A Foray to Dallas - Part One

Two weeks ago, I took a trip down to Dallas, Texas, to visit some of my former colleagues. My old office packed up and moved to Dallas about a year ago, so I figured I’d venture down to Little D to check out the new digs. Since I’m already out of ideas for blogs, I thought I’d keep a running journal of my trip down there. Part One, taking care of Thursday and Friday of the trip, is below. Part two (Saturday and Sunday) will be posted later this week.

(Note: You may notice long gaps between entries. I only recorded the parts of the trip I felt were blogworthy, and have edited out everything else. Names have been changed to protect people’s identities.)


MY TRIP TO DALLAS: PART ONE

THURSDAY
11:40 a.m. (EST) – As I’m boarding the Metro on the way to Reagan National Airport, tourists stand inert right at the entrance to one of the cars, slowing the flow of people moving into the car and causing three people (myself included) to get whacked by the Metro doors slamming shut. Not exactly the start to the trip I was hoping for.

12:20 p.m. – Security takes 20 minutes to clear despite a relatively sparse crowd at the airport, thanks to DCA incomprehensibly closing all but two baggage screening belts for each terminal. TSA agent lets man in front of me proceed with what I swear looked like a library card as his form of ID.

12:31 p.m. – First big decision of the trip: purchase burger and fries from Five Guys, or a Chicken Parm Panini from some nondescript deli? For those not familiar with DC, Five Guys makes tremendous burgers and the greasiest fries, but it’s not the best food to eat if you have things you need to get done in the next 24-36 hours. Text from housemate: “Go with Five Guys, so long as you’re on the aisle.” Panini it is.

1:35 p.m. – While plane is taxiing to runway, 50-something couple starts making out in the row across from me. I think I can feel the Panini on its way up.

2:05 p.m. – Plane takes off 30 minutes late, yet somehow is projected to land in Dallas 25 minutes ahead of schedule. You have to love the confidence of an airline who builds in 55 minutes of delay time on a two-hour-and-forty-minute flight.

2:10 p.m. – I set a modest goal of plowing through 25 pages of antitrust reading during the flight there.

2:20 p.m. – Pack it in after three pages. Combination of tight seating quarters and sheer boredom make note-taking almost impossible.

2:22 p.m. – Revise goal to two pages of reading. Give myself a pat on the back for having exceeded my goal.

2:58 p.m. – I finally realize that the in-flight entertainment I’ve been waiting like an idiot for will not be coming. Fortunately I came prepared with a laptop and DVD of my own.

3:53 p.m. - Dr. Richard Kimble: (pointing gun toward Girard) “I didn’t kill my wife!”
Deputy Sam Girard: “I don’t care.”

4:16 p.m. (CST) – I pump my fist as we’re 30 seconds from landing but close enough to the ground where I think I could survive if the plane went down now.

4:41 p.m. – Pass by a Cowboy boot retail outlet, a Ten-Gallon Hat store, and a gun shop while taking a taxi from the airport. Yup, I’m officially in Texas.

4:47 p.m. – Taxi drives by Texas Stadium, home to the Dallas Cowboys. I haven’t seen that big an eyesore since I last watched a Mets game.

6:38 p.m. – Arrive at Buffalo Wild Wings for some college football action. Here I am, a kid from Jersey by way of D.C. eating at Buffalo Wild Wings just outside of Dallas while watching a West Virginia football game. All I needed was a plate of Chicago Deep Dish pizza with a side order of Rice-A-Roni and I’d be all set.

6:41 p.m. – West Virginia is wearing puke-yellow uniform shirts with matching pants. Texas Stadium breathes a sigh of relief as it moves down one spot on my biggest eyesore list.

6:53 p.m. – Our server tonight is a certified sauce specialist. What classes does one need to take to receive such certification? Introduction to Dipping? Wet Naps 101? The Rise and Fall of Bleu Cheese?

9:03 p.m. – The fullback from West Virginia takes off his helmet and slams it into his forehead three times after a punt yields only nine yards. Any other team, I’d be surprised, but seeing it is West Virginia, I’d say that’s about right on par.

9:48 p.m. – West Virginia survives a big rally from Louisville and wins 38-31. After the game, Mountaineers QB Pat White stammered through a postgame interview affected either by the concussion he sustained in the third quarter or by Erin Andrews standing two feet away from him.


FRIDAY
12:17 p.m. – Cab driver taking me to my old colleagues’ new office charges a $5 “gas and tolls” fee despite no prior notification of such (justification: “Because gas prices are so high”). Add “extortion” to the list of attractions that Dallas has to offer.

12:45 p.m. – The new office has a cafeteria on the ground floor! Surprisingly, it was not listed in the “25 Best Places in Dallas to Eat” pamphlet I picked up at the airport. After ordering the turkey club, I can see why.

2:07 p.m. – Looking outside, I notice the office complex has a Monorail track circling the perimeter. Sadly, I am told it runs about once every six months. Sounds like somebody fell for a Lyle Lanley sales pitch.

6:38 p.m. – Sit down to eat at Bob’s Steak & Chop House in the Dallas suburbs. Pictures of what appear to be famous personalities eating at the restaurant line the wall. On closer look, the pictures are indeed of famous personalities, but none seem to have been actually taken inside the restaurant. (Note to self: try doing that at my house when I get back.) Still, though, the food does not disappoint.

8:07 p.m. – Head to Highland Park High School for some Texas high school football. The “Fighting Scots” are undefeated this year and have lost just once in the last three seasons. I’m told that Highland Park counts Angie Harmon, Jayne Mansfield, and Doak Walker among its most famous alumni. They seem to have forgotten about John Hinckley, Jr., Class of ‘72. Must have been an oversight.

8:41 p.m. – The Scotties head into halftime with a 10-point lead. 30 minutes later, following seven performances by six different performing arts groups, 31 senior day introductions, five standing ovations, one impressive baton-twirling performance, and two bags of popcorn consumed by yours truly, halftime ends. Thankfully, there were no wardrobe malfunctions from the bagpipers dressed in kilts.

10:15 p.m. – Touring the neighborhood following a 38-20 victory for Highland Park, we drive by a “Condoms To Go” retail store. I ask my friend when someone would purchase condoms and not get them to go. We settle on what might be a common scenario:

Customer: “Two packages of Trojan Magnums, please.”
Cashier: “You want those to go?”
Customer: “Is your 19-year-old stock girl working today?”
Cashier: “Yes, she’s in the back right now.”
Customer: “I’ll get those for here, then.”


Stay tuned for Part Two, which will include an introspective look into The Sixth Floor Museum at Dealey Plaza.

Thanksgiving 2007

So… I think I have a tendency to appreciate the little things to a fault; to a point where I sometimes lack consistency in going after the bigger things, i.e. those last 20-something credits and a gig that’ll put me behind that white picket fence with the 2.3 children and chocolate lab sooner rather than later. But to lift a line from pretty much any Cameron Crowe movie ever made – The little things? There’s really nothing bigger…

Watching Brett Favre lead the ‘Diaper Babies’ to Green Bay’s tenth victory of the rapidly waning NFL season over more hot (spiked) cider and amongst family that honestly had no clue the guy didn’t retire 2 or 3 years ago, I really was able to appreciate the fact that the way Favre plays the game still brings me the same unadulterated pleasure it brought me back when I was roaming middle school hallways. Obviously my understanding of the game, tastes, and life have evolved and changed in so many ways since then (even a quick Facebook search reveals the girlfriend who cheered Desmond Howard through the wedge with me during Super Bowl XXXI is now married). But the simple fact that life, for better or worse, can do its thing for a decade and still allow you that simple pleasure is unbelievable.

It’s a similar story with the Dave Matthews Band – No matter how many new artists I check out and grow to cherish, I can still value and enjoy not only what a band like DMB has meant to me and my musical tastes, but the music they continue to churn out over 12 years after the first time I saw them live (At what was then called the Garden State Arts Center). See: 'You Never Know' and 'Idea of You.'

That’s not to say it isn’t difficult to give your friends and tastes an unconditional benefit of the doubt… The Packers miss the playoffs much more frequently these days, and when they do sneak in, suffer through things like 4th and 26, 5 INT games from Brett, and seemingly inexplicable hirings and signings in subsequent off-seasons. DMB put out Everyday and Stand Up. More than this, girlfriends can struggle to stay faithful. Friends disappoint and disappear. But I’m so thankful for the rewards life throws back at you if you stick it out; if you don’t turn your back on the people, places, and things that made you who you are for the sake of reinvention and forced, artificial personal growth. You can have it both ways and it only enriches your life; your character. I’m thankful I can bring in and appreciate new people and things and at the same time keep the old school in my life as well.

Perhaps this is simply an extension of the whole, aforementioned "you’re too nice!" thing. Or just something brought to the forefront by the fact I'm living with two high school buddies. Or something stemming from an 'Eye Street Thanksgiving' toast I made in which I clumsily and nervously tried to connect maturity and a life attitude full of gratitude. Or even something I started thinking about after watching a (surprisingly serviceable, entertaining, and poignant) Rocky VI.

Regardless, what I've gotten out of living my life this way is what I’m especially thankful for this year.

And your time, loyal reader. Oh, and of course, Eye Street’s perpetual sweetheart Erica Jenkins. We’re pulling for you, girl!

W a-s-h i-n-g t-o-n, Baby, D.C.!

Let me talk about my City.

That “thing” I’ve always had for this place is still here, even after a busy few months that featured way too many frustrating, inexplicable Red Line Metrorail delays and one too many occasions on which a gun-wielding maniac wished me a good morning.

I absolutely love the people from Jersey that are down here. From the guys down the hall to the morons from our high school class that wear predictably topical Halloween costumes to the cute little sisters. It’s a great group, but it’s not what got me down here. My new (and last) school really isn’t what got me down here either. Rather, it was this:

“Early last Sunday morning (1:00am, Jan. 14, 2007), I found myself sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on a 60 degree January night, surrounded not by the requisite homeless guys and yakking GDub coeds, but by a smattering of people from pretty much all walks of life doing so many different things -- Be it cuddling and sharing grease truck food at the end of a date, photographing the Mall, staring up at Honest Abe, joggers catching their breath before heading back up to Capitol Hill, foreign tourists fumbling over upside down maps, etc. And it was still so quiet you could literally hear planes not taking off or landing, but taxiing over at Reagan. So much of Washington’s uniqueness always seemed to stem from its edginess – Drunken faux-preppies 'rumbling' on the streets of Georgetown and desperate poverty mixed in with the whole politics scene which I’ve heard resembles the pathetic posturing of young Wall Street. I honestly didn’t know the City was capable of producing moments like that, especially that late at night.”

Listen, I know D.C. isn’t what it was for Frank Capra or your high school’s idealistic Model Congressmen… Locals refuse to watch the local news. And the reason you eventually run into so many people from your hometown that also happen to be down here is because the 20-somethings are generally smart enough to stick to the same four or five neighborhoods when they go out every weekend.

But at the same time, it’s not the cesspool outsiders often think it is when the sun goes down, and it’s definitely not unhip, mostly because it knows how unique it is -- Where else is it a big deal to be able to tell people you ran into George Muresan at the bar or spotted the Undersecretary for Public Diplomacy and Affairs?

Whereas L.A. has “The Biz” and New York is the capital of commerce, D.C. seems to have crafted an identity that capitalizes on its relative diversity. Whereas more and more, gentrification has turned Manhattan into a giant playground for hedge fund douchery, after the crime wave that plagued the City in the early 1990s leveled off, D.C. finally started to develop its own identity independent of whatever Administration happens to occupy that big, white house at 1600 Penn. Ave NW. A lot of it has to do with its diversity; the college kids, the politicians, and the minorities struggling to make ends meet. Other contributors range from the Nats to Mayor Fenty to the resurgence of Amtrak’s Boston to D.C. route and the restoration of Union Station.

Obviously D.C. will always have a transient air about it. But it’s clear, even to someone who has only lived here for a few months, that people are finally starting to realize they don’t have to neglect the place in the meantime. It can be “home.” And, again with apologies to a certain Muppet, it’s beautiful and I think it’s where I want to be.

Welcome v.3.0

When you wish upon a star that turns into a plane… You get a return by yours truly to the blogosphere.

Hello, loyal readers. In addition to 'Red Line to Awesomeville - Pop: Me,' I'll answer to Furious D.

Despite the moniker, I've been told over and over again that I am too nice and too verbose. But just like Kermit the Frog was able to come to terms with being green, I think all of that is beautiful and will continue to serve me well. And above all, it's what I want to be. So here goes...

I figure my contributions will fall somewhere between the inane, ultimately pointless 'pop-culture as art' ramblings of glorified Best Week Ever reject Chuck Klosterman and the devastating clarity and bipartisan sensibility of Andrew Sullivan.

Stay tuned.

PS - If Erica Jenkins doesn't make the squad, I'm giving up on organized cheering forever, professional or otherwise. If you're reading this, you lovely ginger, keep your feet on the ground and keep reaching for the stars and you'll have that BS in Nursing in no time! Live life to the fullest - No regrets! Grand Island, Nebraska forever! XOXOXOXO! ;)