To some of you, I’m sure this is a lot like waking up one morning to discover that your NPR station has just begun a fund drive. For others, I’m sure that this will be a lot like showing up at school to discover that your favorite teacher has some kind of pox and has been temporarily replaced by a sub.
Here is the cold harsh truth, Popvillians: The Prince of Petworth is not here. I am here instead.
Our mutual friend, the Prince of Petworth, has decided to take his first vacation in years. This is a wise choice. Our Prince deserves a break from all of us every once in awhile. Do not read anything into this; I’m sure he still loves us. But like even the most caring parents, every once in awhile it’s good to send the kids to Grandma’s for the weekend.
During his vacation, the Prince asked me to mind the store for a few days. This is probably an unwise choice. The reason why should become apparent at any moment now. For whatever I do that offends or upsets you, I will just apologize now and be done with it.
When thinking about doing this fill-in stint, my first thought was quite obvious: what do I call myself?
Being a “Prince” of Petworth is a rhetorical home run. It is an optimistic declaration of authority. Being a “Prince” implies more than that someday you will lose your hair and marry some hot chick way better than you deserve. It implies that you are the future. It implies that better days are ahead. Just like many of us see our neighborhoods in DC.
So what is the right term for me? Something that conveys my temporary status and yet also recognizes my sudden intoxicating power?
My first thought: Ambassador of Petworth.
After coming up with this idea, I called the DMV, hoping that my diplomatic status might get me one of those license plates that lets you run red lights and park in the middle of Connecticut Avenue. I was told that Petworth is not, in fact, a sovereign state, so no magic plates.
My second thought: I could be the Lord of Petworth.
Lord is a good title–just ask Jesus. Being a Lord implies lots of power, yet seems to carry no actual responsibility whatsoever. I mean, what does a “lord” do? This has great appeal to me.
So it is done. I am the Lord of Petworth. At least for the next few days, anyhow.
If you have read this far, I assume
(a) you think I am entertaining and can’t stop reading,
(b) you think I am a complete idiot and can’t stop reading,
(c) you haven’t fully woken up yet and don’t yet realize that you can stop reading.
Regardless, let’s end this first post on a positive note.
As my first official act as Lord of Petworth, I will now post a 47-second video of bacon frying. This should please you–unless you are a vegetarian, or an observant Jew, or have an aversion to frying pans.
In that case, the answer to the above question is now firmly “B.”
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