We've Lost Georgetown to the Bridge and Tunnel Set

It's been a busy week.

1. The subpoena is officially in hand. A lawyer will soon be winging his way from South Florida to depose my Significant Other. Should be a riot. He's already practicing his "I can't recalls." You learn so much from watching C-SPAN. Of course in S.O.'s case, he's not fudging — he really can't recall because he has the worst memory ever.

2. We made the arduous trip out to RFK Friday night for the Nats-Os game. I say "arduous," because what else would explain away the roughly 1/3 of seats that were empty on the opening night of a cross-town rival series in a town that, you might recall, was quite vocal about wanting baseball back after lo those many decades? And for those of you muttering "two crappy baseball teams" while reading this, well then fine, be that way.

3. Georgetown Saturday night for a movie. Riddle me this: when did Georgetown become totally tacky, like beyond all hope? Seriously, it looked like the Jersey Shore down there. I'll take the ribbon belted-brunch crowds (of which I am happily a member) any day over the stuff I saw oozing out of parking lots on Saturday night.

Subpoenas--The New Black

A Brunch Bird pal writes this morning:

"Did you realize this is your first Washington subpoena? It's like you're officially a District resident now, since you've been served. In some silly, ubergovernment-dork way, that's kinda cool."

Indeed. Although this isn't nearly as delicious as getting a WatergateGate subpoena. That's the hottest ticket in town.

Waiter, There's a Journalism Cautionary Tale in My Soup

We stopped into Buck's Fishing & Camping for dinner the other night. I had the fried oysters; S.O. opted for the steak. We both refrained from licking our plates. We showed an even greater amount of restraint given that dethroned New York Times executive editor Howell Raines was dining at a nearby table. It's not every day that you sup in the same restaurant as one of the people responsible for the decline of your beloved profession. We skipped dessert. We just didn't have the stomach for it anymore.

The Subpoena Man Only Rings Twice

I am almost starting to feel sorry for the unctuous subpoena delivery man. He forgot my Significant Other's cell phone number (we don't have a landline, as we're allergic to being bothered) and tried unsuccessfully to grift his way into our building this morning. The poor lamb. Our building is more closely guarded by its residents than the Pentagon. He didn't even make it past the first door. The elegant twin greyhounds residing with my equally elegant downstairs neighbor sniffed out his Axe Body Spray before he'd so much as touched the front door handle. Better luck tomorrow Subpoena Man.

It's A Matter of Time Before "The Sopranos" Exercise Book Mentions This

Have you ever tried to move a rolled-up 9 x 12 rug? It gives you new respect for members of the mafia who do it with the added weight of a body.

Chapter 1: I Am Born. Then I Get Handed a Subpoena.

Today's breakfast consisted of granola and 2% milk, the newspaper, and a healthy heaping of oddity. 2% because they were out of skim. The newspaper because it's the most important meal of the day. The oddity because there was a slimy looking gent downstairs waiting to serve my Significant Other a subpoena.

Introduction: I live in a c. 1910 co-op on a delightful tree-lined street in Northwest, purchased just a few months ago. I am in possession of one big fluffy Arctic-looking dog and one big non-Arctic-looking S.O. We're both writers. He for a newspaper, I for a magazine.

It was his previous job as a reporter in another state that brought the gent with the subpoena to our doorstep. It seems the paper is being sued by some crankypants and he and another reporter face deposition. It's really a bit of a tempest in a teapot, but still, it's always fun to start a day feeling like they're filming Law&Order on your front walkway.

I calmly ate my granola with 2% while he went downstairs to deal with the matter. Alas, our visitor was already gone, leaving a piece of paper taped to our mailbox that announced loudly that he'd been there to serve legal papers.

I'm sure the neighbors in my somewhat stodgy building are falling over themselves to figure out what's going on.
This is going to be fun....

PS-The "brunch" portion of the moniker is to honor the meal that so deftly welcomes poached eggs and crabcakes to the same plate, and in doing so, sets itself above all the rest. The "bird" is because I still find the use of the word "bird" funnier than dame/gal/lady/woman/et. al. (And I figured I'd have two surly young gents and a strawberry blond on my doorstep with billy clubs if I called it "Brunchette.")