The Heights of Columbia

…we hardly knew you.

Looks like the rendering nerds at Google Earth have been keeping themselves occupied. My bitchy comments about the subject have been addressed.

Not to worry, there’s always tons of stuff in DC to complain about.

If you’re a casual user of Google Earth you might not have made the trip down to the bottom left and played around with those clickable layers. You do have Google Earth, right? If not, it’s well worth the download what with being free and an incredibly useful way to piss away huge amounts of time. This widely fellated, award winning program allows a swanky way of letting you zoom around DC in way that you would never be able to do in real life. Even if you had oodles of cash and threw a helicopter at the problem.

I have some things in common with Google Earth. Ask any of my Ex’es and you’ll find that we’re often both accused of being a bit on the two dimensional side. Whereas I’m merely shallow, self indulgent, and generally choose not to grow up, Google Earth has different depth issues. If you try and get perspectives other than directly above our fair city, much like a satellite you’ll literally see it’s a bit on the flat side. Enter, stage left, the 3D buildings layer. A mere click away and things are a lot better don’t you think?

If you’re dealing with mostly rectangular structures and places like New York City this works out very well indeed. But things start to get really funky when you take a stab at approximating something like, say, the Capitol. Oh dear. That looks like a 70’s era toilet roll holder plopped on the top. All that’s missing is Barbie.

The super blocky Kennedy Center rendition suffers a similar indignity and up until a few days ago The Monument was butchered in a similar way. Looks like Googlers have been unable to rest and cleared up latter matter pronto.

Well done there.

Don’t worry, DC isn’t the only city to suffer in this manner. London has a lovely rendering of the Gherkin but falls down almost everywhere else. Chicago is sparsely furnished but gets a C+ by showing off the Hancock and IBM Buildings. In that last grab there’s a couple of shady, low-res cylinders loitering as if they’re about to mug the unsuspecting IBM Building. Maybe when it is having its windows cleaned or something. That pair would be collectively known as Marina City and are almost certainly what most 3D rendering nerds would call “a bit of a bugger” to bring to life.

With that in mind, my money says Union Station will be one of the last to get the treatment..

You’ve got to admit that being a pedestrian here ain’t so bad. Now, lots people don’t leave northwest or suffer the indignity that is taking the Blue Line out of the District. Unless there’s a sale going on at Cole Haan. Or perhaps your MacBook burped and needs to be babied by those who would be Geniuses. But nothing more than that, right?

You need to get out of your zone of safety you wannabe Manhattanite. Wander up to the Maryland border, sur le pied, and recoil in horror when you cross over Eastern Avenue and ogle at what happens to the sidewalks. Don’t cheat and count Friendship Heights as part of your so-called validation as that’s just a bit of unclaimed District that’s leaked northwards. Sort of like that mystery fluid that oozes out of a chicken tikka masala, melts its way through plastic, and becomes one with your expensive yet porous designer counter top.

No, you need to stomp up New Hampshire Avenue to see how good we’ve got it. I’ve been there and it’s not pretty. One moment it’s all leafy-time strolling and then, like some bad Emeril segway, Bam! Three lanes of unbridled, 90mph terror. I’m surprised the Maryland local government hasn’t invested in robots with frickin’ lasers to incinerate walkers if they wander too far over the border. You think that’s excessive? Go see for yourself as it really is that welcoming.

But all is not well here in paradise. “DC officials want more people to take to the streets” the WaPo would have you believe. If you don’t want to read the article please leave your pitchforks and torches at home, people. We’re not storming a castle, casting out the Bridge and Tunnel people, or clearing Columbia Heights of hipsters. Not yet, anyway. No, the DC Government is working in earnest to make DC even more walkable.

If I had Emeka Moneme’s ear I’d suggest that strapping cameras to street sweepers (that never come and sweep the damn streets anyway) is just a way to torment the already tormented. If Mayor Fenty voted me into office I’d put those eyes on poles up over pedestrian crossings and snag everybody that flagrantly tries to mow down pedestrians.

For I am experienced in these matters. Maybe you’ve seen me in action. Maybe you’ve tried to take me on (fool).

I stand my ground. Like a toreador I wave my brightly colored briefcase in a taunting, fashion-forward fashion towards oncoming motorists. I exercise my rights and claim the crossing strip as my own. Mesmerized, and obviously pissed off that I’d challenge several thousand pounds of fast moving steel with my crunchable, puny human frame, el torro sometimes speeds up. Just a little. This isn’t the cover of Abbey Road you sly motoring dog, for I am not only experienced but faster than you. A quick flip of my hips to move out of the way and we pass narrowly. Like a pair of Boston-based Mooninites we exchange a parting goodbye. A salute if you will. Two ships that pass in the night; two souls, destined never to intertwine; two arrogant, territorial sons of bitches with opposing views.

Yet I still got a ticket for jaywalking on Connecticut Avenue at rush hour. It’s my badge of honor, SUV drivers. I’ll see you on the streets until Emeka or Fenty comes to their senses.

Ah, Columbia Heights, how do we dig thee? You’ve got it going on, girl! You’re all sassy and soon to be shiny all up around the metro station; you’re all lush and green and laid back over by Meridian Hill/Malcolm X park; and, oh, you naughty thing, you’re all dirty down on my street.

Well, that’s not really very sexy is it? I can’t quite fathom why people who live on my street smash bottles on the sidewalk on a Friday and then have to tiptoe between the glass on a Saturday. But that’s part of your mystery, your allure, Columbia Heights! You’re on the move, girl, in transition (apparently), and we’re all along for the ride.

What I find really interesting, though, is how you treat minorities. For I am a minority. When I go to the grocery store I’m subtly aware of it and so are the others like me. I ride the bus quite a bit, and more often than not I’m the only person of my color on the bus. Aside, I like the bus as it’s a delicious taste of civility and respect in an increasingly disrespectful and uncivilized world. Old lades never get to stand up because young, gallant men pop out of their seats like champagne corks eager to do the right thing. People automatically sit near the window so others can have the seat nearest the middle and not have to stand. Crowds part like the Red Sea to let you out at your stop no matter how crowded the ride. Those who have difficulty boarding the bus are never chastised or clucked at for delaying the journey a tad. You just don’t see this on the Metro. In fact, fuck you Metro. You self important turd. Be more like the bus already.

So, you’ve guessed it, I am white. In Columbia Heights I appear to be in the minority.

This makes walking around at night interesting. Not because I’m afraid but because some people in the majority are afraid that I’ll be afraid. And it’s kind of blown my mind.

A recent, boozy night out accidentally included swinging by Adams Morgan and ending up at The Diner for accidental consumption of deep fried carbs (and, accidentally, more booze). Given my propensity for walking things off, I naturally stumbled up Columbia Road and into the waiting arms of our neighborhood. Oh, C.H., why can’t you have a fun late night restaurant? Is there one coming? Please don’t let it be a miserable chain and ruin the place.

And that’s when I was told that I shouldn’t be afraid. No, silly, not of Ruby Tuesday and the neighborhood becoming a Mall but of walking around at night. A group of six tall, youthful African American men crossed the street at 15th and Columbia and for a short while joined us on our stumble home. The group’s leader went out of his way to say there was nothing to be afraid of.

We weren’t sure what to make of it to be honest. “Uh, cool, thanks, we’re not” was the best Plucky Gal and I could muster. Which wasn’t bad for two people full of French Fries and cocktails.

Seriously, guys, thanks. I feel more at home here than just about anywhere else on the planet.

DC’s (naturally) obsessed about politics because, as your Brit friends would say, there’s a lot of it about. You do have Brit friends, right? If you’re too hung over to remember and your liver hurts right now check the box next to ‘yes’.

Apart from baseball, the other obsession that seems to drive DC types is the metro.

• Will it get a new line?
• Will the 5000 series cars stay on the tracks this week?
• Will the Yellow line extension stick?
• Will it join the city in a collective mind losing if it snows?
• Will I just sell one kidney to pay for upcoming fare increases or can I get by with none?
• And why doesn’t my phone work down there?

Actually your phone sort of works down there if you’re willing to suffer the slings and arrows that go along with a Verizon account. Or are willing to dance with the two headed Devil that is Sprint and roaming charges.

Got T-Mobile or AT&T I mean Cingular AT&T (again)? Different system, sorry.

But all is not lost. Just a few short weeks ago something of a minor miracle happened. The little “1x” next to the signal strength gizmo changed to “1X”.

On a Sprint Blackberry, not a Verizon Blackberry. It’s Verizon’s network so they’ve always had that ability.

The difference is that the decidedly lower case 1x means, essentially, you’re screwed. You’re carrying an overpriced, oversized brick that drops calls between most stations and does nothing else but make calls. You know, like most of Sprint and Verizon’s crappy line up of phones.

But, all of a sudden, with no announcement, with — gasp! — no extra charges, I could suddenly get data while down under. Email flows in, Google Maps mobile works, and all the other mobile must-haves dance their little dance. For a while I was afraid to talk about it. If I verbalized this thing would the cameras read my lips, relay the information back to the black helicopters, and then take my data stream away?

For now who cares? The beloved Web is back on. I can suckle from the Information teat and not have to be insulted by Express. Tomorrow I’ll research a gizmo that allows you to intravenously drink coffee without getting a ticket. So many rules, so little caffeine.