Will someone please attend this and report back? I think I will get stoned if I go. Someone on LNS just posted a link all about how I am a whore. Someone else said I have a “level of fascination with this site that I’m not sure I’m comfortable with.” Believe me, I am not comfortable with it either. It’s a very sick fascination.

I recently spoke with the development director at the company working on a potential LNS reality show. They’re shooting a final round of casting interviews this week.

Personally, I’d rather watch this. Perhaps the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

DC writer Grant Ginder just made a deal with Simon and Schuster to publish his first novel, This Is How It Starts, which follows the travails of a recent college graduate as he navigates the world of young and powerful Washington elites. I spoke with Grant and his editor, who both say this isn’t a DC gossip novel a la Sally Quinn. Both described the manuscript as a Bright Lights, Big City for DC. Just replace the media/publishing industry with jobs on the Hill, and Manhattan glamor with loafer footsie in Georgetown bars. The main character is a member of Late Night Shots, as is Ginder, although the 25-year-old author says he just used the site for research and entertainment.

The book isn’t out for about a year, but I’m looking forward to reading it, and taking a bar crawl in Georgetown with the author. Like most of the people he writes about, Ginder isn’t a native. Worse, he’s from California (Laguna Beach!). His familiarity with the psychographic of young, aspirational DCites began during summer internships here during college, at U Penn. Ginder clearly knows “the scene,” but the scene doesn’t dominate his life. He lives in Adams Morgan, the most feared neighborhood of the LNS set, and works at the Center for American Progress, a decidedly progressive think-tank.

No more shaking it like a Polaroid picture. The Times reports that Polaroid is getting out of the instant photography business.

After a move, I lost my Polaroid camera that I got for my Bar Mitzvah. But up until a few years ago, it was my main camera. It was perfect for taking really close up pictures [and not much else]. Now those cameras have since gone on to be quite the hipster go-to for backstage pictures and even wedding pictures. And the cameras seem to be flourishing on Ebay.

The Times reports: “The company, which stopped making instant cameras for consumers a year ago and for commercial use a year before that, said today that as soon as it had enough instant film manufactured to last it through 2009, it would stop making that, too.”

Here’s a news story on the company.

From DCist, a local TV production outfit, PB&J Television, has put out the casting call for LNS members who want to bare their social souls for a “new primetime docu-series in the vein of The Hills.” I thought this was a joke. Looks real so far.

I scored an invite to last night’s Young and the Guest List party, thrown by Washington Life magazine to celebrate the release of their list of who’s who in the under-40 social set. These things are easy to scoff at. I’m still a bit mystified by all ways people measure status in this city: the balls, the charities, the lists. The thing is, fancy parties are fun. All the intrigue about who’s on the list and why makes for good gossip, especially when lots of the people in the room don’t know each other.

The big news this year was that the list had gotten smaller and more diverse, which meant heads had to roll. I was pleasantly surprised by the people I met: artists, NGO types, other women who read comic books. Also, Jacques Cousteau’s grandson, Philippe. Apparently Miss UK was there too. There were fire-eaters and clowns on stilts. And the food was amazing. Paper cones of fried calamari, thin slices of lamb on a slab of salt, fancy popcorn, sushi, spoons filled with little bites of yummy stuff. Lots of champagne and vodka and fruit dipped in chocolate. All this in a beautiful Georgetown mansion.

Glamor isn’t so annoying when you get to share.

The only sour note of the evening came when I tried to say hi to Reed Landry, the founder of Late Night Shots. He’s still really upset with me for the story I wrote about his website. I’m sorry, Reed. I thought part of the whole society thing was that you at least shake hands with your enemies. I’m also sorry you were so upset when my friend tried to take your picture. Next time, please don’t push her or threaten to break her camera. As they say on LNS, stay classy.

Back in December, the D.C. Young Republicans held a straw poll at their holiday party. The results showed John McCain and Rudy Giuliani tied with 22 percent each, and Mike Huckabee besting Mitt Romney with 19 percent to Romney’s 15 percent. Last night though, the big boys came out to do some Republican-reveling and pick a candidate. At the DC Republican Committee’s annual Lincoln Douglass Day Dinner, the party base had their own straw poll. Oh how two more months, the Iowa caucus, four primaries–not to mention decades-older, cultivated Republican ideals–can change things. John McCain won the poll with 43.5% of the vote. Mitt Romney came in second with 35.3%, Ron Paul in third with 8.1%, Rudy Giuliani in fourth with 6.4%, and Mike Huckabee in sixth with 5.1%. (And, no, I have no idea why Giuliani was on the ballot, since he dropped out on Wednesday, a day before the event.)

DCist wades into a debate heating up the Cleveland Park message board. As proof that District residents will argue over anything, posters are going back and forth over whether Connecticut Avenue should have reversible lanes or not. DCist does heroic work breaking down this ridiculous spat, writing:

“Detractors claim the lanes to be unsafe for drivers, pedestrians and bicyclists alike; of course, others (read: commuters) are crying bloody murder at the potential increase in traffic jams during the morning and evening rush hour on one of the city’s main arterial roadways.”

Prince of Petworth visits the Palace Five.

The Examiner checks into the school angle on the four dead sisters.

WTOP reports that neighbors are planning a vigil for the girls. Residents are asking people to come to the 4200 block of 6th Street SE at 5 p.m. on Thursday.

Now, I am all in favor of lawns and art and lawn art. And these little statuettes from home-furnishing cataloguer Frontgate might just make a fine gift. But boy putting and girl putting will run you $2,500. Each.

Even if D.C. ever really got enough snow to make a snowman, I have to wonder: Is there anything more pathetic than one that comes to life via Restoration Hardware?

To wit: Kit ($14.99) comes with “everything you need to dress Frosty in his finest,” including “coal” for the eyes and mouth, a “carrot” nose, three buttons, and a pipe, all carved of hardwood and mounted on skewers. While waiting for enough snow to hold your wood, keep your handcrafted items in the knit cap (surely not made in Sri Lanka). It doubles as a storage bag!

No need to search for stones and sticks. That’s for the kids in Ward 7.

Mr. Andrew Beaujon

The Washington Business Journal has an interesting piece in this week’s issue about the development potential of school properties on the closure list. “At the top of the list might be Hine Junior High School, a 131,300 square-foot Capital Hill building at the corner of Eighth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue SE that is set snuggly among Eastern Market, the Metro station of the same name and the Barracks Row retail corridor,” writes reporter Jonathan O’Connell. The article also mentions three sites in the prime-for-development Brookland area. (And O’Connell did track down one developer, Jim Abdo of Abdo Development, willing to go on record saying he was “very interested in looking at what’s available.”) At least four buildings look safe from bulldozers, according to the article, the Ward 8 schools: Wilkinson Elementary, Douglass Transition Center, Green Elementary, P.R. Harris Educational Center.

Photo credit: Darrow Montgomery

I had the honor of attending the annual Terlingua Two Step last night at the Clarendon Ballroom. It wasn’t a black-tie affair but more of a school dance for local Texans. A few gripes about politics aside, Texans know how to party. The real swans on the dance floor were these stocky dudes with buzz cuts, too-tight jeans, tucked in shirts and black cowboy hats. Guys I’d normally peg as uncoordinated lumps of gun-toting white bread. I, on the other hand, spent the night counting steps and trying not to stare at my shoes.

Also impressive: On loan from Corpus Christi, a Romanian florist in hot pink tassels who told me she loves George Bush because he helped her get her kids away from the Commies. She comes to every Texas State Society event in D.C. just to show her love. She showed me a picture of her and Dick Cheney, whom she also loves. She spent most of the night dancing with girlfriend (also slinky, with tightly stretched skin), doing a dance that looked like a cross between the polka and the two step.

Couple of gripes: I found just two Dems (and I asked around), a cute couple we found hiding in a corner. The only minorities I spotted were serving food. And the food, according to an expert Texan friend, was about as authentic as press-on nails. In addition to so-so ribs, the buffet included a platter of Buffalo wings and a dish of blue cheese dressing. I overheard a lanky redhead ask why in the hell you’d put stinky cheese on fried chicken.

It’s curious that the Web site for Cobalt would be the place (still) promoting the Halloween high-heel race, since the club turns away anyone who’s not wearing sneakers, flats, or flip-flops.

The club’s no-heel rule is nonnegotiable, at least for women, as a friend and I found out this weekend when we tried to take a dance-happy 50-year-old out for his birthday. Turns out this is not a new policy, and is rumored to be rooted in either a lawsuit or a new floor the owners don’t want scratched. The official reason is it’s “simply for safety reasons.” Or here’s another thought: It’s a gay club. They don’t want straight chicks.

I have a message out to them inquiring if drag queens or Halloween racers are allowed to emphasize their calves. I’ll let you know if I hear back…

Earlier this week, I saw The Darjeeling Limited, the new Wes Anderson film about three brothers on a spiritual journey in India to re-bond and reunite with their mom. As the credits rolled, a familiar, but unexpected name popped up with the cast of Anderson regulars, like Bill Murray, Owen Wilson, and Anjelica Huston.

That name was Steven M. Rales, who was an executive producer on the film. Rales is a local billionaire. He’s one of two District residents on the Forbes 400 list. The other guy is his brother Mitchell, who’s No. 117 (Steven’s a comparatively lowly 135). The brothers made their cash through the Danaher Corporation, which runs a variety of tool and industrial technology businesses. But, Mitchell’s probably not hobnobbing with Hollywood types like his older brother. According to Steven’s IMDb page, he’s involved in three projects. The Darjeeling Limited was his first. His next film is Nothing is Private a film directed by Alan Ball, the guy behind American Beauty and Six Feet Under—so you know it’s going to be lighthearted, fun fare. Then, after that comes another Wes Anderson project, The Fantastic Mr. Fox with. Again, he’s executive producer on this one.