Helmed by a wonderfully expressive Rene Auberjonois and a sparkling Nancy Robinette, this is one of the strongest ensembles I’ve seen at STC in a long time, with so many hysterical key moments for the cast it’s unfair to detail any in particular. But Auberjonois’ rendering of the hypochondriac Argan and Robinette’s saucy maid Toinette set the comic pace, playing off each other perfectly. A showpiece for the intimacy of the Lansburgh, it’s also exquisitely designed, with sets and costumes evoking the period without being slavish (Simon Higlett and Robert Perdziola respectively). Director Keith Baxter chose to reinstate the masques and commedia interludes that often get cut, with the result that audience members truly feel transported to Carnival 1673, right down to an appearance by Le Roi himself.

“The Imaginary Invalid” has the distinction of being the last play Moliere performed in, as he expired after the fourth showing. Written at the end of his struggle with tuberculosis, it contains a scathing indictment of the ignorance and arrogance of the medical profession of his time (with pertinent echoes to our own era’s uneasy dalliance between pharmaceutical companies, doctors, and their nervous boomer patients). And yet it is a supremely enjoyable piece - as all great comedy comes with a sting in its tail. Definitely worth it.

Thanks to a crippling mental block that led to hours of staring at blank vellum and obsessively sharpening pencils (yes, I need to get Illustrator), the plan failed. However, once I accepted my fate and gave in, my staycation became enjoyable and allowed me to reconnect with life in the city.

A few high points:

Two blissful hours at the National Capital YMCA. Something so relaxing about turning off your brain and focusing on the body. Working hard and then channeling your inner Viking in the sauna. Heaven.

Brunch at The Heights. The glory of the poached egg, the decadence of building your own Bloody Mary, all at a civilized pace on a sunny day. Walking around Columbia Heights was struck by how beautiful the mature trees are that line Kenyon Street, how many “For Sale” signs are out, how radically different the streetlife is from years before.

Grilling in Adams Morgan. A friend’s tranquil backyard, a wood-burning grill, lamb, bottles of red wine followed by homemade limoncello. A perfect evening, topped with smores.

Low point (well, nothing is perfect):

Drinks at Vinoteca. Hot, crowded, loud. I wish they would just give in to the actual wine BAR concept, busting out the bar pennisula to the main dining room and open up the entire space for drinks. Having everyone crammed into the narrow front space is just not appealing. Oh, and adding flamenco in the tiny front alcove, further cramping everyone in the bar while the dining room remained empty and open, not to mention no sight lines at all - pricelessly bad idea. Why not use the upstairs lounge? Mystified.

Sigh. I really should’ve known better. But after two hours of waiting in the car in a line that stretched for blocks and blocks in both directions of 16th Street and the surrounding cross streets, with horns honking and people flailing and (cue sad irony alert) gas-guzzlers chugging, we finally bailed. Our car was low on gas and there was no end in sight. At the corner of the main entrance, with still aways to go to the designated drop-off at the parking lot, people were just walking up and dumping the contents of their cars, with the DPW people waving their arms “no” and “we don’t have the manpower today to carry this stuff back there for you” and other such protestations. As we were leaving a cop was on the scene, talking people down in the their cars as temperatures rose. No one could adequately answer why the delay was so bad.

But no one needs to - it’s obvious. They were simply unprepared for the amount of residents who took their civic duty seriously and decided to commit to legally disposing of hazmats. They didn’t think through the manpower needed or the difficulties of traffic flow for a drop-off location that basically traps cars. There was even a kids soccer game in progress which probably clogged the parking lots as well, adding to the congestion. Incredible, with the amount of advertising that they did, also considering the additional PR of Green Week, and that everyone knows the way to Carter Barron is a two-lane mess in both directions on a regular day anyway…

Oh, it’s a a waste of invective. The least I can hope is that they will re-evaluate this debacle for next year’s hazmat collection, and strive to improve.

My favorite thing about the Hotel is the unexpectedness of any given night’s events - one minute everyone’s chill, the next minute a girl is rocking out on the pool table, and then suddenly there’s a hula hoop dancer going wild in the corner. And yet it all manages to happen without any of the attitude that can plague other nightlife spots in the city - people are just happy, mingling and having a crazy fun time.

So join us this Friday, April 18th for the one year anniversary of Room 429, free upstairs from 9:30pm on. They’ll be giving away Screen Vinyl Image and Soundpool CDs. And don’t forget to say cheers to Darpino and Diamond for a job well done!

Open from 3pm to 7pm every Thursday starting today (until December 18) on 8th between D & E Streets NW, the Penn Quarter market features all sorts of goodies - fruits and veg, dairy, handmade soaps, flowers - and there are more locations across town.

Now, does shopping at a farmers market qualify under my new-found parsimony? Yes. Local farms + seasonal produce + high quality = worth every penny. The salad I get at Whole Paycheck or Ghetto Giant is dead on arrival. The living head of lettuce I get at the farmers market lasts a week, fresh and crisp. No contest.

Working downtown for many years, I’ve been noticing the price creep of basic lunches. Yesterday it really hit me when I went to Cosi for a salad and saw with a shock that everything there is now $7+. Yikes. My morning coffee breaks have also been creeping up. Now, my love affair with caffeine, the one substance I’ve ever been directly told by a doctor to lay off, is not the same as those coffee drones who really don’t have a freaking clue what the difference is between froth and crema. In other words, I’m a snob. Well, actually, no, I’m a purist. I want things to be right. If I am going to risk painful palpitations for it, at $3.08 my cappuccino better be a cappuccino, and not a latte..

Like the slide of suburban property values, I’ve been noticing the slide of the proper cappuccino in this city for some time, but nowhere is it more prevalent than the Caribou Coffee near my office at 13th & G. This morning is yet another time that I ask (nicely, politely, I’m not a jerk about it!) the barista to remake what they hand me. Filled to the brim with barely an 1/8 of froth is NOT a cappuccino. When I explained (nicely, politely) this time the response was “so you want it dry”.

(This is all Starbucks’ fault of course - wet, dry, skinny, tall, yadda yadda yadda. No wonder they all took off recently to relearn the basics.)

So - sigh - no, no, no. I don’t want a dry cappuccino. I want a cappuccino. And in this current economic clime, everything I have to shell out for had better be made/done right.

Bundled up on my back porch, the light dusting of snow from our earlier non-weather event making everything, well, twinkle - it was almost ridiculously pretty in the pulsating moonlight. Even in the middle of the city, off the alley, all was quiet and still for the cosmic dance.

Even the rats seemed to stop their rustling around and watch. I hope you did too.

This is all new for me, but apparently offal was all the rage in NYC a few years back, and is cropping up on more menus in DC. I think my first experience was veal tongue at Palena. Odd mouth feel, but rather good. Then various bits of lamb organs - heart, kidneys, liver - surreal to look at, but again, rather good. Followed by fried sweetbreads at PS7, orgasmically rich. That was where the tastebuds got addicted! And now last week’s unbelievably delectable lamb brains sauteed in lemon caper sauce at Bistro d’Oc…

I stumbled across former DC chef Chris Cosentino’s offal site (from Red Sage and Kinkead’s before we lost him to San Francisco) - check it out if you are at all curious about this facet of food. It’s very informative, with some squeamish pics.

Previously skeptical when people claimed that offal can be the best, I’m now wondering if my constant mental refrain “need more lamb brains more brains more” proves it.

Either that or I’ve become a zombie.

What struck me most was the surprise in their voices about their new experiences, that riding the bus could actually be comfortable and convenient. Now, I’ve been riding the 66/68 for the past seven years, and I’ve seen the demographic change dramatically. The bus is far more diverse now in the past two years, in both age and race, than it was in the first five years I rode it. But for most of that time, I was consistently struck by how many people were surprised, even shocked, when I said I rode the bus. I really had no idea that many people consider it a bad thing to do - and that they considered it not just dangerous bad, but class bad.

So, what’s the word? Are you a bus-hater? Do you think it says something negative about your socio-economic status to ride? Or are you positive? Are you changing your transportation habits from rail to bus because of the increase? From car to bus because of the environment? I’m curious…

So what about those resolutions to treat yourself better, eh?

My nightly walk to and from the Y brings me past ACKC: The Cocoa Gallery, the 14th Street newly opened branch of Alexandria’s Kingsbury Chocolates. This little red shop and cafe is exactly the sort of place I’ve been craving for my neighborhood. Rows of pristine artisan crafted truffles, stacks of exotic chocolate bars, and a cocoa bar.

Really, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but what I do have is a rampant winter obsession with hot chocolate. So the sight of people bellying up to a cheerful bar, sipping the divine indulgence with a variety of additions like chipotle, lavendar, orange - instantly pushes me over the resolution edge.

It’s a love affair that will last longer than the elliptical. And honestly (rationalization alert!), if you limit yourself to occasional indulgences, it’s better for you, right?