April 15th, 2007, 9:10 pm

A wholesome day in DC

WASHINGTON, DC, April 15, 2007

Saturday morning found me heavy; head still thick of Friday’s Shiner Bock.

The last thing I wanted to do was get up, but I did - up and out, still smoky in last night’s clothes. I’d gone to the Black Cat to see the Junior Boys the night before, and part of me was still swimming in that lushness, deep-diven into the music.

If I could describe music, I’d do it for a living - I can’t. But it was an amazing show, and it was enough to remember it, as I stumbled, hungover, in electric blue legwarmers, towards the Department of Motor Vehicles, ready if not willing to surrender my Atlanta driver’s license for a DC approximate.

My hair was 80s-thick with mousse and a finally-found-in-storage industrial can of Bed Head, and I turned a head or two when I bought coffee and a bagel - which, despite my prodigious cooking projects, is the lifestuff that sustains me.

And, of course - the DMV was closed.

Which it distinctly did not mention on their website.

But the Canadian embassy was across the street, maple-flags ablazin’. I had to laugh - and then -

Eh, what the fuck? I was up, I was out, I was dressed and I had coffee.

Today I’d be a tourist.

So I wandered through the Parade of Racial Stereotypes - which had a different official name, I believe. [Non-stereotypical Mexicans]

[Non-stereotypical Asians.]

[Non-stereotypical yak.]

And I sat in the Smithsonian Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden, watching crazy people and eating a bagel.

It was sunny, windy and cold; the type of weather that makes a mallard-green duck spot a shallow pool and take a crazy, veering, breast-first dive into murky-sky-reflecting waters - dive! quick! now! that tingly-cold splash!

Yoko Ono set about a work of world peace-creation, with a wish tree.

Now the world can finally know that ‘ZZ’ wishes he had the whole hot wheels set.

Ono will be collecting all of the wishes at an installation in Iceland.

Imagine.

[ba-dum-dum.]

I wandered through the museum, which was good and fun and life-sustaining and not something to joke bout.

And then I took the walk to the penis/Washington Monument, which I had no interest in mounting. But I saw it.

And I saw the World War II memorial - which mostly consisted of rocks engraved with state names, and naive tourists taking their picture in front of their home state’s rock.

Ahem.

Then on to the reflecting pool, which was not in fact filled with sexy dirty hippies, as the movie Forrest Gump led me to believe. It was grey, reflecting the sky, and fringed with yahoos tossing a baseball and Midwestern moms in American flag sweaters. They aren’t so much dumb as they are incredibly naive and sheltered, and it was hurtful and depressing, but I climbed the steps to see Mr. Lincoln anyways.

And yes, now the world has yet another crappy digital picture of the Lincoln Memorial.

But hey, I spotted this awesome set of roots. You go girl!

Korea’s War Memorial suffered grandly in comparison, featuring crude sculptures in last season’s ponchos.

And, in case you didn’t remember, the wall was there to tell you:

Freedom isn’t free.

I walked away, faster now, through the Mall, back towards the green line Metro, stopping off at my office to check some email and read about three million strips of my newest favorite comic ever, Diesel Sweeties.

[Thanks Professor Stevie-Steve for the tip - sassy girls with robot boyfriends? Indie Rock Pete? Metal Steve? Awesome.]

And then - ah, sweet bliss! Home!

Home where I could be bitter and caustic, and sit out on the porch with a burrito - chile-marinated buffalo, chocolate chipotle beans, cilantro rice and tomatillo salsa - sip back on some Texas brew, and cattily read about fashion, having spent an entire day being freaking wholesome, ready at least for some wickedly bitchy hedonism.