ArJewTino

I took a taxi cab home last night from Adams Morgan. I live in Takoma Park and asked the cabbie to drop me off at the Takoma Metro, located in DC just a few yards shy of the Maryland border. I knew the fare would be problematic after the cabbie, immediately after picking me up, told me I would save time if I took the Metro home.

Yeah, right, that makes sense.

Sure enough, the following conversation took place when we arrived at the Takoma Metro.

Cabbie: That’ll be $13.

Arjewtino: There’s no way that’s $13, I’ve taken a taxi here before and it was $8 or $9.

Cabbie: No, $13. I drove you to Maryland. This is Maryland.

Arjewtino: Where we’re at right now? This is DC.

Cabbie: No, this is Maryland, the border’s Eastern Ave.

Arjewtino: Eastern Ave is further north and the border starts at the church up the street. This is DC.

Cabbie: No, Maryland.

Arjewtino: Trust me, I live here, I know where Maryland is.

Cabbie: I drive you three zones, look at the map.

He took out a map that looked more complicated than a control tower approach diagram.

Arjewtino: How is anyone supposed to make sense of the zone map? No one knows what this means. Besides, looks to me like that’s two zones.

Cabbie: $13.

Arjewtino: You’re just pissed that I asked you to drive me to the Takoma Metro.

Cabbie: Ok, ok, $11.

Arjewtino: All right, I’ll give you $11 and walk into the 7-11 here and ask them if we’re in Maryland or DC. If he says Maryland, I’ll give you a tip.

Cabbie: …

I walked into 7-11 and asked the employee if we were standing in a state or a non-voting rights District. He handed me an old receipt with the store’s address. Triumphantly, I walked out with the evidence to find the cabbie had driven away.

So how is anyone supposed to know where the zones start and end? Are we supposed to carry map printouts whenever we need a cab to take us across state line? Should I store the local taxi commission’s phone number in my cell for moments like this? What is one to do other than bitch about it on one’s blog?

Like most of life’s problems, this one was solved by the Internets.

According to this handy zone map, the drive from Adams Morgan to Takoma Metro crosses TWO zones, a fare of $8.80. Not finished there, I searched the DC city site and found a taxi fare calculator. It’s not working today (it’s more of an online abacus) so I can’t show you the calculation, but when I did it last night it determined that my fare should have cost $11.40.

No wonder taxi customers get confused.

I’m not going to go into how meters are better or that the zones are outdated because that’s up to a citizen’s panel to work out with the city. But I will suggest that the next time you go out and plan on taking a taxi home, you might want to take some documentation with you.

Labels: DC, douchebaggery, taxi

Do you have a blog? Have you ever heard of a blog? Is there a blogger you read/stalk? Can you spell blog? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then you’re invited to this month’s Happy Hour this Thursday at 7pm at The Front Page.

I’ll be hosting along with KassyK, Virgle Kent, and Roosh, all upstanding individuals who will make you feel welcome, recommend a good drink, and may help you file your taxes.

If you’re thinking of reasons to come and just need a push, I’d like to point out the benefits of meeting me. First, I like to brainstorm idioms while drinking rum-and-cokes. Second, I’ll discuss passionately the etymology of the word “donut”. And, third, I’ll probably ask you how you pronounce “cauliflower”.

If my witty happy hour banter isn’t convincing you, let’s see if recent comments on the new Best DC Blog (the trouble-making Woody Woodpecker of the blogosphere) won’t sway you.

Thanks, Barry, your nugget of wisdom has really given me a lot to think about. I only wish all feedback was this illuminating.

Madeline seems to know a lot about my apprenticeship under Roosh, which makes me think she’s vying for one of his coveted summer internships. She’s obviously already got a leg up on the competition, thanks to her observations of other blogs. Too bad Roosh requires at least two (2) writing samples as part of the application.

Gender-assignment errors notwithstanding, this person is revealing that under his intricate rating system of DC blogs, I am currently overvalued. This is pure economics, people, and I appreciate So Not Over’s analysis, even if it does come in the form of a 4:31am online comment. This just shows how busy he must be during the day.

Now this comment hurts. Everyone knows Argentineans are better than Guatemalans, even El Guapo. Seven Years Strong must be a jealous Brazilian.

The list to which Nana refers is this week’s contest on Best DC Blog for Worst DC Blog, a challenge for which I am still in the running (cross your fingers). And while, yes, I am indeed an asshole, I’m not sure how someone named after most people’s grandmother would know that. Very astute, Nana.

There you have it, readers, five more reasons to come to this Thursday’s happy hour and meet me and the rest of the DC blogging “scene”. These happy hours are always fun and, at the very least, you’ll get to see what an asshole I am.

Labels: blogging, douchebaggery, happy hour

After a weekend trip to Las Vegas for my friend’s bachelor party, I now believe two things:

(1) There IS a god.

and

(2) He hates me.

Between losing at nearly every game I played, fighting with the bachelor’s friends, and getting told off by strippers, I’m convinced god no longer wants me to go to Vegas. And he wasn’t subtle.

Here is a list of other things in Vegas that hate me:

1. Roulette. Every time I walked by a roulette wheel, at every casino I visited, the electronic display showed a 23. Sometimes more than once, and one time four times in a row. With 23 being The Princess’ birthday and me being superstitious about numbers, I decided that this was the number on which to bet my hard-earned cash. But when I sat down at a wheel, every number BUT 23 came up. I got up and walked to a different wheel, and 23 STILL didn’t come up. I went back to the original wheel, and 23 had come up twice while I was gone. 35-to-1 odds, and every person playing roulette EXCEPT me won. Damn you, 23, you’re dead to me.

2. Strippers. Telling a stripper that, no, you wouldn’t like a lap dance but thank you for the offer is like telling your Jewish mom you don’t want kids. Expect a lot of resentment and cursing.

3. The bachelor’s friends. GoPats once told me the key to a successful bachelor party is being with good people. But it’s kind of hard to have fun in Vegas when your friend’s friends are all dirtbags. One guy, Justin, decided it would be fun to stay up all night playing blackjack. He lost thousands of dollars ($1,800 in back-to-back hands with the dealer getting 21), picked up a couple of hookers, and got kicked out of his room by his roommate. Another one, Murphy, picked a fight with me during an expensive steak dinner ($467 for six people) over how much we should each pay. We nearly “took it outside” before cooling down for the bachelor’s sake.

4. Drunk girls. While walking back to my room at 3am one night, I had to pass three inebriated girls stumbling down the hallway. One of them said, “Let this gentleman walk by.” I turned and joked, “Gentleman? I’m only 31”, only to have them say in unison, “You’re old!”

5. My money. Never before has my money been so eager to leave me. $100 in craps? Gone in 10 minutes. $200 in Blackjack? So long, sucker. My money left my bank account, my wallet, and into the casino’s proverbial hands so quickly, you’d think I slept with its sister. I’ll be eating a lot of Ramen the next few weeks and begging my money to come back to me.

Labels: douchebaggery, vegas

Whenever I need prudent counsel, I turn to the only people in DC who matter: Late Night Shots members. These sages of insight, these tour guides of good judgment, are the Sherpas of our time – only more privileged and with deeper pockets.

For those who don’t know, Late Night Shots is an exclusive social network whose members – most of who I assume are Republican, wannabe-Ivy League, Yankees fans who TOTALLY love their fraternities/sororities – must be invited by an existing member. Collectively, they have been a controversial group, angering Wonkette for their general douchebaggery and drawing Why I Hate DC’s ire for their stance on Take Back the Night.

But, every so often, LNSers show strokes of Solomonic reasoning that go beyond their smug self-satisfaction and lifelong sense of entitlement. They share nuggets of wisdom gathered by a lifetime of struggle (e.g., didn’t get a Lexus for 16th birthday) and personal growth (e.g., accepted to Georgetown thanks to daddy’s connections).

Here are a few questions I had recently. I turned to the LNS Forums for guidance:

Is it ok to keep old love letters and photos from ex-girlfriends?

“Yeah, there’s nothing wrong with a few love letters, maybe some old nail clippings, locks of pubic hair, nothing wrong with that at all.” -- Bob Wiley

“I hang on to all pictures and store them in a box in my closet. That is where they will remain until the day comes when my kid decides to talk sh-t to his old man. Then I’ll bring out the box and show him how awesome I was and tell him stories of my conquests.” -- man law

My girlfriend and I trust each other but share our computers. How do you balance trust with one’s right to privacy?

I don’t use my gf’s computer for that very reason. I trust her to not cheat on me, but I would never trust her to not snoop, and I couldn’t blame her if she did. With that said, if she ever touches my computer, she gets her hands chopped off.” -- bummer

How do I know if I’m drinking too much?

“My life would be horrible without drinking. None of my friends tell me to stop because they are all telling me to drink more. I haven’t ever missed work, but I have definitely thrown up at it.” -- 1

“When I was dating, I (somewhat successfully) tried to keep up the appearance that I wasn’t a raging alcoholic…My advice–don’t be afraid to go through two bottles of wine at dinner” -- Ken Noisewater

“I would rather drink myself into a coma at some dive bar, piss myself, possibly upchuck on my own loins and wake up while it’s still light out and do it again.” -- The Taquito Bandito

How should we handle the Middle East crisis?

“We should do a Berlin airlift of pornography over the Middle East. They should be exposed to the pleasure of banging it out, and seeing T&A in the streets, and at 'Good Guys Rhiyadd'. -- Curtis Lemay

“Why did Jesus put all our oil over there anyway?” -- Aggressive Nutmegger

Thanks, LNS. I look forward to your advice in the future.

Labels: advice, douchebaggery, LNS