V.w.verweij

Over the last year I've been experimenting quite a bit with using the scroll bar to control Street View (e.g. Scroll Around the World) and to create narratives with maps (e.g. the Mary Celeste). This map of Ikea Store Openings has an ingenious scroll bar control which I like. Essentially Ikea Store Openings is an animated time-line and mapped visualization of the growth of Ikea over the years.

A reader writes:

“Just came across this scared little one in the little park at the corner of Mt Pleasant St and Park Road (by the tree on the NW corner of the Park). Poor thing is wet and docile. I assume he belongs to someone close by. Called humane society and they only have one officer for the District today. If anyone knows the owner, I’m at 202.270.1266.”

Photo: Janice Sveda, Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute

From the National Zoo:

“SCBI Front Royal welcomed a clouded leopard cub April 10! Clouded leopards are rare in the wild and difficult to breed in zoos.

Adult males can become very aggressive towards adult females during breeding, but the late SCBI scientist JoGayle Howard found a way to keep the peace. She discovered that if males and females were paired together at a very young age they have a much better chance of breeding successfully.”

If you have any animal/pet photos you’d like to share please send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail(dot)com with ‘Animal Fix’ in the title and say the name of your pet and your neighborhood. Your photos will go into the queue (usually 3-4 weeks wait) and will be posted in the order I receive them. If you’ve already entered your pet and would like to do so again – that’s no problem – just space the entries out a bit. Please try to send horizontal photos 640×480 (medium size on your iphone) if possible.

“This is Seamus, a Cavachon (Bichon-Cavalier) living on H Street, NE. He has a love/hate relationship with this pillow that reminds him of another, less-playful dog in our apartment.

When he’s done attacking the pillow, he snuggles with it.”

“Marlie from Cleveland Park enjoying her last stint of DC sightseeing before moving south with her parents this summer.”

“Sully and Sam from Petworth and Adams Morgan, respectively.”

If you have any animal/pet photos you’d like to share please send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail(dot)com with ‘Animal Fix’ in the title and say the name of your pet and your neighborhood. Your photos will go into the queue (usually 3-4 weeks wait) and will be posted in the order I receive them. If you’ve already entered your pet and would like to do so again – that’s no problem – just space the entries out a bit. Please try to send horizontal photos 640×480 (medium size on your iphone) if possible.

“Brody the pug enjoying life (and his dad’s arm pillow) in Logan Circle!”

“Hi-my name is Sofia and I currently live in Boyds, MD. I promise if I lived in Petworth with my human, I would never park (or poop) in designated bike lanes!!!”

“Zeus having an existential crisis in Columbia Heights”

He's at-large. [ more › ]

5532 Connecticut Avenue, NW

A recent liquor license placard posted out front says:

“Inner city diner serving American and diner food, Sidewalk Café Indoor seats 28, Sidewalk Café Outdoor 28–Sidewalk Café Total 56 seats. Total Occupancy Load 99.”

Could be the first time anything in Chevy Chase has been referred to as “Inner city”…

We judged American City Diner back in 2011.

i want that

What to do with worn-out astroturf porch cover?

“Has anyone replaced their astroturf porch-walkway cover? If so, what contractor did you use? And if not, did you just take it back to the concrete and do you like the result? Thank you.”

You can see all forum topics and add your own here.   If you are having trouble uploading your question to the forum please try clearing your cache. If it still doesn’t work please email me at princeofpetworth(at)gmail

Forget the dog, I want this for me.

If you have any animal/pet photos you’d like to share please send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail(dot)com with ‘Animal Fix’ in the title and say the name of your pet and your neighborhood. Your photos will go into the queue (usually 3-4 weeks wait) and will be posted in the order I receive them. If you’ve already entered your pet and would like to do so again – that’s no problem – just space the entries out a bit. Please try to send horizontal photos 640×480 (medium size on your iphone) if possible.

“Here is my doggie Andy in Petworth! He’s a 4 year old rescue Pom.”

“Betta from Petworth.”

“CDR Alumni Ozzy (U street, left) and ‘Uncle’ Harry (PA, right) and a poor tennis ball caught in the middle”

Photo by PoPville flickr user laurabl

You can talk about whatever is on your mind – quality of life issues, a beautiful tree you spotted, scuttlebutt, or any random questions/thoughts you may have. But please no personal attacks and no need to correct people’s grammar. This is a place to vent and/or celebrate things about daily life in DC.

(Updated at 6:35 p.m.) A former U.S. Navy SEAL is hosting an art fundraiser in Crystal City next month to raise money for veterans returning home with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and other combat-induced disabilities.

Alexandria-based nonprofit The 296 Project will host a gallery show and silent auction at Gallery Underground (2100 Crystal Drive) of U.S. Navy Senior Chief Kristin Beck, a transgender, 20-year veteran of the Navy whose art “kept her from suicide on more than one occasion,” according to a press release for the event.

Beck, who took part in seven combat deployments with the SEALS and was awarded a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart, was diagnosed with PTSD and a 90 percent disability rating.

The first ever transgender Navy SEAL, Beck “will be addressing the crowd personally,” and discussing the therapeutic effect creating artwork had on her recovery, according to the press release. She will also be advocating for The 296 Project, which “promotes, funds, supports and advocates for art and expressive therapies” for veterans when they return to the States, according to Executive Director Scott Gordon.

Beck’s work will be on display at the gallery from June 2-28. The show will be on June 6 from 6:30 to 9:00 p.m. and tickets are $15.

Photo via Facebook

by John Herrman

"Some version of the term began appearing on feminist message boards in discussions of sexual assault in the late '90s. Andi Zeisler, the co-founder and editorial/creative director of the feminist publication Bitch magazine, said the phrase often popped up on a community forum on Ms. Magazine’s website. 'The first time I saw trigger warnings used was on Ms. Magazine’s bulletin board in the late '90s and early '00s,' she said. 'It might have been on other feminist sites, but I only remember seeing it on Ms.'" —Consider this exhaustive history of the phrase "trigger warning" a vital document for the post-Tumblr internet.

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The post The 'Trigger Warning' Chronicles appeared first on The Awl.

by Heather Havrilesky

I teach a Popular Criticism class to MFA students. I don't actually have an MFA, but I am a professional, full-time writer who has been in this business for almost two decades, and I've written for a wide range of impressive print and online publications, the names of which you will hear and think, "Oh fuck, she's the real deal." Because I am the real deal. I tell my students that a lot, like when they interrupt me or roll their eyes at something I say because they're young and only listen when old hippies are digressing about Gilles Deleuze's notions of high capitalism's infantilizing commodifications or some such horse shit.

Anyway, since Friday is our last class, and since I'm one of the only writers my students know who earns actual legal tender from her writing—instead of say, free copies of Ploughshares—they’re all dying to know how I do it. In fact, one of my students just sent me an email to that effect: "For the last class, I was wondering if you could give us a breakdown of your day-to-day schedule. How do you juggle all of your contracted assignments with your freelance stuff and everything else you do?"

Now, I'm not going to lie. It's annoying, to have to take time out of my incredibly busy writing schedule in order to spell it all out for young people, just because they spend most of their daylight hours being urged by hoary old theorists in threadbare sweaters to write experimental fiction that will never sell. But I care deeply about the young—all of them, the world's young—so of course I am humbled and honored to share the trade secrets embedded in my rigorous daily work schedule. Here we go:

Today, I woke up at 4 a.m. because one of my dogs was making a strange gulping sound. I sat for several minutes listening closely, wide awake, wondering if she wasn't developing esophageal cancer or some other gruesome ailment that the pricey animal specialty hospital might guilt me into actually treating. I imagined sitting in the posh chill of their giant waiting room, the pricey coffee and tea machine humming away next to me, filling out forms instructing them to never crack my 10-year-old dog's chest  and do emergency open heart surgery if she starts coding. "Option 1: LET MY DOG DIE." That's one I had to check off and sign, over and over again, when my other, eight-year-old dog had an unexplained fever and it cost me $6000 to save her. The vet's eyes would dart over my forms and the corners of her mouth would pinch slightly, and then she'd treat me like someone who might just yank the IV out of her dog's leg and twist her neck at any minute, the Jack Bauer of budget-minded dog owners.


Anyway, right about now you're starting to understand why the morning hours are so potent for a working writer: The mind spills over with expansive concepts and sweeping images that just cry out to be tapped in another scintillating essay or think piece.

Rather than get up and spoil my inspired revelry, though, I know to let these thoughts swirl and churn until they take a more coherent shape. My mind soon shifts to tallying up the costs of college for my stepson, who for some nutty reason applied to a wide range of insanely expensive private colleges on the East Coast. After I marvel over that sum for a while, I try adding together his costs with the costs of sending my two young daughters to college in ten years. Then I think about how we should probably try  to pay off our credit cards and our home equity loan first, and THEN focus on coming up with this mammoth amount for college, and then of course we'll be retiring right after that but we'll still have 15 years left on our massive mortgage. "We're never going to retire," I think. "We're going to have to keep working forever and ever and ever. And we can't turn on the AC this summer. And we have to stop going out to our favorite Mexican restaurant every other week and drinking margaritas, which are an inexcusably expensive indulgence.” Old people problems, LOL.

Then I think about margaritas for a while. I think about how there should really be a breakfast margarita. Breakfast 'Rita. Breakarita. Sunrise 'Rita. Maybe with Chia seeds. I think about how I worked at Applebee's when I was my stepson's age. And he's never even had a job. Ever! I think about how weird that is, that he's never had a job, but he's applying to colleges that cost $250k, all told. YOLO, I guess.

Then I think about how my black Applebee's polo shirt always smelled like nachos because I didn't wash it often enough. See how I was thinking about a smell? That's how you know I'm a real artist and not some fucking hack who writes light verse for The New Yorker. Artists can conjure a stinky odor using only their raw powers of imagination and long-term memory. That's also how you know it's time to write.

By now, it's 5:30 a.m. I get up and tiptoe past the kids' rooms, put water on for tea, and swiftly unload the dishwasher. Ahead of the curve, motherfuckers! I high-five myself in my mind. (It's important, as an artist, to reward yourself whenever you do something right. Your life can't be all "You suck, work faster, you're falling behind!")

By 5:45 a.m., I am sitting down to write. First, though, I need to fire off an email to the editor of my weekly advice column about maybe getting a check soon since it's May and I haven't been paid yet this year. "HEY IS THERE A CHECK ON THE WAY FINALLY? LOL! THIS BIG GUY WITH A BASEBALL BAT AT MY FRONT DOOR WANTS TO KNOW! OMG MY KNEES! XXXOOO" Always be super-polite and light-hearted with your editors, and never give them any indication that you've been waiting for a check for so long and your credit card balances are getting so high that your pulse starts racing every time you think about it, so much so that you've started to soothe yourself by imagining choking the life out of their ineffectual shit faces with your bare hands. Lol.

At 6 a.m., I quit email because that's what writers do if they want to get some motherfucking writing done. But I have to go on Twitter for a second to favorite a few of my editor's tweets so he'll know that I'm not mad or anything. It's so easy for people to think that you're full of rage when you're a woman and a writer and oldish and you never, ever get paid! Ignorant dummies. Then I reply to a youngish writer who just moved to LA and hates her job and hates LA and is panicking. "Remember you're having an adventure!" I tell her, because she's young and she probably doesn't have dogs with health problems yet. So then I end up scrolling through my Twitter feed, probably just to remind myself that all of these other writers don't have 8,204 followers like I do, because I'm so fucking esteemed and accomplished after having done this for almost two decades. I'm a professional, is the thing. I know my fucking shit. I just keep producing high-quality work. That's why I have 8,202 followers.

Hold on. Where did those two followers go? Was it the thing I wrote about having an adventure? That probably made me sound really old. I probably shouldn't be so upbeat or urge people to have adventures. You're not old yet, guys, but you should remember this for when you get older: DON'T EVER WRITE THINGS THAT IMPLY THAT YOU'RE OLD.

At 6:15 a.m., my five-year-old wakes up. "Can I play on your iPad?" she asks. "That's not how we start the day," I reply. "We don't do dumb things like that to start the day, ever."

At 6:25 a.m. I am checking out the Twitter page of some teenager who makes YouTube videos about fashion. Someone tell me, how is that a thing? Her profile page bio line says "My viewers are my besties and I love them 5ever." She has 1.43 million
followers.  I would write something here about how making YouTube videos and assuring 1.43 million strangers that they're your besties 5ever is probably much more lucrative than, I don't know, teaching teenagers how to write and recapping "Mad Men" at midnight. But I'm a professional fucking writer and a true artist, not a teenager in leopard print rollerskates. LoL.

At 6:55 a.m., I have to start my 5-year-old's breathing treatment for her cold and make both kids a kale smoothie so they don't die of scurvy or rickets. The rest of the morning passes in a blur. 

7:01 a.m. OK, it's not really a blur at all. But you should never, ever detail your domestic chores or rail off the cute things your kids say unless you're Louis fucking CK. If you're a woman, forget it. People will think you're a mommy blogger, which is bad, because it's a woman thing. Suffice it to say, there's lots of screwing little rubbery straws into little cup lids and struggling to keep the dirty laundry piles from mixing with the clean laundry piles. In the end, the kids looked fresh and beautiful and ready for the day and I looked like a bedraggled, angry old whore. Or sex worker. YAAASS! (Is that how you spell it?)

8:45 a.m. Back from dropping off the kids, and ready to write! Except I definitely have to exercise first.  It's going to be 90 degrees out there today and the dogs need to run and I don't want to kill them—or worse, maim them and then decline chest-cracking at the billion-dollar emergency dog cancer spa.

I know you think I should skip the exercise, and get straight to work already. That shows how much you know. OK, listen the fuck up for once: If there's one thing you must do as a highly esteemed professional freelance beggar, it's exercise. Otherwise you will sit and stew in your schlubby juices all day. You'll pull up Grantland and read a TV review that's pure brilliance, delightful and peppy, and you'll think about the fact that you should've been a teenage fashion guru making videos on YouTube but you were born at the wrong fucking time so now you have… 8,201 Twitter followers instead of 1.43 million. And you never actually get paid like that high-fashion fuck does.

9:20 a.m. Leaving house for run with dogs. High-five!

10:20 a.m. Hydration. Crucial. As Al Swearengen from Deadwood once said, "Those that doubt me suck cock by choice." Actually, not sure if it was Swearengen or that grisly looking dude, what was his name?

10:40 a.m. I go to look up that quote, because: fact-checking, hellooo! Every good freelance person fact-checks everything religiously. Clean, error-free copy is how you get the high-end writer gigs, and it's also how every editor contacts you all the time and asks you to read a 500-page book and write 2000 words for a $300 check you'll receive four months later. Boo-ya! See, when you're an acclaimed critic and a fucking pro, you get paid $40k a year to do complicated theme-paper type assignments, instead of paying $40k a year. So there! See ya, wouldn't wannna be ya!

11:15 a.m. This is lunch time, because I woke up at 4 a.m., remember? And I can't just eat a few slices of cheese and bread, because that's not brain fuel. Brain fuel is kale, and you have to chop kale up and then massage it with lemon juice and honey for a long time, so it's not prickly and bitter, and then you add shallots (also chopped) and pine nuts (toasted). Those that doubt me suck cock by choice. (See how I used that Swearengen line again, as a callback? If you work really hard and write every day for two decades, this kind of stuff will just spring into your mind.)

12:00 p.m. I read an article about South Korea ferry accident. Feel depressed. This is my humanity I'm getting in touch with, so it's important.

12:30 p.m. I clean up the mess from lunch, still feeling depressed. Feeling feelings is a crucial part of the professional writer's day. You'll never write anything worthwhile if you don't feel your feelings. Also, you always have to clean up your messes, because as the day progresses it gets harder to write, and when you see a big mess in the kitchen that can be super disheartening if you're already struggling to put words onto the fucking page.

1:05 p.m. Finally time to write! This is when I pull up the piece I'm working on about BuzzFeed and John Updike and the enforced cheer of American pop culture. This piece is the fucking shit, is what I'm thinking as I'm reading it. When it's ready, it is going to blow some high-falutin' editor socks clean off.

1:25 p.m  I decide I should really read this Updike biography from cover to cover right now if I want this essay to be worth reading. 

1:55 p.m. I stop myself! Because I'm not writing, and this is my time to write. Remember this one thing, even if you forget everything else: WRITERS WRITE. If you're not writing, you're not a fucking writer. I am a writer, so I write every fucking day. So I open the piece and…

1:56 p.m. I realize I have to finish that review of "American Idol" because it's due this afternoon. And honestly, at first it's hard to write the review, because that other essay is going to be way better. But then, when I start to write about how J. Lo always says she's "getting goosies" when she likes someone's singing? Well, that's the kind of little detail you just know to include when you're a former full-time professional TV critic like I am. I'm in the zone, too. THIS IS WHY I WRITE, I tell myself. FOR THIS FEELING RIGHT HERE. I AM FEELING IT TODAY! HIGH-FIVE!

2:23 p.m. Time to go get the kids from school. 

3:30 p.m. The kids are doing their homework now, so you probably think this is a good time to write. WRONG. I'm too tired, and if I try to write AND answer their incessant fucking questions, I'll start to say things like "Please don't talk to me," and "Please shut up," and "Don't look at me right now."  And sure, there are people out there who are thinking, "Christ, Heather, YOU ARE THE REAL DEAL. The world needs more of your fine prose and insights, not less. If you need to tell the kids to fuck off, then do it. If not for them, then for HUMANITY."

And I do care about humanity. The people of the world matter to me at a deeper level than most, because I'm a true artist and I'm sensitive. But here's the truth: It bums ME out to tell my kids to fuck off. Weird, right? But I need to be available to them. So I'm playing Candy Crush instead.

3:45 p.m. My 7-year-old asks me a question and I tell her, "I'M ON A TIMED LEVEL, HERE! GIVE ME ONE MINUTE!" and then "NO, STOP TALKING! TIMED LEVEL! A TIMER IS TICKING DOWN! ONE MINUTE ONE MINUTE!"

4:04 p.m. A confession? I fucking hate Candy Crush once you get past the Minty Meadow. It's too hard, but there's no skill involved. It's at once incredibly tedious and taxing, and yet there's very little reward for it. You try and try and try and try and you work and work and work and you tell the whole goddamn world to go fuck itself, and you know what you have to show for it in the end? A fucking headache. You have the illusion of accomplishment, but really? You aren't doing shit. You're pretending that you're accomplishing something, that's all.

What do you mean, is that a metaphor?

4:35 p.m. I'm making myself a margarita but it's not what you think. I'm doing this so I'm not a total jerk when my husband walks in the door. My husband has a real job, FYI. He's an awesome guy and he also keeps the lights on around here, just in case you were saying to yourself, 'WTF? How do the fucking lights stay on, because even with her being the real deal and all, she never seems to get paid or anything?" Have to be cheery, for the breadwinner! Booze.

4:55 p.m. I should add that tequila is a very important part of surviving life as a big-deal professional writer. You don't believe that now, but you will later. I am having some great ideas right now that I would never have without the tequila, and I'm tweeting them all so I don't forget a thing.

5:19 p.m. OK. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "This person is kind of an asshole. If I become a professional writer, I won't be so discombobulated and distracted and self-hating." That's what I used to think about my creative writing teacher in college, who always said depressing things about her life and had uncombed hair and a tote bag filled with crumpled papers. I thought she was old and weird and wishy-washy about the whole world, her kids, everything. But I had coffee with her last year, and I realized that she wasn't even old back then, and besides, we have so much in common! Anyway, time for another margarita.

6:35 p.m. Husband got home. Hi babe. Mmm so fucking tired. I know, I DO work too hard.

7:15 p.m. Use the washcloth. Stop. Good job. Don't hit her. You're right I said "Dummeldore." OK nighty night. No, don't even. President? Of a professional organzination? That's what blowhards do. You'll have to fly to Dubai or whatever and I'll have to deal with all the shit. Well, bring home more bacon, then. We need much, much more bacon. Much more. I'm just saying, I'll be the one dealing with the shit, as always. I only had two of them, that's not the thing. Margaritas, not kids. What does that mean. You don't get it. Whatever. Fuck. 

Zzzz. 

4:00 a.m. I'm awake because my husband is snoring in a weird way and I think it must be sleep apnea. What the fuck is sleep apnea? I hope it's not something that could kill him, or worse, maim him. So now I'm thinking about how fucked we'll all be if anything happens to any one of us, given how much debt we have to pay off and how many huge piles of cash we'll need to save our kids from also having giant debts and how we'll never, ever be able to retire, ever. I think about us working forever and ever and then I think about earthquakes and that ferry disaster again and, right about now you're probably starting to understand why the morning hours are so promising for a working writer! The mind spills over with vibrant imaginings that just beg to be formed into another scintillating trend piece or capsule review or "Real Housewives of Atlanta" recap!

But this is just how writing professionals do it. We wake up super duper fucking early and we start thinking our big thoughts and then we write. It's that simple. This is how you get 'er done, motherfuckers! Those that doubt me suck cock by choice. 

Heather Havrilesky (aka Polly Esther) is The Awl's existential advice columnist. She's also a regular contributor to The New York Times Magazine, and is the author of the memoir Disaster Preparedness (Riverhead 2011). She blogs here about scratchy pants, personality disorders, and aged cheeses. Photo by Ed Yourdon.

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The post How to Write appeared first on The Awl.

by John Herrman

Good morning to you too, World Health Organization:

After discussion and deliberation on the information provided, and in the context of the global polio eradication initiative, the Committee advised that the international spread of polio to date in 2014 constitutes an ‘extraordinary event’ and a public health risk to other States for which a coordinated international response is essential.

Pakistan, Cameroon, and the Syrian Arab Republic are getting hit hardest. Afghanistan, Equatorial Guinea, Ethiopia, Iraq, Israel, Somalia and Nigeria "pose an ongoing risk for new wild poliovirus exportations in 2014." Meanwhile, retro pathogens are booming on from the other side of the economic stability spectrum as well.

In New York and California, measles outbreaks are bigger than they've been in decades. A decrease of vaccinations across Europe brought with it 26,000 cases of measles in 2011. And one Australian survey found that 83% of Sydney homeopaths advised their clients against vaccinating… Brazil is seeing small outbreaks of diseases like measles. But they aren't homegrown – they're reportedly coming in from Europe and the United States…

The World Cup in particular is a worry; the WHO has drafted an emergency plan for anticipated measles and rubella outbreaks resulting from the sudden influx of Americans in Brazil this summer. And because why not, Let's worry about syphilis again.

So 2014 is the year history finally comes back to wipe mankind off the planet. But why? A study in contrasts:

The consequences of further international spread are particularly acute today given the large number of polio-free but conflict-torn and fragile States which have severely compromised routine immunization services and are at high risk of re-infection. Such States would experience extreme difficulty in mounting an effective response were wild poliovirus to be reintroduced.

And:

The resistance to getting inoculations comes from an unlikely variety of views: Deeply conservative parents reject the government’s interfering with their child rearing; orthodox religious groups dislike vaccines for being man-made, not God-given; and well-educated, health-conscious, affluent and Internet-literate parents don’t see vaccines as organic or natural.

What better way to start the week than with a reminder that human progress is not inevitable—that the very concept is a form of self-sabotage. Wash your hands!

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The post Every Old Disease Is New Again appeared first on The Awl.

Putin isn't exactly the most popular person in the world right now, and this probably won't improve your opinion of him and his cronies.

And illegal. [ more › ]

bycrom:

Hey friends! If you like this week’s comic you might really like my upcoming book, Full Colour Cromulence! 30 full colour cromics, 9 bonus comics by 9 brilliant guest artists, and another paper doll await you - preorder yours alone or in an awesome deal with the first book right now! There’s only a few sketched copies remaining!

For my Canadian fans, don’t forget that you can catch me and Conan and the rest of Weald Comics at TCAF, in Toronto May 10-11th, and VanCAF, in Vancouver May 24-25.

And finally, a heads up - there’s only one more By Crom! comic left after this - tune in next week to catch it!

Evening reblog of this week’s comic!

Standing like a huge woven basket in the landscape, this condensation-harvesting tower can be built cheaply with local materials and with no tools.

Designboom shows another example of how green roofs are changing architecture.

The UB system of modular construction manufactures buildings as if they were cars.

1513 17th Street, NW

From an email:

“​In response to customer feedback, ​Duke’s Grocery is expanding kitchen service hours with a​ new Late Night ​Supper ​Menu.​ It includes some tasty new dishes (Buku Banh Mi Burger, Vietnamese Fried Rice) alongside some of our most popular items (Proper Burger, Lomito ‘Completo’).
​
​The menu is attached and it will run Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, from 10:​3​0pm – 1:00am.

In addition, there will be drink specials from 10:00pm to close on select beer​, ​wine and cocktails​.”

Late Supper Menu – Duke’s Grocery (PDF)

This week’s Arlington Pet of the Week is a mix Maltese and Yorkie — or “Morkie” — who shares a nickname with currently-injured Nationals star Bryce Harper.

Here’s what Bam-Bam’s owner, Rex, had to say about his pet:

Bam Bam is an 8 1/2 pound, (just about) 4-year-old Maltese/Yorkie mix (“Morkie”).

He’s lots of fun and is just as content hanging out around the house, or running around outside. Bam Bam is a born entertainer and has no problems hamming it up for attention, especially if he suspects treats are involved. He has a very kind and gentle demeanor and is very good with children and strangers.

I had already settled on the name “Bam Bam,” and his breed (“Morkie”) when I found that there was a Morkie litter available, whose owner had already named one of the puppies, “Bam Bam.”  Seeing that as a sign from above, I immediately picked him up and the rest is history. He’s an absolute pleasure to be around and coming home to him is easily the highlight of my day. Everyone should have a pet as devoted, gentle and low maintenance as Bam Bam.

Want your pet to be considered for the Arlington Pet of the Week? Email office@arlnow.com with a 2-3 paragraph bio and at least 3-4 horizontally-oriented photos of your pet.

Each week’s winner receives a sample of dog or cat treats from our sponsor, Becky’s Pet Care, along with $25 in Becky’s Bucks. Becky’s Pet Care provides professional dog walking and pet sitting services in Arlington and Northern Virginia — “Quality Service from a Trusted Friend.”

And it violates copyright infringement. [ more › ]

If you have any animal/pet photos you’d like to share please send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail(dot)com with ‘Animal Fix’ in the title and say the name of your pet and your neighborhood. Your photos will go into the queue (usually 3-4 weeks wait) and will be posted in the order I receive them. If you’ve already entered your pet and would like to do so again – that’s no problem – just space the entries out a bit. Please try to send horizontal photos 640×480 (medium size on your iphone) if possible.

“Frank enjoying his ball in the woods of Glover Park.”

“Oliver from Columbia Heights, helping me work from home.”

“This is Rosie from Mt. Pleasant. She is a 3 yr old rescue that joined our family in January 2014, and we are in LOVE! She’s a mix of boxer and staffordshire bull terrier.”

You'll have the option to eat a $5 taco featuring five types of pork — including a bacon shell — on Monday at El Rey. [ more › ]