the last supper

How to have a classic American Weekend:

1. Pack everything you own into boxes.
2. Move it all 9.5 miles directly south.
3. Unpack everything.

And so begins our final farewell to the Maryland suburbs and finally, hopefully, a chance to stay put for a while. The DC house is nearly painted, the exterior work carries on, and the punchline of an enormous, 4-month joke is about to be delivered. ... something about "patience" or some rubbish like that. It's not funny anymore.

So, knowing we'd spend Friday night in a dizzy freakout of packing boxes, we had our sacramental Last Supper on Thursday, at that corner landmark that needs no introduction (photo above). The Stained Glass Pub. Home of the most unfairly hyped pizza in the state of Maryland (which is strange, with Armand's just down the street), and a great place for classic Murrlin' people-watchin'.

Particularly during Redskins games. hooboy.

As expected, the pizza was astonishingly bland and caused a moderate amount of visceral distress, and the people-watching was off as well, since of course, it was Thursday. And the Redskins were nowhere to be seen.

No matter! We're moving on, and I'll finally be back in the DC neighborhood which I abandoned, stupidly, for Syracuse some 16 years ago. Since then, such marvels as the Wonderland have cropped up, which will be MORE than sufficient to fill the void left by the Stained Glass Pub, and its Redskins...