With tears, leaving DC. Hannah, just breathe… Excerpt: When I flew back to D.C. on Sunday, I realized I was flying home, to this city, for the last time.
Responding to the Girl from the South’s farewell-to-DC post [see Monday's dcblogs post], lacochran’s bloggery writes: I’m happy that Dorothy and Girl from the South found their way home. I’m not trying to get home. I am home, flying monkeys and all.
It’s not so Quiet in the Stacks. It begins: The very first time I felt it, I was 14 weeks along. A bout of insomnia and hunger had driven me from bed at 1 a.m., and I found myself curled up in the armchair with the remote and a leftover egg roll. Suddenly, I stopped chewing and muted the television. It was so slight that I easily could have missed it, but there it was: a very faint knocking inside my belly. I waited, holding my breath.
For some insight into DC’s nightlife, see this online transcript of a chat with Joe Englert, described by the Washingtonian.com as pioneer in the revitalization of U Street.
Observations about the Nationals Stadium continue to roll in. why.i.hate.dc., which writes: Nationals Park has managed to surpass the 9:30 Club in extorting their captive customers out of their hard earned money. There is no excuse for $7.50 bottles of Miller Lite.