Why send a card which everyone knows only lasts a week or so when you can semi-permanently deface a building for at least a good six months or so, if not longer…
I appreciate the murals even “renegade” murals, but this is a bit disappointing.
Mount Rainer, MD? What the hell is in Mount Rainier, MD? Seems a bit arbitrary is all I’m saying.
I may not completely support the message but I completely support the sound of the message: “Funk the war”.
And of course Looking Glass Lounge has trivia on Thursdays. Last I heard the trivia at Looking Glass Lounge was a big success. Has anyone checked it out? Good fun? Good questions?
Who has the best trivia night in the city?
It just sounds cool. “Why, I live in the NCBA Estates, of course!”. Very dignified. This is why I like the fact that I live in a place called Riverbrook Estate.
Thanks to a reader for alerting me to this article in the New York Times about Lincoln’s Summer retreat in the Old Soldier’s Home. An excerpt:
“Right now the cottage distills the strengths and weaknesses of the house museum. Its power is the power of association, its contact with a historical presence; we literally walk in a great figure’s footsteps. But everything else must be filled in with imagination and scholarship, with objects and anecdote. I don’t think, in the long run, the visitors’ center and guided tours will suffice; the museum plans a research institute that may end up amplifying the offerings.”
So do you think the opening on Feb. 19th will be a big draw for tourists?
Ah, the stories this door could tell…
[Ed. note: Winner announced Feb. 22]
“When she was new to this city, my mother, a North Carolina transplant, found work here as a cook and waitress. When I was an infant she stowed me in a basket underneath one of the prep tables in the kitchen so she could keep me close while she was working. Some of the waitresses who doted on me then still work here today. Eventually my mom left the Tabard, went back to school and took a job teaching Pre-K. Despite moving to the burbs, she remained close with the staff and made sure to use special occasions (like my high school graduation) as an excuse to come back and have a meal.
It’s been nearly three years since my mom was killed in a car accident. In that time, almost imperceptibly, my dad has made the Tabard his unofficial home-away-from-home. He likes to sit on this stool, near where the waitresses pick up their drink orders, and make conversation while nursing his Jamesons. Sometimes, when I get the chance, I’ll join him here for dinner. There’s not a place in the city I’d rather be.”
