Brewers vs. Nationals in Washington D.C.

After the White House visit, our day of checking out historical tourist shit was over, so we slowly walked back towards the subway station. On top of being completely worn out I was also wasted, so Kevin had to deal with me stopping for rest and nonsense pictures.

I just remembered that I talked to a protester camped outside on the street. He had pictures of dead bodies in big piles and articles about the immanent threat of nuclear war. I don't really recall much of the conversation, but what I do know is that I was drunk and wearing a sombrero. He on the other hand was dirty, smelled like he hadn't bathed in weeks, had straggly hair and a beard, had pictures of dead bodies all around him and he had cross tattoos on his face. I do remember asking him questions, trying to figure out why he was protesting and what his viewpoints and beliefs were. I must have triggered a nerve or something, because he looked me square in the eye and said (and I quote), "I don't have time for silly questions." Then he went inside his tent and zippered it up. I walked away ranting. What do you mean you don't have time? You hang outside on the sidewalk day and night protesting. Sir, you have nothing but time. Aren't protesters supposed to convince other people what they stand for is right and recruit you to join in the cause? This guy was not doing it right. Kevin and I vowed to go back next year to see if he is still there so that we can protest him. We just want to stand next to him with picket signs that say "This Guy Smells" (with an arrow pointing to him) and another that says "This Man Doesn't Have Time for Silly Questions." Nobody messes with the Back Alley Burners. Not even bums.

Even though I previously said we didn't really care about historical shit, you can't help but look at these monuments to fallen heroes and men who shaped this country, and pay respect for all of the great things they did. We wouldn't be here today of not for them.

TP (my beloved tripod) must have been as drunk as I was, because everything seen through his eyes was blurry. I mean it. All of the pictures that he took were blurry, so I caved in and asked a local Asian passerby to take our picture. Revolution for all except TP!

We support all members of The Revolution, even the Daughters of the American one. When I saw this sign I just had to stop and give the universal symbol for Revolution. If any of them were still alive, I bet they would have proudly joined me with fists in the air.

I have a certain knack for being in the right place at the right time. Some of the most beautiful photographs that I have ever taken are the result of momentary happenstance. Such is the case with these pictures I took of the World War II Memorial and the Washington Monument. What makes these pictures rise from average to greatness is the lighting. In a very fitting tribute, God layered the sky with America's colors - the red white and blue. I may have been wasted, but even I had to stop and admire it.

That train ride home was one of the longest rides of my life. Trust me when I say that because I've been on a lot of long rides (the 36 hour drive straight through from Milwaukee to Las Vegas comes to mind). But after being drunk all day, watching the Brewers get embarrassed by Livan Hernandez and the Nationals, then walking all around the Nation's Capital, I was ready to pass out and sleep. Our stop was the last one on the line, so we got the added bonus of watching everyone else depart the train and head back to their beds. But at least I wasn't the one driving the train, because that would have been a disaster. But at least I would've went out the way that I wanted to - drunk, sombrero on head, and derailing a train with my cousin. Take that getting old and dying in your sleep. That's no way to end a very successful and often confusing life.