Thoughts, 11 March 2010

1) There are few sensations more utterly horrifying than that of oncoming flatulence in a crowded Metro station. There is a reason I take the bus if I’ve had beans in the past three nights.

2) I went to do a Google search today. The number one fill-in for “why are” – I was going Mr. Google a question about curio cabinets – was “Why are black people so loud?”  Undoubtedly racist, but now I’m tapping into some of that Google magic. Which I suppose indirectly makes me a racist. Or a racist lover.

3) Walking through Congress Heights I noticed something.  The houses there are not much different than any of those in U Street, Columbia Heights or Adams Morgan – indeed, many are nicer. Why, then, are the neighborhoods so different?

But of course we all know there’s a very key difference about Congress Heights: no Mexicans.

4) Does anyone reading this want a bottle of Gold Listerine?  Seriously.  Little-used.  I tried it without cutting it with water and the skin inside my mouth peeling off and I was desperately dry for a week.

But for you I’m sure it’d be fine.

5) Someone I know just got married. He’s a month younger than me. This is the seventh person I’ve known, directly or through friends, to be married. The first popped about six months out of high school.

In the words of a married woman herself: JUST SAY NO.

But of course it’s probably the perverse incentive of tax. I want a new tax, on married people, to pay for subsidies towards daycare. And a ban on the public exhibition of a child from dawn to dusk.

6) I also want a tax on methane. Did you know that methane as a greenhouse gas is 20 times more potent than CO2? And did you know where methane comes from. Farts. Specifically cow farts – or they always say cow farts. I think that’s the government trying to deflect attention from the real culprit. You know what I’m talking about. You know who you are.

I’ve heard of a solution: Carbon capture and sequestration. Take a big hole in the ground; fill it with the gas; cover and done. Only trick, I guess, is to get the gas down there.

Brb metro.

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