Well, that's that.

Head over to Ta-Miff Ta-Mill for clearance sale deals on TUBESTRONG bracelets.

Anything You Want? How about SPOON @ 9:30.

In our continuing efforts to frustrate the pantswetting popinjays of the 9:30 club kewl klique, it is our pleasure to inform you that tickets for Spoon's June 3rd show are on sale TODAY (Thursday, March 31st) at 10:00 AM. I shall presently inform DCist Catherine, because, after all, girls can tell.

9:30 Ticket Kitty out of the bag and purring softly on the laps of music fans.

Fallout from DCist taking public information and daring to "publicize" it has predictably spilled onto the 9:30 club forums to be batted back and forth by lackwits far and wide. For the record, I'm filing no FOIA requests or making a federal case with the 9:30 club. Hmmm--I think you might be just protecting your investment or else assigning blame. The 9:30 Club can run their highly successful business as they see fit, and at the end of the day, I bet they're only too hapy to take the money of the people who learn about gigs from DCist. My dollar counts the same as any dollar the 9:30 forums can scrounge up--and mine has the value-add of not being stained with the drippy drippy tears of self-pitying hacks.

Whoever posted the hypothetical of the time-starved, Belle and Sebastian loving construction worker--I'm with you. That's the guy I sympathize with. For the life of me, I cannot stomach or understand those that begrudge fans of certain bands getting tickets to those bands. There appears to be an ever shifting set of goalposts for some that denote a true fan: basically, the argument is being made that if you don't check websites and join mailing lists religiously then you don't carry the Mark of Cain or some nonsense. Of course, what no one will cop to is the fact that as soon as ten times the number of people start checking the websites and joining the mailing list, those self-same avatars of purity control will roundly dismiss the latecomers as poseurs and the new shibboleth will be "I was on the mailing list back when it was old-school! I deserve special rights and priviledges." Wank wank wank. This isn't about being a true music fan and it isn't about supporting the 9:30 club and it isn't about fighting scalpers, it's about proclaiming yourself to be "in" and then digging as deep a moat as possible so that these ego-deificient yucksters can stave off their creepy inferiority complexes.

You want to be in, join fucking Verizon Wireless.

Here's the quote that just about roundly sums up their POV:

"I think this is the crux of things. It's the cyber-equivalent of telling your friends (smaller blogs) vs. telling the world (larger blogs like DCist). There's nothing inherently wrong with that, but it's a bit disappointing for those of us who found a way to get ahead of the game a little."

So to sum up: Please DCist, stop doing your job. I was a big winner and if the day comes where there are too many other winners I may start crying.

Way back in the days of Prohibition, I remember being momentarily put off to learn that movie theatres were selling tickets in advance. For like thirty seconds, I thought of this of sacrilege. Surely there was purity in waiting on line outside the Odeon. Then my brain came back to life and made me realize that I hate waiting on line. You find an advantage, you avail yourself of it.

So, DC, avail yourself of the news: add to the now-on-sale Snow Patrol and Bright Eyes the news that Afrobeat artist Femi Kuti is doing a July 16 date at 9:30 and tickets are on sale now.

The Decembrists, the Reverend Horton Heat, and Ben Folds go one sale tomorrow at 10:00AM, along with tickets for the performance of the Teeny Tiny Violins Playing Weepy Dirges for the 9:30 Scenesters.

Final Four--steeped in regret, The DCeiver rewires his brain to support the Chapel Hillaz

I have to agree with the ILB. Salim, baby, you gotta keep up with your press, baby, because when Sportsworld sweeps into your life to annoint you with erls and shower the path in front of you with rose petals, you best shoot for the stellar lest you get buried in the cellar. Two for two-score? Those be Jason Cain numb3rs. Not a stat line befitting the best player in the NC2A's. Now, for the record, let it go forth from here that JJ Dynomite is not the best in the land either. Me and Clark Kellogg reach for Utah's Bogie. He's the Action in the North Atlantic. He's the Treasure of the Sierra Madre. He's the, umm...Amazing Doctor Clitterhouse...seriously. If Bogut got to suit up with anything other than four plates of cheese fries in high-tops, the Runnin' Utes might still be alive.

Instead, this is who we got. Illinois. I don't usually dine out on the Big Ten's version of filet mignon, but the Illini are nevertheless sweet. The Illinois-Arizona game was white hot. And while I'm sorry to see that Channing Frye-the only player in college whose name sounds like he was a lieutenant in the British Army--will join that Human Pipe Cleaner as Players Who Seemed Like They Had Ten Years of Eligibility That Are Finally Done, you can't ignore their blazing comeback. Best team left, and that's precisely why I can't root for them. They are this Tourney's Efficient Killing Machine. It would be like getting to the final reel of Hoosiers and rooting against Hickory. I'm not going to do it. And besides, Jeff George went to Illinois, and for unleashing his miserable ass on the world I'll not suffer the University of Illinois' Athletic Department to live.

But I will be rooting for them against Louisville. Why? Because of Pitino, that whining pissant Horseman of the Crapocalypse. The man is composed of snake oil and the souls of lost puppies. Got two words for you Ricky. Steve Spurrier. You kinda washed out when you went up to The Association, didn't you. Won't soon forget how Larry Bird wasn't coming through that door. Oddy reminiscent of the fact that Red Auerbach wasn't coming from the door. I would have liked to see you defenestrated from the top of Faneuil Hall, but I can't imagine that your ego fits through many windows. My gorge rose repeatedly reading about the priest you cart along as a sideline attraction/spiritual mentor, handing out ordained Gatorade and saving your precious little scarred up soul. Everything's fucking schtick to you, isn't it Ricky-ticky? Well it's a shame that West Virginia's 1-3-1 Holy Fuck Zone of Chaos didn't bounce you, but I'll take the Efficient Killing Machine if I must if it means sending you back to punch in at Frustrated Incorporated.

On the other side, Tom Izzo finally put one past Special K by turning loose the Sparts of Pleasure to run roughshod. MSU was basically the first team Duke's encountered in like three months that didn't fall for their patented "we don't need to check the droids" bullshit. The crew from East Lansing went out there to trample the weak and hurdle the dead and after a rush and a push the parkay that they stood on was theirs. I sometimes question Izzo's teams during the season. I didn't expect much from them this year, anyway. But he's got them coached up to the nth degree now. A well deserved berth--apologies to all my Wolverine friends making with the snickety-snick. That being said, if MSU meets Illinois in the Final, I say they get beat like a drum.

Which leaves UNC, and problems. It's so against my nature to root for them. But sometimes you are left with no choice. First off, it's the ACC team. And it's a team that was in the ACC before the Abomination happened. And second...well...there really isn't a second. I guess the food at Top of the Hill is nice. UNC's basically the only team left that really matches up well with Illinois. I still think that, as talented as they are, they rely too much on knucleheaded freelancing, take way too many crap ass jump shots, and are too easily lured into rockfights like they got from 'Nova and Wisconsin. And to top it all off, you got Roy Williams, and after Jesus gave Curt Schilling the gift of cortisone, he's easily the most accursed personage in the sporting world. Can Roy cut down the nets? Don't expect a lot of positivity from your Magic Eight Ball, where Signs Point to Reasonable Doubt.

Anyway, I'll be rooting for the winner of the UNC/Michigan State game. And hopefully, before long, I'll have news on who's going to take over the program at UVA. Good grief, right? And, despite his wondrous enthusiasm, school spirit and overall pluck, I'm hoping like crazy that it won't be Cory Alexander. Fuh-rill.

Come to the Washington Shakespeare Company tonight for hot Hal-on-Hotspur action (as well as totally dope Welsh singing!)

I thought that maybe only the five super-awesome-cool people I know should hear about this, because we must, after all fight ticket scalpers, but I couldn't not tell the world to come out to Washington Shakespeare Company tonight to see the latest installment in their 15th Anniversary "Bard-37" Canon Cabaret, Henry IV, part 1. The Canon Cabaret are public readings of every single Shakespeare play in chronological order, read by current WSC company members along with "the area's most recognized celebrities." Since The DCeiver will be part of tonight's reading, I can only assume that I am now one of the "area's most recognized celebrities." Long live the low standards of this area!

Anyway, Grady Weatherford is directing this reading. We have had all of one rehearsal. And that was last night. But if you ask anyone there, they'll tell you that it was one kick-ass rehearsal.

Anyway, tonight at 7:30, make your way to the Clark Street Playhouse at 7:30 for the hottest history that ever held forth. The reading features some of the area's most recognized celebrities, including Maggie Glauber, Arthur Rowan, Lewis Shaw, Hugh T. Owen, Bill Gillett, Michael Dove, The DCeiver, Frank Britton, Liz Chomko, Alexander Strain, Wife of DCeiver, Jason Stiles, Tracy Olivera, and Grady Weatherford.

And you will not want to miss the awesome Welsh singing. Unless you are Welsh, in which case, you should miss it, because you will likely be truly, truly offended.

More on the 24/Go-Betweens Connection

Last night, in order to confirm that it really was terrorist Habib Marwan calling them, CTU needed to check the caller's voice against file copy of Marwan's voice. Chloe said she managed to get some voice files "from McClennan-Forster." But how? McClennan-Forster's data files were all destroyed in the EMP bomb blast!

That's when I checked the liner notes of the Go-Betweens' Before Hollywood. Sure enough:

"'A Bad Debt Follows You'
Backing Vocals: H. Marwan."

Of course!

9:30 Club Tickets: Letting the cat out of the bag. [Updated]

[UPDATED: Thanks, Gary!]

I'm a little bewildered by a comment thread at DCist. Apparently, Snow Patrol and Bright Eyes are announced for dates at the 9:30 Club. Awesome news. But it's touched some kind of nerve. As best as I can ascertain, DCist Catherine was tipped about the shows and found the information about each on 9:30's ticket sales page, not the main site (which today, despite the fact that it says it's been updated as of today, does not list Bright Eyes or Snow Patrol).

Now, you wouldn't think that this is any kind of big deal, but apparently, the public site on which the information is available has some self-appointed guardians who prefer that YOU never find out about these shows until much later, and they keep that information to themselves (hilariously asserting that it's on a "need to know" basis). Then, presumably, they lather themselves in oils, perform the Dance of the Sugarplum Scenesters and slowly, lollingly, languidly, get their tickets. They have all kinds of time to do it.

Now, we hear everyday, here and at DCist and on the streets, from people saddened and perplexed because the shows sold out so fast. And then we hear from bands who tell us about their experiences, like Carlos D., who told me while we were standing in line at O'Tasty that he thought the crowd for the Interpol show were a bunch of wankers, except for Peter Denton and the Upstate Life and all his friends, who he totally wants to hang out with, and maybe mow his lawn because he's sorry that he didn't enjoy the show.* He told me that the people he met trying to buy tickets the night of were a "lot cooler", and he went on to say, "I wish I could take a shit on the people who were there, just shit on their faces, except for Peter Denton and The Upstate Life--who if I'd known wasn't having a good time I would have have said, 'Hey The Upstate Life! Climb up here and let's shit on these people!" After we talked, Carlos spent most of the rest of the evening putting his cock in things.

Anyway--I don't care about who's right or wrong or cool or super cool or kewl. I just want to tell you people--if you REALLY want to know what shows are coming to 9:30 club, go right here. (link corrected.)

Here here here. (link corrected.)

That's apparently as early as it gets, outside of an organized pre-sale. Check it all day, every day. Get your tickets as far in advance as possible. And be a part of audience Interpol doesn't want to take a shit on.

And, DCist Catherine? Consider this post to be an official Press Release.

Tee hee.


*The Upstate Life and P.Denton officially stand in for all my peeps, known and unknown who got in to see Interpol. Carlos was totally all: tell them all next time, O'Tasty's for everyone. Um. Yay?

Synergy steals us from loneliness

Some things out in the wide world for you to examine:

FROM DCist:
1. I help out Senator Rick Santorum with some basic eighth-grade civics.
2. Take a look at the disturning logo of the Arlington Pediatric Center.

And in the DME:

• So many of us pleaded, "Free Martha!" But now that we've seen how her arrest, trial, imprisonment and subsequent release, we realize something--it went exactly the way she drew it up! Martha Stewart: the new Coke of the 21st Century.
• In college basketball, the Final Four has just been decided. But in our 2005 Bracket of Everything, we're just now finished seeding.
• Reviews of: LCD Soundsystem, Electric Six, Robbers on High Street, Laurent Garnier, and many more, including the new awful, awful fucking record by The Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower. Plus: new Coldplay song "Talk" is baby-gibberish genius.
• And the Six of One and the Half Dozen of the other.
  

Plus...do you love or hate the new Diner redesign? Let your opinion be heard while this window of us pretending to care is open.

In one way, John Gibson has come around to my way of thinking

FOX News John Gibson temporarily took leave of the good sense God has bequeathed to a handful of birdseed to suggest that Jeb Bush "storm the Bastille" and save Terri Schiavo's "life" Rambo steez. Eeek! The queen of the bughouse has seen a mousie!

Actually, he did say one thing that makes a certain degree of sense, however: "[Is] the temple of the law is so sacrosanct that an occasional chief executive cannot flaunt it once in a while?"

At last! Assuming he actually meant to use the word "flout", he's come around to my way of thinking. Now, John, if you don't mind, I'd like you to kneel right here on the floor of the Oval Office and say that line again, only this time, I'd like to see it with a generous dollop of Bill Clinton's spooge on your face.

Spare a thought for those whose lives do not allow the amassing of political capital.

Hey, President Bush! Bill Frist! Hey Christian activists! We've got a kid right here in DC who actually is fighting for his life! Who doesn't want to die! So let's gather up the posse! Time to move heaven and earth.

Let's see, I'll need some speeches--Frist, call Harry over and let's get DeLay working this from the House side. Keep the President informed, but let's not have him make any kind of direct appeal yet--it'll look like the masses of concerned individuals gathering in DC are ineffectual. So just a brief statement of concern, furrowed brow...that sort of thing. Once the talking is done, you leaders and whips should get moving on a resolution--I'm thinking a joint Congressional--it'll bring the community out.

Now, some of you Christian activists--you guys know a Nobel Prize nominated neurologist? It's a head injury, so let's definitely bring him on board. Your deep coffers are going to make a huge difference--even so, it's big guns time! I'm thinking we need to get Heritage, FRC and Focus briefed. And the blogosphere! Can't believe I almost forgot! They'll drive the momentum to help keep this boy alive! I'm thinking Polipundit, maybe Malkin, LGF--

Uh, guys?

Umm. What's the matter? Why isn't anybody moving?

You're with me on this, right? Because there may not be enough time...let's charge, people! Let's--what?

Yeah. The kid was from Columbia Heights. So?

Well, I don't know, frankly! But, certainly, the people that live there tend to be...

Well...yeah! What does it matter? We--

Oh. I see. So you won't be joining--uh huh. Not even...?

OK. Well. I guess get back to whatever it was you were doing.

A belated welcome back.

While The DCeiver has, on occasion, ghost-assistant-written articles on the subject (and I'll never tell you what or for who), or taken angles on the local theatre scene that keep him well out of Conflict of Interest Land, it is this blog's policy to eschew levying snark in the direction of the theatre scene. With the following exceptions:

1. Pimping.
2. Self-pimping.
3. Slagging Bob Anthony.
4. Begging, pleading, with uvula a-flutter with the Didactic Theatre Company to change their confoundingly stupid name as soon as possible.
5. Planning for the eventual Helen Hayes Award Conquest that will be Christopher Henley: Live and Nude, with a Cast of Thousands.

Tis a pity I'm such a whore.

But, as a humble hanger-on who is easily replaced by every member of every graduating class of Middlebury College, that's as far as I go. But you know who'll go a lot farther? The delightfully dishy TheaterBoy, who's now back to his old haunt...perhaps even lounging on a pile of fifty-thousand one-dollar bills, who knows? Regardless, his is a fine blog that will entertain and occasionally scandalize. A rousing welcome back, T'Boy. You were missed.

If only because it will look good on the coffee table next to the President's issues of MANDATE.

From the Reliable Source: "Needless to say, the White House does not receive a subscription to Maxim."

Oh, really?

Well, that can be remedied, can't it? What say you, DC Blogosphere? Shall we take up a collection and get the President and FLOTUS their very own subscription to everyone's favorite photoshopping mag lads?

After all, that what we bloggers do, according to Andrew Sullivan, we drive eyeballs to media that might otherwise go unnoticed.

Let's see if we can't scrape up enough for a second-term special. We'll collect it at the next Bluestate, and just so everyone can be assured that I won't just run off to the bar with your money (which I totally would), we'll leave it with someone trustworthy, like Yglesias.

Anyone down?

[Note: If it turns out, of course, that Maxim already services a subscriber at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., well...that would be awkward. So scrumptiously awkward.]

I know what Karl Rove wants right now more than anything.

Karl is promising his immortal soul to Booga Booga Foo Foo, the retarded outer-space chimpanzee that radical rightwing religiofascists worship in the place of the Christian God. He has only one deep dark wish he hopes Booga Foo will grant, and you can hear him, right now, praying: "Great Booga Booga Foo Foo, please let Terri Schiavo die on Good Friday!"

For Karl, that would be like winning a thousand lotteries while experiencing a million orgasms.

Though, in a pinch, Easter would do quite nicely as well.

DCeptette: When Dollars Last in DC's Coffers Bloomed Version

1. DCist Becca dispenses some sensible advice to the lovelorn subway rider, well worth heeding. I'd like to add: when you approach your potential subway paramour, take things easy and simple. Be yourself. And above all, do not go straight for the clitoris. Nevermind that that's how I met my wife. (Ask DCist)
2. WTOP is reporting that a gigantic colon--red, spongy and distended--is teaching people cancer awareness at the Georgetown Medical Center. Who'd have thought Bill Frist would have the time to moonlight? (WTOP)
3. The cheetah cubs have all got names now. Sadly, they did not use any of the DCeiver's suggestions, which were Dasani, Aquafina, St. Ides and Mister Pibb. (Washington Post)
4. Pretty much the best analysis of the Williams budget so far can be found at DCSOB. The impetus to re-elect Williams is the same thing that lead some to fake orgasm or buy that record The Hooters made--the pleasure was more or less fleeting at best, illusory at worse, but all the gosh-durn effort makes you wanna drop a bucket in your pity well. (DCSOB)
5. DC is poised to launch a two-month celebration of Walt Whitman, beloved poet and former DC resident. What a lot of people don't anticipate is that the Whitman celebration is definitely a Blue State thing--between Leaves of Grass, Whitman was known to cleave some ass! In tribute, DC Metro residents of all sexual persuasions are urged to pepper their sodomizing with passionate cries of "Oh, Captain! My Captain!" (DCist)

Don't Miss This: 1115 on Schiavo

1115 is frequently pimped by various and sundry, and it's well deserved. As far as left-leaning political blogs go it's a refreshing break from both in-bred Berkeleyspeak and from the chorus of yes men that fill Atrios' comments page full of hollabacks. On the regrettable saga-cum-gutpunching national embarrassment that is the Terri Schiavo case, they've been pretty spot on. They've even been over the back fair about it, check out their thoughtful point/counterpoint.

Today, though, they keenly nail DC's guest residents, your public servants, especially the Congressional majority, dead in the water. As you read it, you'll get a quotation from Rick Santorum that provides prima facie evidence that he has no idea what the powers of Congress are. If the man were beaten with rocks, it might actually be to his benefit, I shit you not.

But really, it's the last line of their piece that both pierces the murk of this case with a white light of truth and leaves you with chills. There is, without a doubt, a level of human misery the congressional majority is only too happy to entertain because it gets them what they want. We still hate people like Saddam Hussein, right? Terror-sparking tyrant bastards who feed with impunity on the lifeblood of the strangers they are supposed to serve? Because I spy a couple hundred decayed sacks of flesh sitting in Congress who bear his resemblance, slouching toward Santorumland.

(Here's what you Wonketeers may be looking for) Ian Mackaye may not be such a humorless bastard after all!

[Sorry for the redundant, redundant reposting, but we're happy for the Wonkette traffic and noticed that the original posts permalink was all fucked up. So here you go again.]

---

If you are at all like me, then you've already purchased your own copy of The Evens self-titled record. You may have even had the opportunity to peruse the track listing and noted that one of the songs is called "Mount Pleasant Isn't". And then you've thought to yourself: "Oh my. A pun! And a cheap one at that! I wasn't really ready for that." And then, out of pure delight and surprise, you may have had a chuckle.

What's with a trace of humor making it through to the final copy of an Ian Mackaye product? Where's my steady diet of seriousness!? Maybe this is Amy Farina's influence. Maybe she's related to wisecracking Dennis Farina. The DCeiver, like you, has no idea. But we have obtained exclusive notes from deep within the Dischord Empire that indicates that Ian and Amy always intended to issue a humorous sounding diss to at least one Washington, DC neighborhood. Mount Pleasant was the lucky winner, but if you go see The Evens in concert, you may be fortunate enough to hear some of the alternate takes of this song. The DCeiver is happy to provide you with those songs titles.

• Columbia Heights of Depravity
• Logan Circle an Ad in the Real Estate Section for Some Really Overpriced Townhomes
• Spring Valley of the Dolls
• Shaw Does Look Like the White Man Be Comin' to Build a Goddamned Jamba Juice on My Block
• Dupont: Total Sausage Hang
• Fort Reno 911
• Adams Morgonna Make Me Puke From All The Rat Shit
• More Like TenleyFROWNS! (What the Fuck Do All You Rich AU Students Have to be So Sad About?)
• Golden Triangle: It Figures That The Lords of Commerce Would Name Their Business District After Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, Which Their Friends In the Government Bombed Into Dust Just A Few Decades Ago, But Their Profits Can't Bring the Thousands of Dead Back To Life, Can They? No, They Can't! So Nanny-Nanny-Boo on Your Whole Messiah Building Enterprise, Assholes!
• Suck It, Rosslyn

Woodall, Kamran, Park Police kick ass at the Velvet Lounge--Just Like I Said They Would!!

No disappointment last night at the Velvet Lounge, as hour-long sets from Brice Woodall, Paul Kamran and Park Police made Tuesday night all right for getting your Velvet Lounge on. DCeiver arrived early and chilled with the Wife of DCeiver and acclaimed iPod enthusiast P. Vo, freshly returned from a wild software goose chase in Princeton, before the show.

Previewing tomorrow's City Paper for you today--they are apparently penning an article on the culture of rock club hand stamps. A reporter for the CP interviewed wife of DCeiver at some length, as she regaled them on tales of hand-stampery past and present. We were sure to mention that the 930 clubs stamp is so inky that in a wash-off test between the 930 hand stamp and Mary Prankster's signature signed on the Wife of DCeiver's right titty, the hand stamp easily outlasted Mary's autograph, a fact that I think is kind of depressing.

I've now seen Brice Woodall twice playing solo acoustic with his good friend the drum machine, and once again, he was typically entrancing. He's just a stunning vocalist, and the Velvet Lounge's sound last night was at it's usual awesomeness. Brice just sounded magical in that space at times so gorgeously sad and yearning, his tunes are shot through with such a wonderful, fluttering tremor of vulnerability. Plus he's a really nice and gregarious guy to talk to, it's just impossible not to like him.

We noticed early on that the guy who ran sound last night--who dressed exceedingly dapper for his position, such respect he has for his work!--looked insanely like Jude Law. Hey, he's in every movie and he finds the time to twiddle the knobs at Velvet Lounge? Ubiquitcakes. And, just about EVERYONE agreed. And just about everyone stared back at him when I brought it up, which I think he noticed and it started to aggravate him. Sorry, Sky Captain. You kicked ass.

Paul Kamran was second. Now, I've known Paul a long time, so it's cool if you think I'm biased, but in his first appearance with his full band--you'll just have to believe me--it exceeded both my expectations AND my hopes to a significant degree. The new songs really sound fantastic with the band, even with the laptop broadcasting WTOP on some back channel frequency between songs. (What an innovation, it's like having a CNN news ticker at a rock show!) I gotta tell you, when they played their song "Bleeding Hearts", which I had never heard before, I practically lactated. Fucking awesome song. Right now, as far as pop songs by DC artists go, there's WSC's "Dead Kid Town", Paul's "Bleeding Hearts", and then everything else I seem to remember. You can press out that tune today.

Now, the band that backs Paul has no name of its own. But after last night, I think they definitely deserve one. And not the Paul Kamran Experience. Because I have absolutely no authority to do so, I say we name them here. Here are some choices:

Paul Kamran and the Flying Taunters of Disaster
Paul Kamran is Upward, Forward and Always Twirling...Twirling!
Paul Kamran and the Spare USB/MIDI Adapters
Paul Kamran and His Backwards K's
Paul Kamran and the Peace Corps Thrill Killers
Paul Kamran and the Mighty Cyrillic Bitches
Paul Kamran and the Mateen Cleaves
Paul Kamran and the Three People Who Will Get You Laid Tonight If Only You'd Have the Good Sense to Heed Their Advice
...or your idea.

Leave a comment.

The last band of the evening was Park Police, of whom I'd never heard but will make damn sure to hear again. Classic three-piece, all members trading off lead and backing vocals, the tunes showing fantastic range and stuffed to the gills with hooks and insane energy. It was so hard for me to pin down what they reminded me of--Built To Spill and Gang of Four and Spoon and even the Foo Fighters competed to be among the many folks they reminded me of. But even as a moving target, I have no trouble recommending Park Police to a friend. Paul had promised that they would be awesome and he was no liar. They have an album in the works that I'll be happy to keep people posted on. And for that matter, anyone who wants a six song sampler of last night's music, should let me know, there may be some left.

On top of all that, I had the good fortune to meet Wendy Harman and Mike Holden last night at the gig and had a great time talking with both. It'll be really nice looking forward to seeing both of you out and about in the future! In fact, as one final public service announcement, we at The DCeiver want to remind you that you need to leash your dogs! Even if you do own the Amsterdam Falafelshop! And you should not bring your cats into school cafeterias! Even if you are David Catania! There, I've said it! Let it be so!

Imagine if the Going Out Gurus were a band.

This is what it sounds like. (via Golden Fiddle)

Tonight! At the Velvet Lounge, get ready for the power of the number FOUR.

[Original design by the Diner Media Empire]

You know I've been pimping this show. You know that you deserve a great night listening to Brice and Paul and the Park Police do they thing thang. You know that the cuddly folks at the Velvet Lounge want to show you a good time. But did you know how far we'd go?

This is how far. The cover charge, for your lonesome ass, is six dollars. You see that. You note that. That's a pretty good deal, right there. But fuck it, we can do better. You round up three friends and come tonight, and all four of you get in for just six dollars. As in:

One person: Six Dolla
Two peeps: Twelve bucks
A troika: Eighteen barely legal units of legal tender
Rolling four-style: SIX DAMN DOLLARS.

See, you need to step into Pure Enjoyment Country, and you can't do that without some chums to share your intimate musical life experiences with. We've scientifically determined that four is the perfect number. Like four square. The Audi Quattro. Four years of college. Four on the floor. Did you know that n Japan, four is an unlucky number? That's why all four Iron Chefs are never on the show at the same time! But you aren't Japanese, are you! Of course you aren't. And if you are, stop being so damned superstitious.

But what if you know only two other people? God. Quit being such a pussy! Meet someone today, and bring them. Cover their $1.50 if they seem skittish. And no, you don't get a special break if you are a group of five. Well. Four of you do. The other--no. But that's only because no one trusts groups of five--I hate the way they can form pentagrams or run a slick half-court high screen and roll combination--and I especially do not trust the way that multiplying by them always yields a number that ends in a five or a zero. Not for me, sir!

Look, we're all about friends here. Everyone has a buddy that's always a little skint. Here's an opportunity to drag him or her out for a nice evening of live rock and adult social situations. So grab a handbill from Tryst or Crooked Beat, or just print this blog entry off and come with your best mates and work a nice mid-week discount, hear some good tunes, and maybe admonish the DCeiver to stop hurting people with words.

The DCeiver returns from Spring Break

What up, peoples! Let me get things started off by just saying, if I am ever in some sort of persistent vegetative state, KILL MY ASS DEAD PLEASE. Good sweet Jeebus, I don't ever, EVER want Tom DeLay parading around in front of cameras talking as if he thinks he knows what's best for me. Tom, if you're listening, my life would have a lot more precious sanctity if you would nail yourself in the face seventeen times with a ball peen hammer. Could you do God's work, jackass, and get right on that? And put it on video and send it to me so me and the Virgin Mary can get our jollies? Thanks, nimrod. Ever so.

Yeah, a five day break was just what I needed to rest and recoup. First off, big old thanks to the men and women of Bluestate, who got my spring vacation off to a great start Wednesday night. It was a real pleasure to meet all of the minds behind it and four of the best damn blogs around. For real, you guys, meeting you all for the first time was even nicer than I could have imagined. Everyone was very warm, friendly, and had great tunes to play. And beyond all that, it was just a real pleasure conversating with all of you--as well as the great folks from Zunta and DCist.

My bracket? Busted up beyond all recognition. Everything was proceeding sort of as planned, but ti was those last two Friday shifts that put me in traction. First off, it's clear that I transferred all of the irrational exuberance I usually assign to UVA onto GWU. Took the Colonials to the Elite Eight. Ouch. But the evening wasn't done. Vermont knocks 'Cuse flat on their back--G Mac played one of his worst games in college, and I had to reckon with myself afterwards--Coppenrath was such a baller that I should have figured he wasn't gonna matriculate until he had notched a tourney win. With some players, it's just destiny--hell, with some teams. I saw that shot Sorrentine took to all but seal the deal, was that a long range three or what? He shot that from Howard Dean's driveway! And even though I could ill afford to lose Kansas, I couldn't not pace my living room shouting and cheering like a freak as Bucknell won the first ever tourney match for the Patriot League. Feinstein came so hard when the clock hit all-zeroes that it'll be till September before his spermatazoa is replenished.

I hear you, randomly commenting NC State fan. Julius Hodge, who's one of thsoe players that just seems to have eight years of eligibility, played awesome this weekend. NC State looked solid against UConn, even when the game was tight and the score was close. State's got some freshman kid who just submitted his body and mind for a beating and just kept coming up with play after play. The Wolfpack's coming on, and I hope they go far. I love their style of ball.

They'll at least go farther than Wake, who were, sadly, my pick to win it all. Foolish, foolish me. I stood transfixed, staring at the TV screen at Bedrock Billiards, watching that double-overtime heart attack play out in savage slow motion. Hey, Skip Prosser? Take a memo, baby. You are allowed to do this thing in basketball called DEFENDING. You ever hear of the practice? Well, legend has it that playing defense can actually help to lower your opponent's shooting percentage, and that preventing their shots from falling can actually keep them from scoring many, many points. I'm sure there's a good library somewhere in Winston-Salem. Maybe you can look it up in a book about basketball. I'm only saying this because it really looked as if you were under the mistaken impression that your team was just somehow obligated to let West Virginia take all the wide open three point shots they wanted. Just maybe, if you want to continue in this career of basketball coaching, adding this "defense" to your repertoire...it could be helpful. I'm just sayin'.

At any rate, it was a good Spring Break. I met some new friends, played with some old friends, watched some great hoops, got a guided tour of the toppings bar at Amsterdam Falafelshop (mmmmm...pickled turnips), and I turned the IRS loose on some motherfuckers that haven't ponied up a 1099 yet. And I didn't read a single blog for five days. Tasty. We resume the comical airing of grievances and suggestions for better living tomorrow. Right now, I have to catch up on a bunch of blogs I didn't read. Cakelove, bitches!

Ian Mackaye may not be such a humorless bastard after all.

If you are at all like me, then you've already purchased your own copy of The Evens self-titled record. You may have even had the opportunity to peruse the track listing and noted that one of the songs is called "Mount Pleasant Isn't". And then you've thought to yourself: "Oh my. A pun! And a cheap one at that! I wasn't really ready for that." And then, out of pure delight and surprise, you may have had a chuckle.

What's with a trace of humor making it through to the final copy of an Ian Mackaye product? Where's my steady diet of seriousness!? Maybe this is Amy Farina's influence. Maybe she's related to wisecracking Dennis Farina. The DCeiver, like you, has no idea. But we have obtained exclusive notes from deep within the Dischord Empire that indicates that Ian and Amy always intended to issue a humorous sounding diss to at least one Washington, DC neighborhood. Mount Pleasant was the lucky winner, but if you go see The Evens in concert, you may be fortunate enough to hear some of the alternate takes of this song. The DCeiver is happy to provide you with those songs titles.

• Columbia Heights of Depravity
• Logan Circle an Ad in the Real Estate Section for Some Really Overpriced Townhomes
• Spring Valley of the Dolls
• Shaw Does Look Like the White Man Be Comin' to Build a Goddamned Jamba Juice on My Block
• Dupont: Total Sausage Hang
• Fort Reno 911
• Adams Morgonna Make Me Puke From All The Rat Shit
• More Like TenleyFROWNS! (What the Fuck Do All You Rich AU Students Have to be So Sad About?)
• Golden Triangle: It Figures That The Lords of Commerce Would Name Their Business District After Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, Which Their Friends In the Government Bombed Into Dust Just A Few Decades Ago, But Their Profits Can't Bring the Thousands of Dead Back To Life, Can They? No, They Can't! So Nanny-Nanny-Boo on Your Whole Messiah Building Enterprise, Assholes!
• Suck It, Rosslyn

Bracketology continued

Sorry for the absence. I was up in Gaithersburg at the NNWXNE Mercury Safety Journalism Expo and Chili Cook-Off. I was delivering the keynote address about how mercury-safety related blogs weren't in the position to supplant, at least not yet, mercury-safety related journalism in mercury-safety related trade periodicals like Mercury Safety, who's March cover story, "Mercury-safety related blogs: are they supplanting us?" is definitely an article I'd recommend to anyone who's life might be saved by a sudden onset of stultifying ennui. Anyway, NNWXNE is always fun, and the chili, naturally, spurred healthy doses of fiery flatulence.

At any rate, I appreciate everyone who's comments or emailed about UNC. WHat a conundrum they pose in their subregional. Of course, I grew up a Duke fan but went to UVA, which means that I prefer UVA and the Blue Devils to the Heels and Terps. It's perverse, I can't hope to explain myself, and I don't care to anyway, but let's just say it's not in my nature to back the Heels except under certain circumstances. (And, as you know, I never back the Terps.) One of those special circumstances, however, is Florida--a team whose coach, Billy Donovan, I flat-out despise. I know, I know...normally, I got nothin' but love for a mick done good, I worry about a whole side of my family exploding with Irish Catholic confusion when Notre Dame takes on Holy Cross in the NIT (I'm backing COHC in that one myself, and kudos to the NIT for picking a Patriot League team--that's the first time, to my knowledge, thats ever happened), but I cannot stand that asshole Donovan. Between he and Gary Williams, who's just a sadistic orc asshole, I couldn't pick which one should hang higher.

So I need to have UNC survive long enough to dispatch Florida, who I'm terribly worried about perhaps not choking as they usually do. On the other side, we have Kansas and UConn. Of course, I want to see UNC play Kansas. Surely the basketball gods will see this through. What happens when UNC plays Kansas? I think Roy Williams wins. I think he wins because of his tendencies. As his Kansas teams went deeper and deeper, I could literally feel his team, and Williams himself get tighter and tighter, until they were all a bunchy of wound-up freaks panicking at the first missed three or bad foul. So what happens if his Heels play the Jayhawks? Well the situation either gets badly exacerbated or it suddenly gets relieved. I'm banking on relief, because the UNC players WIlliams inherited are a bunch of arrogant chuckleheads that aren't likely to treat Kansas with much respect, while at the same time being crazy good enough to walk it like they talk it. UNC wins out.

That leaves Duke and company in the Austin bracket. Duke is a weird team. They most definitely EARNED the one seed, but as a team, this is not anywhere close to being one of the better teams in the country. So it's really strange. Can't argue, and won't, but I think this team starts struggling in the second round and I think Syracuse will probably beat them pretty easily in the Sweet Sixteen. JJ Redick is the X, Y, and Z factor, because maybe he shoots 8-12 while lying on his back at half-court--I DON'T KNOW. I know that if Delaware State wants to be the first 16 to beat a 1 seed, they ought to be sending some pipe-swinging Jeff Gilhooly-types to Charlotte on a hard-target search for Redick's kneecaps. Oklahoma'll probably regret this, but for the time being, I'm picking Syracuse to win this subregional.

So, that means my Final Four is Illinois, Wake, UNC and Syracuse. Hating on West Coast Basketball, as usual. Pimping the ACC, as usual. I figure to be very wrong on this, but I say UNC-Wake final, with the Demon Deacons winning it all. Stay tuned for tomorrow morning, by which time I'll be backsliding on this faster than quicksilver down the halls of Cardozo.

Weekender, Special Bracketology Edition

The Scarlet Letter is no more. We closed this weekend to three awesome, oversold houses filled with our most enthusiastic patrons yet. If you were among one of this weekend's audiences (and were not part of the massive group of emotionally disturbed children who came Thursday night with a pocketful of dread and a cubic foot of deep emotional scarring)--or any of our audiences, much much thanks. It's sad that it's over, but it was great to be as well-received as we were. There really is no reason to be afraid of Natty Hawthorne. Now James Fenimore Cooper, on the other hand--total bitch.

If you missed the Scarlet Letter, you'll have another chance to stalk the DCeiver onstage later this Spring, when I'll be appearing in the world-premiere of James Hesla's Behold!, also at Rorschach. It's very cool to have the opportunity to be in the first production of something for two reasons: first, you get to say that you "created" the role you played, an odd distinction that I nevertheless think sounds really cool when you say it out loud. Also, if the play gets published, the script is annotated with the cast and designers of the very first production in the front of the script, to serve as a record for all time of the actors that created those roles.

So, you all really should see Behold!, and then you should like it a lot, and pressure someone like Samuel French to publish it, so that our names will forever be in the book. I don't have anything but modest goals for my theatre career, but that is one of them.

Here are my modest goals for my theatre career:

1. Get my name in the front of a Samuel French script or some shit like that.
2. Avoid impregnating any more audience members than absolutely necessary.
3. Have a critic say of a performance of mine: "It was like silk pulled from a cat's ass." It can be meant as good or bad, for all I care, I just want to be able to use that blurb so bad I can taste it.
4. Play a sea captain.
5. Not die alone and unloved.

So, as you can see, I'm close to achieving one of my goals. So look at this space for word of Behold!, see it, love it, and help me strong arm its publication. I will playing Hank, the Sea Captain. Oh! That's right! I can kill two birds with this stone! Hot cha!

Rahaleh, our Hester Prynne, will soon depart for Texas, as it is her intention to take part in some kind of meditation camp for ten days. It is my intention to start a pool, determining how long she will last in the camp before she either a) goes crazy and leaves of b) gets tossed out. We are talking about a woman who sings at the top of her lungs at the gym while she's working out, someone who will scream at people for having inane conversations. Someone who told me that while the meditation camp requires you to not engage in lying in the days leading up to the camp (or killing, for that matter), she was sure that a lie told solely for her own amusement couldn't possibly count against her.

Four days. That's my guess.

And speaking of--I should tell you that there is STILL a chance for you to win a schooner sailing vessel in Tryst Coffeehouse's Schooner Giveaway Contest. Just write your name, email address and the words "schooner contest" on any piece of paper and hand it to the barista. (This is v.v. important. Hand it to the barista, not a server of bartender.) You will be notified if you have won the schooner. As always, supplies are limited, void where prohibited.

Now this weekend was about a good deal more than the play and getting very little sleep and buying the Evens CD and the 7-inch of Low's "California." It was also about setting up for my favorite time of year, the NCTwoA Men's Basketball Tournament--NOW MARYLANDLESS!! YAY!

Now, I want to dispense my own personal bracketology science on your ass, but before I do, some caveatcakes. First, yes, for the past three years, I have kicked a lot of people's ass in tournament pools. People just like you. My last three finishes? First, second, second. How do I rock so damn hard? Sigh. Hate to say it, but it goes hand in hand with UVA not being good enough to play in the postseason. See, when UVA gets in the Dance, I always take them to the Final Four. So, you can know me by the trail of busted subregionals (though I still have fond grad-school memories of sitting in the classroom before Theory seminar and guaranteeing a Virginia victory over Kansas, which dramatically occurred as predicted for reasons that were beyond the realm of the obvious at the time). Taking this prolonged break from being in the Tourney has allowed me to make significant office pool gains.

As a general rule, I always do two things before I get sit down to start picking. I identify all the teams from the Pac 10 and all the teams from the Big 10 and I put big Xs through them by the end of the opening weekend. Experience dictates: riding teams from those conferences leads to woe. Now, I know what you're thinking. Michigan State and Arizona have both won titles. Well, I got hosed pretty badly by Mateen and Mo Pete, tis true, tis true. But the last time Arizona won it all is also only the second time I've picked a Pac 10 team to win it all. So there are exceptions to the rules. I still say, the Big and Pac 10 will lead you to ruination, so get off them as soon as you can.

Now in the Chi-town bracket, Illinois, the big dog of the Big 10 is staring you straight in the face. They've been #1 for the lion's share of the season, are crazy deep and crazy skilled, and they have the whole Mojo of the Recently Deceased working for them. At the same time, they seem to be the very model of the Big Ten team to get bounced from a high seed only. I?m either very right or very wrong about this. Right now, I'm feeling very good about the prospect of them getting through--despite what I think about Big 10 teams--the MRD can be powerful stuff, and this team is 11-0 against the field. As a two seed, I'm just not too enthused about Oklahoma State--or Arizona, for that matter. If UVA beat you this year, you are not winning the title. And BC, losers of what, four of their last eight? Yuck. Illinois will win the region, but I'll be rooting against them.


In Albuquerque, everything is FUBAR. The selection committee straight up farted this bracket away in a fit of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. For starters, Washington. Gack. NOT A ONE SEED. I'd take the 2, the 3, the 4, and the 5 in this division to beat Washington 10 out of 10 times. A joke. I mean, this is a better gift than those dying kids get from the Make-A-Wish Foundation. What we should have the opportunity to see is Wake as the 1, with the prospect of Georgia Tech or Gonzaga in the regional final. George Washington got shafted in true DC-taxpayer-versus-new-baseball-stadium steez, though they have won as a 12 seed before. As the official Spawn of a GWU alumnus, I?ll be madly backing DC?s finest. But look for Wake to tangle with Georgia Tech in the final, with Wake knocking out last year's runner up.

Tomorrow, I'll hit up the Syracuse and Austin brackets. In the meantime, please send me your best arguments as to why UNC isn't winning their subregional.

Gently reminding you of our DME-Endorsed Gig.

[concept by the Diner Media Empire]

Calling All Enthusiasts!!

You Can't Go See Hot Hot Heat
You're missing a great lineup. Hot Hot Heat, Louis XIV, and the Washington Social Club at 9:30. Sold out, baby. What to do, what to do? Spend the weekend at Iota, instead. Tonight, they have the Bicycle Thieves, Army of Me and the Upwelling. Tomorrow they have Cartel, RPM and Brice Woodall. On balance, some pretty good rock. Get there early so as to avoid the crush and make friends with the Iota bar staff, who always treat you right. ($10 Fri/$8 Sat)

See Mayor Tony Williams Live!
We all know that Baltimore's mayor gets mad props for basically being a drunkard who fronts his own third-rate version of Flogging Molly. You'd be that way, too, if you presided over a slum with a massive aquarium. Well, our own leader, the charismatic Anthony Williams will be doing one night at the Lincoln Theatre, laying down his one-man show: "The State of the District". You've never seen this kind of act before--packed with oodles of unintended hilarity, you'll cry so hard that you'll struggle to find a way to convince yourself its only laughter! Don't forget to join in on the audience participation--Tony loves it when people chant "Fenty!" over and over again. Best of all, don't forget that Bluestate is throwing the official State of the District After-Party. We hear Mark Plotkin is a huge Futureheads fan! (Free!)

An Afternoon of Civil War Medicine
Prepare yourself for the Ownership Society, in which only people that own doctors will receive health care, by learning lessons for the future by studying the past at the Stonestreet Museum of 19th Century Medicine. Actors portraying Edward Stonestreet and Clara Barton will teach you about balms, salves, wraps, liniments, tonics, and how to live a normal life with gigantic gangrenous infections. At least go and ask the impersonators about tobacco, because back then they thought it cured everything. (Free! 103 West Montgomery Avenue, Rockville.)

DCeptette: Some things you do in the city version

1. It's not clear whether the kidnapping was prompted by simple MSM on blog lust or whether the order came directly from Mark Halperin, whose diabolical plan to beam The Note directly into our brains using lasers and humpback whales would have no doubt been roundly mocked on Wonkette, but Ana Marie Cox is shown in the Wall Street Journal as alive and well after being abducted and fake-tanned nearly to death. She is back at her outpost at Murky Coffee, no doubt rueing the disappearance of the delicious foccacia sandwiches that the previous owners sold. (WSJ)
2. "You said that irony was the shackles of youth." No. Irony is the necklacing of you. Courage! (DCist)
3. Okay. How happy am I right now? As of this moment, the Maryland Terrapins basketball season is over. It came so early this year! I haven't even bought the bottle of special something I crack open at the precise moment the Terps season ends! That's the first part of the good news. But the best part of the good news--and trust me, I am aware of the nature of longshots--is that another team will wake up on Friday morning alive. I feel like dropping the needle on this!
4. It's no surprise that Tony William's mom wants him to run again! She always gets to sing at public events because of her bow-tied little prince! Who wants to stop the caterwauling? Well, Adrian Fenty, among others. About Fenty, Williams said: "There ought to be some threshold qualifications that you bring to the table." It's funny to hear a man whose own stultifying arrogance and inevitable subcompetence kept him off his own party's primary ballot last time out call out someone else on "threshold qualifications." Motherfucker must mean he stood on a whole bunch of motherfucking thresholds as he walked throughout DC, teaching motherfucking voters to spell his motherfucking name, because motherfucker was too motherfucking dimwitted to cross the threshold of not having to run a write in campaign as a motherfucking incumbent! (Post)
5. Oooh, sweet! It's panda porn season. The hormone levels in Mei Xiang are just about right to start the mating process with Tian Tian! Jen Chung, holladown at me if you want me to score some screencaps, Paris Hilton steez. Can't promise you anything, though, because, as reported: "Once Mei Xiang has peaked, they plan to close the panda exhibit and take the animals inside." That makes sense. I know that once Wife Of DCeiver's "Mei Xiang" is peaking, I like to hit that up with my own "Tian Tian". (WTOP)

Translating the Played Out Gurus, an Ongoing Chronicle of the Quixotic Gogblog: The Googahs Submit to Some Maurification

To the few people who decry the DCeiver, all's I gotta say is, what up, decriers? Why the fisticuffs? The pissy tude? What's it all about, Alfie? I am all about the bee to the ello gee, bitches. Bringing. Love. Online. Guys!

See the haters think that a) my problem is that I just spew the vitriol victuals to anna fro, and b) I'll never change for no one no how. Wrong! Duh! The truth is a) you and your by-products suck a goodly portion of ass and b) if you want me to change my opinion, all you got to do is stop with the sucking. Suck not so much. Make with the not-sucking. Mush! It's THAT easy, peasy. Stop wringing your hands and giving me grief and get yourself to work!

Why bring this up? Because a shift of sorts occurred within the world of the GogBlog this week. A surprising diminishment of the sucking. Maura must have held some sort of clinic or something (though sadly, she has no posts this week) because the Gogs had what I would hold to three breakout entries, one on Round House's much buzzed columbinus that definitely mixes the informative with the writer's perspective. Only the title of the post is hack. Another, highlighting what sounds like a fun evening (it's actually nice that the Gogs include activities that actually sound like they might incorporate actual fun) of tango. It's maybe a little purply (and I usually frown upon any reference to Ethan Hawke, author of one of the five shittiest books in the English language), but it's an off-the-beaten-path kind of discovery--and it's bringing good shit like this out into the light that can boost the life of the city.

But the real hizzylizzy of the GogBlog is Fritz's post on Cafe Mozart. It's informative, devoid of hack writing, and brings this place I've never been to life. It's got the inside info you expect a blogger to bring out, and there's real heart in the post--not at all like the perfunctory posting on Adams Morgan bars of a week ago, which seemed to relish it's own pointlessness. Reading this actually drew me in, made me think about checking it out for myself--and you know what, the post is brimming with confident writing, so much so that I figure enjoying Cafe Mozart is a sure thing. The Cafe Mozart post, I daresay, approached the gold standard--something I like to call Gothamism.

It's still far from perfect, but the highs made some gains on the lows, which included:

• The stupid, weeks late post on the Backstreet Boys 9:30 show, ripped from a DCist headline like Dick Wolf at a Lexington Avenue newsstand. Lamely calling out hipsters--so last year. One commenter gets it right on the head: "Seriously, we're very happy to learn that you think the BB stink. Why waste time discussing the point? You don't cover 1/2 of the great shows that come through the area. Why waste time panning shows that your core constituency wasn't even planning on going to?" Sadly, I seem to recall the Gogs launching their blog after basically vowing in an online chat that they would never cover half of the good rock shows in town."
• A post on Flip Orley, which only cheeses me because, let's face it, these dudes have a ways to go before they'll earn the right to call anyone else "hackneyed."
• The most deeply weird thing about the Gooble is they seem to think that it's necessary to post at least one think a week pandering to ultra-rich, bourgeois hosers, despite the fact that this demographic most definitely does not read a word of blogola.
• Umm, maybe you can make some U2 related quips that a) demonstrate your knowledge of their current album and b) haven't been used a million times already?
• And finally, do you honestly think that the Birchmere's bathroom speakers is something we should all check out? I find it hard to believe that someone read this and thought: "Dude! Thanks, Goos! I am totally going to go out this weekend and check out Birchmeres new bathroom Blaupunkts!" I mean...I thought this was going to be a place where actual, you know...going out suggestions might get made? Isn't the Sunday Source Washington's place for inconsequential trivia? (Also, nice try on the Jeff Greenfield connection, but you really should leave the Wonkette wooing to the experts.)

Nevertheless, I gotta give up the credit. This was a significant step forward for the Goos, and I'd be a lying douche not to admit it. Here's hoping that a continued effort to further stamp out the suck continues. May the Googah's succeed in stripping me of a nice weekly feature!

Oh! Shoot! I almost forgot.

You're welcome!

DCeptette: Your German Boyfriend Has a Huge Krauthammer version

1. Oh, Chucky. I still get nostalgic when I think about some of the columns you wrote during the Elian Gonzalez affair, where you basically would toss out whole reams of U.S. Law because you people pander to the Cuban-American loon community as if they were effing royalty, while a Haitian in the same sitch? Lord knows you wouldn't have much use for that kid beyond maybe shooting skeet. I read the latest, and man, it seems like old times. I am trying, Chucky, to see the world from your point of view, but in order for me to do that, you're gonna have to clear out some room for me so's I can get my head wedged up your ass alongside yours! Don't worry, though, I come ribbed for your pleasure. Now, go psychoanalyze that, shrinky-dink. (Newshounds, via Unrequited Narcissism)
2. As for Bluestate, DCeiver is so there, because it's shrewdly positioned of the night before the NCTwoA Mens Basketball Orgy commences, and y'alls know I aint working on the first two days of the 64gy, naturellement. So I'll be allowing DC's finest music bloggers to hold my tender ears hostage. But what would a hostage crisis be without a little Stockholm Syndrome? If Seeking Irony makes good on her threat to drop her Fjord Fiesta, this Swede's gonna be shouting "Sven-golly!" You folks should prepare to make a date with Ikea. (Seeking Irony)
3. Why does it seem that half of the people hired to work in the DC Government have dodgy resumes? Now it's time for 911 Communications Center Director E. Michael Latessa to take a turn in the bad references whirligig. A former boss, Terry Dillon, says of Latessa: "I have no use for the man, I met with employees about a week after I fired him to tell them my reasons. They gave me a standing ovation and lined up outside as I went to my car to shake my hand." To be fair, the ovations and handshakes probably had less to do with his explanations vis-a-via Latessa and more to do with the fact that Dillon concludes every staff meeting with his own breathtaking version of "Sexual Healing." (Twatty Twat for Twats)
4. Now here's something that I was excited about while it was being put together, and wanted to have some nice things to say about. Honest. But the Six Points Music Festival is, how to put it, bursting at the non-seams with an abundance of buzzlessness. First off, the bands that have been selected are a rogue's gallery of who-dats and seriously-who-de-fuck-is-dats. Just a stunning lack of acts with any real recognition, these lineups, with an occasional exception, are as anonymous as any gig listing at the Snappy Snack Shack in Wilkes-Barre. Second, many of the venues are similarly possessed with I-could-care-less. The Austin Grill in Silver Spring? Ragtime? There's a Six Points gig at a place called the Royal Lee, which I am all but certain doesn't really exist. I imagine that if I stood in front of this place my eyes would go right through it! And I thought this was supposed to be about Arlington! Hey Velvet Lounge, Staccato, and Madams Organ...welcome to Arlington! Enjoy the voting! I am really scratching my head over this. (Six Points)
5. Huh? Blogspot went kee-ray-zee or something. Sorry. Go to the DCist Happy Hour tomorrow! Schnell! Schnell! (DCist)
   

Milking the Mercury: Your Homeland Defense Against Thermometer Juice

We in the DC area have grown accustomed to the occasional troubles and tragedy, whether they are guy drives a van filled with gasoline to the White House, or guy drives a tractor into a reflecting pool, or guy drives a not-van around peeling caps at unsuspecting Michael's patrons, or, you know, worse. We've gone through a lot together, and while we've occasionally needed a little comfort and a little cheer, we've persevered, even as New York City gets all the attention.

One of the ways in which we've managed to eke out an existence that balances the need to get through out day sanely with the need to be hyper-informed about every possible thing that could go wrong has been bourbon. But barring that, we've quickly learned how to make color-coded charts that indicate threat level part of our daily routine. Which is why, the next time we suffer from multiple mercury spills that defy explanation, The DCeiver has made it so we'll be all ready and happy, with the new Patented Mercury Panic Pictorial Threat Index. Let's walk through the steps...

LEVEL ONE: HERMES
(Everything is fine and dandy.)




When the threat level is at Hermes, you know there's nothing to worry about. Hermes was the Greek god of messengers and homoerotic costumery. It's still many a century before the Romans will even take the God and rename him Mercury. We're that far away from any kind of threat. And, don't forget, Hermes is also the name of one of those hoity-toit shops that only the ultra-rich patronize (and the name isn't quite as crazily fear inducing as Bang and Olufsen). So, keep that in mind, and when the Mercury Panic Pictorial Threat Index is at Hermes, you can stay as happy and contented as any of the white suburbanites now gentrifying the street you used to live on.

LEVEL TWO: MERCURY REV'S DESERTER'S SONGS LP
(Stay alert for Mercury-related developments)




There's something odd in the air in the city today. The feeling like a freak mercury-related accident could happen at any minute. You may be a bit unnerved by the psychedelic leanings and the use of the mellotron. It's a weird, arresting day. The kind of day we raise the Mercury Panic Pictorial Threat Index to the cover of Mercury Rev's Deserter's Songs LP. Yet, if you just allow yourself to listen and get lost in it, it starts to feel a bit more grounded, steeped in a very soothing beauty. Yeah, relax. If there is a mercury spill out there, it's probably just a tiny, science-class mishap. Wait--you think--they actually teach science in DC's schools? Shhhhh. Don't think about such things. Relax and bliss out--this isn't some crap like the Olivia Tremor Control puts out.


LEVEL THREE: Bruce Willis and Alec Baldwin in Mercury Rising.
(I can't believe I paid six-fifty for this crap!)




Now things are getting sort of hectic and confusing. It seems like a standard-issue genre flick, typical thriller, baseline story about the troubled cop who ends up "taking on the system." But you start to lose your bearings as the day goes on. Multiple plot holes. Situations that just seem confused and overcomplicated. And why would Kim Dickens character just get totally involved in this situation out of the blue like that? Now is the time, I'm afraid, to raise the Mercury Panic Pictorial Threat Index to Bruce Willis and Alec Baldwin in Mercury Rising. When you think about it, asking yourself "How can it be that there have been multiple mercury spills in one place within a few weeks' time" is sort of the same thing as asking yourself "If the only person who could crack the government's code was an autistic kid, why would they even worry? Why kill an autistic kid?" It doesn't make sense. Cling to your loved ones and promise then that next time you'll all go see Along Came a Spider or some shit like that.

LEVEL FOUR: TOM PETTY DRESSED AS THE MAD HATTER
(Dude! Don't come around here no more!)

Whether you are aware that the Mad Hatter character is so named because hatmakers in the olden days used to clean their wares with mercury and went nutty because of the constant contact with the substance or not, you can bet your sweet ass that when we raise the Mercury Panic Pictorial Threat Index to Tom Petty Dressed As The Mad Hatter, and you see Petty's aesthetically unappealing face frozen in that hideous rictus, you don't need to know jack about haberdashery to know that everything has gone completely shithouse on the mercury spillage front. Holy shit! Do you need a gilded fucking invitation from the King of Norway to start fleeing? You best start running for for life, bitch!

DCeptette: A sort of homecoming version

1. "1. 2. 3. 14. Hello, hello! I'm in a bar that's called Fado. This is Chinatown? You'd never know. This gig's...in a hood...that's surreal! Surrrrrreeeeeeeaaaall!" (DCist)
2. You know what reminds of that time we were at war with Serbs in Kosovo and they dropped a bomb on the Chinese Embassy and then we like pretended that we had no idea the motherfucker was even there and we told them that we had some bad maps and China was all: "Don't even try to play me! Look on Mapquest, bitchass!" And we were like: "Sheesh. Calm down China. We're a-warring." But anyway we looked pretty damned incompetent? This reminds me of that. (Post)
3. When I read that Craigslist was going to send personal ads into outer space, this is exactly the sort of thing I hoped would make it out to Omicron Perseii 8. Maybe they can make sense of it. (Craigslist)
4. Washington Shafts Manager Frank Robinson offered up his thoughts on what DC's new baseball stadium should be like. "I'd like to see a ballpark like Coors Field, where if you go to the concession you can still see the field, without a wall in front of you." Yeah. And where the air's so thin that even an Expo can dink the ball to the warning track. Of course, we still think the best stadium solution is to let the Shafts have whatever half of RFK the DC United aren't using. (WTOP)
5. Finally, a shout-out of gratefulness: Big thank yous to the fine people of Tryst who arranged for the VIP treatment last Saturday night. That was really awfully nice of you. I was just as surprised as you that the Scarlet Letters could pack away that many waffles. The booze...not as surprised, frankly. Much, much, gratitude!

The Mercury Crisis continues

It was awful nice of DCSOB to disburse some props my way. But I realize that I may have inadvertently done some very real damage to the DC blogging community with my post. By mentioning Full Minute of Mercury, rectal thermometers, and Victorian-era hatters, I may have greedily used up all of the remaining metaphoric "hooks" that bloggers need to really tie a post together. And before you ask: yes. Someone has used Freddie Mercury.

This was shortsighted of me. Especially if it turns out that these mercury spills are going to be with us throughout the spring.

Does anyone have any great mercury metaphors or cultural references with which to replenish the blogosphere? If so, please let us know.

A plug chorus.

[Original design by the Diner Media Empire]

Go get you to this gig. WIth Brice Woodall, Paul Kamran, and Park Police.

The Friends of Rachel Worth are the Enemies of the State

Solid. I just noticed what the astute blogger at The Architectural Dance Society saw some time ago. Some writer on 24 is totally issuing shouts-out to The Go-Betweens.

Lovers don't know any shame, after all.

DCeptette: Some cities version.

1. Oh, this is going to be fun. The Season of the Mayoral Election is nigh! Tony Williams: will he run again? If so, will he figure out a way to get on the ballot? Linda Cropp: she angered grassroot Democratic organizations when she stood up for her consituents to keep them from being fleeced. Will it cost her? Adrian Fenty: from Day One he's been grooming himself to be mayor--that must make him an amibitious bastard-head, right, City Paper? Michael Brown--up to his gills in scandal and debt, is he the new Marion Barry? Or is the old Marion Barry the new Marion Barry? And if so, who's the old Marion Barry? Jack Evans--who is he, again? That eerie keening sound you hear in the distance are Mark Plotkin's nipples, beginning to harden. (Examiner)
2. John Bolton is tapped to be the next Ambassador to the UN, despite havign once proclaimed: "If the UN secretary building in New York lost ten stories, it wouldn't make a bit of difference." Hey, I'm just glad we've found someone at last who I can call a "little Eichmann" and be more or less correct! (Wonkette)
3. Bluestate: coming to you live from inside a glass case of sexiness. (Bluestate will give someone some Doves.)
4. Hey. We warned you. Marshmallows in a martini? Don't know how long happy hour lasts at Cloud, but if that libation is any suggestion, amateur hour goes on in perpetuity. (Craigslist)
5. So, we're going to avoid the obvious joke involving the clergy, slots, addiction, handles that get yanked, and stuff that shoots out when you win. Here's a case FOR slots: ever been on 95 north of Baltimore? At least a collection of massive casino complexes would give me something to look at in that zone of otherworldly despair. (Post)

Four thousand, three hundred and twenty full minutes of Mercury

Holy shit, Cardozo? What the fuck is going on in your hallowed halls? And how much mercury has got to spill before they end up all unhallowed? Weeks after the mercury spill was said to have become a solved mystery, the culprits being a couple of pranksters caught on tape, Cardozo High has been the scene of a second and a third mercury spill.. What, as they say, is up, with that? The DCeiver offers five possibly implausible, or impossbly plausible, explanations.

1. Cardozo's decision to pay for their senior prom by opening a Victorian Era haberdashery has hit an unexpected snag.
2. The kids making the Science Fair volcanos have gotten the ingredients wrong.
3. Cardozo High was actually built atop an ancient rectal thermometer burial grounds.
4. The mercury spill is a message from the great god Pan that Cardozo must "make a choice" because he "won't wait forever." Again, "Make a choice" as it is apparently, "now or never."
5. Fucking Donnie Darko did it.

Calling All Enthusiasts!!

Tribute to Lloyd Kaufman
Tonight at 6pm, head on down to the City Museum of Washington and the DC Independent Film Festival to pay tribute to one of the masters--Lloyd Kaufman. You peep his credits, and I don't think I need to tell you what an important member of the film community he's been. This is the motherfucker who wrote Sgt. Kabukiman: NYPD! He and the Troma studio will getting mad respect knuckles tonight, so join them for a most unique start to yoru weekend. (801 K Street, NW. $9)

A Black Cat Weekend.
Booking a night of music can be a thankful and arduous chore. For every night where the pieces come together pretty well, there's a night where Exit Clov gets paired with a pair of freakshow has-beens who managed to learn how to play a bass guitar the evening before. Whoever booked this weekend at the Black Cat, though, seriously, take a moment, look at your schedule. That's a work of art. Friday: Clem Snide and Archer Prewitt. Some of the most gorgeous and yet laid back pop you'll ever hear. Saturday: Ambulance LTD, VHS or Beta, Robbers on High Street. Somebody fucking hold me. Man. What a bill. Gets a little dirty now. And then Sunday: farewell gig for the Small Shouts. Only the sound guy could ruin your weekend. ($12, $12, $5 respectively)

New Edward Albee
Hey, Ed. Just wondering. When you decided to make substantial changes to The Zoo Story did you send in your goons to sue yourself? Heh heh. I'm playing with you Eddie. Just playing with you. We've been through our ups and downs, haven't we? Well, I've moved on, Edwards. And to show you that I can be a nice guy, I'm going to tell the folks to drop by Arena Stage, which is opening The Goat or, Who Is Sylvia? tonight. You haven't lost your touch, have you Eddie? I didn't think so. (in the Kreeger, through April 17)

This is all assuming:
That you don't already have tix for THE SCARLET LETTER, of course.

Remember to catch DC's Mike Holden every Monday Night on FOX as CTU agent Jack Bauer! You'll have a 24gasm!