It takes a special kind of negligence to accumulate $200,000 in traffic tickets over 7 years. To post about it on Reddit while whining about your car being impounded is the chef’s kiss. Many thanks to the ANC Commissioner who immortalized the now-deleted posts and to DC Councilmember Charles Allan for making it happen.

Six times out of 10 someone who tells me they “live in DC” are actually from Northern Virginia. The other four times they do live in DC proper. On the other hand, no one from Maryland ever says they are “from DC”, even if they live inside the beltway. Even the tiny sliver of Chevy Chase inside the district considers itself Chevy Chase, not DC.

Why are people territorial about Bethesda, Silver Spring and PG county, but not Clarendon, Vienna and Fairfax?

A quick Ranking of DC restaurants I’ve eaten at within the past 6 months of so:

Moon Rabbit > Rumi’s Kitchen > Chloe > Blue Duck Tavern > Rasika > Albi > The Dabney

For all his good work, Jose Andres’s restaurants are lackluster. Oyamel was just OK. Jaleo and China Chilcano stank. Haven’t been to Zaytinya but I doubt it could be better than Rumi’s Kitchen and Chloe.

Facts about the District’s budget from DC council member Charles Allen:

Like any other state, DC’s budget is mostly funded through local tax revenue and fees. About 25% of our budget is from federal programs, largely Medicaid and Medicare, in line with or lower than most US states.

The DC Council and Mayor have collaborated to pass 28 consecutive balanced budgets.

DC continues to have one of the strongest bond ratings of any municipality in the country and has fully funded its pensions.

DC is the only jurisdiction in the nation that budgets out four years on the operations side and six on the capital side to ensure responsible spending.

So if you are reading the history of the 20th century, and come to the 1930s, and you ask yourself “how could people have allowed this to happen”, well, this is how. IYIs too smart for their own good, accepting a guaranteed disaster to prevent an inconvenience.

There is also the small matter of DC city government not being allowed to spend $1.1B of its own money — which it had already collected! — because who needs police and public schools? The colonies revolted for less.

I have a rarely-updated list of articles I look at once a week, and randomly pick one to re-read. This week it was time for the first one on the list, which is Paul Graham’s Life is Short. I have obviously been ignoring it, likely because of its position, because I haven’t been following the sage advice:

The usual way to avoid being taken by surprise by something is to be consciously aware of it. Back when life was more precarious, people used to be aware of death to a degree that would now seem a bit morbid. I’m not sure why, but it doesn’t seem the right answer to be constantly reminding oneself of the grim reaper hovering at everyone’s shoulder. Perhaps a better solution is to look at the problem from the other end. Cultivate a habit of impatience about the things you most want to do. Don’t wait before climbing that mountain or writing that book or visiting your mother. You don’t need to be constantly reminding yourself why you shouldn’t wait. Just don’t wait.

In 2023 there was an exhibit of Leonardo DaVinci’s sketches in D.C., three blocks away from me. But I didn’t see it, because one thing or other kept getting in the way until the very last day, which was so packed with meetings that the work ended after the last admission time.

Lesson learned, right? Well, no, because just recently there was another big show close by (I won’t tell how close lest I allow your, reader, to triangulate my home address). This time we did go, only to balk at the overly long lines and go see something else at the National Art Gallery (incidentally, a work of Leonardo’s). Which was good! But then picking the time when we wouldn’t need to wait was impossible, and we never got to see that exhibit either.

So yes don’t wait, and also when you read and re-read an essay try to at least remember the highlights. This is a memo to self not advice, but could serve as one.

Visiting San Francisco and just had my first Waymo ride. It was the most obedient, defensive, proper driving I have ever seen, at once frustrating and uplifting. The world would be a better place if every car was fully self-driving and I can’t wait for them to come to DC.

❄️ DC public schools are back in session after two snow days and on one hand this is a relief — no one wants to make up extended snow days in the summer — but then most streets are still not plowed and have 0.5 lanes of traffic open making the morning drive a hazard. What is all this equipment for?

From the most excellent exhibit Brilliant Exiles: American Women in Paris, 1900–1939 on display at the National Portrait Gallery until February 23, 2025:

Rose O’Neill 1874-1944 Born Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

Rose O’Neill invented the internationally famous “Kewpie” cartoon character. It made her a millionaire and the highest-paid woman artist in the world. In Paris, she revealed a very different artistic side. There, she exhibited visionary artworks inspired by dreams and the unconscious.

O’Neill first exhibited at the Paris Salon in 1906 and was immediately elected to its prestigious membership. Fifteen years later, Parisian critics praised her one-woman show. It featured fantastic images influenced by pagan mythology and evolutionary theory.

O’Neill championed women’s economic independence and sexual liberation. She blamed fashion for constraining women, asking “How can they hope to compete with men when they are boxed up tight in the clothes that are worn today?” She once pretended to be pregnant to persuade a French clothier to make a corset-free, loose-fitting gown, like the one worn in this portrait. Her nonchalant pose and defiant gaze express O’Neill’s supreme self-assurance.

Here is the portrait, even more remarkable in person:

And yes this is the same Kewpie that endures as a brand of Japanese mayonnaise on sale at your local Costco.

Tracing phenomena through time is a humbling experience. The same exhibit dedicated a whole section to Josephine Baker — just try to categorize this.

Here is a brief anecdote that may help contextualize some recent developments, in particular why anyone black, or brown, or uneducated, or poor may have preferred Trump over Harris.

Two apartments ago, a bit before Covid, we were living in a 2-bedroom apartment in Northwest DC that was absolutely gargantuan by European standards but must have seemed cramped for a family of five-plus-a-house-guest to our neighbors. One neighbor in particular, let’s call her Alice, seemed unusually interested in the goings on of our household: the foreign accents, the visiting grandparents, so many children. So she made a point to, whenever we bumped into each other in the hallway, gather as much information as possible, and give a few bits about herself in return.

Alice worked for a federal agency, you see, and as a hard-core democrat was trying to minimize the chaos that the orange man — this was during the first Trump administration — and his peons spewed on the people. Now the agency in question was healthcare-adjacent so my wife and I, both being physicians, knew that the problems ran deeper than the president and his appointees, but that is not the point of the story.

The point is this: with every interaction, Alice would highlight that we were not US citizens, then highlight some more that we had visiting family members who also were not citizens and who may or may not be in the country legally (they were all, of course, visiting on a tourist visa as they have been in more than a decade since we moved from Serbia), then apologize for what Trump was doing to the immigrants and aren’t we all lucky that DC is a town of welcoming democrats and can you please let her know if we needed any help with anything, at which point Alice would — unironically — wink.

It’s hard for me to say what felt more insulting, the sly and not so sly insinuations that we were there illegally, the entitlement that we must be best of friends because we were immigrants, or the expectation of gratitude to all the democrats for “fighting on our behalf” when there was no fighting to be had. And this is before we even had our green cards, staying on a combination of work and (this is my favorite name for a bureaucratic invention) Alien of extraordinary ability visas. I can only imagine how much worse the feeling would have been if we were citizens with the unfortunate property of having an unusual accent or unconventional (for upper-middle-class-non-hispanic-whites) housing arrangements.

To be clear, I have no idea what Alice’s intentions were. I am pretty sure she didn’t want to insult anyone, and that her thoughts and feelings were true. And it is often the case that someone can feel insulted for reasons completely within their control: a slight sense of shame that you weren’t living up to someone’s arbitrary standards, annoyance that you are spending hours on immigration paperwork when others don’t have to yet feel as welcome, outrage that anyone would give even a hint of a suggestion that you are a family of Anne Franks looking for an attic. All internal and within your own control, but not any less true. Humans being humans.

This was all before Covid-19. After March 2020 our hallway conversations turned into talks about masks, vaccines, and how everyone was grateful to have doctors in the building. About a year into the pandemic another neighbor ran out of their antipsychotic medications and started setting small fires and hitting random hallway doors with baseballs bats so we were soon out — the benefits of renting — but we stayed on good terms with Alice. Still, those first few impressions stuck, and majority of our interactions are only first impressions without the benefit of a pandemic to deepen a relationship.

One of the defining properties of America is, I’ve learned over the years, the tendency to go all-in. People don’t just go on a hike or two a year, they buy hiking gear, download hiking apps, plan out routes and become hikers. They don’t go out for a jog when the weather is nice and they feel like it, they train for a marathon. They don’t enjoy a night out at a restaurant, they rate and review and call themselves “foodies”. They don’t just like their work, they do it on evenings and weekends and holidays too. That is how you get to the highest GDP of any developed country, I guess, but there is also some subtlety lost and the democrats who were all-in on immigration have lost that subtlety and unintentionally — I hope — fanned the flames of indignation across the board. So not only were those pro-immigration efforts insufficient to overcome the feelings about the economy, they may have even hurt.