I subscribe to about 300 blogs, so it’s impossible for me to recall where I saw any particular story…especially when 299 of the blogs are pretty much dominated by useless fluff. But I did see something the other day about one of the writers for Why I Hate DC not finding enough stuff to hate (and being “fired” from the blog).
Obviously, they’re not a native, because I have not yet run out of stuff to hate about the city where I was born. And though my family quickly retreated to the near suburbs, I’ve never lived more than a few miles from the festering border of this demented little town we call a city.
There’s driving. Not traffic. Driving. The lunacy of the Beltway, which feels like an overcrowded version of Death Race 2000, and the erratic surface streets in the city itself. Oh, they say it all makes since. It’s all Lafayette’s grid! It’s the wave of the future (trademark 17-fucking-90)!
I think, in reality, the streets were laid along the tracks of cloven-hoofed footprints left in the bedrock by Satan after a hard night of drinking in 1645.
Then there’s the gentrification. The neo-yuppie Yankee whites making insane landgrabs for lousy renovated rowhouses and condos and pricing out the black people in what can best be described as some weird passive-aggressive apartheid.
Sure, DC’s always been segregated, but at least the blacks were living where the blacks had always lived for 150 years. Now they’re being rounded up and shipped out to a reservation known as PG County, much to Maryland’s dismay. Thanks for the disenfranchised, poverty-stricken thousands!
Meanwhile, all the natives who have survived in the city, or spend all day slaving away at a desk in the city, have to put up with these prancing, child-raping, conservative, gentrificationees walking their shit-filled lapdogs and demanding salty-sweet caramel cocoa Starbucks coffee at their neighborhood Harris fucking Teeter.
Any I Hate DC blogger worth their salt would have endless material just after a night at a bar in Capitol Hill where the vacuous interns from both parties huddle like pitiful, declawed monsters and talk in their rural accents and foul our women with their grimy paws. And god forbid you get a group that wants to talk to you – Yee-haw is you a naytive?! We’s jus’ hyar with Congreaseman Jethro Modine!
Was…was I fucking talking to you. Do I know you? Was I even looking at you?
I could have a weekly article where I talk to people who had a fender bender or something in Rock Creek Park and had to call the police, except that I don’t know how to describe that jurisdictional fuckery in words. I’d be happy just forgetting about it and driving home with a crumpled front end.
Then there’s the weather. Or, rather, the reaction to the weather. The runs on the grocery store for perishable foods in the event the power goes out during a light dusting of snow. The Washington Post – worthy of another weekly regular Why I Hate DC subject – can instill the fear of snow on 80 degree days. For example.
Really? Come on. We were in the height of an Indian Summer when they posted that, and everyone I know who reads that idiot fucking blog was murmuring prayers that haven’t been heard for 1500 years.
Anyway, as far as I can tell, The Post is written for four year olds. But it’s still better than the City Paper.
Our lack of any viable mainstream or alternative media aside, the biggest complaint about DC has to be our woeful and antiquated public transportation. Our Metro is thrown down with no foresight. And I don’t mean: DC 2525! I mean they didn’t even have the foresight to figure out what to do when a train breaks down. Maybe trains didn’t break down in the 70’s?
Being that DC is, secretly, a small town, nobody knows how to commute. The whole stand on the right and walk on the left thing? That’s universal. That’s every subway in the world. It’s also the rules in driving. Our whole lives are built around slow people standing over the fuck there and keeping out of the way.
And what’s with the swinging arms? You’re in a crowd of people rushing for the Metro and you’re walking with arms swinging out like one of those power walk assholes? If you want to grab my dick so bad, just ask. Oh, and, BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS! Because I’m about a breath away from coming at you with a knife, so it would really be in your best interest to keep an eye out.
And the fucking tourists. Do they ship in especially stupid people? The Metro was designed by and for retarded people. I can put a coat and a hat on an ape and he’ll be able to find his way from Glenmont to Rosslyn. It’s not hard. The Smithsonian is at…wait for it…the Smithsonian stop! Arlington Cemetery is at…ready? Arlington Cemetery! Yay!
Hell, 90% of the sites are all in one place. Get off at Smithsonian, walk up to the Mall, spin around in a circle, and you’re done. Go home.