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Fall Foliage

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“Dear PoPville,

He usually wanders around Mt Pleasant neighborhood, but I’m afraid he might have crossed 16th St and ventured into the Columbia Heights area. He was last seen on the east side of 16th and Oak.

His name is Peanut, and he’s kinda hard to miss. He does know his name, and if you call him he might walk up to you. He’s about 20 lbs and looks like a Maine Coon. He’s not shy at all, not scared of people or dogs, and he usually lets people pick him up. He’s medium haired, tuxedo cat.

He has a blue collar on with my name and phone number, and he’s also got a rubbery white flea and tick collar on. If anyone has seen him, please give me a call at 610-745-0314.”

The bridge that takes I-395 over S. Glebe Road is slated to be renamed for Virginia State Trooper Jacqueline Vernon, who was killed in 1988 during a traffic stop on the interstate.

The Arlington County Board passed a resolution asking the General Assembly to rename the bridge in Vernon’s honor. Vernon was killed Aug. 4, 1988, after pulling over an HOV violator on a nearby stretch of I-395 when, while speaking to the driver, a Metrobus struck and killed her.

Vernon, who was born in West Virginia during segregation in 1955, was the first woman and first African American Virginia state trooper to be killed in the line of duty.

The resolution erroneously calls for “the Glebe Road bridge over I-395″ to renamed, but there is no such bridge. According to the county’s legislative liaison to the General Assembly, Pat Carroll, there was a mistake in the resolution, and the I-395 bridge over Glebe Road is what’s actually expected to be renamed.

Vernon’s family was in attendance during the resolution on Tuesday afternoon, and County Board Chair Jay Fisette read a letter written by Vernon’s brother, Ron, transcribed after the jump.

Vernon’s family had been trying for years to get a bridge or stretch of road named after her, and their efforts appear likely to pay off. Fisette said he “can’t imagine” the General Assembly wouldn’t approve of naming the bridge after her during their 2015 session.

After the jump is Ron Vernon’s letter, “Sacrifice.”

Trooper Jacqueline “Jackie” Vernon was born to a coal miner father and a housewife mother on Nov. 4, 1955 in a small town in West Virginia named Carretta. Jackie was born the fifth child of five children, born to parents who believed that the only escape from poverty was education.

Carretta was a typical southern town during segregation, with a population under 500. The neighborhoods were arranged with black and white families in different parts of the community. The blacks were crammed into spaces that white didn’t want, their houses were inferior, their roads were unpaved and their futures were bleak.

This was Jackie’s introduction into society. As she grew older, Jackie first attended Carretta Negro Elementary School, a one room school where one teacher taugh six grades with used books and hand-me-down materials. Jackie could never understand why she couldn’t go to school with the other kids.

Before Jackie finished elementary school, de-segregation came to West Virginia, but instead of de-segregation becoming her rescue, it became another battle. Jackie’s new battle was going to school with kids and teachers that didn’t want her in their school. Somehow, despite the obstacles, she made it through and graduated.

Shortly after graduation, Jackie joined the Army in the hopes of escaping the poverty and oppression of being born into a segregated life. Although Jackie excelled in her given field of transportation, she found resentment and exclusion from male soldiers, who disliked the idea of being shown up by a woman. Jackie served one tour of duty before leaving the military.

She finally landed a job as a police officer for the city of Gary, West Virginia. Jackie had found her calling. She was thrilled at the idea of serving the public. For the next few years, she learned as much as she could from her fellow officers and finally became a training officer herself. For once, she wasn’t a black or a woman, but a police officer. She loved it.

In 1984, the Virginia State Police came looking for her to join their ranks. Jackie was recruited to be in the 73rd class of the Virginia State Police, and the first class that contained women. In August of 1984, Jackie graduated from the academy to be a Virginia State Trooper. The pride, the sense of accomplishment and the satisfaction that she succeeded gave her a new lease on life.

She spoke of service to the community and one incident in particular. One night while on duty, she came upon an elderly lady that had a flat tire. The lady did not belong to a motorist club nor did she have anyone in the vicinity to call for help. Jackie said she thought of her mother being stranded with no one to help. She got out of her cruiser, rolled up her sleeves and changed the lady’s flat tire, and sent her on her way.

It wasn’t anything big for most of us, but it defined who she was. During her brief, four-year career as a trooper, Jackie was awarded 11 commendations for service to the public.

Sadly, a little more than four years after becoming a trooper, fate stepped in and ended Jackie’s career with the ultimate sacrifice. On Aug. 16, 1988, during a routine stop of an HOV violator, an errant Metro driver distracted by a passenger lost control of his bus and hit Jackie, who died of injuries within hours of the incident.

However, fate has its ironies. In life, Jackie was always trying to stand out to be different or to make a difference. In life, she graduated as one of the first female troopers in Virginia. In death, she was the first female trooper killed in the line of duty, the first black Virginia trooper killed in the line of duty, and the first female peace officer killed in the line of duty in the state of Virginia.

This was Jackie Vernon, Virginia State Trooper

Photo (top) via Google Maps. Photo (bottom) via Facebook

This week’s Arlington Pet of the Week is Linus, a puppy who might have had too good of a time at Sunday’s Pups and Pilsners event in Crystal City.

Linus and his owner, Emily, are proud winners of the Pups and Pilsners social media photo contest, which recorded 31 separate entries from four-legged attendees and their beer-sampling leash holders. They will receive beaucoup Becky’s Bucks from our sponsor, Becky’s Pet Care, as well as the unofficial title of Dog King of Crystal City.

Here’s what Emily has to say about her friendly fido:

This is my new puppy Linus. He is a brand new addition to the family. He is about 5 months old and a beagle/bassett mix possibly. He was staying at a pet boarding facility and needed a forever home. At first, I tried to get some friends to adopt him but I just couldn’t resist his face and he was mine after only a few hours. He came into a home with 2 dogs already and he is loving every minute of it!

As the baby of the family, he likes to rile up big brother Blue and big sister Pixie and engage them in play. They usually comply and sometimes at night it sounds like a church choir in the house. The 3 of them have been getting along pretty well so far. Occasionally Blue and Pixie put Linus in his place but he is always determined to keep up. When he is not playing with his brother and sister, he likes to hang out on the couch and cuddle. He is very laid back without a care in the world. Of course, as a beagle, he follows his nose everywhere. He was having a blast at Pups and Pilsners with all the new scents. His nose hasn’t gotten him into too much trouble yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he finds himself in hot water.

I can’t wait to see where life takes us with Linus. He has already made our house more lively (and noisy). He is such a sweet dog and has so much love to give. I’m glad we could give him all that love in return.

Want your pet to be considered for the Arlington Pet of the Week? Email office@arlnow.com with a 2-3 paragraph bio and at least 3-4 horizontally-oriented photos of your pet.

Each week’s winner receives a sample of dog or cat treats from our sponsor, Becky’s Pet Care, along with $100 in Becky’s Bucks. Becky’s Pet Care, the winner of three Angie’s List Super Service Awards and the National Association of Professional Pet Sitters’ 2013 Business of the Year, provides professional dog walking and pet sitting services in Arlington and Northern Virginia.

If you have any animal/pet photos you’d like to share please send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail(dot)com with ‘Animal Fix’ in the title and say the name of your pet and your neighborhood. Your photos will go into the queue (usually 3-4 weeks wait) and will be posted in the order I receive them. If you’ve already entered your pet and would like to do so again – that’s no problem – just space the entries out a bit. Please try to send horizontal photos 640×480 (medium size on your iphone) if possible. If you’re not using an iphone any size is fine.

“Tallulah from Bloomingdale”

“This is Hogarth Valentino from Capitol Hill.”

“Donna Martin of Adams Morgan, formerly of WHS.”

It’s 11AM on the 4th day of Spring Break. He’s reading Steppenwolf at a minimal loft cafe that sells tote bags and leather notebooks and beard lube. He's drinking a $4 Americano and debating whether he should step outside to roll a cigarette. Earlier today, when he arrived at the café, which by the way is called “Brooklyn,” he thought to himself, One ought only to smoke on weekends. Yet Spring Break is currently revealing-itself-to-him-as-weekend, so he goes outside to smoke. As he observes, flâneuristically, the soft light play upon the Portuguese Church steeples across him, he feels he’s on the verge of a profound realization, a Joycean epiphany, something that will blow his mind. Google, is he manic-depressive? Sometimes he feels so much, it’s almost unbearable. There’s no way most people feel as much as he does. He’s unique. He might be a genius. He’s certainly heterosexual. He’s probably going to grad school.

He is the Alternative-Bro.

Dumpster diving though his rent is paid for him, arranging gatherings between radicals less privileged than he, calling everything “dialectical,” listening to chillwave, perpetually nodding, feeling “depressed”: this is what the Alt-Bro lives for. This is what intoxicates him “in a particularly Dionysian way.”

The Alt-Bro is now thinking, as he observes an elderly woman enter the Portuguese church, Religion has done a lot of terrible things, obviously, but it has done a lot of good things, also, and this is something most people don’t understand. The Alt-Bro wishes most people thought about things as much as he does. He’s neither elitist nor classist, but he doesn’t trust people who don’t “fundamentally feel ideas.” He says things like, “But then you start to think in iambic pentameter and it’s fucked.” The Alt-Bro takes himself seriously.

The Alt-Bro has a gift for looking like he’s thinking. His desktop background is of Swedish architecture. The Alt-Bro is in “an open relationship” with a girl who doesn’t call it an “open relationship.” He claims to be attracted to "both men and women," though he finds “something special" about women. He doesn't know what it is. It is a mystery.

The Alt-Bro is “passed” binary thinking. He’s interested in Buddhism, though only intellectually. He’s “really getting into non-duality these days.”

The Alt-Bro is always really getting into something. He cares about ideas so much! The Alt-Bro has witnessed too many of his intellectual peers succumb to caring about lesser things such as gender and postcolonialism. The group of self-identified queers who run his university’s left-wing newspaper and volunteer at community kitchens and publish their undergraduate essays in graduate journals are “pretty chill,” the Alt-Bro guesses, but “what they fail to realize is that some things transcend politics.” The Alt-Bro never fails to realize.

The Alt-Bro is always “transcending” something. The Alt-Bro uses “Dude” as punctuation. “Dude” can mean “!” or “.” or even “:”

The Alt-Bro tells sad stories about his childhood to girls in their bedrooms. Yeah, well, in one sense, he does consider himself a feminist, but “it’s just so much more complex than that.”

The Alt-Bro believes he’s a good person. The Alt-Bro pretends he has self-hating thoughts. At house parties, the Alt-Bro asks girls if they’ve read The Doors of Perception. He tells them they should read Hunter S. Thompson and “get into gonzo journalism,” though he himself doesn’t plan to write journalism because it’s “too commercially contingent” and besides, he’d rather work on his novel. His novel is tentatively entitled, Towards Death.

In his bedroom, the Alt-Bro keeps a bottle of whiskey next to his case of vinyl records and Kim Jong Il’s On the Art of the Cinema. The Alt-Bro jerks off to X-Art on YouPorn. Afterward he logs onto Facebook without washing his hands.

The Alt-Bro doesn’t have “much faith” in Judith Butler. The Alt-Bro is going to get a PhD. Probably he’ll get a PhD in philosophy but he “doesn’t really know German” (or French) and he’s open to other options “if and only if” he doesn’t have to “fall from the realm of ideas.”

The Alt-Bro thinks things like, Imagine how much more beautiful the world would be if you believed God created it.

The Alt-Bro is deeper than you.

The Alt-Bro lives in a loft space with three other Alt-Bros. Together they arrange “good people gatherings” and ingest psychedelics and play drone music and make ephemeral screen-prints of vaguely Japanese foliage. At the beginning of these gatherings, the Alt-Bro says to the other attendees, also Alt-Bros, “What matters most is not the art we plan to make today, but that we all came together, to be in this space.” The Alt-Bro loves talking about space and he loves nodding. The Alt-Bros all nod together because they’re such good dudes.

The Alt-Bro’s inner world is full of conflict. He keeps death in mind in order to live authentically.

The Alt-Bro says things like, “I’m in love with solitude.” He says, “I love to to take long walks in the forest, as Nietzsche did.” The Alt-Bro manages to be at once earnest and oblivious to what other people think of him. The Alt-Bro romanticizes mental illness. He feels "pretty insane sometimes."

The Alt-Bro thinks all his friends will become intellectuals. He lives his life like he’s the protagonist of an un-ironic Künstlerroman. “Is it impossible for a guy and a girl to have a relationship that’s not romantic?” he asks women his age or younger. The Alt-Bro finds something cruel about humor, yet he hasn’t uncovered what precisely it is.

The Alt-Bro listens to Ethiopian jazz.
The Alt-Bro wants to astral-project.
The Alt-Bro who reads this will think he’s an exception.

At a party, the Alt-Bro speaks to a queer anarchist with a lisp about beekeeping. The Alt-Bro says, “Don’t affect that lisp. It’s offensive to people who have lisps.”

For lunch, the Alt-Bro eats cheese and baguettes because Europe is better. The Alt-Bro endorses collective politics so long as he gets to lead. The Alt-Bro bikes everywhere without a helmet and keeps his bike chain looped to his belt and never signals. “I know I look like I’m completely out of control when I’m biking,” he tells people, “but I’m actually completely in control.”

The Alt-Bro doesn't shit talk. The Alt-Bro "discusses what people are like."

The Alt-Bro will finish his undergrad and pursue an MA at the university where he did his undergrad. He’ll barely pass his classes because he’ll be too busy writing a “philosophical column” in the undergraduate left-wing newspaper which will be run by a fresh batch of precocious self-identified queers who replaced the old ones because the old ones have moved on.

The Alt-Bro will develop a general sense of malaise with the world as he’s experiencing it. He’ll claim to have an existential crisis. He’ll cut his hair and record an EP called Guilt.

The Alt-Bro will actually start to feel guilty. His guilt will impel him to have another realization: I should stop intellectualizing things so much and just act. The Alt-Bro will apply to speak at panels on gender and colonialism. He won’t get accepted to speak at any of them. The Alt-Bro will tell people he’s moving to Berlin but will instead move to Brooklyn because in Brooklyn people speak English. He’ll “live as a writer” for two weeks. Then he’ll return to his loft space because he doesn’t have a job and he hasn’t written anything and everyone in Brooklyn looks like him, just more hip.

The Alt-Bro will receive his graded MA thesis in the mail and check his eyesight. He’ll realize yet another thing: I don’t have the grades to apply to PhDs. The Alt-Bro will call his parents and tell them he wants to apply to another MA program. They’ll say, “But you already have an MA,” and the Alt-Bro will argue with them and hang up. That afternoon, the Alt-Bro will meet a young woman for coffee. They are "really good friends, but it's platonic." He’ll complain about his problems. The young woman will finally say, ending their friendship, “You need to grow up.”

The Alt-Bro will begin to feel real depression. He’ll get scared because though he’s talked so much about being depressed, he’s never actually been depressed.

The next four weeks the Alt-Bro will spend unemployed, nodding at drone shows. At one of these shows he’ll meet a 2nd-year Art History student outside having a smoke. The Alt-Bro will ask her for a cigarette and then talk about himself and his problems. The 2nd-year Art History student will mistake his self-indulgence for vulnerability. Later that night, after the venue closes, they’ll eat bagels together at a 24-Hour diner. By then the Alt-Bro will feel too fatigued to talk, so he’ll just keep nodding. The Alt-Bro loves to nod. The Art History student will mistake his constant nodding for listening. The next afternoon she’ll ask him via text message if he wants to hang out and he’ll say, “Yeah.”

The 2nd-year Art History student and the Alt-Bro will hang out a few times in his big loft bedroom. He’ll talk about how scared he feels. The 2nd-year Art History student will try to comfort him by “putting things in perspective.” Soon this pattern will feel repetitive, so she’ll ask, “Why don’t we go outside and do something?” The Alt-Bro will tell her he’s too depressed to do something. She’ll say, “I understand that, but sometimes it really does help to get out of the house.”

Later that week, the two of them will bike to a public park and drink wine and smoke the Alt-Bro’s rolled cigarettes. The wine will remind the Alt-Bro of art, so he’ll start asking the Art History student about her interests and childhood. She’ll tell him a lot, and she’ll start to feel vulnerable. The next day the Alt-Bro will hardly respond to her texts. When he does, he’ll space his responses in such a way that must be deliberate. The 2nd-year Art History student will come over to his loft space and find him in his bedroom. She’ll ask, voice warbling, “What do you want from this?” The Alt- Bro will turn to the wall and mumble something incoherent. The 2nd-year Art History student will ask, “What?” He’ll say, “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’m just confused about everything.” Feeling hurt and manipulated, the 2nd-year Art History student will leave the Alt-Bro’s loft space and ignore his apologetic texts.

The Alt-Bro will go on to study architecture.

Gavin Tomson is the recent winner of The Dalhousie Review's inaugural short story contest and his writing is forthcoming in Maisonneuve and Joyland. He lives in Toronto, where he works as a publicity agent for The Puritan and writes for its bloggy appendage, the Town Crier. Illustration by Vincent Tao.

The post A Portrait of the Alt-Bro as a Young Dumbass appeared first on The Awl.

pelcan has become too much HUNGER

I AM A NEW BUS going carry you in facepouch are you READY fluff mamals

Photo: Janice Sveda/Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute

Though still saddened by Shama’s passing these photos of her cubs are making the morning much better.

From the National Zoo:

“All of the red panda cubs born at the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute this summer are growing! Five cubs–born to Regan, Low Mei and Shama–are being hand-reared by keepers. They are bottle-fed three times a day, and have received their first solid foods. Keepers are offering them bamboo and soaked apple biscuits. So far, the cubs mostly just gnaw on the bamboo and lick the biscuits.

The cubs are becoming more mobile, and keepers are starting to see some play behaviors from them.”

Photo: Janice Sveda/Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute

Photo: Janice Sveda/Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute

Photo: Janice Sveda/Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute

With all the news around Ray Rice and his wife Janay this week, stemming from the release of security camera footage showing him beating her unconscious, I thought I kind of had to say something. I’m a football fan but even if you’re not you have probably heard about this and to say the least it is pretty sickening. DCHeavyMetal.com turned five years old today. Most people don’t know this but DCHeavyMetal.com was actually born out of domestic violence.

At the time I started this blog I was in a horrible relationship with a violent woman who I loved with all my heart. We lived together with her son, and I did my best to raise him as if he was my own. If you’ve ever seen me in person then you probably know I’m a pretty big guy, and it may seem unlikely that a woman was beating me. My size and strength didn’t matter though because I don’t hit people, ever. Not if I’m angry, not if they’re attacking me, not if they have done something to “deserve it” (whatever that means), not even to defend myself. I don’t believe in hitting people for any reason and even before I met this woman I had always thought that people who are violent are just not smart enough to solve their problems with their brains. And that’s how it happened to me, she knew this about me and used it against me. The abuse wasn’t just physical of course, she told me every day that I was worthless, that I was ugly, that I was lucky she even bothered with a loser like me because no other woman would, that I would never amount to anything, that my friends didn’t actually like me they just put up with me. She had told me she had been abused by her father growing up, and abused by her child’s father, and I thought, regardless of what she said to me, what she did to me, that I could tough it out. I told her that I would be the one that wouldn’t abandon her like the other men in her life had. I would show her that good men do exist, and we don’t hit women or children, and we don’t give up on the people we love, or our families. It ended up putting a burden on myself that trapped me in an awful relationship. If I were to walk away then I was giving up on her, I was breaking my promises and I was just like those other men that had failed her in her life. Unlike most abusers, she never did say she was sorry for it or that she loved me and it would never happen again. I don’t think she ever was sorry for anything she did to me and to this day she probably thinks I deserved it. I guess there’s a part of me that still believes that too, even though I know now that I shouldn’t feel that way.

She would get into these rages where she would just lose control, all logic was gone and she would cut me with her nails, grab the steering wheel while I was driving to try to make me cause an accident, throw things at me, destroy possessions I cared about like old family photos. I remember one time sitting on the floor with my back on a wall as she kicked me in the head repeatedly, I didn’t even bother to lift my arms to defend myself by this point. It didn’t matter, I just had to wait it out until she was tired of hitting me and resisting would just make it take longer. But I’ll never forget seeing her four year old son standing right next to her, about eye level with me, as she kicked me again and again. That hurt me more than any blow to my head, seeing the little boy I used to always sing to sleep in my arms when he was just a year and a half old look at me like that. I still didn’t leave her though, I guess I wasn’t strong enough. And as the abuse got worse and worse it became harder to conceal from others. Once she ripped out a clump of my hair, a big fist full of it, and it freaked me out really bad. I went to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror and see which part of my head the hair came from and that’s when I realized I had cuts all over my face from her nails, and blood was running down my face, dripping off the tip of my nose. I’d often just go numb when she would hit me, so I hadn’t even realized my face had gashes crisscrossing it until I saw them. I’m not a perfect person by any means, but I knew I didn’t deserve this. For over a week while the cuts on my face healed I canceled all plans I had with anyone, I didn’t go out anywhere but to work, and even then I tried my best to make sure I was turned around on the phone or something so people couldn’t see my face when they needed to speak with me. If I had a job that required more interaction with people I probably would have just quit it.

At this point I told a friend about what was going on, one I only knew online and had never met in person. They don’t talk to me any more (again, I’m not perfect) but they did convince me to call a help line. There are very few resources for men when it comes to getting help from a violent partner. Just try using Google to find an abuse group for men in this area, as far as I know there isn’t one. All of the abuse help services are pretty much run by women for women. The questionnaires they have you fill out are worded like “when did he hit you last” and “did he ever insert an object into your vagina” and while I know they’re trying to help mostly women, as a man it made me feel like I shouldn’t even be there. Even when getting help I didn’t belong. I guess I hadn’t realized how rare it is for a man to both be a victim of domestic abuse and to ask for help dealing with it. I spoke to a couple different female counselors about what had been happening to me briefly but when they alerted child protective services (they were legally required to because I admitted that her child had witnessed her violence toward me) I felt awful. Here I was just trying to get myself help and I had betrayed her. I didn’t go back to the clinic, but I did speak to someone there who said they would tell the child services people that when they arrived they should pretend that I had no idea they were coming (they will do this to prevent people being beaten as retaliation). The night before the “surprise” visit to our home I couldn’t sleep. I was so worried about how this would work, and I’d never tried to pass off a lie like this before. I laid in bed all night but never actually slept because of my nerves. They showed up an hour late too, and I’ll tell you I was extremely stressed in that time, yet still pretending to be asleep. When they finally did show up I acted surprised, but the incompetence of the child services people showed immediately when the first thing they said was “sorry we’re late.” Somehow she didn’t hear this, or didn’t understand, and I just played dumb, but I realized these people were not exactly slick. They made it sound like a neighbor had complained and that’s why they were here, though the details they described, quoted from me before, made her suspicious from the start since they were too detailed. They didn’t take her child away, and in fact they said they would check back up with us in a week or two. Months passed and not a word, I guess they forgot about us. At some point I admitted to her that I was the reason they had come. That I had gone to a counselor for abuse and they had been required to inform child protection. I didn’t like having a secret from her like that and so I just told her. She was not happy but I assured her I wasn’t still seeing the counselor, and I wasn’t trying to have her son taken from her. Although I had seen this vegetarian “animal lover” beat our dog she never did anything to physically harm her son.

When I caught her cheating on me it wasn’t even a real shock, I guess I figured that I deserved that too. She was on several dating sites that her best friend, who was single, had told her to use and she would actually go on dates behind my back while I watched her kid for her, thinking she was going to a movie with her friend or something. Then she had some other boyfriend in England that she’d fly out to meet in other cities without telling me. Her mother died of cancer while I was with her and she told me she cheated on me to help cope with that. All the while I was going deeper and deeper in debt because she couldn’t hold a job long before being fired, the bills were all in my name anyways since she had horrid credit to begin with. It was during this dark time that I started DCHeavyMetal.com. I was in a painful, lonely place and I needed something creative that I could focus on, mostly so I wouldn’t have to think about how shitty my own life was. Even if nobody were to end up reading the site it was still an outlet for me, something positive I could work on. Much to my surprise people did start reading it. I cannot describe how much it meant to me to have people say positive things to me about it. Thanking me for running it, enjoying the things I wrote and the photos I shot. When every day you are told you are worthless and pathetic and that nobody likes you, you start to believe it. The people reading this site and encouraging me made a world of difference in my life, and made me remember that I do have worth.

One night she had another violent episode (all because I wanted to watch a Wizards game that night and she wanted to watch something on Netflix) and she cut my face up pretty badly again. By this time I had learned to just leave the house for a while and not come back until late at night when she was sleeping. Except this time she had a plan to prevent me from leaving like that, she called the cops. She told them that I had shoved her son down and choked her and that she cut me up to defend herself, and that I was trying to leave the scene of the crime. She had once tried to become an actress and I guess she fooled them well enough because I soon found myself handcuffed in the back of a police car as I was hauled off to jail not only for a crime that I didn’t commit, but a crime that I was actually the victim of. I never slept in that house again. Everyone that walks away from abuse has a point where they won’t take it any more and this was mine. I had been cheated on, driven into debt, beaten and humiliated, but I wasn’t going to prison for her. At this point all my friends found out what had been going on. My secret shame that I had fought so hard to hide was no longer a secret. I had to tell them, I needed their help with things like finding a lawyer and a place to sleep, getting my things out of the town house I had lived in with her (and let me tell you suddenly moving without packing anything ahead of time fucking sucks).

This was probably the lowest point of my life. Nobody wants to lose their family and live out of a suit case. I felt a lot of shame and guilt for things like abandoning her and her son. I felt like I had failed as a man because I couldn’t hold my family together. She was constantly playing mind games with me, sending me text messages telling me my friends were awful one day and then asking me out on a date the next. I couldn’t sleep unless I was completely wasted and so I started drinking a lot, every night. I ate horribly, when I remembered to, and I constantly worried about my impending trial. Not everything was doom and gloom though. The website was doing better and better despite all this and I met a new woman who was really good to me when I really needed someone. After my charges were eventually dropped I decided that I had lost too much from that awful relationship already and I would not allow myself to be depressed any more, I wanted my life back. I started going to a shit load of concerts (long time readers may remember my Metal Marathon around this time where I went to 11 shows in 9 consecutive days) not just because going to tons of metal shows makes me happy, but because I actually could. She continued to contact me for almost a year before she realized I wasn’t going to write her back. The last communication she ever had with me was a text message saying her son was crying for me. I knew then it was just manipulative but even now it still messes with my head a bit.

Things are a lot better for me now though, I’ve come a long way in the past five years (and so has DCHM). This site has let me meet more great people than I ever imagined (especially since I never imagined I’d meet anyone because of it when I started it). I used to hate going to concerts alone but now I don’t think I can go to a show without knowing some of the people there. I’ve learned about the area’s local metal bands, and become friends with many of them as well as other writers in the area, the folks working at venues, the DIY bookers, promoters and of course the other metal fans in the area that come out and support the local scene. There’s a great community of metal heads in this area and I’m thankful to be a part of it. I still struggle with the debt she left me in, unfortunately running a local metal site doesn’t earn me any money, but I’m so much better off now regardless. I mean c’mon, I got to interview Bill Ward of Black Sabbath this year, I can’t complain about that! And of course I’ve made something here that I can be proud of, and that many of you still tell me regularly that you enjoy. A lot has changed for me in the last five years, and I have DCHeavyMetal.com and you fans of the site to thank for a good part of that.

I’d like to say that if anyone reading this, and I really mean anyone whether I know you or not, is having issues at home with violence you can always reach out to me here at DCHM. I won’t judge you for your situation or for staying and I know as well as anyone what just having someone to talk to can do to make a positive difference. You can email me at DCHeavyMetal@Gmail.com or contact me through any other forms of social media. I’m not a shrink but I can listen, and I can put you in contact with professionals that can do a lot more than that too. We’ve got a great metal community in this area and just like when someone gets knocked down in a mosh pit, we’ve got to help pull each other up.

This has been a heavy post, probably not what anyone was expecting for a five year anniversary post here. The timing of the release of the Ray Rice video brought back a lot of painful memories for me, and perhaps this is how I’m dealing with that. I promise the next few posts will be more fun and exciting. We’ve got another album review ready to post in the next few days, and I’ve been working very hard on a special post showing the 99 best metal concert posters and flyers of the past 5 years from the area. Things have been a bit slow on the site lately too, particularly the calendar, but I’m working to get things back into high gear here in the fall. There’s no big DCHM show at the Fillmore this year but I do have a few special things planned for this month and beyond, including a new t-shirt design. Thanks to new and old fans alike for keeping the area’s metal scene alive, this site wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for you all!

If you have any animal/pet photos you’d like to share please send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail(dot)com with ‘Animal Fix’ in the title and say the name of your pet and your neighborhood. Your photos will go into the queue (usually 3-4 weeks wait) and will be posted in the order I receive them. If you’ve already entered your pet and would like to do so again – that’s no problem – just space the entries out a bit. Please try to send horizontal photos 640×480 (medium size on your iphone) if possible. If you’re not using an iphone any size is fine.

“This is Louie from Logan Circle.”

“Juneau Landreneau in Adams-Morgan. Training to be a Yoda kitty jedi.”

With domestic violence in the news, the Animal Welfare League of Arlington is spreading the word about a program that allows those in dire situations to shelter their pets.

The nonprofit organization, located at 2650 S. Arlington Mill Drive, has a program called “Safekeeping.” The program allows pet owners in Arlington and Falls Church to shelter their pets at AWLA for up to two weeks while the owner is coping with an emergency, like domestic violence, losing a home or the owner’s death.

With the national spotlight thrust on domestic violence after video surfaced of Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice punching his then-fiancée, AWLA is hoping to remind abuse victims that their pet’s well-being could be at risk as well as their own.

“A strong connection has been documented linking animal abuse and domestic violence,” said AWLA spokeswoman Kerry McKeel. “Women often delay their decision to leave an abusive partner out of concern for the safety of their pets.”

The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence reports that 83 percent of women and 63 percent of children, after having arrived at a domestic violence shelter — such as Doorways for Women and Families – reported incidents of pet abuse.

“At AWLA our steadfast mission throughout the year is to improve the lives of animals and one way in which we accomplish this objective is through our Safekeeping program,” McKeel said. “Animals often give continuity and hope during a crisis, so it is distressing for many when they feel forced to part with a pet due to their circumstance. During a crisis, pet owners often just need some short-term help to get back on their feet and that is what we offer through the Safekeeping program.”

Animals can be sheltered at AWLA for two weeks at a time, and the owners are required to check on the pet’s welfare after one week, AWLA says. There is no limit for how many times an animal can be sheltered in case of emergency. McKeel said that, since Safekeeping was launched as a service in 2005, more than 200 animals have been sheltered.

File photo courtesy AWLA

(Updated at 12:15 p.m.) “Arlington County strongly supports” the Washington, D.C., region bid for the 2024 Summer Olympics, County Board Chair Jay Fisette announced today.

Arlington’s support of the bid appears based largely around its currently-stalled plans to build an Olympic-quality aquatics facility at Long Bridge Park, which Arlington expects to be a candidate for the location of the swimming and diving events if D.C. is chosen as the host city.

“Back in June, when we suspended construction plans for Phase 2 of Long Bridge Park, which will include the Aquatics, Health and Fitness Facility, we noted that we expected the park to be part of the plan for bringing the Olympics to the Washington Region,” Fisette said in a press release. “That is still our hope. We believe that Long Bridge could be a great venue for Olympic swimming events.”

The group that will be leading D.C.’s bid to host the Olympics was also announced this morning. The group, called Washington 2024 will be led by Chairman and CEO Russ Ramsey, an investment banker and former board chairman of George Washington. The board includes Washington Wizards and Capitals owner Ted Leonsis, who will serve as vice chairman, Washington Nationals owner Mark Lerner, Under Armour founder and CEO Kevin Plank, chef José Andrés, former National Football League commissioner Paul Tagliabue and former D.C. Mayor Anthony Williams.

“This is about bringing the world to Washington and bringing Washington to the world,” Leonsis said in a press release. “The idea of fostering unity could leave, for the whole of mankind, the greatest Olympics legacy ever. Only Washington could do this.”

D.C. is under consideration by the United States Olympic Committee to be its chosen city for the International Olympics Committee. D.C. is one of four American finalist cities, along with Los Angeles, San Francisco and Boston. The United States has not hosted a Summer Olympics since the 1996 games in Atlanta. The 2016 games will be held in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and the 2020 games will be held in Tokyo.

“I speak for the County Board when I say that the Olympics could be a great thing for this region and for Arlington,” Fisette said. “We agree with Washington 2024 that this is an historic opportunity for our region to be part of the Olympic Movement.”

(Updated at 9:50 a.m.) New York Senator Kirsten Gillibrand (D) is no fan of living in Arlington, apparently.

In her new book, “Off The Sidelines,” which is due out today, Gillibrand recounts her move from New York to the D.C. area — to Arlington, specifically — when she was first elected to the House of Representatives. It was a move Gillibrand would come to regret.

From the book:

Our move to Washington was hard — on me and my marriage. I had a new job; [my husband] Jonathan didn’t; and we were trying to find our legs with a toddler in a new city. We started having the same argument over and over. I’d say, “What’s wrong?”

Jonathan would say, “I have no job and I hate D.C.”

I appreciated Jonathan’s viewpoint. We lived in a soulless suburb. It wasn’t the right place for us, and we needed a change. I could see that, but it took me at least a year to figure out that racing 100 miles an hour to do my job well was leaving no time for us… Eventually we moved from Arlington, Virginia, to Capitol Hill, and Jonathan found a job he liked.

Gillibrand’s book also discusses sexism on Capitol Hill and inappropriate comments congressmen made about Gillibrand’s weight.

Update at 6:00 p.m. — In a tweet, Gillibrand says she’s sorry.

Sorry, Arlington, didn't mean to hurt your feelings. #OffTheSidelines

— Kirsten Gillibrand (@SenGillibrand) September 9, 2014