Here are some highlights:

Single Best Line of the Day:

3. What else can you tell us about your sweet-ass crib?

It’s filled with ladies. And by “ladies” I mean “pencils.”

-The response by Remy Munasifi—the dude behind “Arlington:The Rap”—to the above question.

Best “Oh yes, I have done that at my house too” moment:

Amanda Hess’s description of how she steals wireless in her home: “Make sure your laptop is good and charged, and then stalk through every floor and room of your house, holding the computer open and checking signal strength every couple of steps. Check out the front and back yards, too—you might be putting in some overtime on the stoop this summer.”

Best public place to steal WiFi, if you happen to need free WiFi in upper Northwest:

In front of Mayor Adrian Fenty’s house…

Best creepy voyeuristic shots of man enjoying his front yard:

I guess they’re kind of sweet—but did the guy even know you were there Darrow?

Best pet for an apartment:

The pet described as “ideal for urban living” is not a dog, cat, gerbil or mouse—although lots of urbanites have those whether they want them or not! In fact, the animal is…

Worst excuse for not paying your rent on time:

Saying you didn’t understand your last court agreement because there was no interpreter available. There was.

Walter Gagliano is an interior designer who has designed 25 restaurants in the Washington, D.C. area. Tonight, he’s accompanying Young & Hungry columnist Tim Carman on a whirlwind architectural tour of District eats to reveal which offerings are hot and cold, off the menu.

Station 9, 1439 U Street NW

Hot: Originally an old post office, Station 9’s Greek revival facade and large stone columns create an imposing presence on U Street. “Walking into the space, the first impression is good,” Gagliano says. The interior boasts a “large open space”—one required by historic regulations which don’t allow Station 9 to divide the room up with walls. Station 9 deals with the wiggle-room well, Gagliano says. “The elements are handled in such a good way that it prevents the space from feeling cavernous.”

The decor is “stagey and theatrical, and all done to the right scale,” Gagliano says. “There are big curtains, big bold stripes, and large spherical chandeliers” that—on further inspection—look to be stapled-together plastic cups. It all gives off the impression of “a reality TV-show where things must be done creatively, fast, and inexpensively.” The tiered seating, completed by dramatic high-back leather chairs, “improves the view for those on top of the tier and below the tier,” Gagliano says. The larger-than-life set-up would be quite impressive, actually, if there were enough diners to fill the space. On a Thursday at 8:30 p.m., the dining room served only two.

Cold: All that space can sometimes invite too much function. Station 9 suffers from what Gagliano calls “confused expectations.” The space “feels like a restaurant ready to erupt into a nightclub at 10 p.m.,” he says—and perhaps the place is better equipped for the weekend club scene than the quiet Thursday dinner.

The martini-goggles might help to soften some of Station 9’s less savory design elements. Gagliano says that Station 9’s free-standing exterior is accompanied by an “air of neglect.” An outside window looks right into a cluttered storage room. Says Gagliano, “There’s obviously a manager here that doesn’t care anymore.” In contrast to the ironic glamour of Policy, Gagliano says, “the overall effect just doesn’t feel fresh. The glamour here has no irony.”

Walter Gagliano is an interior designer who has designed 25 restaurants in the Washington, D.C. area. Tonight, he’s accompanying Young & Hungry columnist Tim Carman on a whirlwind architectural tour of District eats to reveal which offerings are hot and cold, off the menu.

Policy, 1904 14th St. (202) 387-7654

Cold: Policy’s unmarked entrance can make Policy’s first impressions a bit unmemorable. “When you first walk in, it’s a little cold,” says Gagliano. “There are chartreuse-colored walls, a utilitarian stair-case, and a hostess stand on the inside—it’s like you’re going into a closed nightclub. It gives no impression at all of what you’re walking into. It’s a shame, becuase once you walk in through the second door, it all becomes very cool.”

Hot: Policy’s decades-spanning pop design appeal is beyond eclectic—it’s clashing. To Gagliano , that’s a good thing. “The more clashing the better these days,” he says. A stroll through policy’s restaurant, bar, and lounge areas conjures up a lot of culture clash, from “Rat Pack Las Vegas to “80’s glam” to “the Sputnik-glam of the 50’s and 60’s,” Gagliano says. Thankfully, everything is “filtered through a 21st-centure sensibility,” he says. “There is nothing undone here. It’s very designed. It’s all very different, but all very controlled. I mean that in the best way.”

Once past the entrance, guests are greeted with a dining room that could be home to both Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley, Gagliano says. “You walk into a room that’s almost totally black with red accents and reflective surfaces that stop it from being dungeon-y,” Gagliano says. The inviting lounge area also plays with dark glam, in red patent-leather and black crocodile-like apholstery that Gagliano calls “very 1959 Cadillac.” Upstairs, says Gagliano, “it’s not a restaurant anymore—it’s a club.” A staircase leads to loungy booths, chain-mail curtains, crystal chandeliers and New York-style subway graffiti gracing the walls. “It has a very high-energy vibe,” Gagliano says, one that might even outshine Policy’s downstairs set-up: “It looks like it should have its own name.”

Like Cork Wine Bar, Policy flirts with “cold” again with its lighting scheme—what Gagliano calls “weird little glaring headlights” that he suspects “could make customers feel like a deer-in-the-headlights.” Policy softens the glare “by adding an incongruous element to each table—fresh flowers in small vases to block and diffuse the light,” Gagliano says. The floral displays prove a potent counterpart for the road-kill lighting: “It works pretty successfully,” he says.

Reporting by Tim Carman

2. A decent glass curtain wall.

3. Another decent glass building. There’ve been a lot of advances in glass, says Julian Hunt. These buildings can be remarkably energy efficient.

I have no idea what goes on at the Peter G. Peterson Institute for International Economics. I am glad of this fact. I’m sure they’re marvelous people in there.

But wow, this building the PIIE is in—now that’s worth getting to know. Think Tank Row over here on Massachusetts Avenue NW is not the type of place you look for anything interesting, and I am including in this declaration John Williamson’s overview of Special Drawing Rights, which I’m sure has its merits beyond a general audience.

But I am here in front of the Peterson Institute HQ, designed by James von Klemperer of the New York architectural firm Kohn Pedersen Fox. Julian Hunt really, really likes this building. Some arguments in its favor:

• The “skillful change of rhythm”
• The “beautiful marble wall”
• It’s proportionate
• “Everything is very well thought-out”

Look at the bollards! They’re Jet Mist black granite. Nice bollards, Peter G. Peterson!

And check out the alley–the textures, the contrasts. Everything’s been considered here. Just a gorgeous building.

Cork Wine Bar is located at 1720 14th St. NW, in a spot formerly occupied by Sparky’s espresso cafe.

Hot: Cork’s retooling of the caffeine joint’s space achieves “a familiarity that looks totally at home with the block,” says Gagliano. “It’s a sophisticated but not-overdone look.” The bar’s tin ceilings, wood floors, and exposed brick contribute to the unexpected elegance. “I’m bemused at the ability of those elements to reinvent themselves and look fresh,” says Gagliano. Cork’s interior design makes sure its wine list is exposed, as well. “The wine-bar theme is instantly reinforced by a distant view of an open wine cellar. It lets you know that they’re serious about wine without looking like some showy suburban wine cellar.” A central loft dining room perched atop the mock cellar “looks like a great space for a party of 12-19,” Gagliano adds.

Cold: Not all of Cork’s simplified solutions come off as quite as earthy. “There are energy-inefficient Edison bulbs, but they have great character and warmth,” says Gagliano. “And the back room is pleasant, but unless they’re very busy it would be like being in Siberia—it’s so removed from the main action.”

Reporting by Tim Carman

We drive through Kalorama, Georgetown, Burleith, and finally Foxhall Village before we spot a live human being sitting on their front stoop. Just after 5 p.m., we find Bob Siciliano, 67, relaxing in a patio chair. His barefeet resting on a small metal table. His dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned down to his waist.

Siciliano says he left his downtown real-estate law firm at 3 p.m. He’s been on his patio ever since—working his way through a pile of magazines (Consumer Reports, home building mags,”a bunch of crap”), answering messages on his BlackBerry, and zipping through David Ignatius’ latest terrorism-and-nukes thriller.

“I love sitting outside,” Siciliano says. “My neighbors will tell you.” We’d ask them but they’re not out unless they’re hiding behind the well-managed shrubs and tree shade in the small park across the street.

“This is my beach,” he explains. “Bob’s Beach.”

Siciliano has lived in Foxhall since he purchased his English-Tudor style home in 1972. Two months ago, he bought a portable patio umbrella for his front porch. The Ignatius book is a relatively new addition. “It’s just getting good,” he says. He’s on page 201. “This really is good. Good beach book.”

*photos by Darrow Montgomery. Text by Jason Cherkis.

“I dislike it when design tries to force you to do things you may not want to do,” says Julian Hunt. We’ve just dashed across Connecticut Avenue to a dismal parklet. There’s a statue of someone or another, a reclining person with the world’s most gigantic case of plumber’s butt, and some lunching folks.

This park, Hunt says, “tries to direct you.” There are walls. Planters. Fixed seats. What would Hunt do instead? Funny you should ask.

Along with some others, and his partner at Hunt Laudi Studio (who happens to be his wife, Lucrecia Laudi), came up with a plan for Connecticut Avenue NW. This was less “provocative and insulting” than their tongue-in-cheek plan to redesign the White House, which they entered in a whimsical contest put on by the Storefront for Art and Architecture in New York.

Hunt Laudi’s plan involved allowing the executive office buildings to creep into the Mall, much the way executive power crept forward during the Bush years. The World War II Memorial, hated by so many critics (”Europe’s fascist leaders could not have found a thing in it to take exception to,” said the Post’s Blake Gopnik in one memorable essay), would be demolished and a speaker’s corner would be set up there. There would also be a beer garden. Hunt loves places to get beer in a city. He hates the beer kiosk at the Constitution Garden Pool, however: the beer costs too much, there’s no place to sit down, and the kiosk is “dopey.”

(Speaking of dopey, how about this park, dedicated to some poor soul named Witherspoon, and totally unusable:

)

Where the architectural debate in D.C. could be, according to Hunt, is how we use the city. How the neighborhoods connect to one another. Where it is, he says, is piddling disputes about historical preservation, about whether windows should be six panels over six.

Take this park. It’s an island. Hunt would like to turn it into a peninsula. “Good urban design understand the instinct that reads empty social space,” he says. When Barcelona opened up its parks into plazas, people filled them without being directed. You could put cobbles on the street between the park and the sidewalk. Move the sidewalks in and direct that square footage to the median, where you could create a pedestrian walkway down the middle of Connecticut, like Barcelona’s Las Ramblas. That would connect Dupont Circle to downtown and Adams Morgan.

This is, of course, practically impossible. The traffic tunnel under Dupont (the “Dupont traffic pit” in Hunt-speak) is federal highway, DDOT told Hunt. So Hunt’s dreams for Dupont—a bar here, where now there’s just a scourge of concrete, a farmer’s market on a deck built over the traffic pit on the north side of the circle—would take a mind-blowing effort to even get considered.

And the traffic engineers. Oy, the traffic engineers. Hunt suggests I read about Hans Monderman, the Dutch traffic-engineering apostate, who suggested getting rid of most signage and not overdirecting traffic. (Crossing over to Dupont Circle itself is an excellent time to bring up simplifying traffic patterns, by the way.) In the Hunt Laudi plan, the circle would be cobblestoned, and you could close it sometimes as a pedestrian area, expanding the park.

Now the park is OK, but it’s not what it could be. Look behind the benches—what’s that strip of green for? You can’t get there. It’s hard to use. This area could have a “multiplying effect,” Hunt says, helping bring the neighborhoods together. But it’s just not connected to any other spaces.

Across from the circle is a large concrete rectangle with mesh on the top. This is the entrance, Hunt says, to a disused trolley station. He’s been down there and taken some photos. He’d love to get it used as a place for lectures and exhibitions. There’ve been a lot of ideas for those tunnels. Nothing’s happened. If anyone reading this ever gets down there, automatic CP cover story. Call me.