Thing 158: Ft. Reno

It turns out, I am really terrible at blogging in August. I've never been particularly good at it, looking back over the last two years, but it seems that this August has been especially hard for me to get it together. Blame it on my entirely new life, or just blame it on humidity and general laziness, but it is time to stop thinking about blogging and start putting fingers to keyboard. Let's go!

It with great embarrassment that I report to you that I went to my first Ft. Reno outdoor concert three weeks ago and have been sitting on the experience since then. So selfish of me! Because it was a really fun experience!!

How have I avoided Ft. Reno until now, you wonder? Well, I'm not really sure. Part of it is that I thought it was really hard to get to. And part of it was that I was pretty sure my jeans weren't skinny enough. But I'm happy to report back that Ft. Reno is but two blocks from the Tenley Town metro, and also that, while heavy on the hipster crowd, its actually just a really welcoming, happy, communal neighborhood event.

I attended Ft. Reno's final concert of the summer back on July 30th, when Grendel Babies, Casper Bangs, and Title Tracks performed. The bands were...fine. I don't know, the music wasn't really my taste (I lean more towards Mos Def), but people seemed to really enjoy it. Title Tracks in particular seemed to have a devoted following who made an impromptu dance floor in front of the stage during the set. And even if the music wasn't really my cup of tea, I can certainly appreciate any venue that focuses on local talent and lets local bands to their thing.

But for me, the fun was really in the atmosphere -- the setting and the people and the night sky and the company. Just as Screen on the Green has almost nothing to do with what movie is being shown and everything to do with sweating on the mall and drinking boxed wine, atmosphere is everything at Ft. Reno. This is clearly a place for neighbors to come out of their stuffy homes on a summer night and mingle in the open air. Families brought their children and babies, couples brought their dogs, everyone sat out on blankets and shared food and watched the sky darken behind the Fort's turrets. I was invited by some Fort Reno regulars, and we enjoyed the night air while sharing olives and cheese and off-brand Oreos.

I will definitely go back (I am simply a sucker for a picnic, though this is no secret), and am looking forward to adding the annual concert series into my summer rotation next year.

One year ago: Nellie's Sports Bar and Trivia Night

Top 10 DC Things To Do This Summer 2009

By now, I'm sure you've heard the news and if not, let me be the first to tell you: Screen on the Green is back, baby! The outdoor movies will screen in their usual spot every Monday from July 20 - August 1o, starting with Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

The truth? I've known for awhile; and since it's no secret what my #1 summer activity is year after year, I've been holding my Top Ten list until it was made official.

So, without further ado...the DC365 Top Ten Things To Do This Summer in DC, 2009 edition!

10. Hillwood Estate outdoor movies: There were only two of these wonderful events scheduled for this year, and there's only one left, so what are you waiting for? Get your ticket! A nice, lush lawn, candelabra, cake stands, quality movies, wall-to-wall gays and free bug spray. Trust me, you want this.

9. Go on a bike ride: My bike tour of the Anacostia Riverwalk inspired me -- there are tons of trails in the area to get your cycle on and enjoy the summer sun. If you have a bike, consider joining the Washington Area Bicycle Association. If you don't have a bike, fork over the $40 and join Smartbikes for a year. I'm a member, and I'm a big fan. You can take a bike from any of the eight current docking stations and return it to any docking station within three hours. And, the program got $3 million in stimulus money to expand, so there will even more stations in the coming year.

8. Mr. Yogato: When you're sweating and salty, the very best thing for that is a cup of original tangy with fresh blueberries and strawberries. If you're really salty and sweaty, you can attempt the 30-day challenge: eat at Yogato every day for 30 days and you get a flavor named after you! If you prefer variety, you can also check out tangysweet, Larry's Homemade, Dolcezza and Pitango.

7. Pick Peaches: The Boyfriend and I had a blast picking apples at Stribling Orchard, and this year we plan to go back out to the country to pick as many peaches as we can load into our bags. You can pick peaches at Stribling, or you can join Farmfoody, which is like Facebook for farmers, to get bulletins on whose peaches are ripe and when. A summer full of peach cobbler, peach ice cream, and peach pie? Yes, please.

6. Cantina Marina: This bar is like Spring Break, all summer long. Right on the water, open and breezy, and with copious frozen margaritas at your disposal, you'll think you're back in college in Cancun. It is a great place to while away a lazy afternoon in the sunshine and summer breeze. Beware, on Nats game days and Friday and Saturday nights it can be quite crowded. If you're looking for an alternate roof deck or patio, check out the Helix Hotel bar, Marvin or the Beacon Martini Sky Bar.

5. A Nationals Game: I know the Nats suck, but come on -- sitting in the sunshine with an $7 Miller Lite, a Ben's Chili dog and some peanuts, watching the Nats lose? Doesn't get much better than that.

4. Wolftrap: I do love the Wolftrap, with it's lawn seating and liberal alcohol policy. Check out their schedule for upcoming acts. Why did this beloved summertime activity drop to #4 this year? With all the rain we've been having, the risks are high that you'll be stuck on the lawn in the middle of a downpour, which is not fun at all.

3. The Uptown: Harry Potter VI comes out this summer, and you will find me in line at the Uptown. This is still the best venue to see the the loud and flashy summer action movies with it's enormous screen and old timey balcony (!) seating. The Uptown is full of memories and experiences, I can sum it up better than I did when it was Thing 49.

2. Go on a picnic: I'm really trying to expand my picnic repertoire this year, and I always welcome more suggestions. Although the cherry blossoms are gone, the Tidal Basin and Haines Point remain excellent picnic locations, but there is also Malcolm X Park, the Franciscan Monastery, Gravelly Point, Poplar Point, Pierce Mill, Logan Circle, and on and on. Bring a cooler filled with cold, refreshing beverages, some dips in a tiffin, and kek with a chole in it, and you've got yourself a perfect summer afternoon.

1. Screen on The Green: See you for some box wine, dancing and sweating at Close Encounters of the Third Kind!! And many thanks to the saviours of this event: HBO, Comcast and the Trust for the National Mall!

Want more ideas? Check out my 2008 Top Ten list and my 2007 Top Five.

Thing 156: Artomatic

When I was a sophomore in college, I met a local boy who was an artist and into graphic novels. We kinda liked each other and he asked me out on a date. He came to pick me up from Foggy Bottom, and I asked him where we were going. "The waterfront," he replied. "We're going to see an art show."

Looking back, my narrow knowledge of DC at the time was downright shameful, but I was so confused when we got on the Metro to go to the Georgetown waterfront, and even more confused when we transferred to the green line. When we emerged, there didn't appear to be any water in sight, only a Safeway, a parking lot, and a rather large, abandoned-looking office building.

You've guessed it -- the waterfront was of course the Southwest waterfront, and the art show was Artomatic. It all felt very glamorous and exciting to be in an exotic part of the city and seeing an alternative, indy art show that sure had some weird stuff. Sadly, the boy and I never made it to date two, and I barely stepped foot in Southwest after that.

It took eight years for Artomatic to come back to the waterfront, and it took me that long to pay it a return visit. On Saturday, I strolled down the waterfront, now the home of the stadium and a neighborhood I frequent (the Boyfriend has lived in the littlest quadrant nearly a year), to a shiny new office building that has been taken over for the month of June by all manner of artists and performers.

If you haven't yet been to Artomatic, I'm not sure what you're waiting for. I guarantee: You will find something in this art show that you love, if only because of the sheer magnitude of works of art available to see. The show is nine full floors, of which we only made it through three, and as it was we saw gorgeous, thought-provoking, silly, ugly, weird, scary and peaceful works. Sculpture, oil, watercolor, installation, tin foil, greeting card, photography and marshmallow pieces. You will find something you cannot live without, and something you'd wish you'd never seen, before you leave.

I am primarily attracted to photography, and really loved Tony DeFilippo's photos of the District, as well as Jim Darling's portraits and stories in his 100 Strangers project. I also love abstract art with bright colors and repeating patterns, and was completely drawn in by Joel Church's pieces. I enjoyed Ginny Kinsey's block prints, with their messy outlines and unique point of view, and I still don't know what to make of Bunny Noir, but I really enjoyed it.

And that was from one third of the entire thing -- before my brain shut off and my stomach started growling. Think of all the fabulous things I've missed in the other six floors! And the live performances that happen through the day, each day!

Artomatic continues through July 5. Don't make the mistake I did by waiting eight years between visits.

Related: Crafty Bastards, Arts on Foot and an Afternoon at the Galleries.

Thing 117: The Folklife Festival

"We FINALLY went to the Folklife Festival," I told my dinner companion as we sat over salsas and ceviches at Lauriol Plaza, in answer to the fairly innocuous question of what did you do today?

"You couldn't possibly have done that yet...isn't it always the tradition that they hold the Folklife Festival at the hottest, sweatiest time of year? Part of the tradition is melting into a pool of sweat!"

Oh, rest assured. It was plenty hot for the annual Folk Life Festival, which closed this past Sunday. GFD and I went on the very last day, and melt into a pool of dusty, Mall sweat we did.

We also housed a plate of ribs in about a minute and half, walked through an authentic Buddhist Temple from Bhutan, and scratched our heads and said "NASA?"

Let me go back for a second, for those of you who didn't make it to the festival this year. Every year, for two weeks around the 4th of July (when the mall is at its sweatiest and dustiest), the Smithsonian erects a great many tents and pavilions and picks three cultures from the world to showcase in all their native, folk glory. There's always food, music, dancing, arts and crafts, and educational demonstrations, lectures and performances. In other words, it's a good time, sweat and all.

This year, the cultures highlighted were Texas, Bhutan and...NASA. NASA was celebrating it's 50th anniversary, and I guess spent a bunch of dollars to be spotlit at the festival, but come on. A folk culture it is not. GFD and I kept wandering around it saying "but isn't there...oh, I don't know...a WHOLE museum dedicated to this?...Like, right over there on the Mall already?!"

But Bhutan and Texas were pretty cool. Mostly, GFD and I ate our way through both cultures. We went to the Texas BBQ house and ate ribs.

Then we went ate the national dish of Bhutan, ema datsi, which is chilies with cheese and potatoes, and white rice with some kind of red rice mixed in. To be honest, we were nervous. But it turns out, it tasted like queso with jalapenos. Not so weird or exotic. It actually might have come out of an industrial can of nacho-grade queso, so underwhelming overall. We did think it was funny that the same thing could have been purchased at the Tex Mex booth, and we probably wouldn't have noticed. We also ate pork dumplings (God I love dumplings) inexplicably served with salsa that also seemed to have borrowed from the Tex Mex booth.

The music part of the Texas exhibit was great, with an opry house tent, and a dance hall tent. We heard country music, two stepping, and mariachis in the course of the hour we were there. And the arts and crafts piece of the Bhutan exhibit was pretty good too. Their weaving and textiles are bright and fun, with Buddhas and dragons and bright pinks knit with reds and blues and greens in lively patterns. They even assembled a model Buddhist temple, the pieces of which were hand crafted in Bhutan and shipped to Washington, DC for assembly. And inside, there were live monks making music (and looking remarkably hot and bored)!

It's too late for this year if you missed it, but next year be sure to go, even though you are guaranteed to dissolve into a sweaty mess. There is great music, good food, and a lot to see and do. I imagine if you have children, it is an ideal place to let them run and see and touch and dance. And maybe next year, they will focus on three actual folk cultures. Or maybe they will highlight the Department of Homeland Security instead.

Coming up: SotG!!!!! See you there! HBO Dance-off promptly at dusk.

Join me over at the Cork & Knife, where I tackle jam-making.

Thing 77: Olsson's Books and Records

I needn't have panicked, of course, because in this city, great Things are happening every day.

Take Olsson's Books and Records shops for

example. They have author events, signings and readings going on nearly every day. There is likely to be something that will please everyone in any given month, and for me, that something was Anthony Bourdain. Live, in the flesh, and telling it like it is.

Most people don't know this -- in fact, I don't think anyone knows this -- but Bourdain is one of the three people that spurred me to start this blog in the first place. I'd just finished reading A Cook's Tour, and was struck by his narrative style, his knack for the travelogue and the casual, humorous and honest ways he looked at food and travel. Unfunded by cable TV, I don't the means to do what he does in quite the same way, but darned if I couldn't write a fantastic travelogue about the city I'm in love with, which I am lucky enough to experience every day. (The other two people were Molly, and the Boyfriend, if you were curious).

So Tony holds a special place in my heart, even though he would probably ruthlessly make fun of me if I ever had the opportunity to tell him so. At 11:45 I ducked out of work and took the bus to Chinatown.

I was not the only one with this idea. By the time I rolled in, a few minutes after noon, I couldn't even find a place to stand where I could see the man. It was like Bourdain Radio, with a view of the backs of people's heads.


But I could hear his voice, and what a voice he's got. I suppose he wouldn't be a successful author if didn't have a distinctive voice, but having now heard him live and off the cuff, I can vouch that he speaks with the same snarky bluntess that he writes with and that pervades all of his TV appearances. He's half jerk and half best friend, heaping honest praise on those that deserve it, and mercilessly ridiculing those that deserve it, too.


Bourdain on vegetarians*: If you are priviledged enough to be one of the few people who is even able to go to Thailand and you don't eat everything in sight, it's not just rude, it's dumb. It's like going to a museum and saying 'I only want to see the paintings in blue and red.'

On which Food Network chefs are worth their salt: Mario. Mario is a behemoth. He knows everything, about everything. Those are cloven hoofs he's got hiding in those plastic clogs.

On which Food Network chefs are not: People would complain if I went on TV and told all the kids at home to listen to Judas Priest records backwards, and then go into the woods and slaughter goats. But that's what that Sandra Lee is doing! Putting spray cheese on a Triscuit and telling people it's a healthy, homecooked meal for their families -- it's the same thing.

On why his show is no longer on the Food Network and on Travel Channel instead: They came up to me and said, "We want more BBQ shows. Our audience doesn't really get this thing you do where you go to other places. They don't do subtitles. But our grilling shows get huge ratings. What if you went to different tailgating parties instead?"

On whether he ever gets sick from the foreign food: Most of the times that I've ended up with my head in a bidet some place foreign, it's been alcohol related.

On where he plans on eating dinner that night: Ben's Chili Bowl. Ground meat of unknown origin? How can I say no?

Olsson's has a pretty strict system for getting books signed. You have to a) buy the book that day, at Olsson's b) then they will give you a numbered card and c) then you wait in line based on the number of that card. I was still on my lunch hour, so I ducked out shortly after his talk, but I did manage to sneak up to the front and get his picture as he was signing. Skinny black jeans, boots, dark shirt, silvery hair. He looked tanned and a bit gaunt, just like on TV, but, you know, in three dimensions.

For those of you who want more Tony -- he'll be at Lisner tonight, though it's sold out, and from his lips to your ear he'll be at Ben's tonight for dinner.

*These quotes are from my memory, as I wasn't taking notes or recording it. I'm a blogger, not a journalist!

Thing 67: Crafty Bastards

Ya'll are some crafty bastards, DC. Does anyone need a yarn-woven portrait of Michael Jackson? No. Of course not. But you kind of want one now, don't you?

In that last weekend of September it was still blissfully summery. Downright hot and sweaty as we wandered from crowded booth to crowded booth at the City Paper's annual Crafty Bastards festival in Adams Morgan. Over 100 local and regional crafters had turned out to showcase and sell their wears, from the beautiful to the practical to the wacky to the downright ridiculous. If you thought recycling was boring, you must visit the crafty bastards next year.

Caitlin Phillips of Rebound Designs makes book-bags. As in, purses made from the hard covers of used books. That purple one is Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. While they are adorable and all, I was concerned about the books that were stripped naked for the making of crafts. When I asked Caitlin what she did with the multitude of naked books running around coverless, she assured me that she donates some of them to other local artists for their art projects (is there a paper mache sculpture of an octopus that originated as Harry Potter VI somewhere in the world?). But mostly, she told me, she just has a lot of coverless books on the shelves of her apartment. You can still read them just fine, she reminds me.

Old sweaters found new life as cute, 1920s reminiscent winter caps with huge flowers at A. Bel Studio. Plastic flowers and scrap metal became an elaborate diorama.

There was plenty of jewelry - all kinds of beading and metal work, which I browsed through until I broke down and bought a green plastic necklace that says 'avocado'. There were postcards and journals, pillows and magnets, skirts and dresses and hand-printed tee shirts. Crafty people seem to really like buttons. There were many, many buttons for sale, the tiny kind that say something witty (my favorite: "Tim Gunn '08"). I've never seen anyone wear these buttons...where do they all go?

If you got hungry wandering beneath the hot sun, Sticky Fingers bakery (the vegan bakery) had a booth, and so did Cake Love (the anti-vegan bakery). I was excited to try a vegan cupcake, but by the time I felt peckish they were completely sold out. So I went over to the butter lover's Cake Love booth, and darn it, they were sold out too. Expect a post about the Love Cafe and their seasonal pumpkin cupcakes, soon.

If the vast array of crafting was not entertainment enough, there was a DJ on one end of the fair, and a live performance venue on the other, which featured spoken word poets and emcees and even a break dance battle at one point.

Crafty Bastards is eclectic and creative and sometimes downright weird but it is hard not to be inspired by these people who know how to create something new and different from old things most of us don't give a second glance to. Where I see a magazine, they see a new shelf that can hold your keys, your loose change and tell you the time. I see scrap of fabric, they add a clasp and suddenly it is a tampon case. You may not have known you needed one, but now that it exists in the world...well, you kinda want one, don't you?

Thing 64: Opera on the Mall

In DC, opera is for the masses.

Last Sunday, the Washington National Opera telecast Puccini's La Boheme on the Mall, at the foot of the Washington Monument. Under a perfectly clear, sunny sky, a couple thousand people gathered with blankets and sunscreen to watch a free performance of the famous opera. A large screen was set up on the north side of the grass and we watched the performers as they performed the show on the Kennedy Center stage just down the road.

It's a really nice idea. Bringing opera outdoors, for free, at the foot of a national symbol like the monument. We all know that I'm a big proponent of outdoor movies and performances. But somehow, this idea falls flat when put into practice. For one, it loses a lot by being broadcast. A free live performance on the Mall might still capture the magic and sparkle of the opera, just by virtue of watching live artists and the give and take between performer and audience. The act of applauding performers who cannot hear you feels futile.

Second, it loses a lot by being outside. Opera is hard to sit through for many of us (as evidenced by the mass exodus of people at the intermission), and it is harder still to sit through when you're sitting on a blanket on the ground, squinting from the glare and afraid of getting sunburned. The mystique of opera is that it is a luxury, to be enjoyed in your finest dress clothes and followed by champagne. On this point however, I am torn. I like the idea of breaking down that mystique and presenting opera as an art form for everyone. I don't think this is the way to accomplish that though.

As for the opera itself, again I think it fell flat between the idea -- an update to the classic, allowing it to reach a larger audience by making it more accessible -- and the realization of that idea. Turn-of-the-19th-century Paris becomes a nondescript, modernish any-city, where the artists shoot footage on a cam corder, but write out their stories by hand, without backing them up on a PC. Mimi hand embroiders delicate flowers, but wears a vinyl trench coat. The Cafe Momus looks like Studio 54 and Mimi's tuberculosis becomes some modern, nondescript illness (AIDS? SARS?). While I understand the director's intention to re-make an opera that was once a near documentary of the time in which it was written back into a near documentary of artistic life today, it doesn't work.

I was also completely saddened to find out that the musical Rent has ruined my enjoyment of La Boheme. I can't help but compare the two as the opera progresses, playing Rent simultaneously in my head. This is no fault of the Washington National Opera's, and frankly, I'm pretty mad about it. La Boheme is an exquisite piece of music, and it does not deserve to have me thinking "this is the 'light my candle' song" as it unfolds.

At intermission, Placido Domingo, the General Director of the Washington Opera, made an appearance to speak to the crowd. He told us how happy he was to see so many people out to enjoy opera, and said he hoped that for some of us, this might be the first opera we've ever seen, and that it might inspire us to see more and learn more about the art form. It is a noble wish, and I hope it comes true, but from where I was sitting, I think it's doubtful.

Thing 63: The Black LUV Festival

Full disclosure: I am not black.

I do, however, recognize that I live in a majority black city. And I also love "black" music (which is now "suburban white" music). So when I got an email about the Black LUV (Love, Unity, Vision) Festival, I marked it on my calendar. Sounds cool!

Also, convenient. It was only a couple blocks from the DC Central Kitchen, on C Street in front of the DMV.

I arrived just as it was getting started. Meat was going on the grill, sound checks on the mics, and the vendors were settling in.

I took a slow walk up and down C street, looking at the various booths. There were several skin care and beauty products booth, all of which I duly tested, and learned that my natural skin scent is peach. A collection of black-owned businesses including a greeting card shop, DC neighborhood T-shirts, framed art prints and a book shop. And there were advocacy booths -- sensible drug policy, safer sex, voting rights. I chatted with some of the vendors, then followed my nose to the North Carolina BBQ stand. There was also a stand selling BBQ jerk chicken, and another selling giant virgin pina coladas served in hollowed out pineapples, but I wanted a smoked turkey leg and some sweet potatoes. Which I received, in abundance:


I took my tremendous turkey leg over to the small park behind the DMV to listen to the performers, picnicking in the sunshine. Since it was still early in the program they weren't on to the big acts yet, but I got to here some wonderful poetry, along with a singing duet that had a Des'ree/Erykah Badu thing going on that I really enjoyed. And then tiny children took the stage to rap about putting on their seat belts and what would befall a child predator if one came near them.

Sadly, I had to leave too soon. I had hoped to stick around for more hip hop or even go go, but I had to do my girlfriendly duty to ensure the Boyfriend remains well dressed. But I will definitely mark it on the calendar for next year, and stick around for more black LUV.

Thing 61: Arts on Foot

Oh, DC. It is so good to be back. How I’d missed you.

The west coast is nice and all, but you have to drive everywhere and public transportation, if it exists, costs a lot more than Metro. Sure I got to eat at Chez Panisse and the Bi-Rite Creamery, but give me Central or Larry’s Homemade any day of the week. I’ll trade in horses and fig trees for the Capitol dome and my trendy corner of Logan any day.

I hit the DC tarmac running, with a weekend chock full of fun DC activities, which I’ll reveal all in due time. Allow me to start with the Arts on Foot Festival. Food! Music! Visual art! Performing art! Comedy! Drama! Cooking! Cheese! Wine!

Welcome home.

What a joy to walk around Penn Quarter in the September sunshine smelling garlic shrimp and listening to a boisterous gospel choir singing “When The Saints Come Marching In.”

I arrived at the festival near 1:00, after a late and large brunch, which I immediately came to regret because of the all the food booths set up from local restaurants. Cowgirl Creamery had a cheese plate, Rosa Mexicana was dishing out fresh, chunky guacamole, and La Tasca was frying shrimp in garlic olive oil and serving them over paella. All the small plates cost $1 - $5, and while I didn’t sample anything, Jodi was able to make a nice mini meal on the cheap.

I wandered over to the Woolly Mammoth Theatre Company, which was selling reduced-priced preview tickets for their upcoming season, selling old props and costumes from prior performances, and offering a behind-the-scenes tour of the theater. After perusing through the leftover junk on sale, I decided to wait for the tour. The tour didn’t start for another 20 minutes, so I popped across the street to check in with the Bead Museum. Although the sitcoms soundtrack wasn’t playing, it was just as odd as ever. A man stationed at the front was offering the new comers to help them “get oriented” to the museum and its one room. They’ve replaced the Shakespearean exhibit with “The Timeless Cowrie” – a collection of various pieces using the small snail shell that is seen in many parts of the world as sacred or as currency. Or around the necks of stoners and frat boys.

The tour of Woolly of led by the artistic director himself, Howard Shalwitz, and he showed us through the scene shop and into the green room and onto the stage. He explained about how Woolly came to inhabit such prime real estate: the condo complex used to be a federal parcel of land, and the requirement for development was that it must include space for a theater. Woolly signed on with a developer from Texas who worked with them to meet the federal requirements as well as their own, and now they have this angular and spare theater space which includes a fairly large scene shop, two hundred seat courtyard-style theater, and rehearsal and workshop space.

After the tour, I wandered back over to the main area of the festival. They had a tent set up proclaiming "cooking as art," which was holding demonstrations by local chefs. Jodi and I waited patiently for the next demo to start, watching a sous-chef unwrap about fifty small paper plates covered in plastic wrap with pretty pink and pale green foods on them. Then the chef from D'Aqua arrived, spoke briefly about his Italian-style seafood restaurant and the process by which they cure their own salmon in-house. The demo itself consisted of his assistant putting a couple of layers of seafood into a round mold, and the wrapping it in cucumber. And then the masses crowded to the table to demolish the fifty small plates of samples.


Finally, we headed to 9th and G, across from the library to the Flashpoint gallery and theater space to see a free performance by the Washington Improv Theater. In the small black box theater, five improvisers did a 'long form' improvised show, meaning that it wasn't the games and short skits you may be used to if you've seen Who's Line Is It Anyway? It's a more theatrical form of improv that attempts to tell multiple stories that thematically come together. It's pretty difficult and some of the threads succeeded and some of them failed, ultimately weaving together stories of tadpoles, hardware scandals and love on a train.

I stuck around for the free workshop they offered after the performance, in which a dozen of us learned some of the very basics of successful improvising. Although I knew many of the games and lessons already (I did quite a bit of improv acting in high school), it was fun to jump back into it and remember the rush of getting on stage without knowing what the other person is going to suggest and just going along for the ride.

And after all that, it was nearing 5:00 and I headed for home, tired from the day and exhilarated from being back in this city, surrounded by art, theater, music, good food and sunshine.

Thing 59: Chief Ike's Mambo Room

Chief Ike's Mambo Room is all things to all people.

You want to sweat out the week dancing furiously to some of the best hip hop hits of the last 20 years? Check.

You want to hear local bands that aren't famous yet? Or soulful singer-songwriters with acoustic guitars? Check.

You want a quiet place to play pool with the scent of patchouli and the soundtrack to Shaft playing in the background? Check.

How about an outdoor patio where you can enjoy the summer breeze and drink giant margaritas?

Check, check, check.

The main room to Chief Ike's is a testament to its eccentricity. The walls have large murals of "day of the dead" skeletons dancing, and General Ike Eisenhower lounging along with Paul Gauguin's Tahitian women and Sigmund Freud. There is a small stage and a checkered dance floor and a towering DJ booth. Neon signs and strange things are tacked to the wall. There's a juke box that I've only ever seen used as a coat rest. They have PBR on tap. And one of the bartenders has (had? she wasn't there last night) the greatest mullet I've ever seen. It is a strange place, but I have to say, I've never had a bad time there.

I am a firm believer that Friday and Saturday nights, Ike's is the very best dance club in the city, provided you like hip hop (old and new) and sweating. Just don't try to dance on the banquettes in the back. Apparently, there are rules.

Last night found me at Chief Ike's to hear my friend Lee's band, which is great! (And yes, I'm biased because I know Lee, but seriously, The Frustrations are great. They got the Boyfriend dancing, which speaks volumes to their talent). They were there to celebrate the release of their new CD (which I can hook you up with, if you leave a comment), and they got the crowd engaged and dancing immediately. They have a ska-rock thing going that is easy to dance to and fun to watch. My friends are rock stars!

Before they played though, there were openers, one of whom I must direct your attention too. Eva Castillo is wonderful!!

The band between Eva Castillo and The Frustrations was not great, so the Boyfriend, Jodi and I explored the upstairs Cosmo Lounge. I've been to Ike's many a time, and didn't know this part existed. It's much more quiet and peaceful, less sweaty, with a really cool bartender with giant blond dread locks who burns incense and pours a mighty stiff vodka and ginger ale. Behind the bar is a stained glass window of a Buddha, and a bunch of lefty radical and random political stickers and paraphernalia. A sticker that says "Girls kick ass." A tinted picture of JFK and Jackie O. I small flyer saying "Kick them out, vote 2006" with a blue donkey kicking an elephant. A picture of Frank Zappa. A picture of Johnny Ramone.

There was a pool table at one end of the room, and a TV and DVD player at the other. A very chill space overall. We stayed up there long enough to cool off and have a drink, before dancing the night away to the Frustrations.

This post is dedicated to Sam of Leisure, who was too busy being at leisure to make it out last night.

Thing 50: 9:30 Club

Stimulant and sedative
Original, repetitive
Violently competitive
A school unaccredited

Along with such venues as Wolf Trap or the Uptown, the 9:30 Club is one of those places that is so laced with memories that everything I see there is enhanced and made richer by all those that came before.

When I first started going to the 9:30 Club, U Street was a scary place, and my Foggy Bottom-centric college self didn’t realize that the club was a short cab ride or an easy walk back to campus. I remember leaving the Guster concert before the encore to be sure that I could catch the last train before midnight.

I’ve seen George Clinton there. Twice. The first time was with Gina, and after a round of green tinted mystery cocktails from the now-defunct Peppers, we arrived at the 9:30 Club and hung out towards the back waiting for George to take to the stage. An old, busted-looking man approached Gina and told her he was in the band and could he buy her a drink. We laughed and rolled our eyes. An hour or so later, when the band took to the stage, we realized he had been telling the truth. Gina and I still kick ourselves about missing the chance to hang out on the bus with the Parliament Funkadelic.

The second time seeing George Clinton, after a round or two of Wild Turkey, one of my friends spent the night dancing with a man in a full body condom, and then we all rendez-vous’d at Ben’s Chili Bowl afterwards for some chili cheese fries. But not before said friend attempted to ride the pig statue on U Street, and ended up lying face up on the sidewalk.

I have seen Justin Timberlake live at the 9:30 Club, where I witnessed a friend (who shall remain anonymous as I do not care to publicly shame her in this venue, but you know who you are) who I never ever thought would do this, scream like a pre-teen girl, and then cry when Justin started singing. Weep. As if it were the Beatles on Ed Sullivan.

I have seen the Charlatans there, going by myself because no one else had heard of them, and yet they are still one of my favorite bands from the time when I lived in England. I learned about the show the morning of, and rather than go with someone who wasn’t familiar with the group, or not go at all, I waltzed up to the box office that night and bought a ticket for one. And enjoyed every British, tight-jeaned, floppy-haired, harmonica-filled minute of it.

And I have seen Mos Def there. Twice, now. Mos came back to the 9:30 Club on Saturday night. I had gone to see him last time he came to town, back in early 2005, one of the first things I did after getting back into town after being away during the election cycle. I had bought Mos’ latest album at that time, The New Danger, while stressed out and working in Florida, and had listened to it on repeat driving back to this District after the heartbreak of losing a national election.

I’m like the second plane that made the towers face off
That s**t that let you know it’s really not a game, dog
Your grind and my grind ain’t the same, dog
I’m the catalog
You the same song

I love Mos Def. Hip hop artist, poet, actor, and just incredibly handsome and brilliant, he keeps me entertained in all his endeavors. And on Saturday, there he was in that little venue, not 10 yards away, in his white t-shirt, sunglasses and shaved head. Dancing and rhyming and cracking jokes. “You ever been in love with someone you don’t even like?” he asked, before launching into “U R The One”. Accompanied by two men on turntables, Mos went through a 90 minute set that included a nice balance of his old and his new, as well as paying homage to some of the old school artists that came before him and of course a shout out to Talib Kweli and Blackstar.

Of course, the beauty (and the beast) of 9:30 Club is that there are no seats. And the venue is small enough that you’re never particularly far away from the stage, you just need to angle yourself correctly for a clear view. If you are short like me, that tends to mean being on tip toe and leaning lightly on strangers for balance. The rest of the time, we were drinking Miller Lites and dancing, singing and laughing along with Mos.

The 9:30 Club excels at putting independent artists into a personalized setting where you can really hear the music and enjoy the band. And while Mos Def is hardly independent any more, and certainly not Justin Timberlake, it remains an intimate setting to see some really top quality headlining acts. Go go go, and make your own set of memories with the place and the people who play there.

Thing 38: Wolftrap, Revisited

As you have already read, the Wolftrap is my second favorite thing to do in the summer in DC.

I have an addendum for that statement, dear readers, and it is this: the Wolftrap is my second favorite thing to do in the summer in DC...unless it's raining. If it's raining, then it's my 597th favorite thing to do, right between "Take the 70 bus" and "Eat at TGIFriday's."

Last Wednesday, armed with frittata and chocolate dipped pineapple, I made my way back to the national park for the performing arts, this time to see Joss Stone. The skies were looking mighty grey, and ominous dark clouds were gathering to the west. But I soldiered on, in my infinite stupidity. See, I've probably been to Wolftrap about ten times in the last three years, each time with lawn seats and never once has it rained. The odds of this happening are ridiculous -- I'd been incredibly lucky so far. But I had gotten cocky, thinking that rain was an impossibility when I deigned to grace the lawn at Wolftrap. The rain gods sensed my cockiness, and unleashed a mighty storm above my head, just as I had spread out my sheet and started munching my eggs.

I had at least thought to bring my yellow rain slicker, but it did nothing to protect my legs, my blanket, or my soggy supper. I made a break for some shelter.

When Jessica arrived at the park to join me, she found me huddled under the eaves by the food stand, snacking disconsolately on chocolate dipped fruits. We waited out the opening act in relative dryness and then sucked it up and headed back to our waterlogged blanket in time for Joss to take the stage.

Determined to enjoy ourselves, we dug our toes into the mud, huddled under Jessica's tiny lime green umbrella and swigged pinot grigio straight from the bottle (we'd forgotten cups). Joss came out in a bright green mini dress, barefoot as she is wont to be, her wavy brown hair long down her back. Almost immediately she began with "Headturner," my favorite song off her new album, and then worked her way through a two hour set, performing most of the songs from the new CD and some golden "oldies" (of course, she's 20, so her oldies aren't all that old).

The rain let up just as she finished the encore.

Ok, ok, so we ended up enjoying the show and having a great time. In the warmth of Jessica's car's heater going full blast, we had to admit that it wasn't so bad. And I will continue buying lawn seats and pushing my good weather luck. Was it a perfect moment? No. But wet clothes dry, and this way we get a good story out it. And it's definitely better than TGIFriday's.

Thing 41: Remingtons

Gay. Cowboy. Karaoke. Gay cowboy karaoke, people! And line dancing! Gay cowboy line dancing! Have I died and gone to Heaven? Or just popped over to the Hill for an evening at Remingtons?



I am embarrassed to admit that this is "Thing 41," and the first gay "thing" of the bunch. To my gay readers (all two of you), I apologize. It's just that I got my fag hag on in college, and the appeal of hanging out amongst beautiful men that I can't get a piece of, while listening to techno remixes....well, I've kind of outgrown that.

But this was now my second visit to Remingtons, and I must say, I really love it. In part because it is something completely unique. It is not a Cobalt, an Apex or a Chaos. There is line dancing on a pink neon lit dance floor. There are gays in cowboy hats singing "'cause I'm a redneck drag queen, and I ain't no high class broad." There are couples two-stepping and shirtless bartenders in cowboy hats and slide shows of naked men projected onto the walls.

It costs $5 to get into Remingtons on a Saturday night, which earns you admission and a 'drink discount' ticket. The bar is cash only - so come prepared. The upstairs is for playing pool and singing karaoke, which is where we spent the majority of our time since we were there for Jenny's birthday party and the girl's got a voice in her. But the downstairs, where I wandered to when the single stall in the unisex bathroom upstairs was already occupied, is where things get a little weird. And by weird, I mean fabulous.


There is a large wooden dance floor set up on the ground floor, bathed in neon pink light. The DJ will play a song, and by magic or ESP a half dozen gays will materialize on the dance floor and begin line dancing in unison. Except it's gay line dancing, so the dancers have EXTRA good rhythm and flair, and the music is not country but gay techno dance remixes. It's not the Achey Breaky Heart, so much as Everybody Dance Now. It is quite literally mesmerizing. On my way to the bathroom, I froze and stood staring at the line dancing for about 15 minutes; it was all so very camp and wonderful.


In between line dances, there are couples' dances, two steps and waltzes, with more traditional country western music. Couples in cowboy boots, broad brimmed cowboy hats, tight jeans and big belt buckles take to the dance floor, twirling and promenading arm in arm.



Back upstairs, the karaoke emcee is cracking wise about his ex-boyfriend, the shirtless bartender pauses his drink service to belt out a song, and that slide show of naked men goes on and on -- that one with a strategically placed laundry basket, this one, ahem, literally tossing a salad. And we are all having a ball, singing and drinking and playing pool.

Thing 38: The Wolf Trap

Sometimes life throws perfect moments at you. Everything comes together in a great swirl of contentment, satisfaction, joy and peace. The night I met the Boyfriend comes to mind, when we both managed to say exactly the right thing, keep saying the right thing, telling just the right jokes and anecdotes to realize that this was gonna be something big. There was the time I made my first roasted chicken, one week after I turned 21, and it was juicy and shiny and and crispy, and I realized that this whole being-an-adult thing wasn't so bad. There was the night the week before the 2004 presidential election, when I was working on the campaign in Florida, and two friends and I went to the beach late at night. We stood looking at the ocean, and I remembered that for all the stress and hard work and sleepless nights, the tide would still come in and out every day. Everything was going to work out and move forward.

And there was the time I went to see Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion by myself at the Wolf Trap, two years ago.

I'd gone to the Friday night show on Memorial Day weekend in 2005, and no one would go with me, so I headed over by myself. I brought a simple supper of a turkey sandwich from the Safeway deli, a bag of chips, and a 22 oz Miller Lite. I found a spot near the top of the center lawn, sat down on my little blanket, and as the show began I munched my sandwich and sipped my big beer. The stars came out, Garrison took his stool out to center stage to tell us all about Lake Wobegone, and I leaned back in the grass, staring at the stars and listening to that steady, nostalgic monologue. I was content and at peace. Everything was as it should be.

In an attempt to recapture that moment of pure peace, I returned to see A Prairie Home Companion at the Wolf Trap on Friday, with Good Friend Lisa this time, and her new roommate.

I've already written briefly about Wolf Trap, so you may already know it is high on my list of things to do in the summer heat. And it is an easy tradition to start, as Garrison does a live broadcast of his NPR program from the Wolf Trap every Memorial Day weekend, and a dress rehearsal performance on the preceding Friday night. I met GFL and her roommate in the theater, having staked out a small square of lawn. I had brought a cooler filled with arugula-red onion-feta fritatas (without which, I would never have run into ?uestlove), as well as white chocolate macadamia cookies, and tiny individual bottles of pinot grisio. GFL brought some blanched asparagus, about three dozen shiny bright green stalks, and a small container of homemade wasabi mayonnaise for dipping.

We ate and drank and laughed, enjoying the mild summer air and our beautiful setting. The Wolf Trap is a national park for the performing arts, and the main attraction is a huge wooden stage, with a sheltered section of real seats and a sprawling lawn above that for those of us in the cheap seats. I actually prefer the lawn, as I think it gives you more freedom to come and go, the ability to picnic and drink wine, and a better chance to commune with your neighbors. Our neighbors to the front of us, for example, were a large group of young adults in their mid-twenties, apparently college friends and lovers, and then one of their moms. They kept going to their picnic basket and pouring deep cups of straight gin. The mom was hammered by the show's end, and one the guys couldn't find his flip flops when it came time to leave.

Our neighbors to our left enjoyed singing along, and luckily they could harmonize with what was going on on stage, so it wasn't even irritating. The man had brought his harmonica, and accompanied the star spangled banner with it, with perfect pitch and musical warbles.

The Prairie Home gang did a slew of political sketches and jokes, and poked fun of the musically inclined fauna that might live in a national park for the arts. The musical guest was the Wailin' Jennys, a quartet of three women and one man, a variety of stringed instruments (violin, bass, guitar, ukulele), and beautiful, haunting melodies in three part harmony. The other guest of the evening was Billy Collins, who read his comedic and moving poems in a monotonous dead pan, adding to the inevitably funny observations about lanyards or how your dog really feels about you. You can listen to the live broadcast here, but it will differ slightly from what I heard at the dress rehearsal, mostly tightened up to meet the time requirements of a live show.

And finally, as the moon rose high into the clear night, Garrison took the stage all by himself to tell us the news from Lake Wobegone. He told us about his home town's Memorial Day celebration, the VFW's ceremony honoring the fallen, and how one veteran, having forgotten to prepare his speech, simply winged it by saying "if ever there were a time for silence, it would be now." And he recalled how, as a child, everyone in the class had to memorize the Gettysburg Address, as it might fall on any one of them to recite it. And then he did, reciting the whole speech, in its simple eloquence, to the audience. And most of us realized that we'd never actually listened to it. Read it, skimmed it, perhaps even recited it, sure, but I mean really listened. To the beauty and the weight and the economy of words, their meaning then and how it still holds as much meaning now. The three of us by now had laid back in the grass, gazing up at the small dipper, letting that voice wash over us, full of too much asparagus and just enough cookies. And there it was...that perfect moment, once more.

Side Note: With a gusto that is both admirable and incredibly optimistic, the Boyfriend has decided he will be running a 5k in 18 minutes by the end of the summer. You can track his progress here. It promises to be both entertaining and incredibly foolhardy.

Thing 37.5: Meet ?uestlove

Ok, this doesn't really count as a fun thing to do in DC, but I need to shout this from the rooftops. I MET ?UESTLOVE!! (That's pronounced 'quest love' to those of you unfamiliar with the fabulous Roots Crew drummer). On my way home after the gym, I popped into the CVS at 14th & L to buy a dozen eggs for fritatas. As I was walking out, a towering black man with an unmistakable afro with a comb sticking out of it (yes, he was coiffed with comb!) came sauntering out of a big white van, and crossed my path heading for the front door.

I am master of subtlety. My eyes bugged out of my head. I'm not entirely sure, but I think my jaw physically dropped open.

He noticed this, of course, and reluctantly said hi. I stammered, "so...um, are you guys playing a show here?"

"Yeah, at Love, which used to be Dream."

"Oh...cool..."

My eyes were still popping out of my head, but ?uestlove at this point continued walking into the CVS. I tried to decide if I should wait, stalk, follow, request a picture, but after a moment's hesitation I just turned and continued on my home to make fritatas.

In DC, Senators and Congressman are a dime a dozen. So you saw Congressman Grijalva on his way to the gym, or you saw Tom Daschle dining at a sidewalk cafe. Big deal. I spoke to ?uestlove. I win.

Top 5 DC Things To Do This Summer

Is it summer yet? I know, I know. It's only May and frankly, once the humidity really gets going, I'm going to kick myself for saying this but -- I just can't wait for summer in DC! The sun has finally come out after our long, strange winter (sun in January? snow in March?), and now all I can think about are the wonderful outdoor activities that DC holds in the summer time. In the spirit of sunny weather, high humidity, and this friendly contest over at Problogger, I've assembled my Top 5 things to do in DC this summer:

#5 Hotel Washington's Sky Terrace Restaurant: The weather gets warm, and I start itching for cold beers on roof decks and patios. There are few finer places for an outdoor happy hour than the rooftop at the Hotel Washington. The drinks are expensive and the food is only ok, but you just can't beat it for the view. Located next to the White House at 15th and Pennsylvania, you can relax over a mango mojito and shrimp cocktail, and watch the sun set over the White House, the Treasury, the Washington Monument, and Georgetown. I enjoy it as a local, but it's also a wonderful and impressive place to bring your out of town visitors.

#4 Larry's Homemade Ice Cream: The great foods of summer: tomatoes, corn, grilled steaks (I'm lookin' at you, Lee), watermelon and of course, ICE CREAM. Although this is highly debatable, I'm convinced that the best ice cream in the city can be found at the little underground shop on Connecticut Ave in Dupont, Larry's Homemade. The shop is nearly as old as I am, and as the name implies, all of the creative and fabulously flavored ice creams are homemade. Along with the normal flavors, they've created more exotic ones, including Key West, ecstasy, Fred and Ginger, rum raisin (with real booze) or haluah (named for the Syrian candy of honey and sesame paste). I keep meaning to try something different, but I absolutely cannot resist their oatmeal cookie dough flavor, with big chunks of oatmeal cookie dough and chocolate chips in a cinnamon flavored ice cream.

#3 E Street Cinema: DC gets mighty sticky in August and sometimes you just need to retreat to an air conditioned room for a couple of hours. I'd recommend the E Street Cinema, which specializes in independent and foreign films. You might even learn a thing or two from that new documentary or get some culture out of the latest film from Italy. The concession stand serves beers and gourmet treats along with the usual popcorn and sodas.

#2 Wolftrap: I adore Wolftrap in the summertime. The beauty of the outdoor venue in the middle of a national park, the wooden stage and majestic seating structure, the camaraderie of my fellow concert goers seated together on the lawn. There is something for everyone to see over the summer - something on their schedule will appeal to all people from all age groups. There is opera, comedy, folk music, Broadway musicals, rock bands way past their prime, crooners and disco bands and guitarists who don't wash their hair. Over the years I've seen Ben Folds, Garrison Keillor, Rent, Eddie From Ohio, the Louisiana Swamp Ramp (an all day festival of jazz and Cajun music), Ani DiFranco and Joss Stone. Few things are as pleasurable as packing a really fabulous picnic dinner of tomato salad, brie cheese, babaganoush, sandwiches from the Italian Store and a bottle of cold white wine and picnicking on the lawn of the Wolftrap before your show. Then, once the sun goes down, lie back on your blanket, surrounded by the humidity and the mosquitoes (bring your bug spray) and enjoy the show.

#1 Screen on the Green: If you know me, you know that this is my most favorite thing to do in DC all summer. Ok, let's be honest -- all year. Yes, I know that it is hotter than damnation, and I know that the movies generally suck (though check out the schedule; this year they're pretty good). But I'm up to a rotating group of around 30 people who join each Monday night, we put together really spectacular pot luck picnics (Peruvian chicken, pasta salad, charcuterie, blue cupcakes, grilled sausages, homemade cookies, cheez-its), and every color of box wine you could want. Or not want, but it's there. The party gets started around 7:00, and the movie gets started around 9:00, once it's dark. Then, after the cartoon and before the movie comes the HBO dance. If you've been to SotG, then you know what I'm talking about. I know that other cities do free outdoor movies in the summer, but only DC can they be on the National Mall, with the Capitol Dome illuminated behind the movie screen. It is my favorite DC summer activity.

So now it's your turn. What are your "can't misses" for the summer? What should I add to my list of things to look forward to? Leave a comment, let me know what to put on my summer to do list.

Thing 13: Po' Boy Happy Hour

No less than seven Washingtonian “Cheap Eats” covers adorn the wall of Southside 815 in Old Town Alexandria. They are well deserved. For if you care to make the journey across the river into that commonwealth of Virginia, you are rewarded with cheap food, cheap beer, friendly service, multiple TVs and live music on Tuesdays.

I seem to be going through some sort of Southern comfort food phase, between a trip to rural Virginia last weekend (fantastic BBQ!), Georgia Brown’s on Monday and now Southside's happy hour, which features plentiful and outrageously cheap oyster po’ boys and pulled pork sandwiches. Mini oyster po’ boys, mini pork sandwiches and mini pork nachos are all $1.50 during happy hour (Monday - Friday, 4-7). Thinking “mini,” I ordered two of everything. Turns out, it was a TON of food. All the food in this picture cost me a whopping $9:




Wash this feast down with a $2 draught of Miller Lite, and it’s a very happy hour.

Not only is the food cheap, but it's actually pretty good. The pulled pork is sweet and tender, the oysters in the po' boys are gigantic, deep fried with a crispy outside and soft, briny flesh. The rolls for the mini sandwiches are slightly sweet and incredibly dense. The sandwiches may be mini but they are filling and satisfying and we couldn't come close to finishing them all. The nachos became soggy very quickly, but fresh from the kitchen they are crispy and covered with melted cheese, more sweet pulled pork and a generous dollop of sour cream.

Southside 815 is half restaurant, half sports bar. My friends and I stayed strictly in the sports bar section, surrounded by TVs broadcasting March Madness. We arrived around 6, grabbed a table near the bar, ordered a round of Miller Lites and that accidental orgy of food from the bar, and got to work talking and laughing. Our bartender, Darrel, saw to it that we were well taken care of.

Around 8 the band, Smalltown, set up. The band -- one guy with a guitar, one guy on a keyboard -- began playing covers of crowd pleasers. Jimmy Buffet, U2, Eric Clapton (including the excerpt of Lola, below). They were good but unobtrusive. When we paid attention to them, we enjoyed them. When we were caught up in conversation, they didn't distract.

And so it was that 10pm rolled around, and it being Tuesday and us being working stiffs, we packed it in and got our check. After four solid hours of snacking, sipping and chatting, we each owed $23. Including a generous tip. I challenge anyone to come up with a better deal for their dollar. Seriously. If you know a happy hour that can top this, leave a comment and I'll check it out. Until then, Southside 815 has moved into my permanent rotation.