1. The White House is planting an organic vegetable garden (a/k/a "Victory Garden"). Insert "shovel ready project" jokes here.
2. Someone stole today one of the display sandwiches outside of the Big Humanitarian Non-Profit cafeteria. One very cold turkey reuben is missing.
For St Patrick’s Day today, the rhymes with MARAMARK-run cafeteria at the Big Humanitarian Non-Profit is passing out Kennedy Half Dollar Gold Foil Chocolate Coins. Yep that’s right, no magically delicious gay leprechauns, marshmallow shamrocks or green gummy snakes but images in chocolate of the assassinated 35th president, John F. Kennedy. Maybe it's a generational thing; when I was wee child the only approved images of the first Irish president were iconic pictures of him on the mantle between photos of Jackie and the Pope and we were neither Catholic nor Irish. So, uh Happy St. Patrick's Day, MARAMARK. Enjoy taking a bite out of your chocolate Kennedys. I'll stick with my marzipan unicorns and green beer!
Too much going on in my real life lately to dedicate much time to my online life here. I'm taking a break from posting and commenting for a while. Be back in a week or two!
It was Friday night and I had just left work, looking for a warm cab and a Pity Party for One. I had been working long hours and as the World's Oldest Living Systems Analyst III, was feeling very unappreciated at the Big Humanitarian Non-Profit. Did I say I was exhausted and more than a little cranky? Riding the Metro was not an option tonight, no siree. Riding the Metro was only an option if you wanted to read Saturday headlines of "Manic Systems Analyst III Mutilates Metro Manager with SmartTrip Card Machete" or "They Said He Could Give a Look That Kills So He Did."
Climbing into the nearest cab which was fortunately quite toasty I grumbled something about the freaking cold weather.
"But February is the coldest month, right sir?" the cabby said in an odd sing-song manner.
"Oh great," I thought, "a chatty cab driver." I needed this like I needed another 1.75 % merit increase since I am "at the top of the salary band for your grade." Whatever. Suck it Human Resources.
"Sometimes January is colder" I said as patronizingly as possible, pretending to apply for a very complex commercial mortgage on my cell phone keypad.
"But the song says February makes me shiver."
"Huh?"
"Is it okay if I sing it for you?"
Before I could finish miming typing "Debt service coverage ratio" and yell "NO!" he launched into singing in his high pitched lightly accented style.
A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.
But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.
Suddenly I recognized the tune. This can't be true?
OH MY GOD HE IS SERENADING ME WITH DON MCLEAN'S "AMERICAN PIE" THE WORLD'S LONGEST SONG! AM I BEING PUNK'D?
(If so I wanted to have a long man-to-man with Ashton and get a really good closeup look of Demi for signs of recent plastic surgery or the receipt for the sale of her soul but that was beside the point.)
I was tired.
And angry.
I just wanted to get home!
He stopped singing for a minute to explain.
"I am from West Africa and we sing all the time. When I moved here I learned your English by singing American songs. That is how you learn the language and the soul of a culture."
He resumed singing:
I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
So bye-bye, Miss American Pie...
The traffic was slowly moving up 20th St and he turned around and said,"You can join me."
This can't be happening! This cheerfully demented West African Mary Poppins is going to sing the entirety of "American Pie" and he wants me to sing the chorus with him?
This was looking to be the worst cab ride of my life.
Or the best.
So I joined him singing...
"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie."
Drove my Chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye
And singin, "This'll be the day that I die.
This'll be the day that I die."
Traffic was terrible as we painstakingly sang our way through Dupont Circle and the history of the 50s and 60s. Somewhere around 18th and Q, the Father, Son and Holy Ghost had caught the last train for the coast and we finished the song with both of us bursting out laughing.
"See," he said "You hardly noticed the bad traffic."
Traffic? Work? This was better than any Happy Hour! He sang a bit of Glenn Campbell's "Wichita Lineman" and John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads" before pulling in front of my house.
"Now we will sing the song every child knows" he instructed.
"Itsy Bitsy spider climbed up the water spout..."
Parked with the interior lights on for all to see, my West African Mary Poppins of a cab driver and I sang that childhood favorite--complete with hand gestures.
It was the best cab ride of my life! I emptied my wallet and gave him a $20 tip wishing I had more money to offer.
Did I mention it was the best cab ride ever!
I smiled all weekend.
And I'm smiling now...
And they were singing,"Bye-bye, Miss American Pie."Drove my Chevy to the levee,But the levee was dry.And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and ryeSingin', "This'll be the day that I die.This'll be the day that I die."
Have Scientologists infiltrated the Executive Intern program at my employer? I was riding the elevator at the Really Big Non-Profit, just me and my Buffalo Chicken Sandwich from the Really Big Non-Profit cafeteria (if it is Buffalo Chicken Sandwich Day you know it it is Wednesday!) when two male Executive Interns got on board and pressed the number for a Lofty Floor several stories and pay grades above mine. “You should have joined us Sunday. After the zoo we went and toured the L. Ron Hubbard House” the improbably named intern Tweed said to Intern Brock, he of the Mitt Romney-like jaw. What, our sweet little handsome Executive Interns touring the birthplace of Scientology? Was this an approved Executive Intern activity like foosball, tanning or creating PowerPoints Stating The Obvious? Or was this merely a regrettable one time event like Really Big Non-Profit Logo Tattoos or Executive Intern Lactation Room Hook-Ups? The heavy smell of suspicion, Axe Body Spray and blue cheese dressing hung in the North Building elevator as we proceeded upwards. “It was strange, every time you entered a room someone followed you and closed the door behind you. “The elevator reached my floor and the doors slowly opened to reveal my floor's lowly vestibule bedecked with posters of Really Big Non-Profit Approved Motivational Sayings. No one else was on the elevator besides us. Do I pretend I meant to escort my Buffalo Chicken Sandwich to the Lofty Floor and enjoy the romantic views towards Georgetown along with a potential heaping helping of dishy MySpace Dianetics?
Or exit now and share my Buffalo Chicken Sandwich with the inspirational poster of the the ocean and the admonition of “If you're not riding the wave of change...you'll find yourself beneath it” yet never know the end of this story? You know me. I resist change. The sandwich won. Oh, I left an important detail out. It was Buffalo Chicken Sandwich with Sweet Potato Fries Day.
You call it Wednesday. And the fries were still hot. Besides the interns go back to school Friday, let their Universities deal with this.
Herb! You have not posted in a week. What am I suppose to do when I am sitting on my iphone wasting time during the work day?
16th St Reader
Dear 16th St Reader:
I apologize for not posting but I have worked the last two weekends and am not in a posty type of mood. Fear not though, I am going to recycle some items from a year ago this month from the Vault of Herb before my readership exploded to tens per day.
Enjoy!
Regards
Herb
Since it was that time of the morning when I needed to do some reverse fishing, I entered the men's room at work looking for an empty stall among the three provided. Usually I try to follow the unwritten "every other stall" rule but today there was someone in the center stall so I had to skip to my loo in the adjoining handicap stall.
Selecting the handicap stall is usually my preference anyway since being a big guy it provides more room around the toilet; allowing me to CTL ALT DEL my cache with less of a chance that a toe tapping senator with a wide stance will interrupt me dropping the Brown family off at the neighborhood pool.
Descending onto the launch pad I glanced around hoping not to see shoes or hands frantically waving secret and desperate signals under the stall divider. Instead I see a face--employee T***** A**** ID # 1*****staring up at me. I guess he had clipped his security badge to his belt and as his pants fell towards his ankles it caused his photo ID badge to dangle intrusively under the divider to stare up at me.
What should I do? Drop a piece of toilet paper and cover Employee ID # 1*****'s laminated smile? Hand my badge down to confront his badge and firmly say "No!" Leave and return later to see a man about a horse?
Feeling that I really needed to complete my test of the plumbing NOW, I finished my prairie doggin' before the fiber-challenged employee T***** A**** did and I cast my vote and left.
When I saw employee ID #1***** later in the hallway I had trouble making eye contact. Does he know? Does he know I know what his badge knows?
Posted by a proud employee on our online sign-up form for a special holiday luncheon:
Home made Southern Banana Pudding: Delicious banana pudding that will make you want to scrap the bowl or lick the plate ;-)
