and perstistence, you will prevail.  Seven years of DC, and I own this city.  But you have to be strong.  By the way, any cute girls, please resond to my Match.com profile name desparateindc@solonely.com.

I could spend all day on funnyordie.com.  See this.  And this.

Today I'm officially beginning my boycott of websites that sell advertising space to Lowermybills.com.   If I see one more dancing alien I'm going to toss my computer out of my window.  I don't know why they think that campaign is a good idea - based on their ads, I would stab myself in the eye with an ice pick before I would visit their website.  I've never been, but I'm guessing it's an abomination of animated GIFs, scrolling text, and other HTML circa 1995.

I've never had an opinion on Cindy Sheehan's futile attempt to bring our troops home by camping out in front of Bush's playground.  Whatevs.  But then she started this running against Nancy Pelosi shit.  Don't get me wrong - I'm not partisan and I'm no big fan of Pelosi - but I get a little miffed when people spend engergy and/or money fighting for futile causes.  As much of a pragmatist that I am, I understand activism.  I understand that sometimes it take personal sacrifice to raise awareness to a cause.  But the movement to impeach Bush?  Impeachment is a penalty of vanity.  It has no real effect.  And to impeach a President who is essentially a lame duck, tanking in the polls, and facing a Democratic Congress?  The impeachment of Clinton was a waste of taxpayer money, and the biggest exercise in useless partisan politics in my lifetime.  Not that I'm a die hard Clinton fan, but my god, we've got more important things to worry about.  I don't like Bush, but waging a multimilliondollar impeachment offense on a President with a year and a half left seems like the biggest waste of time since the last American Idol vote.  The fact that Pelosi is refusing to engage that kind of partisanship makes me think she's got the right idea.

I guess what I'm getting at is that I'm sympathetic to futile sacrifice for a principle to stand for that principle.  But when you're so blinded by partisan rage that you can't see the forest for the trees, it's time for you to disappear. You're doing a disservice to your cause.  The only way to defeat your enemy is to rise above them.  Scream impeachment and you'll end up like Newt Gingrinch.   Political capital is just like any other money - a penny saved is a penny earned.  A penny wasted is a fortune lost - just ask John McCain.  In the meantime, if the liberal activists want their party to win - and looking at the conservative candidates right now, they might - they should just shut the eff up.  If you want to employ me as a political strategist strategerist, please email justshuttheffup@seriously.com.

If any of the allegations of dog torture made in the indictment of Michael Vick and his co-defendants are even remotely true, he should be summarily fired by the Falcons.  The words "despicable" and "disgusting" don't even begin to describe what kind of person would engage in that behavior.  If I were his teammate, I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye.  I expect professional athletes to get caught doing drugs or roughing up a hooker, but I can't believe someone with that much money would spend it on a venture so completely base and barbarian.  I guess money really can't buy class.  Or a soul, for that matter.

As for his co-defendants, I hope they take it doggie style in jail for the maximum term.  Fucking pieces of shit.

Via City Desk, the Adams Morgan Tavern Moratorium passed.  I can understand how they might think this is going to solve all of Adams Morgan's problems - and trust me, I'd love to see Tom Tom, Chloe, and Grand Central go the way of the dodo - but ultimately it's just another myopic agenda that will ultimately erode, if not destroy, the only remaining legitimate neighborhood bars.  I wish Jim Graham would fight for small businesses in Adams Morgan as much as he fought for the Target and Best Buy in Columbia Heights.  (It baffles me that this douche can run unopposed.)  But instead of going out to your neighborhood bar, like Pharmacy Bar, you'll be stuck having a beer at the bar of Ruby Tuesday, just because Pharmacy couldn't meet their food sales [note: I have no idea which bars already have tavern licenses, but you get the idea].

I would love to be completely incensed by this, but it's just another in a long line of disappointments brought forth by the DC government.  To say that I'm jaded would be a tremendous understatement.  They should go ahead and change the DC motto from whatever it is now ("Gimme your money, bitch"?) to "DC: Remember when it used to be fun?"  I'm starting to think I should have moved away when I had the chance.

• 5/30 - Mikal Evans - Black Cat
• 6/9 - Kingpin Sound System w DJs Todd Mack, Seth B, Big Nick, Honey - DC9
• 6/15 - Junior League - Black Cat
• 6/20 - The National - 9:30
• 6/23 - Deleted Scenes - DC9
• 6/28 - No Second Troy - DC9
• 7/8 - Built To Spill - 9:30
• 7/18 - Jason Isbell (formerly of Drive By Truckers) - RnR Hotel
• 7/19 - Deleted Scenes - Black Cat

You won't be seeing me at MixTec's new brunch.  I prefer to eat my rat infested food after 5pm.

Yes, I'm still blogging.  For now.