Love and other surreal experiences

So how was Love last night? for Reg'lar folk, that's the new name for Dream, shout out to Mo Brown for getting me hip to changes of DC's uber club. Aaaahh, Dream, how we'll miss you, though you're simply chaning your name rather than shape or style. Maybe it's to purge all the Dream experiences out of our systems (i.e. butt/hand grabbing, drink spilling, long-line waiting, car-jacking), and embrace a new era of club life. No more ethereal Dreams but soul-filling Love. I'll wait to hear about it.

'Cross town , I was having my own "same but new" surreal experience with friend and long-time Washingtoninan (by way of Chevy Chase) D.K. Sitting on the corners of formerly Delapidated and Hood streets, there's a little piece of the Soho/Tribeca called Saint Ex. It's carved out of a renovated brownstone, sorta pricey with lots of attitude and not too many appealing dishes on the paper thin menu. (Um, is this not grimy, chicken-wing 14th Street? I've got to get out more.) On the upside, and a reminder that we still are in the Up South, the waiters and hostesses were attentive and politely masked their boredom.

Apparently, this spot has become THE SPOT in this nook of formerly janky rowhouses. As we approached it, D.K. wondered if we could get a seat. Huh? We weren't going to, say, the old Houston's in G'town, or newer Rosa Mexicana on 7th. But he was rightly concerned. We took the last table outside on a beautiful night, chewed on smoked calamari (yep, smoked), sweet potatoe french fries, and watched as cab after cab dumped more midtown chicks off for a night on... 14th street?? DC, I'm trying to figure you out but looks like I'm way behind the game.