Restoring My Sanity

As you may have heard, there was a little get-together on the national mall Saturday from 12-3.  Of course, by little, I mean a giant rally that has been mentioned on TV every hour on the hour for the past month.  John Stewart and Stephen Colbert hosted "The Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear" in front of the capital.  I figured it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity to see it, and because we are still here in the area, we could do it in person.  Maybe we could even get a picture of John Stewart holding our baby.

We had been casually talking about going to the rally for the past month.  The plan was simple.  We would just take the metro down to the mall, and check it out.  We would even take/drag all the kids.  Like I said,  simple.

However, the first blow to this plan was struck earlier this week by Andrew, our newest little trouble maker.  He began to run a high fever of unknown origin.  Having battled Benjy's fevers, we know what to do, sort of.  And, after a few days (6 actually)-- and a few headaches caused by doctors-- he appeared to be improving, so the plan was back on.

Not to be beaten at his own game, Benjy the Hothead struck with his own fever on Friday night. (This actually means that he has had a fever on 3 of his 4 Halloweens.)  At this point, there was no way that we would all be going.  After a lively game of rock-paper-scissors, it was determined that I would go with Jacob.  It would be a bonding experience, and Lisa would have one less kid to contend with--my consolation prize to her. 

So Jacob and I went to the metro station just before noon to catch a ride into town.  This is what we found:

To top it all off, the people at the front of the line didn't know how to work the machines.  It was as if the line had built up behind a pack of octogenarians who didn't know how to use a ticket machine any better than a voting booth. 

The line wasn't moving very quickly, but the worst part was creepy red-beard over on the left.  He was wearing a pair of those shoes with the toes built in, and for some reason he really wanted to talk to me.  Thanks, but no thanks.  If you want to talk, go explain to granny up there about how to insert her cash.

After waiting in the sluggish line for about 20 minutes or so, a woman walked by and saw some friends near us.  We eaves-dropped on her conversation without trying to look too creepy (like red-beard) and learned that she had been on the platform but hadn't been able to get get on a train because they were all stuffed to capacity.  She was suggesting that they might be able to get on a train if they rode further into Virginia to the end of the metro track and then switched trains to come back in.  I imagined a lot of body-checking and pungent odors with this plan, not to mention at least another hour added to the commute into the city.  The woman was leaving, and so were we.

We raced back to the car to drive into town.  Actually, it was more of a meander because that was as fast as I could get Jacob to move.  Apparently the idea of a historical trip into the city with his old man wasn't that appealing to him, even when I tried to bribe him with unrestricted use of his mother's camera.

The line at the porta-john - 6 blocks away from the rally

By the time we got into town, it was packed.  Actually, packed just isn't a sufficient description.  Let's just say that a lot of people (200,000?) had shared our plan.  It was only a matter of minutes before our car was hemmed in by crowds of jaywalkers and other adventurous drivers.  Making a left turn was nearly impossible, and moving forward was futile.  Of course, there were no parking spots anywhere near the mall.  I almost had one, but a twenty-something, who looked like he had just crawled out of a closet in a fraternity house or finished a European tour on which he only stayed in hostels without running water, stepped out in the spot to "save it" for his friend in a '95 Dodge Neon.

Since a normal drive into the city usually involves me shouting at "stupid" people, you can only imagine the descriptive yet non-profane phrases (my six-year-old was in the back seat) I had for the masses.   My nerves were shot, my sanity was in question, and Jacob wanted to know why West Virginia was called "West" Virginia if there wasn't an East, North or South Virginia. Why did he want to know that now?  The next question was something about the Queen of England and royal succession.

So there I sat with Jacob, trying to explain what the difference is between a war and a civil war, when the female cop motioned for me to roll down my window.  After I explained that I was happily married-- it was weird because women in uniform are usually hitting on Lisa instead of me-- she explained to us that she would help us make an "illegal" u-turn in order to avoid the traffic jam and the inherent danger involved with hundreds of random crazies who were just walking across the street wherever they wanted.  Then Mahmoud Ahmadinejad walked across the street in font of us.  That was the exact moment when we gave up on attending the "Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear."  It was 2:03P.M.

I expect that Bill O'Reilly will be demanding the head of whoever gave him a US Visa within days.

We didn't attend.  However, if restoring sanity means standing in line at the metro with creepy red-beard, cramming myself and my 6 year-old into a train with hundreds of smelly college kids, waiting in line at a port-o-potty blocks away from the actual event, trying to find a parking spot on the street in D.C. on a Saturday, middle fingers, or overly friendly female cops, then count me out.  I must thrive on insanity.  I'll watch future rallies from the comfort of my couch and check my sanity with the remote control.