I'll Wear White Whenever I Bloody Well Feel Like It
Labor Day weekend silliness began Friday with a marathon round of drinking at McCormick and Schmick's with the staff of everybody's favorite hometown newspaper. Don't ask me why it wasn't at the Post Pub as usual. Something about comped drinks. And indeed, one intrepid young reporter gracefully took a glass full of red wine down the back of his shirt which translated to a good deal of alcohol on the house. And that was great because the rest of the bar tab rang up at $300.
While chatting with the guy to my right, who apparently writes a blog that the kids can't get enough of (something about fishing? or bowling maybe?) he mentioned that he was partying with Clinton Portis later that night. Which made me think one thing: the Redskins are 0-4 in the preseason, Portis is supposed to be focused on rehabing his shoulder injury, and the dude's throwing parties? (UPDATE: So the Examiner's new gossip column informs me that Portis had the birthday party thrown for him by Santana Moss and Carlos Rogers. And that there were caged tigers and model-geishas in thong leotards. Everything explained: how could they possibly concentrate on football when they had to spend the past month parsing model-geisha tail?)
After a liver-softening amount of sauce we decided it would be a great idea to go back to my place for more of the same. This was actually something of a cut-the-red-wire-or-the-blue-wire situation because the alternative was to go next door to Archibald's. I take it as the ultimate compliment that cocktails at our place ended up winning out over boobs. Perhaps because the former was free and the latter is always pricey. (You know how they jack the rates up to snag people over the holidays.)
After that, the rest of the weekend was sort of all over the place. Football, brunch, shopping in Georgetown, a drive over to Baltimore to get crabs at Obrycki's. Highlight of the weekend's miscellany: watching "The Maltese Falcon," and "Bridge on the River Kwai." How I've gotten to this point in life without ever seeing them is beyond me. Except for now I've got that damn whistling from "Bridge" stuck in my head. Limeys...