5 Shades of CapFringe

Ah, Capital Fringe Festival, you do not disappoint!  My CapFringe 2012 so far:

The Good: "We, Tiresias": well-written, well-staged, and well-acted retelling/reimagining of the life of the oracle Tiresias, played at various stages in his/her life by 3 actors, who alternately play the other characters, including Oedipus.   Also good: "Dead Man's Mambo": a slapshtick-y commedia dell-arte improv mashup by a very talented actor, with the put-upon deadpan foil perfectly played by the young artist I'm housing this year.
I recommend you see both of these in the few remaining performances each has next week.
Also good, BFF with Brian Feldman, performance artist and my new BFF!

Stay tuned for my separate post on BFF.

The Bad: "A Year of Giving": the writer/lead "actor" did a very interesting project (give away $10/day each day for a year) about 2-3 years ago.  He blogged about it.  But he can't act, and it comes across as schmaltzy on stage. It should have remained a blog.

The Ugly:  "City of God" (the David Koresh opera). Omg, where to start with this disaster? The recorded (but original) music was too loud, so I couldn't hear the voices all the time.  The singers/actors were very young, and though most could sing well, none really acted well. The guy playing Koresh pranced about stage like a gay pride parade float reject.  A cult leader needs more swagger, less swish. The story/lyrics were stilted. The composer can't sing, yet cast himself as a major character. Just, ugh. (Though the penultimate scene, a duet between the baritone FBI negotiator and tenor Koresh, was powerful, vocally, even if I didn't understand the lyrics because these singers didn't enunciate well and were overpowered by the taped music.)

But even in disappointing (terrible, awful) productions, you, CapFringe, have provided a venue to talent who may just need more time on stage so that next time (or the time after that) they may write or produce or direct or act or sing in a worthy production.

Help! I've rented a performance artist for 2 hours and don't know what to do!

It's that time of year again: the Capital Fringe Festival. Three weeks of sometimes amazing, sometimes awful, experimental and low-budget theater (and opera, dance, and puppetry) in sometimes-airconditioned venues.  All only blocks from my home!

And I need your help this year.  I bought a ticket to "BFF," a show by performance artist Brian Feldman.  (Read this WaPo article for more about the artist.)  The show is billed like this:

It could change your life. Perhaps the most conceptual offering in Capital Fringe history, BFF explores friendship through two hour "friend building" excursions. Only 50 people can attend these one-on-one experiences, hanging out with one of DC's top performance artists.

Yup -- for the low CapFringe ticket price of $17 (but free for me because I got a free pass for housing an artist again this year*), I am going to hang out with my new BFF Brian Feldman.  For 2 hours.  Just the 2 of us.  Next Friday, during rush hour. But wtf should we do?

I love the idea.  It's taking me -- a non-artist, typically passive audience member -- and making me think about the art in advance.  And then live it for 2 hours.  And I have no fucking idea what we should do for 2 hours.  All I know is (1) it's gotta be something nearby (which includes lots of good stuff: my house, including gym/pool; the mall; museums; white house; supreme court; MLK main library; tons of restaurants, grocery stores, bars, etc.); and (2) it can't feel like a date (I do enough dating already).

I've run it by some friends, and here's the ideas so far:

1. Use this as an opportunity for me to re-learn how to ride a bicycle, with the encouragement of my new BFF.  (I haven't ridden a bike in over 20 years.)  Then maybe hang out at my building's rooftop pool.
2. Read 50 Shades of Grey (which my mom just mailed to me) together, aloud. In the Safeway. Until we're kicked out.  Then maybe hang out at my building's rooftop pool.
3. Protest something absurd.  Like "Transportation." Possibly at Union Station. (Or the Supreme Court).
4. Go see a Fringe show together.
5. Volunteer somewhere, maybe picking up trash. 
6. No matter what I do, make my new BFF think I'm earnest about it.
7. Live tweet or Facebook or Instragram or film what we do.
8. Obvs, become Facebook friends with my new BFF.

What do y'all think of these?  And I'd love to hear more ideas.  (And, btw, the 50 Shades of Grey idea is far and away the idea most people love so far.)

*For the 3rd year in row, I've volunteered to house an unknown-to-me Fringe artist from out of the DC area.  This time a composer from Philadelphia. And, for the 3rd year in a row, to the naysayers I say: "If I'm murdered, you can't say 'I told you so' because I'm already dead."

Awful Things* #3: Segregated Spas

I have a long list of pet peeves that includes: (1) being told to have a blessed day; (2) people who spit while walking on sidewalks; (3) tourists, generally; and (4) the use of "their" as a singular pronoun to avoid dealing with gender problems of "his," "hers" or "his or hers." 

Not on the pet peeve list are: (1) passing a bed of black eyed susans on the walk home from work today;

(2) the ominous sky before a big storm before dusk tonight (though why I took the picture in instagram is beyond me);

(3) instagram, generally; and (4) spas, generally.  I love spas.  The spas where I can get a no-frills massage behind a screen, the fancy spas with lush massage and other treatment rooms and plush robes where they bring me everything I need, the spas with multiple whirlpools and saunas, all spas, all of them.  

Except ... segregated spas are awful. Not spas segregated by race (though those are truly awful, if such places actually exist any more).  But spas segregated by gender.

I was recently at a spa in Brooklyn where men and women were supposed to wear bathing suits because we were all together in the tubs and whirlpools and steam rooms and saunas.  Nice, but who wants to wear a suit in a spa?  That's as counterproductive to the relaxation experience as wearing a suit while swimming out to the middle of Walden Pond at midnight on a warm August evening to lay back and watch the meteor showers.**  Why ruin a such an experience with a swim suit?

Years ago I was at a Turkish spa in Berlin that was segregated -- women only -- and we all luxuriated in the decadence of it and our nakedness.  And I've heard from friends about Korean spas here which are the same (though possibly less decadent than the one in Berlin.  But isn't most everything in DC less decadent than in Berlin?).  What I don't get is why we can't all luxuriate together.  

I met a guy at my building's rooftop pool this last weekend who's opening a spa in our neighborhood.  Yes, he was wearing a suit when I met him.  As was I.  Anyway, the spa will be in one of these buildings across from Busboys and Poets:

I'm not sure if it will be where the now-defunct(?) stripclub ("Louis' the Rogue") was, or next door.  But it should open in a few months.  I'm very excited.  Though I hope when it does open, it's naked and non-segregated.  

Have a blessed day,

Jess

* "Awful things" are a sporadic list of things (I usually like) picked by Disgruntled Co-worker for me to write about how awful they are.  

** Not that I'm admitting to having done anything like this -- that might not be approved of by the fine folks working at Walden Pond -- during my years in the Boston area.  Or encouraging others to do so.

Awful things #2: vinyl records

This the the 2nd in a series of "awful things" chosen by Disgruntled Coworker for me to write about.  He thinks he's choosing things I like.  He prolly thinks I like vinyl because he thinks I'm nostalgic for all things from my youth.  And all "authentic" things.  But I agree with him on this one. 

I have a box of vinyl records somewhere in my momma's garage back in Texas.  It doesn't matter if the south Texas heat hasn't gotten to 'em yet.  Because I ruined them well before that.  Over 20 years ago, a friend and I got the brilliant idea to black out the the centers of all my records. You know, where the name of the band, the album, and the songs are.  And then, we placed all the records in the wrong sleeves.

When you went to play a record, it was a total crapshoot.  Think you're gonna hear 1 of the 5 records in that Bruce Springsteen and the E St Band Live 1975-85 box set? Nope, it's Men at Work.  (Yes, those are both in the collection.) (No, no comment on what substances may have played a role in this brilliant decision making.)  It was sort of a pre-iPod "shuffle."

And, it was also a sort of pre-iTunes playlist.  Because, the records weren't randomly in the wrong sleeves.  There was a method to it.  Looking for AC/DC's Back in Black? (Also in the collection.)  Why don't you try looking in the Michael Jackson Bad album sleeve?  (Also in the collection.)  You know, because Michael wore that awesome black jacket on the album cover.

But, iPod/Nano/iPhone/iTunes:  SO much better than vinyl.  Because I can indulge my caterpillar-sized attention span and shuffle to another song in nanoseconds, while searching online and making a phone call and taking a picture at the same time.  Sometimes, even taking a picture of the internet access itself.  Check out these crazy wifi networks:

I'm guessing the 3rd one ("Bear Heaven") is related to the Eagle, the gay leather bar here in the neighborhood.  And I saw "Goodbye Jews!" in Park Slope, Brooklyn last month:

In my old vinyl filing "system," I would have filed Ozzy's Blizzard of Ozz under "Goodbye Jews!"  Because it has "Goodbye to Romance" on it, obvs.

OMG.  All the old vinyl songs are on my various iDevices.  I need new music.

Awful things #1: food trucks

I have been given a new blogging mission: write about "awful things" chosen by disgruntled coworker.  His first three topics prove what an ass he is, since they are all things that are demonstrably NOT awful.  #afterbirth

For this inaugural edition of "awful things," I present: food trucks.  Which, according to the best real-time mapping website of food truck tweets in DC,  are awfully far away from me today on my day off.  Which sucks, because I only went to 1 food truck this week and it's such a beautiful day to grab some food and eat outdoors in the sun.

Oh well, I enjoyed the sun during a 5 mile run earlier today past the Lincoln and WWII Memorials and Washington Monument, where I saw not 1, but 2 tourists taking pictures of the monument as their penises.  Not this Monument penis:

because they were human.  I really need to run with a camera.  Running tally of these morons I've seen on the mall:  4!

So, food trucks.  The problem with getting delicious, cheap food from a food truck and enjoying it al fresco on a beautiful spring day is that you miss out on the ambiance of an indoor place like the Saints Paradise Cafeteria here in the Mt. Vernon Square neighborhood:

Love is the main ingredient (in the southern and soul food) because it's part of the United House of Prayer for All People church.  Customers go through the cafeteria line to get the food -- like pigs feet and fried chicken and greens and mac and cheese -- in styrofoam containers.  (No biodegradable recycled paper containers like the food trucks use here!)  But in the seating area is a permanently-set table for the church's pastor, with gold-leafed china and glass:

That type of display is just not possible in or on a food truck!

The Eritrea next door

I was trying to find the number for the Eritrean Civic and Cultural Center  because I was craving some of their delicious beef and collards and wanted to know their hours.  Why the hell don't they have a website? I ended up looking for them via the AroundMe app.  To shortcut it, I just entered "Eritrean," figuring, since it was "around me," the app would find it.  Nope.  It found Eritrea. Almost 7000 miles away.  Eventually found the number for the tastiest frickin ethiopian-esque food in my neighborhood via my map function.  Go there!  Soon!

And UPDATE:  I saw my second dumbass taking a picture of the Washington Monument as his penis while running this weekend.  Not this chick:

Because he was a man.  Running tally:  2!

End of Days! Where's my Nicotine?!!?!!

In preparation for Hurricane Irene (or, more likely when it hits DC, Tropical Storm Irene), I ventured down the street to the Safeway to get the necessities: cigarettes, pain killers, and peaches.  Saw the sticker above on a sign on my way.  Apropos, no?  The nice folks at the Ace Hardware on 5th by the Safeway had some good advice:  PANIC!  

It seems folks were, indeed, following that advice.  The Safeway was packed.  You'd think the world was ending.  The lines were all the way to the back of the store at every check out, much like they were before the Snowpocalypse 2 winters ago.  Got a kick out Safeway's placement of the Nicorrette next to the menstrual pain relievers:

But couldn't take the lines, so ditched the peaches, which require actual check out with a scale, and went to non-scaled customer service for the true necessity: cigs.  Then went down the street for a sub from Taylor Gourmet. You know, in case the power goes out and I can't microwave stuff in my usual mode of high-class cooking.  My hurricane preparedness tableau:

Yes.  I plan to read about popes while eating a sub, smoking cigs, and watching the rain.  

Who wants to get wet?

This weekend in DC has made me think I was back in Texarkana, what with all the public displays of religiosity.  Yesterday, the Glenn Beck prayer-a-thon on the mall, and today the fire hose baptisms in front of the UHOP-FAP church in my neighborhood.

Before the fire hoses were pulled out, the shout band was jammin and the preacher kept asking "Who wants to get wet?" "Who wants to be touched?" and "What do you need to be touched?"  He kept saying the answer was "Faith" but all I could think with my dirty dirty mind was some variety of "That's what she said."

Most folks were wearing all white and several women wore shower caps to protect their hair:

Then it was time for the baptism by fire hose.  The water was spraying everywhere:  

I stood back behind the spray line because I had on a black bra under my white t-shirt.  Out of respect for the solemnity.  And because I'm a heathen.  

Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I'd have the facts

Was trying to figure out how to connect these random photos I'd taken. For lack of a better way, I'm going with the To Kill a Mockingbird quote above, which I have posted in my office to guide me as I write.

Stalinist hands:

(Via Cucina, 11th st NW)

Bad dog:

(K St NW)

Generous patrons:

(Air and Space Museum)

Happy 50th b-day today to To Kill a Mockingbird.

A three-story flag means 3x the entitlement!

Here's a flag hung up today at the construction site down the street:

My innate sense of patriotism compelled me to recently cancel my subscription to the Washington Post, because the op-ed pages suck.  They just suck.  So, needing another news source, I decided to splurge on an online Texarkana Gazette (not a church newsletter!) subscription.  It's been a few years since I've read crazy Gazette letters to the editor.  Oh, they're so good!  

Like this, from an unsigned letter titled "Freedom a gift from God," about the events of July 4th, 1776 (published last March, for some unknown reason): 

"America began as a flight from bondage to salvation. . . . [O]nly a few brave souls were sent by God to carry out for their families and their family’s future—for the ability to live as a free people. . . . 

The America born in 1776 is in grave danger today. A horrible, suicidal transformation has been evolving for decades slowly and almost unnoticed. Almost. . . .

The most important aspect in understanding what America is and realizing why it is an honor to be one of its citizens, is knowing the fact that our freedom is given to us by God. Your God may be different from my God, but as long as we both understand that nature’s God entitles us, we are truly American. . . ."

Yup.  Nothing is more truly American than entitlement.  

Who needs sidewalks and alleys anyway?

At the construction site for the Yale II project.  Sign pointing to the closed-off alley reads "pedestrian sidewalk."  Not sure this is the best way to go about it.

Emergency Gentrification Edition

Very excited that the neighborhood farmers market is starting its season this week.  But these signs the city put up today on every tree on that block?  "EMERGENCY" just seems to be the wrong word for an event taking place weekly from April through December.  Whatevs, they're paper signs;  they won't last 8 1/2 months on a downtown tree.


In other signs of the gentrification of downtown DC around the Penn Quarter/Chinatown/Mt Vernon area:

From down the street circa September '08.  The sign is long gone, and I don't know that this is related, but there's been a lot less tranny prostitution action in the alley behind my place since I first moved here and took that photo.  In fact, haven't seen any from my balcony vantage in months.  Just the random urinator every now and then.  Ahh . . . gentrification.

Venus de MiSnow Edition

Just back home after aimless wandering through a snowy sunny downtown.  Worst of the day:  almost no cuts in snow from sidewalks to streets.  Best of the day:  the neighbors' Venus de MiSnow in a pickup.  Arguably, that's on any day's best of list.

Mortification Edition

Dull afternoon of errands at some neighborhood businesses: pharmacy, dry cleaner, hardware store, supermarket. Saw the Snuggie for Dogs at the hardware store. Part of me wants to send it to my little Dascher for Hannukah. Part of me wants to vomit.

My mortification at what our society has come to is expressed best by this boy, who let me take his picture in front of the supermarket:

Yes, he was walking down the street like that. His mom didn't seem to find as much humor in it as I did.

Machete Edition

I finally figured out how to use the SD card slot on my new computer and uploaded some pix from my camera. And I realized I had two entirely separate machete-related photo albums.

Here's a picture I took last month of the flagpole at the massacre site in Goliad, TX.

Under the Texas flag is the Goliad, or Texas Independence, flag, circa 1835. That's right. It's a blood red arm holding a bloody machete, because the Texians would rather cut off their arms than be subjects of Mexico. Didn't work out too well. It is a massacre site, after all.

And, entirely unrelated, but for the machete, is this photo I took down the street from my place in DC this summer:

Wtf is anyone doing clearing brush with a machete in downtown DC? But, who am I to say anything? One, he has a machete. Two, I bought the $3 polyester version of the Goliad flag at the massacre site gift shop and have it hanging in my office. I guess I just can't help it. I have the Texas Independence Trail in my blood.

Odd Tooth Edition

So, an abandoned building down the street got spruced up last week with, for lack of a better description, this lovely MoneyTooth poster:

Not sure what it's about, but I like it. And not just because it reminds me of an Arkansas joke I learned when I moved to Texarkana: How do you know the toothbrush was invented in Arkansas? Because, otherwise, it would have been called the teethbrush.

Lame. I know. But the poster is cool.