Is there any rhyme or reason as to the naming of state streets? And why are Massachusetts and Pennsylvania Avenues main thoroughfares while Indiana Avenue is only a couple of blocks?

When Pierre Charles L'Enfant drew out his plans for the Federal City, he aimed to name the broad diagonal avenues that dissected the plan's grid pattern after the original 13 colonies.

But he didn't stop there, according to George Washington Never Slept Here by Amy Alotta. His ambitious—and convoluted—plans aimed to lay the state streets out in a pattern roughly akin to their actual geography, while also paying heed to the states’ sizes and relative prominence in the new country. As such, Massachusetts, New York and Pennsylvania—highly populated, key political states in the new country—became prominent thoroughfares, while Vermont and other smaller states became associated with more obscure avenues.

But as soon as planners began renaming avenues as the nation added states, L'Enfant's plan fell apart. In fact, if you look at Texas Avenue or Illinois Avenue on a map of the District, you'll find little correlation between a state's population and prominence and the street associated with it. You'll also see that not every state is represented with an avenue: Ohio is a drive running through West and East Potomac Parks, and California is a residential street in the Adams Morgan and Kalorama Heights neighborhoods.

Moreover, the plans to honor each state weren't completed until 1989. According to Ruel Eskelson of the Historical Society of Washington, D.C., that year a section of Canal Street SW between South Capitol Street and Independence Avenue was renamed Washington Avenue.

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If you're coming into town on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway, there's an overhead road sign marking the split between U.S. 50 East/Anacostia Freeway and U.S. 50 West/New York Avenue maybe a quarter-mile before the split. The problem is that the westbound sign reads “TO NEW YORK AVE.” in absolutely tiny type, much smaller than the rest of the sign. You can't read it until you're within a few dozen yards of the sign, and it's like, what's the point? New York Avenue should be listed on the sign, but why not make it readable—put it in the same type size as the rest of the sign? Absolutely maddening!

Rest assured, a new sign that depicts “To New York Ave.” the same size as the rest of the sign is coming soon, perhaps as soon as today.

The previous sign's small typeface may have been a manufacturer's mistake, according to National Park Service (NPS) spokesperson Bill Line, but it's unclear exactly when the Park Service, which oversees the parkway, installed the sign.

But don't think that the reason for the change is your complaints, according to Line. Instead, it is part of two-year-old effort by the Park Service to standardize the fonts on all NPS signs.

The new font, NPS Rawlinson, should make signs more legible than the previous NPS fonts—Clarendon and Highway Gothic—according to the March/April NPS newsletter. And the font promises to provide a “functional advantage of improved legibility [that] set them apart visually from the more common typeface varieties found on typical office computers. This distinctiveness, when applied across the many forms of media used by the NPS, contributed subtly but effectively to the team's overall goal to ‘establish a unique organizational identity that could be expressed through the full range of communication materials used by the National Park Service.’”

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Metro identifies African-American Civil War Memorial at the U Street station and Adams Morgan at the Woodley Park station (even though it's a 15 minute walk from the station), but it doesn't identify the White House at Farragut West. Or the Capitol at Union Station. Why not highlight the most popular tourist spots?

Metro stations’ primary names always note a station's physical location, be it a street, circle, square, or suburb. The other station designations, like Adams Morgan or African-American Civil War Memorial, come about after an advisory neighborhood commission or councilmember approaches Metro's board of directors about the change.

As such, Metro isn't in the business of noting tourist locations nearby stations, says authority spokesperson Taryn McNeil.

“We're not sitting around thinking about what names to give stations,” she says.

And Metro is not eager to change stations’ names, because any alterations are time-consuming and expensive. For instance, the last two station name changes—renaming Rhode Island Avenue station to the Rhode Island–Brentwood station and changing Archives–Navy Memorial station to the Archives–Navy Memorial–Penn Quarter Station—cost $210,840 to produce and distribute new maps and signs and to update the stations’ pylons (the brown posts that note a station's name).

Who foots the bill? The jurisdiction that requests the change, which, in the case of both the Rhode Island Avenue station and the Archives station, was the District.

So unless Capitol Hill or Farragut Square residents begin calling for a change to help the barrage of tourists who converge around stations’ information booths to ask directions to the White House or Capitol during the summer months, it's unlikely that Metro will change the station's names.

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Each time I head down to the Mall, I end up with a shoeful of pebbles and red eyes from dirt blowing in my eyes. I've also seen pebbles get caught in dog's paws and provide an unnecessarily rough ride for people with disabilities. Why not just pave ’em?

People love the pebbled walkways, says National Parks Service Communications Officer Bill Line, who adds that pebbles are far more aesthetically pleasing than “unsightly” concrete sidewalks.

“I've been [a National Parks Service communications officer] for five years and I've heard numerous verbal compliments about how much people like the pebbled walkways,” he says, and in that time he has never encountered a request for pavement.

To change the look of the Mall by paving over the walkways would be committing blasphemy, he says.

“The reason we don't pave the walkways is the same reason why we don't go to the Black Hills and get rid of Teddy Roosevelt's mustache or Abe Lincoln's beard,” he adds.

Despite Line's allegiance to the pebbled walkways, they've only been in place since 1975, when the National Parks Service laid them down in preparation for bicentennial celebrations.

In fact, the Mall didn't begin to take its current shape until 1902, when the McMillan Commission, a Senate committee tasked with improving the “the entire park system of the District of Columbia,” submitted a report calling for the government to transform the Mall into a grand avenue in line with planner Pierre L'Enfant's never-realized plans for the District. The Commission's plan called for a European-style broad grass carpet running the entire length of the Mall grounds, bordered on each side by four rows of American elm trees, with public buildings bordering the whole.

Before that, the Mall had a sordid past as the military used the grounds for bivouacking and parading troops, slaughtering cattle, and producing arms. Later, the Mall was used as railroad depot, with tracks running north to south across the Mall.

Despite recent changes—including the addition of the National Museum of the American Indian and plans to add the National Museum of African-American History and Culture—Line says, “There are no pleas, no move afoot, and no discussion to pave the walkways.”

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On 8th Street NW just above the Navy Memorial, there's a “building” that takes up about half of the western side of the block. The building appears to be a solid block of concrete but has been decorated with some drawings and false windows and doorways to give the impression (although not a very good one) of several row house-type structures. What the hell is it? Why is a quarter-block of prime real estate in downtown Washington devoted to unusable space? What is up with the windows and doorways, some of which look like they've been there forever (and the concrete went up around them)?

—Jason Ost, Washington

Scattered throughout the city and nearby suburbs are six buildings with false fronts made to look like residential or commercial locations. Often located in prime spots—like Penn Quarter or Chevy Chase—the false fronts mask Pepco substations.

Rather than hiding behind a barbed wire fence, the substations blend into the neighborhood—even with signs reading “Danger—High Voltage” hanging outside the concrete doorways and Pepco trucks driving in and out.

“Instead of having barbed wire fences in the middle of the city we design them to fit in aesthetically with the neighborhood,” says Pepco spokesman Bob Dobkin.

Behind the false fronts, the substations receive power from power plants just outside the city. The substation's transformers then weave the power through a series of circuit breakers and switches to reduce the 69,000 volts down to 13,000 volts before sending the power out to the neighborhood.

So why not stick substations in unsightly locations where they wouldn't have to blend in? Location, location, location: Substations can't be located too far from the neighborhoods they serve.

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Why the hell is there an aquarium in the basement of the Department of Commerce? And why is it so pathetic? It looks like a high-school science project.

The aquarium isn't pathetic-it's vintage. In fact, when the aquarium was built as an original part of the Department of Commerce Building in 1932, it was considered a “credit to the nation?[with] its high, cathedral-like vaulted ceilings, gleaming marble pools, and brass trim framing its exhibit tanks,” according to The National Aquarium Society's official history.

But why build an aquarium in the Commerce Building in the first place? It was all about bureaucracy: At the time it was built, the National Aquarium was a part of the Fisheries Commission, which was a part of the commerce department. And since the building was state-of-the-art, it was the perfect place to display the Fisheries Commission's collection of American fish, which they had been collecting for research since 1873.

And for 50 years, the aquarium attracted a steady stream of tourists and school children. But in 1982, the government decided to get out of the aquarium business, according to Robert Ramin, executive director of The National Aquarium in Washington, D.C. Rather than close their doors, the aquarium formed the National Aquarium Society, a private nonprofit, to find alternative financing, though the Department of Commerce volunteered to maintain the physical plant and continue to provide utilities to the aquarium.

In 2003, the National Aquarium in Baltimore gained operating control of the D.C. National Aquarium as a means of extending its presence closer to the source of federal funding. Under the agreement, Ramin says, the National Aquarium “complements Baltimore's Aquarium as we celebrate America's aquatic treasures.”

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I understand why Metro might need its own police force, and I can see why the Capitol and the CIA need their own uniformed police, too—but, really, why does the Government Printing Office need its own police force? And why are they carrying guns? Come on!

In 1860, Congress established the Government Printing Office (GPO), and for nearly 90 years the D.C. police officers patrolled the GPO's main building, warehouse, alleys, and parking lots in Swampoodle—the neighborhood north of Union Station now rehabilitated as the more marketing-friendly NoMa.

But by 1970, as Swampoodle fell prey to a near-constant barrage of vandalism and violent attacks, Congress determined that “The Metropolitan Police Department has done the best it could over the years, but, unfortunately, it is not in a position to provide effectively for the safety of the property and people in the area, especially during the night hour,” according to the legislative record.

As a result, Congress authorized the GPO to create a special police force, stating that “the Public Printer or his delegate may designate employees of the Government Printing Office to serve as special policemen to protect persons and property in premises and adjacent areas occupied by or under the control of the Government Printing Office.”

The GPO's 39-member, two-cruiser police force provides protection in areas where the bureau produces secure or classified documents, entrances, alleys, and parking lots around the clock.

And although GPO cops are armed and able to make arrests for violations of federal and District law, they have never fired a gun while interacting with a suspect, according to bureau spokesperson Veronica Meter.

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Yet another instance of our New York inferiority complex: The New York City Subway has lots of abandoned stations and other neat anomalies. Of course, Metro, I thought, would have nothing so cool. But then I read here that a Metro station was built underneath a parking lot at Washington Dulles International Airport when the airport was first built and all that needs to be done is to connect a line to the station. That's pretty cool--but is it true?

Not only are the rumors false, they're completely unfounded, according to Rob Yingling, a Metropolitan Washington Airports Authority (MWAA) spokesperson. “By no means was there an entire station built,” he says. “There's no underground opening of this nature nor is there anything to suggest that there ever was.”

In fact, John Cambron, who the Web site cites as the sources for its information and drawings even denies knowing of any such station. “I asked one of the staff engineers at one of the first public scoping meetings of the Dulles Corridor Rapid Transit Project about its existence in July 2000,” he says. “His reply was that no rapid transit station exists or was ever built.”

Yet while a station straight out of the Jetsons, with the drawing's inclined moving walkways, may never be built, plans for its construction now look more probable than ever, thanks to a proposal to have the MWAA assume responsibility for building it. And some preparation has already been done. In 1996, when MWAA expanded the Dulles Main Terminal, they also improved the roadways and ramps in front of the terminal and dug out an area under the hourly parking lot for a future Metro station. Until they begin construction on the station, the dug-out area is only a concrete foundation filled with rock. When the line is finally completed, in 2015, Metro passengers will enter the terminal via the current pedestrian tunnel that brings people from Parking Garage 1 to the terminal.

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Whenever it rains, it seems like everywhere you walk is a giant puddle. I heard that the reason is that some District sewer pipes are wooden. Any truth to that?

The sewer pipes aren't wooden, but they are old. In fact, some have been around since Teddy Roosevelt was in the White House, according to D.C. Water and Sewer Authority (WASA) spokesperson Tamara Stevenson.

And although WASA has no records that the District ever had wooden sewer pipes, the area did have wooden water lines throughout the 19th century. Sewer pipes can be made of terra cotta, cast iron, concrete, or plastic.

Since many sewer lines were built around 1900—when the District's population was a far less dense 278,000—rather than the 2000 population of 572,000, the lines are old and ill-equipped to accommodate present conditions. WASA replaces deteriorated and failing lines soon after officials discover the issue, Stevenson says.

However, the real need for the District, she says, is a long-range plan for District's sewer system. As such, WASA recently began a $10 million assessment of the District's sewer pipes.

Every Monday, the ‘Huh?’ Bub takes your questions. Got one?

What's the deal with bus letters and numbers? Some have a letter and a number, some have two numbers and a letter, some just have two numbers, while others have a letter and two numbers. I don't really see a method to this madness.

“There could be a simple numbering system, but nobody is interested enough to demand it,” says Lawrence A. Glick, a Metrobus service planner who proposed a revamping of the system few years ago.

Instead, Metrobus's numbering system is a hodgepodge of the four separate systems that were folded into the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority (WMATA) in 1973.

In 1936, Capital Transit Company, the main District transit group prior to WMATA, began using characters to distinguish their routes. Streetcars featured two numbers—the tens digit identified the line, and the ones digit indicated the route; buses featured a letter identifying the line and a number indicating the route. Capital Transit numbered their streetcars in a clockwise arc from their origin—starting with a route beginning in Rosslyn that was numbered 10 and 12, a Cabin John line numbered 20 and continuing to a U Street/Florida Avenue route numbered in the 90s. They applied letters to bus routes in a counterclockwise arc beginning in Southeast Washington. However, the pattern was not entirely consistent—the 16th Street lines were designated with an “S.” For both streetcars and buses, the even-numbered lines indicated all-day service, while odd numbers denoted rush hour or part-time service.

As for the other companies later incorporated into WMATA, Washington, Marboro & Annapolis Motor Lines (WMA) used a letter to designate its lines and a number to distinguish different routes within a line. The two Virginia companies—Alexandria, Barcroft & Washington Rapid Transit (AB&W) and the Washington, Virginia & Maryland Coach Company (WV&M)—both used a numbering system that had letter suffixes to indicate route variations. After the merger, WMATA added a tens digit to the former WMA routes to avoid duplication with Capital Transit lines and kept the WV&M's numbers the same while renumbering AB&W's numbers.

As a result, in the former Capital Transit service area—encompassing the District, Montgomery County and western Prince George's County—Metrobus routes have two-digit numbers where they follow streetcar lines that lasted into the ’50s and a letter-and-number format on former Capital Transit bus lines and on streetcar lines that were converted to buses prior to 1950.

“When we number new routes, we try where we can to keep to the old system that applied to whichever side of the river the route serves, but constraints in the original D.C. and Maryland numbering systems have created a number of exceptions to the old patterns,” says Glick.

Every Monday, the ‘Huh?’ Bub takes your questions. Got one?

Why aren't there any musicians playing in Metro stations? I can understand why Metro wouldn't let the bucket-drummer guys in—they would get pretty loud and annoying after a while. But there isn't even a tasteful clarinetist to be found. Or why not a mime? Everyone loves mimes!

Ride the Tube in London or the New York City subway and you'll likely encounter a licensed busker—a musician, magician, or other type of performer entertaining tourists and, to some extent, commuters. But ride the Metro and the only music you'll encounter is blaring out of the headphones of the person sitting next you.

The reason is that the Metro Transit Police uses an article in the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority Compact, Metro's governing document, that states, “The Authority shall have the power to adopt rules and regulations for the safe, convenient, and orderly use of the transit facilities owned, controlled, or operated by the Authority, including…the protection of the transit facilities…and the safety and protection of the riding public,” to outlaw busking in Metro stations.

“It's a matter of safety, as well as a means of avoiding people soliciting customers for funds,” says Taryn McNeil, Metro public affairs coordinator, who adds that musicians playing in the system could muddle safety announcements.

McNeil also notes that by outlawing busking Metro also avoids customers complaining about the musicians’ skills and musical choices.

To ensure that buskers cannot bypass the Metro police's “safety and protection” claims, the District, Maryland, and Virginia have uniform laws that outlaw music performance within 15 feet of Metro property.

London and New York City counter Metro's concerns by licensing the performers, which requires buskers to pass auditions to ensure a high level of talent and variety, as well as allows officials to screen their criminal records to ensure customer safety.

Despite positive receptions to busker licensing in other cities, unless a potent grassroots movement rises to challenge the 39-year-old law, it doesn't appear likely that the wording in the compact will change, McNeil says.

Every Monday, the ‘Huh?’ Bub takes your questions. Got one?

What's the deal with all the antennas and dishes and stuff up on Wisconsin Avenue in Tenleytown? You know, right there by Wilson High School and Fort Reno? And what are all those towers for, anyway? One of ‘em looks like it isn't even finished.

And it never will be: On March 17, the District agreed to pay the American Tower Corporation $350,000 to demolish the 281-foot base of an unfinished 756-foot HDTV broadcast tower on 41st Street NW between Brandywine and Chesapeake Streets. The agreement was the result of a court battle that has waged since 2000, when the District revoked the building permit soon after construction began due to neighborhood protests.

Yet despite the victory for the Stop the Tower Coalition, the group that led the battle against the tower, the neighborhood east of Wisconsin Avenue in Tenleytown remains a near-forest of transmitters, which broadcast signals for television, AM and FM radio, police and fire radios, and cellular phones. As a result, the area is known in communications circles as “Broadcast Hill.”

Why Tenleytown? Broadcasters and other communications companies build towers at the highest elevations possible to avoid interference. That's why many skyscrapers have antennas on their roof. And it's the same reason that Tenleytown—located at one of the highest elevations in the city—is an ideal location for broadcast towers, according to Mike Johnson of the District's Office of Planning.

The first tower was erected in 1947, when the Western Union Telegraph Company built a concrete tower at 41st Street and Wisconsin Avenue. The tower was part of the nation's first commercial network of microwave-radio relay stations, which linked the District, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and New York City to relay radio, television, and telegraph signals.

Since Tenley Tower was built, numerous other towers have risen throughout Van Ness and Tenleytown. For instance, WMAL-AM broadcasts from 4400 Jenifer Street NW, and WTTG-TV broadcasts its signals from 5151 Wisconsin Avenue.

Every Monday, the 'Huh?' Bub takes your questions. Got one?

What's the deal with the bus stops paved in concrete? I mean, why not just pave the suckers in asphalt like the rest of the road?

D.C. bus stops' concrete slabs bear the burden of the daily stream of buses better than asphalt, says District Department of Transportation (DDOT) spokesman Bill Rice. If DDOT used asphalt rather than concrete for the 10-by-60-foot rectangles, Rice says, the asphalt would shift and create waves or ripples under the buses' weight. And when asphalt shifts, it cracks and can create potholes.

Moreover, compared to asphalt, concrete is stronger, longer-lasting, and reflective at night—which helps distinguish the bus stops.

Bus stops that don't have concrete rectangles are often a result of utility workers who tear up the road to do their work and then they pave over the slab in asphalt. In other instances, DDOT hasn't yet caught up to a changed bus route.

But if concrete is so much better at handling use and weight, why not pave all the District's roads in concrete? That's because concrete is far more difficult to repair, Rice says.

Civil engineers call asphalt a flexible pavement. As such, asphalt roads generally consist of a thin layer spread over a gravel or stone base and sub-base. The layers rest over compressed soil. When a large weight—like a bus—rests on the asphalt, the gravel or stone base shifts.

In contrast, concrete surfaces may or may not have a base course between the pavement and subgrade. When a large weight rests on concrete, the weight is distributed over a relatively wide area of the subgrade. However, since concrete's surface is thicker than asphalt, repairing concrete requires replacing the entire road, whereas repairing asphalt requires only scraping off the top surface and relaying a new surface.

And beyond the surfaces' abilities to bear weight, asphalt provides for a smoother ride, Rice says.

Every Monday, the 'Huh?' Bub takes your questions. Got one?