Tell me how to get to Sesame Street--
Just hitch a ride to our nation's capitol and every street you cross is brought to you by a letter , number or state.
So, for a guy like me, who is called "O" by my close football friends back at Penn State, this city and specifically that street was made for me. At least the political/news me.
But there is more to these elementary named streets. I feel comfortable saying that this city has the most diagonal roads you will find in the states. I mean rapper Paul Wall introduced me to "sittin' sidewayz", but this is something new.
The guy that designed this place apparently was not opposed to taking shortcuts. Like, what kind of street is NW? Come on, now. Furthermore, there is no J street; it skips from I to K.
From what I have heard, designer Pierre L'Enfant did not get along with the thriftiness of John Jay during the formation of DC, which led to there being no J Street. Sounds childish, right?
Just because his last name means "the child" in French does not mean it's a description of how Pierre behaved.
The story is a myth. There is no reason to hate the French here.
But once you get over the simple street names and tilted roads, DC sends you on a ride you'll never forget. And it's called the metro.
The metro is a stage filled with countless characters, ready to perform at the tip of a hat.
Have you ever been serenaded by a rag times group of bums, whose melodic tones and smooth moves reminded you of Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions?
It's alright if you have not.
I mean they got down and dirty, no pun intended, as they broke into an oldie but a goody. You could see the lines and wear of stress, frustration, destitution on their face, but their voices and moves sent a contagious smile and rhythm to all those who watched them.
In fact, my friend, a metro worker, and some other patrons began singing along with the group. I, being an off key singer, decided to hum the notes. I need not embarrass myself in front of such a sharp group of performers.
Then the train came shooting through, and as we got on, I could not help but think they deserved more than our pocket change for the brief joy they brought to us.
For a city that is the epicenter of American freedoms, there's little to be desired about the ridiculous amount of bums that migrate throughout the city.
Where are the politicians, the businessmen, the cavaliers of justice, peace and the American way?
They're stuck in the traffic-- of bureaucracy. Is it me or does this whole city seem like a macrocosm of paper pushing? Swipe a card to use the metro, to get your lunch, to enter your building, to wash your clothes, to use the elevator, to breathe, to live.
My roommate has joked about how you might have to submit a petition for dying in this city.
Don't get me wrong, I have come here with an excitement to delve into a place that holds the center of attention at a very important time in our history.
It's election year, and we're at a taping of Washington Week (thanks SIWJ) and a bold man in a tank top and shorts decides to question host Gwen Ifill, on why we're talking about the candidates and their personalities. He was tired of the back and forth of the parties and wanted to hear about something different.
Are you following me? If not-- that's the point. The guy made no sense. You go to a taping of Washington Week and basically yell how you're tired of politics. That's like going to Taco Bell and saying you're tired of tacos. What?!
Then, he asked to have the mike and get on TV. Aside from his less than decor dress attire, the guy's hostility was not going to play well over air.
In the end, he booted himself out. His best move yet.
However, the trip the Newseum was the highlight of week one for me. Just look at me trying to be a TV news reporter. Not as good as my acting performance in the student movie Gone.
But as aforementioned, I am enjoying being in DC. I begin my Slate V.com internship tomorrow. This online video log is part of the Washington Post family. And the man I'm working with seems as free-thinking in mind as I am.
In short, to me DC stands for do come and deliver change. And I shall do so every NW step, swiped card, and metro ride along the way.
Just hitch a ride to our nation's capitol and every street you cross is brought to you by a letter , number or state.
So, for a guy like me, who is called "O" by my close football friends back at Penn State, this city and specifically that street was made for me. At least the political/news me.
But there is more to these elementary named streets. I feel comfortable saying that this city has the most diagonal roads you will find in the states. I mean rapper Paul Wall introduced me to "sittin' sidewayz", but this is something new.
The guy that designed this place apparently was not opposed to taking shortcuts. Like, what kind of street is NW? Come on, now. Furthermore, there is no J street; it skips from I to K.
From what I have heard, designer Pierre L'Enfant did not get along with the thriftiness of John Jay during the formation of DC, which led to there being no J Street. Sounds childish, right?
Just because his last name means "the child" in French does not mean it's a description of how Pierre behaved.
The story is a myth. There is no reason to hate the French here.
But once you get over the simple street names and tilted roads, DC sends you on a ride you'll never forget. And it's called the metro.
The metro is a stage filled with countless characters, ready to perform at the tip of a hat.
Have you ever been serenaded by a rag times group of bums, whose melodic tones and smooth moves reminded you of Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions?
It's alright if you have not.
I mean they got down and dirty, no pun intended, as they broke into an oldie but a goody. You could see the lines and wear of stress, frustration, destitution on their face, but their voices and moves sent a contagious smile and rhythm to all those who watched them.
In fact, my friend, a metro worker, and some other patrons began singing along with the group. I, being an off key singer, decided to hum the notes. I need not embarrass myself in front of such a sharp group of performers.
Then the train came shooting through, and as we got on, I could not help but think they deserved more than our pocket change for the brief joy they brought to us.
For a city that is the epicenter of American freedoms, there's little to be desired about the ridiculous amount of bums that migrate throughout the city.
Where are the politicians, the businessmen, the cavaliers of justice, peace and the American way?
They're stuck in the traffic-- of bureaucracy. Is it me or does this whole city seem like a macrocosm of paper pushing? Swipe a card to use the metro, to get your lunch, to enter your building, to wash your clothes, to use the elevator, to breathe, to live.
My roommate has joked about how you might have to submit a petition for dying in this city.
Don't get me wrong, I have come here with an excitement to delve into a place that holds the center of attention at a very important time in our history.
It's election year, and we're at a taping of Washington Week (thanks SIWJ) and a bold man in a tank top and shorts decides to question host Gwen Ifill, on why we're talking about the candidates and their personalities. He was tired of the back and forth of the parties and wanted to hear about something different.
Are you following me? If not-- that's the point. The guy made no sense. You go to a taping of Washington Week and basically yell how you're tired of politics. That's like going to Taco Bell and saying you're tired of tacos. What?!
Then, he asked to have the mike and get on TV. Aside from his less than decor dress attire, the guy's hostility was not going to play well over air.
In the end, he booted himself out. His best move yet.
However, the trip the Newseum was the highlight of week one for me. Just look at me trying to be a TV news reporter. Not as good as my acting performance in the student movie Gone.
But as aforementioned, I am enjoying being in DC. I begin my Slate V.com internship tomorrow. This online video log is part of the Washington Post family. And the man I'm working with seems as free-thinking in mind as I am.
In short, to me DC stands for do come and deliver change. And I shall do so every NW step, swiped card, and metro ride along the way.
