What I loved about Disney World.

My favorite thing about Disney World were the fake sets... seeing the Golden Girls house on the lot... that sort of thing. I think that's why I initially fell in love with DC. There are some streets, Newport Street (just south of O St. NW between 21st and 22nd) comes to mind, where you honestly feel like you are Jim Carrey in The Truman Show. What's so wrong about feeling safe? Like nothing bad will happen to you because you're the lead character?

Walking down Newport St. yesterday observing the finely organized townhouses in a myriad of colors(it's completely out of my way, and yet, I walk down it about once every other day intentionally), I found myself smelling something funny. Something horrid. Something like urine topped with feces topped with vomit topped with crack (and yes, I know what crack smells like having gone into a bathroom at Veselka after waiting 30 minutes and having the manager open the door to find a bum passed out in it. The manager informed me the strange rotten fruit smell was crack. It was 2am. I wanted pierogies. I got an ambulance and vomiting instead).

Anyways, back to Newport St. last night, I turned to see where that smell was coming from. It was a homeless man walking pretty far behind me with a blanket over his head. He was mumbling, loudly, something about the Lord coming down to save the people. I started to walk much faster, until I realized something. Uh, he wasn't following me. And, even if he were following me, it's not like I wouldn't know (that Pigpen kid in Charlie Brown much).

I was just talking to someone on Saturday night about how I feel safer in DC than New York, and yet, I shouldn't. AM's neighbor got killed in their apartment building by someone she knew and no one knew about it for 3 days. (Side note: Peter's been off gChat for 2 days. I called last night to make sure he wasn't dead. Now I'm being completely neurotic.)

And, I'm scared to death of rats. You knew that though. So, my observation is that I'm completely freaked out by the wrong things. No drugged crazy bum is coming after me on the street... and, if they are, it is not like I wouldn't realize it. And, rats aren't attacking me either unless I happen to roll around in garbage for a week or two. The Preppy Killer was hot. Ted Bundy was hot. Their prey were attracted to them. I mean, I realize theirs the Central Park Rapist to worry about and such still, but all the same, I'm not too worried about walking through Dupont Circle at night anymore.

Controversial comment here, but do you think rats attack bums? If no, why not?

Anyways. I just thought I'd point out that my walk down Newport Street got me thinkin'. Who is the big bad wolf, and who really isn't?