Some things everyone can agree on: an evening that begins at Russia House and ends at Recessions has been badly misconceived in at least one way. Fortunately, it was still pretty fun.

We were celebrating Kriston's emancipation from the working world, as he quits his glamorous cancer-research-editing lifestyle in favor of freelance writing. I know just how arduous it is to pursue a career from your couch and in pajamas, so I was ready to buy the guy a few condolence drinks.

Russia House was the plan — I'd been bugging folks to go for a while. Not because I enjoy being packed into a tiny, expensive space filled with preppies, tourists and aspiring Eurotrash. it's just that every guy wants to feel like James Bond. Or, failing that, he'd at least like to be treated like shit by a hot Russian girl (even if it's just the waitress). Russia House doesn't disappoint on either of these counts.

But we'd barely gotten through the vile infused vodka sampler before our numbers grew too large and we had to move. Brickskellar? Nah. In keeping with the places-we-don't-usually-go theme, we decided to head to Science Club. But it was mostly reserved for private parties, and its remaining corners were packed. Where to?

If you don't work around 19th and L you might not be familiar with Recessions. Let me get you up to speed: it's terrible. Located in the basement of an anonymous hotel, it's a drop-ceilinged, fake-stone abomination that may actually only exist in a 70s-themed parallel dimension. The prices are low and the staff is friendly, but as you sip your enormous Bud Light it's tough to escape the feeling that you're just there as cover for the guy who's cooking up a bucket full of heroin in back. Also, the internet jukebox seems to be connected to a different and considerably crappier internet than the one you and I are familiar with.

For a while and for reasons I can't explain Recessions was serving as EchoDitto's preferred happy hour destination. So it was nearby, I knew it, and Catherine wanted to see what all the complaining was about. So we descended into and onto Recessions.

I'm afraid that's pretty much it. We had a good time; Catherine took some photos. One word of warning to future patrons, though: when Catherine and I left, a little after midnight (we had to drive to the airport in about 4 hours), the bartender had to unlock the front door to let us out. I think you can count on the beer being cheap, but escape is far from guaranteed.

So, uh, I accidentally screwed up our RSS a while ago. Sorry about that. An effort to include the extended portion of entries ended up producing some incorrect XML. Everything should be better now (or shortly, depending on when FeedBurner reindexes us).

let me give you all a little piece of sage advice: NEVER, EVER, IF YOU CAN EVER HELP IT, MOVE. ESPECIALLY NOT THREE TIMES IN UNDER A YEAR. IT'S A LITTLE BIT OF A BITCH.

take that as you will. as i sit amidst the ruins of carboard boxes and stacked ceramic bowls on my bed pillow, which is the only surface available on which to exist vaguely comfortably, i am still thankful - because i have the awesomest dad ever. on father's day itself he flew with me to chicago and is helping me with this total mess, not to mention driving back with me tomorrow morning. i am a lucky lady.

i'm also thankful that my week in d.c. was kinda great. dinner at palena, drinks all over the city, sporting events, family time, boyfriend time, friend time - it was wonderful to be back, even if it was for a shorter period than i would have liked. i still have a few more days there next week, but come friday, i'm off to the ATL till september (d.c. visits will dot that time, of course.) pictures forthcoming of the most recent activities as soon as i've puttied the shit out of my walls.

UPDATE: puttying is strangely satisfying. especially on zero hours of sleep and a few red bulls. anyway, the flickr stream has been updated with some random shots.