Summer Hummer 3: How the Washington, DC Theatre Scene Takes Care of Its Own

Life often brings unexpected circumstances, and for theatre professionals, who often work without the benefit of health insurance, those circumstances can jeopardize their physical and financial health. Enter: theatreWashington and their Taking Care of Our Own (TCOOO) initiative, a fund financed by the generous donations of theatre patrons and the theatre community at large. Donations to TCOOO are made throughout the year, but the signature event that raises the most donations to the fund in a single evening is The Summer Hummer, a DC version of Broadway Bares, with local DC theatre scenesters bumping and grinding for a great cause. This year's Summer Hummer, held at Signature Theatre, was the bawdiest ever with crazy costumes, great singing, and cheesecake and beefcake to spare. Here is the PG-13 highlights reel!

Patrick J. Hurston and Signature Theatre Artistic Director Eric Schaeffer at Summer Hummer

theatreWashington President and CEO Linda Levy with Helen Hayes Award winning actor, Matthew DeLorenzo at Summer Hummer

Members of the cast of Studio Theatre's "Rocky Horror" pose with orange-boaed conductor/songwriter Christopher Youstra

Victor Shargai is all smiles at Summer Hummer 3

Joshua Morgan of No Rules Theatre Company and Luigi Filiputti

Those gams belong to none other than actor Ryan Patrick Welsh

Actors Bobby Smith and Erin Gardiner join conductor/composer Christopher Youstra in a squeeze and a giggle at Summer Hummer

Actor Michael Litchfield crowdsurfs for donations at the Summer Hummer

It's a boy dance party at the Summer Hummer

14 Signs that You Attended an All-Girls Catholic High School in the DMV in the 1980s and 1990s

Recently, there's been a hilarious post making the rounds on social media that addresses all of the funny/curious/weird things that bond us products of a Catholic school education, but there is a specific demographic with a lot more to say about the subject - those of us who attended all-girls Catholic high schools in the Washington, DC area back in the 1980s and the 1900s. So here we go:

14 Signs that you attended an all-girls Catholic high school in the DMV in the 1980s and 1990s:

• Nearly everyone had a curling (or crimping) iron in their locker
• The uniform school shoe policy of black or navy blue loafers was stretched to include Etienne Aigner short boots and Timberland lace-ups
• The school dances you attended had a go-go band
• When the last bell of the day sounded, it was a matter of minutes before your shirts were untucked, your skirts rolled up to a point well above the knee, and your uniform shoes were ditched for pristine white sneakers or Timberland boots
• If your after-school plans included a fight at the Metro station, you wore shorts underneath your uniform skirt in order to do a quick-change and avoid being identified as a student at a specific school
• The hot ticket in town was the trip to hear the annual Christmas concert at Archbishop Carroll
• Instead of Jansport backpacks, your classmates had Louis Vuitton, Coach, or Gucci backpacks
• You piled 6 people deep into a classmate's late-model Toyota for lunch at the off-campus Popeye's 
• You borrowed $1-2 dollars from one of those classmates for that lunch at the off-campus Popeye's 
• You knew someone with a nickname that began with "Li'l"
• Gym class didn't automatically equal physical exertion
• Gold hoop earrings were part of the uniform
• Without a football team, you really didn't have anything resembling homecoming like your public school or co-ed high school friends
• You went to school in full make-up even though there weren't any boys around

Did You Feel the Earth Move??: I'm Just Saying's First Earthquake

Almost three hours ago, I and several million of my now closest friends, experienced a 5.8 magnitude earthquake. And you know what? I didn't like it at all. I was in a parking lot in Washington, DC, about to head home. I'd put the key in the ignition and was set to pull off when a sudden, and violent shuddering began. Now, as the owner of a late-model Jeep in severe need of strut work, I had confused the earth's trembling with the last gasps of my car.

The shaking soon stopped and I headed home, and as I sped down the highway, I heard my Blackberry chime as new text messages were being delivered. I thought nothing of it, and kept on towards home, but with a short stop at the Panera. And that's when I saw a sight that was a bit confusing - hundreds of workers gathered on the sidewalks outside of the office building that sits adjacent to the Panera. I thought maybe there'd been a bomb threat - these things happen sometimes - and all I could think was, "damn! I hope I can get my Greek salad before the whole plaza's evacuated". And that's when I thought, maybe, it'd be a good idea to look at those text messages, and whatdayouknow?? My husband had texted me about the earthquake. Now, I knew I wasn't getting my Greek salad!!

The next few minutes were an exercise in frustration. Frustration that I couldn't make a call or send a text message from my Verizon Blackberry to my husband and family. Frustration that now my husband, loyal AT&T customer that he is, will have permanent bragging rights. Frustration that I wasn't going to get my lunch! But hey, there at least is one bright spot and it's this: I was able to send and receive messages with my mobile Facebook and Twitter applications. Woo-hoo!

This was my very first earthquake, and while the sensation of being tossed around on land was foreign to me, sadly, this combo-pack feeling of vulnerability/fear/confusion is very familiar.  This is the post-9/11 world, after all. On that September day, as rumors of attacks, fatalities, blackouts and curfews flowed, and as public officials and news media struggled to tell the public what to do, thousands decided to forgo the waiting and head home, clogging Metro platforms and the streets and highways around Washington, DC. Today's been no different and while I type this, images of a jammed 395, 495, and 95 are playing on the local newscast. I guess Dorothy was right - there's no place like home!

And that's where I am now - home. Safe, right now, and attempting to comfort my freaked-out house cat without resorting to a Valium. Tonight, I'll turn off the news (and they're frequent references to Haiti and Christ Church, New Zealand), and drink a glass of wine with my husband with a new-found respect for my West Coast brothers and sisters. And, maybe I'll sit down with a good book, or, better yet, my homeowner's  insurance policy! I'm just saying:)

Weiner-gate's Shocking End!

So, it seems that the wiener was Weiner's!! Oh, like I'm the only one who thought of this! But, late this afternoon, Representative Weiner finally copped to the cheesy Twitter pics that have made the rounds of every media outlet, and, in a shocking twist, fessed up to having phone sex and other "encounters" with other women he met online. What the wha???  At the obligatory press conference/feeding frenzy, Rep. Weiner teared up as he expressed his deep regret, and, of course, his intention not to resign. While I applaud him for not inviting his wife to stand by his side, I'm not thrilled that he admitted that his wife, who works for Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, knew of his predilection for inappropriate online activities before they were married. Wow, I can already hear the GOP staffers booking the committee rooms for their hearings!

I guess I shouldn't be surprised, and not because his last name is Weiner, but because politics seems to be perpetually populated by slightly nerdy/semi-attractive guys who confuse the power of their political office with personal sexual pulchritude. Good grief, guys! I mean, you don't see Nancy Pelosi or Senator Olympia Snowe Tweeting topless pics of themselves!! And it'll be a cold day in hell before you see the fearless Senator Barbara Mikulski seated between two house cats and describing the two felines using an alternate, smutty term that I won't write (for a hint, fill in the blanks of this song title: "What's New -----cat!" Still stumped, how about this James Bond film, "Octo-----"). But, oddly enough, Rep. Weiner engaged in both of the above behaviors. I tell you, this ranks somewhere between the discovery of a sex tape starring Screech from "Saved by the Bell" and...sorry, I lost my train of thought thinking about Screech and that sex tape.

You know, maybe Weiner is the victim of all of this. In the smash Broadway hit, "Avenue Q", the characters sing a little ditty called, "The Internet is for Porn." It's a rollicking little tune in a catchy 4/4 time with a chorus that goes like this:

The Internet is for porn,
The Internet is for porn,
Why do you think the net was born?
Porn, porn, porn!

How can you expect a busy Congressman to avoid the lure of the double-click? And  heck, he was aided and abetted by the House of Representatives when they issued him a Blackberry, thus, putting the tools of his destruction in a portable device, although Rep. Weiner doesn't remember if he used his government issued B-Berry to do the deed, so we'll have to continue to speculate on that one!

So, as Weiner-gate draws to a close, and the media start the countdown to the resignation announcement press conference, followed by the press statement announcing Weiner's voluntary enrollment in a private treatment facility for his sex addiction, then the special election for his replacement, the congressional hearings on his alleged mis-use of government property, etc., ad nauseum, there will be one man sleeping quite well tonight and his name is Arnold Schwarzenegger.

I'm just saying!

Ding, Dong, The Witch is Dead!

In the span of 24 hours, President Obama vanquished two looming political threats - Osama Bin Laden and The Donald (a.k.a. Donald Trump a.k.a. The Holy Hairpiece). He used humor to take out one, and a bullet for the other. While the tuxedoed POTUS drew laughs galore at the annual White House Correspondents Dinner at Trump's buffoonish attempts to paint the President as an illegal alien, thus winding down the clock on Trump's 15 minutes, the Commander-in-Chief was keeping a lid on one of the most sensitive operations in the war on terror. And, as a hat-trick, the announcement of Bin Laden's death occurred during the final 20 minutes of an epic episode of Trump's "Celebrity Apprentice" when the much-hyped showdown between Ne Ne of "The Real Housewives of Atlanta" and Star Jones was coming to a head. Well played, Mr. President!!

So now, it's a new day and it makes me wonder what's changed. Does the end of Bin Laden mean the end of the airport security line striptease? Does it mean the end of XXX TSA pat-downs? Does it mean the end of bag searches before you go to see the Mona Lisa? Does it mean the end of fear?

I don't know.

When the citizens of Oz saw that the Wicked Witch was, in fact, dead, after their songs of rejoicing were over, I don't know if their lives returned to normal or if they even remembered what normal felt like. Did a sudden rush of wind overhead cause an Oz-ian to flinch with memories of a green-skinned witch on her broom? And how could they be sure that that Wicked Witch was, in fact, dead, I mean, there were no skeletal remains. Maybe it was a cruel joke played by the witch herself? Bin Laden may be dead, but how long before the conspiracy theorists climb out of their wormholes announcing their doubts, or the pundents alleging that this was a hoax perpetrated by a president attempting to shore up sagging poll numbers? And, more importantly, how long before we realize that we can never return to a time of innocence, to a time without fear?

The witch is dead and we live on. I'm just saying.

The Birth and Death of Chocolate City: A New Perspective on Washington, DC

Last weekend, my husband and I took my mom and dad on a field trip down memory lane. Our destination was Ben's Chili Bowl, the eatery made famous in recent years by a visit from a certain White House resident who goes by the name of POTUS. But Ben's Chili Bowl already had established a warm spot in the hearts of the citizens of the Nation's Capitol, and not just because of its chili and cheese Philly half-smokes! Ben Ali and his wife, Virginia, opened Ben's Chili Bowl in 1958 on U Street. The street was dotted with clubs where legendary black entertainers performed, earning the area the nickname of the "Black Broadway". U Street was a part of the Shaw neighborhood, and it was into this neighborhood that my dad and his mom settled upon their arrival from rural southeast Virginia.

To my dad and others like him, DC was the land of opportunity, where a black man could own his own home, start a business, and eat a hot dog seated next to stars like Ella Fitzgerald or Bill Cosby. He was a frequent visitor to Ben's Chili Bowl, in good times and in bad, and the bad times came with the riots of 1968. The riots tore through the city, leaving city blocks in tatters. In the first few days after the riots, while the streets of DC were still smoldering, Ben's Chili Bowl was one of the few restaurants open to feed the exhausted firefighters and volunteers who were working to restore order. The aftermath of the riots would bring about some of the most profound changes in DC. The city's white population fled to the safety of the suburbs in large numbers, and in the years to follow, Washington, DC became Chocolate City.

My dad considered himself one of the lucky ones, having forsaken his adopted city shortly before the riots to take up his role as husband, and later as father in the suburbs outside of DC. However, he made frequent return trips to the old neighborhood to visit his mom. By the 1970's, seven out of ten of every Washingtonian was black, but those numbers don't really portray the state of their existence in those sections of the city that had been leveled by the '68 riots. The city block on which his mother lived had been the epicenter of the riots, and was several bus rides away from all of the necessities one needed for life. It was also turning exceedingly dangerous as open air drug markets and violent crime took over the landscape. There was a growing divide between the blacks who "made it" and were living the suburban dream of manicured lawns and thriving children, and the blacks who were "stuck" in the city.

While last week's release of the latest Census data - showing an 11% decrease in Washington, DC's African-American population - made for blaring headlines, there is a much more intimate narrative at work here. Sitting at a table at Ben's Chili Bowl, and listening as my mom and dad and Virginia Ali spoke of old times, I was suddenly struck by how profound a loss is the loss of a community of shared experience. But I was also struck by how these new residents will erect their own communities of meaning.

I'm just saying.