Don’t take the beltway!

(August 22, 2007)

I've already decided my days as a Mid-Atlantic state dweller are numbered. Maryland's not dead to me, but it's in the ICU. Today I saw a commercial for a furniture store and their primary selling point was the fact that you don't have to take the beltway to get there (Also: I still do not have a bed). At the end of the commercial, the store's address and phone number flashed on screen, but the phrase "Don't take the beltway!" was featured even more prominently.

Last Friday, as my four-hour trip to Virginia Beach stretched into six hours, I used that time to contemplate my next nomadic move. I realized, then, that moving close to DC seemed like a good idea in May because a) Ryan Claycomb told me to, and b) it's a city that's not New York. I like cities for their absence of trees and neighborly small talk, but I somehow forgot about my overriding distaste for other people. I've decided I'm willing to suffer the boredom of small town living in exchange for relative solitude. For now, there's not a lot I can do about it, but I've decided that as soon as my lease is over, I'm moving to Montana, Wyoming, North Dakota, Nevada, Oklahoma, Idaho, or some other state you never meet anyone from. I'm willing to drive 40 minutes to the grocery store and talk to the people in it as long as I don't have to stare at a line of stationary single-car drivers as far as the horizon in the process. I don't want any mass transit, either. I'm not going anywhere with a population dense enough to warrant public transportation. I only want to see pick-up trucks and that one van that takes senior citizens to the mall. I'm drawing the line at hunting my own food, though. And, yes, I know this is probably how Ted Kaczynski started.

Once I actually got to Virginia Beach, I had a pretty good time. I got sick pretty much immediately as a result of constant exposure to proper nutrition and natural light, but I tried not to let that get me too down. One thing did sort of bother me, though, and I know I've written about this before, but still -- how can the catcall continue to exist? Not only has it never worked on anyone, but now there seems to be a new strain of hostile catcall that's somehow even less effective.

The three-block walk back to Steph's house was full of pretty standard sexual harassment (one reason not to go blonde), but one dude got really creative and warned us to "watch out for the attack." That time, I actually did almost stop and ask for clarification. Obviously, yelling at me on the street didn't make me want to sleep with him nearly as much as if he'd revved the engine of a Camaro blasting techno music, but did he have to be all menacing about it? Why not try something like, "Come back to the parking garage, baby" or "I have an ether-soaked rag in my back pocket"?

So, apparently we're doing violent catcalls now, and I'm really excited about this. I'm officially encouraging my female friends to get involved.

"This womb won't fill itself!"
"I want to sue you for child support!"
"I'm gonna fuck you in the ass with conical household objects until you cry like a little bitch!"