Surfside

We went to Surfside Friday night, one of our favorite restaurants, located in one of DC's nicest neighborhoods, up just past the Vice President's residence and Embassy Row. The food is great (I guess you could characterize it as a bit ritzier than Baja Fresh), and the rooftop deck, where you see Hudson and me, provides a fun ambiance. There are far too many pleated, salmon-colored, mid-thigh-length shorts held up by woven leather belts at this particular restaurant -- clearly a hot spot for the Georgetown types who don them -- but hey, it makes for fun people watching. I would have liked to catch a pic of one guy I saw wearing such shorts with a pair of leather loafers, sans socks; I almost reminded him that he's 23, not 63, but then I realized I'm the fashion oddball in these here parts.

Hudson seems to have finally emerged from his womb-induced coma. Though he still sleeps a lot, when he's awake, he prefers (and by that I mean he screams like a pterodactyl until one of us gets the point) to be propped up, as he is in this picture, so he can soak in the sights (though at this phase in his early development, I think that means he enjoys the bright lights and fuzzy, indecipherable shapes and colors that move just beyond his little eyeballs' capacity to truly see; in this picture, he's looking up at the flatscreen TV right above Rachel).