The Washington Pots has again decided to illuminate the poor, sad, ignorant world beyond Dupont Circle. It has discovered Rehoboth Beach and Lewes, of which no one has ever heard because the Post hasn't written about them in the last year, and it wants to tell us about them. Here's the article:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A31840-2003Jul22.html

As usual, the Post takes the happily congratulatory tone of the archaeologist who found the Rosetta stone. Never mind that Baltimoreans, Philadelphians, and--God save us all--Washingtonians have been summering in Rehoboth for years. (Actually, it's easy to identify the dwellers from each city when you hit a bar in Rehoboth. The Baltimoreans are easily the most gregarious and gossipy. We want to see and talk to everyone. The Philadelphians are more insular, friendly but reserved. The Washingtonians travel in packs from which they do not deviate. No Washingtonian ever gets laid at the beach, because they never get enough time away from the group to fire one lousy pickup line.)

I think that I like Rehoboth much in the same way I like Catholicism. It is predictable and formulaic. My behavior is rather more circumspect in Rehoboth than it is in Baltimore itself. In a big city, you can get away with quite a lot; but in a distillation of that city's society, there is going to be somebody on the boardwalk who knows your mother and won't hesitate to inform her that her thirty-something son has just been observed being pawed by an unknown jarhead.

The Post finds all of this new and exciting. I find it old hat, but nonetheless wonderful. It's refreshing to go to the beach every year. I mourn the loss of Dentino's only a bit less than the loss of Hochschild, Kohn & Co. And, just as Maison Marconi holds up the torch of Old Baltimore food, the pretty old Hotel Royalton still slings a thousand soda-floats per night. The Royalton is a charming contrast to the disco-ridden hell of the new and hip bars along Baltimore Avenue.

Fashion has, by its very nature, invaded Rehoboth, but tradition isn't giving up one lousy inch. Some of the old restaurants are gone, but the Corner Cupboard is still around and the food is still better than sex and frankly a bit less expensive. "Nice" people--which means all of the people I know who summer there--receive guests on their wide front porches and have ready pitchers of gin and tonic. You'll know when I'm there, because you'll hear the portable Grafonola blatting out German tangos and foxtrots for three blocks in any direction.

And so, it's amusing to watch the Post's staff-du-jour "discover" Delaware's Grand Strand. I enjoy reading their "omigod there's like this totally cool beach town like right down the road and all".

I think it is also worthwhile to note that I lately picked up a service for six in "Paul Revere" silverplate and immediately designated it as my "Beach Service". We may be on vacation, but we WILL set a correct table.