Maryland Madhouse

When I arrived in Maryland after a ten hour drive, I was bleary eyed. Tender red spots had appeared on the contact points where my limbs rubbed against the car, and my bad hip was being mildly cantankerous. I slipped off the highway onto Father Hurley road, driving past large apartment complexes until finding my own nook among nooks. Spotting my friend Doug, who was absent mindedly shining his business shoes under the first floor entryway, I happily got out of the car. He greeted me with a smile, a cold beer, and a new key to the small little domicile that we were now destined to share.

As I came to find in the coming week, my new residence was located in Germantown—a place that I have unaffectionately dubbed, suburban hell. Germantown is located on the far, far outskirts of D.C., about a 20min drive from the outmost subway point. To get into town requires the iron clad will of a metropolitan trekker, where traffic, standing lines, and pricy travel fees come into play. If I were to find employment near the Mall, where many of the Smithsonian Museums reside, my commute would require over two hours of daily travel time, and at a price of about ten dollars a day. In a given year, at full time employment, that would roughly equal 520 hrs of lost time and $2600 in travel fees. Yum. But moving any closer to the city would only get more expensive, at least when the cost of living is concerned.

Germantown itself is a spread out mass of franchises and strip malls, with no real identifying or unique features. All of the elements that I have come to dislike about America – the ever rush mentality, the copy clone appearance – it’s all blaringly represented right here. Only a week in, I’m starting to truly pang for Brazil, in all of its third world glory. I miss the friends and adventures, and fear losing myself to the absurd commonality of this menial kingdom.

But that’s just me despairing. Being in a new area, removed from your social circle, with nothing to do on your birthday will do that to you. Been putting myself in my own personal hell, lately, and its starting to wear on me.

But, anyway, on the brighter side of things, there are about a million cool things to do in this place if one can stand the travel. Doug and I hit Adams Morgan last Friday, running into the young, hip, bar hopping crowd of the city. It was my first subway ride, ever, and I was amazed by the underground track ways, the ever distant city lights, and the diverse crowd at our destination. We visited the National Mall on Sunday, checking out the National Archives, and the Lincoln Memorial—covering long distances on foot in the humid Washington air.

On the job front, I have decided to try and get at least some local part time work, hoping to avoid some of the daily commute. Interning for the Smithsonian, as I had originally intended, is currently out of the picture, having now missed the June summer deadline for applications. Yesterday, I applied for a full-time administrative position at a local area community center for the arts. The place was first on my list, being the closest thing to a cultural center/museum in the neighborhood. The position is full time, and pays 20 grand a year, which while being more than I’ve ever made at a job, is a pittance salary for such an expensive area (someone at a bar told me last night that the county was the second or third most expensive county in the country, next to Orangeville and Silicon Valley). As I look at it though, the job is way better than working at Friday’s, and offers me some much needed health benefits. I’ve been thinking about prostituting myself on the side, just to make a little cash. But that could be neither here nor there.

Spending most of my time in the apartment, getting resumes ready and looking for jobs, I am already starting to go a little out of my mind. If this job thing goes through, I’m going to start the indispensable extracurricular routine that has kept me grounded. I’m thinking of doing 3-4 days at the gym, one night of samba classes at the Brazilian American institute in NW D.C., one night of salsa classes at the art center where I’m applying, and kendo on the weekends. Best way to start a new life is to be swept away by its current, and I’m anxious to get myself midstream.

(Hitting Doug's favorite local dive, Jaspers, after the drive.)

(Dorm style living in a one bedroom apartment. Tough but necessary steps of a transition.)

(Trying to play tetris to free up some bedroom space.)

(The kitchen table has become my study.)

(Doug and I messing around last night. That's his hand by the way.)

(Crazy cats, to cool for school.)