Diary of a Saloon Owner: 2006

"The true life of an Emmy-winning TV producer who was suddenly a widow,
a solo parent, and a saloon owner."

More photos at Photos Central
contact carol@nathansgeorgetown.com

 

 

MONDAY, JULY 31st ... We've all heard the expression, "she's going down." Tonight I fear the she may be me. Me as in Nathans. Here's the backstory: Last week, while I was out of town, the landlords brought some men into the building who took photos, notes and measurements. Legally, it's their right to do that, even if I'm not there. We suspected the men may have represented a retailer, but we were not sure. Today, back at work, I called one of the landlord's and asked if this was anything to be worried about, but he said,"no." He said the men were not representing a retailer but were working for him, getting some measurements to update the specs. He reassured me that while there was a lot of broker interest in moving a retailer into my space, no decision had been made. I reiterated what I've been saying for the last few years: give me a good lease and I can make the necessary changes at Nathans to have it throw off as much profit as any retailer. The current lease is like a noose around my neck, but a good lease would enable the business to soar.

He said, "those are good points. We haven't decided anything." He said he hoped to have a family meeting in the next couple of weeks.

After our conversation I felt better. Not completely at ease, but better. My stomach has been churned by the lease issues for so long now it has no recollection of what calm feels like. So, let's just say it was in fewer knots.

At the fundraiser this evening for KATHY PATTERSON, some community members asked me how it was going. I said, "well enough, I guess, but I fear there could be a retailer coming into this space." There were groans. "Just what Georgetown needs: another retailer," one person said. Someone else asked, "can we fight this?" I said, "I hope it won't come to that. I'm trying very hard to keep Nathans alive. My landlords tell me they are open to my proposal." I may have spoke too soon.

This evening I got an anonymous message, relayed by an intermediary. It said, "Just to keep you informed, it appears that they will be just doing a new lease there, and a decision could be made in the coming days." Now my stomach is in full churn. Who's on first, it asks, over and over. Is the new lease for me, or a retailer? And if it's a retailer, what kind of retailer? Another shop selling dresses to teenage girls? Another big box discount chain? Will it be CVS or Tiffany? Armani or Kwik Kopy? Will they just boot me out the door or give me a soft landing?

It's impossible to describe what it feels like to be a solo parent, middle-aged, and on the cliff edge of unemployment, especially when all savings have been sucked up by the business.

Here's an irony: this afternoon I learned that in the new Zagat, the 2007 edition, we will get a pretty nifty review - something I worked toward all these almost 10 years since inheriting the place. With the help of an awesome staff, and loyal customers, it has been a struggle akin to pulling bags of rocks up an icy slope. But step by step, through all kinds of obstacles, we've made headway. A Ma and Pa business is a daily interventiion, and when it's just the Ma it is that in multiples. Friends say, "wouldn't you be glad to be rid of it?" Well, yes but mostly no. I'm stubborn and an optimist. I believe if I just try harder the gold ring will be there on the next go round. The thought of losing it all, of going down, scares me. It scares me more than anything else.

EARLIER...I took a break yesterday, because every six months or so a person needs a mental health day. It wasn't so much mental health as physical withdrawal from the heat. While I prefer summer to winter, hot to cold, this weather takes the warm thing a little too far. When it gets like this I wonder if a ferocious hurricane season will follow, because that's nature's way of cooling things off. A hurricane literally picks up the heat, feeds off it, and carries it away. Could this be the year the northeast gets whacked?

Looking ahead to the cooler months, we will soon post the dates for the upcoming Q&A lunches. Then, on August 15th, we begin to take reservations. The fee this fall is the same as last year, $30, all inclusive. We ask only that people honor their reservations, so we're not forced to take deposits. I want to keep the Q&A Cafe as easy and welcoming as possible, but sometimes last season we had as many as 10 no-shows. In a room that seats only 65, that's a big chunk.

Here's a reminder that tomorrow I will be at Tony and Joe's Restaurant at Washington Harbor, moderating a panel of the candidates for DC mayor, sponsored by The Georgetowner newspaper. It's from 3-5 and FREE. This is an excellent opportunity to meet the candidates and to hear what they have to say about the issues. Audience members will be encouraged to submit written questions.

Tonight at Nathans is a fundraiser for KATHY PATTERSON, the Ward 3 councilmember who is running for council chair. I say reach into your pockets and come join us - from 5-7 in the backroom, where right now we have no A/C .... though that will be fixed by this evening. At least we hope so. Kathy and I will also do a small Q&A, I think.

SATURDAY, JULY 29th... Anyone around in the 80s who watched "Miami Vice" has to be curious to see the new film. I loved the TV show. Still do. It holds up well on DVD. Dated, of course, but very watchable. So we went to the new film yesterday with lots of curiousity and left disappointed and confused. There was so much opportunity here for MICHAEL MANN to update the 80s. After all, there's still a vibrant cops-vs-bad guys industry in Miami. And, if anything, the city is only more photogenic.

The movie might as well be Vancouver with palm trees. If it wasn't called "Miami" vice I would think it was anywhere in the warmer climates, there's that little of Miami in it. As for being ahead of the curve or even in the curve, there isn't anything "Scarface" didn't do first, meaning sinister Latino drug lords, humorless thugs and a hot gang moll who crosses over to the other side. It didn't feel exciting, like the audience is riding shotgun in a Ferrari on Ocean Drive. There are some good shoot-em-up scenes, but they are confusing because the plot is so muddled. The acting is okay. JAMIE FOXX isn't given enough to do and COLIN FARRELL hasn't got the chops. He may be in his 50's, but I would have preferred DON JOHNSON as Crockett opposite Foxx. He owns that character and will to the grave.

Not one zoom shot across the water from a helicopter, no flamingoes, no pounding score. There is, however, one great sequence of lines, delivered by ELIZABETH RODRIQUEZ in a tense scene in a trailer that made the film worthwhile.

Brunch at Nathans today with MICHAEL FOWLER. It was a pleasure to be there with the new HDTV up in the north corner of the bar. Honestly, it makes a big difference and is not obnoxious. When we have the $$$$ we'll get a third. And then let's hope I still have a business in which we can enjoy them, rather than being supplanted by a retail store that changes the face of our most important intersection forever.

It's been a pleasure to read the August issue of Vogue magazine. For a change the models, or at least most of them, are in their 30's and 40's, rather than their teens, and they look appropriate. They look and are the ages of the women who can afford to buy the designer clothes displayed in the editorial pages. We'd be turning such an important corner if Vogue had the guts to use these same models in the September issue, which is the year's most important. What's the chance of that happening?

Also tonight I started VERNON JORDAN's autobiography, "Vernon Can Read." If the rest of the book is as good as the first 30 pages, I'm in for a page-turner. He will be the Q&A guest on October 5th. Also in the stack, Gen. BERNARD TRAINOR's "Cobra II." He's the guest September 21.

Dinner tonight at the marvelous Makoto restaurant on MacArthur Boulevard. I love this place. It is a hideaway, where I go to disappear at lunchtime. This was a first time for dinner, and it is just as special, if a little more elaborate and expensive. We had the 10-course tasting menu, a magical journey for the palate. The meal was as much sushi and sashimi as it was cooked fish, meat, vegetables and broth - in other words, as accessible as it was delicious.

FRIDAY, JULY 28th ... HOME, in all its familiar, welcoming, comforting glory, with the exception of the bad news mail. Since we returned a day early, so Spen can have a doctor follow-up, we will behave as if we're not really here. That means work only to sign checks and to adore the new flat panel HDTV in the bar - our second. (No one can accuse Nathans of not being ready for the 'Skins to head to the Super Bowl.) Also must begin to prepare for panel of the mayoral candidates at Tony and Joe's on Tuesday, where I'll be moderator. It's from 3-5 and you should try to be there.

Also, Monday afternoon at Nathans there is a meet and greet with KATHY PATTERSON, the ward 3 councilmember, who is running for council chairman. We will do a small Q&A, too. It's from 5-7.

It's good to be home, especially to see Leo and Ozzy and the brand new baby doves on the back porch.

I often say change is good and mean it, but there are some changes that make me deeply sentimental. Lately, the sentiment has to do with the Hotel Carlyle, which was our home away from home in New York for almost 30 years. Howard and I stayed there on some of our first dates, during our Studio 54 phase in '77 and '78, during our calmer "back to work" phase in the 80s, for more than a few Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters as new parents. Spencer practiced crawling up and down the red-carpeted steps in the lobby, rode his scooter across the marble floor, thrilled when a desk clerk took him to see the "Harry Potter" top floor tower, and the basement kitchens. We would arrive for a week at a time with the nanny and the dog, check into suite with bedrooms, living room and kitchen, and be beyond happy. The father/son favorite was room service dinner of milk shakes, burgers and fries with an old movie on the video machine. I could leave them to "boy's night" and go to work.

Two weeks after Howard died Spencer and I escaped to the Carlyle, checked into our usual rooms, and felt some much needed comfort. It became my retreat and sanctuary over the next several years. Rooms alone can't do that. It was the staff. Always, and from the beginning, we felt like family there. The kinship was discreet but absolute. The caring was an elixir. The attention to detail, the service, sublime. The way they treated us made a bad day good and a good day better, time and again, year after year.

As I wrote before, January saw the passing of the incredible RONALD HECTOR, who was the treasured front desk manager. He looked out for us like an uncle. And if we had a grandfather there, it could only have been bell captain MICHAEL O'CONNELL, of Abbeyfeale, Ireland, who joined the Carlyle staff in 1949 when he was 18 and fresh off the boat. Now dear Michael, at age 76, has hung up his uniform and taken off his white gloves. I'm sure every Carlyle regular would agree his retirement marks the end of an era. It's not that there won't still be amazing service from the wonderful people on the staff, but Michael was a link to the past of a great hotel. The change is good for Michael, because he's got time now to be with family and friends, but woe be the rest of us who looked forward to his cheerful blarney.

The New York Times profile of Michael pointed out he rubbed elbows with the world's famous, making special mention of JFK, JUDY GARLAND, FIDEL CASTRO, HARRY TRUMAN, ELIZABETH TAYLOR, ELTON JOHN, KHRUSHCHEV. They forgot to mention WARREN BEATTY, JACK NICHOLSON, PRINCESS DIANA, and so many more. I'll miss seeing him, but thinking of him makes me smile.

BTW, we have not stayed at The Carlyle since Mr. Hector died.

THURSDAY, JULY 27th... The mother/son saga of unfortunate (can't call her poor) BROOKE ASTOR has replaced the marital drama of CHRISTIE BRINKLEY on the front pages of NY's wonderful tabloid newspapers. As well it should. After all, Christie is out on Long Island; Brooke IS New York in all it's philanthropic and high society glory. She is the mother of all grand dames, and has an up-from-the-ordinary-into-the-extraordinary story of her own that makes her particularly endearing to New Yorkers, because they know how to love a woman who marries money and then gives a lot of it away to good causes. Then mix in an apparently frigid son who is being sued by his own son for mistreatment of grandma and, well, the Upper East Side is in a molten froth. The news this morning is that friends have got her out of her reportedly neglected duplex apartment and into Lenox Hill Hospital, where she can get some much needed tender loving care and medical attentiion. Worth noting: she's 104.

The tabloid headlines holler, "SHE JUST NEEDS CARE," and "SON OF A RICH." Why don't we get headlines like that in Washington? Just think of the possibilities with a cast like DICK CHENEY, KARL ROVE, CONDI RICE, VALERIE PLAME, JOE WILSON, BILL CLINTON, HILLARY, HOWARD DEAN, AL GORE, MARION BARRY, and on and on. But who's our Brooke Astor? Do we even have one?

MUCH EARLIER...Because it is just past midnight I am writing this as the Thursday entry. We are in NY, back from dinner at Babbo in the Village. There are all kinds of restaurant meals to be had in this city, many of them splendid, but tonight at Babbo was a slice of culinary paradise. We had the 8 course pasta tasting menu. (I mean, why not? Where else have you seen a pasta tasting menu?)

The waiter warned, "it's a lot of food." Okay, bring it on. The first course was black tagliatelle with charred corn and Castelmagno. This got our attention. An amazing mouthful of flavor. Very strong. Very good. Then "Baccala Mezzalune," which was salted cod that had been aged three days and wrapped in ravioli. The sauce was scallion butter. Then Garganelli with "Funghi Trifolati," which was a sort of rolled tube pasta, the sauce a mix of wild mushrooms. Then, little pyramids of pasta with beef and tomato, followed by Pappardelle Bolognese - a classic. Three desserts arrived in reasonable intervals: a "Gelatina di Moscato," which was the world's most sophisticated jello; then warm Chocolate torte with Ginger Ice Cream. This dish is routine in many restaurants but not at Babbo. Also, it was tiny and just right.

The encore was Olive Oil and Rosemary Cake with Olive Oil Gelato. Again, perfect, and the ideal end note to this meal. The people at the table next to ours are Babbo regulars - they come once a month - and talked lovingly of their many brilliant meals at the hands of chef MARIO BATALI. I said, "we're gonna miss this when we're gone." Already true.

After dinner we hopped a cab up to Elaine's to join LLOYD GROVE, the columnist for The New York Daily News who had a stake in Washington when he wrote the Reliable Source for the Post. He's very happy in NY, even though he seems to make a lot of people mad. Or, at least according to him. Whoever the celebrity was I mentioned, Lloyd said, "he's mad at me." BOBBY ZAREM visited the table. ELAINE said "hello" and MARISA BERENSON breezed by. Too many generations ago for Spencer to get the significance, alas.

Earlier, like lunchtime, we had Frrrrozen Hot Chocolate and Foot Long Hot Dogs at Serendipity on 60th Street. On our way out we saw CHUCK BARRIS. Remember the "Gong Show?" Later we saw former senator and future presidential candidate JOHN EDWARDS, who is astonishingly handsome but also smaller than expected. He was deep in conversation with a woman who had a video camera.

But most of all we walked many, many blocks for several hours, merging quite happily and as best we could with New York life.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 26th... Did not turn on the audio with CNN this morning. Just looked at the picture. The faces of CONDOLEEZZA RICE and her cohorts in Rome told the story. People who have achieved a cease fire do not look so glum. Indeed, soon enough the crawl at the bottom of the picture confirmed that finding an agreement in the the negotiations has been "difficult." Being away on a holiday does not take one away from this mess. I keep hoping to wake and hear it's ended, but instead the news is only of more death, more distance.

We spent the night at an interesting hotel on the banks of the Indian River in Greenwich. It's called the Delamar. Various reviews bill it it as a hotel for rich people, but that's not fair: it's more normal than that. We had to do one room change - our first room smelled like carpet cleaner - but they were gracious and handled the switch without question. Both rooms face the river, with big French doors, which we opened to watch the comings and goings of all kinds of boats - ferries, sail, stinkpots, littke skiffs. Harbors are never boring. The hotel has a lot of marble, good furniture, colorful art work, and a nifty self-serve espresso machine in the library. The bathrooms are excellent, with good towels, bathrobes, and "tropical rain" shower heads. The beds themselves have thick mattresses, Frette linens and don't feel like they've been slept in by 365 fat people (except for me last night). It's theme is provence, a "little bit of France" in Connecticut, and it comes close enough. It is expensive but I asked for and got a good discount on the room. I always ask for discounts on hotel rooms and get them 85% of the time. You should, too.

TUESDAY, JULY 25th... We're in Greenwich, CT., tonight, of all places. I sigh because in the commercial area it seems like a town where the elders come to walk quietly to the grave and not be disturbed by modern life. The harbor area is more with it. In that spirit we chose an old guard eatery, Jean Louis, which turned out to be one of the most rewarding meals we've enjoyed this trip ... not counting Rosco's Big Dog in Hartford and all those many lobster rolls up and down the northeast Atlantic coast. Seriously, Jean Louis served us an excellent meal in a lovely room. It reminded me of Guy Savoy in Paris but on a human scale. Not the least bit stodgy or last century.

We had the tasting menu, five courses, which included standouts like gazpacho made with a saffron broth and chunks of lobster (our theme, it seems), a perfectly crispy soft shell crab served on a bed of arugula that did not overhwhelm and topped with some flash sauteed spinach that, again, did not overwhelm the crab; a fricasse of chanterelles, asparagus and baby leeks; grilled lamb in a sauce of ginger and cumin with a delicate ratatouille. The dessert was a sampler that included awesome green apple tart (a perfect crust), real chocolate mousse and three little balls of fruit sorbet. Again, balance. The service was smooth and unobtrusive. Jean Louis was just what I needed after a day on the road and various nasty news bits from the Nathans lease front. (When you own a business you are never truly on holiday. There always are emails and phone calls to attend to and sometimes - LIKE TODAY - they chant, "We know for whom the bell tolls.")

Earlier we visited Wallingford to see Choate, where Howard went to school, and New Haven to tour Yale, bought more books, and then drove to Norwalk to have pizza at Letizia's Pizzeria in a shopping center at 666 Main Avenue. We joked that with that address they should have a Devil pizza. Our pizza was pepperoni. Excellent. Neopolitan style and finger-licking good. (They are profiled in Gourmet this month.) With Maine and lobster rolls behind us we craved pizza. Our last lobster roll of this trip was yesterday at Cap'n Scott's Lobster Dock in New London, and a fitting farewell it was: big chunks of whole lobster, laced with butter and served warm in a big bun. Of course, we ended the meal with cake cones of Gifford's chocolate ice cream while watching the sea gulls at the dock watch us.

Spencer is feeling much better. It's difficult to believe he has mono because he says he does not feel sleepy except at night, which is normal. But he is not sluggish or draggy anymore, and eats as well as ever. Nonetheless I don't let him do much of anything but take it easy.

Ah, tomorrow Manhattan, and maybe with one outfit where I can close the zipper on my burgeoning waist.

MONDAY, JULY 24th... As a westerner and yankee, my demarcation lines for the south are rather arbitrary. Today when we crossed the Connecticut River I said to Spencer, "well, we're back in the south." It felt like the next town would be Atlanta. I know, I know, how rude of me. Well, maybe I should blame Maine. The frank talk up there rubs off.

We had a pleasant overnight interlude in Boston, which last night covered Back Bay and today included a walkabout at Harvard. As a person who never had the benefit of a college education, Harvard looms rather large, but it doesn't intimidate. I've met more oddballs from Harvard than anywhere else. It is, however, a timeless and beautiful campus, the template for all things Ivy League. The Harvard Coop remains one of the single most amazing bookstores in the world - altogether comprehensive, eccentric and whimsical. My arms spilled with books that had to be bought with the certainty they'd never be found again.

We stayed at the Ritz-Carlton at the Public Garden. Once upon a time, all one had to say was, "we're at the Boston Ritz," and everyone knew there was nothing to match. In fact, there was no other Ritz in the U.S.; otherwise only Paris and Madrid. The Boston Ritz was one of the iconic American hotels. It's dining room was -- and unfortunately no longer is -- a staple for serious lunch or dinner when in Boston, and every important family celebrated their important occasions there. It's walls have seen and heard it all, but now sadly are silent except for large events. Lunch upon arrival was a "must" back in the day. After any sailing trip in Maine or the Elizabeth Islands it was fun to check into the Ritz for a celebration of being back on land - and the luxury of an elegant room and a shower with as much hot water as any sailor would care to use. The bar was a hub of sophisicated mingling, and celebrities were regularly at one table or another.

Like so many of the great hotels of the last century, the Boston Ritz feels stuck in a conundrum; how to honor the past but be in step with today. I don't want it to become desperately hip, but the best way to be modern is to be completely what you always were: a hotel that out does every other in providing understated but ahead of the curve luxury, comfort and chic. They've got to get that dining room re-opened for lunch and dinner. Every employee I talked to agreed, or said that is the hope they hear most often from regular hotel guests.

I'm always in search of today's version of the perfedt hotel experience, and have found it in random places. The recent standouts are The Lodge at Sea Island, Ga.; and The Rusty Parrot in Jackson Hole, Wy. JON TISCH and his Loews Hotels achieve the same thing for the mass market. I've got this addiction because I grew up in hotels early on, and the impression is deep. Hotels, when they are good, make me feel at home, and 12 again. And when they are not, I pout.

We are on the shores of Long Island sound tonight, in the Thimble Islands, house guests of TOBY MOFFETT, MYRA MOFFETT, and RUFUS MOFFETT. Stony Creek, where they live, is one of those secret pockets, like the Western Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, where the living is good, discreet and overlooked in the rush of so many others to get elsewhere, which in the case of the Bay is the Eastern Shore and in the case of here is the other side, the Hamptons. The Moffetts have a cute house with a porch. It sits right on the water. It's easy; a barefoot kind of house. Everybody is out on the water at one time or another, or ambling around in bathing suits, chatting with neighbors, hiking up to the quarry for a swim, or simply sitting in a rocker on the porch.

Myra keeps a door where she measures the growth of everyone who spends a night but mostly children. We measured Spencer against the last time he was here a few years ago and he's grown a foot! I don't want to measure myself against the last time because I've probably started shrinking. (My weight is not shrinking, though, thanks to lobstah rolls).

We did have lobster roll today, the fifth of this trip. It was at Captain Scott's in New London, and was different than the others: served hot in the bun with butter. We liked it, but Maine still has the top spot. Sigh. I'm in Connecticut now, too deeply in the south.

 

SUNDAY, JULY 23rd... Talk about far from the madding crowd! Thank God for Maine. It has been like visiting on another planet, one where we are among only a few and the natives choose to occupy their own space, keep to their own business and disturb their surroundings as slightly as possible. Oh, sure, they are crusty, but also so wildly not PC it is refreshing. Most of them are basically hermits, forced in the fair weather months to go out and mingle - sort of - with other humans, but thrilled to have winter arrive when there's a good excuse to stay shut in one's own nest for days on end. In a crowded and complicated world the appeal is obvious. But could I go that long without others? Hmmmm. I wonder. But here, now, it seems exotic and tempting.

I believe I could hide out here and never be found.

So far, we've had four different lobster rolls. The winners are 1.) Cod End in Tenants Harbor, 2.) The Clam Shack, Kennebunkport, 3). Harasskeeset, Freeport, 4.) The Arundel Cafe, Kennebunkport. Also, two different fish chowdahs, with Cod End winning that round, too, and the Dip Net in Port Clyde coming a close second. We won't close out the Lobster Roll competition until we get to Capn' Scott's Lobster Dock in New London, Ct.

Oh, I know, this is a minor, random sampling, but we would be eating five lobster rolls a day to cover just a few miles in Maine. It's awesome. And with the fabulousness of the lobster rolls, I have to say the overall meal winner is the plain steamed lobstah with butter and lemon at Cod End. wow.

I am a fat and happy eater right now, knowing that in a few or more days it will be back to my lean and mean regimen of little cholesterol and no white bread or white rice, etc. I'm a shipwrecked sailor in the port of sublime debauchery when it comes to summer foods. Tonight I had a white asparagus cream broth that was what you'd want to live on if it were down to five items.

Mixed in with all the eating is a lot of walking and touring. We stop anywhere and everywhere to appreciate a discreet harbor or to sit on a rock to inhale the salt air. Today we even stopped near GEORGE HERBERT WALKER BUSH's impressive house out on a point with great views of the sea. We did not take our camera and pose each other with the Presidential house in the background, but we did make some comments about what a lotta oil money can buy a man in this great country of ours.

We will be headed south soon, but it has been a lovely time with our friend NICK VON HOFFMAN, who has been a marvelous, loving host even though I believe secretly he is quite happy at home alone with SCHNITZEL. And who wouldn't be? What a load of personality in that 20 pounds of warm fluff. Even in Maine, though, we were able to sit at the kitchen table and have long, depressing, sometimes hysterical, discussions of politics and the state of the world.

 

SATURDAY, JULY 22nd... One comes to Maine to get away from the crowds, the heat, the ordinary and to find some sea breezes, salt air, lush forests, good food, good company and people who march to their own drumbeat. All of that is here, and on this weekend there is also rain, wonderful rain. It is not a bother, especially for Washingtonians in search of an antidote to the recent heatwave.

Up here some people live on islands and want to secede, which makes me feel like a kindred spirit since I live in Georgetown and want to secede. They have a better chance of succeeding (he, get it?) up here, but all the mainlanders just say, "oh, them," when the subject comes up.

We drove up to Camden and beyond today - early, before the rain - and it is blessedly unchanged from when Howard and I used to frequently sail out of there back in the day. Many of the same shops and restaurants, which is comforting. So many coastal towns further south have had crass commercial makeovers in the last 10 to 15 years. Little sign of that in Maine. Even Freeport, capital of the outlet world, still feels rather tasteful, given that it is the mother of all those ghastly outlet malls that have sprung up everywhere. If only those derivatives shared some of the composure of the original. In Freeport, the McDonalds is clapboard.

We returned to Tenants Harbor in time to have lobster on the deck at the Cod End. I first enjoyed a lobster on that dock in 1981 and had the epiphany: the only way to eat lobster is off a paper plate on a dock in Maine, a lobster fresh out of the water. A little bit of butter, some lemon, a hand beaten biscuit, some coleslaw, followed by fresh blueberry pie with vanilla ice cream. That was lunch. I give it Michelin 3 stars easily. Oh, and there's wine by the paper cup. Outstanding.

Then the rain started and now we're all in our own beds strewn around Nick's sprawling house, napping or playing with our laptops. Spencer is feeling a little better but naps a lot, of course.

FRIDAY, JULY 21 ... Not smartly, I checked out of the marvelous Bufflehead Cove Inn in Kennebunkport, and left behind the charger for the very laptop on which I am writing this diary entry. We'll pick it up on the return south ... but there's little battery time remaining. This means I'll just have to give it up for a day or so.

We've checked in at chez NICHOLAS VON HOFFMAN, who has the coziest possible nest in the woods. We three ate dinner at the kitchen table while random belts of rain passed over, and background entertainment from the Mets on the little kitchen TV. This is a slice of paradise here out in the Atlantic and I can understand why some people throw over the city and make this area home. (But how, oh how, do they endure winter?)

We had our second lobster rolls today. Different from dinner, a little more mayo and bigger chunks of lobster, and a bigger and more buttery bun. Tomorrow we'll go for lobster pound steamed lobster and maybe some mussels and clams. Dinner included smoked mussels I bought at the Browne Trading Company in Portland. They are wonderful purveyors of all things seafood and package and distribute the caviar for DANIEL BOULUD.

Does it need to be said: there is so much good food up here. Much of it on the roadside. I'm impressed with the number of places that provide really good food ready made to take home or on a picnic.

Earlier ... Tropical depression Beryl skirted the coast during the night, giving us occasional blasts of rain. The pitter patter of raindrops sound so good when the roof upon which they fall is not your responsibility. Then they are music, not a drumbeat of the roofer's warning and estimate.

Woke early for a run into Kennebunkport, round the handsome, Hollywood perfect, white clapboard, columned Congregational Church, and back, learning that lung-grabbing humidity is not unique to Washington. Breakfast on the porch, overlooking the water: Crenshaw melon, blueberry pancakes, bacon, a banana/orange smoothie, coffee. Spencer came down for breakfast, returned to bed to, but we did decide to press on north toward Nova Scotia.

Observations: lobster roll costs between $13 to $15 a pop; middle gas is running about $3.12; decent homes not on the water running between $250,000 and 500,000; while Kennebunkport has its fair share of stores offering so-called American cutie pie wares that actually are made in China, Japan and the United Arab Emirates, it's not as overrun with them as in some seaside towns like St. Michaels and Rehoboth Beach, Md. It's not junky at all. Charming. Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard but on the mainland. Marvelous inlets of water everywhere. Authentic crusty Mainers abound (we're about to stay with one), but everyone is friendly. This appears to be where preppy as a fashion statement was born.

Observation that has nothing to do with Maine: the Boston tunnel calamity. The talkers talk about nothing else. While stuck for a very long time in gridlock on the 495 Beltway, where all the traffic has gone, talk radio is consumed not by Israel, Lebanon or Iraq, but only the tunnel and beantown Big Dig politics. In its own way, a refreshing change, though I don't look forward to the return trip and having to get through Boston.

With breakfast done, I'm now thinking of our first lobster roll of the day ...

 

THURSDAY, JULY 20th ... We got out of Princeton this morning and, given the choice of Washington or Maine, chose to head north. It may be only for the night. We'll see how the patient feels in the morning. Regardless, it was worth it to drive up to Maine to sit on the sea wall in Kennebunkport, watch the surf and smell the salt air. Honestly, his disposition improved considerably, even though he's overall punk and dragging. We drove from Princeton to Kennebunkport in about six hours, not counting required stops at Mastori's (Opsahls, please take note) in Bordentown, NJ, for cheese bread and Rosco's Big Dog in Hartford for steamed cheeseburgers, chili dogs, Belgian fries, sweet potato fries, lemonade and a "cool dog" for dessert.

Rosco's is such a find, thanks to www.roadfood.com. They said it was worth a 90 mile detour. For us it was only 4 miles off the highway, but we would gladly have trekked many, many miles for the experience. Rosco was jazzed when I told him I found him on Roadfood. He had no idea.

This evening we had a choice between dinner at the White Barn Inn or finding a lobster roll on the dock, and we chose the dock and roll. What under the weather child wants to have dinner at a restaurant where the food arrives at the table under a silver dome? Nah. Occasionally, maybe, but not tonight. I'd heard good things about the WBI, and was curious to give it a try, but, seriously, precious haute food is becoming ubiquitous while an authentic and great Maine lobster roll is difficult to find.

The best find of all was the Bufflecove Inn on Bufflecove Road. More about it later, and pictures, too.

This is my first trip to Maine in ten years and here's what hasn't changed: the traffic on Route 1 north of Kittery. It is as insane as ever - bumper to bumper to bumper to bumper and for miles. To live here would mean one must have a cow tied up outside the back door because to drive to the corner for a quart of milk could take half a day. Nonetheless, they've got the crisp salty air, the rocky coast, the lobsters, so much green on the ground and blue in the sky.

Tomorrow we head to Tenants Harbor or Georgetown.

WAY EARLIER... It's almost 2 o'clock in the morning. I'm in our room at Princeton's Nassau Inn, where the a/c doesn't work, the door doesn't work, cell phones don't work, not to mention it's our second room after we rejected the first one that smelled like an ashtray. It at least was larger than a shoebox. This one is half a shoebox but with two beds. The mattresses died long ago. We're just back from 4 and 1/2 hours at the emergency room, where Spen was diagnosed with mono and an ear infection. He feels like hell. I could tell he wasn't right soon after I picked him up from from 4 days of lacrosse camp. As a parent your first thought is, well, it's four days of sweat and strain in unbelievable heat, sharing a cramped dorm room with two other boys, and where the power went out last night and they lost use of their fans, and so, of course, he's tired and feeling low, possibly even a little heat exhaustion and dehydration.

Mother/son conversation:
"Did you drink a lot of water?"
"Oh, yeah, sure."
"How often?"
"Ah, I don't know, whenever."

But water, a hot shower and dinner didn't revive him.
"Is it bad enough for you to want me to take you to the emergency room?"
"Yes."

Of course it was one of those slow, lazy nights in the E/R where every examination room is filled and with patients more critically in need than a teenager with complaints of sore throat, earache and slight fever. Spencer slept, stirred for blood tests and throat cultures, and I alternately tended to him and kept watch at the door, flagging nurses and trying not to be too squeaky a wheel but just squeaky enough. The strep test came back neg, and we brightened, and other tests came back clear, too, but then the very last test came back positive for mono. The last thing a teenage athlete wants to hear is mono, because it means no sports for 4-6 weeks.

The doctor said, "continue with your trip" - we are scheduled to be in Maine - but I don't know. It doesn't seem quite right to push it, even though a road trip is often relaxing. Still, as wonderful as they can be, the routine of hotels and restaurants and exploring can be draining with less than 100% good health.

We'll see in a few hours. Now I must figure out how to sleep in a room with no a/c, a tiny window and beds which have endured too much of the human experience.

Oh, but a bit of good news. Those wild women at The Reliable Source, ROXANNE ROBERTS and AMY ARGETSINGER, have accepted an invitation to be our first Q&A guests of the new season. What's better than to have them come in to tell us what we missed during the summer and what we'll need to know about the season ahead? I'm thrilled.

 

WEDNESDAY, JULY 19th...Given that I'm off this moning to more lacrosse up north, this item from Page Six seems worth replaying in its entirety:

"New York's National Lacrosse League team that's set to play at Madison Square Garden isn't having much luck finding an appropriate name. Team officials have received thousands of suggestions in its ongoing "Name the Team Contest" on the team's temporary Web site, newyorknll.com. Early contenders include the Chill, the Freedom, the Gothams and the Rage. Those rejected so far include the E-Z Prostitutes, the Muggers, the Smurf Butts, the Stick-Up, the Mafia, the Purple Firetrucks, the Sewer Rats, the Bada Bing, the Sewer Gators, the Naked Guys with Big Stix and the Will Win More Games Than the Knicks."

Maybe the Idiot Names will do.

TUESDAY, JULY 18th... World war III? World War III? Can we please not have this inflamed talk of World War III on my birthday.

From the fabulous world wide web:

Others born on July 18 include Nelson Mandela, Peace Pilgrim (wanderer), John Glenn, Yevgeny Yevtushenko (Russian poet), Screamin' Jay Hawkins, Vin Diesel, Clifford Odets (playwright), Hume Cronyn, William Makepeace Thackery, James Brolin, Richard Branson (Virgin Records), Dick Button, Chill Wills, Tenley Albright, William Gilbert Grace (19th c. British cricketeer), Red Skelton and Harriet Nelson.

July 18 is "The Day of Conviction". People born on this day so clearly reflect the views of their group that they may find themselves spokespersons for those whose opinions they not only share but also come to shape. Social considerations are often in the forefront here, and whether those born on this day are actively political or not, they usually have a well-defined set of priorities and ethics that anchor their purpose in the world.
July 18 people have extreme receptivity to change and often have the power to make change.


NUMBERS AND PLANETS

July 18 is ruled by the planet Mars and the number 9 (1+8) has significant meaning in their lives. 9 is a most mysterious number, for example:
9x5=45 (4+5=9)
3x6=18 (3+6=9, 1+8=9)
2x9=18 (1+8=9)
The astrological sign is Cancer; Cancer is ruled by the Moon, so July 18 people have a unique Moon-Mars combination, so they be aware of emotional outbursts and a tendency to quarrel. These people have a tendency to exist inside and outside their shell. They are homebodies to the extreme.

Tarot

The 18th card of the Major Arcana is The Moon, which primarily represents the world of dreams, emotions and the unconscious. Positive traits include sensitivity, empathy and emotional unerstanding. Negative ones are emotional malleability, passivity and lack of ego. There is a little picture of the card, a moon over a canyon with wolves howling at it.

I know all about howling at the moon and do it often.

SUNDAY, JULY 16th... This evening's entry has to do with an emergency alert I just received from the DC government, but it has nothing to do with crime. Quote: "National Weather has issued a Heat Advisory from Monday to Friday,with the heat index from 95 to 110. Temperatures expected to be in the upper 90's all week."

Just as with any other kind of alert, one must be prepared for a heatwave. I've spent the last few hours doing what must be done. Right away went to the market and bought lots of limes and lemons and mint to make mojitos. It is the most cooling drink. After all, it gets it done in Cuba. When I make my simple syrup, an essential for the drink, I infuse mint along with the sugar. This gives the minty flavor a little more depth. Otherwise, muddled mint leaves, Bacardi white rum, fresh Key lime juice, sparkling water, ice and take a sip. The temp just dropped 5 degrees. (At Citronelle the bartender adds a little champagne, too.)

I'll also make some white sangria with German riesling, a little fresh lemonade, sparkling water and lots of fruit.

I made some "having a heatwave" food tonight that will be in the refrigerator and available as needed. Cold tomato soup with Morroccan spices. It will taste like air conditioning. I added a little Old Bay for some regional kick. For nibbing there is guacamole, salsa and chips. Also, grilled shrimp. Tonight I will marinate and in the morning bake Mojito Chicken. The chicken idea comes from the book Barbecue for Bikers. Instead of pieces of a whole chicken, I got lots of drumsticks, which are easy and fun to eat right out of the refrigerator. The marinade is simple: chopped onion, lots of chopped garlic, orange juice, lime juice, olive oil, salt, pepper, cumin, oregano and cilntro. The recipe also appears in detail at Epicurious. The chicken could be grilled on the Weber, but it's already hot enough outside.

Iced tea is essential, too, and the minted simple syrup is a good companion. Dessert? Lots of cherries. They are beautiful right now. And watermelon, too. Chunks of it on the rind, ready for a nosh.

Now, the best anti-heatwave trick ever was the one MARILYN MONROE cited in "The Seven Year Itch." She put her knickers in the freezer. She also stood over subway grates. Hmmm. I think I'll start with the mojito and a fan.

BTW, lacrosse tournaments for us now are done for the summer. That means one whole month of no sweaty pads, gloves and shoes, and no porta-potties.

TOBY HARNDEN is the Washington bureau chief of The London Telegraph. Take a moment to read his blog/story about the DC "crime emergency." Yes, he interviewed me, but that's not the reason I'm giving it a mention. It's a good website. Click here: Toby Harnden.

SATURDAY, JULY 15th... It would be more engaging to sit here and write about the world at large, or even Washington and its local crime issues, or whether the Mideast is about to blow again, or whether Iran and N. Korea can be restrained, or whether the U.S. can cope with the two years plus remaining of the Bush Administration, or whether ANDY SOLBERG should be given back his job as MPDC 2nd District commander ... BUT, I don't know nothin' about nothin', having spent the day at a lacrosse tournament. Last weekend was Trenton, NJ, this weekend is Timonium, MD. One goes into a bubble at these things, cut off from the world, and in a way that's good, because it is quality time with children, where my role is driver, food provider, cheerleader, third string coach, witness to greatness, when that happens, and consoler, when it does not.

The smell of sweat gets a little trying at times, and portable toilets will never be anything but revolting, but it was interesting to be at a race track - the lacrosse fields are in the middle - and to wander the paddocks and snoop around here and there. I find myself thinking of poor BARBARO, which is painful. In fact, when reports come on the radio I turn it off. I don't want to hear. I so want the horse to pull through, and I'm so afraid the updates will have something dire, though today, thank God, they did not.

That's what I know of the world today, except it's very hot here in Washington, with more heat coming, and we're back to Timonium tomorrow at 9 a.m. for a game. That's not so bad. Today we arrived at 8.

FRIDAY, JULY 14th... ALAN SENITT was buried today, less than a week after armed thugs jumped him and a friend, and slashed Senitt's throat, well after midnight on the doorsteps of a private home on a quiet residential street. It has been one of the darkest weeks in Georgetown's long and storied history. While only 27-years-old, Senitt leaves a legacy of impressive Jewish political activism, as well as a wide circle of friends and associates, and his family, who clearly loved him dearly. Read some of the messages on the family's website: www.alansenitt.com, and you will see for yourselves. We can only hope his legacy here in Georgetown will be a renewed dedication on the part of the community, police and politicians to make the streets safer, both in perception and fact.

Sen. JOSEPH LIEBERMAN apparently helped the family in dealing with the city. If you know anything about the DC morgue and the city's relatively dysfunctional bureaucracy, it would be no surprise that a U.S. senator's help was needed to get things done in a timely fashion.

This will be Georgetown's first weekend after the Q Street murder and the imposition of a DC "crime emergency." It will be a test of whether the murder and the aftermath will have an impact on the commercial district. We're down from a year ago but we don't know if that's the Senitt murder or the awful weather or that it's a campaign year, which cleans out Washington, or whether it's that people have some money and are spending it on travel...elsewhere. Tourists are a fickle bunch, and nothing is as off-putting to travelers as the thought of getting mugged or murdered while on vacation. The police response has been immediate, but we need to see more visible evidence, as in foot patrols, patrol cars. It's symbolism, I know, but it makes a difference.

A friend pointed out that a large part of my campaign for ANC was crime. That's true, it was one of three main points in my platform, the other two being preservation and quality of life. But when I got interviewed by The Current, the reporter said, "everyone we've talked to thinks the only issue is stopping development of the Friendly estate." And that's what won. Interestingly, about 150 or so citizens showed up to vote in the ANC race, while a reported 500 people crowded into Christ Church a week later to attend the community meeting about the Senitt murder, but the number was larger because the meeting involved ALL of Georgetown and not just the ANC2E06 district.

EARLIER...Happy Bastille Day to all, and can someone please open more French restaurants in Washington. We're getting down to too few, when once upon a time there were so many.

Last night actor JOHN CORBETT (Sex and the City, My Big Fat Greek Wedding) hung out at Nathans bar after his band played at the Birchmere. It made the women patrons very happy, even though he arrived with an entourage, including his girlfriend, BO DEREK. He was in a good mood and friendly toward all, and said he would try to return tonight. Apparently some of the fans "womanhandled" him and he had to politely ask them to back away from the goods. I think having DEREK there with him may have had something to do with it, too.

 

THURSDAY, JULY 13th... By nature I'm not a contrarian. In fact, I'm most often a booster and an optimist. And I don't want to be the first one to say this, but where are the police? I walk Georgetown's streets a lot. I'm out there in the morning, walking the dog, back and forth all day between home and Nathans and errands, and I try most nights to go out to dinner somewhere in the village, and then I walk the dog again at night. Unless you count the cop cars that showed up at Christ Church for the ANC meeting, I have not seen any extraordinary police presence on the streets since MPDC Chief CHARLES RAMSEY declared a DC crime emergency. I'm sure they are out there, but they are not obvious. And don't even mention the CAG cop. No sign.

Last night and tonight there were police helicopters flying overhead, shining crime lights down on the streets, but no extra foot patrol, no patrol cars - whle the local radio and TV media, and print as well, have been sounding the alarm that crime is unleashed in Georgetown. If we're going to keep the local economy going we have to give the public some obvious sign that security is a concern and that THEY ARE SAFE. We know they are safe, but they need that fact reinforced, and the only way to do that is to show them BOOTS ON THE GROUND. Meaning: cop boots. Please Mr. Chief of Police, show us you mean business, please give us some foot patrol.

Dinner tonight at Smith Point. We were one of three tables. Thomas Sweet for ice cream after. Usually, on a steamy night, they are packed. Not tonight. Nathans is doing okay, but the chill of the crime emergency is definitely felt.

BTW, ALAN SENITT's family have created a website to honor his memory. You can visit it at www.alansenitt.com.

Today VALERIE PLAME, and her husband JOSEPH WILSON, filed suit against DICK CHENEY, KARL ROVE and "SCOOTER" LIBBY. Valerie sent out an email to friends. Here is a small excerpt:
"I am writing to update you that... after
much discussion between us, Joe and I have decided to file a civil suit against those known to be involved in the effort to discredit Joe for speaking the truth and for illegally disclosing my employment with the CIA. The rules governing civil trial procedures are very different from those in criminal proceedings. Often times individuals who are not criminally prosecuted or convicted in criminal court are nevertheless held accountable in civil court. This civil suit will allow Joe and I, as well as our fellow citizens, to expose the truth about the Administration?s attempt to intimidate and silence a critic who revealed the inaccuracies in the President?s stated reasons for going to war with Iraq.

We have no illusions that the path will be easy or smooth; our
opponents have shown that they are determined, well-financed, and do not see the
truth as an obstacle to their political objectives. But this is about so much more
than the indignities heaped upon our family. This is about what they are
doing to our great democracy.

We have established a non-profit trust fund, the Joe and Valerie Wilson Legal Support Trust, to help pay legal fees imposed on us by the Libby indictment and to pursue our civil suit. You can get more information and make a contribution through the Trust?s web site, www.Wilsonsupport.org.

 

WEDNESDAY, JULY 12th... I'm surprised ANDY SOLBERG didn't know better: frank talk about race relations is taboo in Washington, DC. It's done all the time between friends - black and white - and at dinner parties, and over the breakfast table among family, and everywhere else, but it is absolutely off limits in public forums where candor is supposed to be the standard. Now Solberg, the MPDC's 2nd district commander, has been fired from the job and re-assigned for making pointedly racial comments Monday night at a community meeting about the ALAN SENITT murder. Basically, he said three black men on a residential street in a white neighborhood are suspicious.

Police Chief CHARLES RAMSEY, who yesterday declared a DC "crime emergency," should be worried about his job, too. Six people were mugged on the National Mall last night, and there was another murder early this morning. That's 14 murders in 12 days.

Was Solberg right? Well, he wasn't wrong, and he wasn't the first DC police official to tell Georgetowners at a Christ Church community meeting to be suspicious of black men. The same thing was said several years ago at an emergency ANC meeting after a rash of burglaries. No one complained then. If you take what Solberg said IN CONTEXT, then, yes, it is suspicious to see three black men clustered on a residential street in the wee hours. The same thing would be suspicious on Capitol Hill and in Adams Morgan, too.

Georgetowners, black and white, talk about suspicious blacks in the village all the time. This is a predominantly white neighborhood, as is a lot of northwest, and police tell us to keep alert to anything - people and behavior - that seems out of place. Many residents are particularly suspicious of the goings on in the blocks of Wisconson between N and P Streets, where there are several businesses rumored to be fronts for drug money laundering. The people I know who have been mugged on Georgetown streets have been mugged by black men, and in some cases the muggers had guns.

Having said that, I see many more black people in Georgetown who ARE NOT suspicious. Residents, for one thing. Young people shopping. Families having a walkabout. Students enjoying the neighborhood. Tourists from elsewhere in the U.S. and other countries. And a huge number of the labor force. But Andy Solberg wasn't talking about them. He was talking about 3 men at 2 in the morning on an otherwise quiet residential street. But perhaps he should have found a more PC way to say it to the crowd of 500 packed into Christ Church. Interestingly, none of the people I know who were there mentioned that comment later. It didn't bubble up as an issue here until yesterday after Solberg lost his job. Then the debate began. Nor did his comments make the 11 o'clock news after the meeting. The only comment I heard from a neighbor about Andy was that he didn't seem forceful enough.

Truth is I'm suscipicious of white men as much as any other color if they look like they are up to no good. And, honestly, bad guys who are up to no good DO behave differently than citizens - black, white, yellow or green - who are innocently going about their business. That's what the word "suspicious" is all about. I understand we have a "crime emergency" in DC. We may also have a discourse emergency.

TUESDAY, JULY 11th ... It has been a perplexing day in the world of online diary writing. Where does one begin? Once more , it does not feel like old-fashioned lazy summer. Certainly not when the chief of police declares a "crime emergency"in DC because 13 people have been murdered in the last eleven days, with one of the most vicious murders, of ALAN SENITT, happening two blocks up and half a block over. In New York a distraught divorce defendant allegedly blows up his building, and almost himself, to prevent sale proceeds going to his ex-wife; in Mumbai, India, terrorists of one sort or another blow up commuter trains, killing scores of people; in Boston a piece of the big dig falls on a car, killing the woman driver; North Korea festers, the Palestinians and Israelis foment, the madness in Iraq marches on, and ROBERT NOVAK comes clean (sort of) on the VALERIE PLAME CIA leak case. This is October stuff, not suitable for mid-July. What's next? Frogs falling from the sky?


On the brighter side, I had dinner tonight at a restaurant that could become my new favorite: 1789, here in Georgetown. It's been operating forever, and is often thought of in the same mode as some of the people who live in this village: a little out of date. But dinner tonight was really quite sparkly and fresh, and the place felt classic in the best way, and the food tasted so good, matched by the service and the decor. I loved the waiters starched white jackets, the candles on the tables, the cool air, the feeling of being shuttered from the madness outside. Bravo to JOHN and GINGER LAYTHAM, who own Clyde's, who owns 1789. I can't wait to return.

By the way, we WALKED the several blocks to and from the restaurant.

There are many upsides to writing an online diary, but one of the best is receiving email from readers. This website has readers all over the world, which is a thrill. Really. We get page hits in Latin America, China, throughout Europe, the Netherlands, England, all over the U.S. Last night I heard from a California reader: "Just wanted to drop a note to let you know how much I liked your Website. I came across it while looking for information on the murder in Georgetown the other night. My youngest sister lives a block away from
where it happened and is pretty shaken up." Then this evening, we received: "I love your website! What an inspiration you are! I'm a Washington native, now living in Cherry Hill, NJ."

Yes, I'm tooting my own horn, but I'm proud of the website and the messages from readers mean a lot. I get unusual ones, too. Yesterday I received a missive from a woman who identified herself as one of my late husband's girlfriends from his early reckless years. It was a sweet message, even touching, but peculiar, too, in that she shared an awful lot of information. There were details that would have made Howard blush. Fortunately, she didn't reveal any unknown offspring or claims to the estate, though in that case I would have offered her Nathans.

MONDAY, JULY 10th...Friends who attended the emergency ANC meeting with MPDC regarding the ALAN SENITT murder gave mixed reviews. Some felt the police could have sounded stronger, others felt the residents could have sounded less strident. Did they think anything productive came out of it tonight? Yes, in the sense that people got to vent. The true result will be what we see in the long term.

What impressed most people was that HERB MILLER and PATRICE MILLER attended the meeting. Mr. Senitt had been to the movies with, and was escorting home, the young woman who was living in their Q Street house and working for them as a babysitter, who reportedly has returned home to wherever her home is. The murder happened on their doorsteps.

Here's my two cents on what Georgetowners should do: we have enough money here to hire a layer of off-duty armed police to work as our own street patrol, especially focused on the dark hours and weekends - and not just SOME blocks, but ALL blocks. It could be organized as an association, where those who have less receive just as much protection as those who have more. The important points are hiring armed security, which most likely means off-duty police, and having it be organized, monitored and accountable. Yes, we could mount cameras all over the place, like a gated community, but cameras don't necessarily prevent crime. They are a helpful adjunct to boots on the ground.

EARLIER ... ED SOLOMON tells me tonight's emergency community meeting at Christ Church (31st and O Streets) will be police heavy. LT. ROBERT GLOVER, head of MPDC's violent crimes unit, and second district CMDR. ANDY SOLBERG, among other police officials, will be there to answer residents' questions about the brutal murder of ALAN SENITT, the 27-year-old British political activist who was knifed to death early Sunday morning on Q Street.

Ward 2 Councilmember JACK EVANS also will participate. Ed expects a strong turnout, because the community is shocked and outraged by the brutal nature of the attack, which occurred early Sunday morning in a neighborhood that is considered to be one of the city's safest. Four people, including a woman and a 15-year-old boy have been arrested and charged with felony murder. The woman who was with Senitt when the mugging happened said one of the men tried to rape her.

The media coverage, expectedly, has been extensive and intense. Last night in its report, Channel 4 included an interview with a Georgetown couple who said "now" they would begin locking their doors. Several years ago there were so many break-ins happening at Georgetown homes that it prompted another ANC emergency meeting with the police at Christ Church. Since a few of the break-ins happened across the street from me, the meeting was a priority. What the police told us was that in Georgetown breaking and entering, burglary, happened in the largest numbers at homes where doors were not locked and that did not have an alarm system. The officer said it was that simple.

I don't know if anything is ever simple when it involves one's home and crime, but I can't imagine anyone who lives in the city NOT locking their doors. Having an alarm system, also, seems to be an essential. Maybe I'm more tuned to this stuff because I'm the only adult in our household, and because I've done a lot of work with the police as a reporter, and because I'm paranoid, perhaps not extremely but in a mildly healthy way. I've lived in cities my entire adult life, and crime awareness is unfortunately a fact of city living.

Three years ago a green Jaguar sped by our house and a woman's purse was tossed out the window into a dumpster. Curious, I went and pulled it out. The wallet was missing but there was some other I.D. I called the police. A detective came to my house almost immediately, because she had been investigating a mugging that happened a block away. The purse belonged to the woman who was mugged. The detective told me the trend in Georgetown was two guys on the street who do the mugging, and then a car and driver nearby for the getaway. She said the preferred routes were P Street and Q Street, but that sometimes they would come deeper down into the neighborhood.

More recently a couple up the street from me had a middle of the night break-in. The wife came downstairs to find a burglar in her living room. Out of that experience she and her husband formed a neighborhood crime-fighting group, and I applaud them for that. That's one way to do it - neighbor to neighbor. Of course, Georgetown needs more police. We need more uniformed officers and, especially, more plainclothes. And we need them not just in the commercial district but also up in the neighborhoods, and we need them at all hours. But people have their heads in the sand if they think more police alone will solve the crime problem. It's one component of a larger battle in which we all play a role.

SUNDAY, JULY 9th... "Man murdered in Georgetown." "Tourist stabbed to death in Georgetown." "Early morning robbery leaves one dead in Georgetown." That's the news we returned home to and, as a Georgetowner who lives two blocks from the murder scene, the reports shock, disturb and sadden me. The victim was a visitor from London, a 27 year old man, ALAN SENITT, who, with a woman companion, was attacked by muggers near 31st and Q Streets, NW, at approximately 2:15 in the morning.

Later, police arrested the murderers, and word on the street was they had been under surveillance by police for a string of other Georgetown crimes. Four people were arrested, including a 15 year old boy and a woman. Senit was killed practically on the doorstep of the home of a prominent Washington family.

Does this mean Georgetown is not safe? No. Does this mean crime can happen in Georgetown? Yes. Crime does happen in Georgetown. It's random, happens here less than in other parts of the city, most often it is ordinary, but sometimes, as with last night, it is deadly. Often, it is quite late at night, but it can happen in broad daylight, too. Georgetown crime happens more in the commercial area than the residential area, but we hear of break-ins and purse-snatchings that happen in the residential district. I can't recall when a person was last murdered on a Georgetown street, but it was in the last five years.

Georgetown is a great place to live. It is beautiful and even serene. The sidewalks are brick and shaded by leafy trees, the homes are handsome and often historic. We enjoy many conveniences, and luxuries: the river nearby, cultural events nearby, good places to shop and eat, many old world services. We live here like villagers, many of us knowing each other, looking out for each other. But it is not gated, or private, or cut off from the real world. Just as with where DAVID ROSENBAUM was mugged and left to die on Gramercy St. NW, anyone can walk or drive the streets -- good people and bad people. Do we need more policing? Always. Do we need more neighbor to neighbor diligence and awareness? Certainly. Among elected officials, community leaders, police and residents there should be a zero tolerance policy on street crime. Our considerable tax dollars pay for safe streets - in Georgetown and other parts of the city, too.

Should people stay off the Georgetown streets after midnight? No, but always walk - daylight or darkness - with awareness, caution, and an ear tuned to what's going on around you.

We have neighborhood watch patrol, but I'm not sure it is pervasive and all that effective. I don't know. I know citizens have to pay for it and there's some debate whether the blocks with more families who pay for it get more protection than other blocks. The block where Mr. Senitt was attacked is a "good" block, adjacent to Tudor Place Mansion, and many single family homes. Q Street is, however, a two way thoroughfare and a convenient and fast way in and out of and through Georgetown.

The Senitt murder will be scrutnized and debated by police, community leaders and residents - and media - over the next days and weeks. For now, I'm sad for his loved ones and friends.

SATURDAY, JULY 8th... I would write more tonight except I'm stuffed with awesome pizza from DeLorenzo's, decadent cheese bread and cinnamon bread from Mastori's, and 1,000 trans fats from Joe's Crab Shack, loads of sun and hours upon hours of lacrosse. More later.

FRIDAY, JULY 7th... A day of wild emotional extremes. It began at the funeral of a boy who would have turned 13 tomorrow, Saturday. But instead he was in a casket, and close by in the pews at the Washington Hebrew Congregation were his mother and father and younger brothers, who were comforted by family; cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, and behind them were hundreds of school friends, students and teachers, and their families, and other friends from far and wide. For the grown-ups it is a familiar ritual of farewell, but when the farewell is for a child all the rituals seem not quite to catch the shock and outrage, the crime of death so young. We were all so well behaved when in my mind I saw us throwing ourselves on the casket, screaming our rage, begging to have the earth's rotation put in rewind, to bring ETHAN FREED back. He died Monday at Camp Winadoo, suddenly, from acute respiratory failure, but even an autopsy cannot tell them why his respiratory system failed.

I don't know how a parent goes on after that kind of loss, but they do. You go a little crazy first and then, when you can't go crazy anymore, you find a way to survive, and to make peace with the pain.The inner zombie is always there, though, but under control.

I cried, not alot but deeply. I cried for the young man, I cried for his family who love him so, and I cried for everyone who knows the hard road they have ahead.

From there into the Friday rush on the Beltway and Route 95 as we drove north to New Jersey for lacrosse tournament, Spencer still quite shaken from the service. I wanted to reside in my musings on death but instead had to ONCE AGAIN do a go round with the Office of Tax and Revenue, who were still saying they had no evidence of our deposit that paid off the debt in full, even though we faxed the receipt several times to the number they gave us. Later they said "it's not working right." By afternoon, which is quitting time in the DC government, we were desperate. We had to get this taken care of or else MARTY SKOLNIK would sell our buildings on Monday. JON MOSS worked it from the office while I worked it from the cell phone in the car whizzing up Route 95. Finally, out of options, Jon hopped int a cab and drove the receipt over to OTR and showed it to them and they said, "Oh, okay. We see you paid. No problem." Which is wht they could have said to us on Wednesday.

The evening has been spent watching young men Ethan's age play lacrosse, a sport he loved. Some of the boys took one inch wedges of tape, wrote the initials EF, and stuck the piece to the side of their helmets. They mumble a little about his death, but not a lot. They are in shock. They can't compute how one of them can be suddenly gone. And then it was time to get back out on the field for another game. We had two this evening, the second ending at 9, and then I drove Spencer, followed close behind by another mother and her son, LISA OPSUHL and MATT, into to Trenton to get some of the America's greatest pizza at DeLorenzo's. The neighborhood is challenged, and I think my crew were a little worried by the drive, but we all loved the pizza a lot.

THURSDAY, JULY 6th... Day two of trying to get the DC government to acknowledge that Nathans paid in full its overdue '05 property tax for the two buildings the restaurant occupies at Wisconsin and M. What had been one kind of dramedy today became more Keystone Kops. We exchanged multiple e-mails with MARTY SKOLNIK and his staff at OTR, and even sent - as we did yesterday - fax copies of the receipt for the check deposited with the DC government yesterday. But still, OTR said there was no evidence the bill had been paid. Ultimately, Marty wrote and asked if we could send a photocopy of the cashier's check. We said we would be glad to except that when JON MOSS deposited the check at Wachovia the bank kept the check.

This would be mildly amusing except until DC acknowledges the debt is paid in full they keep the meter running on penalties and interest. Obviously it would be in their best interest to never find the deposit, but if it's not found by Monday the Nathans buildings go up for sale by the city. We have scraped together every dime we can get our hands on over the past several weeks to PREVENT that from happening.

I know JACK EVANS' office is trying to intervene on our behalf, and we're grateful to SCHANNETTE GRANT for her efforts. Let's hope that by this time tomorrow it is resolved. Otherwise it will be a particularly stressful weekend.

At the opposite end of stress, unless you are an insane France or Italy fan, please remember to join us at Nathans on Sunday for the World Cup Soccer finals. This has been a great event for Nathans, drawing soccer fans from all over the area for many of the games. There is usually a large crowd in the bar, enjoying the show, the food and a few beverages. Soccer fans, at least the fans who have joined us, are awesome.

Maybe ask for one of the sandwiches from our new panini menu. People are loving them.

Special thanks to all the customers and friends who made an effort to patronize us - as much as possible - during these past couple of months as we tried to get over the property tax hurdle. It's YOU who make the difference.

WEDNESDAY, JULY 5th... It's inevitable that people will wonder if KEN LAY found a way to give himself a heart attack. In fact, when I told a lawyer friend this morning that Lay had died, his first response was: "Are they sure it was a heart attack?" Wonkette was very clever, suggesting Lay was pardoned by God. I wonder if it will be a relief for his family? Surely they didn't want him to die, but I believe I read somewhere that his wife said her husband would not be able to take prison, that he would die if put behind bars. I would still like to know the sentence, though? Would it have been life?

We should all be worried about these North Korean missiles. Last night I had this awful paranoia: why couldn't KIM JONG-IL pop one over our way? Who is there to stop him? Fortunately the sun came up. But missile threats have been in my life since I was a tiny child and the Cuban missile crisis loomed as large as the sky itself. At night, I thought a missile would come through my bedroom ceiling. I scrawled a letter to PRESIDENT KENNEDY, asking him to please do something to save us. That was then, and I was a child, and it seemed presidents could save us from the evils of the world. But now I am a grown up and I have put away my childish fantasies.

The world is not behaving like summer. We have our endless war in Iraq, Israel on the brink, Korea "testing" missiles, and Iran contemplating who knows what? Sigh. I want lemonade on a screened porch, salt air, a debate about whether to go for soft serve or hard packed ice cream ... not this ticking in my head.

We plan to pay DC today, but MARTY SKOLNIK keeps increasing the amount we owe. It's gone up $1,000 in the last week. DC has no manners. Even the feds stop the meter running once you have an agreement. The city government gives business owners few incentives to stay planted here. If you think they are hopelessly greedy and predatory when it comes to parking tickets, don't even consider owning a small business.

LATER: The good and the bad and the ugly, and why the last almost 10 years of my life have been defined by feeling like a butterly caught and pinned to a piece of cardboard. JON MOSS and I went to PNC bank today and got a cashier's check made out to the DC government for the total amount of remaining property tax (because we have paid most of it already). Jon took it to Wachovia and deposited it in the DC government's bank account. I wrote to Marty Skolnik, JACK EVANS and his chief of staff, SCHANNETTE GRANT, confirming the deposit had been made. Jon faxed the receipt to Schannette. But this afternoon we received an email from Mr. Skolnik saying there was no record of the deposit and so DC would not take us off the tax sale, which means they get to keep the meter running, which is the incentive for them not to record us as "paid in full" Why would any smart person open a small business in DC? This is reason enough to go elsewhere.

The day was capped by a report that came to me through a good source that "every broker in town" is making a pitch to the landlords to get my lease. Words can't describe the anguish. My response was pizza and oreos. Oye.

TUESDAY, JULY 4th... Happy Birthday, America. Here's wishing everyone a slow, easy and relaxing Independence Day holiday. If you want to spend it chowing down on burgers and hot dogs while watching the World Cup finals, by all means head to Nathans, where the AC is strong and the food is good and the TV is a big flat panel hi-def hanging over the bar.

I was in the bar during the Italy-Germany game and the room was packed, barely breathing space for all the fans. Everyone sat silent during play, eyes locked on the TV's. Quite a happy scene for me and the staff on what otherwise is one of the slowest days of the year. I wish the World Cup games could last right up to the beginning of the Redskins exhibition season.

In the spirit of freedom, if you are thinking of smuggling cocaine into another country, and you have any kind of celebrity status, by all means make it Dubai. Earlier today a court there sentenced music producer DALLAS AUSTIN to four years in prison for possessing 1.26 grams of cocaine, according to his lawyers. Later in the day, they report, Dubai's leader, Sheik MOHAMMED BIN RASHID AL MAKTOUM pardoned Austin and soon he will be set free. We can only assume that NAOMI CAMPBELL, whose birthday Austin was there to attend, brought some pressure, like, "hey, lock up my friends and no more celebrities will come to Dubai." What newly sprung playground of the rich and idle can afford that kind of negative publicity?

So, don't anyone tell me celebrity doesn't have its perks. I hope to see this slice of real life appear soon as an arc in "Entourage."

MONDAY, JULY 3 ... If you are interested in wine you probably have noticed there's quite a lot of noise being made about the 2005 vintage of Bordeaux. It's been hailed as a landmark. You could read the dozens of articles, the Wine Spectator, ROBERT PARKER, etc., or take advantage of this shortcut provided by JIM ARSENEAULT at The Vineyard wine shop in McLean. They are futures, which you buy now at one (lower) price and pick up later, when they arrive and the prices are higher, thus making you proud of yourself. Here are Jim's picks:

D'Armailhac Pauillac 90-93 RP $45.99
Clos Rene Pomerol 90-92 RP $29.99
Duhart-Milon Pauillac 90-92 RP $48.99
de Fieuzal Rouge Pessac-Leognan 89-91 WS $32.99
Haut-Marbuzet St Estephe 90-92 RP $47.99
Lafon-Rochet St Estephe 91-93 RP $ 43.99
Lagrange St Julien 92-94 RP $64.99
Monbousquet St. Emilion 92-94 WS $58.99
Prieure-Lichine Margaux 91-94 RP $47.99
Rauzan Gassies Margaux 90-93 RP $45.99

Jim considers this group a well-rounded, if expensive, selection of the '05 Bordeaux. Buy one or six or all. Here is his contact info:

Jim Arseneault
jim@thevineyardva.com
The Vineyard
1420 Chain Bridge Road
McLean, VA 22101
Ph: (703) 288-2970
Fax: (703) 288-2971
www.thevineyardva.com

EARLIER: A new dove, or the old dove, is back on the rear porch, nesting in the other light sconce. This makes the third nest this summer, and I continue to find the doves to be an omen of something, but I don't know what. Maybe it will ultimately be only a remake of Hitchcock's "The Birds," but you got word of it here first....should we become barricaded in the house.

I went for a run this morning and it turned out to be a form of torture. The humidity is just too much, and after a few weeks of swimming laps my legs are more conditioned to be flippers rather than pumps. The streets were quieter than on a Saturday, even though the Park Police had rush hour traffic patterns set up on Rock Creek Parkway. It's going to be that kind of day - no traffic, few people, little air, lots of heat, maybe some relief or maybe not. Everything appears to be closed BUT NATHANS IS OPEN.

I'm in such pain about Nathans this long weekend. It's excrutiating to ask about business, because it has to be boffo and I'm afraid to hear any other kind of news. It's like "hear no evil, see no evil," and that if I hold my breath the weekend will pass and I can breath again on Wednesday and it will be okay. But maybe it won't and I have to get my head in the right place to deal with that. Worst case scenario is more debt. Debt to me is like having anvils on my shoulders. I hate it. When I inherited Nathans it had a quarter of a million dollars in debt waiting for me, and that has almost tripled (even with us running a tight, clean ship). This is an anguish I carry around everywhere I go. I know the solution, I see the solution, I have the solution, but it is out of my control. It is up to others.

So, we went to see "Superman Returns," and it was a diversion. The second half was better than the first, I think. Also, is it just me or did I see lots of visual references to the fallen World Trade Center in the molten shards of Lex Luthor's new landmass, and to Christ in many images of Superman as he took off or landed? Curious.

Noted: the death of designer FERNANDO SANCHEZ. This is personal, but so what? When Howard and I were first dating in the 70s he bought me an item of Sanchez lingerie. We were walking by Bloomingdales in NY and it was featured in an eye-popping way on a mannequin in the window. "Wait right here," Howard said, and disappeared into the store. He returned about 15 minutes later with a box wrapped with paper and ribbons. Back at the Carlyle he gave it to me and I tore into it like a child. It was the item of lingerie. Well, what can I say. It was artfully designed and open to the fresh air in lots of provocative places, and it made me giggle to own, and laugh out loud to wear, but we had a lot of fun with it. Whenever I think of that champagne colored silk and lace concoction I think of Mr. Sanchez, and so rest in peace. He was 70-years-old. The NYTimes obit says he "captured the naughty side of 1970s fashion with lingerie collections conceived for elegant boudoirs." Do tell.

SUNDAY, JULY 2 ... We were just about to head out the door to Jetties Sunday barbecue when the sky opened up. Hmmm. Not fair. We'll give it a few minutes and hope the grills are not washed out. BO BLAIR began the Summer Barbecues at Jetties last week, and one happy patron told me it was excellent. For more information, visit Bo's website: jettiesdc.com.

In my quest to try every brunch in DC, today we headed to the "outer boroughs," to Potomac, Md., to the venerable Normadie Farm restaurant, which has been operating since 1931. The pleasant wait staff no longer wear period French country costumes, nor does the brunch menu even seem all that French, but they still have marvelous popovers. It's an all-you-can-eat buffet for $24, including lots of salads, shellfish, vegetable dishes, cheeses, spreads, hand carved prime rib, beef stroganoff, lamb, eggs benedict, an omelet man, waffles, pancakes to order, and a half dozen different desserts. Spencer and compared that spread to the $90 per person buffet brunch at the Four Seasons and Normandie Farm came out on top.

The photo of the day shows the dessert we made last night at home. It's so simple, and is a celebration of all the fresh berries now in the markets as well as the colors of the flag. Spencer helped me make the shortbread, using Lily buttermilk biscuits mix. He kneaded the dough while I whipped the heavy cream and vanilla for creme Chantilly. The shortbread took 10 minutes to bake, a few more minutes to cool, and dessert was on the table.

What I fell for this week were ringback tones. They are a positive from the cellphone industry. Now when someone calls my cellphone, rather than a conventional ringer, they get DANIEL POWTER singing "Bad Day," and the song plays until I, or voicemail, answer. Isn't that sweet? I happen to adore the song, especially the lyrics:

Where is the moment we needed the most
You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost
They tell me your blue skies fade to grey
They tell me your passion's gone away
And I don't need no carryin' on

You stand in the line just to hit a new low
You're faking a smile with the coffee to go
You tell me your life's been way off line
You're falling to pieces everytime
And I don't need no carryin' on

Cause you had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know
You tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride
You had a bad day
The camera don't lie
You're coming back down and you really don't mind
You had a bad day
You had a bad day

Well you need a blue sky holiday
The point is they laugh at what you say
And I don't need no carryin' on

You had a bad day

I find the song uplifting.

Also uplifting this steamy Sunday of the July 4th holiday: the fact we can pay DC parking tickets online. I commend the DC government for doing something right, thus making the process of being ticketed less aggravating by half.

Though I get 90% of my news online or onair, I'm still old-fashioned on Sundays, when I read the NYTimes. Because one needs to prepare for the gloom I save the front section for last, and start instead with Styles. This morning they had quite a treat in store from GUY TREBAY, in Top Gun form, reviewing the '07 Milan spring menswear collections. When fashion is done well it's an entertainment, and sometimes an art form, and the same can be said of fashion writing. He sees NANCY REAGAN in the vapors, and the men's clothing, and applies her "Just Say No" campaign to much of what trucked down the runway. For example, "Say no to boring minimalist blazers worn ove tights that leave little doubt as to whether the wearer has been circumcised (CALVIN KLEIN). The Versace collection was excused, because "there was nothing to suggest a man who looks as if he secretly wishes to wear his girlfriend's clothes." Well, every sentence is that much fun. Read it yourself at: Earth to Milan.

In the week of "The Devil Wears Prada," it's just the right endnote.

 

SATURDAY, JULY 1 ... A year ago today Spencer and I were rolling through Iowa and South Dakota, chasing the sunset to the west, acclimating ourselves to the first of 21 days on the road as we traveled from here to the Pacific Ocean and back again. It was one of those journeys of a lifetime, timed well with him being 13 and still almost able to tolerate being with his mother for three weeks. (I don't think we could have that today.) It's a trip every family should take at least once. Last night we celebrated the anniversary with dinner at Cityzen at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. This restaurant confounds me. It's a little too heavy with the restaurant-as-cathedral attitude, but the food is excellent and often breathtaking. Gosh, if everybody there would just ease up and have some fun. The staff are very sweet, but all are so hushed and uptight. When food's that good I say tinkle the glasses, clap hands, hoop and holler.

Maybe it's me, because I just don't buy into restaurants that make me feel like I passed some test to get in, and that the headmaster and headmistress are in charge, and if I should so much as chew loudly, drop a fork or ask for a substitution, they might drop kick me out the door on the spot. Cityzen was not that extreme, but we all know the places that are. Restaurants are not cathedrals. They are places where people go to eat a meal, ideally well prepared, cheerfully presented, affordable and, as a bonus, in a room that looks good and feels comfortable, and maybe, too, the person at the door will act like he or she is happy to see you. Stop in for a meal at Le Relais at the Plaza Athenee in Paris and you will see exactly what I mean, except for the affordable part.

While many people are off at the beaches, the mountains and the lakes, we are settled in for a Georgetown July 4th and it feels quite easy and relaxed. The pace is slow, there's lots to do, if we feel the need, and if we don't there's a good hammock out back. Nathans, fortunately, continues to benefit from the World Cup soccer games.

Today I cut out my hair wraps after almost two months of wearing them. It was quite an ordeal, involving razor blades and focus. If I ever get back out to the boardwalk in Rehoboth I'll get some more. You can, too. Go to Imagination on Rehoboth Avenue and ask for Erica. Tell her I sent you.

FRIDAY, JUNE 30... I'm here to give an early report on "The Devil Wears Prada," playng down at the Loews. In Miranda Priestly's words, or word, there's only this to say: "Go." MERYL STREEP is so much fun in this film that she alone lifts it out of the "chick flick" genre and into the much more delicious realm of guilty pleasure.

An interesting phone message last night from JULIA O'DONOGHUE of The Georgetown Current. She said, "I hear you are closing Nathans and we want to do a story about it." Hmmm. News to me. But not the first time that rumor has come my way. It's been going round since mere months after Howard died. I will phone her once the work day begins to let her know I have no plans to close Nathans. We still have a pulse, and almost three years remaining on the lease -- and a proposal out there for a new, longer lease -- and all kinds of good ideas for the future. We feel confident, though not over-confident, we will dodge the tax bill bullet next week, especially if we do good business this weekend and over the next 7 days. We are about $7,000 shy of what's needed to get the city off our backs, for the moment. They'll be back on us about something else sooner or later. Hey, maybe someone downtown dropped the dime? Is that possible? Nah. Usually the rumors of Nathans imminent demise start with people who want the lease.

(Later: I talked to Julia, who said she heard it from her editor, but doesn't know where he heard it. Regardless, it's not true!!!)

This day has dawned quite beautifully. Sunshine, low temps, dry air, birds chirping, JOHNNY HANEY up on the roof looking to see if I've got "issues" up there which caused the ceiling to drip. Do you have gutter needs? If so, there's no one better at getting them attended to than Johnny. His number
is 301.537.6667. Save that number, because Johnny shows up on time, does immaculate work and sends a reasonable bill in the mail.

Next up: the fire detector man, who hopefully will solve the problems in that department. Just another lovely day in home ownership...and this is before Nathans even wakes...the business I own, and intend to own as long as they let me.

It's not worth much more than the cost of a text message, but please remember you read here in April that STAR JONES had been 86'd by The View, as revealed by TAMMY HADDAD at a dinner party hosted by JOSEPH WILSON and VALERIE PLAME. In other words, know your source and trust your source. Also at that dinner, in addition to the prediction of Star's fate, others told us that HILLARY CLINTON would not run for president and that the U.S. would bomb Iran.

 

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 28... The morning after and no hangover, no depression, no sadness, no regrets. Perhaps I'm even a tiny bit relieved. Since I was not certain how the vote would go, I booked myself a few indulgences for this morning, particularly an hour with LANCE ETCHISON at BlueMercury. He can make a no win into a win. If the skin glows, so glows the spirit, too. Right?

Running for office was an interesting experience from beginning to end. I learned a lot about myself - definitely not a politician - and others, particularly that people care and do want to get involved, even if only with their vote. I will not forget DAVID DUNNING's enthusiasm, DAVID ABRAMS' generosity, PAM MOORE's support, MARY CARROLL PLATT'S help , JACK EVANS' encouragement,TOM BIRCH's (alarming) frankness. Only one person was rude and inappropriate, but everyone in the 'hood has her number anyway and so she doesn't matter. It was a delight to see so many neighbors and friends show up in the drenching rain to vote for me. We weren't a large enough army, but we tried. And good luck to GUNNAR HALLEY and the other commissioners. I don't think I'll run again, but never say never.

LATER: the day sailed on nicely, especially with the good words from neighbors and friends, who commended the campaign and then, like me, put it behind them. The entire neighborhood felt like it was celebrating - sunshine! It has been several very wet days since we've seen the sun. Of course, the reappearance of the sun is not good for business at Nathans, but we do have Wimbledon and we do have the World Cup. And, according to weather.com, we will again soon have rain.

I snuck away to have a last lunch at La Chaumiere before it changes hands and mid-soft shell, JON MOSS phoned to say ADT was reporting a fire alarm at my house. Dropped my fork and knife, grabbed my straw bag, told Geraldine "I'll be back," and tore up the hill to home, hoping it was nothing. Running in sandals is not fun. I could hear the fire engine wailing as I awkwardly galloped toward the house, arriving with time enough to open the door, lock up the bird, get a leash on the dog and, breahtless, inform the four firemen at the door, "I don't smell any smoke, and I just got here myself." What we found, at the top of the stairs, was water dripping through the smoke alarm. Now, how is it that after five days of rain, with a new roof and no dripping, that when the rain ends I get a leak? Beats me. Darn the luck. So, I bid the nice firemen farewell, put a pan under the leak, left a message for JOHNNY HANEY, released the bird, patted the dog, and then returned to La Chaumiere to finish my soft shells, my glass of French chardonnay, and my reading about the Israeli soldier whose kidnapping by Palestinaians, I fear, could start a new war in the Middle East.

As much as I care about my neighborhood, it's the big world out there that I care about more...

TUESDAY, JUNE 27... At last, ANC election day is here. If you live in the northeast quarter of Georgetown, the ANC2E06 district, please remember to vote this evening at Christ Church, 31st and O, between 6:30 and 9 p.m. The polls close at 9 sharp, after which the votes will be counted and the new commissioner announced. When I say the "polls," it is actually a box that will be placed in the middle of the room, for all to see.

My campaign manager, MYRA MOFFETT, is finally back from the beach. Last night we strategerized over a vodka and tonic. She allowed as how she's never been involved in a winning political campaign. Well, I've never won anything, except long ago when I was voted captain of the cheerleaders and once was a distant runner up for homecoming queen. THAT was very odd, given my high school experience was much like being the goth in a Lily Pulitzer fantasy.

Usually on election day the media focus on the candidates day, dishing up pulp in the hours until the polls close. I should do the same here. First of all, woke up at 2 a.m., wondering "Will they vote? Won't they vote? Will they vote? Won't they vote? Will they? Won't they?" Then resumed my needed zzzzz's. Up early to walk the dog. Hoped to see some constituents, but no, only some birds. Woke up the child, who would not eat breakfast as protest for my making him return for a second day of basketball camp at Georgetown. He refused dinner last night, also. I swam 50 laps but the chlorine was so thick I now have permanent red eye. All day it will look like I've been crying, which will either work for or against me with the voters. I think against. Who wants to vote for a cry-baby?

Regular morning phone call with JON MOSS, during which we talked about Nathans "buddy," MARTY SKOLNIK, the leaky ceiling, the back wall, business last night (not great but okay) the "to do's" of the day ahead. Breakfast of two tiny brioche from Poupon, bacon from Dean and DeLuca, Illy coffee from Balduccis, Red Current preserves JIM SPELLMAN brought back from London, and a bowl of blueberries from Fresh Fields, with campaign soldiers Leo and Ozzy nearby. Leo's role is to beg for scraps of bacon, while Ozzy screeches.

Applied some self-tanning lotion over the visible parts of my flesh. The theory being that a viable candidate should look like they spend time outdoors, rather than hidden inside, possibly writing detailed memoes to Homeland Security in a tiny scrawl around all the edges of an envelope in a circular motion going toward the center. It's nutty enough that I have co-chairnimals of my campaign.

Now I must put on my best election day bib and tucker and prepare for leaving my cave; off to Nathans basement and then lunch with RACHEL PEARSON at Milano. I look forward to this, because Rachel is groovy company. She offered to do a fundraiser for Nathans, but I've told her no, thank you. She understands.

LATER...Lunch with Rachel was as diverting as I expected. We talked 1% about the election and 99% about everything else, which was sane of us. My election day lunch was one piece of bread, some olive oil, poached salmon with asparagus and fennel, a glass of Pinot Grigio, and a de-caf cap. All good.

Nathans seemed busy enough, which is also good. No water dripping in the dining room, thankfully. Returned home to walk the dog and then, in my campaign dress, I got drenched to the bone. We were too far from the house to escape the torrent. Dress compromised and I think the same thing happened to my lathered on tan. Now, once again, I look like a kookoo who stays locked in doors all day.

Now my campaign manager and I will walk the dogs with hopes of having face time with multitudes of voting constituents. I have done an informal tally and a good 20 members of my voting base are out of town.

LATER: Myra and I did about 5 blocks door to door, dropping my little postcard once again, which will make the residents either hate me or go, "oh, yes, we must go vote!" Myra is certain it will be the latter. Ha! Who but ducks go out in this weather? I'm once again soaked, and fairly pathetic looking, too. While I had been weighing a couple of options for tonight, a fetching red, white and blue jersey or a sincere light blue linen, the wisest choice is probably my sturdy foul weather gear.

MONDAY, JUNE 26... Since some of you have asked for a way to help in our struggle with the DC government, and I won't take your money, an option is to write to MARTY SKOLNIK, head of the property tax office. It's a good email to have, because if you live in DC he can make life heaven or hell. His email is martin.skolnik@dc.gov.

Has anybody ever said... when it rains it pours? Kind of catchy, eh? Here at Nathans that certainly applies. I'm writing from the dark, musty, frighteningly claustrophic basement office, where one lightbulb hangs from a cord above my desk, an antique partners' desk that is really quite handsome underneath the piles of saloon flotsam and jetsam. I'm sitting in the squeaky, wobbly desk chair that was Howard's back in the day, and is now one of the few chairs here that doesn't nearly collapse when sat upon. But soon.

The office fortunately is dry. During one of these summer monsoons several years ago I arrived in the morning to find 4 inches of water flooding the basement, gushing in from a hole in the sidewalk on M Street. The manager at the time, who was not accustomed to the kind of crisis management that is required here, sat at his desk, water above his ankles, staring at the mess, and doing nothing. "Did you call the plumber?" I asked. "Ah, no." "Maybe you should," I said. "I guess," he replied in a daze . He quit soon after.

Today the dining room ceiling is under control. It is sort of patched up. To fix it we have to get the roof repaired and the mortar pointed up around the roof. This is a big and expensive project, between $7-10,000, and difficult to afford when the DC govt has got their check on the plate for $15,000 - no exuses accepted. The management style I've adopted since inheriting this place is to put out the fire that is flaring in my face, and since I'm always, ALWAYS, treading through fires, I fight the fire that is MOST in my face. Just call me Red Adair. And, I know, it makes no sense to be talking fires when it's raining buckets.

The upside of the rain is we're slammed for lunch. The downside is our bartender quit without giving notice because he got a job teaching, and so the genl manager, HOCKLEY WALSH, is tending bar and our office manager, JON MOSS, is waiting tables. Well, this way they get to see some daylight rather than the airless gloom of the basement. But Mondays are a busy office day.

I listened to WTOP for a while this morning and the reporting of the rain made me realize the city had gone into full blizzard mode, when we residents of Washington roll over on our backs and suck our thumbs. Rain or snow, precip makes us big babies. The only other city as dysfunctional in rain is Los Angeles, but they have an excuse: it never rains in southern California.

Lastly, the dove on our back porch hatched her babies. Two little feathery heads have appeared in the nest under her wings. Pics soon.

SUNDAY, JUNE 25... Where Nathans is concerned I'm somewhere betwen Chicken Little and the Boy Who Cried Wolf. I keep saying, "the sky is falling, the sky is falling," but only a few who know I'm right. Everyone else believes I'm simply being dramatic. Well, tonight a friend and I went to dinner at Nathans and, thanks to the rain, the ceiling began to fall. And in the ladies room there's something of a waterfall over one of the toilets. This is because the roof is leaking and it leaks all the way down to the dining room. With the few $$$ we've got, we make repairs when we can, but I think today's gushers did all that in, and so it gave way with pieces of the ceiling falling into booth 22 or 21. We called the manager who said there was nothing he could do. We got some plastic and gaffer tape and did a patch, patch, patch, but with the next burst of rain it came down, too.

Welcome to Nathans, where I have to decide whether to use what few dollars we have to pay the Office of Tax and Revenue so they don't close us on July 10 or pay to have the roof repaired so the ceiling doesn't completely fall in. There is no easy answer. And this is assuming a roof repair company would even show up. Most of them know us and don't take our calls. That's what happens when you're known as a deadbeat.

Once upon a time I loved summer because it was slow and easy. Then I inherited Nathans and learned to hate summer because it meant no business and more debt. I also used to love rain, because it was soothing and comfy and made me want to snuggle close with someone dear. Then I inherited Nathans and now I hate rain, seeing it as a demon that has the power to bring down the building.

Of course, there would be no reason to loathe summer or rain if I had a lease that wasn't crushing me and the business and that enabled me to get essential repairs done in a timely fashion.

Nonetheless, while the sky was falling my friend and I found courage and enjoyed a lovely, delicious dinner and an awesome bottle of 1997 Spring Mountain Reserve Cabernet. The room was 3/4's filled with happy customers, who did not know of my misery. Later I went to Dean and DeLuca and bought a bag of chocolates and ate almost all of them before picking up Spencer at basketball camp at Georgetown. Now, as I write this, it's a torrent again and I'm quite afraid to pick up the phone to call Nathans. I already know what they'll tell me.

EARLIER...Got up this morning and went for a 45 minute run in the drenching rain, spreading positive voodoo among the constituent neighborhood. Fun dinner last night at the casbah with LESLIE COCKBURN, ANDREW COCKBURN and ANTHONY HADEN GUEST. The casbah and rain: momentary antitdotes.

SATURDAY, JUNE 24... Okay. I'm over my disgruntlement now. Checking into the Loews for The Lake House and an hour and a half of KEANU REEVES helped. What also helped was counseling myself, with help from friends, that I'm not a politician, don't have a politician's rhino skin, and have to accept that in politics it's not personal.

EARLIER ... Two more hours of door to door this morning. The humidity is a challenge and makes me hope no one opens the door when I'm on their doorstep, because what they'll get is one haggard and dripping candidate. I got stopped in a friendly way by a voter who said, "everybody is voting for (one of the other candidates) because the feeling is you can't be impartial because you own Nathans, and that you won't have any time."

It hurt my feelings, but I have to be strong about that. Still, I can't emphasize enough how I don't want Nathans to hobble me with this election. My running, for me, has not to do with Nathans. It has to do with being a resident of Georgetown for many years - before Nathans and likely after Nathans. I need to have some parts of my life, please, that are not victimized by Nathans.

I'm weary of this issue, but why not one more time? Inheriting a sole proprietor business in Georgetown should not be a blackmark. We are under an onslaught of chains and corporate outlets here. I have been Nathans life support for 9 years, trying to save my own ass but also to save the building from becoming a Kwik Kopy or a junk retailer. THAT's what voters should be concerned about, and appreciate a sole proprietor who tries to keep some uniqueness in the Georgetown business mix. Besides, judge me by what I've done: the Q&A lunches, which have been good for me and the community. The notion that because I have a liquor license I will be softer/harder with others who have liquor licenses is phooey.

I've been a journalist a lot longer than I've been a bar owner, and a pet owner and a woman, too, so does that mean I'll be softer/harder on residents who want to put an addition on their kitchen because they also happen to work in journalism, or own a dog (like me) or be a woman (like me). Nonsense. I actually think the people who don't own liquor licenses are harder/softer on the people who have them or want them. My fairness skills are finely honed. So, judge me by who I am and not by some stereotype that has nothing to do with me.

I'm running for the ANC, not the ABC board.

As for my time. For the last many years my time has belonged to my son. Easily 75% of my free time is his, especially in the evenings. But he is off to school in September, which is one reason I thought the ANC would be appealing. A chance to give back as well as something to fill up the lonely hours.

If the ANC doesn't happen, I'll be disappointed if I lost because of Nathans. And for you readers who live outside DC, welcome to what happens to a part of the U.S. when it is not a state and voters have no real power. We get bogged down on non-issue issues.


FRIDAY, JUNE 23...It's late afternoon and I'm just returned from 3 hours of going door to door, leaving my postcard. Sigh. I love Georgetown, but goodness do we have a lot of stairs. It began to feel practically Alpine.

Wandering the neighborhood as I did put me in touch with every home, and some news. The most alarming news was that La Chaumiere has been sold. Gerard and his wife are gone, and Geraldine will be gone at the end of next week. Makes me want to eat dinner there every night for the next seven. Will it change? Who knows? New ownership always means change even when they swear it won't. In this case the new owner is the chef, which gives hope. I have many memories there, and I want them preserved. Plus it represents precisely the kind of restaurant Georgetown needs and deserves.

I hope voters appreciate my campaign posters that were worked on last night and this morning. Much like the photos to the right, they feature Leo and Ozzy, and no, no animal cruelty was involved. Actually, Ozzy loved playing with and tearing to shreds the little paper "Vote for Carol" signs I gave to him. Leo wore his placard for all of 30 seconds, and then was generously rewarded. He knows how to pose as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Every living thing in our household is accustomed to getting roped into one kind of photo project or another over time. Spencer is pleased he's not been called upon to be used as a campaign prop.

The group who shoot the Q&A lunches for the web, IMG TV, have invited me to be their guest tonight at the annual dinner of Women in Film, Video and TV. Should be fun. It's at one of the Hiltons, anf I don't mean Paris or Nicky. Suppose I ought to find out which one. If the sky opens up again as it did last night I am wearing galoshes and foul weather gear. What a storm! What a lot of rain! It woke me at midnight. By 1 a.m., ALL of us were in my bed, my entire campaign retinue (minus manager MYRA MOFFETT, who's at the beach for 2 weeks), with Leo shaking like a vibrator on crack. He and Spencer both went under the covers. At times the lightning came so fast and furiously it was like strobe lights. One particular crash of thunder made us dive for the floor, certain the big tree was about to crash through the roof.

We had another good night at Nathans. Keep it up, folks. It's making a difference. You have no idea. If we can continue at this level for the next 15 days we will have dodged another mortar. It gets tiring, though, dodging disaster. But I'm not going to write about survival fatigue until after we've actually survived.

So, for now, time to soak my feet and change gears from candidate to a woman of video and the all encompassing web.

THURSDAY, JUNE 22...Up early to pass out some campaign postcards. Voters ask this question: "What is your position on the Friendly estate?" My position is simple: From what I know of the facts, and I may know facts laced with gossip, I think it's not right for Georgetown. It's one thing if people want to move their kitchen from the ground floor to the first floor, or expand their back porch by 4 feet, or put in a new bathroom, but it's something altogether different when a developer wants to substantially alter the arrangement of homes on a particular block, or to make something that is more appropriate in McLean or Potomac than in Georgetown. If I'm elected I would learn more, though, and form an opinion based on research and the sentiment of residents who appear before the commission.

Today I will try to have Nathans be less of a screaming demon in my head, a medusa on my soul. We've done what we can to try to halt the current death spiral. (We struggle with about two a year) Our efforts either will or won't work. We learned today that OTR is likely NOT going to accept our appeal. (And they wonder why residents and businesses flee from this city). To the best of our ability what we must now achieve are 16 days of strong business during one of the slowest periods of the year. If we can pull some good numbers, we can make it. Everyone on the staff is working toward that goal. D-Day is July 7. I've resolved not to take friends' money, or to have a fundraiser. We will do it on our own. Having come to these conclusions, I slept last night. What a relief!

Earlier ADAM MAHR and I visited the new Rugby Store and Cafe. It's a lively concept; RALPH LAUREN meets Abercrombie with some California and Five Guys thrown in. My son and a buddy earlier declared it "delish." Other teens checked it out while we were there. That's the audience they need to please: 14-19. If they get them they will do well. Adam and I scanned the threads, a feast of madras, seersucker, and skulls with crossbones, had a sandwich and salad, enjoyed ourselves and then took a long walk along the water to acknowledge the first day of summer.

Today I return the car the dealer gave me to substitute for my lemon and I reclaim the lemon. It's not a perfect solution but it seems to be the only way NOT to be locked into a 3 year lease with the wrong car.

I got this email last night from BO BLAIR, owner of Jettie's sandwich shop on Foxhall:

"We are starting our Summer Barbeques at Jetties this Sunday from 5pm-8pm. We will be grilling hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken, etc. There is also half-price ice cream all night. We have a bunch of outdoor seating and plenty of parking. Please try to come by. We will be doing this all summer long on Sunday evenings. Please forward this email to friends of yours. Our website is jettiesdc.com- Thanks." What a treat.

Doves still nest in one of the light sconces on my back porch. I consider it an omen and leave them alone. ...back to the campaign trail, such as it is here in the 06 district of Georgetown.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21... Just the biggest possible round of applause to CONNIE CHUNG for giving us the most brilliant and gutsy bit of performance art to grace the tube or computer screen, possibly even since PARIS HILTON. Connie, if this is what you'd been doing each week on the MSNBC show it might have given Idol a run for the ratings. I watch it at http://www.youtube.com. You can, too. When you get there click on videos, and then click on "Most Viewed" and then scroll down till you find Connie's thumbnail and click on it. Or, in the search window enter her name. Her rolling off the piano top, with a delicate grunt, gave me the laugh that was needed.

The Georgetown Current hit doorsteps today with REGINA LEE's page one story about the ANC election next Tuesday. Her reporting of our interview is fair. It represents my general point of view, though when I said I would like a grocery at Georgetown Park I referred specifically to the Trader Joe's that West End got. It would have been a real plus to have that store in the mall, drawing residents into the building. I have made peace with the mall, but the peace would be sweeter if it had some stores that were resident-friendly, like grocery, pharmacy, hardware, in addition to the DMV. What about doctors and bakers and candlestick makers? Wouldn't it be wonderful to have versions of Neam's and Reed Electric in there? Or, for that matter, the True Value that Burleith got. Oh, to have it be a "village" mall rather than a routine tourist mall. How new century.

Anyway, each of the candidates is profiled, making it simple for voters to decide who they prefer. The hard part will be getting those same voters to come to the ANC meeting Tuesday evening to vote. There's no other way to vote in this election but to be there.

My little campaign cards are done. I will distribute them this weekend.
Last night I could have worked at CVS or Kinko's, because I was awake ALL night. Actually, I fell asleep as usual shortly after 10 pm. Woke up at midnight and was awake until the sun rose and the birds began chirping at 5:30 a.m. My mind just would not rest. It shifted screens from Nathans, with subscreens of taxes and lease, and then from Nathans to the ANC race, from the ANC race to child-rearing, from child-rearing to the new Blackberry, from the Blackberry to the car lease, and then back again to Nathans. Nathans made the most appearances and prompted the most fitfull moments, usually involving torment, self-pity, self-loathing, total fear, and submission. I turned on the TV. Nothing moronic or monotnous enough to lull me to sleep, not even Real Sex. Turned on the radio, and could tune in only multiple stations focused on extra-terrestrials and UFO's; WBZ in Boston heralding the beginning of summer in a maddening way - maddening does not prompt sleep, and all news radio, which hit me with the fact that PHILLIP MERRILL's death was a suicide, which only heightened my fundamental despair. Surfed the web. Read DAVID PATRICK COLUMBIA's marvelous website, New York Social Diary, and sent him an email asking him to do a lunch. Amazingly, he wrote back! And said yes! That was a sweet moment. "How odd," I wrote, "for both of us to be awake." His writing/reporting on CAROLINE KENNEDY SCHLOSSBERG and KATIE COURIC: gems, and gutsy.

Then I tried some yoga breathing, some stretching, some banging my head against the wall. But still wide awake, with the same scenarios as before playing on repeater loops in the multiplex of my mind. "This is aging me," I thought. "It's got to stop. I have to go to sleep." The dog, all 9 pounds of him, got up, walked over, twirled around and curled into a ball at my neck. "This will do it," I thought. "This is love and it will soothe me. My sweet little pet." Still, though, as he snoozed I remained wide awake.

Relief came with dawn. I slept for an hour. Got up, went to G.U., did 50 laps in the pool, and started my day.


TUESDAY, JUNE 20...If you live in Washington, DC, or work here, or visit here, or spend only a little time here, you should read every frightening word of the coverage about the city's report on the murder of New York Times correspondent DAVID E. ROSENBAUM. Disgrace, shame, contempt, outrage, only start to describe what all of us should feel toward the city officials who are in charge of our safety. Know this: what happened in the aftermath of Rosenbaum's mugging could happen just the same to you or a loved one or friend. No matter what the police, fire and politicians are saying to cover their you-know-whats, it's unlikely anything will change. Some hands will be slapped, maybe a head will roll (or be permitted to quietly retire), but the system will go on dysfunctioning as it has for years. It underscores the truth about Washington, DC, that most people won't own up to: it doesn't function well. There is flab and lethargy and disinterest and an overwhelmning sense that no one really cares. Not unlike the emergency operator in, I think, Detroit who when a little boy called to say his mother had collapsed and needed help, scolded him for calling in the report and did nothing. She did nothing. The mother died.

In January, Fire chief ADRIAN THOMPSON, said "everything possible," was done to care for Rosenbaum. The Inspector General's report says just the opposite, and cites an "unaccpetable chain of failure" by fire, police and Howard University hospital workers. If you can't rely on the the police, the fire department or the hospital to save you, what have you got?

Again, I think Georgetown should secede from the District of Columbia, set up our own government, using our own tax dollars, and I will try to find a way to propose that if elected to the ANC. Everyone who lives here or visits this city deserves better, but I can begin with my neighborhood.

LATER... I try to be honest here, and 99% of the time I am, but to be honest today would bring the entire Diary readership down to too low a low. My day was spent swinging between wanting to vomit and wanting to cry, after reading a morning email from the DC government. Oh, hell, I did wear sunglasses for a while to hide the tears, but that kind of reaction is just too weak for me to own up to. I fear this won't go our way, and D-day is Thursday, and by early July there's a chance Nathans could be closed and over. I hope not, but today I realized I have to prepare for that possibility. It has been coming for 9 years, and I've been swimming in quicksand, respirator for a small business, managing the odds, and begging the landlords for, literally, a new lease on life. The new lease could solve the problems that are strangling us now. Am I out of tricks? I don't know. ADAM MAHR, bless him, said, "I don't have a lot but you can have what you need." Another friend said, "just tell me how much." RACHEL PEARSON, who may be an angel, said, "one call, Carol, that's all it takes and I will pull together whatever is needed." Before that I want to try to do it on my own. My personal reserves are tapped out, though, and more bank debt is the last thing I need...but if it can keep us open I may have no choice. Funny, isn't it, how the DC will so quickly give up a quarter of a million a year in sales tax dollars. But if we can make $15,000 between now and July 10, we're saved...until the next crisis.


MONDAY, JUNE 19... Heard nothing from my car dealer today, but are we surprised? No. Regardless, it was a day devoted to malfunctions. The poor Blackberry I lacquered with raw ice cream basically died. Actually better to say it had dementia. It's insides were working but no credible way to communicate. I tracked down ANTHONY BERRY, who sold it to me at the Bethesda T-Mobile last summer. He's now at 11th and E, and willing to work with me, which is why I prefer T-Mobile over ALL the others, and I've danced with ALL the others at one time or another. Anthony set me up with a new Blackberry and a new contract. While you might say, Oh, Carol, how is this different from your gripe against the car dealer who saddled you with a new 3-year lease after taking back your lemmon, I will say this: my Blackberry wasn't a lemmon. It was I who did it in. I would have re-upped with T-Mobile anyway and with an upgraded Blackberry. Today I did it two months early, and got a little bit a of a break.

The hard part was getting the data from the old BBerry to the new BBerry, which involved lots of michigas, but was ultimately saved by BBerry tech support. You call them, they call you back, they are in this hemisphere, they speak English, it gets done, and I was back in business. Unlike the car dealer, I got what I wanted. But, we'll see. The car dealer deadline is tomorrow. I've called, left mesages, they haven't been returned. It could be the showdown in the showroom.

Thank God I had the shrink today. You can't own Nathans and not have a good psychiatrist. We don't see each other often, but he saves my sanity, and therefore my life, every time we meet. Today I cried for only about 15 minutes. That's good. I could have cried for twice that amount of time, but I loathe feeling sorry for myself. It wastes time. My agenda was simple. No resolution with city, no resolution with landlords, no resolution with shortness of life. The latter has to do with fear that entire adult life will be spent on survival treadmill and none on the beach of decadent pleasures.

Dinner tonight - between thunderclaps and monsoon rain - at sweet Bistro Le Pic with wonderful friend AUBREY SARVIS, who listens as an art form. The gazpacho was just right, and the soft shelled crabs were sweet and chewy/crunchy. We came back to the house for the famous and murderous mint ice cream. After all, how many batches of ice cream can claim to have killed a PDA? We forgave and enjoyed. Given that it had lost some of its cream but none of the yolk it is now more of a gelato; an excellent gelato.

I am so weary. It's only Monday and I feel like an old dog at the end of a long race. I must recharge tonight, because HDNet is coming to interview me in the morning about people who provide services that save time for the rest of us. I will talk about the car guy, GREGG CAMPBELL, who saves huge chunks of time for me. But I'm an HD fiend, largely because it's fun to see people's faces as they really are with creases and ruts and make-up lines. How do I deal with that? I've decided to follow my morning routine of swimming 50 laps, thus chlorinating my eyes to a near fuschia, and then letting my hair go to its natural BLYTHE DANNER WASP-FRO, and basically no make-up. Why risk it?

The BBerry cost me most of today, literally and figuratively. Tomorrow I MUST work on my campaign. No matter what. I have been stopped by several people who want to vote for me: BILL PLANTE and ROBYN SMITH, WALTER ISAACSON, JON DONVAN, HENRY VON EICHEL, AUBREY, THE MOFFETTS, several others, who all will be out of town. So many say, "I want to vote for you but I'll be out of town." That's okay. What will be will be. I'm prepared to work my derriere off for this job, but if I don't get it I'll be okay and I'll back the winner 100%.

SUNDAY, JUNE 18... I've figured out what's eating at me all weekend: it's the car I'm leasing. Or, to be precise, it's the car replacing the car I'm leasing. The car I was leasing was a lemon. Even my service rep said, "it's a nightmare. Do me a favor, have sales give you a replacement." And I, trying to be the good girl, was very happy when sales said they would give me a new car to replace the lemmon. But when I went in on Friday to do the deal the first order of business was my having to agree to a new 3-year lease. "But I don't want a three year lease," I said. "My lease at Nathans is up in 2 years and change and I will be unemployed. I don't want to be stuck with a 3 year lease." They said there was no other way to accomodate the replacement of the lemon.There I was at the desk with the guy, thrusting pen and paper toward me, while on the other side of the partition was Spencer and his buddy, Austin, eager to get on with their day, having declared the new car "cool," and I was like, okay, if this is what it takes to move on from the unsafe lemon, I'll sign.

I went to the head of the department, popped my head in his door, and said, "you know, I'm signing this lease but I will likely be unemployed and destitute before it is up. I want you to know that. I don't think it makes sense to give me a three year lease." He said, "don't worry. Take the car, enjoy it, we'll work the rest out when the time comes." Okay, I said, being the good girl.

But all weekend I drove out to Davidsonville and back in the new car, enjoying it's newness, but thinking, "maybe I got screwed." Not because they weren't nice, or because it's not a nice car, but I went in wanting to fulfill my lease that would be up in March. I came out with a new lease that's up in three years. My car was a dud. I knew it. They knew it. Somehow I went in wanting what I wanted and I came out with what they wanted. And you know, this ties into Father's Day. I hate these sentimental occasions because they always, ALWAYS, suck me back into the Hallmark version of the "life I had." And in that Hallmark version Howard was the all-purpose protective male who dealt with the guy stuff, like cars, car purchases, leases, and car guys. It was not my strong suit.

So now tomorrow I have to try to be tough and strong and work this out, but past experience has taught me they will EAT ME ALIVE. They will find ten ways from Wednesday to show me I signed my life over to them, and they will wave it in my face, and in the end I will leave feeling like the same dusty, crusty dirt my son played lacrosse in today. Oye. It won't be the first time. I've been okay as a woman alone in the world, not tough but tough enough, and yet there's often the morning after when I realize I wasn't as tough as I needed to be. For example, I've had three contractors do deals with me to fix my rotting back steps and in all three instances they never showed up on the start date or any other day thereafter. I've had four plumbers do work on my leaky bathtub, each making it worse, to the point where I now refuse to let anyone work on it and hold the damned thing together myself with gaff tape and wire.

SUNDAY, JUNE 18... I have figured out what's eating at me all weekend. It's the car I'm leasing. Or, to be precise, it's the car replacing the car I'm leasing. The car I was leasing was a lemmon. Even my service rep said, "it's a nightmare. Do me a favor, have sales give you a replacement." And I, trying to be the good girl, was very happy when sales said they would give me a new car to replace the lemmon. But when I went in on Friday to do the deal the first order of business was my having to agree to a new 3-year lease. "But I don't want a three year lease," I said. "My lease at Nathans is up in 2 years and change and I will be unemployed. I don't want to be stuck with a 3 year lease." They said there was no other way to accomodate the replacement of the lemmon.There I was at the desk with the guy, thrusting pen and paper toward me, while on the other side of the partition was Spencer and his buddy, Austin, eager to get on with their day, having declared the new car "cool," and I was like, okay, if this is what it takes to move on from the unsafe lemmon, I'll sign.

I went to the head of the department, popped my head in his door, and said, "you know, I'm signing this lease but I will likely be unemployed and destitute before it is up. I want you to know that. I don't think it makes sense to give me a three year lease." He said, "don't worry. Take the car, enjoy it, we'll work the rest out when the time comes." Okay, I said, being the good girl.

But all weekend I drove out to Davidsonville and back in the new car, enjoying it's newness, but thinking, "maybe I got screwed." Not because they weren't nice, or because it's not a nice car, but I went in wanting to fulfill my lease that would be up in March. I came out with a new lease that's up in three years. My car was a dud. I knew it. They knew it. Somehow I went in wanting what I wanted and I came out with what they wanted. And you know, this ties into Father's Day. I hate these sentimental occasions because they always, ALWAYS, suck me back into the Hallmark version of the "life I had." And in that Hallmark version Howard was the all-purpose protective male who dealt with the guy stuff, like cars, car purchases, leases, and car guys. It was not my strong suit.

So now tomorrow I have to try to be tough and strong and work this out, but past experience has taught me they will EAT ME ALIVE. They will find ten ways from Wednesday to show me I signed my life over to them, and they will wave it in my face, and in the end I will leave feeling like the same dusty, crusty dirt my son played lacrosse in today. Oye. It won't be the first time. I've been okay as a woman alone in the world, not tough but tough enough, and yet there's often the morning after when I realize I wasn't as tough as I needed to be. For example, I've had three contractors do deals with me to fix my rotting back steps and in all three instances they never showed up on the start date or any other day thereafter. I've had four plumbers do work on my leaky bathtub, each making it worse, to the point where I now refuse to let anyone work on it and hold the damned thing together myself with gaff tape and wire.

But I'm blessed with an electrician, JIM MARSHALL, who goes over the top to make sure my house is okay, and he helps on the maintenance stuff in ways that have nothing to do with the plugs and wires. And I do actually have a car guy, GREGG CAMPBELL, who helps with inspection and tags and so forth. He owns United States Vehicle Registration Service, and he's an ace. There's only so much he can do with my car deals, though, even if he is ready to punch the hustlers in the nose. Jim and Gregg are priceless. If only I had versions of them in every department of the functional maintenance of our day to day lives. When you don't have a husband you have to farm out everything to independent contractors. And while that is a laugh line, it's also true.

EARLIER... One of these days I want to get all my recipes organized. They are all over the kitchen and my office and other parts of the house, in loose leaf binders and in cigar boxes, and some are stuffed in the front flaps of cookbooks. I tore through everything today trying to find my recipe for mint ice cream, fearing the worst: that it was gone forever. Then, at last, it appeared - not where it should have been, but found just the same. Spencer asked me to make it as a Father's Day treat, because he fondly remembers my making it often for him and Howard in the summers out on the Bay after they would return to the house with hands full of fresh picked mint. Today I found my mint not in the garden but at Fresh Fields. The bunches are gorgeous and smell marvelous.

Here's the recipe, starting with ingredients:
2 cups chopped mint leaves
3 cups milk
1 cup cream
1 cup sugar
8 egg yolks
2 tbs mint extract

In a sturdy pot mix the mint leaves and milk and cook to a simmer. Once the simmer begins, set the pan aside off the heat and leave it covered for 10-15 minutes. After that strain the mint out and pour the milk back into the pot, adding 1 cup of cream. Pour 1/2 cup of sugar into the milk mixture in the pot.
Set aside.
Now whip the egg yolks with the remaining sugar until they turn light yellow and take on a silken texture. You will want to mix this into the milk/cream mixture, but because it will be hot add half of it to the yolks to bring their temperature up, and then pour the yolk mixture into the milk and cream in the pot. Turn the heat on low and stir with a wood spoon until cream thickens and sticks to the back of the spoon. It is done. Pour it into a metal bowl and plunge that metal bowl into a bath of ice water (a baking pan is good for this). Let it cool to room temp. Stir in the mint extract (or creme de menthe) and refrigerate for 4-6 hours. Freeze the mixture in your ice cream maker and have at it.

Now, don't do what I did today. After mixing the yolks back into the cream, and with the bowl in my hand, I dropped the whole thing on the kitchen counter and bombs away. I've worked in small kitchens before. Between writing the CBS Evening News for WALTER CRONKITE and producing for CHARLIE ROSE, I cooked on a 75-foot sail boat in the West Indies for several months. That galley was smaller than most powder rooms, but we whipped up meals for 8-9 people daily. My kitchen here at home is that small. One calamity and the whole room is compromised. Suffice it to say, now that I've finished cleaning up mint ice cream goop from just about every square inch of the kitchen, as well as off my wallet and Crackberry, I've decided to exercise my Father's Day prerogative: we're going out to dinner. Oh, but I did save the ice cream, with Spencer's immediate assist. We'll have that tomorrow.

Earlier. To fathers everywhere, Happy Father's Day. To their families, why not bring them to Nathans for a big brunch, ideally at a table in the bar in front of the big TV, which no doubt today will feature some soccer, some baseball and whatever else is happening on HD. In our house we celebrate the half of me that tries to be father. Remember that about solo parents: they are both, which is a test and a reward.



SATURDAY, JUNE 17 ... Nine hours at a lacrosse tournament under a hot sun is a challenge, but it provides an opportunity to observe a lot. Today a couple dozen teams played at least three games each with two-hour breaks between games. The five playing fields at Davidsonville were parched; the breeze, when their was a breeze, was flukey. There were hundreds of people, some who camped in RV's, many under tents. They came with folding chairs and coolers. Mom and dad, grandma and grandpa, the little ones, all there for the day to cheer on a son or brother or nephew who plays with an elite travel team. It is one of the steps toward a shot at a champion college team, and the action is lively and good. At times the scene looked like a vast massing of armies in colorful attire with helmets and sticks. Teams would move from one field to another as a group, almost in formation. When they played and their feet dug into the arid dirt, or the ball hit the hard ground, dust clouds formed. In skirmishes the dirt enveloped them. I hid from the blaze under a sun umbrella, but still got too much sun.

This observation is meant with affection: men of a certain age and a certain (over) weight should try to avoid wearing shorts that have patch pockets, also known as cargo shorts. Not all men look good in cargo shorts, just as not all women look good in mini skirts. Both require long lean legs and a washboard tummy. A protruding gut runs counter to the objective. I don't care what the salesman said. Wearing the shirt untucked and hanging down to the hip bones only makes a tummy look larger. Ditto the Nikes and sport socks. We love you. We love all of you. If you must do this look, begin each day with 100 sit-ups and maybe ease up on the chips and dip.

One more: parents seem to yell and scream a lot during the games. What's that about? I'm not talking about cheering, which is fun and logical. The shouting is usually aimed at the shouter's own son, but some of it is aimed at other players, especially if the other players are in the way of the son. It's a lot of racket and often obscures what the coach is trying to tell the boys, and he's actually coaching them. Some of the yelling is angry and mean and upsetting. I asked my son about it. He said players don't like it, because it is distracting. They are trying to hear the coach, the ref and their own teammates, but often what they hear is a father or mother shouting at them to do this, not that, do this better, stop doing this, get over here, how could you be so dumb, do it over, try harder, be better. One of the refs stopped in front of some parents today and said, "can you please tone it down." That was sweet.

Back tomorrow for more games at 8:30 a.m., Yay!

FRIDAY, JUNE 16...It's worth sitting down with USA Today for 10 minutes today to read and ponder the purple section piece on luxury hotels ramping up the perks per square inch. As I absorbed the reporting I thought about the Declaration of Independence. Is this why our forefathers brought on a revolution: so we could have a country that would produce bazzilionaires who require "bath" butlers, pillow menus and golf course massage therapists? I sat there at Furim's with my bacon and eggs, laughing out loud at each paragraph. Hey, all you rich folk out there, American soldiers are still dying for this country. Ease up a little on the silliness. If not, we'll get you butt butlers to wipe your you know what.

A new business has opened down the street from Nathans and we welcome them to the block. It's called Rugby, and while operated by a couple of darling Australians it is owned by RALPH LAUREN. It's his challenge to the Abercrombie franchise and for me, as the parent of a teen, it's a needed addition to the neighborhood. One thing we don't have in Georgetown is teen action, and Rugby should change that, if at a price. It is a clothing store AND burger cafe, a stylish and trendy and more "mature" version of Five Guys or Johnny Rockets. It helps a lot that it is on the way to and from the Loews multiplex. Let's hope it catches on, because that space, once occupied by Houston's and then a dubious effort called The Wine Bar, needs some stability.

At Nathans we're celebrating the arrival of our panini machine, and by this time next week you will be able to come to the bar and enjoy one of three yummy types of panini: a breakfast panini, a Cuban or a vegetable panini. As they catch on we hope to add more versions to the menu.

Now I'm off to swallow a bottle of Prilosec and hope for the best...

LATER...the whole town was out at RFK tonight for the Nats-Yankees game, which unfortunately did not go our way. I was at Ray's The Steaks on Wilson Blvd, which did go my way: amazing grilled shrimp, unbelievable scallops, heavenly filet mignon that hit the tongue like beef flavored butter; mashers, mushrooms, creamed spinach, key lime pie, strawberries and cream. And I wonder why I've gained 5 pounds in the last month. That MICHAEL LANDRUM is one clever chef and restaurant owner. He's also his own man and takes no S*** from anyone. There are some people who want to put us in business together. Who knows? I obviously know little about the day I'm in and even less about tomorrow.

THURSDAY, JUNE 15...Got a report this morning from the host for this website. It's a weekly report, detailing hits and so forth. The best news of all is that last Friday we reached 1,116 unique visitors. It slipped back down to 675, but has been hovering between 5-something and 6-something for a while. Yesterday 723 individuals read this page. Whoever you are, thank you. After all, who needs reality TV when there's this diary. One day on the inside at Nathans is enough reality for almost anyone.

Later...I'm going to try to stop bitching about things. Yeah, yeah, you say, good luck on that. Seriously. I've thought about it all day and realize the tension of the past few weeks has robbed me of my equanimity. I'm seeing life through a glass anxiously if not darkly. I'm human. I envy the happy people. I yearn not to have to rassle with the DC government to survive, or to have the uncertainty of a lease as a constant. But I know we all have something, even, I suppose in some way, BILL GATES, who announced today he will step back from day-to-day duties at Microsoft.

Also, with the recent challenges facing Nathans, life has felt like being in a pinball game made of bonfires. I don't get anything done. Little bits here and there, but no solid chunks of time devoted to one project. I really want to focus on the re-do of the front room. I love that project. And to booking guests for the fall season of The Q&A Cafe, another project I love. Today I got positive responses from GEORGE STEVENS and PAT BUCHANAN. The forward motion stuff like that energizes. It's what we need more of.

And then there's my campaign for ANC, which has had to take a side seat if not a back seat for the moment. Next week, short of a conflagration, it gets my full attention. I have done up my campaign postcard and only have to get it down to Kinko's and printed, and then get it handed out door to door.

I went to the opening of the new "Bellini, Giorgione, Titian" exhibition at The National Gallery of Art (it's there till September and you MUST see it). I lingered before one work by GIOVANNI GIROLOMO SAVOLDO, "The Torments of Saint Anthony." First of all, like all the paintings, it is extraordinary. It shows him tormented by demons, the fires of hell, and trying with all he's got to flee to a tranquil pastoral landscape. His prayer is, "When you think about God, let your habit be like wings to fly above the sea of fire."

Tomorrow's Friday, isn't it? Thank God for that.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 14...Got through another tough day. There are people to thank. Always, to begin, JON MOSS, who is my rock. We're back and forth with each other throughout the day on this one. "Have you heard anything?" "No, have you." "Ok, I'll send anther email." "Here's what I've written. Whaddya think? Is it ok?" "If that doesn't get their attention, nothing will." "Ok, who can we call? Who else should we call?" And SCHANNETTE GRANT in JACK EVANS office, his chief of staff, who we contact ALL the time, and who does not give up the good fight, and Jack, too, of course, and NELSON DECKELBAUM, giving advice from the sidelines, and always BLACK OP, who is running a lonely battle on another front. We do not know whether we'll win, but we've finally reached the stage where we're talking to the boss of bosses. We may lose (God, I hope not), but at least we took our case to the toppest most possible place to be heard. Now we wait with voodoo and chanting and simple hope.

Speaking of the biz, today I read about friends from long, long ago, NABIL KASSIR and EDMUND RUFFIN, who have had an epic time as masters of the entertaining night in Virginia Beach. I first went to their clubs, and met them, when I was 15. Back then there was nothing for a teenager that could outrank the excitement of going to their dance club "Peabody's." In fact, one of my first boyfriends played the saxaphone in the club band, "The Joker's Wild." To us little kids, Nabil and Ed were the coolest cats in town. We thought they walked on water. Nabil was even more exotic to us because he was from a place called Iraq. At the dentist's office today I picked up a magazine called "Virginia," and there inside was a marvelous piece about Virginia Beach and them and it brought me up to date on their lives since 1968, when I last knew them.

Now that i've inherited a bar, I think of them. What would we do without magazines in doctors' offices? How many times, thumbing through them, do you find something about an old acquaintance, or a recipe you'd been looking for since two years ago, or the place to rent the perfect cabin on the mountain by the lake at the price that makes sense, or the name of the little restaurant you heard about from someone but could not remember the details? I'm always finding good stuff like that while waiting in waiting rooms. Ever since Washingtonian did a piece on the Q&A Cafe I still get email asking to be on the mailing list. I'm certain these come from people who pickup old Washingtonian's on the pile in a doctor's office, which is very cool.

EARLIER...At times like these songs play in my head. Lyrics like, "it's a a hard knock life," from Annie, or "I get knocked down, get up again, you're never gonna keep me down," from Chumbawumba. How many times have I danced to that alone late at night in the back room of Nathans? It could be the anthem of my inheritance.

Anyway, got through yesterday. Got nowhere but got through it. Wrote a pleading, begging, groveling letter to the OTR. Practically offered to crawl up anybody's pant leg who would help. But as I wrote yesterday it takes a village to save a restaurant, and the public has been awesome. Lots of people showed up yesterday afternoon to watch the soccer games. And then I got an email from a friend offering to spot me whatever money we need to survive the ax. Can you imagine? For me it was one of those "It's a Wonderful Life" moments that seem to come with owning my husband's saloon.

I have conflicted feelings, of course. I've always lived such a straight up life. Personally, I pay my taxes on time, try to avoid debt, and keep my accounts almost too squeaky clean. I'm little miss goody two shoes. I've worked hard, accomplished a lot, had great success in my other career. I never thought my professional life would be about begging bureaucrats for favors or needing to take money from friends. It's really a pathetic place to be, and there's no class that teaches you how to handle this moment. You try to hold your head high and "think about tomorrow," and clutch tight the lottery ticket with what you know are losing numbers. And laugh. The most important ingredient to survival is laughing as often as possible and usually at one's own self.

And here's the irony. Last night dear HENRY VON EICHEL and I went to a new restaurant named Agraria down on the waterfront. It's got super buzz. The people are very well-meaning and nice, but even they will admit it's having if not growing pains then at least opening pains. We had the sweetest waiter, JEFF ALEXANDER, who dropped Henry's martini on me. Yes, ON me. My scent became eau du Miller's Gin. But it was his first night and he handled the mishap with charm. And the restaurant bought us our very good bottle of Beaux Freres pinot noir, and also offered to pay for the dry cleaning of my brand new dress. Still, the place is an expensive if well-meaning comedy of errors, or at least last night it was. The chef has quit, after only two weeks on the job, and the service is bumpitybumpbump. There are friendly managers circulating everywhere, doing what they've been hired to do, but still seeming a little perplexed in their Prada-esque suits. It reached a point where we, and friends at nearby tables, found humor in the experience. I said to Henry, "There is so much money being spent here." I'm not wildly fond of restaurants that look like they should be in South Beach when they are not in South Beach, but this decor easily cost millions. The glassware and tableware and even the high gloss business cards all cost bundles of money. They have three managers on the floor and each has to be pulling down at least $35 or 40 thou a year, not to mention the payroll in the kitchen. But the owners, wherever they are - I'm told on farms in Minnesota - missed the point of why people come to restaruants. THEY COME TO EAT. All that other stuff is just hooey if a restaruant can't get the food cooked and on the table. Henry said none of it mattered because "they have the money to go on for years." It should be noted that when we got our food, my pasta was fresh house made pasta and very good. I cleaned my plate. But we went to Leopold's for dessert.

Of course, most of what I was feeling was envy.

At Nathans (where we can spill drinks, too) we have one manager on the floor, we print our business cards at Kinko's, our money came from my savings account and its empty, the staff uniforms are form Costco, I do the decorating, and we're in our own version of near collapse. If only I had Agragia's good fortune. On departure, I told Jeff if it doesn't work out for him at Agraria to come work for me at Nathans.

TUESDAY, JUNE 13... Gorgeous day on the outside, dying on the inside. The city handed us a devastating blow this morning. We have been trying to negotiate terms for getting some past due property tax paid by the deadline of July 12. It is our '05 property tax, which was difficult to get covered for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was we were still in recovery mode from the big dig on M Street - which caused profits to plummet while taxes stayed the same. Last summer, if you were reading here and remember, was one in which we were still paying bills from the previous winter. We nearly crashed, but didn't. Our property taxes are huge and cover the entire building, even though we use only the main floor and the basement. The only room in the building that makes any profit is the bar. So that one room, our sweet bar, pays for the whole show: taxes, rent, salaries, insurance and so forth. We get it done, but it is a monumental struggle that would be familiar to small business owners who aren't in a chain or corporate family. The thing that's wonderful and horrible about Nathans is that we are all we've got. We are independent and make our own way. We take care of ourselves. It's the way America was built.

To show our good faith to the city we scrambled and scrounged and came up with half the past due tax and got it to them over the past couple of weeks. We're talking many thousands of dollars. JON MOSS worked his butt off getting it organized and even went downtown to OTR twice to work with them. We promised to get the bulk of the other half of the money to them by the deadline of July 12, if they would cut us some slack. I pointed out I employ 55 tax-paying individuals and that Nathans paid at least $250,000 in sales tax last year. And we pay our federal taxes. So this morning I got the email saying OTR won't help us out. Not only that, they say they have no record of our payments. (Don't worry. We have the receipts.) What this means is almost certain collapse unless we do October-level business over the next few weeks, which hardly happens in late June and early July. Thanks to the World Cup we're doing okay, but summer is typically a killer for us.

Remember, I started ths diary to give readers a chance to be inside the every day goings on in the life of a saloon owner. Well, this is what it's like. Warts and all. Fun on the ground floor, agony in the basement office. A packed bar, but man-eating taxes and rent. I don't give up. I haven't given up yet and I don't plan to give up today, either. Somehow I will work this out, with the help of friends, lawyers, people we know in the city government, and anybody I can find who knows how to do voodoo.

LATER: Operatic thank-yous to the Findaro family, who wrote to say they will celebrity their son Pat's graduation at Nathans. That's how a village saves a saloon.

MONDAY, JUNE 12...Georgetown has a lot of amazing homes. So many of them look rather subdued from the front and then inside it is one glorious surprise after another. Last night, we saw the mother of all Georgetown house surprises. We went to a party at the newly renovated home of a young man who has a wildly successful tech business, but if someone said the home belongs to Jack Bauer or James Bond or P. DIDDY I would not be in doubt. It's immaculately rehabilitated with a lot of its 19th century details beautifully preserved. But then there's the button that once pushed causes a floor to lift up and reveal a secret staircase down to what appears to be a wine cellar, which it is. It's a handsome wine cellar that any collector would covet. But within the wine cellar is a false wall that leads to a secret door that goes to a subterranean master computer/control room. Ostensibly it is the "brains" of the house, but it looks like it could also be a missile launch control bunker.

Back upstairs it's one good room after another, and every room has at least one flat panel TV, wired audio, good art, great floors, walls done to an artful finish, especially the dining room with French glazed plaster. Hello? Who in Georgetown does that anymore?

One floor has a cozy bar with a huge fireplace that in its attention to quality and detail rivals any mainstream old school saloon. Adjacent to it is a compact and seductively quiet (from the outside world) screening room with a 60 or 70 inch screen and huge stuffed leather reclining seats. Not far from the screening room is a large room for pool and poker ... each game with its own table. This is the room with two flat panel TVs.

For all the goodies below, Spencer and I both loved the rooftop "playpen." A large space kitted out with chaises, a hot tub, a wall length grill/bar/kitchen set up, an embedded giant flat panel TV, wired music and a panoramic view of the nation's capital that trumps all others. Maybe I was seduced in part by the apricot, amber and rose sunset. Gives new meaning to the lyrics, "up on the roof." But that's where I'd be.

Trust me, from the outside none of this shows, which is what makes certain Georgetown homes such a sweet surprise.


SUNDAY, JUNE 11...Whenever administration officials or generals say, as I they did today, that the Iraqi forces are or will be in charge and that the U.S. "is providing support," it sounds like when anybody says the DC government is in charge here and the feds only provide support. That's a funny one. They must think the American public are a band of fools.

After hearing this morning that Washingtonian Magazine publisher PHILIP MERRILL very likely fell off his sailboat and drowned in the Chesapeake Bay, we turned off the news, got in the car and went for a long drive. Since our car's in the shop and we have a loaner and NO GPS we got lost, but ended up in lush Virginia at Gunston Hall. It is the 18th century museum home of GEORGE MASON, a framer of the U.S. Constitution. The house and decor are well preserved, but especially impressive is the pebbled path lined with ancient English boxwood, some with trunks as thick as a fire hydrant. We also enjoyed stopping for a while in the colonial kitchen as the cooks pulled together the ingredients for a sumptuous Sunday supper of roasted chicken with vegetables, fresh strawberries with hand-cranked vanilla ice cream using the recipe THOMAS JEFFERSON brought back from France. The smells were insanely good. I thought I would faint.

We meandered along the road and landed in Occoquan, which is small and quaint, though a little "cutsie" for me, but not without merit. There are a few cafes on the water, but a lot of work is being done and the views are obscured by cranes, heavy loaders and so forth. Most of the food seemed to be fudge, ice cream, cookies, coffee and more fudge and ice cream.

We started to follow signs that said "north" and arrived in, I think, Vienna and stopped at Dave's Famous Barbecue, where we enjoyed good ribs, chopped pork and chicken. It's a chain and the theme, expressed well inside, is Minnesota lumberjack.

Home now, counting the hours down to the launch of the new season of "Entourage," which sometimes makes me want to date men half my age, and other times not.

SATURDAY, JUNE 10...What an incredibly lovely day. To do: take lots of walks. Hang out with friends in the back yard. Swim. Think about those stuck on crowded beaches. Be happy you are wherever you are. Plan dinner with family or friends or both. Grill vegetables, salmon, steak on the Weber, or simply dial 338.2000 and make a reservation for Nathans. Ask to speak to Hockley or Dylan. You'll be well taken care of. Afterward, take a walk down by the waterfront and appreciate the new Swedish Embassy.


FRIDAY, JUNE 9...For this household, school ended today. Which means waking at 5:30 in the morning ended, too. Remember what it felt like to be FREE for the summer? My gosh. This vast empty canvas to fill with fun and foolishness and friends. Time at the pool, time at the beach, time on my bicycle, time with a best friend talking about boys, time with boys, time doing absolutely nothing. I don't think teenagers have that luxury of time anymore. They have camps and little jobs and school trips, sports practice and often some classes. It's rush, rush, rush to get through the summer, to get back to work. As a teenager I wanted summer to last forever. Even as an adult. But once I inherited Nathans my relationship with summer changed. Summer, like winter, is a cruel time. Customers go away, though we have been seeing a slight upturn that JON MOSS attributes to gas prices. Can that be? I'll take the business. We need it.

Nonetheless, as Nathans owner, I find myself personally wanting summer to last forever but professionally wanting it to end tomorrow.

My son has graduated from 8th grade, from Middle School, and will begin high school in the fall. It's a big transition. Schools these days also make a big deal out of the transition, having formal "graduation" ceremonies as the children leave middle school. In my day, you just went from one school to another with no fanfare. I barely remember the occasion, though I was thrilled about high school because our school was brand new and had been set up to be the model for the county and the state. It was state of the art in every way. All of us felt a lot of pride. But it didn't last long. Ours was the era of the Kennedy assasination, both of them, the murder of Martin Luther King, the Vietnam war. Protest was the norm. About 15 years after the school opened a group of students set it on fire. The damage was extensive and when it was rebuilt and re-opened they changed the name and made it, ironically, into a middle school.

A few years ago I took Spencer there for a visit. Oddly, the hallways, lockers and classrooms were as I remembered them. Even the cafeteria and the auditorium. So familiar I could hear the echoes of my childhood. Spencer found the place "old and creepy." Of course. I showed him a plaque on the wall that commemorated when it was the school I knew it to be, when it was the jewel in the crown. Then I drove him down the road to the neighborhood service station to meet the boy who gave me my first kiss, which, by the way, happened on a summer's day.

These kinds of memories can help but return when school ends and summer begins.

THURSDAY, JUNE 8...Dinner tonight at the Ritz with MICHELLE BACHELET, President of Chile, Sen. HILLARY CLINTON, RUTH BADER GINSBURG, GEENA DAVIS, JEANE KIRKPATRICK, and about 200 other women, who gathered to welcome Bachelet back to Washington on an official state visit. (Remember when Presidents used to give White House dinners for visiting heads of state?) Madame Bachelet lived in Bethesda years ago, before losing her father, before becoming a political prisoner, before a career working her way through the highly charged, and macho, socialist political maze of her country. When we met I asked her where she went to school when she lived here. "Wood Acres," she said brightly. I was the date of my pal VPW, and we were guests of a congresswoman, and included at a VIP reception, where we spent most of our time talking to DEE DEE MYERS and DANA PRIEST. The dinner was women only. VPW said, "I really like that for a change." I said, "Only a married person could make that statement." What I liked about it was it meant I didn't have to wear make-up, or fuss with my hair, though I did wear a dress and so forth, even though most of the women were in suits. VPW and I were among the few women NOT wearing black. Where fashion is concerned, this town is the dreariest place."

Anyway, between the Chilean sea bass appetizer and the dessert of flan and cookies, specifically during the speech by Sen. Clinton, I had a revelation. DAVID CHASE uses Hillary as the inspiration for Carmella Soprano. Somewhere, at some level, as some kind of muse, Hillary has to be in his head as he writes Carmella. Think about it. BILL CLINTON is Tony Soprano in terms of being the boss, the "private" life and outsize personality and body and "family" of soldiers who do his bidding, though in Clinton's case the mafia are mostly sycophantic men and fawning women. But Carmella is inching her way out from his shadow. She is one strong, purposeful woman, who could ultimately hold all the marbles.

As Hillary spoke I could hear women whispering -- because "mean girls" is not an age-specific personality type - "where are Bill and Belinda?"

Footnote: Hillary had cleavage. She was not in her uniform of open collared, jewel-colored blouse and dark jacket. She wore a lovely pale blue jacket with a slight gold necklace AND NO BLOUSE. I guess for her it's a blouse during daytime and no blouse after dark, but it doesn't matter; it was flattering.

EARLIER...This is probably not sane, but I sleep with a radio plugged into my ear. It's usually tuned to WCBS or WTOP or some other news radio station. So this morning quite early when it broke that ABU MUSAB AL-ZARQAWI had been killed in Iraq it jolted me awake. This was approximately 3 a.m., and my sleep was sporadic until dawn as I listened to the unfolding coverage. My first thought was of the families who lost loved ones to the will of this Al-Qaida leader. God knows he was the enemy of our soldiers and other Americans in Iraq and Iraqis who were not his followers. In terms of war he had to die. It is one in the win column for the so-called "war on terror." But even though the troops who killed him had a significant success, for me there's no feeling of victory or relief. Another zealot will take his place. The threat to our troops is no less. The war goes on. The only news that would make me feel relief and a sense of victory would be the immediate withdrawal of our troops from Iraq. Until then, we will continue the killing Iraqi insurgents and shamefully sacrificing our own young men and women.

People seem shocked by reports that Al-Zarqawi's family and followers are celebrating his death and calling him a martyr. Yes, the virginis in paradise and all that. It's disgusting, but it's how they make us crazy.

The other news on my mind was the report that RICK KAPLAN resigned as president of MSNBC. Rick appeared at the Q&A cafe last year and I asked him if his job was secure. He said it was and would be into the future. Ah, the future, it has arrived. Rick is a friend of many, many years. He is a large man with a large personality and ideas and talent to match. He will surface someplace interesting. He always does. If you would like to listen to the interview it is availble at SOUNDTRACKS.

The Georgetown Current landed on our doorsteps yesterday without the story about the ANC race. Hmmm. I sent an email to the reporter asking if it had been postponed, which I assume. I have not heard back yet.

Last night I went to Washington Life's 15th birthday party at the Kuwaiti Embassy. As you know, WL publishes excerpts from the Q&A Cafe at Nathans each month. The party was impressive, if too, like, social for me. In situations like that I yearn to be invisible. Not possible so instead I nibbled on the delicious buffet of Middle Eastern foods. I did have a nice chat with CHRISTOPHER HITCHENS about making an encore appearance at Nathans. Saw some other friends, too, but ducked out early to meet Spencer at lacrosse try-outs at Georgetown University. No desire to be invisible there.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7... Because people have asked, I wrote to ANC chief commissiioner ED SOLOMON to find out whether voters could cast absentee ballots in the June 27th election. Here is the answer:
"There is no provision for absentee ballots in ANC special elections. The law requires the candidate to be selected by a vote of those at an ANC meeting. The ballots have to be counted at the meeting and the winner announced there."

I wrote back, "Ugh." This makes it more challenging for the candidates because the election is only a week before July 4th, a time when a lot of people take their summer holiday. Nonetheless, I will do my best to lure District 06 residents from their air-conditioned homes, out into the steamy evening and to Christ Church for an undoubtedly exciting ANC meeting. And, if I'm so fortunate to win, a victory party TBA. How's that for a bribe? Next I'll be offering massages at the Four Seasons, a new pair of shoes from Sassanova, and a year's worth of pancakes at Furin's.

TUESDAY, JUNE 6...So many agitations this morning. Where to begin? The argument about gay marriage? Give me a break. Who cares? If gays want to marry, let them marry. Or, better, if we're going to care this much about something, or if our "leaders" are to care this much about something, maybe they should focus instead on the lunacy they unleashed in Iraq, or the lunacy that may be unleashed in Iran, or the new head of the Fed, who seems to be making market lunacy. And while on the subject of lunacy, who crated ANN COULTER? I'd never heard the woman before this morning, when I caught a moment on the Today show, and what a load of nonesense she is. Seriously. She's an amalgam of all the buttons a media whore can push to grab air time. Her act is coarse, shallow, and spewed mainly to rile earnest interviewers like MATT LAUER, who are accustomed to pablum from their guests. She gets credit for cleverly manipulating the media beast, but geez, what a waste of air time and our time. But back to gay marriage. Does it make a difference to the fate of our world? I don't think it makes a difference to a lot of gays, except in the realm of self-respect. I ask gay friends if they would marry, and most say "no." Still, they would like to have the same rights as every other tax paying, hard working, God fearing American adult.

I've been polling republican friends lately and almost to a one they are over GEORGE BUSH. They assume the GOP will lose the House in the mid-terms, and just barely hold onto the Senate. Ironically they believe the only good happening to their party these days is HILLARY CLINTON. Why? They say, "because she will drive voters to our side and quite possibly JOHN MCCAIN."

Wouldn't this be nice: a serious, credible candidate for president who vows to start the US troop withdrawal from Iraq the moment he is sworn into office. Also, a commitment to run the country rather than use the country to carry out personal family vendettas. Does this person exist?

Democrat friends believe Sen. Clinton has the nomination if she wants it but that she really doesn't want it, that she likes being a Senator, it appeals to the wonk in her personality, and she would rather stay in the Senate for many years to come.

All in one sequence this morning, a news program had a story about I.E.D's, as in "improvised explosive devices," as employed in Iraq, and then a story about "intermittent explosive disorder," also known as IED, that excuses road rage as a disease, followed by an ad for IED, as in "intermittent erectile dysfunction."

In a word: lunacy. I think it has to do with the date, 6/6/06, and the Devil.


MONDAY, JUNE 5...We're delighted with a write up at mediabistro.com that focuses on the Q&A lunches. You can read it at the highlighted link above.

I've made an executive decision to re-do Nathans front room, otherwise known as "the bar." It's had a sailing decor for 20 years and while attractive and of high quality it is time for a change. It's my secret what the new theme will be, but it's a good one; timely and fresh. (As timely and fresh as the re-do of the dining room with DAVID HUME KENNERLY's political photos.) However, first I need to do some things. I need to sell the nautical art. Most of the prints are from limited editions. The charts are antique. The half hulls of the America's cup boats were commissioned by Howard from a fellow in Seattle who specializes in the making of half hulls. In other words, it's all good stuff. I could take it to auction and do well, but not having cash flow, I'd benefit more from a bulk sale to an individual. This way the sale of the old theme could pay for the new theme. If you know of anyone who is a collector, or a yacht club looking for new acquisitions, have them get in touch with me: carol@nathansgeorgetown.com.

Also, I need to find a painter who can give the bar a couple of new coats between when the yachts come down and the new stuff goes up. This means a crew of 2-3 painters who can come in and work after closing and part of the next day. I can't close for very long, but I can close for a morning and afternoon. I would like to do the painting in August. Most likely late August. We're deader than Kelso's nuts that time of year, anyway. I'd also like to find someone to refinish the teak floor, but that's a big project and we may not be able to close for the time it would take to do it properly.

School is almost out and in our household this is a finish line we can't wait to reach. Oh, to be able to sleep past 5:30 in the morning. I can't wait. The dog will wake me at 7 regardless, but 7 sounds a whole lot better than 5:30 a.m.

REGINA LEE at The Georgetown Current phoned again today with a few more questions pertaining to the ANC race. Once again I was barely coherent, but I did my best. On one subject I was clear, and that was the Bowie-Sevier mansion owned and renovated by HERB and PATRICE MILLER. To me that's a perfect example of good preservaton. They took an old gem that needed love and attention and lots of $$$$ - gave it all of that - and when they were finished they opened the doors wide to the community. If a local group needed to raise money, Patrice let them use her house. If they needed an encore, she graciously obliged.

I can't wait to see Regina's piece. I may have to hide for a few days, but we'll all survive.

Sad to have the Sopranos wrap up their season last night, and while the show had good moments it felt mostly like setting the stage for the next and, we're told, final season. All through the show I thought Chrissie was gonna get popped, but no. We'll have to wait for next seaon. And for now I'll have to content myself with Entourage, which is not difficult at all. I love that show. Adore it. Reminds me of my life when I was writing the CBS Evening News for W. Cronkite. It was the 70's, me and my posse were all young, unemcumbered, overpaid and on top of the world. Everyone should have a taste of that at least once before settling down.

SUNDAY, JUNE 3...If you still have the Sunday NYTimes and haven't read the magazine section, grab it and read the piece by MARK BITTMAN about celebrity chefs and their multiple restaurants. That is if you like the occasional splurge in a great restaurant, which I do when time and $$$ allow. The point of this piece is that when we dine at a particular chef's restaurant, and pay sometimes upwards of $300 for dinner for two, we would like the chef to be in the kitchen. It's sort of like wanting to know a pilot is flying the plane rather than a robot. Not that the "acting" chefs in the clones aren't good chefs. In fact, many of them are great chefs. But they are great chefs doing a culinary version of paint by the numbers, or another man's recipes. I would rather they were opening their own one-off places, whipping up their own creations, so there would be more restaurants with the chef/owner in the kitchen. I'm not a fan of chains to start with, and I've never believed it is possible for a chef to replicate his or her particular genius when he's not the one doing the cooking.

But that's me. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But read the piece: Dining By Satellite.

This is what else is on my mind today: vichyssoise. One of the world's great soups and, like so many great things, brilliant in its simplicity. The farmer's market this morning had gorgeous potatoes, leeks, onions. We in DC are so fortunate to have such a good outdoor market available to us on Sunday mornings. And at this time of year the produce begins to get better and better. Also, I'm addicted to the sesame cookies sold by one of the bakery stands.

But tonight is Italian night in our house, as we prepare to say goodbye to Tony again for too long a time. My plan is to make goat's cheese raviolis and a classic marinara sauce. For the salad it will be pecorino on argula with sliced pear. We'll have grissini and prosciutto and Sicilian olives, also. I got beautiful fresh strawberries at the farmer's market and will either douse them with a little balsamic vinegar or make a strawberry zabaglione. We think this is a meal Tony would like.

And for Sopranos fans who want to mingle with other Sopranos fans in Georgetown, please note that on Sunday nights the HD TV at Nathans is dedicated to the show at 9 pm. Many fans have taken to gathering in the bar, eating fresh house made pasta, and watching the show. It's a wonderful thing and Dylan gets credit for making it happen. So, be there tonight.

I've been stopped twice today by would be constituents who want to know if they can vote in the ANC race by absentee ballot. I don't know but I intend to find out first thing in the morning. I will put the info up here. But it seems that it should be possible. Why would this election be different than any other, apart from the fact it is a special election? The voting factors should remain the same as in a normal election. (What could be normal about this if I'm running?)

We had a marvelous getaway yesterday to the Hunt Valley region north of Baltimore - Maryland's horse country. Lovely. Incredibly lovely. We were in Monckton and various areas nearby. Looping, twisting two lane roads, horse farms, hills and valleys, gorgeous views, and a roadside barbecue stand where the fellas offered sliced turkey, ham or beef fresh off the grill. What a treat. I would like to return to hike in Gunpowder Falls State Park.

Last night Spencer and I had dinner with a friend at Nathans. The room was brimming with families celebrating one graduation or another. There were family members of all ages, lots of presents, lots of posing for photos, and many smiles on the faces of proud parents. This is when owning a restaurant is an up rather than a down.

FRIDAY, JUNE 2...Nerve wracking is the only way to describe what it's like to be interviewed about one's own self. Our local paper of record, The Georgetown Current, interviewed me today about the ANC race and my positions. This is tough and I commend politicians who can deftly sail through these sorts of things. My problem is this: I don't have all the answers. I'm not comfortable pretending I do. When I'm asked what makes me preferable to the other candidates, I don't know what to say that doesn't sound like jive. What I did say was, "I'm not going negative. This is the ANC." Then I was asked what would make me better at preservation issues than the other candidates. I stalled on this because it depends on so much. It's one thing to weigh a small back porch addition and another to weigh a fundamental change in the fabric of a 'hood. Do I think a developer should be able to take some nice houses on Avon Place and re-do them as a subdivision? No. But you see, that's me reacting to the rumor racing around Georgetown. I haven't heard the legal arguments made to the ANC and other boards. Should he be able to re-do another house as an apartment building with underground parking? That doesn't appeal to me, either. Honestly, I think people who want to do those sorts of things in Georgetown should instead move to McLean or Potomac.

Anway, what I did say was that Howard and I had been collectors, and that as homeowners we took a particular interest in keeping our homes true to their environment, and that I'd made films for the NGA and worked with them. Does this make me a preservationist? Not on the technicalities, but I'm comfortable with the language and know what the supplicants are talking about. I said, "I have good taste. I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of." It's subjective, I know, but it's better than no taste. That could come back to haunt me. Anyone who see's me walking the streets in my "trying to be invisible" wardrobe would question my taste. Maybe I should have said I have a good eye, but that makes me sound like a decorator.

The interviewer, Regina, said most people consider preservation the key issue in the race. I disagreed. I said it's important, but equally important are issues like safety and security, quality of life. I applauded my neighbors the Penns for forming a community group to focus on crime issues. We need more house to house involvement in crime prevention. As for quality of life, I brought up parking and temporary passes. The latter should be easier for residents to obtain. Zone 2 sticker holders should be able to own a temp pass. An ANC could hammer out the appropriate details of that sort of thing. Also, as I said yesterday, we should first get a warning rather than a $50 ticket when our zone or inspection sticker expires, with 48 hours to get it done. Life is hectic. Maybe we innocently missed the deadline. (I'm raising my hand.) The city notifies us about the zone sticker, but not about inspection. Why one and not the other? The condition of the streets is a quality of life issue. Trash collection, too. We'll never have street cleaners again, but wouldn't it be nice if businesses were required to hose down the sidewalks each morning? It would make a difference.

I said I'm "for" things more than being a person who has an axe to grind. I want to bring positive energy to the process of community government.

Regina brought up the issue of my owning a business - particularly a restaurant - and would that make me come down hard on other restaurants. Hello? Long before I inherited Nathans I ate in restaurants. In fact, loved eating in restaurants. Still do. My opinions of restaurants have nothing to do with owning Nathans. What I said was, "I am first a resident and then a business owner. I am running as a resident, not a business owner. I was a resident before owning Nathans and I will be a resident after owning Nathans. Also, I am a grown up, mature, and hope to be able to weigh issues involving restaurants and other businesses with fairness, research, good judgment." Or words to that effect. Bottom line: I don't want to be judged by my husband's business. It was his profession, not mine. I am the caretaker, and it is the only means I have to support myself and my son. Judge me on that, if I have to be judged re Nathans. But, BS aside, my assessment of restaurants is simple. It's the same as my assessment of any other businesses: are they good for Georgetown? We need more good, family friendly bistros like Chaumiere and Le Pic and Leopolds. And more good deli's that make honest, wholesome food. And I wish we had more home delivery of good food. And I miss Neam's to this day. And why did West End get Trader Joe's? Why isn't Trader Joe's in the basement of Georgetown Park mall, drawing more residents into that building? I would be FOR a good grocery at Georgetown Park, like the awesome Gourmet Garage in New York.

I didn't stop with The Georgetown Current, though I probably should have. This afternoon I got a phone call from the Washington Times asking for my reaction to a new FDA statement that restaurants should reduce portions in order to help fight obesity in Americans. What did I think, she asked? Well, obesity is bad, just like smoking. Do restaurants cause obesity? Maybe. There's evidence the fast food chains that specialize in "super size" portions can play a role in obesity. At Nathans we don't super size. Our portions are reasonable. Even then, people don't clean their plates. I hate waste. I'm always on someone about keeping portions down to what people actually eat. But obesity? I think it's caused by what people between between their visits to normal restaurants. She asked if I thought we should put nutrition information on menus. As a mom I think it's a good idea. Do customers want it? No way. They want it at the supermarket but they don't want it up in their faces when they go out and spend $100 for dinner. Two years ago I had staff put the alcohol content of wines on the wine list - because I'm alarmed at the rate at which it is rising from 12.5 to 13.5 to 14 and 15.5 and higher. I thought this was a great service to customers - to let them know how much alcohol they were ingesting. But NO. THEY DIDN'T LIKE IT. They didn't want to know. I think they would feel the same way about nutritional information.

Anyway ... I've decided it's time to shut my mouth for 24 or 48 or 72 hours. Enough of me. I'm sick of me, too.


THURSDAY, JUNE 1...A big thrill for this lacrosse family tonight because we were among those invited to the Tewaaraton Trophy awards dinner here in Washington. The Tewaaraton is for college lacrosse what the Heismann is for college football. There was a reception at the University Club followed by dinner and the awards ceremony at the National Geographic Society headquarters. Most of the nation's top lacrosse players were in the room, including college and major league, plus coaches, team owners, parents, supporters, investors and fans of the game. For a sport that feels somewhat on the ropes in the wake of the Duke scandal this was a welcomed opportunity to acknowledge and celebrate the up side. As a lax mom it was fun to watch my son get to meet some of his favorite players and other stars of the sport. It was a true perk and we're grateful to PAT MCARDLE of Georgetown University, who is on the Tewaaraton Foundation board. I particularly enjoyed talking with MATT WARD, who played such a terrific game Monday in the NCAA finals, when his team, the University of Virginia, won the title. No surprise that he won the Tewaaraton this evening out of a field of five finalists. I asked what his temmates did Mondy after the victory and he said, "we had a tailgate party." Then they crashed. Many of the players had to hustle up to Connecticut for the major league draft, which was yesterday. Matt will play for the Baltimore Bayhawks.

We met Bayhawks owner JEFFREY HARVEY this evening, also. Since Washington does not have a team, the Bayhawks are our team...though I'm partial, also, to the New Jersey Pride, where JESSE HUBBARD is one of the stars.

From the awards we returned to Georgetown. I had an appointment at Christ Episcopal Church, where I got to do an encore interview with JAMES CANNON about his book, "The Apostle Paul." This was fun for me and a privilege.

EARLIER...This is not news. I've been on hold with US Airways for 30 minutes, trying to find a way to use some of my bazillion F/F miles. Of course, nothing is available to anywhere. At least, anywhere I or you or anyone would want to go. Oh, maybe the West Indies in late August, the height of hurricane season when the tradewinds stop and the monster mosquitoes take charge. "What about the Star Alliance members?" I ask, showing my innocence. "Oh, nothing available with them, either," the agent assures me. Sigh. I think it's just another sign that this is the summer to not do much of anything. Called back and got another agent, another wait (this time only 15 minutes) and he was able to offer one option to Paris that exceeded even my bazillion miles. But he perked up, "You know, you should call back after June 9. That's when everything changes after we merge with America West. There will be all kinds of flights. That's really when you should call." I said, "Ha, maybe someone should have told me that 45 minutes ago." He said, "You're right, cause there's not really a lot we can do at this point." Double sigh.

MYRA MOFFETT, my campaign manager, and I walked our dogs this morning as usual. We came to a corner house near Rose Park with pretty gardens and tree boxes. There were also many signs warning away pet owners and bicyclists. Like, "don't let your pet go here." And, "don't park your bike here or it will be removed." And so forth. Someone else left a note that said, "Hey, this is public property." And, "screw you." While we were standing there admiring the flowers - DOGS WELL AWAY FROM TREE BOX - a window flew open and a woman angrily shouted out, "get your dogs away from my tree boxes." We assured her they were not in her tree boxes. "Yes, they are. Get away." Dutifully we hustled on. Myra said, "Can you imagine. All day she must have to keep watch at her window." I said, "you know, if I won the ANC and that person came before the commission I would probably say, 'You're obviously miserable here. Why not move to another neighborhood.'" But, as a politician, would I be able to be that honest?

I do believe there should be more dog bags and trash cans on the village streets. Also, I believe in pets' rights. While the tree boxes are important and deserve respect, especially the ones that are carefully tended, it shouldn't be assumed that all pets are messing in them and that all pet owners are allowing the trespess. And is it even a trespass? I wonder. It's a courtesy, more than anything. The pets make our lives richer and the little darlings have to be permitted to go SOMEWHERE.