Please Advise

Married...

Wed, 19 Oct 05 11:29:00 UT

Here it is, folks. The big day is upon us. Look onto this day with great reverence and grand excitement.

The next time you see me here, I will be married. The ultimate life change. The decision to spend and share one's life full-time with another.

I couldn't be more pleased.

OCT. 22, 2005.

Delinquent... indefinitely

Sun, 9 Oct 05 21:03:00 UT

I don't know, folks.

I don't have a single good excuse for not being around lately...

I have several.

1) I'm getting married in less than two weeks in beautiful Iowa. It's very exciting, and we're getting down to crunch time. Wish us luck on our big day. Fiancee is turning into The Better Half very soon.

2) I've relocated to beautiful Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. It's warm, here. Always. I'm not sure I've I've seen temperatures in the 60s yet, aside from an A/C malfunction at work... I've found a nice little furnished villa overlooking a golf course, and I've settled in quite nicely.

3) Speaking of work, I started a new job. I'm working for the Island Packet, as an environmental/health care reporter. So far, so good. I think I've churned out 17 stories in my first three weeks, and I'm finally starting to get a feeling for being a Real* journalist.

4) Speaking of villas, my(our) lease expires on Dec. 15th. And, we haven't sold our other property yet, so logistically, this is a nightmare.

5) I'm tired.

6) I'm a voyeur. In fact, there are great things going on over at Dickie Cronkite, who's stuck in the Bleeding Hell that is Caracas, Venezuela, and The 19th Hole, who's digging up dirt on the Prague, Czech Republic Sex-for-food scandal. Also RND-Christine has started a new blog as well, discussing the trials and tribulations of an out-of-work journalist stuck somewhere near Gary, Ind. While my life slows to a snail's pace (relatively speaking, of course), our jobless and homeless friends are justifiably bitching and moaning at their respective Web spaces, making for more interesting and enlightening reading. Finally, I strongly advise you to check in every Blue Moon on our friend Hugh, who's trekking through eastern Asia with nothing but a pen in hand.

Hugh and Dickie have had some very interesting/dangerous encounters in their new locations, and it's only a matter of time before The Hole delivers some interesting tidbits from Prague. And, if you're just looking to pass the time and get updates on modern pop-culture seen through a jaded lens, check out RND as well.

If you're looking for voyeuristic, travel-oriented and downright interesting stories, check out our foreign correspondents. There's never a dull moment.

I'll be back around here at some point. But I don't know when. Don't hold your breath.

Lots of fun with Picture Pages

Wed, 24 Aug 05 11:16:00 UT

Many things have happened since the last time I visited this site:

I wrote a few stories.

I visited Fiancee(TM) in Minneapolis.

I had a few job interviews.

I didn't get a job.

Then, I got a job.

I have to leave home... again.

I'm moving to South Carolina.

I had few beers.

I cried a few tears.

The Twins are making an improbable run at the AL Wild Card.

The NFL started training camp.

I renamed my Fantasy Football team "Bacon Train."

I met Ted Koppel.

I found a feature on Goole called "Google World," which is maybe one of the coolest inventions ever.

I sneezed... a lot.

Blah, blah, blah.

Anyway, let's get down to business. We'll go through this painlessly with a photodocumentary of the last month. Enjoy.

Where the real work happens:

The three guys in blue and khaki (AKA the Medill-dos), appear to be working hard here -- kind of like one of those cheesy college brochures for Steve and Bruce Technical College in Omaha, NE. However, these guys are devising the master plan to beat "The Sandman" on Mike Tyson's Punchout. I think it took them two weeks to figure it out... Yep -- August in DC. What a treat.

From left: B-Rog, Johnny Sanchez (so nicknamed after forming a band -- we'll get into that later) and STEVE NERY*

*said like "MATT DAMON" in Team America World Police.

After the work is finished:

Indeed, these are grim times in Our Nation's Capital. With all of the legislators out of town, everyone is scrambling to either a)find a story, b)find a job, or c)find an apartment in a foreign country. It's tough. I'm telling you. Very tough. A new weekly tradition, $5 burgers and big beers at Chef Geoff's. Not a bad gig -- especially for a bunch of degenerate dirt-bags like us -- a smallish, but clubby power happy hour joint just down the road. CG's is not bad.

The crew, from left: S.Michael (double-down), Johnny Sanchez, T-KatZ Class Rep, Some Guy, RND, HSM for Men, Special Ed and El Matador Rafa Cores Primero.

Now, let's meet some members of the crew up-close style, with Roy Firestone.

Don't call me Ashtar Analeed.com Marcus. Our Englaqi friend. I'm not sure how to explain this pose, but I think she calls it "Utter Confusion." Good look.

Yes, here he is. El Matador himself. THE Rafa Cores, pictured here, shows us all how difficult it is to be the scratch reporter for the Scranton Times. Hard-hitting news, tough questions, Rafa Cores -- Spaniard Man of Mystery.

And, of course, here's our friend over at Dickie Cronkite whom I will now refer to as Johnny "Pepe" Sanchez after he formed a band in his kitchen after a long night of beer, some girly limey drink prepared by Double-Down and ribs expertly crafted by Scooter. Notice the slight tilt of the head. He calls the look: "Red rum, red rum." Scary.

Johnny Sanchez and His Band

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, here's Johnny "Pepe" Sanchez and His Band, here to preform: "Stupid songs sang after sunset." Let's meet the band, from left: Lead Vocals (alto), STEVE NERY; Lead guitar and songwriter, Johnny Sanchez; Drums and Laugh Machine, Elizabeast; backup singers and light percussion, Analeed.com and RND.

Yes, this is what my world has devloved to: Joining makeshift bands at 1130 p.m. on a Saturday night in Virginia. It can't get much worse... Can it?

Camden Yards and Desert Landscapes

Tue, 2 Aug 05 14:10:00 UT

You might say things came to a head last week -- and this time, most of the news was good... literally.

I churned out 5 stories, two on the front page, and two others on A-2. Not too bad. The last week Congress is in session is always eventful, and I was able to reap the rewards of sticking with it -- "gangbusters" style, like our friend Dickie likes to say.

This last little run might have positioned me to package a nice set up clips to bolster my journalistic accolades a bit, which before this summer, were admittedly lacking.

I've now got 10 nice clips that I'd be proud to present to newspaper hiring agents, along with a thin, but diversified resume.

Things are looking up, thankfully, and it appears that the artillery is somewhat stocked for a battle.

-------------------------------------------------

In other news, I was fortunate enough to get third-row seats to the Wonderful and Blissful Camden Yards, one of the true gems of professional baseball. They really did that place justice. Wonderful, wonderful planning. We sat in Post columnist George F. Will's season tickets and were treated to soft, cushioned seats, an up-close view of the game, and a pair of leadoff man Brian Roberts' batting gloves.

Roberts, after struggling during the last week, hit a weak dribbler to first base, and after he returned into the dugout in disgust, he flung his apparently unlucky batting gloves over the dugout and into my hands. How funny. He's got some small hands, my friends, and I had a hard time fitting into them. And, from me -- a man of short and fat hands -- that means something.

Black Nike gloves loaded with pine tar. In my appreciation for the tickets, I handed the glove to my professor's son, a budding baseball enthusiast and Oriole fan, knowing that he'd appreciate them more than I. It worked out pretty well, I'd say.

Below, here's a photo of the lucky crew: El Matador (who I just murdered in darts the other night), Shelly E. (smart of her to bring her camera, I forgot mine in the rig), and that guy (with hot dog and beer very nearby.)

And, here's the view from the seats. That's right, third row. Looks straight out of a newspaper, but with an even better view. I love baseball.

Here's the view, part II. Watching the Steroid-burping Palmeiro going for hit 3,014. Drugs... Psssssshhhhhhht.

---------------------------------------------------

This week, though starting slowly, is going to pick up on Thursday, when I head to the Hinterlands for an interview for one of my hometown Fishwraps. Thankfully, having two friends on the inside helps, and I'm going in with confidence and aplomb. Cross your fingers.

Certainly, landing back where I started seemed like an incredibly hopeful proposition, but if I play my cards right, I might just have a shot at the job.

Plus, there would be no selling of the house, no early retirement of FiancÃ©e, and no red-eye flights for the bachelor party and wedding. Again, keep your fingers crossed for me.

So, why after all this good news is there talk of "Desert Landscapes?" Well, it's fairly simple: The once fertile ground of Washington reporting has dried up. All U.S. senators and representatives have flown the coup and returned to their homelands, leaving nothing behind put an old, dimpled fry pan for me to sift for gold in the endless sands of the Sahara.

This panning for non-existent gold has turned into a meagerly funded archaeological dig, and thus far, I've turned up... exactly... nothing. Dammit.

Hopefully, I'll get a little more help here... I'm not ready to quit just yet.

Does anyone have a HOT TIP for me?

Three-for-one

Thu, 28 Jul 05 21:48:00 UT

Well, I guess I didn't really expect to be sitting here right now, in the office at 10 p.m. on a Thursday night.

Though the days have been long and the hours many, the 9 a.m.-10 p.m. day isn't healthy for anyone. Sure, you say, investment bankers and doctors and accountants, etc., etc. etc. do this all the time ! What's the big deal?

None, I suppose. It's just not what I expected to be doing tonight.

The plan was to breeze through the day -- file a quick story about a bad school district and go home early to pick up the neglected dry cleaning, which, incidentally has been sitting at the Georgetown Valet for an entire week since I'm never home before 7 p.m. to pick it up.

So file the story I did -- neatly tucked it in before 3 p.m. Beautiful.

But, it's not time to leave yet -- I got word that another of my stories from earlier in the week got bumped to Friday's paper, so I decided that I'd report a little deeper on the issue (OTC drugs - snore) and re-file the story with a little more context. No problem. By 4:30 p.m., I'm in with 2 stories.

Just about when I'm ready to leave, a little birdie tells me the transportation bill is working its way through committee and it's expected to pass the House and the Senate before legislative break -- which starts next week.

Damn, B.

South Carolina hates their highways -- especially Hilton Head. At least three times a week over the past month, the Island Packet pastes a story about all of the problems that U.S. 278 and U.S. 17 have been giving them. Traffic congestion, accidents, construction, etc.

It's a pretty big deal to them -- and you know what that means (well, obviously... I already told you that it is 10 p.m. and I'm still here.)

The committee hashes out final details at 630, and I get on the horn with a local DOT guy, Sen. Jim DeMint and Rep. Joe Wilson (now that I've got his celly, so I can hit him on the hip anytime I please, nice). Start writing at 745.

So, by 900, the story's finished, clocking in at 650 words and I'm getting edited. Word.

A half-hour later, I'm sitting here waiting for the story to be cleared by heaquarters, and I'm... Oh, nevermind, he just called... Now I'm going home. Thank You.

----------------

A couple of quick tidbits: I had two job interviews last week. Both were done over the tele and both went, in my estimation, very well.

Well enough that I have a follow up interview with an editor next week in person, and a test to take for the other editor to prove that I'm worthy.

After today, I'll have been published 21 times in the last 30 days. That makes me happy. Who knew D.C. did such good things for a career...

Finally, I'm visiting Camden Yards tomorrow for a showdown between your Baltimore Orioles and the Chicago Pale-Hose. The cool thing: I'll be sitting about 6 rows back from the Home dugout in George F. Will's season tickets. Nice. That's right, George F. Will -- the famous syndicated columnist.

So, when I finally meet him, I'll be able to tell him all about how I sat in his seats, blah blah blah, while he's offering me a job.

O-Tay. That's it. I'm going home.

The good news: Three stories in tomorrow's paper.
The better news: Two stories on the front page.
The best news: I'm going home next weekend!

The bad news: It's going to take me an hour to get home.
The worse news: It's 10 p.m. and I'm writing in a blog.
The worst news: I have a blog.

Hey -- at least I don't have Sea Scabies like our friend Scooter over at the 19th Hole.

God Speed, Scooter. God Speed.

A hard day's night

Tue, 19 Jul 05 21:47:00 UT

Another one of those days... filed a story at 5 p.m., and another at 10 p.m.

Stupid Supreme Court nominees.

I'm not sure what to think of Mr. Roberts as of yet, but I think he might hate journalists. We shall see, but don't leave it up to me to uncover it. I'll leave the heavy analysis to the Times.

Instead, I'm writing about exciting things, like port security (snore). This little sissy (below) landed on the front page, a bit below the fold last week. I hope you enjoy.

Also, El Matador (a.k.a. Rafael Cores Alejandro Sanchez Vicario Matos), took some pictures in the newsroom today.

If you didn't know me (which you might not), you'd think I was just another video game addict. Instead, I'm writing... or really, really trying to. (That one is for you, BSWAN.)

So, without any further stalling, here's what you, my readers, ask for:

Senate bill will give more money toward port security
Federal grants will help Savannah, Charleston

BY Frosty,
Special to The Packet
Published Friday, July 15th, 2005

WASHINGTON -- A provision in the $31.8 billion Homeland Security spending bill passed by the Senate on Thursday calls for a $200 million grant for beefing up security at the nation's ports, a $50 million increase over last year.

The legislation may bring relief to neighboring ports in Savannah and Charleston, where security expenditures have increased significantly in the last four years.

It's unclear how much Savannah stands to receive in the dispersal, but its governing body -- the Georgia Ports Authority -- has received a total of $4.9 million in federal grant money in the previous four rounds of security requests. The money has helped Savannah add additional port police officers, install a security-access pass program and increase perimeter lighting, fencing and surveillance.

"We're waiting with great anticipation and hoping we'll fare well in efforts to raise more money for port security," said Robert Morris, spokesman for the Georgia Ports Authority. "The previous money has allowed us to greatly increase our security, and we're always looking for more."

Along with the Coast Guard and the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency, the authority is in charge of security for the state's two major ports. The single-terminal container facility in Savannah is the largest of its kind on the U.S. East and Gulf coasts and ships millions of tons of cargo annually.

The S.C. State Ports Authority, which has received a total of $7.5 million in federal grant money, has seen security expenditures more than double during the last four years. It just earmarked $21.8 million for security enhancements over the next two years.

Byron Miller, spokesman for the State Ports Authority, said updating port facilities to conform to the Maritime Traffic Safety Act of 2002 is expected to cost more than $30 million. The authority is excluded from receiving state funding, so it has had to provide most of the money through port-generated revenues. The $7.5 million covers a small percentage of the expenses.

"We're hopeful that we'll receive some favorable consideration," Miller said. "Our facilities are secure, but we've still got a long way to go to improve, and any additional federal money is welcomed."

The Coast Guard will receive $7.8 billion via the Homeland Security bill compared with $7.4 billion last year, and the Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency will receive $3.8 billion versus $3.5 billion in 2005.

To be considered to receive part of the $200 million grant, port authorities must submit a detailed application that describes and assigns dollar amounts to each project, which must be deemed necessary for security by a Homeland Security Department-appointed board. An authority can use the money only on projects designated in the grant.

"The main concern here is that we're diverting scant resources away from our core mission to provide for federally mandated capital requirements," Miller said of the South Carolina authority. "If we continue to divert funds away from port expansion and maintenance, we're not going to be able to meet the needs of increased container traffic, potentially hurting economic development."

While South Carolina's ports are expected to receive a boost from the legislation, the state Homeland Security allocation is expected to decrease this year, according to Robert Stewart, South Carolina Law Enforcement Division chief and state Homeland Security Department representative.

The State Ports Authority doesn't receive any of the Homeland Security money allocated to South Carolina. But Stewart said that may change because of Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff's renewed focus on areas of risk and vulnerability.

"(The grant money) is going to be more risk-focused toward specific sites with vulnerabilities, which could include ports," Stewart said.

The Senate bill comes in at $50 million more than the House-passed version, so the provision would have to survive House-Senate negotiations to determine the final grant amount.

Frosty writes for Medill News Service in Washington.

Here's the photo. It looks like Scooter and I are in a bit of a deadline-dreading tizzy. At least we're painfully tanned... and in my case, very bald. Oh, and how about those sweet headphones? Welcome back to '88 my friends. Don't think I didn't have some RUN-DMC playing... or maybe even COLOUR ME BADD.

Yeah, BSWAN -- Monkeys on typewriters with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths and telephones ringing off the hook...

Ah, the life of a reporter...

Dela-where?

Sun, 17 Jul 05 16:59:00 UT

Yeah, that's right. Delaware. Can you believe it?

I've never met anyone from Delaware. I know of only two cities in Delaware -- Wilmington and Dover -- yet I have no idea how many people live there, or what they even DO in Delaware. Until this quarter, I've never even MET anyone who's ever even BEEN IN Delaware.

So, at the beginning of the Our Nation's Capitol Experience, I made it my mission to step foot in Delaware, and our friend over at Dickie Cronkite wanted nothing to do with said mission. In fact, he basically told me to go (insert expletive here) myself, and that he wouldn't be going to Delaware under any circumstances -- ever.

Frosty 1, Dickie 0.

Ahoy Delaware!

After a less-than-anticipated trip to Canoe-ville fell through, the troops gathered and fortified.

We came up with only one logical solution: Let's Go To Delaware! (By the way, there's a reason Rick Steves never did a PBS special on this state... more on that later)

Not knowing much -- wait, no -- not knowing ANYTHING about Delaware (aside from a few whispers of surf, sun and fun), we loaded up a couple of cars and set our sights to the East.

RND booked the room, and Dickie, Jed, Scooter, El Matador and Smash would find a way to sleep seven in a five-person room.

Because of the Frosty Guarantee of heavy traffic on the famed Bay Bridge during the peak season, we pulled out of Our Nation's Capitol around 11 p.m. on Friday night. Three hours later, we were in... uh... Delaware (?).

"Imagine being able to be magically whisked away to . . . Delaware. "Hi, I'm in Delaware."

Yeah, we're in... Delaware.

There's not much to it. Maybe 50 miles from the MD border to the Hot-lantic. No elevation change. Lots of corn. Not many people. No speed limit signs.

We sipped a few cold ones and fell asleep to the Weather Channel, which was looping the local forecast for "Rehomo" Beach.

The message wasn't pretty, and it was starting to make me think of (gasp!) Detroilet

"Morning showers and afternoon t-storms. UV forecast: LOW." Shit!

Thankfully, the next morning, the sun was rapidly burning off the fog and turning away the threat of rain. Perhaps my luck has changed... and as usual, The Weather Channel sucks.

After my early morning rallying cry (well, OK, it was like 9 a.m.), we headed down to the Surf Shop to humor Dickie , rented two boards and hit the beach.

Just as I secretly prognosticated, the weather was hot and sunny, and we had a cooler full of beverages, a frisbee El Matador craftfully rented gratis from the bloke at the Surf Shop, two long boards and some sunscreen. Niiiiiiiiice.

The beach was great, aside from a troubling lack of "breakers, dude," and we had a fine time drawing lines in the sand.

After some heated discussion and long deliberation, we headed down to the local watering hole for some Crab-tastic dinner, and decided to make the trip a two-day affair.

A drink or two later, we were suffering from exhaustion, overindulgence and overexposure to the sun, and soon things were going a bit less amicably. We absorbed a lost camera, a hungry parking meter, and some White Trash.

Once more time on that last one: White Trash -- and I mean EVERYWHERE. Dewey Beach, DE was teeming with jean shorts and mullets, drunkards and DBs... Delaware's beach towns are just like one might expect in New Jersey -- white trash, meatheads, skanks, druggies and losers, driking overpriced beer and whiskey, looking for their next target (whether it be fight or female) and listening to Monster Ballads from the late 80s... If you're not in the right mood, Delaware could be Hell.

And just then, with that perfect mix, all Hell broke loose.

Indeed. After a series of misunderstandings and misinterpretations, Smash and I had a little blow-out, during which both of us learned we were stubborn and not very good reporters.

How does something like that happen? It's like we were the only two playing Opposite Day, where yes means no and no means maybe...

Anyway, after a real head-shaker, we made good, and went to bed fat and happy -- her next to the snoring mass of Dickie, and me on a roll-away bed without a blanket dreaming of Fiancee...

I blame it all on Delaware, that little slice of Hell nestled between Maryland and Nowhere.

Only in Delaware, folks. Only in Delaware.

Catching up

Sun, 10 Jul 05 22:22:00 UT

Yes, dear seven readers --- I apologize for my lack of entries....again.

I'm too busy "washing my hair," "having a headache" and "really tired," to write anymore. This too, shall change. I'm going to get this thing back off the ground.

The buzzword around Georgetown/Glover Park is "INTENSE."

It has indeed been an INTENSE three weeks in Our Nation's Capitol.

I've been writing my ass off. I've been eating my ass off. And I've been sweating my ass off (which, by the way, is why I think it's been OK to eat my ass off, incidentally.)

I've had 7 articles published, including one glorious front pager for the Island Packet, a smallish daily in beautiful, sunkissed Hilton Head, South Carolina. I've written about such hot-button issues as Guantanamo Bay, immigration, off-shore drilling and tourism. For your reading pleasure, I've attached links to a few of my stories below. I hope you enjoy.

Let's see... apparently it's all about me on this blog today... letâs run through some other Washington highlights.

Week 1 â already a story published. Attended first Capitol press conference. Sat next to a guy from the New York Times and behind a fellow from the Wall Street Journal. Naturally, it was kind of intimidating. Here I am, Joe Reporter, sitting next to some of the most seasoned, well-written reporters of Our Day, not really knowing what the Hell Iâve gotten myself intoâ¦ D.C. is a destination for most reporters; a place where ink-stained wretches aspire to ascend. Most of these people have been in the business a long time â and I mean 20+ years. My receding hairline helps, but my adolescent-reminiscent traces of acne are doing me no good.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Look like you belong. Squint a little. Look angry. Ruminate. Ask Good questions.

Turned out about 500 words on Social Security, which, expectedly, was buried on page A-3. Not bad for a first effort. Start thinking, Christ, all this work for one story? Only about 25 to goâ¦

First Story

Week 2 â Five stories written. Three published. One held for the following Tuesday, where a healthy front-page slot awaited. Actually, it appeared as The Top Story on the website and in the paper â an 1100-word feature on the future of off-shore drilling for South Carolina.

Front Pager #1

Bonuses--- I talked to a lot of big hitters, and they actually answered my questions. Nice. I even rode the âSenators onlyâ elevator with Lindsey Graham and took the tram from the Capitol to the Senate office buildings with him. Not like heâs a celebrity or anything, it was just pretty refreshing, and somewhat interesting that I was getting all of this first-class treatment.

Interviewed: Sens. Trent Lott, Hillary Clinton, John Kerry, John McCain, DeMint, Lindsey Graham, Rep. Joe Wilson, and a couple of others.

By the way, Iâm not sure if Iâve met anyone as charismatic as Lott, as awkward in person as Kerry, and as different in-person than on television as Clinton.

FiancÃ©eâ¢ made the journey to The Swamp for a week-long visit. I canât tell you how nice it was to have her out here. What a treat.

Fortunately, I was able to ditch out early on Friday to pick her up from Dulles. Iâve never seen such a clusterbleep on an airport. My God. There must have been 1,000 people in the baggage claim while I patiently awaited her arrival.

Headed out to Reston, VA with her for a refreshing weekend retreat at the home of some ânewâ family friends. Good food, good wine, good conversation, good pool time, good times.

Highlights: July 4th fireworks up close. We sat right next to the Washington Monument and watched $2 million explode overhead with about 500,000 other people. This is something you must do once in your lifetime: Fireworks On the Mall.

Week 3 â Congress takes its annual July 4th break, leaving slim pickings on the table for story material. Instead, I focused on a Front Page feature on the growing trend of foreign tourism in Hilton Head. Pounded out another 1100-word story on that, and got decent play on the Front Page. Nice. Very nice. I wrote another story about immigration, which is pretty dry stuff, but never boring, as the partisan battle presses on.

Front Pager #2

The elegant and lovely FiancÃ©e â¢ strolled Georgetown for a few days, shopping the many boutiques while I toiled away in the newsroom. (I was thinking about using âslaved away,â but after careful consideration, that word should never be used again.)

We attended our first Washington Nationals game at the old RFK Stadium in the less-upstanding part of town. From my place up in Gtown/Glover Park, it took 1 hour to get the 5 miles to the stadium. Traffic here is a joke. The grid sucks. The roundabouts suck. The parks cut through the city, and the Mall area cuts off would-be major thoroughfares crisscrossing the city, so one literally has to zig-zag through the city to get from the Northwest side to the East side. Add the thousands of tourists and commuters, and the place is a mess. Like our friend Dickie eloquently put it: âItâs like the Special-Ed of driving here.â Right on.

RFK wasnât a bad place to watch a game, but, as I previously mentioned, itâs a pain in the ass to get to, and the concessions are a disaster. Now, I know concessions workers arenât exactly an elite social class, but for Chrissakes, how hard is it to make change for a $20 on an $11 purchase? These incompetent lepers averaged about 3 minutes per transaction â a number that should be closer to 1 minute. Hence, I stood in line for about 20 minutes waiting to get a hot dog and a beer, along with dozens of other dissatisfied customers. But Hell, it was a baseball game outdoors in the middle of July, 90 degrees and FiancÃ©eâ¢ at my side. Perhaps Iâm asking for too much.

To cap the week, we headed down to the scenic and sleepy Anapolis, MD for a day-trip. What a great little city â situated in a little bay connected to the Chesapeake, full of great restaurants and, as the B&B we stayed at said âbreathtaking views.â

We had perhaps one of the most enjoyable dinners I've had in my life, as well.

We hopped into this little joint called "Buddy's" near the harbor, where we sat on a little sidewalk and dined on fresh seafood. What a treat.

I had my first foray into crawfish. I thought it would be a simple little venture, where the waiter would bring us out a few crawfish tails with some lemon and butter -- you know, easy eating. Wrong.

Halfway through the first beer, out came a bowl filled with little red critters, maybe 15 of them. They looked like bugs, and I had no idea how to go about eating them or WHY I was even considering it. FiancÃ©e â¢ showed me the trick, and soon I was ripping the heads of these little boiled bastards and sucking the meat out of their tails (with plenty of hot sauce and Old Bay, might I add). Very interesting experience. Tasty, but weird.

Next, FiancÃ©e â¢ got aggressive, and ordered six blue crabs in the hardshell. Next thing you know, the waiter places a huge platter of boiled crabs, all still intact, in front of her. To me, they looked alive. It gave me the shivers. After a kind gentleman seated nearby gave us the debriefing on how to actually eat these crabs, we settled in, ripping the legs off first, then tearing the undercarriage off, prying the shell off the top, and clearing the mushy lungs and other crap off the meat. If you've never eaten crabs in the hard shell before, let me assure you: It's quite the drawnout process.

But, as daunting as it looked, and as unappetizing as it was, the crab was delicious. She took to the apple-cider vinegar dipping sauce, and I favored Old Bay with some lemon.

Fittingly, I took the easy way out, ordering two meaty crab cakes and french fries. Very, very tasty. Best I've had, in fact.

Great food, great people-watching, great view of the harbor. Good experience. Just outstanding.

OK â I think that catches us up. Now Iâll get on to more important things, like brushing my teeth and going to bed. Itâs late here, and another week of death-defying Capitol reporting awaits.

Hopefully we can get back to a regular schedule hereâ¦ I feel like Iâm not providing enough time-wasting material for your work daysâ¦

One more quick thing: I love this city. Washington is a great place. A big small town with plenty to do and intelligent people. I wouldnât mind spending considerable time here. Another thing: Itâs 92, sunny and humid everyday. Prepare to sweat, especially if you must wear a suit every day.

Last item â if you donât want to stop by all the time, hoping to jump on the Frosty Bandwagon of bitching and moaning, select that little âSubscribe to this journalâ thing on the homepage. It will send you pretty little email every time I write.

Karaoke sucks.

Ohio Sucks Part One: Indiana Sucks

Wed, 22 Jun 05 22:19:00 UT

Yes. Iâm still alive. Really, I am.

Iâm sifting through 60 pages of Social Security proposed legislation, history and deep background, preparing for the First Day on the Job tomorrow, during which Iâll be rubbing shoulders with the political elite and acting predictably like a youngster accompanying his fanny-packed mother and jean-shorted father on a family trip.

One month of stupidity breeds one month of pseudo-savvy political reportingâ¦ Isnât that what they say, or did I just make that up? Donât answer that.

Though I leave behind many good times and many friends in Sweet Old Chicago (Note: Not Sweet HOME Chicago), Iâm excited and overwhelmed out here in Our Nationâs Capitol.

Last Thursday, I left behind the tranquility and warm arms of beautiful Northern Minnesota, and not coincidentally FiancÃ©eâ¢, and headed for the highly unknown and relatively daunting East Coast. Ahoy! For I have made it! Well, kind-of-not-really.

Instead of rambling on and on about the last month of my non-existence in BlogLand, which neither you nor I have the time or energy to hash through, letâs go straight into the 22-hour Odyssey which led me to Basement Apartment â¢ in the East.

So, for you, my beloved seven readers, hereâs a running diary covering 1250 miles of American Soil.

For simplicityâs sake, Iâll name it: Ohio Sucks.

Ohio Sucks, Day 1 (Indiana Sucks)

Thursday, June 16, 1235 p.m. --- Depart beautiful Northern Minnesota. Consumed: One unit Diet Coke.

130 p.m. --- First encounter with Road Construction, forcing a 25-minute delay â miniscule for the rest of the world, damn near catastrophic for a sparsely traveled country road. First bout with anger.

215 p.m. --- Meet with Pops in Western Minnesota for farewell lunch. Letâs just say it got a little dusty out there in the windswept Minnesota Prairie. Consumed: One unit Hamburger. One unit chips. One pickle. One Diet Pepsi.

400 p.m. --- After Dad loads me up with a bank bag full of singles and coins for TollRoad Hell, along with a bag full of Frostyâs Family Staples: Donuts, Beef Jerkey, Gum and Chips, I hit the road for Minneapolis.

415 p.m. --- Dammit. Forgot to get gas at Truck Stop Lunch Spot. Fill up. $23.50.

600 p.m. --- Arrive in Minneapolis to commence packing sequence. Consumed: One unit Aquafina Sparkling water. Note: Why in the Hell did it take so long for a large beverage company to come out with a good sparkling beverage? Yeah, San Pellegrino doesnât count. It costs $3 and comes in glassâ¦ The world needs more $1 sparkling beverages in plastic cup-holder friendly bottles. Take note, Coca-Cola.

845 p.m. --- After picking up Dell computer from computer nerd shop (donât even ask), and loading The Rig with various and sundry items, hit the road: Destination Chicago. I figure Iâll be rolling in around 3 a.m. Yuck.

1200 a.m. --- Growing tired. Need coffee. Fast. Interstate: Empty. Talk Radio: Vacant and horrible. Consumed: 1 unit Diet Coke. 1 Chocolate Donut. 1 piece of beef jerky. 1 unit water.

100 a.m. --- Pit stop in Madison. Two stations closed. Finally find open gas station in town. Terrible waste of time. Load up on coffee. Gas: $24.18.

230 a.m. --- Coffee rejuvenates the soul. Catch Second Wind. Now weâre rolling. Instead of pulling pit stop in Chicago, I blow through, deciding that the impending $40 hotel room is worth the extra 3 hours Iâd waste on the Skyway in the morning. Hello, Goodbye Windy City. It was nice to see you again. Tolls paid ~$6.50. Consumed: Nearly two units coffee.

330 a.m. --- Nearly halfway through Indiana. Begin to fade again. Getting very tired. Sleepyâ¦ Talk radio escalates. Some crap about 9/11. What? Nearly delusional. Then, WHOA â big-time tanker accident in Westbound Tollroad, near South Bend. No less than 15 emergency vehicles. Flames and smoke still emitted from mangled truck. Reconsider going much further, but strangely energized by adrenaline-fueled reality check. Next exit pleaseâ¦

421 a.m. --- Cut losses. Pull off road in disgusting Elkhart, Ind. I think I threw up a little on myself when surveying this Hellhole. After three tries, settle on the rundown Ramada Inn. The price was right â only $39.99 a night (after some delusional 4 a.m. bickering, of course). Tim at the desk scares the shit out of me: razor thin, brown teeth, liver spots on arms, heavy lisp, severely overengaging. Itâs like Tim fell from AIDS Purgatory and landed in the middle of Indiana. Not that I was too surprised... Consumed: One unit water. Tolls paid: ~$4.50.

430 a.m. --- For the fourth time, Tim assures me that heâs âreally bored, so if thereâs anything at ALL I can do for you, please donât hesitate to call me. Really, Iâm just so bored tonight.â Alright Tim. Give me my goddamn key and stop talking to me. Right now. Iâm serious.

440 a.m. --- I pulled The Rig to the side entrance of the building, making every effort to avoid further face-time with Liver-Spot-AIDS-Meth-mouth Tim. As I attempt to open the side door with my credit-card key, Tim appears behind me with a sudden: âHaving trouble with the door?â AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!! I screamed as loud as I could and jumped as high as I have since high school. That bastard snuck up on me. You could imagine my terror as I heard Timâs voice piercing the heavy 4 a.m. air, near a discreet side entrance of some shady freeway hotel in the middle of Indiana. If Iâve ever been near a heart attack, that must have been the time. I finally avoid Tim, and brush off one final âanything you need call meâ comment, head directly to my room and double-deadbolt the door, still shaking from fear and loathing of Tim.

Day 2 tomorrow. For now, itâs off to bedâ¦ A fitting time to break, I suppose -- but at least not my ankle. (Ba Dump) Hopefully the nightmares will end.

The end of an era

Mon, 20 Jun 05 22:40:00 UT

Out of Chicago, on to D.C.

My entire running diary was just erased. I hate you sometimes, Journalscape.

More tomorrow...

The Great Apartment Resolution

Tue, 31 May 05 18:43:00 UT

So, I finally found a place. Not too bad.

I'm going to attach the info below, so all of you can either:

a) Yell at me to jump ship ASAP;

--or--

b) Congratulate me on a "job well done."

-----------------------------------------------------
Spacious, furnished, carpeted one bedroom basement apt. with private entrance, in Georgetown, D.C. Full-sized bed, pull-out sofa, tv w/cable included, DSL internet, high-powered AC with remote control, stereo system, very well-lit with several halogens. Kitchen is full-service and apt includes washer/dryer. Landlord is an elderly lady who lives in house above; she is extremely nice, but you never have to see her if you so wish, except that once every couple of weeks she or tenant in her houes uses the washer/dryer located in your foyer, separated from your living area. All utilities, cable, and internet included. Parking spot reserved for you is directly outside apartment.

37th and near Wisconsin NW...

------------------------------------------------------

I know it's a little dumpy, but really, for all that I'll get, it's not too bad, RIGHT?

Only 10 weeks, RIGHT?

RIGHT????

The Great Apartment Hunt

Tue, 31 May 05 12:18:00 UT

Things are starting to get pretty dicey over here, in the midst of Apartment Search May '05.

It's ugly.

Everything is either

a)already rented
b)not furnished
c)$4000 a month
d)in the ghetto or
e)shared with a gay man

This is not working.

Could the good people of Washington D.C. please lower their rents and furnish their aparments? Please? Really? Why not? Come on!

I've gone on full-time apartment hunt today, and I'm getting nowhere.

Some woman named "Bonita" agreed to rent me her room in a building, but she told me to call her back at 7 p.m. because she's "got class, and is very low on minutes in the day-time."

She sounded strange and angry, and her real name is "Applebone Walker." What the hell is that?

I don't know if I want to sleep in her bed while she's away for three months. Creepy.

Dammit.

I need something now.

This sucks. Send help.

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves

Mon, 30 May 05 21:26:00 UT

Wow... Another interesting weekend.

Apparently there is no shortage of people in the world that want to be just like Frosty...

Check that -- apparently there is no shortage of people in the world that want to BE Frosty...

One more time -- apparently there is no shortage of people in the world that want to share Frosty's bank account.

Now, you'd think that they could do better than raid the limited funds of some unassuming and responsible, yet impecunious graduate student.

Apparently they didn't get the memo:
I'm POOR!

Yes, I'm POOR! I'm a student, silly Identity Thief!

Upon surveying my bank account Saturday, I found four strange transactions that depleted my bank account by a total of $407.25.

Hmm.

Initially, it looked as if I was in a 7-Eleven store and the clerk managed to mistakenly charge me for a $10.20 purchase of one Gatorade, a pack of gum, an orange, an apple and three liters of water -- the necessities for the all-day softball extravaganza last weekend. After all, I did notice the guy having a hard time typing in the transaction amount, and I'm not positive he had a firm grip on the English language.

But, no. Nope. Not even the same 7-Eleven. The 7-Eleven where these transactions took place was actually about 10 miles away from where I made the real purchases in Evanston all the way down in the Loop -- an utter ghost town on Sunday early evening.

I headed down to the scene of the alleged crime (note the use of the word "alleged." Well, wait. We can go ahead and take "alleged" right out of this picture... just wait - you'll love this.)

I met up with Yohann, the lisping Egyptian store manager at around 10 a.m. on Saturday to review videotape of the incident. I called the always reliable Wells Fargo (what a joke, by the way), and gathered the exact times of each $100+ transaction so we could better reference the store video, and found that each transaction was within 5 minutes of each other... strange...

Yohann fired up the video camera, and we watched as some 45-year-old black man shuffled in and out of the store four times within twenty minutes to purchase two cartons of cigarettes, swiping a card, signing the screen and thanking the clerk...

THE SAME CLERK EACH TIME... You see something fishy here, Chach??? REALLY? NOTHING AT ALL??? HELLO! Yes, I guess this is why you're working at 7-Eleven for $5.85 an hour... jerk.

While I'm at it: You see something funny here, Wells Fargo? Yeah -- most people like me, with a string of $10 and under transactions occasionally manage to drop $407.25 at a 7-Eleven. What, did they think I started driving an 18-wheel rig for a living?

After Yohann and I determined that indeed, I was not a 45-year-old black man, we both realized that I was frauded... again... Yohann The Friendly Lisping Egyptian then let out a racial slur or two (being that he's Egyptian and not Black at all) and we called the police.

We filed a report and handed over the video tape and the bank transcripts, as well as the store's record of the purchases to the cop, who admitted that there's not much that can be done.

The good news is that Wells Fargo, for all of its obvious shortcomings, is going to reimburse me for all of the fraudulent transactions and send me a new card with a new number.

What's so disconcerting about the whole thing is this: The card was never out of my possession. In fact, it was in my wallet the entire time. I'm careful about destroying or saving all bank material, including receipts and my wallet is seldom not in my pocket. So, this guy HAD A REPLICATE CARD. Yeah, a card with my name and account information on it -- all the way down to the coded magnetic strip and the three-number Card ID number on the back... Scary.

The woman at the bank admitted that this type of thing is becoming increasingly common with the advent of the so-called "Paperless Society," and that she'd dealt with three similar disputes earlier that morning. Gulp.

She said that many of these Fraudsters work as servers in restaurants with a mini card slide in their pocket which records all of your card information on their way to the real card reader. Also, many ATMs are fraudulently outfitted with mini card readers placed by thieves, which record all card information from anyone who uses the machine. They later compile the information and make their own replicate cards.

What a kick in the seeds.

Morale of story --- remember to ALWAYS check your transactions. Had I not reviewed my financial information that morning, I would have been out $407.25 --- a healthy chunk of cash for anyone, let alone a POOR college student.

Bastards!

Maybe Tom DeLay should spend less time disputing what's going on in network television and focus on the ID Fraud that's sweeping the country.

Stupid Politics. Stupid Thieves.

Happy Memorial Day weekend. Apparently.

DeLay'd response

Fri, 27 May 05 13:41:00 UT

I couldn't resist this one. Check out the final quote in the story... Floored me.

Associated Press

WASHINGTON â House Majority Leader Tom DeLay is upset that a popular NBC crime drama used his name as part of its show.

DeLay wrote NBC to complain that one of the characters on "Law & Order: Criminal Intent'' invoked his name in a story line about the shooting death of a federal judge. "Maybe we should put out an APB for somebody in a Tom DeLay T-shirt,'' the fictional police officer said.

DeLay, in a letter to NBC Universal Television chief Jeff Zucker, called that reference a "slur.''

"This manipulation of my name and trivialization of the sensitive issue of judicial security represents a reckless disregard for the suffering initiated by recent tragedies and a great disservice to public discourse,'' he said.

DeLay, R-Texas, criticized the federal judiciary after the courts refused to stop the death of Terri Schiavo. "The time will come for the men responsible for this to answer for their behavior,'' he said in a statement on March 31, hours after Schiavo died.

DeLay apologized the next week, saying he had spoken in an "inartful'' way and meant that Congress should increase its oversight of the courts.

"This isolated piece of gritty 'cop talk' was neither a political comment nor an accusation,'' NBC Entertainment President Kevin Reilly said. "It's not unusual for L & O to mention real names in its fictional stories. We're confident in our viewers' ability to distinguish between the two.''

Creator/executive producer Dick Wolf added: "But I do congratulate Congressman DeLay for switching the spotlight from his own problems to an episode of a television show.''

------------------------------------
Just priceless...

This idiot should just resign...

Purple and Blue

Thu, 26 May 05 10:26:00 UT

On Wednesday, I joined forces with a group of Northwestern undergraduate and graduate Purple-and-Whiters up at Wrigley Field, for this little blessing called, (believe it) Northwestern Night.

(Good one, NU and Chicago Cubs)

The reason this unlikely partnership can be explained as a blessing is simple: $10 lower-deck tickets. Sweet.

Plus, I got to sit by this crazy Spaniard, who knows little to nothing about baseball, though he claims to play "sometimes in Es-Spain." Whatever, Rafa, you're full of it...

Little homey K-Money, who has a sweet photography gig with the squad, managed to haul a group of about 15 of us (I don't really know how many... look at the damn picture) onto the field during the Astros' batting practice about an hour before game time.

When you're not a professional, it never gets old being on the field with these guys... I played a couple of games at pro parks, and even with one of the stadiums being the Metrodump, it still gave me that old butterflies-in-the-stomach, I can't-believe-I'm-playing-here, I'm-so-frickin'-good feeling that's pretty difficult to replicate.

Anyway --- Good times. Fun game. Cubs won (strangely).

Now, back to being a pseudo-journalist. Good day!

Here's the Northwestern crew at Wrigley Field on Wednesday. Unconventionally (Right-Left): Ner(d)y, Frosty, Rafa, K-Money, Spanish girl, Rafa's Roomie, Big Brian, and 7 other unknown people.