Category: Struggles

A Home in Joplin

Started like any other Sunday in Joplin, Missouri. People went to church and gathered with family and friends. The Joplin High School had just held its graduation, and families were returning home. But as dark clouds gathered above, a severe storm was brewing. At 5:41 PM, an EF-5 tornado touched down in the southern part of the city and tracked east, cutting a 13-mile swath through the heart of downtown.

It struck the campus of the Missouri Southern State University, where the local high school was holding its graduation ceremony. One hundred fifty people were still in the arena and swiftly evacuated to the basement. But others were already returning home and in stark danger. Tragically, the storm claimed the lives of seven students (including one of the recent graduates). 1

After weeks-on-end of studying and exams and tweaking my business plan, I was ready to head west on my cross-country bus trip, looking for that elusive web developer who would be my last cog in the wheel.

The journey which would take me through the heartland of America would seem interminable — four gritty days and sleepless nights. Could I tolerate the middle-of-the-night disruptions, filthy bathrooms, the constant chit-chat from disheveled vagabonds?

On May 25, I boarded a Greyhound from Baltimore heading west. I would stop in San Diego to run a marathon with Janine and her hubby before I headed north to Vancouver to find a web developer for my site.

But at the last minute, I decided there was a more significant calling than just running a road race. The city of Joplin had taken a heavy toll, and they desperately needed help.

A full-figured woman in her early 20’s sat a few rows behind me in a rowdy bus where a couple of boisterous fellows were cracking us up like a lobster claw. The jokes were coming at a feverish pace, exactly what we needed to establish the right mood for the long journey. One rugged hooligan was getting too fresh for comfort, causing the girl to pitch a fit.

“Young lady, please get up and sit somewhere else then. The rest of you brats – if I hear another peep from you, I’m gonna pull over and drop ya’ll off on the side of the highway where you’re gonna have to thumb your way home,” the bus driver announced indignantly.

The commotion subsided, but, I still didn’t get a lick of sleep for the next few hours. At the transfer in St Louis, I joined the other backpackers lounging on the floor. I would be stopping in Joplin for tornado relief – my body and my mind yearned for respite.

Damaris singing @ the St Louis Greyhound station

Suddenly my siesta was interrupted by a soft rendition of Keyshia Cole’s “Love”. She had a voice that could move mountains and a face that could launch a thousand trucks.

“Wow, you sound just like Whitney Houston.”

“Thank you. Maybe my delightful croon will make me rich and famous one day.”

“I certainly hope so. What’s your name and where you’re going?”

“You can call me Dee for Damaris. I’m heading to Ok. City to visit my aunt, Mimi.”

“Right on my dear. You should be going to L.A. You have a face of a movie star. I hope you’ll remember me when you record your first album.”

“How ’bout you — how far west are you going?”

“All the way to California, but first, I’m making a stop in Joplin.”

“Yeah, I heard about the tragedy – many precious lives were lost, thousands of homes destroyed.”

Then as I boarded the bus in St Louis, the bus driver started to give me a hard time.

“Are you sure you want to get off in Joplin — the entire town has been wiped off the map.”

“Absolutely, tens of thousands of survivors desperately need our help.”

“Ok, but your bags are going to San Diego.”

“Can’t do that, Ma’am. I have a foldable bike in the baggage compartment, and I’ll need that to navigate my way around the disaster area.”

“You’re outa your mind. That’s against Greyhound policy. Since the town is completely devastated, I’m sure they could use your help — what little support you can provide.”

Thankfully, the driver relented, and as we entered the town, I felt road-weary but headstrong for whatever lay ahead. I hugged Damaris goodbye, hoping she would suddenly decide to come along.

“Stay safe,” As she wiped a tear from her eye. “I hope we’ll meet again soon.”

“Well, eventually, I’ll be heading to California to find someone who can help me create a restaurant search directory. Maybe something that you can find useful one day.”

Damaris rolled her eyes, doubtful that would be in the cards.

When I stepped off the bus, my sour, sweaty smell of three days of rolled-on antiperspirant evaporated like steam in the scorching Missouri sky. There was no one to greet me, not even a soul on the street. It was a lonely bus stop in a mid-sized municipality, some parts showing virtually no signs that a deadly EF-5 Twister had rolled through a few days ago.

Despite lugging an extra bag around from bus to bus I was now deeply grateful that I had decided to bring my Dahon foldable 12-speed roadster along.

President Obama and his entourage and Governor Nixon had just visited and showed compassion. “This is a national tragedy,” Obama said. “We’re not gonna stop until Joplin is back on their feet.”

Flags were flying at half-mast. Emergency response vehicles and T.V. trucks filled up a parking lot at the downtown mall. A National Guard hummer drove through the desolate downtown like it was in Iraq after the Battle of Ramadi.

The campus of the Missouri Southern State University, where the AmeriCorps had set up their task force, was four miles from downtown, and taxis weren’t readily available during a crisis. I loaded all my luggage on the bike (Macbook Pro, Nikon 5100, sleeping bag, and thankfully only a few pieces of clothing) and pedaled my way to the Volunteer Relief Center.

By the time I arrived on campus, the volunteers had already departed for the day, scraping the thick crust of grime covering their arms and legs. The staff was putting things away, and in the cafeteria, a large throng of AmeriCorps members was busy debriefing the day’s events.

I was fortunate to catch the tail end when the staff decided to recognize each other for their hard work and dedication. I pulled out my camera and started filming, unbeknownst that I would witness something quite remarkable. This is where I met Quinn, Julie, Abby, and Will — incredible people who sacrificed tremendously to serve Americans in need. They called on each other and recognized their contributions. Then they presented a rose as a token of appreciation. I choked as I held back tears for people I didn’t even know. But after sharing with us something special from the inside, I felt that they would be dear friends for life.

Just a month before the tornado, a Memorandum of Understanding was signed that established Missouri Southern as an approved American Red Cross Shelter. The timing was perfect, and the campus turned out to be an excellent resource and accommodation. I didn’t have a rack to sleep on, and hot foot was limited. But the building was new, and the couch that I slept on was firm and comfortable. I was blessed to have a roof over my head, considering the thousands of people who were left homeless. I made sure I got some rest because tomorrow would be a big day.

Julie was one of the first team members that I met. Incidentally, she was from College Park, Maryland. I could tell that she had a lot on her plate, so I asked how I could be of help.

The overflow of support from Americans everywhere had been enormous. Thousands of people called United Way and American Red Cross, offering their homes, vehicles, services, etc. AmeriCorps then posted this info on their Facebook page.

“We’re getting dozens of calls a day from people offering to donate goods and services to survivors. People are offering their cars, computers, cell phones, tents, food, clothing,” said Julie. “We’re simply posting these offers on our Joplin Tornado Relief Services Facebook page, and it’s first come, first served.”

The issue with these postings was that there were not sortable or searchable nor user-friendly. There was not one clearinghouse that gathered all the information. As a result, many of these donations were not managed effectively or were simply wasted. So I took the initiative to create an online database where the AmeriCorps could easily track all donations and match them specifically with survivors depending on their exact needs.

So I spent the first two days on campus creating an online database with Drupal (which I literally learned on the go). After a lot of painstaking research and trial and error, the database was created — a small but momentous cause for celebration.

* * *

My next goal was to document the heroic contributions of the AmeriCorps’ disaster relief teams. Spending the last three days working alongside them, I had nothing but wonderful things to say about this dedicated group of young men and women. They were bright, innovative, and selfless, never counting the costs of uprooting their lives to serve our country in need with very little pay. With people like Abby, Julie, Will, and Melissa, I was left impressed and thankful for their sacrifices.

But there was only one problem: I didn’t have any closed-toe shoots. Traveling on Greyhound, I had to travel light. Thank goodness, Abby came to the rescue and lent me her boots for the day.

The next day I visited the site ravaged by the tornado and met some of the victims. The first time I got to see the damage, I was shellshocked. Trees that were left standing were stripped bare by the intense winds. The images brought back forlorn memories from Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. It had already been an amazing whirlwind tour in what has already been a very long journey for disaster relief for one of the deadliest single tornadoes in America.

I met Christina on the bus going out to the field. Originally from Georgia, her mother owned a house an hour from here. An outdoor person with a warm heart, she loved to snow ski, windsurf, sail and pitch a tent and enjoy nature at its finest. Christina would be spending the next month sleeping in tents and volunteering for both the AmeriCorps and the Ozark Food Harvest. After this stint, she would be heading north to Alaska to go glacier camping.

I listened to Christina as she cleared debris and collected memorabilia. One of the hardest parts of the relief effort was recovering personal belongings. Many of the pictures, some over a generation old, would be digitized and posted online in hopes that someone would claim them. Christina found some dental records, books, videos, and a porcelain figurine.

Debris piled near the street would be picked up by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.

I also spoke to Chelsea, another volunteer who lived in the area.

“Many people think we’re a small town. The population in Joplin is 50,000, but actually, 300,000 people work and shop here,” she said. “Lots of folks commute from neighboring town — just like me.”

I was humbled and honored to meet Jerry and Debby, one of the homeowners who lost two houses: theirs and their daughters. Jerry was actually in his truck when the deadly twister hit. He was lifted up and spun around before being dropped in front of his house. His house was pulled straight out of the foundation and blown to bits. House after house for miles in all directions was literally reduced to slab. Cars and trucks were crushed like soda cans. Jerry was fortunate to have made it out alright. His house was reduced to shreds, but he was blessed to have his life and that of his lovely family.

“It’s slowly sinking in,” said Debby, as she looked through some old photos. “It’s taken a week for me.”

“Yes, we really need to come here and experience it. Watching it on T.V. is not enough,” said Chelsea.

Christina looked through some pictures she found. “And it’s important to look at your belongings as just items that come and go. They are not attached to you personally — it’s time to move on.”

I was deeply touched when I visited St. John’s Regional Medical Center. Every window in the hospital was blown out, and the top two floors were ripped away. The staff had only minutes to pull patients from their rooms and into hallways before the storm struck. The entire building had been moved four inches off its foundation and six people died. Because there were concerns that the structure might collapse, the building was evacuated.

Soon, the relief effort would come to an end and the city would shift into a reconstruction phase that would last for many years.

I was proud and happy to see Sailors from the USS Missouri (SSN-780) clearing rubble and assisting homeowners with retrieving their belongings. Like the humanitarian assistance deployments to Haiti after the deadly earthquake last year, the U.S. military is always there to assist whenever disaster strikes.

Soon, the relief effort would come to an end, and the city would shift into a reconstruction phase that would last for many years.

With damage estimated to be $3.18 billion, the Joplin tornado is the costliest single tornado in U.S. history (adjusted for inflation). 553 businesses and 7,411 homes were damaged or destroyed, affecting more than 17,000 people. The storm reached a maximum width of nearly one mile during its path through Joplin, killing 161 people (with an additional eight indirect deaths).

July 30, 2022
The Skies are Gray

Donald “Clay” Clay, an Air Force veteran, was enjoying his stogie while chit chatting with friends, watching boats slipping by. On every weekday afternoon when the weather is fine, he and a half dozen of his perennial friends such as Robert “Bleu” Jones and Kimo Tavares gather at the Slip Inn to chill, booze up and snack on the crowd-favorite George wings. No one knows for sure why they call them George, but rumor is one of the cooks from the earliest days in the 80s came up with the secret breading.

The Tiki bar and restaurant wasn’t located in the Navy Yard, Old Town Alexandria or the National Harbor — places packed with tourists. Instead it was tucked away at the edge of Joint Base Anacostia Bolling, a well-kept secret amongst retirees. That’s why Clay, Bleu and a handful of old timers made it a daily ritual when the clouds are clear and the skies are blue.

And the weather forecast for the next three days was bright and promising. There was a ton of activity as military personnel and their families kicked off the glorious weekend with Country Western Night featuring a local, up-and-coming talent.

Sara Gray is a singer, song-writer from Indian Head, MD., just down the beaten river in Southern Maryland. The first time she sang in public was at the age of three on a cruise ship — from the soundtrack of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. She watched her father sing in his local band, then started performing at church and has rendered the National Anthem at various community events. At 16, she wrote her first song and her budding repertoire focuses on country and classic rock. For the last year, her schedule has been in high demand, opening for country stars such as Toby Keith, Dierks Bentley, the Zac Brown Band and Luke Bryan and performing all over the DMV.

Sara Gray covering”Cowboy Take Me Away”

Sara Gray loves audience participation

“I’m so happy to be on the stage where I feel right at home. I love getting the crowd involved, clapping, dancing and singing along. They inspire me.”

Justin Voskuil bartending at the Slip Inn Tiki Bar

Sara Gray singing her original “One of A Kind”

Photos by Skvora limited media

July 14, 2022
Piola DC

Jason Morenz was working in the kitchen in Piola located on the northern border of U St by Florida Ave NW. The restaurant was popular on Sunday for their bottomless brunch (not mimosas) but 10 different types of pizzas (personal size) as much as you can binge.

During the weekday, all draft beer (including the Peroni) was only $3 and occasionally, they would offer involtini puffs, bite-sized roll-ups with bacon, mozzarella, and eggs. On the 29th of each month, Piola would offer AYCE handmade Gnocchis with a handful of decadent sauces.

Although 14th Street has a fair share of pizzerias, Piola was popular with pizza aficionados for their thin-crust and savory cheese and hearty toppings. Couples and groups also came for the chilled atmosphere and friendly servers.

Piola’s, on most nights, was buzzing and the demand for take-out was through the roof. The biggest problem was apps like DoorDash and Grubhub took a huge slice of their paper-thin margins, as much as 30%.

“Why not cut out the middleman?” Jason thought to himself. “We could build a slick website and channel all call-in orders through it.”

Under his direction, I purchased the domain Piola D.C. and replicated their menu on an eCommerce platform. Then I updated Google maps with the new website name.

Within days, the website traffic started to pick up and if anyone called to order, they were redirected to the new site. But Piola’s did not have its own fleet of delivery drivers. So Jason came up with another ingenious idea.

For every delivery order that came in, Jason would duplicate the order on the Postmates app.

For the sake of example, Charlene is at home with a big craving for traditional Italian pizzas and Peter is working a swing shift as a bike messenger.

Charlene ordered the Quattro Formaggi on the Piola D.C. website. The instruction would then be automatically printed out and sent to the kitchen. Jason would then make the same order on the Postmates app. In little time Peter would show up at Piola’s to pick up Jason’s pizza.

Jason would immediately greet Peter. “This order is for Charlene and it’s going to this address down the road,” Jason instructed. “And I’m going to tip you ahead of time, so don’t screw this up.”

15 minutes later, Peter called Charlene at the Union Row Flats on 14th and she happily buzzed him in. He checked in at the front desk then took the elevator to the 5th floor and tapped on her door.

Charlene opened the door in her skimpy, pink terrycloth bathrobe “Come on in,” as she motioned for him to follow her.

“Please set the pizza on the table.”

Peter bewilderedly followed her to the dining room. Then he opened his bright red pizza warmer bag and gently took out the large pizza box with the slogan “FAMOSI PER LA PIZZA” embossed on the side.

Charlene thanked him with a slight twinkle in her eye.

Peter returned the smile and maintained a steady gaze. Then a prolonged uneasy silence, while Peter noticed a partial view of the Capitol rotunda from the master bedroom vaulted windows. He wanted to say something, but luckily she beat him to it.

“Well, I guess I better dig in while it’s still hot,” she mutters under her breath.

“Umm, yeah. It looks good. I betta be going now,” he mumbles.

Peter almost tripped on himself as he stumbled out. He thought he heard her say something about the savory gorgonzola, but by then he had safely extricated himself into the hallway.

“Whoa, wait, don’t leave just yet…”

Peter’s heart was jumping by the time he got to the elevator.

“You forgot your tip.”

But Peter already got his tip, from Jason at Piola’s, and he noticed on the app that there was another order to pick up.

As soon as he descended down to the lobby, he wished he could retrace his steps back to the apartment with the shapely blonde and the panoramic view.

“Man, I had my one chance, and I totally blew it,” he muttered. “How could I be such a coward,”

He thought about calling Charlene and inquired how she was enjoying her slice, and whether she wanted him to bring up some chardonnay to complement, but he clearly didn’t have the guts to see it through.

The autumn night was dreamy and delightful when Peter raced back to the store.

“You’re a dumbass,” Jason admonished. “Such a pathetic loser.”

“Well I delivered on time,” Peter quipped. “And the pizza was still hot and steamy when she ate it.”

“Yeah, but you left the tip on the table, you idiot, not to mention some other things.”

“Well, I definitely didn’t expect her to be so revealing. Perhaps she was seducing me to make a move, then report me to Postmates.”

In the weeks ahead, Piola was humming, and the orders kept flooding in. The upper echelon and franchisees were delighted with the ton of sales and the favorable reviews.

But then the number of orders made by Jason on Postmates aroused suspicion. The corporate office in Miami Beach caught on to the website and the Piola D.C. domain.

One morning, I was aghast when an email from the company’s attorneys showed up in my inbox. They wanted to know why I purchased the domain without their permission and why I created the site without their oversight.

For the next several days, I kept mum, but after they hit the resend button, I decided I would finally disclose my motives.

I opened the books to everything we did and mentioned to them how the new site was making them a killing.

Needless to say, they were grateful, but still piqued that I owned the domain name of the local franchisee.

“We would like you to transfer the domain to the corporate office ASAP.”

“Well, there were expenses incurred for both labor and costs.”

“We’re willing to pay, as long as you’re willing to cooperate.”

The following Tuesday, a check for $500 arrived in the mail. Then later that day, Jason and I drove to Piola and picked up 20 boxes of pies with all the flavors they offered on their menu.

We drove them down Connecticut Ave until we reached Dupont Circle. Then we entered the ornate building on 1800 Massachusetts Ave and rode the elevator to the 2nd floor.

Guests were beyond pleased when they saw Jason and I laid out 20 boxes of mouth-watering pies on a folding banquet table.

“Thank you so much for your donation to our monthly meetup,” said Scott Johnson, CEO of Agency Chief. “Hope this didn’t set you back much.”

“It didn’t cost us a dime, but getting these pies wasn’t easy.”

“Hope you didn’t have to do anything under the table. Either way would love for you to share your experiences at our next WordPress meetup.”

“Can I share my portfolio with the audience?”

“Absolutely, just don’t talk about your work for Mpire or the Showcase Theater.”

July 13, 2022
President’s Bar Comics

Nicole Foster was the wet behind the ears Marketing Manager trying to drum up new clientele for the President’s Sports Bar at the Renaissance Hotel in the Penn Quarter.

So when I got a call from the Marriott, requesting our services, I wasn’t about to turn it down.

As I walked around the expansive lobby, I noticed how drab, gray, and uninviting it was. The only customers I saw in the President’s Sports Bar were mindless tourists in tees and lobbyists in suits sealing deals over after-work cocktails. There were pictures of Kennedy swinging a golf club in Hyannis Port and Reagan in Camp David with Prime Minister Thatcher. There were no pictures of Nixon, but there sure was plenty inside Room 214 at the Watergate building where G. Gordon Liddy directed the infamous break-in of the DNC headquarters, erupting into a major political scandal.

The President’s Sports Bar

At the mahogany wooden bar, a power broker ordered a Watergate: Maker’s Mark, Grand Marnier, Myer’s Dark rum, sugar, bitters, pineapple, and ginger. He’s trying his best to avoid the pitfalls that ensnarled Casino Jack Abramoff, owner of the infamous Signatures Restaurant down the road. The diplomatic presence was so strong that at any moment I could imagine Kevin Spacey playing Congressman Frank Underwood emerging from the VIP dining room uttering his most fallacious quote “The road to power is paved with hypocrisy and casualties.”

“So what did you have in mind Nicole?”

“Well, we’re an old bureaucratic town rooted deep in tradition, so maybe target Young Gov Leaders or D.C. Young Republicans.”

“You’re kidding me. The Renaissance already has its unwavering patronage. Let’s shoot for something totally radical and out of the blue”

I called my friend, Wayne Manigo, to see if he could arrange a standup show with the area’s best comedians.

“Why comedy?” Nicole asked puzzled and perturbed.

“Cuz people here are so uptight, they need to take the edge off. And comedy relating to the vibrant restaurant industry and addressing the political environment is the perfect panacea for healing.”

Wayne Manigo

WayneManigo

“You know, living in D.C. is like being in a never-ending game of political chess, where every move is a debate and ‘compromise’ is that one piece you lost under the sofa. That’s why we’ve brought in comedy tonight – it’s like finding that lost chess piece, but instead of putting it back on the board, we throw it out the window and laugh about it!”

The audience chuckled, and Wayne continued, “And don’t worry, the only thing we’ll be staining at the Marriott tonight is your memory with good jokes. We’re keeping it clean – so clean, you could serve dinner on our punchlines and still pass a health inspection.”

“I kicked off the Comedy Writers Group in 2011, because let’s face it, a joke unshared is like a politician who doesn’t tweet – it just doesn’t make an impact. Comedy’s a team sport; without someone to laugh, a joke’s just a sentence with too much attitude.”

“The Fabulous Fat Doctor Blagmon held his comedy classes with us at Judy’s Bar & Restaurant. Fat Doctor Blagmon always said, ‘Write in your journal every day. Even if all you’ve got is ‘I’ve got nothing,’ scribble that down. It’s like a placeholder for your future genius – or your future grocery list. Either way, you’re winning.’”

“My idol, Richard Pryor, was a master at mixing comedy with tragedy. Kind of like a chef who mixes sweet and sour, except instead of a dish, you get a life story. And in my case, let’s just say my life’s recipe is one part comedy, two parts ‘Oops!’, and a sprinkle of ‘Did that really happen?’.”

“Back in the day, I was the go-to IT wizard at the SEC. You know, Securities and Exchange Commission, where the only securities I was exchanging were sleep for stress. My life was a series of night calls, like a superhero, except my superpower was rebooting routers at 3 AM. I got so good at navigating the dark, I thought about moonlighting as a burglar.

But, like any sensible person who finds themselves whispering sweet nothings to a modem at 2 in the morning, I had an epiphany. So, I quit, embracing freedom… a little too enthusiastically, it seems. Before I knew it, my new office had four wheels, and my home address was ‘various locations in Northern Virginia’.

Living out of my car, I became a nomad with a library card. Reston, Rockville, Falls Church – I was the only guy doing a library tour without a book signing. And let me tell you, nothing says ‘I’ve made it’ like waking up to a view of the Reston Public Library.

Visiting friends in D.C. became a special operation. My car tags expired, making my vehicle as welcome in the city as a skateboard in Congress. So, I’d park in another state and take the Metro in, like an international commuter.

And here’s a pro tip for you: the key to seamless urban camping is to never look like you’ve just rolled out of a tent. I mastered the art of looking casually homeless – it’s all about the ‘business casual’ homeless chic.

Falling down became my weekly exercise. It’s amazing how a public stumble turns you into a stand-up comedian. You learn to laugh it off, mostly to assure bystanders you haven’t broken anything expensive, like your pride.

Through it all, I found the secret to a stress-free life: inner peace, zen, and the unshakable belief that if I can handle a conference call while parked outside a Starbucks for free Wi-Fi, I can handle anything.

So, here’s to the journey from IT help desk to helping myself. Turns out, the biggest reboot I needed was for my own life. And maybe, just maybe, the real securities were the friends we made along the way. No? Just me? Alright then.”

Comedy:

“In my latest adventure, I’ve taken on the role of Comedy Entrepreneur, which is like being a regular entrepreneur but with better jokes and slightly worse financial planning. My mission? To turn D.C. into the comedy capital of the world. Move over, politics; it’s time for punchlines.

Our approach is simple but revolutionary. We target bars on their quietest nights, you know, when they’re just one sad song away from becoming a country music cliché. We walk in and say, ‘Hey, how would you like us to pack this place with laughter and customers? No, this isn’t a joke, but we do have plenty of those.’

We kicked things off at Recessions Bar, because what better place to start a comedy revolution than a spot named after economic downturns? Our concept is ‘Comedy x 10’ – featuring ten different comedians each week. By the end of the month, that’s 40 comedians, each with their unique brand of humor. That’s not just a comedy show; it’s a comedy marathon with a sprinter’s pace.

Think about it: where else can you hear 40 different takes on life, politics, and why pizza is the perfect breakfast food? Our shows offer a smorgasbord of perspectives, ensuring that if one joke doesn’t land for you, the next one might just be your new favorite.

This model doesn’t just breathe life into slow nights; it creates a vibrant, dynamic community hub. We’re not just filling seats; we’re creating an ecosystem where comedians thrive, bars flourish, and audiences get their weekly dose of serotonin. It’s a win-win-win, the trifecta of entrepreneurial success.

Our vision is to make D.C. not just the capital of the country, but the comedy capital as well. A place where laughter drowns out the noise of politics, if only for a night. So, if you’re looking for a revolution, join us. After all, in D.C., we’re used to uprisings – but this time, we’re rising up in laughter.”

Chef:

So did you know that I’m a part-time chef? Chefs Jared Thomas and his mentor Marianne from D.C. Central Kitchens trained me. They had a powerful way to inspire me and made me fall in love with cooking. Chef Jared has also spoken to the Comedy Writers Group at Judy’s a few times, and he’s not only inspirational but funny.

In fact, he moved me to create a character called ‘Bottom Chef’ for a comedy contest at Hightopps Restaurant in Timonium, MD. My outfit is a chef’s jacket with a logo similar to the ‘Top Chef’ design. Here are some of my jokes:

I start my food prep each day with a ritual — raise my shot glass and yell “Bottoms Up!”

“My culinary education took place behind bars, in the unforgiving confines of a vegan prison. Ever been trapped in a relationship with a vegan? That’s freedom compared to vegan jail.”

“You don’t truly earn the title of ‘Bottom Chef’ until you’ve experienced the culinary depths of ‘Rock Bottom.’ My mentor? Chef Boy-R-Dee. His philosophy? A man, a plan, a can.”

“The city of Buffalo sued me for defamation of their wings.”

“In the heated world of culinary arts, Chef Gordon Ramsay isn’t the pioneer of kitchen meltdowns. I’ve been perfecting the art of the scream long before it was televised. ‘Threaten me with prison again, and it’s not the food that’ll get chopped.’”

“I once ascended to dubious fame as the face of Spam. Remember, Spam isn’t just for dinner; it’s a last resort. If the dog turns its nose up, you know it’s yours.”

“As ‘Bottom Chef,’ I’ve innovated the cooking process by pre-ruining your meal. Why wait? I’ll splatter the food directly into your toilet.”

“These days, my signature dishes are anything that can be drowned in hot sauce and red wine. It’s a delicate culinary balance—some for the pan, more for the chef.”

Amidst the trials of trying every new restaurant in town, I’ve realized perhaps my most needed culinary tool isn’t a spatula—it’s a personal trainer. As Orlando Darden playfully noted, “It might be time to cut back on the beer.” His comment, met with roaring laughter, reminded us all that the essence of good comedy, like good cooking, lies in its relatability and the joy it brings to those who partake in it.

The room was filled with laughter, and Nicole couldn’t help but enjoy the comic relief that Wayne was providing. She leaned back in her chair, more relaxed than before. Next was Leon Scott, a Comedian, Writer and Journalist for WUSA-9 CBS.

Leon Scott

Next was Leon Scott, a Comedian, Writer, and Journalist for WUSA-9 CBS.

“What’s going on? How’s everyone doing? Feel good, Well I feel great and lemme tell you why. I got the best back-handed compliment I ever got in my life. I was out and this tall woman walked up to me and said ‘You concentrated sexy.’ That’s like saying just add water and you become 6’5″. I’ve never felt that tall in my life.

My best friend Rome is 6’5″, and he always says things that takes being tall for granted. He would say ‘Man, being tall doesn’t help me meet women.’ And his voice is tall.

That’s a lie cuz I’ve never had a woman come up to me and say. ‘So I saw the top of your head from across the room.”

But being short hasn’t stopped me from going on TV. I just gotta sound tall. Speaking about news media, would like to introduce the next segment — Real Time with Bill Maher.

Dan Verkman

Hi, I’m Dan Verkman, but everyone tells me I look like Bill and they say it in a way like I’ve never heard it before.

“Do you know who you look like?” or “Anyone ever tell you who you look like?” Yeah only for the umpteenth time today. Now buzz off.

I do get a lot of people checking me out like I’m so kind of a weirdo. Unless they yell ‘Bill’, I’m never sure why they’re staring. Do I have a big booger in my nose, is my hair sticking up, is my fly down?

Doctor’s Office:

One time I was checking if for a doctor’s visit and I overheard an older married couple talking. “Hey, that guy looks like that comedian guy from TV,” the husband says. Then, a couple of minutes later you hear him say, “even acts like him too. A real jerk”

Then after filling out my paperwork and I sit down, he leans over to ask me. “Ever hear of a TV personality named Bill Maher?”

I looked at him like he was from outer space. “Who the hell is he?” Sometimes it’s smart to play dumb.

Supermarket:

Then there’s the moment I was going through the checkout counter at the supermarket, and the cashier says, “You know who you look like..?”

“Yes!” I responded hoping she won’t press me further.

“I’ve seen you in line before, you have a home in the DMV, don’t you..?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Well, who’s doing the cooking?”

“The writers,” I responded hoping she would realize that I was just pulling her leg.

“You’re gonna mention me on your show aren’t you?

“Only if you don’t charge me the county bag fee.”

“You kidding with the millions you have, you could buy the entire store.”

I can’t even walk down main street any city, without someone yelling from their car.

“Hey Bill, saw you on TV last night. Love your show.”

Speed Dating:

But I’m not complaining. Looking like Bill has gotten me a lot of perks. Went on a speed dating event the other night where I was told by 10 different girls “Did anyone ever tell you who you look like?”

One girl asked, “What do you do?”

“I make people laugh.”

“Are you a comedian?”

“No, I write code.”

Tattoo Bar:

Afterward, I went to the Tattoo Bar up the street and was approached by 3 hot chics who asked for a pic. The bar manager then said, “Name it, you got it.” Then a tough-looking dude approached and said “You really him? You look different on TV.”

Metro:

On the metro ride to a show one night, two Black guys approached and said “Anyone ever tell you, you look like Freddy Krueger?” I know Bill can be evil, but that’s pretty extreme.

After the show, two Black girls called out from an Audi.

“Bill Maher!”

“Yes, better than Freddy.”

“You wanna smoke a bowl with us?”

The audience clapped hands. Someone yelled “Bill has jungle fever you know. Play the role.”

Karaoke:

I sing karaoke, and sometimes I put my name in as Bill M. One girl thought I was Bill Murray and had me autograph her forearm.

One hot blonde came over and nearly sat on my lap and whispered “I know who you are.”

“How was she in bed?” someone chuckled.

Let’s just say, I played the role that night.

Art Show:

One time I was at an art show in Bethesda when I met Anne Currie from the Today show. And she asked what I was doing here.

In a somewhat inebriated state from all the free wine they were serving, I told her I was in town for the White House Correspondents Dinner. — I had just overheard it was the next day just a few minutes earlier.

I think she actually believed me cuz I can play the role of a journalist pretty convincingly.

House of Cards:

Did you know I auditioned for the journalist role on House of Cards? They had me read three roles, all political pundits. The first role was as a Glen Beck guy. Everybody auditioning was a real reporter. The guy who auditioned before me was Jamie McIntyre from CNN. He said to me while we were in the waiting room “You know, you look quite familiar.”

So now you can add a new title to my resume — Bill M. the actor.

The audience gave Dan a standing ovation. “You should write a book about this!” Wayne suggested. “It’ll be an N.Y. Times Bestseller”

At the end of the night, Nicole came over and gave me a pat on the shoulder.

I turned around and said, “So comedy night was a smashing success. We were able to reach out to the young millennials who love to meet, laugh and drink. We should do a sequel.”

“Are you kidding me, some of these jokes were downright raunchy. Wayne was inspiring, but some of the standups really bombed it. And Dan may be Bill’s doppelganger, but I’m not interested in hearing about his sexcapades. Tonight, you’ve embarrassed the Marriott name. JW himself would turn over in his grave.”

Wayne shook his head and grimaced. “So I guess there won’t be a part deux.”

“Yup back to the ole drawing board,” I lamented.

9 Comics & a Monkey at the Renaissance Hotel Standup

June 24, 2022
Bottom Line

December 2014

With McFadden’s closure, I had to scramble to find another venue to celebrate New Year’s Eve. I knew just the right place near McPherson Square next to the Veterans Affairs office on I Street. Established in 1979, The Bottom Line has served politicians, lobbyists, authors, and celebrities dirty martinis and gin and tonics over the span of four decades.

It’s a renowned watering hole that welcomes Bengals fans on football Sundays. The basement dive bar serves Skyline Chili atop a pile of spaghetti with a generous mound of shredded cheddar cheese.

Jr Mosbrucker, owner of the Bottom Line

The burgers are also half price on Mondays, and on Fridays, there’s the uber-popular “Beat the Clock” happy hour, where cold bottles from their extensive beer list start dirt cheap at 4 and climb a buck to $5 at 5 and until it reaches its peak at 8 pm.

I had visited the institution before on Sept 14, 2014, when the Falcons played the Bengals at Paul Brown Stadium, Cincinnati, and the Bengals whooped the Dirty Bird’s ass. The “The Bengals Growl” played loud and proud every time they scored, along with that celebrated/annoying chant.

“Who dey, who dey, who dey think gonna beat dem Bengals?”

“Nobody” is then screamed in unison.

Alcides serving Shots at the Bottom Line

Owner Jr Mosbrucker and Manager, Alcides Garcia were busy keeping the D.C. Jungle happy, serving orange vodka shots to the faithful fans. Behind the bar, Ellen Massey and Ivan Aguilar were performing their magic pouring cheap domestic beer with baskets of crispy golden fries. The crowd was mostly trashed and boisterous, but for food, they were easy to please.

Jr had a knack for making his customers laugh and enjoy themselves. “We’ve played in two Super Bowls so far. Think we’re overdue to return to the big game very soon before we turn 40, I hope1”

New Year’s Eve, 2015

The party started with a bang. The revelers greeted the wooden saluting Indian chief and gathered under the multi-colored chandeliers which lit up the funky walls with holiday props. They arrived early to reminisce all the big milestones of the year and recall all the victories and eventual defeat of their beloved football team. For the fourth year in a row, the Bengals were eliminated in the first round of the playoffs, but still, there was a lot to cheer for. Mayor Bowser took the oath of office after a rocky tenure of Mayor Gray, Black Lives Matter made a huge statement, and weed was now legally flowing in the city.

Merrymakers danced with abandon while the D.J. spun a percussive house mix. They sang “Raise Your Glass” by Pink and “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey while Ivan worked behind the bar concocting stylish cocktails and pouring sparkling wine like a magician.

Ivan Aguilar shaking a cocktail

The crowd knew 2015 was going to be an even more amazing year. The presidential campaigns would be heating up, and many expected Hillary to win the Democratic nomination. D.C. restaurant scene would continue to flourish, and independent courier services like Postmates and Uber Eats were starting to gain steam.

So I was thrilled to have found the perfect spot to celebrate New Year’s Eve — What doors would open this year, and which ones would close? Hopefully, the one resolution I could stick with this year would be to drink less alcohol.

“Hey, we’re looking for a website redesign next year,” Jr stated. “Would love for you to join the D.C. Jungle.”

“I’m a die-hard Falcons fan, but, I love the energy and would be thrilled to join the team,” I replied.

“Great, what are your prices?”

I opened up my webpage on my laptop, which showed a price of $2,500.

“Sounds great. It looks like you’re having a blast. So, we’ll pick up your tab tonight to make it even more enjoyable.”

“Fantastic Jr., I’m sold. Tonight, I’m officially a Bengals fan.”

As the evening wore on, I noticed the alcohol kick in. I voraciously consumed anything that was offered to me — Whiskey, tequila, scotch, beer. Then before I noticed that time had slipped by, the ceremonial ball was released, and people were raising glasses of champagne hoping 2015 would bring another stellar year. Glasses clinked, and confetti rained down like snowflakes. Dancing bodies gyrated like an Egyptian belly dancer while party revelers continued to pack the place like this was the place to be. It was getting sultry hot with little breathing room.

I had been out cold for quite a while when Jr found me, my head down listlessly on a table, drool flowing from the corners of my mouth, the front of my shirt stained with Cincinnati chili. Alcides got me a glass of iced water which I readily drank. Then I stepped out to get some fresh air. Merrymakers were raising a ruckus with abandon, and I happily joined them in the cheer. I laughed at a man making a feeble attempt to climb a light pole. I wanted to join a crowd of twenty-somethings dancing in the middle of the street, but something seemed amiss. I rushed inside the pub to see that the crowds had not eased. I walked over to Jr to see if he could jog my memory.

“No more drinks for you,” he said. “You’ve had quite a lot tonight.”

Then suddenly, it dawned on me. My backpack with my Macbook Pro, wallet, and keys was missing — it appeared someone had grabbed it when I was lights out. I ran around like a headless chicken asking if anyone had seen it.

Jr scratched his head. “I remember you had your laptop out at the beginning of the night, but I don’t remember seeing it after that.”

“Well my car keys were also in my bag. How am I supposed to get home now?”

“Here, lemme give you $40 to catch a cab. Sleep it off; hopefully, you’ll remember where you left it.”

I returned home, banged on the door, and woke up my housemate. Then I crawled into my rack and tried to sleep it off. The next morning, I caught a metro to Farragut West to retrieve my car. I was afraid I had forgotten where I parked it. My eyes didn’t deceive me when I saw the distinctive half sedan, half pickup truck of my 2003 Subaru Baja on 18th & I, and when I looked into the back seat, I was beyond delighted to find my elusive backpack. My Macbook Pro and keys were exactly where I left them. How did it get there? Was I hallucinating all along? It was clearly time to change my drinking habits.

1 The Bottom Line opened on October 29, 1980.

June 13, 2022
RUNIN — the Theme

RUNIN is not exactly about the joys (or pain) of running. It’s not about running out of food either. Did you realize that RUNIN is actually a back acronym? Huh? Let’s take a look at the qualities of the Ethiopian Diaspora.

They were all Resourceful in surviving tough living conditions and eventually found success in their business ventures. They Understood the local environment well and identified the target market audience before starting their businesses in Ethiopia. They had to Negotiate with business owners, investors and the local governments who at first had little faith in them. They had to be Innovative to find the right business that would fill a void. And they all made bold decisions but remained open-minded and nimble when they Navigated toward their goals.

Resourcefulness:

Resourcefulness is about using the full resource of tools and other people to solve problems and reach goals. When the devastating EF-5 tornado ripped through downtown Joplin, Americans from near and far rushed to lend a helping hand. Thankfully, there was no shortage of compassion and generosity. The AmeriCorps displayed resourcefulness by allowing me to build an online database that tracked donations and matched them with survivors and their specific needs.

When our team didn’t place during Startup Weekend due to lacking a technical co-founder, I had to rely on resourcefulness to find a developer who was flexible enough to fulfill our requirements.

When we reached out to restaurants, many were willing to have us photograph their dishes, but didn’t want the food to go to waste. So we decided to photograph the food in conjunction with events and allow our guests to enjoy it. The events also served to promote the restaurants and we were able to capture amazing photography of attendees enjoying the ambiance and cuisine.

R also stands for Reflecting on what’s important in this journey and seeing how we can make improvements. Deb Santos taught me how to truly reflect — learning to invest in myself and showing self-compassion regardless of my mistakes.

R also stands for Researching. The secret sauce for RUNINOut was the behind-the-scenes research that we did for each restaurant to ensure that the user would get the best results possible.

Understanding:

The Irish Republican Army who sought a united Ireland clashed with the British forces resulting in massive death and destruction. When I visited Belfast, I met a tour guide named Arthur Magee who talked about building bridges. For peace to start and the troubles to end, both sides had to build bridges.

“If you come nigh you will see a city where on a micro level, people are building bridges. The most important bridge that is been built is in each and every single person here. That bridge is between who you actually are and how you see yourself. Whether you’re part of the problem, looking back and blaming other people, or whether you’re part of the solution and reaching out and seeing other human beings, as exactly that, human beings.”

From a business standpoint, one must fully understand the environment, the target market, and the competition in order to build a successful business. The diaspora community had done their research — that’s why they were able to build a leading PR firm, a luxury day spa chain, and a rose farm despite facing steep odds and many doubters that were skeptical that such business ideas could flourish in Ethiopia.

I applied these lessons when I worked with restaurants and bars. When I tried to sell our services to the Irish Channel, they were also receiving bids from other providers. In order to stand out from the competition, I studied the pub’s clientele and target market to determine which sports teams they could affiliate with and which social events we could host.

When the Lebanese Taverna requested to host a belly dancing event with Arabian folk music, I immediately did my research to familiarize myself with the art of belly dancing — I would then need to be resourceful to find the right talent and audience that would attract a strong turnout so we could host many more events and raise money for charity.

Over the years, we ended up working with several different groups and hosted a wide variety of events: running, comedy, political, food blogging — spanning a diverse group of bars and restaurants.

In the end, hosting tons of events took its toll, and I had to honestly look in the mirror and realize that the boozing had gone to extremes and I needed to start tapering off.

Negotiating:

Many restaurants were receptive to our services but did not have the resources or the inclination to pay for them. So we found a clever way to negotiate by having them host our events and provide free food and other amenities. We often got paid, but we were willing to barter web and social media assistance for food, eatups, and fundraisers.

Negotiating is something that I’ve always done my entire adult life. Throughout my entire Navy career, I never seemed to get what I wanted so I had to negotiate for just about everything of value. Successful negotiating requires understanding the other side’s priorities, open communication, and settling differences.

Innovating:

My search for a technical co-founder led me to take a Greyhound to Vancouver to find a web developer who could create our site in Drupal. And once the framework was built, I had to stay current in both Drupal and WordPress by regularly attending tech meetups.

Innovating meant building a menu prototype for Burma Restaurant and Vapiano’s so customers can decide on their orders while waiting in line.

When RUNINOut got rejected by the GW Business Plan Competition, I had to find ways to gain traction with users. It was imperative that we were able to expand our reach throughout the entire city with innovative methods. That meant deploying a used pedicab to market our brand and acquiring loyal followers who would vote for us for Best of D.C. We won the “Best Restaurant App” award in 2012 and 2013, and my alma mater agreed to let us present in the Business Plan Competition after all.

Navigating:

Some people struggle to make a decision. Some may be very simple like what to wear, others are very complex like finding a new job. Many times, we’ll end up regretting the decision that we make, but the worst decision is making no decision. No decision can be a decision, also, but the main thing is you need to take some action.

Navigating means making a decision to go one way and to stay on course despite experiencing choppy seas. It also means making course changes if the path is not the right one for you, even if it means making a drastic change.

I wouldn’t be where we are today if I never got into a scuffle with my GWU classmate causing me to transfer out of the Executive MBA program to the Professional MBA. With more freedom and flexibility, I was able to enroll in a New Ventures class where the idea of RUNINOut came to life.

After working tirelessly for over five years, It was clear that it was time to change course. Hosting events was time-consuming and tiring, and there was usually excessive drinking resulting in anxiety and depression.

It also became clear that we needed to branch out further from the DMV (D.C. – MD – VA).

How we would achieve that and what would the next step would be, was still undecided. But it was clear that it was time to take a radical, new direction.

Wherever we would be going, it would sure be a magical ride that the universe has specifically earmarked for us.

RUNIN Ragged…

* * *

June 13, 2022
Tara Temple

June 24, 2014

It used to be part of the Tara Thai chain. But with a new owner, new renovations and Buddhist sculptures flanking the entrance, the name morphed to Tara Temple. If D.C. was the banquet hall, Arlington was the backyard. It was a town where I had the least amount of clients and the fewest number of events. So when manager Shine Chuenyam invited me to host an event at the Temple, I was more than happy to oblige.

When I approached, I was met by two mythical stone lions standing guard at an ironclad double door. As I walked in, I could see that the foyer was shaped like the entrance of a Thai temple with shiny red columns and a sweeping temple roof.

I was greeted by stone statues of Buddhist deities praying. And also familiar faces — Wayne Manigo my favorite local stand-up comic, and Orlando Darden, my favorite trainer were already seated at the bar.

The Temple was spacious with a large oval-shaped bar, plenty of comfy couches and semi-circular booths for those who yearn for a private conversation. The decor was sleek and modern and it definitely set the tone for the entire evening.

As I made my way around the bar, I noticed two lovely women with bronze skin tones and golden brown hair.

Deb Santos & Roxana Johnson

“Are you two sisters?”

“Close, we’re best of friends.”

“From around here?”

A petite girl with a toothy smile donned in a yellow floral print dress pointed to her friend. “Roxy is — born and raised. I’m Deb from Chicago.”

“Great sports city. So you must love Mike Ditka and Michael Jordan?”

“Absolutely, and Roxy is a huge Redskins fan, so she loves RG3 and Joe Theismann. I’m a huge Blackhawks fan.”

“And home of the deep dish pizza — what your favorite type of food when you’re really hungry and you care who you’re eating out with?”

Deb nursed her martini with extra vermouth. “Hands down, Sheecago is the best. Love the wood-fired pizzas from Matchbox to go with the milkshakes from Ted’s Bulletin.”

Roxy took a gulp of her Singha.”The birria tacos from El Rey and the soy garlic wings and kimchi from Bonchon.”

“Sounds perfect. And I just love the 1920’s art deco setup at Ted’s and the shipping container design at El Rey.”

It was at that time that Wayne came by to steal the show.

“And for laughs, you should check out the Bier Baron Tavern and Comedy Loft.”

“Girls, this is Wayne our resident comic. He’s also my top promoter who will attest to the fact that on RUNINOut you can search for your favorite type of food, events, ambience, or even team sports, and the site will provide personalized recommendations in the local area.”

Roxy’s eyes lit up. “Really, can you search who is serving the wheat beer, Hell or High Watermelon?”

“The Cantina Marina at the Wharf,” I replied in an instant.

“Can you search for places that are pet friendly?” Deb requested.

I quickly tapped into my phone. “Wonderland Ballroom — do you own a rescue?”

“Don’t have one yet, but I really want a Dalmation — heard they are beautiful and brainy.”

“Sweet. I have a pit bull named Georgia and a sun conure called Apollo — my parrot who likes to drink Guinness at the Irish Channel.”

Next, I strolled over to greet Christine who was sipping on a Singha Mojito while waiting for her lobster sushi roll.

Shortly after, Khoi Tran showed up. An Air Force officer stationed in the Pentagon, he is also a food connoisseur and loves to blog about his experiences.

“I love a Thai restaurant that serves good sushi,” he said. “Sushi that’s creative with a fine presentation.”

Shine Chuenyam brought out the next delicacy — the Sunomono Salad consisting of octopus, cuttlefish, cucumber, and seaweed over a bed of shredded white radish with sweet rice vinegar and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

For two hours, Shine kept putting out phenomenal appetizers like we were Thai royalty, and we were ordering $2.50 draft Kirin and Singhas like they were Poland Springs.

Orlando quickly showed off his chopstick precision skills by extracting a red cuttlefish out of the medley.

“Mmm, juicy and rich – it’s a cross between a squid and an octopus.”

“Nah, I’m good,” said Wayne. “I prefer to get my ink from Staples.”

Christine giggled then decided to bust out a one-liner herself. “So what did Sushi A say to Sushi B?”

“C’mon Wasabi,” Wayne replied cracking up together with Christine.

“That’s right, I forgot to tell you that’s not avocado that you’re eating,” Shine smiled as he poured another round of tequila.

All the guys partook, sprinkling salt all over the counter and sucking lemon wedges as if they were adult pacifiers.

“Wow that Don Julio really packs a punch,” said Orlando. “Now I’m ready to go in the ring.”

Wayne grabbed a tuna nigiri with precision and held it next to his mouth. “As for me, my lane is in the kitchen. Being a chef is hard work. But a sushi chef, all you gotta do is resist the temptation to not cook the food – how hard is that?”

Shine served an enticing plate of dragon roll. “Alright smart aleck, no more caviar for you.”

Wayne devoured the entire roll. “All joking aside, this sushi is out of this world. And the rice, you nailed it. It’s even better than my favorite spot on H Street, Sticky Rice.”

Since Khoi arrived a bit late, Christine was happy to feed him. Khoi was reluctant at first since as a military officer, he was used to fending for himself, but Christine wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’m a cook and feeding my friends is an act of love.”

“C’mon now, this isn’t omakase. Khoi can get his own damn unagi,” The Mezcal was making Wayne funnier by the minute.

I waited till Khoi finished chewing his nigiri. “So what do you do on your free time? Are you visiting a lot of different restaurants?”

“I wish I had time to do more. A lot of life doesn’t happen because I’m attending graduate school in International Relations — a lot of writing, poring over textbook chapters, and reflecting on feedback from professors and peers.”

Christine pulled the lobster tail out of the shell. “Yes, education is important, but so is making new friends.”

I turned to her and said, “You need to come to our events more often. No one will ever complain that they didn’t get enough to eat.”

“And you two bozos,” as I looked over at Wayne and Orlando. “You guys can take it easy on the booze and sushi. Sometimes, they just don’t go together.”

Orlando took another bite of his sashimi. “Talk about hypocrisy — I haven’t seen you stop drinking except when you were chatting up with the chics. When are we going running again?”

“Yes, I really need to seriously cut back in my drinking. Both my physical and mental health has taken a back seat.”

June 11, 2022
Meskerem

When Meskerem opened on March 15, 1985, there wasn’t much of Ethiopia in D.C. Its owners were amongst the first wave of immigrants who fled their homeland after a Marxist military junta overthrew Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974.1 That coup triggered the civil war between Ethiopia and Eritrea that lasted until 2000 with the final peace agreement not being signed until 2018.

Both Ethiopian and Eritrean refugees settled down near the Adams Morgan neighborhood in D.C., a culturally diverse neighborhood known for its eclectic dining scene. The name AdMo is derived from two formerly segregated elementary schools and when the sun goes down, the laid-back 18th St transformed into a mile-long party zone.

The popularity and vibrant nightlife led to higher rent prices so a lot of the Ethiopian entrepreneurs moved out purchasing dilapidated properties on U and 9th Sts NW that were devastated by the 1968 riots following Martin Luther King Jr’s assassination.

Eventually, the number of Ethiopian eateries got so dense on 9th St that several community leaders petitioned the D.C. government to rename the block “Little Ethiopia.” That petition was overruled since its location in Shaw was near Howard Theater and doing so would replace the “Black Broadway” moniker.

There’s always a lot of excitement in AdMo. On weekend nights, hoards of party-goers can be seen getting drunk and boisterous, raising a ruckus into the early morning.

On Sunday, Sept 29, 2008, a man walked into Meskerem, greeted the owner, Mohaba Mohammed, with a hug, and then started chatting. Everything seemed normal between the longtime friends. Suddenly and without provocation, the man took out his Beretta and then shot Mohaba in the neck. 2

“Everybody don’t worry!” He yelled, then fired two shots into the ceiling before shooting himself in the head.

Mohaba recovered from his injuries, and through the years, he and his sister, Nafisa Said kept the restaurant running, through the good times and hard, even as others around them closed. They did that for 3o years, eventually becoming the oldest Ethiopian restaurant in the US — instrumental in shaping the personality of Adams Morgan into the vast melting pot that it is today.

Supplies used to be tough to come by. Mohammed could not find any teff, an Ethiopian grain used to make injera. So he used wheat flour and let the dough ferment for days in plastic buckets. Today, Ethiopian Airlines flies daily to D.C. carrying injera, teff, spices, and much more.

So when Jackie invited me to join her for a Sept 2014 Ethiopian dinner at Meskerem, I was delighted to attend. There was a fairly large group of diners who were mostly Ethiopian cuisine neophytes. We didn’t sit on elegant wooden chairs or eat from pristine table tops. We were seated instead on traditional cushioned low chairs next to knee-high round tables made out of basket weave.

Jackie Woodbury, Sept 25, 2014

Join me tomorrow night for our Ethiopian dinner at Meskerem in Adams Morgan!

Did you know Ethiopian New Year was Sept 11? Celebrate Meskerem, the name for the first month of the Ethiopian calendar. It ends the 3 month rainy season in Ethiopia (Jun-Aug) and celebrates more pleasant weather! We asked owners Mohaba and Nafisa to bring back their coffee ceremony for Bookalokal Inc.. Can’t wait! D.C. #DCeats #dcdining

Most of our group ordered the Meskerem Messob — mixed special which included beef, chicken, lamb, veggies, and unlimited injera all for $13.50 per person. A few ordered the veggie-only version. The dishes were anything but boring. The healthy portions included ruby beets, lentils, salad, carrots, green beans, and chickpeas and were flavored with garlic, paprika, and rosemary. The platter was fairly big and it was meant to be shared with others at your table.

Sharing with others meant teamwork, better conversation, and synergy. We enjoyed our spicy palette of delicious curry-like stews accompanied by honey wine or St George, the national beer of Ethiopia.

The soft, stretchy, spongy flatbread doubled as an eating utensil and the hands still get plenty messy.

“Is this the messiest you’ve ever gotten eating with your hands?” I asked my friend Yoomie Huynh.

“Close, but not quite. The messiest I’ve ever gotten was at the Ben’s Chili Bowl half smoke eating contest during the H Street Festival. I didn’t win, but I ate everything in sight.”

Jackie enjoyed working with Mohaba and Nafisa in organizing the event.

“It brought lots of people from all different nationalities together to share a meal, a chat, and a smile,” she said. “Ethiopian cuisine is very communal.”

I am forever awed by the resourcefulness and resiliency of the Ethiopian people. Just like Tadiwos Belete from Boston Spa, the owners of Meskerem were innovative and resourceful in building their business and keeping it running despite limitations and setbacks.

Less than a year later, Meskerem — after being opened every day since March 15, 1985, suddenly closed. The owners held down the fort and watched as one after another, Ethiopian eateries closed or relocated to U St or the burbs in Maryland and Northern Virginia. And after 30 years, they decided to sell the property to developers and retire from the limelight.

And with that according to Tim Carman, food reporter at the Washington Post, “the neighborhood’s connection to that first wave of war-weary immigrants appears to be severed forever.”

* * *

1 Carman, Tim. “R.I.P., Meskerem: The Ethiopian restaurant that shaped Adams Morgan”, May 4, 2016

2 “Manager of Meskerem Restaurant in D.C. shot, wounded”, Ethiopian Review, September 30, 2008

June 3, 2022
Building Bridges

The next day, I hopped on a train to Northern Ireland to see Mark and Lee, my folklife fest friends who I had not seen since 2007. They took the entire day off from work to give me a grand tour of the Antrim Coast showcasing the scenic, untouched Northern Ireland coastline — one of the most beautiful in the world, and the Giant’s Causeway, a World Heritage Site, declared by the Irish as the 8th Wonder of the World.

Enjoying a meal with Mark and Lee in Northern Ireland

Mark and I created an impromptu limerick which we posted on Youtube.

Here we are in Giant’s Causeway

Where 40,000 columns of basalt rock stand today

The volcano erupted

The larva cooled

But before there was science

There was the Legend of Finn McCool

It is called the Giant’s Causeway

It was made by Finn McCool

It’s really just the start of a stepping stone tool

To get across to Scotland

To fight with Bennadonner

Through many disagreements

They pulled each other asunder

He took the cloth much

And try and try as he may

He never hit his target

But he made us our Loch Neagh

The mud landed in the water

And with all the might he can

He only then succeeded

In making the Isle of Man

So he took to playing the organ

And over here were his pipes

He played the Sash, Derry’s Walls, and Billyboys

But started loads of fights

Cuz’ the Scottish Giant thought they were his tunes

But little did he know

That the music for Highland bagpipes

Came from across there near Dunloe

We then visited Balintoy Harbour on the Antrim Coast, 13 kms away.

“Haven’t been back in 28 years. When I was nine years old, my family would come here for the summer holidays, and I would dive off these rocks, swim across this pool of water, climb up the natural stairway and dive again. Would do this all day long,” Mark reflected.

“When you return to the Capital City, please let all your friends and runners know how beautiful the Emerald Isle truly is,” Mark said. Then I gave him and Lee a big hug and wondered where in the world we would meet again.

I got to do a lot of quality sightseeing and made new friends who taught me a lot about the precious value of life and respecting other people. I learned about the sectarian conflict and how it is important to learn and understand each other.

Belfast is known for its troubles and religious conflict. For over 25 years, the IRA (Irish Republican Army) clashed with the Irish National Liberation Army. The Republicans carried out a guerrilla campaign against the British forces as well as bombing infrastructure and killing innocent civilians.

On Bloody Friday 1972, the IRA set off 22 bombs killing 9 people and injuring 120. When the bombs dropped, people did not know what to do. There were no bomb shelters. They did not know whether to run, hide or stay sheltered at home. The IRA hoped they would be just as successful in catching the government and the people unprepared in hopes of getting Northern Ireland out of the UK.

Truly, there was only one main pursuit: The Irish Republicans wanted a united Ireland. More than 3,500 people were killed of whom over half were civilians.

However, there was never such a state as a united Ireland. As an outsider looking in, I didn’t truly understand what the big deal was, other than the name and the unity. Just ten years ago the border was filled with concrete barriers, barbed wires and bombs. Today Northern Ireland and Ireland enjoy an open border where citizens could cross either side freely without having to produce a passport.

“I’m glad you took some time to research our history,” Mark said. “It was very important for the parties to understand our differences so that the IRA and the British government could properly negotiate.”

The last place I visited was the First Presbyterian Church where I met tour guide Arthur Magee.

Arthur Magee

“Belfast has been a by-word for the troubles, sectarian strife, and intolerance. If you come nigh you will see a city where on a micro level, people are building bridges. The most important bridge that is been built is in each and every single person here. That bridge is between who you actually are and how you see yourself. Whether you’re part of the problem, looking back and blaming other people, or whether you’re part of the solution and reaching out and seeing other human beings, as exactly that, human beings. We’re no different from any other place in this planet. We’re products of circumstances and history. And the same problems that exist in Belfast apply everywhere. Belfast isn’t a byword for intolerance, it’s a beacon for hope. It’s a place where people are reaching out and it shows the possibility of change. And it also shows the importance of each and single person to reach out, to build bridges and to see other people as exactly that, other people.”

This whole trip was more eye-opening than attending class at GWU, and definitely a lot more fun. No encyclopedia, no ebook reader, no youtube video could teach me life’s social skills better than what I learned in Barcelona, Normandy, or Belfast.

I only had one final day in London when I returned from Belfast. In life, nothing rarely happens the way you intended it to. It’s important to be flexible, fluid and understanding. Sometimes life brings you pleasant surprises — it’s not scripted or orchestrated, but just right. Life can be charming, like that, if you let it. In the long run, we will appreciate the fact that we were flexible and cherish the tender times that we were able to spend together.

The dinner with Kim and my nieces was wholesome and filling. I did not know it was even possible to make spaghetti so delicious. The meal, in fact, was just as good as Rio’s Japanese Tonkatsu curry she cooked for us the night I left for Northern Ireland. This is also the very first time I’ve spent time with Kim, Kae, Rio, and Rintaro all at the same time, under one roof. So it’s a very special moment to be thankful and cherish especially when we let life’s circumstances take the lead.

We had a wonderful time, talking, laughing, and just enjoying a simple and pleasant meal with friends and loved ones. Nothing special, though it meant the entire world to me.

After dinner, we all went to Notting Hill to visit Rio as she was painting her clothing store. Notting Hill is a fabulous, affluent, fashionable community with beautiful Victorian homes and attractive storefronts. It is a very artsy place that reminds me of Chelsea, NYC, and Georgetown, D.C.

The last 12 months have been momentous for Kim since this is the first time that she has seen Mom, my older sister, Pearl, and me, within the same calendar year, since we immigrated to the US in ’79 (Mom in Japan at my grandmother’s funeral, Pearl in Hong Kong and now home in London). This was no coincidence, and it was a precious moment to forever embrace.

Luck was recurrent through the course of the trip since the idea was born during a routine run on the Mall. I boarded a Space-A flight from Joint Base Andrews at the very last minute and every moment after that was entirely spontaneous.

It was serendipitous that I met Marcy and fortuitous to reunite with my folklife friends Mark and Lee. And I wanted nothing more than to re-create this experience for Americans back home. And on the MAC (Military Airlift Command) flight from Ramstein AFB back to Andrews, I had plenty of time to contemplate and plan my next big project. I was looking forward to coming home and reuniting with my pet parrot, Apollo and my pit bull, Georgia. Both were in good hands with my housemate, Kanita Williams. I knew that fate would lead her to become a lot more than just a typical roommate.

June 3, 2022
Apollo’s Flight

DC is a town full of festivals, and there’s no better time to celebrate festivals than in the summer. I had the perfect companion to attend my annual Folklife Festival, Capital Pride and Fiesta Asia. Apollo loved everyone and sang in front of Embassies and he was the character. I should have put Apollo as the star.

On May 20, 2013, I took Apollo on a run again at the National Mall. Apollo took flight as he often does, but this time, he went higher and further than ever before. Oh my goodness, I conveyed an expression of blunder. I had gotten so careless that I had forgotten to trim his wings, and suddenly high above the Mulberry trees along the scenic mall, Apollo found freedom.

I looked everywhere for Apollo, even bringing along his cage, his Bonka Bird toy, rattling in the wind. I scattered sunflower seeds and peanuts everywhere and had to fight off the squirrels who had a field day. Sadly, he was nowhere to be found. Like a menacing tween, he had skipped school, and he was not yet ready to reunite with his distressed patriarch. The massive magnolias along the miles-long cinder path served as an ideal refuge for him and the Capitol dome and the Monument obelisk served as his landmarks.

“Apollo, Come home to Papa!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. As sunset beckoned, I came to the sad conclusion that my wails were been drowned by the hustle and bustle of the young people and tourists mingling on the grassy fields.

Soon the sun was shadowed by the majestic, iron dome of the Capitol, and I would have to return the next day to make my unwavering attempt. At daybreak, when the sun’s rays bathed the Lincoln Memorial in golden sunlight, I was roving up and down the grassy turf searching for my wanderlust feathered friend. I played a scratchy recording of his chirping. It sounded promising, but after a while the raspy screams only commingled with the purrs from the cormorants and the buzz from the sparrows.

GW University just so happened to be hosting their commencement ceremony at noon, so soon there would be several hundred black robes and caps with excited families scurrying all over the mall.

If I couldn’t physically search, I would leverage social media. My Facebook posting gained some traction and a friend of mine mentioned that a student graduating from GWU saw Apollo hanging out on top of a standing fan, just screaming away. So she called the Washington Humane Society who readily captured him.

Picture taken by GWU student of Apollo at the graduation.

I immediately called them and was overjoyed when I found out that they had poor Apollo in safe keeping.

Apollo was home now, and he would join me on more runs and escapades throughout D.C.. But this time, I would make sure his flight feathers are well manicured and his favorite Bonga Bird toy is within arm’s reach.

* * *

June 2, 2022