I see Catherine Andrews doing these from time to time, and I want to assure the universe that she is not the only hip young urban person who’s enjoying these final weekends of American supremacy.
FRIDAY: Dinner with some friends at Etete, the fancier’n’average Ethopian place on 9th street, followed by a very short walk to Solly’s, where we celebrated the victory of young Ezra Klein over the mainstream media by drinking Miller High Life. Wait, what?
SATURDAY: A morning of omelette experimentation (moderate success achieved) followed by a deeply ill-advised run to Anacosta/burning off my skin. I discovered on this walk that one of the streets that Congressional pages live on is “Capitalsaurus.” That’s stupid, isn’t it? I loaned a friend some movies, then went to Annie Lowrey’s palatial estate in Mount Pleasant for a barbeque. Just when I was ready to leave, Alex Gutierrez alerted me to the existence of a dance party in Petworth; we arrive to a diminishing crowd of drunk hipsters.* Dancing ensues, especially by a man named Al who moves like a goddamned demon.
SUNDAY: Brunch at Tonic, grocery shopping, and a folk concert that was part of an ad hoc series inside peoples’ houses. So, a record amount of time spent in Petworth. All of it fun!
*I hate this word too, but have no better way of referring to skinny people in tight jeans with facial hair and a welcoming fondness for strangers.