A Living Magazine - Day 308 - Homecoming - Elkton: Whiskers and Tails

I had planned to get up at 6:00 p.m. from my nap the night before, but ended up waking at 9:00 p.m. I pulled myself together and worked until 3:00 a.m. then went back to sleep. I'd wanted to do laundry that day before, but it was all just too much. 

I got another donation for a second night and decided to buy it on this morning. It would allow me to get my laundry done and hopefully publish another couple of posts. 

The coin op was four miles away. That meant three hours of walking (there and back), and another hour and a half for the laundry. I reluctantly got used to the idea that the day would be spent mostly walking. I dumped all the other stuff out of my pack and left just the clothes and my laptop, So, I could work while doing laundry, something I would forget.

Before heading to the mall area I received a message from Juli saying that I might want to check out the cat colony next to the motel. I did, and took the first half of a video shown at the end of this post. Then, it was a four mile walk to the coin op...

The Spark is the only leader.

The trek went well, though it seemed long. It is really odd; the pack sometimes feels heavier when there is less in it! I guess this might be due to it not being puffed out; fitting more loosely and living up to its name: Saggy.

Anyway, I reached this other side of town and found the coin op. Despite its good reviews (unless I was reading about the wrong place, which is possible), I found it kind of rough. The machines looked fairy new, but there was only space between them for one person to walk by at a time. It happened to be crowded (being a Sunday).

I went into the bathroom and changed into my swim trunks (commando, so I could wash my underwear), and put on my Boston t-shirt, which I had been avoiding wearing, because it was all faded and grungy looking even though it was clean. But turning it inside out, I realized that I had a dark blue shirt again, thus I wasn't as ashamed of wearing it! I threw my socks away and put on my last pair of new ones, then returned to load all of my dirty clothes along with the sleeping bag in a 30 pound machine. Getting $5 in quarters, I bought the Tide and got the wash going. It was expensive--$3.50 for a load.

I couldn't deal with the ten or so adults milling around, with their eight kids dumping toys on the floor and sitting down right in the aisle, so I went out into the parking lot and just walked around. It was mostly Hispanic folks in the laundromat, with a few blacks and whites. I thought about how I perceive the behaviors of parents and kids.

I have to say that Hispanic people seem (very subjectively) to be the most lenient of parents. Their kids are happy though, running and playing no matter where they find themselves, apparently without the fear of displeasing mom and dad. And, the parents are very kind to them, laughing, telling jokes, being genuinely loving--even if the kids are driving everyone else bananas. I've never seen a Spanish speaking parent yell at or otherwise dress down their kid in public. Although, in my opinion, sometimes the kids really could use a firmer hand.

While I'm putting myself out on a limb with this generalization, I will add (again, only from my limited observations across the country) that black (African American) and blanco (European Americans) parents are the most strict with their kids.

Black parents get physical, pulling their kids around, pushing them down into chairs, or picking them up and bringing them where they told them to go. I'm usually quite happy to see them take control--or, ah, think they are taking control. Black kids seem to be the most likely to rebel by screaming, fake crying, or yelling back.

Blanco parents don't do the physical thing. Instead, they yell and threaten. Of course the problem with these threats is that usually they are never followed through with, which the kids learn to exploit early on. "No iPad for a week!" Then, mom has to relent and hands the kid the tablet five minutes later, just to shut him up, or in order to avoid him trying to open a running washing machine, or climb into a drier.

Asian parents speak very quietly to their children. I never see their kids continuously disobey the way the blanco and black kids do. If fact, I hardly ever see them misbehave at all. I get the sneaking suspicion that Asian parents must conduct psychological warfare, whispering potentially devastating things to keep their kids in check. Maybe, "If you run around this laundromat, you will not only be shaming our family, but all of your ancestors back twelve generations. How will you be able to live with yourself? We won't pay for you to attend Harvard and you will end up in this crappy part of town, running your own laundromat someday?" And the kids look into their parents eyes and realize (or temporarily think) that mom is serious.

White kids will do the fake crying thing for a minute or so, but get bored or distracted. You can hear it in their voices--while mom ignores them, "Aaaa, waaaa, no....no......." (looks around for his brother) "Ah, ah...hey Jimmy let's see if we can reach all the way up into candy machine! Ha!"

East Indian kids are literally touchy-feely with each other. They have no repellant sense of personal space. They'll play in the corner, climbing all over each other, not exactly wrestling, more like squirmy hugging. Their parents could care less where they are and what they're doing, as long as when that one mystical Hindi word is spoken (and I don't know what it is), the kids immediately grab each other's hands and follow. Otherwise, mom or dad will open fire with blasts of semiautomatic word-fire, that I think sounds like a tabla drum in the middle of a demon possessed raga.

Middle Eastern kids are just not seen. Perhaps they are happily locked in the bathroom at home and then recovered when the rents return. Honestly, I often see the kids running their parents convenience stores while dad gabs incessantly on the phone. And the kids are good at it too.

Now that I've probably insulted or complemented most of the ethnic groups who are reading my blog around the world, let me just conclude with a truthfully admission about myself. Unless they are my sister's, family's or friends kids, I really can't stand the little critters out in public. And, I LOVE kids too! But, this Journey has given me the opportunity to see kids at their worst, and rarely at their best. Kids are most embarassing to their poor parents while the parents have to do really intricate and complicated tasks. I used to be very sensitive toward the way children might feel about it when a parent would discipline him or her. But, no more! Kids know they can get away with more, while dad is arguing with the cashier about a refund at the Customer Service counter in Walmart, or mom is discussing paint colors for the bathroom at Lowes.

Some of the funniest things I've witnessed (and folks, these aren't serious things, they are just amusing to see and hear) happen at restaurants. For example, at Asian buffets. The waitstaff are masters (or, think they are) at pigeonholing the different ethnicities who eat there. Usually, they'll speak in Mandarin or Japanese openly about the people eating. They do this at great risk, because every now and they will typecast incorrectly, and someone will storm out, threaten to sue, or leave a scathing review on Google, Yelp or Tripadvisor; all of which I use regularly before going to most places. Basically, the sense one gets from the behavior of servers at these buffets is: Black people eat too much and waste food, Hispanics don't tip, Whites clean out single items (spare ribs, for example).

Who knows if I'm "correct" or not about any of this, but I've been to a hell of a lot of cheap buffets and those are the impressions I get.

After returning to put my stuff in the drier, and waiting for that to be done--only takes a half hour, I piled my clean dry clothes on the counter and folded and stowed everything except my shorts and underwear in Saggy. In the bathroom I changed back into my regular street clothes, and left for the four mile walk back to the Motel 6.

The distance seemed shorter on the way back, as it always does after I know a route. Sitting down on the bed, I rested for a while, but became curious about the cat colony again. So, I grabbed my camera and headed out to the path behind the dumpsters to check it out, finishing my video...

Psychologically, I wasn't ready to leave the next day, but I was out of funds as usual. What would I expect having already spent my savings and the donation that had just come in on this morning? It was what it was.

Since Motel 6 has a noon check out, I decide to wait on my pack up until the morning. Usually housekeeping at most places comes a-knockin at 10:30 a.m. to make damn sure you are fully comprehending that 11:00 is coming around soon and you better get your act together.

I worked for a while processing pictures and videos, but couldn't seem to get even one more post up. I just didn't have it in me, and accepted falling behind even more before quitting altogether and climbing onto the bed. Something about that bed was just right for me--quite comfortable.

I'd seen advertisements the day before for the premiere of the sixth season of Game of Thrones, and realized I'd missed the first showing earlier that evening. So, I was psyched when I saw that it would be repeated later. I was tired, but really looking forward to watching it. I'd seen the end of the fifth season last year.

Switching over to HBO, the show began. The next thing I knew it was 2:00 a.m. and some other show was on. Damn!

Another item was added to my "must watch someday" list. I shut off the TV, turned over and went to sleep.

A Living Magazine - Day 307 - Homecoming - Washington to Elkton

It seemed like about five minutes had passed since I shut my eyes when the watch alarm sounded at 2:30 a.m. There was a light rain already falling on the tent and I had four miles to walk as it would get stronger. It was early on a Saturday morning. Many bars and clubs had just closed, so I knew there might be some "action" on the street as I walked to Union Station.

I packed up as quickly as I could to avoid having everything soaked, then made one last stumble along the little stream to Canal Street and headed - quickly - toward Georgetown and M Street.

The night was cooler than the last few nights. The temp had dropped considerably even since that last evening. The front of my blue button-down shirt, which had dried in the tent, was now getting pretty wet again in the rain, and the back was steadily soaking up my sweat.

I'm always stressed out when trying to get to a bus or train. The anxiety of the transit process itself is bad enough, but not knowing for sure that I'm actually at the station and ready to go is even worse. I'd studied the route intensely before camping that last night and was utterly determined not to play into my typical cliche of taking a wrong street. Although, Washington is very nicely laid out, it can be tricky. 

I did not come into Union Station as I had planned when I first arrived. You might recall that there was a switch problem and they let us off the train at L'enfant. So I'd never even been to the primary station. Also, I was taking a Greyhound, not a train. Amtrak is far more organized and civilized that old rickety, ramshackle Greyhound (something that would become even more obviously pronounced in the next few hours). Still they both used Union Station as a hub.

The station is located just north of the Capitol Building--about two blocks away. I went from M, then at the roundabout, angled off onto Pennsylvania Avenue (a diagonal-running street), then got back onto the grid, this time on K, following it a long way, intending to meet up with Massachusetts Avenue where Union Station is located about a half mile down.

Things went pretty well until I got to another roundabout. It looked like it should have been Massachusettes, but I cautiously walked around the whole thing and saw that it was actually Connecticut. I hadn't gone far enough. Returning to my easterly way down K, eventually I found Massachusettes, but about a quarter mile down that, I reached construction which left no walking space. The rain was now getting stronger. I took a chance and turned down a side street, thence around a block where a three car accident had occurred. When I reached the intersection I asked one of the police officers if I was close to Union Station. He said I was, and kindly pointed out which street to use. That worked and I made it to the relatively quiet building...  

The immense main hall of the station towered over me as I looked around for anything that would lead me to the Greyhound section. I finally asked at the little McDonald's on the first floor and the nice lady behind the counter told me to go up to the second floor and through the glass doors. I did, and found the empty ticket counter. A security guy who knew the schedule well let me know that I would be departing from Gate D at 6:00 a.m. rather than 5:45. The earlier time was just a boarding time. I'd figured this anyway, having taken dozens of Greyhounds in the past. Some stations will follow the boarding time, and some won't. Turns out, this station didn't.

I had a good hour to kill. So, I went into the bathroom and changed into my jeans. And, with the blue button down now drying on me, I almost looked respectable. Thankfully, the big pack is normal attire in a bus station. For once, I fit in.

The time moved quickly by and 5:45 rolled around. I went and stood in the line for Gate D. It didn't take long to realized I was alone, as the other gates filled up and their respective drivers led them aboard. And I waited, wondering "Why do I always end up in the anomalous situations?"

Six o'clock came  and went. Finally, I walked over and asked another driver if maybe I was in the wrong line. He checked my ticket and had me follow him over to another driver who said "Elkton? Ha! You're with me on the short bus," and pointed to a little bus that said "Special." I had to laugh out loud. He took my ticket and pointed me up the stairs. The bus was completely empty, except for yet another driver who apparently was going to ride with us.

I settled into my comfortable seat, ready to enjoy a long ride on a bus that wasn't overbooked. All my Greyhound rides since way back in Milwaukee had been stuffed with people. This was nice.

We pulled out at about 6:20...

Goodbye, Washington!

The driver was talking with the off duty driver sitting in the first seat. The latter directed the former through the streets just east of downtown Washington. We pulled into the Greyhound repair station--a sprawling complex of garages with large bays, centered in a parking lot filled with buses in various stages of repair.

There I sat trying to shut my eyes in the hope of making up some sleep, as the two drivers got out and walked into the office. After about 5 minutes they both came back out. And, the on-duty driver of my bus complained to the off-duty guy that his suitcase had been "stolen." "My wallet, my passport, all my clothes...everything! Fuck!"

After another 10 minutes, he reluctantly got back on the bus and we started out toward Baltimore. When we were near the city, he took an exit and pulled up near the student center of a college. We took on two very tired looking young people (guy and a girl), who said nothing, wore earbuds, and peered up from their phones just long enough to navigate the bus stairs and aisle, finding separate seats. The very tall thin, crew-cut guy took the very first seat in front (I was in the middle) and sat like a statue. The hippy-looking girl set up a kind of camp in her seat, right across from mine. Her bags filled the floor in front of her. She slipped off her shoes, pulled her legs up onto the seat under her, leaned back against the window and continued to stare at her phone.

This gave me the idea of listening to my iPod, which I rarely use but had charged for this ride the day before. I heard the first four songs from Tame Impala's Currents album when we pulled into the Baltimore Greyhound station.

I went inside and bought a coffee. The other two passengers transferred to other buses. Sitting there in the station sipping my coffee, I watched the bus driver on the phone, with arms flailing and expletives flying. Things weren't going well for him. I knew he was irritated that he had to drive all the way to Nothingburg (Elkton) with only one passenger, when all he wanted to do was track down his suitcase. After about a half hour, he hung up and walked over to me. He said that they weren't going to let him drive without his wallet and ID (a wise decision), and that they were going to send me to Elkton in a cab. Good ole' Greyhound didn't even have access to a spare driver. Now they had to spend more than six times as much as I did for my ticket, getting me to my destination.

I didn't particularly care either way, as long as I got there. I had reserved a motel room and wanted to check in early if possible. Then the tone of everything changed. When I got to the ticket counter a short unpleasant woman who was bossing everyone around (while not actually being the boss), sat and with the dead look of a bureaucratic zombie, demanded my ticket to enter the information for the cab driver. I told her I didn't have it any more, since the bus driver took it back in Washington. Then I remembered that I always keep an extra copy, and pulled it out, handing it to her. She said, "This will due."

As she tapped away on the keyboard an elderly nun came in behind me, and a middle aged woman stood behind her. The nun just wanted to check her suitcase. The Greyhound zombie tersely said, in between recording my information and trying to call a cab, "What do you want?" The nun answered with a very pleasant voice that she just wanted to check her suitcase. "Give me the tag," the zombie barked. "This isn't good!" she exclaimed, "I can't read these numbers." The nun said she was sorry. Then she handed the now-angry zombie her ticket, suggesting that the number on it might be clearer. "Okay... that might help me..." The clerk began to type and then rolled her eyes, "NO! This doesn't help me at all. These are your reservation numbers! Nice try, lady!"

The nun seemed stunned, but only for a moment. Then she apologized again, and looked down at the floor, smiling--perhaps going to that heavenly happy place that she had probably visited many times in her life whenever the outside world got hostile.

All of this was happening while the middle aged woman patiently stood behind the shamed nun. Looking at the middle aged woman, the clerk said, "Now you. What do you want?" She replied that she just wanted to print her ticket. "See that kiosk over there? Use it." The woman left the line a bit confused and mumbling to herself about not knowing how to work the thing.

In the midst of this, an elderly couple walked up to the counter--him with a cane. They were supposed to have been on the same bus I had been moved off of. They needed to get to Aberdeen. The angry zombie clerk told me to move over and wait for the cab. After hearing of the couple's destination, the clerk told them they would have to share my cab. They told her they needed some kind proof that Greyhound was paying for this, because they needed a ride back later in the day (theirs was a round trip ticket). She told them that when they wanted to come back, pay for the cab, and then ask the driver to come to the counter, where "someone" would compensate them and repay him. They looked understandably perplexed and suspicious of this idea.

"We don't have that kind of money," the man said gently. "How is he going to believe us without a note from you?"

The clerk squinted her eyes and said, "He'll believe you. That's all I can offer you, besides a refund and then you would have to find your own way to Aberdeen and back. It's all I can do, sir! Decide."

At this point, the nun finally got her suitcase checked and walked away to the seating area. I stood with the elderly couple waiting for our cab. The guy was obviously upset, but holding his peace. His wife was quietly saying to herself, "How can they do this? This isn't our fault? Why do we have to pay...and without proof that we bought our tickets..." Her husband just shook his head.

I turned and tried to lighten the mood, saying, "Greyhound, where the customer is always wrong." She smiled, and he just continued to shake his head.

The parking attendant, charged with holding the cab out in the parking lot, ran back in to grab the cash ($175.00) from the zombie. When he had the money he said to the zombie clerk, "He tried to charge me for two fares!--$195!"

She said very pointedly, "He gets $175, or we call another yellow."

He nodded and told the couple and me to follow him. The driver opened the trunk, where we all put our bags, and then the parking attendant pretty much pushed me into the front seat and hurried the couple into the back seat. "Thank you for choosing Greyhound!" he said, ironically, as he ran back into the station.

The cab driver was a quiet, foreign man. He adjusted everything and then we rolled out and onto the busy streets of Baltimore. Through a dozen lights and heavy traffic he skillfully made his way to the highway. I could hear the couple behind me commiserating softly with each other. The driver said, "What eh wrong with dat company?" We all nodded. He continued, "Dey force you to take a cab, dey wouldn't pay me extra for making two stops..."

I said, "They strong arm people, because they are the only game in town."

The elderly gentleman in back said, "I would have taken the refund, but I have to be in Aberdeen for a doctor's appointment today."

His wife added, "Can't believe they don't have a backup driver for situations like this."

Well, at least we were all in agreement, which made riding together a bit more comfortable. Arriving in Aberdeen, the elderly man directed the driver to the station. They got out, and I handed them my business card, incase they needed a witness for their refund on the return trip. They thanked me. And, I wished them luck.

The driver told me, "I aint gonna lie, mon, I never been to Elkton." I asked if maybe he could find the Motel 6 on his GPS, and drop me off there instead of the station. He thought it was worth a try. So I got out and went to the back, pulling out my pack and laptop to read him the address on the screen shot I'd made. He took down the information and said, "Well...it a mile furder...but okay."

I hopped back in front. For the first part of the two hour ride, we were silent. He plugged his phone into the stereo and turned up some Bob Marley. That was great! Good tunes. I sat back and enjoyed the music, almost falling asleep several times.

At some point we missed a turn and he said, "Shit! Missed dat right, mon! Shit!" Then he looked over at the GPS screen and turned to me, "Ha! Looks like dis route actually gonna be shorteh by four miles!" We both laughed.

I suggested it was too bad that he couldn't grab a fare for the return trip. He told me it doesn't work that way. He can drive people out of a county, but can't pick up new people once in another county. Then he told me a story about one time on a rainy night, Greyhound called him and told him to come pick up a 16 year old boy at the station. He did, and drove the boy to the coordinates Greyhound had given him, so he could meet his parents. It was the wrong address. He was confused and tried to reach Greyhound by phone (which...well, you can imagine...). Finally, he asked for the kid's parents number and called them. They gave him the right address, and he drove the extra 172 miles to drop the boy off. The parents were very thankful that he had taken care of their kid, who was scared shitless by that time, tired and depressed.

When he told his the cab company about the debacle, they called Greyhound and recorded the conversation with him present. They tried to weasel out of paying more. For a week after, they refused to pay for the extra distance. Eventually the cab company decided to let asshole-dogs lie, and compensated the driver themselves; probably fearing that Greyhound would stop giving them business. "Dat's whot dey do, mon!"

I asked him how he likes this kind of work. He told me it's okay as long as things are busy. He didn't mind riding with me even if we weren't talking, but hated to be alone like he would be on the way back to Baltimore. This was the busy season in Baltimore, because parents call cabs to get their kids to and from school. Slow seasons are anytime that school isn't in session. He told me he pulls in about $1,000 a week during busy seasons, but hardly breaks even during other times. I asked him how the system works.

He said the drivers for this company are all independent contractors. The company provides (rents/leases) the cars and equipment, all they have to do is make sure to pay the weekly fee of $460. They are given dispatched opportunities which they can then accept or reject. And they can solicit street work on their own any time they want. He works five days a week, whichever five he decides. "It's not a bad jahb. Pay da bills..."

I told him what I do, and he said, "WOW! No way, mon! Not whot I would do!" and laughed. But, he added, "At lease you get to speak ya mine! You make sure to tell about Greyhoun." I promised him I would. And, now I have fulfilled that promise.

As we got near Elkton, I asked his name. "Peter," he replied. I asked him where he was from "Nigeria." I wondered what he thought of the United States. He said it was "Okay..." but he missed his wife and kids who were all still in Africa. He was sending money back to them, and trying to save for visas to bring them all over. He returned there once per year to visit. Frankly, I just couldn't imagine what that would be like...

We parked at the Motel 6. I ran around to the trunk and grabbed Saggy, then went back and gave him the last five dollar bills in my wallet. It was worth it, not to have to walk to the motel from the station and for our great conversation. To this day, I wish him well, and pray that he might have his family here as soon as humanly possible.

Check in went very well, and I met the kind and - as I would discover - very compassionate cat lover, Juli, managing the front desk of the motel. The staff was very friendly. She was quite interested in my project, and joked that she would hold onto my signature to tape in her copy of my future book. I told her I'd send her a signed copy. Now, another promise to fulfill. And, I will.

The room was great. It was clean and inviting. I settled in for a little while and reviewed my hectic trip. I'd begun the day sleeping in a swamp in Georgetown, Washington, DC, and now I was sitting in relative opulence in a clean room in northern Maryland, having made four new friends along the way.

Now, all I needed was a couple of my cheap beers and a shower. I walked across the street to Shell, but there was no beer or alcohol of any kind. Damn! I'd forgotten to check the liquor laws of Maryland. I told the young guy behind the counter that I was new in Maryland... and, before I could continue (probably having been asked this question 100 times before), he laid out the situation. No beer in gas stations, only convenience stores and liquor stores. He said there were two liquor stores about a half mile down the highway, one in either direction. One was in Delaware though and I could avoid sales tax if I crossed the border. Didn't have to tell me twice. I thanked him and was out of there and walking to Delaware.

I reached the "Free State Liquor Store." Going in, I saw just how good the prices were, and wanted to grab a pint of vodka for the next few days. But, as I looked at the selection I saw one of the rarest things I'd ever seen...Everclear. This is the stuff of legends. It is outlawed for retail sales in most states (including my home state of Maine--where you have to have a special liquor license to buy it). It is fabulously versatile, since a little goes a LONG way.

Typically, it is distilled to 95% (190 proof) pure ethanol. But, it can be used in all kinds of applications besides spiking punches at frat houses. People use it to extract plant essences, as fuel, and as the owner behind the counter told me, truckers will use it in their brake lines. One must be careful with this beast. It is highly flammable. And, you NEVER drink it straight.

The owner told me that a bunch of wise-ass college students came in once and bought a fifth, not knowing what it was, and dismissing the owner's warnings. He watched as they walked out into the parking lot, and the biggest toughest guy unscrewed the cap and took a large guzzle, swallowing it before he realized the extent of his error. The owner said he actually stumbled backwards and fell with his head hitting the edge of the building. Then he got up and staggered around crying, red-faced, sweating and begging for water. "We had a big ole' laugh over that," he said. Sometimes direct experience is the best way to learn a tough lesson.

He also said that Maryland's new governor was the force behind bringing Everclear back. Apparently he's a real hoot. He squeaked it through the legislature by getting the company to lower the percentage by 0.5%, making it 189 proof. And it is super-cheap. I bought this pint for $6.00 (the price of a cheap pint of 80 proof vodka). And it lasted up until the night that I write this, five days later...

I worked until I just wanted to rest. Then I made myself a bloody mary and stretched out on the bed to watch "Man vs. Food" episodes until falling asleep at about 3:00 p.m. for a nap. For once, I actually slept really well in the motel bed, and the plan was to sleep until 6:00 p.m. then get up and work more. But my body had other plans...

A Living Magazine - Day 306 - Homecoming - Washington: One More Night

In a repeat performance of the two days before, I did my morning thing and - as with the two mornings before - headed to Starbucks on M Street.

My glowing optimism of being able to buy a Greyhound ticket to Elkton (a town on the border between Maryland and Delaware) was quickly snubbed-out when I saw that all the tickets had gone up by $20 for leaving that day. My tightwad sensibilities would not accept that. It would leave me no money for anything else. I checked Amtrak, and there was no service close enough to Elkton. I'll spare you all the gory details of how many different ways this was a pain in the ass. I went back and forth between the Amtrak and Greyhound websites checking different routes and schedules, but was left confused and not just a little bit pissed off at myself for not buying the ticket the day before.

In order to get the original price I'd wanted, I'd have to stay in DC for two more days--which would deplete my funds, and leave me in the same situation as spending more to go on this day. The only option - which I dreaded - was to buy a ticket for 5:45 a.m. the next morning. The price was right but it would mean spending this whole day in DC again, sleeping in Georgetown, and then getting up at 2:30 a.m. the next day in order to walk the four miles to Union Station--in the rain. Walking four miles through the dark city streets of Washington DC after what was likely to have been a crazy Friday night did not appeal to me.

As I've mentioned a few times here before, I had to choose by the POMA method--when all options are weighed up, even though the best solution is terrible, it must be chosen. So, I bought the early morning ticket and steeled myself for the hardship to come. What I didn't realize then was just how much more convoluted things would be after I reached Union Station the next day. But, that story belongs to the next post.

Here on my last day in this area, I decided to return to Arlington and work there. I even contemplated finding a sleep spot there over in the east, past the cemetery if I could cross a bridge closer to Union Station. With all of these confused little thought-fishies swimming around in my brain, I left. This time I would cross the FSK Bridge into Arlington. This would allow me to easily get back to the sleep spot if no better one materialized on the east side. By the time I'd bought my online ticket it was already early afternoon.

I walked up to a FedEx store and printed off the ticket. In the back of my mind was the admonition of several "bad side of the town" forums that I use to vet cities before finding sleep spots. In the case of DC, there were strong warnings to stay clear of the eastern side of the city. Over there, it was no quaint little college town. It was the hood--pure and undiluted. But, if it saved me an hour of walking the next day, it might be worth it. Such was my swirling set of decisions as I crossed the bridge...   

Back across the Francis Scott Key Bridge from Georgetown to Arlington.

Construction on Lynn Street, in the Rosslyn district of Arlington.

I set up my Starbucks camp at the far end of a narrow window-side counter, and sipped my traditional tall, dark roast. As people who frequent use Starbucks to do work know well, there is never a time limit on being there. It is a place that I always feel perfectly comfortable working for hours and hours. It would be six hours on this day. The only thing I wish they had was less expensive cold drinks. But, shit, ya can't have everything, Alex!

I never did find a closer way to camp in Arlington and cross over near Union Station, so I sighed at the end of the day, then left Starbucks to go get a beer before going back to the Georgetown sleep spot.

People with higher-shelf standards will get a kick out of my choice for brew at a sleep spot: Icehouse Edge--it's 8% kick and 24 oz size is only $1.69--after tax. This is not good tasting beer (actually it's a malt liquor), nor is the quality above sub-fair. But, I've had a lot of shitty beer in the last few years. It's how I roll, baby! Of the vagrant-under-the-bridge-drinking-in-public-from-a-can-in-a-paper-bag brews, it is better than Natty Daddy, Steel Reserve, or Hurricane. These other three are headaches-in-a-can. Edge doesn't give me a headache.

Just the fact that I'm telling the world about my bad taste and embarrassing way of relaxing at the end of the day, shows you just how the mighty have fallen. That is, if I had ever been mighty (which I haven't). So, okay, maybe it just describes the fallen. Ha, ha! Honestly though, there have been sleeping situations on these journeys that are so uncomfortable, intimidating, cold, dangerous, wet and generally miserable, that a brew of this kind can provide just enough Dutch courage and anxiolytic effect to calm me down, allow me relax and get to sleep. After all, if I was going to be eaten by a bear or be killed by the Shadow Man ^[1,2], I  might as well have a little buzz on.

On the way, and just before crossing the bridge, I spied with my little eye another camper of the more permanent kind who had taken a good spot. His tent was a bit on the giant side, when compared to my slick little Particle 13. But not everyone can be as fortunate as a Nomad...

Lovers locked forever to their bridge.

Canal Road entrance to the Georgetown University campus.

I passed this every day, and slept very nearby and just below it. 

When I got to the little stream that leads to my spot the sun was still up. I stepped into the edge of the woods and saw four large does and a buck who had been drinking, raise their heads, then bolt toward the road, just as cars were coming. I yelled "No!" They saw this potential disaster, and suddenly turned to run along the edge of the road. My heart skipped about five beats. The last thing I needed on my conscience was a car-deer collision, caused by me! Thankfully, such did not occur.

I had to be in "bed" much earlier if I wanted to get up at 2:30 the next morning. At this point I didn't care about being seen anymore. I knew that no one else cared either. And I set up the tent, then just contemplated and ruminated, filling in some more Sharpie art on the tent fly, then left my mark on an old twisted tree I'd gotten to enjoy to sight of. Someday I will return to Washington and see if this is still there...

I was afraid I wouldn't be able to get to sleep, but it wasn't a problem. I'll tell you one thing though: 2:30 a.m. came a hell of alot faster than I wanted it to. And, a day of challenges and stress would shortly ensue.

For now, the glow of the sunset, the peepers bubbling out their little songs, the not-so-distant college students blasted out their songs on the ridge above me lulled me into unconsciousness, and - for that moment - all was right with the world.

A Living Magazine - Day 305 - Homecoming - Washington: Watergate and Arlington

I woke up, packed up and headed to Starbucks in Georgetown. There, I would work for nearly the whole day. I had wanted to visit the Smithsonian and some other sites along the Mall, but it just wasn't going to happen...

Again, like the day before, I became utterly worn out from writing and needed to rest my mind by walking. Traveling only a short distance down M Street, I took a left and made my way down to the edge of the Potomac, passing by a quaint canal...

Canal running through Georgetown. Seen from 31st Street, looking west.

Washington's canal system was a great boon for commerce when it

opened in 1815. Most of it was filled in after the Civil War.

This branch was left intact, and runs into rock Creek, which leads into the Potomac.

College rowing teams practiced along the Potomac. 

This walk along the Rock Creek Park Trails is a five star display of how the other half spend their time. Foodies with extra deep pockets would find pretty much anything they wanted. The first place I passed by was Fiola Mare... 

On the other end of this Washington Harbor complex building (which includes an indoor skating rink) is Sequoia DC...

Damn anarchists! Ha! On this map, "You are not here."

I passed the Swedish Embassy. And then of course, you can't escape this riverfront area without walking by the iconic Watergate Complex of hotels and apartments, a place Richard Nixon instantly made an eternally famous curiosity for travelers from all over the world...

I didn't have much money left, but after seeing all those people relaxing with their drinks I really wanted a beer for the night and singles are not sold within Washington DC (you have to buy at least a six pack of beer or fifth of liquor--too much booze for this night).

The decision to cross over into Arlington was an easy one. Virginia is cheaper in all ways and small amounts alcohol are more accessible. Plus I'd found a Starbucks on Lynn Street online and it was less than a mile back to my sleep spot to just cross back over to DC using the Francis Scott Key Bridge into Georgetown. Plus, I'd never really seen Arlington.

I didn't have a lot of time before sundown, so I headed to the Lincoln Memorial and crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge. It was quite an experience to see the controlled chaos of Washington rush hour...

I skipped touring Arlington Cemetery, which would have been a great source of photos, but again, I just didn't have the time. Still I got a great shot of the Marine Corps War Memorial...  

Good to have a photo of the map of the Rosslyn section of Arlington,

in case I couldn't get online for some reason.

Then, it was only a short walk to Starbucks on Lynn. I worked there for awhile, and left after locating a nearby 7-Eleven for my beer...

Along Wilson Avenue.

After buying my beer, it was time to cross back over into DC. The District of Columbia actually begins on the Arlington side of the Potomac. So, I was technically back in DC before I even reached the FSK Bridge...  

Crossing the Potomac on the Francis Scott Key Bridge.

A look back at where I had walked along the Rock River Pathways.

My timing was perfect. It was just dark enough to get into my spot. The temperature was really high, near 70 degrees F, and the air was humid. I set up the tent and hung up my shirt to dry. Cracking my precious beer, I enjoyed that sucker immensely. You think having a frosty one after mowing the lawn is nice, try walking ten miles crossing the Potomac and camping in Washington DC for a third night! Ha! Satisfaction guaranteed. Worked for me at least.

The shirt didn't dry very well in the warm damp air. I took it into the tent with me and hung it from the tags there, hoping to have more success over night. As I lay in my sleeping bag, I resolved to buy a bus ticket to Maryland the next day. Sleep came quickly.

A Living Magazine - Day 304 - Homecoming - Washington: Freedom from "Security"

This was my second day in Washington. At first, I thought it might be unremarkable, but a few things made it special after all. 

The sleep spot was perfect. In the morning the traffic was allowed to use both lanes, just to get into town. That meant they were all driving away from me. And besides, no one would have really cared anyway. I packed up and headed back to Georgetown.

I had a lot of work to do; now having fallen behind several posts, needing to process pictures and produce videos. I spent most of the day at the Starbucks on M. When I'd worn myself out, I decided to head back toward the mall, via the White House.

It turned out that it was an interesting day for Marine One. They were training a new pilot. This process took bystanders and myself alike by surprise. For two solid hours the helicopter flew in and flew out. All of us were disappointed to see no president or other stately personage arriving or departing. But nevertheless, it was fascinating to see it. I took the following pictures and videos of the very formal way this is all achieved, along with how the streets are blocked off when dignitaries arrive at the White House... 

I was tired and took some time to relax on the lawn of the Mall. And as you saw in the video above, I suddenly realized just how beat up my legs were. I also had time to think carefully about what I was seeing here in the capital of the United States. Especially interesting to me was the lack of  security, and the freedom I felt because this lack. Formalized, this is what what I came up with...

* * * * * * *

FREEDOM FROM "SECURITY"

There is something about being in the capital of the nation, and the city that essentially makes policies that influence the entire planet.

I'll tell you right now that what I like the most about Washington is its accessibility. For example, every public museum is free! What other city can claim that? 

I like that the White House itself (a small executive mansion, compared with most other countries) is kept relatively vulnerable. Actually, the whole city is vulnerable! And I liked it. 

What a metaphor about the nation that values freedom above all other things; and the access of the citizens to those who govern them. I walked around the White House with a huge 50 pound backpack that could have had anything in it. The police took notice (as they do of everyone), but they never confronted me nor made me feel uncomfortable. I could have held enough explosives to blow away the security gates and allow others to enter. But it is not about trust--mine, nor theirs. It is about ideals. Washington is the city of ideals. And, thank goodness! The last time I checked, we still have a Constitution, and the checks and balances of power - while not perfect - are still in place to protect its ideals.

If we were to shelter everything behind razor wire, electric fences, and velvet ropes, we would be separating it from reality. The reality is that it is a dangerous world, but one that the U.S. government (I think) courageously keeps itself open to for the everyday man, woman, and child. 

What would be the point of having pretty parks, majestic monuments, and high ideals, if people could not touch the 200 year old marble columns and view the most iconic buildings in world history from only a few feet away? It made a point for me. If we lose our freedom to do these things, then we have lost the freedom to be human beings. 

As much as I focus against the problems that affect our American society and thus the expectations of the world, I genuinely applaud our country for keeping its most valued assets able to be seen or touched; for anyone, rich or poor, of any color or religion. 

For the aforementioned reasons, I fear the national and international tightening of security over the threat of terrorism. Despite the super-spin and melodramatic tone of the press, when seen in simpler terms, it is a numbers game. Terrorists of any bent simply don't have the numbers to take away freedom as effectively as governments do. It is just a fact. The threat of death by terrorist acts to U.S. citizens is statistically insignificant...

Source: start.umd.edu

The U.S. population is nearing 320 million. That means that terrorism has wiped out about 0.001% of us--and this, over twenty years. In the last two decades, most of the deaths from terrorist acts in this country were in the year 2001--due to the 911 attacks. That was a fluke year (as seen above). Nevertheless, when factored in, it means that an average 160 Americans per year are dying from terrorism. Yet, we are told that it could happen at any moment in any city. We are told that we should be prepared to die from terrorism at any moment. We are told to report any "suspicious" activity to the authorities in order to avoid this "clear and present danger."

But, danger just isn't the case. In a fantastically well-researched and highly sourced article - Anti-Terrorism Spending 50,000 Times More Than on Any Other Cause of Death, by Mike P. Sinn - at thinkbynumbers.org, the factual situation is laid out with precision and bit of humor. 

As I wrote about the similarly false claim by the media, politicians, and law enforcement agencies that "drugs" are an "epidemic" in Maine--and the nation (please read the essay, called, "The Maine Problem" from Day 232), I will demonstrate exactly what a non-threat terrorism is, and just how much money is being made by media, politicians, and law enforcement agencies from convincing us all that it is the number one risk in the world--or at least near the top of the list. It isn't. And, I want to show you why. To do this, I will quote and paraphrase the information from Think by Numbers, along with my own commentary.

Heart disease (killing 700,000 Americans each year) and cancer (killing 550,000 Americans each year) are the top two risks to life that the citizens of our country face. Yet they are not prioritized as such by the U.S. Government. Not in the slightest way. Consider this (my emphasis)...

The US spends more than $500 million per victim on anti-terrorism efforts.  However, cancer research spending is only $10,000 per victim.

Again, these are facts, not opinions. Are we really allowing our government to spend 50,000 times more money on the "problem" of terrorism than on cancer research? I've lost over a dozen people whom I dearly loved in my life to cancer in just the last five years--four just in the last six months. I have personally never lost a family member or friend, nor known of any acquaintance who was killed or maimed by a terrorist act, that's in 47 years!

It is pathetic - at least to me - that people are so easily led to do things just because they are told to do them. Now, I wouldn't mind paying taxes if I had control over where the money goes. I suspect most of you out there might agree. Some folks think that they should never pay any taxes at all. To each his own. Whether we should pay taxes is not my point.

Military related spending is stupendously high when compared to other government investments. And, recall that this is money allocated for killing people. Here is a snapshot from the running counters at the National Priorities website...

Notice that for only the recent action against ISIS, we are now paying $615,482 per HOUR.

See the numbers tick away, here.

I don't underestimate the horrible results of the insanity of groups like ISIS. Nor do I discount the vicious nature of the foes which the American government chooses to oppose militarily. But the lack of perspective in spending is appalling to me. It is also very disappointing that more of us aren't paying attention to these disproportionate activities, and then demanding change. The question for me, then, is why? I tend to agree with Mr. Sinn, who sums up his hypotheses as follows...

Why is the government response so disproportionate to the threat? 

EVOLUTION
Evolutionary psychology may be able to explain this phenomenon. The human brain has been around for 200,000 years. More than 99% of that evolution has been characterized by starvation and general scarcity of resources typified the environment in which humans evolved.  In this situation, violent acquisition of resources from other groups was often a necessary survival technique. Hence, human brains most hyper-vigilant and aggressive toward human threats (i.e. terrorists) were most likely to survive and propagate these characteristics. 

On the other hand, throughout evolutionary history medical science was almost non-existent.  Hence, there would be no survival value added by a tendency to focus on more likely health-related causes of death. We just weren’t designed for these times. 

ANXIETY FATIGUE
One possible reason is anxiety fatigue. When an individual is subjected to a stimulus for an extended period of time, such as the aroma of a hospital room, the sound of a fan, or the endless nagging of the mother-in-law, their mind eventually just filters it out. Mortality risks such as heart disease and cancer extend farther back in time than even the existence of our current civilization. Our society now more or less accepts these unfortunate facts of life as another cost of doing business.Thus, they’re filtered out of our collective consciousness to some extent. On the other hand, consider the SARS virus scare a few years ago. Despite the absence of a single American fatality, the newness of this airborne illness allowed it to occupy headlines for weeks. Similarly, the Islamic terrorist menace is also a relatively new phenomenon to the US. Maybe threat fatigue for terrorism just hasn’t set in yet. 

ECONOMIC CONSEQUENCES
The economic consequences of terrorism would, at first thought, seem like a justification for the level of concern. There was a huge financial cost associated with the 9/11 attacks. Total related insurance claim payments are estimated at $32.5 billion. However, there’s been no definitive proof that the attacks lead to a significant decline in GDP. In fact, a GDP which had been falling due to recession in the quarter prior to 9/11 actually started growing again in the quarter following 9/11. 

It’s conventional wisdom that military spending is good for the economy. However, most macroeconomic models show that, in the long term, military spending diverts resources from productive uses, such as consumption and investment. This ultimately slows economic growth and reduces employment. So if one thinks they’re protecting our economy by taking trillions of dollars away from other productive uses to fight the so-called global war on terror, they should consider upgrading their abycuss to a calculator. 

NUCLEAR BOMBS
Another seemingly more justifiable reason for a magnified response to terrorism is the potential for a nuclear attack that could result in a far greater number of casualties than the typical terrorist attacks have to date. According to many experts on nuclear proliferation, the possibly insurmountable technical challenges of building or acquiring a thermo-nuclear weapon are enormous. Including the requirement that the weapon be portable, makes the likelihood of acquisition dramatically more remote. However, there is a real threat that highly enriched uranium could be acquired from a former Soviet state and used to make a crude bomb. This is a serious risk and needs to be addressed by either securing or downgrading the 1000 tons of yellowcake remaining within Russia and her neighbors. The government currently spends about a billion dollars on this effort annually. Compare this to the two billion we spend in Iraq every week and one might assume we have a bonobo setting our national security priorities in exchange for bananas. 

HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY
Finally, the psychological makeup of our species could also be a contributing factor to this risk amplification. Just look at the plot structure of a work of fiction. The vast majority of conflicts are between a human protagonist and a human antagonist.We seem to maintain an inherent attraction to interpersonal or, on a larger scale, inter-societal conflict. It’s only natural that this affinity translates to our media diet as well. Many studies have shown that the media sets the public policy agenda.So, the point is that interpersonal and societal conflicts like that between Western civilization and Muslim extremists are simply better able to maintain our attention than conflicts between man and complex, abstract medical threats. 

In addition, sociologists and psychologists have determined that society amplifies the danger of risks imposed upon them, such as terrorism. Conversely, society finds risks resulting from voluntary behavior, such as car accidents, more acceptable.

While, in my opinion, these are quite reasonable proposals, it seems that Americans who claim to be so angry about the economy, income inequality, the inability to pay off student loans, healthcare costs, and all of the other "concerns" that we "learn" about from mass media (in between their constant advertisements to buy the things we don't really need, that their corporate boards of directors also own stock in), should be outraged with what their money really goes toward.

Republicans often propose cutting social programs, claiming that they are mismanaged and corrupt, while ignoring that the reasons for this corruption and mismanagement is probably due to underfunding in the first place. Politicians have their own form of spin and overblow. The so-called "problems" in the programs that allow the poorest people to receive help, are inflated and mischaracterized, using the media's own trick of the unyieldingly repetitive restatement of memes. 

On the other side of the aisle, Democrats seek to put too much reliance upon funding the government (along with its emphasis on military agendas) in general, giving it far too much leverage to impose regulations and micromanage people's lives. Yes, social  programs are more conscientiously addressed, but in order to get legislation passed that will provide adequate funding, pork is added. This cheapens the values of governing, pisses off non-constituents, increases the role of lobbyists and all of the corruption that goes along with these. 

Then, because the corporations who own the mass media, the politicians - both Republican and Democrat - who skilfully utilize that media, AND the companies who manufacture and supply all the stuff that keeps these organizations in business, hold all the strings, the public is kept well out of the loop. It is forced to live and even think entirely along the lines from the "messages" it has been brainwashed into believing--apparently, without question.

Getting back to our focus on national security in Washington DC, which is (as I was observing so plainly on this day) so subtle as to potentially be a terrorist's dream come true. I had to conclude that the openness and freedom of movement demonstrated here for the citizenry to explore these hallowed halls and power-based institutions was an ideal about which I have found well worth all of the effort above to explain.

Were we then to carry this ideal over to our fiscal over-concern about the risk of terrorism, we might be able to prevent heart disease, cure cancer, provide grants for students to go to college, have universal healthcare, and be a more prosperous and happy society. 

Furthermore, although it might be argued that the reason more people aren't killed so frequently and in higher number by terrorism, is due to the huge amount of money budgeted to fight it, the results of our efforts don't have a proportionate effect, compared to how much we pay for them. Governments like the United States play by internationally determined rules, even in war. And, we have rarely not been at war in some capacity. 

Terrorist groups depend on having no rules, or blatantly breaking the rules established and recognized by other nations. For terrorists like ISIS, it is simply a matter of trying out new atrocities. No formal set of governmental checks and balances can possibly keep up with the rate of defense needed against an offense force that honors no such procedures. 

Will terrorists try to use commercial jetliners to destroy significant targets in the U.S. again? Probably not. Yet, the entire effort to tighten security at airports in response to this one-time tactic (after 911), has become so overdone that it is ruled by ridiculous intrusions upon privacy and dignity--freedom. 

My hometown friend, Cynthia, told me at lunch that she watched airport security pull a very elderly couple out of line, made them take off their shoes, scanned them and then angrily told the husband - who had bent down to help his wife put her shoes back on -  to "Step back, sir!!" Cynthia stepped in and tried to reason with the security person, pointing to the fact that the elderly woman was unable to put her shoes back on without the assistance of her husband. 

This kind of liberty to strong are citizens is just letter-of-the-law gone way too far. Authority given to people who then believe they are above the law, who thence abuse that authority as airport security officers (for example), is the direct result of the fear that has been driven down our throats since that terrible day of 911. And, it isn't even stopping terrorism. 

The terrorists simply checked the airplane crashing option of their evil think tanking list and moved on to other strategies. There are unlimited diabolical methods of killing soft targets. 

They have very much succeeded in tying our national security system into knots, while simultaneously forcing American taxpayers to foot the bill, and the American media to continuously drive the disproportionate risk they supposedly pose to civilization deeper and deeper into everyone's minds. 

In this way, and by using very little resources of their own, the terrorists (grouped generally together) are winning. They are getting exactly what they've always wanted. Now, with proposals like that of Republican presidential candidate Ted Cruz, to fight them by "carpet bombing" the Middle East, or rival Republican candidate Donald Trump to use the threat of "nuclear weapons on the table," simply completes the terrorist agenda and ties it up with a little red-state bow. Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton probably would pull the status quo-line by showing she's tough and dumping even more money into "The War on Terror." I'm not familiar enough with the other Democratic candidate, Bernie Sanders' view on this matter. But--while offering some fresh economic and social ideas, it is likely that he is still "establishment" enough to not depart heavily from maintaining some kind of symbolically high amount of funding in national defense.   

As long as the ineffective and inefficient system feeds American tax money into the pockets of the billionaires, politicians, and corporation who exploit it, we will remain a fearful and misled nation with terrorist groups controlling us, keeping us hostage to our own dark media-led imaginations.

If we could only learn from the freedoms shown by the security ideals displayed in own national capital, and thence apply these to our thinking on a personal level, we could change the system, have more money and more individual freedom. But what about being attacked by ISIS? Wouldn't we be more vulnerable if we didn't dump 50,000 times more money to save 160 Americans a year from this hated group? 

Here's the deal: ISIS grows and maintains itself by recruiting the disaffected members of the first world, and the poor, ignorant people of the poorer countries. It gives them hope and a feeling of belonging to a great cause, through indoctrination by the rarefied, radicalized religious, ideological militaristic interpretation of the Koran. But, don't fool yourself, this doesn't have anything to do with Islam. It's just a smokescreen that ISIS uses to give meaning where is none. The religious aspect of this kind of group ideology is, patently, a lie.

Fix the the first world culture (by making it more just and economically attractive), and you will have less (mostly) young men leaving it and fighting alongside groups like ISIS against it. In poorer countries, a more ethical model will be seen in the U.S. example, and education will improve. It is a package deal. Western society is improved, and the incentives that lead terrorist groups to oppose it will disappear.  

Will we as Americans change our minds, by educating ourselves on the facts? I'm optimistic that we will, but it will take a hell of a lot more people explaining what those facts are, and even more people who are open minded enough to even ask the questions in the first place. I've done my best to explain what I have learned. It is up to you to decide whether you agree or not for yourself.   

* * * * * * *

I enjoyed my time in the sun...

Getting up to walk back to Georgetown, I decided to get a look at this stone building I'd seen so many times before...

The Canal House.

Along 17th Street and across from the park before the White House,

stands the American Red Cross Building.

Loved this place. Fish 1 or fish 2?

I got back to the sleep spot and did my tent assembly-thing then crawled in and fell asleep.