Keys and Legends #1

Age of Internet Empires




If you are like me you probably find yourself surfing the web numerous times throughout the day.  Whether it is on my laptop, Ipad, or Iphone I seem to always be connected.  It is so convenient to whip out an Iphone to search for the answer to a question, or pull up Pandora while at work to listen to music.  This obsession with connectivity is not only isolated to America, it is a global obsession.  In this global obsession there are several major players, the sites that everyone seems to visit on a regular basis.  A quick examination of my browser history showed that for me: Google, Yahoo, ESPN, and IMDB rank among my most visited sites.  However, I am a twenty something American male, do any of my most visited sites stand-up on a global scale?  To find an answer to this question I turned to...you guessed it...the internet.  What I found was a delightful visual created by the Alexa Company that displays a political map of the globe and the most visited website for each country.  Some of the sites will come as no surprise.  Google and Facebook are numbers one and two with 62 and 50 countries respectively. After these juggernauts the list takes a drastic drop in both global influence and popularity in America.  With Baidu(2), Yahoo(2), Al-Watan Voice(1), Mail.ru(1), VK(1), and Yandex(1) making up that lower tier the only site I have ever heard of much less used is Yahoo.  The other sites are all largely entrenched in their native countries with Yandex in Russia and Baidu in China.  Overall, the map is a fascinating testament to the global dominance of Google and Facebook and also the unwillingness of much of Asia to adopt western culture even in a globalized world.

You can view the map and read what Alexa Company has to say about it at this link:

http://geography.oii.ox.ac.uk/2013/09/age-of-internet-empires/

The "Mad" Knight

Sadly, not many people know much about the American Revelation.  Folks generally know that July 4^th is Independence Day although may don’t know why that day is significant (Insert tourist here:  the civil war ended then…right?).  Additionally, people know the big players such as Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, and John Adams.  But not many people, especially those in my younger generation can tell you why they are important or even more disturbingly, seem to care.  It should not come as a surprise then that when I prompted some work colleges into a discussion on Revolutionary War Generals there was little said about anybody other than George Washington.  Don’t get me wrong, Washington was amazing but there are many others whose combined effort helped win the war (or stifle the war effort as is the case with Benedict Arnold).  Some of the under-appreciated leaders include: Nathanael Green, Henry Knox, Artemas Ward and dare I say it a Frenchman or two.  However, my favorite revolutionary general is “Mad” Anthony Wayne. 

                                         

                                              A dashing fellow that young "Mad" Anthony 

Anthony Wayne was like myself, a Pennsylvania man.  He was born in Chester County PA to a well off family and was raised (ironically) only a few miles from Valley Forge.  As seems customary of many great minds from that day he held multiple professions. In addition to being a Major General in the Continental Army he also dabbled in: surveying, politics, and running a rice plantation.  Wayne was graced by the fact that his family was friends with Benjamin Franklin; who in 1766 asked Wayne to survey land that he owned in Nova Scotia.  Wayne’s relationship with Franklin helped to kick start his political career which was becoming prominent near the onset of the Revolutionary War.  It wasn’t until the beginning of the war that Wayne’s name became a household name.  He began his military career by raising a Pennsylvania Militia which was eventually incorporated into the Continental Army and for this action he was given the rank of Colonel.  He and his men took part in many different engagements throughout the war including the battles of; Trois-Rivieres, Brandywine, and Germantown.  Wayne’s two greatest victories and the ones that earned him his nickname were the battle of Stony Point and Green Springs.  At Stony Point he was assigned to capture a British fort along the Hudson River.  During this battle Anthony and his men preformed a daring night raid moving through a swamp to capture the superior British force.  Anthony was struck in the head with shrapnel creating a severe wound but he continued the attack.  At the battle of Green Springs he was outgunned yet led a successful bayonet charge against superior British Forces, thus securing the nickname “Mad” and earning him a promotion to Major General.  Wayne would go on to sit on the Second United States Congress and on the Pennsylvania Legislature.  He retired on his rice plantation in Georgia but was called back into duty to participate in the Northwest Indian War where he led multiple victories winning the war for the United States.  Wayne would die 2 years later from complications of gout.

Many places and things would go on to be named in honor of Wayne.  The towns of Waynesboro PA and Fort Wayne Indiana, as well as Wayne County PA are examples of this.  There is even an Ohio based brewery (the Mad Anthony Brewing Company) named in his honor whose specialty brew is an Irish Stout proudly named “the Harry Baal’s.” 

                            

                                     I sure do love Harry Baal's when I'm thirsty!!!....Wait...What?

With all the pomp and circumstance surrounding Anthony Wayne it should come as no surprise that he would be incorporated into literature as well.  In 1939 writer Bill Finger penned Detective Comics #27.  It was about a millionaire industrialist who was brutally murdered.  Unable to solve the crime police have to request backup from a private detective.  This private detective goes on to solve the case and throw the murder into a vat of boiling acid.  The detective’s name is Bruce Wayne and his secret identity:  Batman.  As it would turn out in the fictional world of DC Comics Bruce Wayne is a direct decedent of General “Mad” Anthony Wayne himself. 

But wait….It gets better!

Several months ago I received a letter in the mail from my grandmother.  We had been talking in depth about family genealogy and history and I had expressed interest in becoming the honorary family historian.  Included with the letter was a family tree.  As I examined the tree I began by reading the names, there was nothing out of the ordinary.  My attention then turned to the typed notes that appeared off to the side of some names.  My heart stopped.  Then leapt.  Then did a barrel roll.  Typed neatly to the side of Richard Idding’s (my 7 greats grandfather) name was this message: Came to Chester County from Wales about 1700. His first son Richard was grandfather to “Mad” Anthony Wayne.  Stunned for only an instant, I reexamined the chart with a newfound gusto. Take the Noecker side of the family carry the 4 add in a Cornelia Hall multiply by the power of Henry Iddings divide by the year 1700.  It was all there.  The math all added up.  “Mad” Anthony’s Great Grandfather, and my 7 Greats Grandfather were one in the same.  I was related to General “Mad” Anthony Wayne! But more importantly, I realized that I am related to Bruce Wayne….I am related to the coolest fictional superhero ever imagined….I am related to Batman! 

  

                               

He’s the relative that I deserve, but not the one I need right now.  So I’ll forget to invite him to reunions because he can take it.  Because he’s not my brother.  He’s the silent third cousin twice removed, watchful kinsman.  The "Mad" Knight. 

We Are...Terrified

We Are… Series #1

When I was a junior at Penn State University I lived in an apartment with my good friend Blake and 2 completely random guys assigned to the same apartment by the management of the apartment complex.  The guy’s names were Chris and Jeff; both were engineering majors and seniors at Penn State.  In the beginning they seemed cool and the first few weeks went well considering that I was living with people I had just met.  However, a month into the fall semester an event transpired that would come to prove that at least one of my new roommates was not cool after all.  The apartment was set up like the diagram below depicts.  I was in bedroom A, Jeff was in B, Blake C and Chris D.  Each of us had our own bedroom and shared a bathroom with another person.

It was a Wednesday night and it was Jeff’s 22^nd birthday.  He and Chris decided that they would head to downtown State College to celebrate by throwing a couple back. By a couple I mean quite a few.  By quite a few I mean a lot.  They left our apartment around 10:00pm, roughly the same time I was preparing to go to sleep.  I had an exam the next day and wanted to get a good nights rest.  I shut my bedroom door, turned off the light, got into bed, and promptly drifted off to sleep.  I wasn’t asleep long when I was awoken by a loud crash. Snapping wide awake, my eyes strained through the darkness to see the source of all the commotion.  I saw a dark figure standing in my doorway and noticed that my door had been violently thrown open so that it slammed against my closet door.  I was paralyzed with fear.  I must have looked pathetic lying in bed, covers pulled up to my chin, waiting motionless.  The shadow began to come towards me and then I realized that it was my roommate Jeff.  At this point I became less scared and more angry.  Was he coming in to steal my things? Did he always invite himself into my room when I was sleeping? 

I decided to lay in wait to see if I could catch him commit a crime.  He first wandered over to my desk, then to my dresser; talking to himself the whole time.  Eventually, he made his way to my closet and was looking at something on my top shelf.  His next action was so swift that I didn’t have a chance to stop him but do I ever wish I had.  In one fell swoop he lost interest with the top of my closet and looked down.  It was at that point I heard the sound: zippppp!  A second later I heard another sound.  The sound of water running but this wasn’t water….

Simultaneously outraged and more terrified then ever I sat up in bed and yelled at him.  This was folly and before I knew it I heard the post wiz zip and saw Jeff turning around.  He stared at me but seemed to see right through me.  I then in a not so kind voice shouted, “Jeff, do you know what you just did?!” Snapping out of his stupor he looked at me and got a big grin.  He then took two steps towards my bed and said, “Scoot over, I’m coming in.” It was at this point that any fear remaining in me dissipated.  “NO YOU’RE NOT!!!”  I screamed and proceeded to jump out of bed and forcibly guide/push Jeff out of my room.  Getting him into our conjoined bathroom I pointed to his bed room and told him to go.  He spotted his bed, smiled that drunken grin, and ran into his own room.  After which I promptly closed his door. 

Realizing that I would have to see to the urine in my closed I turned on the lights to my bedroom.  Cautiously, I peered in the closet and to my great delight (as delighted as one can be when there is wee in his closet) saw that he had managed to expel all his fluids perfectly into one of my duffle bags.  Removing the bag I assembled my meager cleaning arsenal and went to work.  I drained, toweled, and sprayed until I was satisfied, and then deposited the whole thing in the washing machine for good measure.  Exhausted, I went back to sleep being sure to lock my door.  In the morning, I confronted Jeff about the incident and…..he informed me that I made the whole event up and that it never took place.  I was irate.  He didn’t even have the courtesy to apologize for maybe doing it.  To make matters worse Blake and Chris were not sure who to believe.  I felt high and dry.  Then a few weeks later Chris and Jeff went out a second time.  This time Chris stayed sober and followed Jeff after they got home. To his astonishment Jeff went straight to my room and preceded to try and breakdown the door shouting, “Why is the bathroom locked?”  Chris directed Jeff to the proper facilities and the next time we saw one another he proceeded to apologize for having ever doubted me.  So the moral of the story? …When someone pees in your closet save the evidence!

Fantasy Football Week 6 Preview

Matchup: The Scipio AfricANUS’s vs. The Casual Dogs

I’ll try to keep this preview short, it shouldn’t be a problem because this week’s matchup will be a cakewalk.  The hard opening to my season is over I beat: Matt, Michael, and Bob all of whom have solid teams and I am now entering a tranquil stretch.  My next three games are against: Blake, John Doe, and Dave who have a combined record of 4-11.  This fact has me quite relaxed and at ease about the outcome of the next few games.  In three weeks I should be sitting pretty at 7-1 in an undisputed first place.  Knowing that I don’t need to spend time fortifying my roster as I would for tougher matches has freed up my schedule.  During all this extra time I got to thinking and one thought kept coming to the top of my mind: I BEAT YOU MICHAEL!!! (I beat you Michael is not actually the thought that kept coming to mind, but I couldn’t help myself! If you are reading this Michael I must let you know that it is lonely on top.)

The thing that I couldn’t stop thinking about was Blake’s team name; The Casual Dog’s.  After considerable thought I have decided that this name is…is what? I cannot seem to form an opinion on it.  When I asked Blake how he came up with name he started rambling on about his honeymoon and something about Maine and blah, blah, blah.  It was all very wearisome and I lost interest quickly.  I did however retain enough attention to notice that Blake’s team was without a mascot.  So, cute honeymoon tale aside I set out on a search scouring the web for “Casual Dogs” in the most literal sense of the term.  These are my top votes for Blake’s new mascot:

                      Casual Dog 1: The Swinger

            Casual Dog 2: Clint Eastwood meets France 

  

                   Casual Dog 3: Jolly Good!

                                                       Casual Dog 4: The Hipster

                                                           Casual D--....Hmmm

                  Casual Dog 6: Did I stutter?!!!

                                                     Casual Dog 7: The Original

If I had to place a wager I would say Blake's favorite would be Casual Dog 2.  I'm personally a fan of #5 but thats just me.  Another wager I would place is that Blake is going to have a rough week against me.  Hopfully, I end up on the winning side of that bet.  

Silent But (Not So) Deadly

Warning: certain aspects of this story have been dramatized to enhance the storytelling effect.  All events are based on a true story.

A piercing cry sliced through the cold silent air like the sharpened blade of a knife.  I instantly stood to my feet, my ears straining to hear if the cry would come a second time.  Moments later it did.  It sounded as though it was the cry of a woman in her mid to late 30’s and it was close.  You could hear the panic in her voice by the way the last syllables in the word she was screaming raised an octave or two.  The word was HELP!  Quickly churning, my brain lept into action I made for the sound but there was something wrong with my eyes, I couldn’t see right, what was wrong with them? It was almost as if a fine mist had settled upon them.  In an effort not to delay aiding damsel in distress I pressed forward rubbing my eyes, throwing all caution to the wind.  Moments later, my vision started to partially return, the massaging of my retinas seems to be working at least for the time being.  Good, one crisis at a time.  I had determined that the cry for help was coming from the southwest and I started heading in that direction.  It didn’t take long before I stumbled upon the whole disgusting scene.  To the left was the woman, my estimates were correct she looked to be in her mid 30’s.  She was tall; probably 5’9, thick around the hips and waist, with a pale complexion and blonde hair.  Despite the horror that was etched upon her brow you could tell that she had lived a good life she was probably into home décor, soap operas, and the like.  Additionally, she probably had some generic American name like Samantha or Sherry or one of a thousand others.  Regardless, of her name or her background I could tell her fear was real, following her gaze I saw the source of all the tension and anxiety.  Perched upon the wall not three feet from her head was…Halyomorpha Halys!! That’s right you heard me, Halyomorpha Halys.  Better known as; The common stink bug. 

Now, I know what you are thinking: I read the warning at the top but seriously what actually happened because that dramatization was absurd.  For you killjoys out there that thought that, shame on you for ruining a good story but I will humor you by summing up more a more realistic account. 

Account 2:

I was sitting in my cubical at work.  It was freezing! The AC was cranked on high and the vent underneath my desk was aimed at an unforgiving angle.  I mean seriously; who puts an AC vent underneath a desk and who runs the AC in October?  I had been working on adding applications to a computer database when I heard one of my coworkers start whining.  This was not a new occurrence, especially for this particular coworker, so I proceeded to ignore her.  In a bold change of tactics she stopped whining nonsense sounds and started whining, “Sean, help me.”

I could no longer pretend to ignore her so I rose to my feet.  I must have stood up a tad too quickly. That coupled with the fact that I had been staring at a computer monitor for the last few hours caused my eyes glazed over gave me the instant feeling of dizziness.  I sat back down to regain my composure.  I was determined not to make the same mistake a second time. I made sure all prior symptoms had been resolved as I readied myself for attempt two.  I didn’t want to pull a hammy.  Successfully, standing I exited my cubical to the left (southwest) and walked 10 yards to where all the commotion was taking place.  The person responsible for this particular outbreak was a 5’9, blonde haired, pale skinned, 30 something coworker of mine named Samantha Sherry (Poor girl has two first names).  She was bouncing up and down like a 4 year old girl who had to pee and was pointing at a wall several feet away.  Reaching her I inquired as to what the problem was and she informed me that there was a bug.  I use the expression, “She informed me” loosely because at this point she was still whining, bouncing, and failing to communicate successfully.  Fortunately, my eyes had recovered from the computer induced slumber enough for me to see the Stink Bug chilling on an opposing door frame. 

Shouldering my manly duties I readied to smash the bug into yesterday when Samantha Sherry said, “No don’t kill it!” Astonished, more by that fact that she had finally used big girl words than by what the words actually said, I steadied my blow.  Turning to face her I said nothing but gave her a look that did more talking in a quarter second than ten hours of her whining ever could.  She seemed to interpret my thoughts and started backpedaling explaining that she didn’t want to kill the Stink Bug she just wanted it removed from her presence.  Sighing, I gingerly picked up the bug and carried it to a nearby door sending it on its way.  Turing around to head back into work I caught a glimmer of some movement out of the corner of my eye.  Glancing over at the movement I thought I saw what looked like another Stink Bug on the outside wall of my workplace, I knew this couldn’t be right so I did a quad-take to be sure my eyes were not cheating me.  To explain a quad-take is twice that of a double take.  Needless to say it jars your brain around.  I do not recommend it if you are prone to getting concussions, have asthma, or are currently pregnant.  The quad-take confirmed my suspicions.  There was indeed another Stink Bug on the wall, but it didn’t stop with one.  The entire wall was crawling with them, the invasion had begun.  Feeling outgunned, I retreaded to my cubical and quickly lost myself in some work. 

The whole episode was very taxing and it was one I do not hope to soon repeat, but it did start my brain churning.  Ten years ago I am certain there were no Stink Bugs in South Central Pennsylvania.  5 years I am reasonably certain that there were no Stink Bugs in South Central Pennsylvania.  Yet now, in October 2013 there is a viable stink-pocalypse descending upon PA.  How did this happen?  What is the story behind this stinking menace? and dangit why do I always crave Chipotle when they are around?

As it turns out the Stink Bug is a native of Southeast Asia:  China, Japan, and Korea.  They were accidentally introduced to the United States in the late 1990’s and the first specimen was collected in Allentown Pennsylvania by researchers from Muhlenberg College.  Since then the Stink Bug has been shown itself to be an effective traveler and now takes up residence in the majority of the United States.  The Stink Bug prides itself in being an agricultural pest.  It is known to feed on; apples, peaches, cherries, soy beans, and sweet corn.  Pretty much everything humans like to eat, Stink Bugs also like.  The way they damage fruit is by a technique known as cat-facing.  What is cat-facing you ask? Well, I’ll tell you! Cat-facing is the scarring or deformation of any fruit or vegetable.  In the case of the Stink Bug it is a result of feeding on the fruit through its proboscis (straw like) nose.  Most often this scaring is found near the blossom end of the fruit and it is also normally only a shallow wound.  This means that normally a cat-faced (<-- Doesn’t that just sound dirty?) fruit is still good to eat, you just need to cut away the bad areas.  Unfortunately for farmers, people want shiny, plump, untainted fruit.  So selling products that have been cat-faced is bad business. 

Luckily, Stink Bugs are, as the name suggests bugs.  This means that will die in a few days right? Wrong.

Mayfly – 24 hours

Housefly – 4 weeks

Dragonfly – 4 months

Stinkbugs – 1+ years

The stink bug can live for longer than a year and it is able to survive winter.  The bugs will crawl into any nook and cranny they can find to gain warmth.  Your home is fair game as you have probably already discovered.  Once finding a warm area the Stink Bug goes into a hibernation mode until it becomes warm outside.  That is unless the warm place they find is your home, in which case they will fly around your ceiling lights repeatedly smashing their faces against the bulbs.  Post hibernation the bugs head outside to reproduce.  Some positives are that research shows Stink Bugs are not poisonous and will not lay eggs inside houses, so you need not worry about a colony taking root under your bed. (I bet that last comment will keep some people up wondering at night).

As for the stink from which Stink Bugs so aptly get their name; researchers believe it is a defense mechanism used to deter predators.  Science has yet however to explain why that smell is almost identical to that of cilantro. Perhaps those were not chicken burritos after all.

Sources:

http://akorra.com/2010/03/04/top-10-shortest-living-organisms/

http://extension.usu.edu/files/publications/factsheet/cat-facing.pdf

http://ento.psu.edu/extension/factsheets/brown-marmorated-stink-bug

http://www.orkin.com/other/stink-bugs/do-stink-bugs-stink/

Fantasy Football Week 5 Recap

Fantasy Football Week 5 Recap: The Scipio AfricANUS vs. The Renegade Angels

As I noted in an earlier post, my week 5 game was a grudge match.  It was a textbook example of good vs. evil.  I was playing our league commissioner Michael.  He had just come off a record breaking win against his brother Matt and was basking in his undefeated glory.  On the other end of the spectrum, I had come off an embarrassing loss to the Arizona Braddlesnakes and had slipped to 3-1 in the league.  I needed a win in week 5 in order to maintain my place as a forerunner in the league and to keep Michael in check.  The last thing this league needs is an undefeated Michael.  If he remained undefeated the rest of the league managers would constantly be reminded how terrible and worthless they were. 

Going into Sunday’s matchup I was met with some unfortunate news:

-My starting running back Alfred Morris had a bye week so I couldn’t play him.
-My starting wide receiver Calvin Johnson was injured and would not be playing.
-My other starting running back Darren McFadden was also injured and would sit out.

It just so happened that when I received this news Michael was with me, so as I was trying to enjoy lunch I was being mocked and laughed at.  It was going to be a long day.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to watch the games on television because Michael and I were busy brewing beer with our buddy Blake owner of the 1-4 Casual Dogs.  Throughout the afternoon we would check for updates on our iPhones and it looked dreadful at first.  My players were simply not producing.  However, as the afternoon progressed I started to notice something; while my players were not producing numbers, it seemed that Michael’s were not producing numbers either.  I felt a ping of hope, but I suppressed it. Never trust a hope, it has forsaken these lands.   We had to make a trip to Home Depot and upon returning I was still in the lead, my team was terrible but there it was; me in the lead by 10 and it was nearing five in the afternoon.  It looked as though my late acquisition of Ravens RB Ray Rice (ßfour R’s in a row? How often does that happen?)  was paying off nicely as he went on to earn a season high of 20 points.  When eight o’clock came and the last seconds rolled off of the Broncos vs. Cowboys game my roster had been spent.  I was sitting at 114.8 points and Michael was at 83 with three players left to play. 

The players left in Michael’s arsenal were Arian Foster (RB), Tony Gonzalez (TE), and Matt Bryant (K).  Foster played in the Sunday night game scoring 11.5 points narrowing the gap.  On Monday there was radio silence between Michael and I we were waiting for the Monday night game to finish this fight.  I opted out of staying up til three in the morning to watch the game and called it a night early. When I woke the next morning, I shut the alarm off on my phone and saw that I had 2 unread messages.  One was from Matt saying, “YOU DID IT!!”  And the other from Michael said, “Enjoy you day in the sun my friend, it won’t last long.”  Confused, because I was still half asleep, it took me a moment to piece together what they were talking about, but when I did I smiled, picked up my phone and began typing: “Hey Michael, remember that time when you were undefeated in fantasy and then lost to me?” I hit send.  Resting my head back on my pillow I exhaled a long breath and with it escaped a hardy chuckle. I had done it.  I slayed the Renegade Angel.  All was right with the world once again. 

The Union Station Anomaly

On Saturday Michael and I went on an adventure to pick Matt up from Union Station in Washington D.C. Matt was taking a Mega Bus from UNC Charlotte where he attends school, to D.C. the closest bus stop to South Central PA. 

Michael and I were delayed in our leaving because his dad had mysteriously disappeared with the car we were going to take for the trip down.  We were scheduled to leave at noon and around 11:30 Bob said, he was going to take the car to get gas at a nearby gas station.  Forty-five minutes later he had yet to return, I was starting to get antsy and Kathy, Bob's wife was getting nervous that Bob was hurt.  We called his phone several times receiving no answer.  Finally, I decided to look outside and to my glee saw that he was in the driveway adding oil to the Pacifica.  Auto maintenance completed, Michael and I embarked on the journey.  We spend the first hour or so of the trip in silence, listening to the new Alter Bridge CD.  Myles Kennedy and Mark Tremonti are both beautiful men. Mmm mmmm!! 

About an hour after leaving I got a text from Matt that said, “This bus sucks goat scrots."  It pleased me to see that he was having a nice ride.  Mike and I made excellent time to D.C. gaining back all of the time we had lost with the late start.  When we were approaching the Capital Building our GPS started to freak out.  It would reroute without a moment’s notice and Michael had to pull off several high velocity hairpin reverse 180 degree descending K-turns in the midst of 4 lanes of moving traffic.  Incidentally, this is also the name of Shaun Whites new snowboarding trick, but trust me it is significantly more difficult to maneuver in a Pacifica. 

Mustering all of my geographic might aka reading road signs, I was able to direct us the remaining several blocks without the help of Siri and her tomfoolery.  We had Union Station in our sights when a strange thing started to happen. It was as if an invisible force was pulling us into the Union Station parking garage, which was not where we wanted to go. We tried to break away from this invisible force, heaven knows we tried, but we could not shake its grasp and we found ourselves being ushered through a ticket lane which presented us with a parking voucher that stated it would charge us $8 an hour to park.  Michael was not pleased and determined not to pay $8, he sped through garage to the exit, inserted the ticket into the machine and to his great delight (and my disappointment) the gate opened without making him pay.  About the same time, I got a text from Matt that said his bus was running 30 minutes late.  Michael and I decided that we would drive around to see if we could find another place to park that would not cost as much as $8.  Exiting the garage we took a right and drove for several blocks before taking another right we were driving down a back street when we passed an establishment whose name proclaimed it to be Martin’s Market.  Beneath the name they proudly declared that they sold beer 24/7.  This opposed to 24/6 or 12/7.  Martin’s had seen better days.  Its windows were boarded and there was spray paint covering many of the walls.  There may or may not, but definitely was a roach infestation and I am certain the rats had taken up residence as well. Fortunately, this had not deterred the management and Martins displayed an open sign hanging crookedly in the door.  Michael shuttered and said, “That is not a market.” 

Driving on we took several more turns before coming to the intersection in front of Union Station, this time from the East instead of the North.  Again a strange thing happened and we found ourselves being corralled towards the parking lot, I saw Michael struggling with the wheel, but he wasn’t strong enough and up the ramp towards the parking lot we went.  This time, right before the entrance we noticed a sign that promised an auxiliary exit back on to Columbus Circle if we turned left instead of right.  Seeing a glimmer of hope Michael hung a Louie and we proceeded down a ramp which dumped us out on the southwest side of Union Station.  We decided to regroup and create a game plan before driving into folly again. 

We drove down Louisiana Avenue and decided that this time we would check to see if there were any parking meters open as we were driving past and if that were to fail (it failed), we would try to pull into the dropoff/pickup lane located in front of Union Station where we would sit with our blinkers flashing until Matt called us saying he had arrived at which time we could attempt a drive-by pickup (this also failed. <--foreshadowing is cool).  We circled the block so we were heading Northeast on Louisiana Avenue on direct path to Union Station, we struck out on finding any parking spots so Michael worked his way into the left lane with finesse and we was able to navigate into the dropoff/pickup lane without getting sucked into parking garage lane.  Things were going as planned.  Almost all of the pickup spots were filled but ahead in the distance we saw an open spot like a beacon atop a light house signaling safe harbor.  Michael guided the nose of the Pacifica towards the spot, and then…disaster struck.  The spot was not an oasis after all but a trap.  It was a handicapped spot.  Veering left we sailed passed the spot and were forced to turn left at the light.  A dark chill came over the Pacifica, Michael and I sat dumbfounded as the ramp to the parking garage loomed before us with outstretched arms.  There was nothing we could do, so we ascended the ramp of death yet again. 

It was at this point that I realized we were dealing with an anomaly.  Like something out a Doctor Who episode, the Union Station Parking Garage was not of this world.  I turned to Michael and explained to him that we might as well just pay the $8 (by “We” I mean He) and be done with it.  Michael agreed, but I could tell paying the $8 went against the very fiber of his being. 

Map Recreating Path Michael and I took to Find Parking

When getting out of the Pacifica I received another text from Matt informing us that he was still 20 minutes away.  We decided to head into Union Station to see if we could locate a bathroom.  Once inside I was immediately impressed with the architecture. The rounded ceilings were inset with an Empire State molding that transported ones imagination back to the turn of the 19^th century.  Many of the floors were covered in a mosaic of blue tiles and the stairways looked as if they had been removed from Gatsby’s estate.  Union Station contained one other 19^th century throwback: the glaring shortage of BATHROOMS!!!  Union Station has 3 levels, is  longer than a football field, and I have concluded it to have the lowest bathroom to square foot ratio of any enclosed structure in the western hemisphere.  We walked the entire length and found nothing. Went to a different floor and found nothing.  Not even a woman’s bathroom (for Michael to use) or a sign directing us in the right direction.  Finally, just as my resolve was about to falter we stumbled upon a men’s restroom.  Out of blind luck or divine intervention I do not know, but what I do know is that it couldn't have come soon enough. 

Union Station Architecture

Freshly pampered Michael and I decided to go back to the bus deck to wait for Matt.  Stepping off the escalator we made for the Greyhound Station when out of the corner of my eye I caught glimpse of a lanky homeless man walking my way.  It was Matt, we had found him at last.  Back in the car we set our sights on our second destination of the day; Anita’s Southwestern Restaurant in Leesburg, VA.  Our infatuation with Anita’s goes way back and is primarily a result of their Mexican style breakfasts.  We make several pilgrimages to Anita’s each year to rejuvenate the soul and clog the artery.  On our way to Anita’s we went through 2 separate toll booths of which Matt and I made Michael pay.  The first booth was only $1.75 but Michael got us stuck in a coins only lane and we were about a nickel shy of being in a very tight spot.  The next booth had a $5.10 fee.  Again, I got to see a small part of Michael’s soul wither away, but this time Matt was able to enjoy it with me.  Michael’s spirits were lifted a bit when we passed Dulles International Airport.  He assured Matt and I that every pilot is “Ice Cold” for being able to land a plane.  From there on just about every sentence was ruined by Michael interrupting us by whispering “Ice Cold” under his breath.

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Sean: How was the ride up?

Matt: Man, it took forever, it was goat Sc--.

Michael: Dudes, Ice Cold!

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In about 40 minutes we reached Anita’s and all was right with the world.  I can remember ordering and then picking up a golden corn chip. So delicate. So pure.  Dipping it into a zesty salsa medley and drifting off into a Mexican induced food-coma.

                            
                          Lanky Homeless Man 

          

          My Last Sight Before the Food-Coma Hit