From the Woodley Park Metro:

I’ve long held affection for this ad campaign–it’s like an incredibly easy Where’s Waldo. But as I searched for the bars on my way out of the station this afternoon, something else caught my eye. AT&T, which has been doing swimmingly despite the economic downturn, appears to be cutting some corners with these “local” billboards. Cover D.C. they may; photograph it, they most certainly do not. Irrefutable evidence (beyond the yellow cab) after the jump.

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See that picture? Pretty sweet bathroom, right? That’s pretty much what I’ve been dealing with on my apartment hunt. Sure, I’ve seen some OK places, even places that I would kill to occupy–or at least lie about having a pet before signing that lease. But the majority of the places I’ve seen have been dumps.

I’ve realized that I’m not that great at apartment hunting. Or at least not that lucky. I’ve also realized landlords also don’t know what they’re doing. Here are some things they should consider when trying to rent out their one-bedroom apartments:

1) “Near RFK Stadium” –no matter that it’s tucked in parens in your craigslist posting–is not a selling point. Have you been to RFK? It’s an empty bowl surrounded by empty parking lot. Unless you are a soccer fan, it’s useless. It has had over 40 years to turn into the next Chinatown. And I don’t see a Ruby Tuesday opening up anytime soon! Still, “near RFK” is a better selling point than “near the D.C. Jail” or “near the old D.C. General.”

2) If you are showing a roomy one-bedroom near the freeway overpass in Cap Hill, it might be a good idea to shampoo your shitty carpet. Apartments shouldn’t smell like dog.

3) Whether you’ve converted your Dupont row house or Mount Pleasant home into rentals, putting blinds over walls or shelves doesn’t necessarily make one think that counts as a window.

4) If you are posting photos of a bedroom that happens to still be furnished, it would help if you had the current renter make their bed.

5) Can you put on ban the following words and phrases: “charming,” “cozy,” “room to grow,” “classic studio,” and “peaceful urban refuge?”

If you haven’t heard by now Top Chef contestant Spike has finally opened up his Good Stuff Eatery at 3rd and Penn Ave on Cap. Hill. Last night, I went and checked it out. First impression: Holy Crap! There’s a line!

The line is probably a temporary phenomena. Spike’s self-promotion skills were always as great as his cooking skills (maybe better). The hype for this restaurant was pretty steady leading up to the opening. Even the buns [”buttery soft,” “freshly baked Pennsylvania Dutch”) were hyped and you could find them at Safeway. If you stood in line, you were there for more than just a burger.

Spike’s Dad tried to make things go down easier. As we reached the front of the line, he greeted us and fellow Top Chef nerds with menus and some happy patter. But as he wound up to give his rap explaining the menu, a woman, middle-aged with short dark hair, interrupted him. She told him she didn’t want to hear his menu hype, she didn’t need it. He waved her off muttering something about everyone being too serious, that he had enough of serious in his life. Right on!

But the woman wasn’t having it. She looked at Spike’s Dad all serious and called him an “asshole.”

Exciting!

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The Washington Post’s architecture guru Philip Kennicott writes a withering critique of Nationals Park for today’s paper. The critic believes this behemoth, designed by experienced stadium architecture firm HOK, is a dud.

He dubs the parking garages as “disastrously situated” for obscuring the front entrance. And then ticks off all the lost opportunities:

“Approached from the South Capitol Street bridge, the building might have been better framed by more greenery — but a parking lot for the team has been placed right where a garden should be. Along South Capitol, the face of the building might have been opened up for street-level retail, something to make it inviting and even useful for the residents of the very poor neighborhood. There are even glass windows that suggest what storefronts might have looked like, but those windows are filled with Nationals advertising and they hide empty, useless space.”

And later in the piece, Kennicott goes in for the devastating blow:

“From the top of the stadium, look out at the skyline, toward the Capitol Dome. At first, it seems like a happy accident that it is most visible from the cheapest seats. But now look down into the neighborhoods where public schools have become dilapidated brick bunkers, their windows covered in forbidding metal mesh. It’s enough to make you weep. Not about the stadium, which is as generic as it goes. But rather the cynical pragmatism that governs our priorities, socially and architecturally. Washington is a city where people can stare straight at the most powerful symbol of their democratic enfranchisement, and still feel absolutely powerless to change the course of our winner-takes-all society.”

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Damn. The Prince of Petworth blog had a kickass couple of days. The guy gets around. He doesn’t just bloviate on the latest development deal. He has what every journalist’s cover letter only promises: “an eye for detail.” Over the weekend, he spotted some graffiti that’s been copyrighted. He also noted the irony of a neighbor cluttering up the ’Worth with pick-up-your-dog shit signs.

P.O.P. writes: “It appears a renegade member of the community has posted a number of these signs around town. Unfortunately they are not affixed very well to the lamp posts and as a result they are scattered on the sidewalks becoming quite a nuisance themselves. So is there even a poop problem to be worried about? Is this a good way to go about addressing the ‘problem’ given the whole ANSWER debacle?”

And finally, P.O.P. considers the pathetic sight that is the plastic bag hooked to a fence. This is no substitute for a trash can nor should it be, argues P.O.P.

This is a standard sight in most neighborhoods, especially high-density ones with a lot of late-night traffic. Or any neighborhood within a mile of a fast-food/carryout joint. P.O.P. wants to know whatever happened to the idea of getting more cans on city streets?

I wonder if the plastic bag on a fence really works. I also wonder if neighborhoods really need more trash cans?

A packed house at the Silver Theater Sunday night for the final Silverdocs screening of Helvetica, the feature documentary about a typeface that seemingly brought out every graphic designer in town, some with laptops in tow. Director Gary Hustwit (pictured) was on hand for a Q&A afterward and jokingly challenged the audience to come up with a shot-by-shot remake of his film “starring” the font Comic Sans.

Comic Sans is a much-despised font among the design cognoscenti, and rightly so, as it is but a cheap Windows knockoff of the more elegantly amusing Dom Casual. Dom, seen most effectively in comic books and cheesy advertisements (picture this headline in Dom: “Hey, kids!”), is actually older than Helvetica, having been created in 1951 by the eponymous Pete Dom, about whom Google knows nothing. I’m therefore announcing that production begins immediately on my documentary celebrating this delightfully outdated font. Who’s with me?

I recently talked my way into the foyer of a private gay social club (they describe themselves as J/O enthusiasts) near Dupont Circle. Don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil the fun by disclosing the location—I’m here to talk about interior design.

The place is pretty skanky on the outside; police say a man was recently arrested for masturbating in front of the windows. But inside, they’re on the cutting edge of modern decor. The New York Times recently published a Style story on the outdoorsy-turn in the decorative arts. Tracking the trend, the club has an antlered deer head mounted on the wall. The rest of the room is appointed in reds and blacks, with a full wall of lockers, a black reception desk with a bowl full of Hershey’s Kisses, and a red curtain they wouldn’t let me past. A little dry-erase sign read “Buck Naked Wild Mondays.”