Category: uncategorized

After work I met up with Sonal for a fun evening of shopping at Friendship Heights. At Banana Republic I got two pairs of oxfords (one pair in black, another in dark brown), each marked down fifty percent. So I guess it was like getting one pair free. Not bad at all. From the Traveler Collection, which the Banana seems to be phasing out, they’re a lot more comfortable than my current workhorse pair of dress shoes.

I also indulged another of my weaknesses, Pottery Barn. Right now the primary colors in my room are dark browns and reds. (I could use a third color to break it up a bit. I’ll do some homework.) Tonight I bought some dark red drapes, mostly sheer with a velvet pattern, which I’ll hang in my kitchen doorway to add some color and texture to that corner of the room. Previously in that doorway I’ve had white drapes with light striping, which is okay, but with the white walls, it leaves the room unbalanced colorwise: washed out on one side and saturated on the other. While at Pottery Barn, I also got an impulse (but practical) buy: coasters. It’s a set of four, each emblazoned with art from vintage champagne ads. Very cool.

We rounded out the evening at The Cheesecake Factory, one of my favorite dessert places, with its extensive menu the length of a spiral-bound novella. Quick aside: no sooner had I sighed to Sonal, “Wow, look at us, we’re, like, adults”–in our mid-twenties, living and working on a faraway, less-familiar (to us) coast, being all independent–than a pack of prom (or some similar event, who knows) revelers entered, seating themselves at adjacent tables. We were suddenly physically surrounded by the awkward exuberance of youth. I swirled my Chardonnay sinisterly. Oh fine, I didn’t really. (It was a Riesling.) Anyway. It was just a sight to see them everywhere, even at the metro station on the way home.

Okay, so very full. And tired. Parting thought: thank God it’s (almost) Friday.

Hm, I don’t know about the new wrist-watch PDA from Fossil, pictured here with metal band, also available in leather and sport styles. I mean, having all your usual Palm information (address book, calendar, etc.) in a device that small is handy and cool–the mini-stylus hidden in the watch band is very James Bond–but I’d think the screen text would be too small for practical use. I’m just saying.

I finally gave in. I got cable. This is a big step, you know. I grew up without cable—my parents in effect instilled in me an aversion to paying for television—and so this is practically a coming of age. I got a brief taste of it in college, when I outfitted my single dorm room with a cable-equipped TV, and now I’m rediscovering those shows I’ve missed: Comedy Central’s The Daily Show, everything on Sundance, South Park (I missed many Wednesday-night house meetings, just ’cause I couldn’t tear myself away), even the news in French on TV5.

And of course, I’m finding a whole new set of shows to be excited about. Before going to the Starpower office, I prepared myself for the hard sell. Basic cable, that’s all I want, I chanted in my head. But when they asked quite plainly what channels I wanted, I caved. Given an inch, how could I not ask for a mile? I walked out of there not only with basic, but also a package of digital channels (it was BBC America and Sundance that sealed the deal) and HBO (with all its varietals).

So, yeah. The English channel in question is BBC America. I adore it, especially Graham Norton. “It’s so unpredictable.” What else… Changing Rooms and What Not To Wear. TLC (Trading Spaces is infinitely better than While You Were Out), the Travel Channel (especially Great Hotels with host Samantha Brown, whose job I wish I had), IFC, Food Network, Cartoon Network (Family Guy every Monday to Thursday!)… My trusty TiVo and I can hardly keep up. It’s like drinking from a fire hydrant. It took me a while, but as a cable newbie I’ve come to accept the fact that yes, I am but one man cowering before a multitude of channels, and no, I cannot watch everything on TV (nor would I want to–for a start, I’ve deselected all the ESPNs and “country-music” anything from my TiVo lineup). Unless I never leave the house. Don’t give me any ideas.

By the way, Sundance is presenting a month-long queer pride film festival called “Out Loud.” Check out the schedule. I’ve already re-watched Wilde, Bedrooms & Hallways, and Get Real. I’m in heaven.

Speaking of TV, did everyone watch the Amazing Race season premiere last week? Of course you did. Isn’t it… amazing?

More website administrivia: I’m loving the little buttons that seem to be popping up in the blogosphere. Here’s a dizzying collection, as well as a site where you can make your own on the fly. That’s where I made my cute endmark, below. I was hoping to make it more square, with just an “RP” for “Rebel Prince,” but this was easier and will do for now. Especially while scrolling down long pages, it reminds you what site you’re at (as if you, loyal reader, really need that) and keeps the whole thing “on message”–in almost the same way media people put up backdrops at speeches, tiled with repeating themes. (For the record, I think this is the first, and let’s hope the last, time I will ever link to a picture of President George W. Bush.) Oh, and the buttons link back to the top of the page for your navigational ease, as well.

What else? I’m enabling TrackBack from here on out, so other Movable Type folks (and others with compatible blogging systems?), provided you’re so inspired as to write a referring entry in your own blog, can give me a ping. Don’t worry, the whole idea still boggles me a bit too, so stay close and we’ll find our way together.

And I updated my installation of MT to version 2.64. Not that I had any compelling need to do so, but I thought, hey, I’ve got some time on my hands. The news feed is now RSS 2.0, so those of you in the know, tell me if that messes anything up, or if you think I should keep the 1.0 option, too.

Mes chéris, there is nothing like great food with great friends. Sonal arrived in town on Sunday, and we had dinner at a place I’ve been dying to try, Mon Ami Gabi. First, the restaurant’s look is fabulous. Not that I’ve ever been to Paris–which is, yes, quite a dommage–but I definitely felt transported. With its dark wood paneling, mosaic-tile floor, and other details that not so much scream as sigh France like a world-weary chanteuse (this is the money sentence of this whole write-up, baby), the restaurant made me I forget I was actually in Bethesda, surrounded by the usual downtown fixtures, like a movie theater and Barnes & Noble.

I ordered the steak bordelaise, cooked with caramelized onions and mushrooms in a red wine sauce, and served with pommes frites. (I felt quite old-school having a steak and martini for dinner.) And for dessert, I went with an exotic fruit sorbet. All sumptuous, and the service very good. Must round up the co-workers someday and return at lunch for crêpes. Everything’s reasonably priced–for a French steakhouse, that is–which means nice for an occasional splurge, or an after-work drink at the bar to accompany your evening Le Monde.

While I’m on a French kick (when am I not?), also on my must-try list are Les Halles and Bistro du Coin. Hm, Bastille Day is next month…

Yes, I’m still alive. Sleepy, but conscious. So, yeah, you keep coming back to Rebel Prince, wondering, pleading with the internet gods, where is that boy? (Don’t deny it.) Well, here I am finally to give you the rundown on last weekend’s quick jaunt to New York. As I write this, I’m rediscovering an inadvertently neglected CD in my collection, called Wild Cool & Swingin, from Capitol’s “Ultra-Lounge” series. I’ve cued up Bobby Darin’s rendition of “Sunday in New York.” Very swank.

New York was grand. Cold and rainy, but grand. On Sunday I took the train up to Manhattan, about three hours from Washington, and once in town headed for the Chelsea Hotel to meet up with Stephen, a good bloke indeed (which of course we’d already known to be true). For the next two days–more like thirty hours, to be exact–I tagged along with him and his dad on what turned out to be a fun little trip.

Day one. First we had lunch at John’s Pizzeria (opposite the Majestic, current home of Phantom), and then we saw the darkly funny A Day in the Death of Joe Egg (running at the restored American Airlines Theatre through June 1). Despite the weighty themes, it managed for the most part to be light on its feet, taking unexpected, but not unwelcome turns. Good acting overall. (Leading man Eddie Izzard is touring this summer and fall; I’ll have to catch him when he comes to town.)

In the early evening Stephen and I wandered about the Village, stopping into music stores, and at one point taking a break at the Starbucks on Grove Street, where whose voice should be wafting from the loudspeaker but that of our favorite man-about-town Rufus Wainwright? The I Am Sam soundtrack was playing, right at “Across the Universe.” Our timing was impeccable.

That night we all regrouped and had dinner at a small, midtown Vietnamese restaurant–mmm, shrimp spring rolls–and navigating the expected Times-Square crowds, we made our way back to 42nd Street to watch Down with Love, which is still as much fun the second time. (I have to hand it to the supporting cast; they definitely hold their own against the leads, if not steal scenes entirely.) When I first saw it, the reel had stopped during the end-credit musical number, so it was a treat to finally see the entire thing.

Shortly after, tired, but content, we called it a night. The Chelsea Hotel, full of characters, is quite a character itself. The place is grand and brash and bohemian–check out all the art–and rough around the edges. (View a Quicktime VR panorama of the lobby, found at Axis Images.) Knowing a bit about its past, and especially after having recently seen that first episode of An American Family, where Lance Loud’s mother visits him at the Chelsea, I came away with a kind of comfortable reverence about the place. The hotel has been home to some artistic luminaries, both famous and notorious, but once inside you feel like you are one (or could be one) too.

Day two. The agenda: holiday shopping (it was Memorial Day, after all) in SoHo and the East Village. A trip to New York is not complete without some serious shopping. (Also, the opportunity to respond to compliments on one’s clothing with a casual “Oh, this? I got it in New York” is rather delicious.) And despite the pouring rain, nothing was going to stop Stephen. He was on a mission, and I, for my part, was glad to go along, since my usual Manhattan shopping route ends up somewhere midtown up Fifth Avenue, and until last weekend I’d never really done SoHo, despite my avowed intent to visit a different neighborhood each time I go to New York.

After a hearty brunch and much coffee, we stopped at boutiques, thrift stores, and everywhere in between. I got two sweaters at Armani Exchange–on sale, thank you very much. I exercised some fiscal restraint, but looking over so many clothes confirmed that my wardrobe could use an overhaul. (I keep talking the talk, but at some point, I need to walk the walk… say, to the new H&M in Georgetown. Another D.C. location is due this fall at 11th and F Streets NW, by the way.) At the MoMa Design Store, I bought a few posters: Picasso’s Girl Before a Mirror from the “Matisse Picasso” exhibit; a movie poster of La Dolce Vita; and a small Keith Haring print, which I’ll probably put up in my office.

Pretty soon, we were all walked out–I thought I knew my Manhattan geography fairly well, but little mishaps, like unknowingly walking east on East 23rd Street when you want West, take a toll on one’s feet. (Many years ago my sea-faring uncle gave me a nice compass as a present; I should start carrying it with me.) It was time for me to head back reluctantly to Washington, so thanking Stephen and his dad, I took my leave of them and the Chelsea, and rode the C train back to Penn Station, where I had pulled in less than a day and a half earlier.

Deep below 34th Street, in the station’s waiting area I looked up at the big, letter-flipping departures board displaying upcoming destinations–not quite as exciting as an airport flight board, but still a glorious sight to an irrepressible wanderluster like me–and with a sneaking anticipation, I smiled in knowing I’d be back one day.

One more thing before I go to bed. Yesterday morning, as I was signing a card, I realized my initials, JT, when written together with the top strokes connected, form a reverse pi (π). To think, all these years, I could’ve been using a symbol–or technically, letters that look like another letter that in turn also stands for a number–as my signature. Well, not my signature per se, since a single letter is so easily forged, but maybe I can find some interesting use for it.

Somewhat related note: it kind of annoys me (in an admittedly geeky and inconsequential way) how, in association with its documentary Russia: Land of the Tsars, the History Channel writes “Russia” with Cyrillic characters that, while trying to be clever in using the look of the language to suggest the word to non-Russian speakers, are technically misused. (What looks like a reverse R is pronounced “ya,” and the square U is actually “ts.”) I know, this is really nit-picky, so I’ll stop here, but I’m sure one could go on about the semiotics of it all.

I’m back from New York! Very tired, but still basking in the post-vacation glow. Trip report forthcoming, most likely tomorrow.