DC 4 Life

SwampCity reports that nobody likes DC. Fuck all y’all, I say. Suckas don’t even know.

I’ve recently come to grips with the idea that I’ll probably live in DC for the rest of my life. Growing up, I always abhorred meeting people who had lived in the same place all their lives. I was eager to move someplace different, just to be different. As I’ve travelled I’ve found plenty of places I’d be happy to live. It’s not as if I couldn’t imagine another home than the District. But if I stay in my present line of work (which I intend to do), that’s going to keep me around DC. And I’m more than okay with that.

I’ve come to love the city, even for its traffic, its endless type-A personalities, its wonky public transit, its wonks, its miserable series of mayors, its ridiculously high taxes for almost nonexistent public services, the fact that we get all the good bands mid-week after they hit NYC, the travesty that is the Sunday Post, not having a vote, and so on. It’s inexplicable, but I love it.

It’s true, as per the survey SwampCity linked to, that we’re not the most friendly or stylish city, but we get by. You get used to translating a steely glare on the Metro as “excuse me, I need to get by,” and a swift rabbit-punch to the kidneys as “pardon me, but I’m really in quite a rush.” And there are pockets of style, if you know where to look (Dupont Circle). Maybe we’re not NYC or LA, but after weeks in Baltimore I’m always amazed and how goddamn good the women here look. Then again, I’m turned on by draft legislation poking out of a Kate Spade bag, so I’m not an impartial judge.

Any city is what you make it, I’ve found. Don’t let anyone tell you you can’t have fun in DC.