¡Mi casa, Su (Oaxaca) Casa!

¡Los amantes de Guajillo rejoice!

The same owner who brought the Mexican restaurant on Wilson Blvd in Arlington has built another Mole Casa. When I search for a new restaurant, I do so on foot, not by turning pages. This is largely in part from not residing in the area very long; allowing me to explore the realm of culinary possibilities more meticulously by taking in each passing establishment. Also, proudly, I don’t own a car. Besides, it allows me to independently judge for myself how good a hole-in-the-wall is; thus reducing the amount of disappointing possibilities from reading pages of reviews. So, stop reading and start walking, lazy bastards.

Separated by two levels, it only faintly differs from its sister restaurant in Northern Virginia, Guajillo, most noticeably: the dark-orange painted walls, crucifixes, and no outdoor seating. But the menu and service are mirrored. Resembling a fine wine list at an Italian bistro, a tequila catalog blankets the right portion of their menu. Try the el Conquistador or Cazadores. No chips and salsa while you’re waiting. No burritos or taquitos anywhere. Rather, jicama wedges sprinkled with chili powder while you wait for your Mole Poblano or Red Snapper Ceviche with pineapple.

The cantina below, which is where I spent most of my time, carries a quiet feeling that includes additional restaurant seating from above. Since I’d previously had Mole, I wanted something new. A couple of them: Cheladas and Grasshoppers. Chelada is Mexico’s version of a bloody mary, infused with cerveza. The strong peppery liquid is not your ideal thirst quencher, I still can’t figure out why so many people were drinking them. The grasshoppers had been diced up and layered on a queso dip called Cazuela de Queso con Salsa y Chapulines served with tortillas. While it seems a stretch to try an insect, the cheese overpowers it, leaving you wondering where they even were.

On to the Mole – 50 % of the reason I was looking for a place like this. Enmolda is Black Mole caked on a cheese quesadilla with diced onions. It was just like I remembered: simple, distinct and good. The Mole rainbow ranges from green, yellow, and red, often served together as Tres Moles in most casa’s; separately, Poblano being the hottest. For those unaccustomed to this type of authentic fare, there are tacos to settle the distant feeling. For your peso, this is place is reasonable when you consider the rare plate of food in front of your jaw. Significant infrastructure upgrades are necessary, such as outdoor seating and additional beer taps (only Dos Equis Amber is flowing). But if enough people keep drinking that lethal Chelada, maybe they don’t need to. I’m not coming in out of the cold for it.

Three Groups, One Corner

I’ve only been back working in DC for 2 ½ weeks. And only in DC is it possible to be approached by three separate organizations, on the same corner, within 24 hours. First off, I support the anti-clubbing of baby seals in Greenland, equal rights for Republicans and putting a liberal back in the Oral Office. But, I do this in various ways; none of which include having a discussion with some tweed at 5 pm when it is 95 degrees and a steam room outside, or writing a check. I vote, end of discussion.

The interesting thing is that none of these organizations have the slightest conservative scent to them. Conservatives write blank checks, Liberals stand on street corners with binders. One seems nobler; while the other actually works better. Strategy is the art of getting things accomplished. The whole street corner thought needs some re-visitation, because if I’m not willing to stop and talk, that means they weren’t already talking to someone else.

el karaoke jefe

One of the perks about starting a new job is seeing old friends from previous gigs. You find out what life is like in the post-you era; how much better things have been since you dispersed the premise. Work actually is accomplished; less people are offended, stress levels lowered. In return, you find out bits of information regarding certain individuals that seemed only a myth at the time. In short, questions finally get answered. Case in point: Did some of the least-likely to perform karaoke, really get behind the mic?

Legend had it that an old coworker did this on a fairly regular basis. However, this was different. No large crowds, no alcohol in his system, and no bright lights. This was karaoke in its purest form. Previously, I had attended several after hour adult liquid establishments with this person. No indication or signs of a music repertoire, with the exception of an unusually astute awareness and appreciation for the oldies. He didn’t talk a big game, just said he was into it.

I had no expectations. After pulling into Fort Meyer, and having our car cavity searched by Delta Force, we proceeded. I can't ever remember being on a military base; especially not for karaoke. I'm not sure many of the general public does either. There couldn't have been more than six souls there before the post-coworkers entourage walked into the esteemed Patriot Zone (Picture an Elks Lodge in a high school gym on prom night.) The complimentary buffet, made up of left over mess hall delicacies like luke warm meatballs and chicken wings did not disappoint. Well, long story short, we were out before we could finish a basket of Lays and pretzel bites. Not to be disappointed, as it turns out, the myth was a reality. That old coworker did belt out a few oldies from the list he had printed out before leaving work that day. If you want to find out how it sounded, try Thursday’s at 7:00.

Coffee Shops and Computer Labs

I am in my studio sitting at my bistro table. Why? Because this means that I am not surrounded by the slurping of latte-halfcrap-shot-soy-decaf from outstanding law-abusing citizens that hoard free wireless access at my morning watering hole. The cool part is most are paying for it at home anyway. Listen, I fully realize the need to get out and stretch the legs, view the dispicable public, and contribute in some small way to the local economy, but go home and work on your soon-to-be award winning screenplay. Do a few laps around Barnes and Noble.

The outcastic feeling that surrounds my degraded soul as I enter a place of caffeine worship stems from my lack of desire to fit in with everybody else. To "plug and play" with the rest of the kids. Nope, not me. I like to sit down, read the paper, eat a pastry and enjoy the serene indie music (probably some smokin' bistro-chics boyfriend's band). But no. It's keystrokes, Inbox chimes, and someone's own overplayed teen bop sewage. The refuge has become the jungle.

Then, there are those that can't afford wireless internet and lounge for hours. Spending $2 over a six hour period, oggling attractive female grad students, and tipping 10 cents. Not before too long, this will be like the health care debate we see today: free universal high speed internet. Michael Moore will direct and it will titled: "Wired! What's wrong with America's Internet Connection?"

4th of July at River Place

The Venue ...
... Flip Cup
... One of two grills being used



... and a Portugese Water Dog

Unemployment's Sad Farewell

Monday marks the end of an era, and the birth of another full-time desk gig. Wow am I excited. I think it moved. I have been clean and work-sober for 30 days. I really didn't go anywhere exciting, just did some things, and saw others that I had been putting off for far too long. Vacations are for people who work. Saturday is no different than Tuesday. Instead of watching Kung Fu or fishing, I read a little here, loitered a little there. There is something really noble about getting java and then doing an about-face, and walking back home in honor; passing dazed neighbors as they drag their aching bodies to the metro.

It was God's way of reminding me why I called in sick and went to NYC with my mom, brother and sister for those couple of days, a month before I quit. One of the best parts about this
time period, was not having a woman telling me to get a job. On the contrary, many found it quite attractive.

I spent many unproductive sunny poolside afternoons staring at beautiful women, eating nachos, drinking mocha's, and staring some more. I was able to take care of some painful Peace Corps paperwork, and in the process, visit some not so well-known sites that DC offers; such as the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Bourdain's DC restaurant and the National Zoo. I finally mailed birthday presents that were two months late. Got some photographs framed. Did the shave and haircut thing. Also, am I the only one who thinks that 50% of the people going for a haircut really don't need one, and just do it out of routine?

This is all good and well, but despite my best efforts, the end is near. I have no words of wisdom, like "Take some time off and take stock of your ... " or "Take some time and think about ... ". Rather, I have 48 hours to find a way to get rid of this new job and continue the envious bliss.

You've got mail?

Months ago, a couple neighbors and myself, over tasty German adult beverages, were outside of our apartments engaging in what is always an interesting conversation. Really, I'm fortunate to have excellent neighbors. That cold evening topics ranged from relationships, to politics, to alcohol, due largely in part to the latter. However, something profound came up that night that is worth further consideration, obviously, because it hasn't left my head and I'm writing about it.

In today's society people talk in one of two ways: the cellular phone or the Internet. Shit, that's the same thing, sorry. In fact, I can't remember the last time someone confessed to me they wrote a genuine letter, on lined 8 1/2 x 11 inch paper, walked out to their mailbox, and flipped up the little flag up. Can you? My own tech-savvy mother hasn't even done it since I've been out here; that being said, I am humored when I receive her emails [this week there was an attachment on one]. But there is another angle to this communication fiasco, the loss of the human element; the personal, genuine touch that comes with taking the tedious steps of writing a letter and filling it with glitter or some other cut up pieces of shit. Greeting cards are a cop out, plus ecards are alot more interesting. Furthermore, dialing someone up has now become a thing of the past.

That's what technology does, it makes us lazy. Names have been replaced with screen names; mailboxes with inboxes. Admit it, it's much easier to end difficult relationships through a text message, email, or instant message, than it would ever be over a phone call, or if the minerals are strong enough, actually in person. Has anyone ever called you back to tell you that you didn't get a job? Yeah, me neither. It's now even easier to cancel plans on ugly men or women, or say "Merry Christmas" to thousands of people like my friend Steven Goldstein. Tears really flow down my eyes when I get those text messages every New Year's Eve.

Understandably, emails have their place [ie, sending resumes, daily correspondence, sending nude pictures quickly] The worst text message: "Hey hows it going?". Just call dammit, if you want to have a conversation. And the worst time to do it: the weekend, when phone calls are unlimited.