Public service announcement

It's the beginning of tourist season here in the nation's capital -- or as I like to call it, the season of People Standing on Both F'ing Sides of Metro Escalators.

In the interest of defusing in advance potential nasty confrontations between us Blue-State snobs and you Red-State rubes visiting us, I offer this helpful advice: stand on the right.

It's just like driving back in your semi-developed wilderness of a home state. If you're a slow (i.e., bad) driver -- which, if you're standing on the left, I'd wager you almost certainly are -- you stay in the right lane. When you poke along in the left lane, the people behind you get upset.

We will generally ask you politely, once, to pardon us as we walk up or down the escalator. Failing that, we will demand that you move your fat, lazy Red-State asses to the right, and will push on by. If you are holding a conversation with your dipshit teenager, who is slouched on the left side of the escalator in ill-fitting, over-priced imitation hip-hop clothing, we will push between you and will attempt to deliver an elbow to his ribs in the process.

Thank you for your attention.

Sisters are useful

I'm not so good with remembering important dates. Or putting them in Outlook. Or even on a calendar. So it's nice to have a sister to keep track of these things for me.

I thought I would go ahead and remind you of the following important dates!

4/18/05 Mom & Dad Married 36 years

5/17/05 Dad's 59th birthday

5/8/05 Mother's Day

6/8/05 Mom's 58th birthday

6/19/05 Fathers Day

7/23/05 your very sweet and kind and wonderful sister's 28th birthday

She also conveniently reminds me that I have two years to plot my mother's 60th birthday embarassment. Mom thinks I might forget about it, and about what she did to mark my 30th birthday. Not with sis around.

Proof that exercise can kill you

Saturday was the finest Saturday we've had here in the Capital, temperature wise, since like October. So feeling industrious, and a little chubby, I threw on the running shoes and set out to make my first circuit of the National Mall since fall.

Pretty good run. Until I got hit by a car.

I'm in the home stretch, at 7th street heading east, waiting for the crosswalk light like a good pedestrian. Light turns to walk. I look right, look left, then look at my feet and take a big breath and launch myself into the crosswalk and out of the corner of my eye see an SUV that -- holy shit! -- isn't stopping.

Frequent readers will recall that the one thing I learned from snowboarding is how to fall, a lot, without hurting myself. Turned out to be a useful experience.

I turn toward the SUV, a dark green Chevy Blazer. It's slowed to maybe 10 or 15 mph by the time we make contact. My hands hit the hood, its bumper hits my shin, I spin to my right, out of the street, its bumper glances my other leg, and I land in a sort of crouch.

I'm not sure who's luckier -- me or the idiot driver. I wasn't hurt too bad -- a nasty bruise and scrapes on my shin. So I pick myself up, walk up to the driver's window (I'm pretty sure he almost kept going), and let fly with some profanity.

Guy says he's new to the country, didn't see the light, very sorry, blah blah. We go our separate ways; I didn't see much reason to get the cops involved.

The moral of the story: when you're on foot in D.C., jaywalk. It's safer.

Yeah, but...

Surely Seth Schiesel could have found a source or two who would speak to the benefits of a nation blanketed by open wireless networks? Speaking for myself, I look forward to the day when I can plop down in the neighborhood park, fire up my laptop, and get onto the Internet through whatever network happens to be convenient. And if that makes it more difficult for The Man to track what I'm doing online ... well, frankly, I consider that a nice little fringe benefit.

Next, on Fox: Introducing the I.F.O.C.M.E.!

If there's a news story I like better than the massive natural disaster variety, it's anything involving man-eating animals. I can't help myself -- I eat this stuff up. [insert rim shot, groan]

Speaking of, this thing is like the Takeru Kobayashi of man-eating animals.

I so wish this wasn't a congressional issue

I'm not nearly as free to speak publicly about what I think of the sad, sordid and ghoulish tale of Terri Schiavo as I would like. (Let's just say that I didn't find anything Michael Schiavo's lawyer said at his news conference yesterday to be at all outrageous.)

But pictures like this one scare me.

I see Christian fundamentalism on the rise in this country, influencing all sorts of public policy debates, and I wonder if it's not much less dangerous than the rise of Islamic fundamentalism elsewhere in the world. Fundamentalism is fundamentalism, no matter whom you pray to. It breeds ignorance and intolerance and it's incompatible with secular democracy.

Quite frankly, these people give Christianity a bad name. And if I were a Christian moderate -- is there such a thing anymore? -- I'd be pretty damn concerned, and I'd be pretty damn loud about it.

Point of clarification: While I can see how someone might draw the inference, I didn't intend to conflate some religious fanatics advocating for Congress to intervene in a family dispute with the 9/11 hijackers. I intended to conflate them with Creationists and Ann Coulter.

Mockery is the highest form of flattery

Something called "The Daily Howler" didn't think much of my performance on C-SPAN the other day. (And really doesn't think much, apparently, of the other reporter who was on the show.)

But hey, he or she calls me a "major journalist." That's pretty sweet.

I won't go back and watch the tape for myself right now, but just for the record: I have read the memo. I mean, it's not that long. Nor is it hard to find. But whatever.

A pundit is born

Well, that was fun. Early reviews indicate I didn't make a total ass of myself. Tim Russert, have your people call my people -- or, er, me. But look, folks: when I say "stump Alex Wayne," I'm joking. I don't have a damn clue how much fraud takes place in Social Security, or whether elderly immigrants fresh off the boat can collect from the program. Sheesh!

Careful observers will note that I am owed $1 ...

In that other sport...

For a football school, my alma mater didn't do too bad in the SEC tournament this year. David Lee, I'm sorry for all the times after those nine point, five rebound performances that I said you were a pussy. Matt Walsh, I'm sorry for all the times after those 5 for 15 nights that I called you inconsistent. Hell, you guys have been so hot the last month or so I might even pick you for the Final Four in my pool.* Elite Eight, anyway.

For what it's worth, my number one seeds:

Midwest: Illinois (duh)
South: Duke (best team in the ACC going into the tournament; won't make it to the FF)
East: Louisville (show up to play next time, Kentucky)
West: UNC (I'm not convinced Arizona is a great team; this one's for Sean May, who is a beast)

Florida deserves a three, I think. A two wouldn't be outrageous; anything worse than a four would be.

*Jedi mind shit for IRS readers: This isn't the gambling pool you're looking for. Move along.

Update: After predicting above that UNC would be in the FF, I foolishly let school spirit win the day when it came to picks for the pool. So of course Florida choked and is out early once again, while UNC is cruising to 20-point wins.

Stump Alex Wayne!

Think you know more than me about Social Security? Planning to get up early Monday morning with nothing to do? Then call into the C-SPAN show "Washington Journal" and take your best shot, chump!

I'll be appearing from 7:45 to 8:30 a.m. Don't think I'll be easy pickins: I won't be my usual over-caffeinated, slightly hungover, grumpy morning self. No sir. Because I have tips from a "Washington Journal" veteran:

1. Know where the cameras are and look at them when you talk to the caller, but turn slightly toward the host when you talk with her/him.

2. Wear a blue shirt - it looks better on camera - and a solid tie - red, blue, green, gold. Have a nice close shave in the a.m.

3. Okay, superficial stuff out of the way: Make yourself a list of bullet points on the stuff - simple, straightforward, 8th grade level bullet points that you want to make. Don't bring a stack of press releases or magazines because it'll just get in your way on the TV set - just two sheets of paper.

4. Also make a list of catchy sound bites like "social security has always been called the 'third rail' of politics, but this year everyone on Capitol Hill is dancing along that rail trying not to get electrocuted." Or some crap like that that SOUNDS good.

5. TALK SLOW but not for too long. Don't wander with your points or give a 2 minute answer.

6. CSPAN seems to like knowing who the key players are, so have a list of the 5 or 6 most important members of Congress and where they stand - that fills time and puts names into the mix.

Be yourself, don't drink too much coffee before hand because you'll be caffeinated and have to pee.

And if you think I'll be spending all weekend on the sound bites, you are correct, sir.

Wherefore art thou, Axl?

Damn you, Jeff Leeds, for having my dream beat: Guns N' Roses. (Thanks Lex.) Damn you, too, for being a better reporter and writer than me. What a great story. I particularly like how, per New York Times style, Axl is identified as "Mr. Rose" upon second reference.

Roy Peter Clark at this place called the Poynter Institute has this idea about writing: When you're doing long stories, you should sprinkle a few "gold coins" throughout the piece to keep readers hooked. For instance, when I came across this sentence...

He accompanied Buckethead on a jaunt to Disneyland when the guitarist was drifting toward quitting, several people involved recalled; then Buckethead announced he would be more comfortable working inside a chicken coop, so one was built for him in the studio, from wood planks and chicken wire.

... I laughed out loud. I just read it again and laughed again. And again.

Axl Rose unfortunately appears to be a megalomaniac. But if this album ever comes out, you know I'm going to be camping out at the record store.

Yeah, yeah ... I know

Yes, I've been slack. I'd tell you that I've been wrestling with big questions, like what do I want this blog to be. But I'd be lying. I'm satisfied with it being nothing. Truth is, I've been working my arse off and when I get home, about the last thing I feel like doing is a) thinking of something to write about and b) writing something. I've come to terms with the fact that I will never be prolific enough to be a great blogger. So should you.

The alexwayne.com Oscars review

Despite my best intentions, I found myself watching the Oscars Sunday. It's amazing what one will do to please a pretty girl.

Anyway, here's what I remember:

• The worst movie of the year won almost everything it was nominated for. Surprise, surprise: the Academy screws up again.
• Despite my best efforts at telepathy and telekinesis, Penelope Cruz and Salma Hayek did not make out on stage. I don't mind telling you: I was speechless during this segment. I have no idea what award they were presenting or what they were saying. All I know is, it was hot. All of it.
• There was some chick in the balcony during the presentation of that lifetime achievement award to that director dude who had a gi-normous rack, and who knew it. God bless her.
• The Chris Rock-filling-in-for-Catherine-Zeta-Jones with Adam Sandler bit was pretty funny.
• I had a choice, several weeks ago, between seeing "Hotel Rwanda" and the worst movie of the year. I chose poorly.

Not as hot as it sounds

A play in one act, based on actual events. Scene: a not uncrowded Metro platform on a Saturday afternoon much like this one. In fact, this one.

Loud dumb ugly girl: "So he's like, it's not 4:00 yet, and that's when we usually get started."
Dumb girl's friend: "Uhhuh?"
LDUG: "And so I'm like, well, I guess I'll just have to take care of myself."
DGF:
Alex : What the fuck?
LDUG: "And he's like, well, I guess I'll have to take care of myself, too!"
DGF:
LDUG: "And so he goes in the bathroom, and I'm like still in bed, and I kick off my panties..."
Alex : What the hell is wrong with people?
DGF: oooh!
LDUG: "... And he comes out of the bathroom, and I'm like, 'did you take care of yourself?' And he's like, 'sure I did,' and so I throw back the covers and I'm like 'too bad!'..."

Train arrives. Girls board last car. Alex goes out of his way to board second-to-last car. Close doors.

Things I've learned this week about transportation

I've had occasion to travel extensively -- for me at least -- for work this week. Herewith, I impart the wisdom I've gathered:

• Trains rock. Washington to Philly, via Baltimore and Wilmington, Del.: two hours, on the spot. No take-off, no landing, no grumpy stewardesses, no unexplained delays, no seats-so-skinny-the-fat-guy-next-to-you-is-in-your-lap, no security screening (this is only good until some asshole bombs a train, I suppose) and no traffic. Also, Amtrak's "quiet car" idea is worthy of a patent. Please please, FAA: never allow cell-phone use in airplanes.
  
• United sucks. I get up at 6 a.m. for a 9 a.m. flight out of Dulles (which also sucks, by the way -- in fact, it's worthy of a separate entry; see below). I fight traffic to the airport and lo and behold: my flight has been delayed by three hours. I make my way to the concourse. Hello, non-friendly United employee! Might you shed some light on why I got up ridiculously early for a noon flight? Crew delay, non-friendly United employee says. What's that, I say -- they slept late? I don't know, non-friendly United employee says; all I know is I'm here. Yes, so am I, I say. And the plane, when it gets there, is a turboprop. Is there any more frightening way to fly?
  
• Dulles blows. I always try to fly out of REAGAN National Airport (emphasis GOP's), and for good reason. Dulles is in the middle of nowhere. Metro doesn't reach it. A cab ride from D.C. costs $50. And the main highway leading to it is "high-occupancy vehicle only" during rush hour, meaning that if you're driving to the airport during afternoon rush or from it during morning rush, you can't use the most direct route unless you pick up a hitchhiker. It has five concourses, which are connected only by a series of shuttle buses, whose drivers like to take five-minute breaks between trips to flirt with coworkers. You've got a connecting flight in 20 minutes that's a concourse and 30 gates away? Hey, gimme a break, man -- I've got some tail on the line here! Finally, the concourse for United's "Express" (read: small planes and especially unfriendly staff) service is basically a metal shack. One bathroom with broken urinals serving 25 gates, poorly heated, and not even a Starbucks.
  
• Charleston, West Virginia is a nice town. Good steak house. Pretty mountains. Friendly people. Didn't encounter a single mountain-top coal mine or homosexual inbred rapist. Kind of scary airport, but with free wireless Internet. I could live there (the town, not the airport). Philly, maybe not so much.
  
  
  

So awesome words fail me, almost

I'd like to think that if I were about to die and happened to have a camera in my hand, I'd be able to do at least as well as John or Jackie Knill. But probably not, unless I were pretty drunk. Which, judging from the first picture, maybe they were.

What I learned from snowboarding

One can wipeout in spectacular ways, at high speeds, over and over again and yet suffer no permanent damage. It's even fun for a while.

Also: there is nothing better than a hot tub and a cold beer after a mountain kicks your ass.

If Eastwood's crap can win an Oscar, so can mine

I'm going skiing for the first time this weekend. Snowboarding, if you want to get technical about it. I am not the most coordinated of men. So best-case scenario, I figure, is that I don't break anything. Worst-case, I break my neck. In which case I want Jude Law to be cast as Alex Wayne in "Zero Dollar Gimp." An excerpt:

Paralyzed Alex: Don't let 'em take my leg, boss!
Stereotypically grizzled ski instructor (to be played by Ed
Harris): Hell, you don't need it anymore. Hey, that bedsore looks like Abraham Lincoln!

Olaf, berserker!

A super-cyclone named Olaf. Man is that cool. And he and girl cyclone Nancy might merge into a single "massively destructive storm." Oh, man. I need a little Alex time over here.

Old dumbness: Creationism

New hotness: "Intelligent Design."

Kansas, which distinguished itself a few years ago by erasing evolution from its textbooks, is back at it.

My favorite line from the story:

Harris says that in trying to understand how life began, science errs in refusing to look beyond natural explanations, to other explanations -- which, he acknowledged, some call "supernatural."

Some call it supernatural. As a reporter, if I hear that phrase in an interview, that's the point where I check my watch to see how close I am to deadline. Fun as they are, there's only so much time you can waste with nutjobs.