PC Update: ¡despejó totalmente!

In their infinite wisdom, it has been communicated to me, they feel your's truly has satisfied all paperwork requirements and is officially cleared on all levels. Let's hope they do some sort of second round evaluation to make sure. For everyone's sake.

Biking for Burritos

Last year was about becoming accustomed to the new landscape. Biking from Alexandria to Silver Springs to the DC crap in between. While not having the most mountain-bike welcoming of trails, the area provided for easy access to some good eats; leaving impressions difficult to erase. Such was the case off the Capital Crescent trail. So difficult in fact, re-visiting a Mexican/Salvadorian abode was a two-part, patience-testing process.

Over the weekend, yours truly thought in his infinite wisdom it would be easy to remember roughly where this little shack was, maybe that even it would be metro accessible. I couldn't have been more wrong, and walking around in the 95 degree, 95% humidity hell wasn't helping the memory bank. I needed some assistance from a source who also would appreciate the hunt for great Mexican food.
"Pat, I need to borrow that tire pump u have."

Following a serious re hydrating session, rain storm and making sure no newly pumped air in my bike's tires had been lost, the next morning, with a renewed sense of vigor, I biked the exact same path taken a year ago. Roughly ten miles later, it was there just like I remembered it. Squeezed in between a run down auto parts store, frame shop and dump truck yard. However, not even close to the metro and been open since 10 a.m. serving cervezas to the soccer faithful, in walked one sweaty gringo. "Cerveza por f$%^&ing favor!" was going through my mind, but rather I politely ordered a carne asada burrito and Tecate. Probably not going to be the last time I make this trip.

Let's be clear about one thing: certain digestive items are worth a long bike ride, burritos being one of them. Vanilla-soy-latte-half-crap-decafs, are not. While most peopled plunked down in the froufrou coffee boutiques in Bethesda, up the road at El Norteno, across from Walter Reed Medical Center, was a belligerent biker enjoying a half English, half Spanish conversation with some soccer fans and two giggling waitresses. When one saw me yawn, she recommended "a shAWt tequila", I think. Suddenly, Saturday didn't seem so bad.

Who's the real Vick-tim?

My mother and her rabid miniature poodle "Buddy" are going to hate me for this, but another angle needs to be at least entertained. It wasn't lassie and rin tin tin fighting in the VA backyard of the Falcons QB. Terriers and chihuahuas weren't food deprived and sent after each others jugular. It's even hard to categorize them in the dog family. Try beast. There is a reason this species is banned from most major cities in the United States [San Francisco, Washington DC, Denver, the list goes on]. Placing them in the backwoods of Virginia where they can go at each other, rather than our toddlers, seems just fine to me. Not Central Park.

Theses aren't the kind of canines you find with a red ribbon bow around their neck on Christmas morning. Rather, it's their lock-jaw around your neck. It's hard to feel bad for a beast whose whole existence seems to just prey on other, well, mammals. Not claiming in the least to be a zoologist, I struggle to recall hearing one of them coming to the rescue of an old lady, or pulling a little girl from a snowy mountain pass. Any form of animal brutality and torture are never acceptable, and condoned here! [ie, electroshock, drowning] , however, putting two human-hating things to fight each other, rather than little Susy walking down the street, might be the best option. What else are you supposed to do; rehabilitate the rottweilier? Yeah, let me know how that goes.

Personal favorite: the PETA protesters outside the courtroom with rover shrouded in"Sack Vick" signs. Hmm, no pit bulls present. No Rev.'s in site, so you can throw out the race card. As far as the gambling allegations, please. We bet on dogs all the time. Sure, they aren't killing each other at the race track, but what are those roosters doing with their heavy-weight boxers, and with razorblades attached to their talons in South Carolina? They get to use weapons, a luxury not afforded my mom's poodle if cornered by a pit bull.

Authentic Oasis in Arlington

Compounding on previously noted restaurant escapades, a forgotten former endeavor has resurfaced. Let me explain. Maneuvering through the intricate Metrobus system afforded the vehicleless, bound for an REI pickup [more on this later] one discovers an area stretched along the Fairfax-Arlington County border, bedecked with some of the best Mexican-Salvadorian establishments for miles. Being overlooked for it's lack of name brand strip malls, Starbucks and froufrou dives, it makes up in big way with authenticity. Feared by some, to the sacred hole-in-the-wall seeker, it's heaven sent.

Options are infinite when it comes to capping off, or celebrating the arrival of much anticipated gear. Bundled excitement is released. Before going any further, here's the REI plug. Despite being the biggest outfitter, its hardly WAL-MART-like. First, it's not really cheap. Though it's not linked on this site as an outfitter, it too, like senior citizens, can still serve a purpose [i.e. trying on things like shoes and sandals, and backpack molding - kind of hard to "e-mold" an Osprey Aether 85 to your beer belly.] Plus it's cool every now and then to see, in-person, all the really cool new shit. And, there's a lot of it. Okay, gear distraction over, more food.

Roughly a year ago dos gringos es uno senorita drove up and down the street looking for, yes none other than, a real authentic place. Shocker, right? Blown away by its authenticity, from the the chips and salsa and yucca, to the beans and burritos laced with a thin queso, we forgot it's name. Swear it, we were all sober. One year later, it returns, and in omen like fashion. ATLACATL [that's right no website]. This time a gear-satisfied nut walked in on foot. Place hadn't changed a bit. The menu was a collage of old pictures glued together with rubber cement. 50 million little wooden framed pictures of people who could be anybody painted the walls, with Salvadorian flags hanging from the ceiling. Soccer on the one TV, a Telemundo soap opera on the other. Not even the waitress smiled when I said gracias here. To help us not forget again, I stole three 5x7 refrigerator magnets and a carry out menu.

Of all places ...

Rarely do I post about good articles; due to the fact that much of the mainstream media is questionable. However, when pieces are objective and have addressed the multiple angles of an issue being discussed, its worth a glance, and maybe even a read. This caught my eye in a local deli [Sidenote: no BS, it has the best chicken salad sandwiches in the city ... shut up, this is very hard to find!] today and I decided to look it up.

If I'm not mistaken, the locale was the subject of several Spike Lee "joints", (making it all the more intriguing) where emphasis was placed on racial and ethnic shit storms. Allegedly, times have changed. Here's what they seem to think makes the difference:

Elsewhere in the world, some of these people — Muslims and Jews, Russians and Ukrainians, Pakistanis and Indians — are at each others' throats. Here, Krase says, "They grasp it almost immediately: This is not the place for that."

Nor is it anywhere else. These people "get it". Get over the past and move on. The article has some great photos included as well.

Busboys and Poets … and PC

Being annoyed with my inbox filling up [52 to date and growing] with reminders of their gathering/socials/information sessions, I caved; and for all the wrong reasons. They’re web site and recruiters explained plenty. My reasoning: checkout a new bookstore/bar/coffee shop I had heard about. Previous patrons mentioned it was “cool”. Upon entering, it’s immediately obvious why they selected this social establishment for their social gathering. Painted murals of peace advocates, like Rigoberta Menchu and Joan Baez, blanketed the walls alongside Bush-hating Iraq War slogans. The aura was that of a first-date. After listening to, in the reserved large back room that included a stage for poetic performances, a Malawi RPCV and two hopefuls who were dragging their feet to press the “Submit” button for their applications, and some PowerPoint slides put to indie rock with an iPod, I made a hegira for the door. Not needing a motivational boost, with my paperwork hasta luego, I was ready. But tonight, I was physically hungry.

Meandering back to the McPherson Metro, and ducking into another Mexican-Salvadorian dive, [I’ve come to accept the marriage of these two bordering nations as one cuisine in DC.] a wasted night was averted. Why is it that the rain exposes us to diamonds in the rough? Apparently, it’s not just the humidity it helps clear up, but an astute awareness is excreted from our stomachs. If not for a slight drizzle, one would walk right on past this place … again, as it rests quietly close to many densely populated high rises. The hole-in-the-wall is apparently romantically attached to Las Placitas on Capital Hill, which I’ve never tried. But if La Villa pollo a-la-brasa mirrors their grub, I’m running for Congress. Mounted on the entry-way bulletin board are 4x6 photos from former fiestas held at this casa. Senoritas es muy caliente!!! Crawling past the digital jukebox blasting Mariah Carey in Espanol, I plunked down on a bar stool, botching my order in pathetic Spanish to a very pleasant wait staff. One horchata and nachos ranchero w/ chicken later left one extremely pleased soon-to-be PCV.

DC translates into decaf

FOR ALL THE scenes this douche-hole enjoys flaunting, when the subject of good local coffee shops creep into a discussion, seldom do unpopular names rush to the lips. In an area where big business is the best friend to so many, [“There’s a good Starbucks ...” or “There’s a good Dunkin Donuts …”] chain locations are highly likely replacements for hole-in-the-wall recommendations; thus making DC the decaf zone for good local coffee shops in the United States. This is not to suggest none exist, au contraire, the ones that do, are quite good. It just needs to wake up and put more baristas inside, as well as beyond the beltway, that don’t wear green aprons and bake macaroons all morning.

Like what is being constructed early on for the upcoming presidential race, many in the mainstream media, in their infinite wisdom, are prematurely assigning each pundit to a tier level. Similarly, local coffee shops have their own stages; each with its own patronage [campaign followers] faithfully assigned to them.

First, like any grouping, in order to be highly successful and respected in the world of science, parameters and constants are to be established. Local: must be metro/short drive (5 miles or less) accessible. Coffee: limited to bean-based drinks, condensed pastry selection, and sandwiches. Nothing fried. Shop: cannot be part of, or affiliated with an existing organization. Sovereignty is key here. This same categorical formula can be applied to your town’s local candidate and coffee shop tier levels. Seriously, try it. Plug in the variables to this equation with your city’s local coffee shop scene, alongside its democratic candidates, but in reverse order to see the correlation between coffee shops and campaigns (i.e. very convenient² + only coffee² + one shop² = Tier 1 local coffee shop, and coupled with a current Tier 3 Democratic Presidential Candidate).

This is not a hypothesis, rather the culmination of many undergraduate, as well as weekend hours studying why some shops are more appealing than others. As you will recognize below, from a candidate’s perspective, it’s not always good to be on top:

Tier 1: Gravel and Kucinich

Who? Exactly, one you don’t know, the other you barely do; parallels to perfect local coffee shops. Greenberry’s, Mocha Hut’s, 14^th and U Café’s, and Java Shack’s, collapse here. Like having only your hometown populations familiar with you – let alone your campaign even existing – encapsulated are the hole-in-the-walls only the locals know. Like a surfer’s spot on the Big Island, these baristas, and their patrons, have very little tolerance for Euro trash-like behavior or dress. If you do get music, you will not recognize it. Classifieds en Espanol and CityPaper are available for your reading pleasure. You will be asked to return your dishes to a plastic bin in the back. An off limits area to the public where mad chemists can test new product, is heard of but rarely seen. There will be a minimum on all debit/credit card transactions; they don’t care, sans any cash, be prepared to pull out your platinum. Metro/subway/transit accessible 99% of the time.

Tier 2: Biden, Richardson, Dodd

One can run his mouth; the other knows how to be diplomatic. The other one is barely at this level, but should be in a higher tier. These fall under the Tivoli’s, Murky’s, Firehook’s umbrella; quality brew, and a decent environment. Tendencies are, but not limited to, high-speed hoarding and pastry overkill, however, good roasting and who really minds the pastry smell anyway? Only the slightest remnants of douchebagery occur. City papers and classified ad publications creep onto the shelves. Since there are only a few of these in an area, they need to cover a lot of territory, thus strategically opening on weekends, whist some of Tier 3 can often be found closed in a city’s financial district. Vehicle access is required 50% of the time.

Tier 3: Edwards, Clinton, Obama

One spends oodles on putting product in his hair, the other a NY Senator, and one who raises bazillions; it’s safe to say this is the mafia of coffee chains. These are the Starbuck’s, Dunkin Donuts’, Caribou Coffee’s … vomit … Cosi’s, Au Bu Pon’s, Panera’s … further vomiting. Monday morning lines mirror depression soup lines. The Times and Post are normally the only available reads. International, eclectic music selections fill ones ear drums. Pushing their own products to consumers often results in a free froufrou beverage of their choice, reducing half the original price for a bag of beans. Making you buy more. Again, vehicle access is required 50% of the time, lowering to 25% during the work week.

You’re Italy, I’m Indonesia

Fellow sophisticates, approaching a well-manicured espresso escape is not my cup of tea. Correlating high-priced Tiffany light fixtures, with well brewed coffee, is a miscalculation. You’re Italy, I’m Indonesia. I’m thatched roof, you’re expensive drapery. Furthermore, indicators of high quality brew are hidden in the subtle, less-sophisticated elements of a java hole-in-the-wall. Emphasis on less-expensive furnishings allow for focus to be placed on conjuring up new frothy inventions. Work from local artisans shrouding the old brick walls, or a separate corner for barista lab work to take place, are good signs – not red flags. A billion pastry options are; a billion classified ads on the corner bulletin board are not. Limiting to biscotti’s, croissants, and bagels, as well as the occasional sandwich, is essential.

If a place has a hard time being “Google’d”, it must be good; further suggesting that only locals know about it. Lacking a thatched roof, one small brick-walled oasis, that fuses local musicians with its beans, is tucked alongside the U St. corridor. Being caught of guard by meeting my aforementioned décor pre-qualifications, not one, but two musical acts resulted from a long wait to receive my mocha and dry pastry via the high-strung barista [Legend has it that he previously bounced people out of his shop for hogging the high-speed.]. Some of the best coffee artwork dotted the old brick edifice. Ethan Allen had been replaced by an eclectic Goodwill selection and potted plants. And, of course, everything from yoga lessons to Realtors could be found on the bulletin board above the cream and sugar. And, probably due to shop owner inflicted fear, not everyone has connected to the internet [see Coffee Shops and Computer Labs].

PC Update: ¡papeleo acabado!

In the words of Jack Nicholson [As Good As it Gets - 1997] “Done, done, done …” and really not all that bad. Some impediment occurred, I’ll spare the details, but all the “papeleo médico, dental y pscych” is in the mail. And now we wait.