Friday, July 29, 2005

The Next Big Thing

Big night out next Friday at the Black Cat, as a triumvirate of DC's finest throw down for the masses. DCist will be in the house with brand new shirts from Tiny Factory. But you'll want to direct your attention toward the stage, yo. $9 for pure DC enjoyment. Don't miss it.

DCeptette: Sylvia, you're such a gas version

  1. Hey, if anyone out there said a month ago that the Wizards would get more in a trade for Kwame Brown than the Redskins would in a trade for Rod Gardner, take a bow. Sixth round draft pick? Sheesh. I think a part of Patrick Ramsey's soul dies with each passing day. (Post)
  2. I know the aggrieved party in this Craigslist posting seems to have drawn an airtight conclusion on how he came to harbor a fungal colony on his person, but consider this: in his own words, he apparently whips out his joint every time he "meet[s] someone hot." I'm thinking it's lifestyle choices, dude. Lifestyle choices. (Craigslist)
  3. Paging Scott Reitz: we have your new Eating In column. (Craigslist)
  4. Seriously: we can all agree that there aren't enough books to throw at this woman. There's no shortage of bricks, though. (NBC)
  5. Mayor Anthony Williams has been selected as one of the world's top mayors, and will compete in World Mayor's field of 64. Our prediction: he goes out in the second round to Ying-jeou Ma. We have David Miller, Newsom, Akiba and Vreeman in our Final Four. Seriously, Vreeman is, like, the Gonzaga of Mayors. That is, the Gonzaga that was good as opposed to the Gonzaga that is ordinary. We think anyway. (World Mayor)

Thursday, July 28, 2005

A Long Short Piss: The Postponed Liberation of My Urea

According to recent news, Montgomery County is contemplating a ban on public urination. Peep the story in the Examiner, which comes with a headline that's obviously a subtle flier to Variety from a writer looking to cast off the leg irons of Anschutz.

But wait. A ban? Oh no. Not another ban. You might be wondering what Christopher Hitchens thinks of it all. Well, not to worry. We went out and we found out. Needless to say, motherfucker be wasted.

There was something distressingly dank and limited in Montgomery County Council Member Howard Denis' ostensibly high-minded assessment of a "Public-Piss Free Montgomery County." Behind the rhetoric about "quality of life crimes" and the sinister influence of "adult males using the public common areas as their personal restrooms," there lies a proposal for a urination paradigm in which one size must fit all. This dreary, prohibitionist policy has already been adopted in many American cities, some of them once famous for their brine soaked streets and manly eliminations sluicing through the city streets in tiny rivulets of freedom. How nice it would be if Montgomery County bucked this trend to uniformity.

Our public streets and parks are not just "common places" and the people who patronize them do not always go there for their health. For some of us, an evening out with friends is not the same if it does not include the breezy passing of water from bladders bursting with defecatory pulchritude. I make no claims for my own prose--COUGH COUGH!! ZZZZZRRRTHHHTHTTT! HACK!! COUGH!! COUGH!!

Where the fuck was I? Oh yes. When I first came to live this area, I used to stand behind Herb White's lengthily and longingly draining the evening's worth of intake on the tarmac below, the stream flowing in great meaty drops which fell rhythmically on the ground like a great splattery Gene Krupa solo. (I thought it couldn't get any better than that.) In some way that I do not have to explain, the whole ethos of my lifestyle, in which I stagger from speaking engagement to speakeasy in a near blind drunk of such Frankensteinian proportion that it would undoubtedly stop a full grown elk dead in its tracks, involves the right to unleash a amber torrent of my own former stomach contents upon the ground as the need arises.

I used to like going behind to Nora's on Florida Avenue. But then people used to stop and glance at me aghast, and I found it wasn't conducive to the unspooling of my urinary tract, and I moved my custom elsewhere. A loss to everyone in the neighborhood, to be sure. There are enough public spaces in Montgomery County to satisfy even the most exacting believer in the vileness of public urination and those places that have sections for both classes of customer have put in special berms to conceal those who have to make in a hurry, as doubtless they should have done.

In a few months, it seems, the prohibitionists will have managed to destroy something that has no value to them and which cannot be measured in revenues: the right to relieve oneself at a moment's notice in a pissoir of one's own devising, in which cocks are loosened and barriers to our individual emanations are broken down, freeing us to commingle with one another in a golden shower of true community. This was the atmosphere -- rich in urine and other fumes -- of the back-alleys and tree-lined glens in which the American revolution matured. Instead, we are to have a mirthless, piss-free Disneyland, with one of those useless forced-air hand dryers for us all to share in contemptible futility. I trust it makes its advocates very happy. It makes my balls hurt. Sweet Christ, I need a fucking drink.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

...and incidentally, a "neocon" is what you get when you combine the two.

"It's not like being a member of the Communist Party."
--Senator John Cornyn, commenting on SCOTUS nominee John Roberts' membership in the Federalist Society

Actually, being in the Federalist Society is EXACTLY like being in the Communist Party, in that:
  1. It is legal to join either one.
  2. Both are as outdated as vaudeville.
  3. Nine times out of ten, you'd have to be a fucking imbecile to take their ideas seriously.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Highlights from Hill Hotties 2005

Well, it's the end of July. Time for The Hill to release their exhaustively researched list of sweet Capitol Hill meat, which they're simply calling "The 50 Most Beautiful", probably because last year's "Hill Hotties" just didn't lend the correct amount of editorial gravitas to this venture. Frankly, we sort of preferred last year's crop of the hottness. I mean, once you've welcomed Emily Cochran into your imagination it takes more than a sack of hammers--even the ball peen variety--to dislodge her.

So, right away, we're really disappointed in The Hill. Last year, they provided the online reader with biographical information. This year, they tell us to "find a copy of the paper for short biographies of each." What's the matter, The Hill? No love for the web savvy? And do I detect a lack of confidence in your instructions? "Find a copy" of The Hill? Is that what you think of yourselves? That we'll only read it if we see it laying around? That we don't have faith enough in your enterprise to simply walk in to an establishment where fine periodicals are sold and purchase The Hill? Because you're totally right. We totally won't.

Also, the links don't work. Damn. That's two years in a row, y'all!

Anyway, we're saddened by the disclosure, or lack thereof. But we're cheered by the selections. Yes, there are mildly attractive people at work in public service. Capitol Hill in the summer is typically a forest of fuglified seersucker and hairstyles that look like the Harryhausen claymation monsters that haunted our forefathers' dreams. Kudos to the men and women of beauty, for all they are and do.

Nevertheless, it's not like they're going to give the staff of Tryst a run for their money or something.

On with the hotness.

Meet Kate Michael. She's the number one most beautiful creature in all the government. We can't dispute her natural good looks and simple sense of style. Yeah, we'd crop her to the left of the frame, too, daring the world to try and look past her. Yet we can't shake the feeling that the authors were probably most likely drooling uncontrollably over who they put at Number Two, and only denied that person the top spot because by now it's a total cliche. That person?



I mean, duh. Just the savior of the Democratic Party. And by savior, I mean, the "person who we'll pin our desperate hopes on in the meantime while the party tries to come up with some sort of strategy." But serials, we love Mr. Obama. His "One America" keynote, set alongside Mr. Edwards "Two Americas" spiel, should provide an object lesson as to why who's in power is who's in power. Still, I feel bad for Harold Ford, who made this list last year only to become the Capitol Hill version of Claire Forlani. You don't remember who Claire Forlani is, do you? Don't worry. You shouldn't remember.



For Hanz Heinrichs, LA in the office of Representative Howard McKeon (R-CA), being told he was one of the Hill's hotties a mere seconds before defenestrating himself gave him the boost he needed to go on living.


Dorothy Boger. Wow. This is why people line up to work for Senator Crapo. That and the awesome re-election bumperstickers.



Sweet zombie Jesus! Look at the size of Senator John Thune's hand! Was it stung by wasps right before this picture was taken? Did he defeat Daschle by enveloping him in a warm handshake? Man, oh, man! You better hope this dude doesn't enter himself in this year's Roshambo tournament! All we can say is that it's inspiring to all the kids out there to know that they too, can one day be a U.S. Senator regardless of what playground meanies say about the incidence of cancer in persons with a certain hand-to-face size differential.




Thank you, The Hill, for bringing Ayame Nagatani of Mike Honda's (D-Ca) office into our lives. We won't forget you at Christmastime. But no Top Ten? Sigh.


Keegan Drake, of Representative Tom Cole's office (R-Ok), borrowed last year's honoree Pete Meachum's tie, and we still don't care for it.




Every year, someone on Capitol Hill challenges the boring palette of dull grays that clog the halls of power, and while it's a losing battle...and while maybe violet and robin's egg blue isn't for everyone, we should salute the attempt. Anna Lee Wisehart: you have fought the good fight.



Officer Dan Arayosi protects our elected public servants from freak small craft flybys even as interns fantasize about his uniform falling victim to a seam-ripper of mass distraction.



Hey! The Hill paid Senator Gordon Smith a compliment! We're just pointing this out.


Cory Crowley first made sure to get a new perm before posing for his money shot. Then he dressed in his finest "I'm the official recording secretary of the New Hill East Brandon Flowers fan club" finery.




Our favorite. What makes Greta Hanson so lovely is that she's crushworthy cute while at the same time we can tell by her picture that unlike so many Hill denizens, one can have a conversation with her that isn't completely stunted and abnormal.



Capitol Hill's version of David Boreanaz.



Capitol Hill's version of Jake Gyllenhaal.


Capitol Hill's version of our seventh grade gym teacher.

Dominic Blasi never goes anywhere without his Towering Hat of Justice, which he actually wove from his own hair and about seventeen pounds of pomade.



Representative Charles Dent is always photographed enveloped in a gray mist that clouds the minds of the unaware.



Bettina Inclan of Congressman Diaz-Balart's office (R-Fla) smirks coyly at the camera seconds before being devoured by angry hair extensions.


Jeff Kimbell gets a nod despite the fact that he has extra, vestigial hands growing out of his right shoulder and lower torso.


Still, no matter how hard you try, you still can't touch the original Capitol Hill Supernova of Ungodly Hotness, Carling Dinkler.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

DCeptette: You're up in your loft getting soft version



  1. 1. Look: I know that he damaged an awful lot of property that didn't belong to him, but now that Borf's been arrested, and his identity revealed, that doesn't make it right for people to go over to his house in tony Great Falls, Virginia, and, using the conveniently located River Bend Golf and Country Club as a cover to get in and get out, tag the hell out of his own house just because it would probably prove a irony-steeped point. Two wrongs don't make a right. Five wrongs? Yeah, they probably make a right. Three? I don't know if they make a right. If you're coming from the south on Walker Road, though, make a right on Arnon Chapel Road. But know this: what you are doing is deliciously wrong.
  2. So, tickets for the Gwen Stefani/Black Eyed Peas show will run $55-75? WTF? Unless the opener is Hello We're Here To Personally Suck The Dick Of Everyone In The Audience Tonight, I wouldn't consider it. (DCist)
  3. Sometimes, the season finale of Rescue Me just writes itself. (Post)
  4. Panic on the streets of Band Camp! Herndon, Virginia is brought to its knees by a canine learning to master the art of concentric circles. Oh, sweet Moses! Oh will life ever be sane again? On this Elden Street that we slip down? (Craigslist)
  5. ...and 850 of them, authorities say, will have to be euthanized. (Examiner)

ESurance--the rates aren't high, but you sure are.

DC is home to many fly-by-night, low rent rendezvous car insurance companies, and we know them by their commercials. The straight-out-tha-strip club insurance dancers of the old Gebco commercials being perhaps the most famous. I mean, if you find yourself unable to get reputable insurance, you'd think that it'd be time to reflect on your life and the actions you took to bring yourself to this lowly state. Gebco's philosophy, on the other hand was "Forget your troubles, come on, and get a foot up between Tina's buttery ass."

There's another one now with commercials of even lesser production value that feature the tagline: "Tell those other insurance companies to kiss your bumper!" Yeah. Leaving aside the similar need for self-reflection, I don't think that leaving "Kiss my bumper!" on an answering machine is going a long way to sticking it to State Farm.

Tom, over at Unrequited Narcissism, however, reminds us today of the newest and, I daresay, classiest of this breed, eSurance, who's commercials are cartoons in the vein of Kim Possible featuring a spy named Erin, eluding evil agents and tipping the same old Schmoe off about how eSurance is all like, hella convenient and shit.

Browse on out to the eSurance site and you can take in some cartoons that didn't make the late-night TV cut, including my favorite:

Serials. Gotta love someone that'll save some green. And it looks she's up in the Pacific Northwest, there, too, don't it. Clearly, she's on a double secret background assignment from Method Man.

Be sure to tune in for the next adventure: "Erin files a claim and carefully cleans the bongwater off the dashboard." Kiss my stash, just kiss it!

DCent Days and Nights

Hey, Washingtonians. Do you fancy yourself some Keane but sort of wonder what they might be like if they weren't so relentlessly...what's the word I'm looking for? Oh, yeah! Pussified? To borrow from the vernacular of our extraordinary colleague Catherine? Your solution can be found locally in the form of Army Of Me. They've been playing on solid tickets at home and abroad, and were recently honored by Alternative Press as July's Unsigned Band of the Month. Army of Me will be playing this Sunday on DC101's Local Lix Live show at Lulu's (22+M NW) at 8:30. Go listen to or obtain some AoM here.

As near as I can tell, venerable Fairfax Rock City band emmet swimming hasn't played together live since a November 2004 show at the Music Center. And the last time they released a studio LP, Clinton was still ensconced in the White House and everyone was a lot happier. Well, if you want to sate your nostalgic yearnings for evenings spent at Planet Nova, you're in luck. The band has just announced a gig at the 9:30 club for August the 26th. Tickets are all onsale and shit Thursday morning (as in today) at 10AM. And if you want to complete the experience by getting tickets to see the emmet swimming of Richmond, Virginia, Carbon Leaf, you can do that too.

Last week we spoke of Park Police. We've since heard from Policeman Pat Wescott, who's told us that their new CD is out for pressing and its arrival is imminent. In the meantime, if you'd like to check them out, you should drag you ass up to Meridian Hill Park this Saturday for the Existian Music Festival, which may sound like something sponsored by the Katie Holmes Church of the Perpetual Mind Buggery but is actually a free show featuring 11 bands from 12-9pm, with what's sure to be a toilet-shattering afterparty at Chief Ike's following hard upon.

Dilemma of the month: What does the DCeiver do on his birthday? Chelsea v. DC United in Raljon, or Travis Morrison Hellfighters at Fort Reno? Please submit suggestions or solutions. And bear in mind, unlike some of you out there, I am not actively seeking to have sex with any of the aforementioned parties.

If there's any band out there right now who's likely to be the beneficiary of the career propulsion produced by a blogosphere-wide pants-creaming--akin to what happened with the Arcade Fire last year--I'd say it's likely to be Movable Hype darlings Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, who effortlessly recapture the tangled, shimmery pop that made the Talking Heads so great in a about eighteen different ways. Currently touring with The National, there's no word yet on possible dates in the DC area. However, the band promises that "there are MANY more [dates] to be added in the coming days." We'll keep an eye on it and hope for the best.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

DCeptette: They might dress cool but they're as lame as hell version.

  1. I think that regardless of whether you are a conservative or a liberal, a man or a woman, a haberdasher or a toreador, there's one thing that every single American can agree on when it comes to Supreme Court nominee John Roberts--he's easily the choicest slice of pure fuckability to hit the SCOTUS in our lifetime. The Supreme Court definitely gave their stamp of approval to sodomy in the nick of time, didn't they? You know who the big loser is in yesterday's nomination? Jeff Gannon. Had he kept a lower profile earlier in the year, he might have been part of the announcement gaggle yesterday night, and who knows? Maybe he'd be using his tongue to swear out a red-hot writ of habeas corpus. (CNN)
  2. Seriously, ESPN. I'm with Tony Williams on this one. Or, more accurately, he's with me. You can't call yourself a credible network of Sports reporting and sleep on DC. So suck it up and bring the District a sweet ass sports profile. Gibbs and Unseld, college and high school hoops, Bruce Arena, the whole baseball saga. It'll be good television, don't you worry. Now that that's settled, Mayor Williams, I suggest you get on the red phone and give that fucker Sufjan Stevens a call as well. (WTTG)
  3. DC Bachelor is now the 7,084,567th person to board the Gawker backlash bandwagon. Remember its heyday, back in, what, November of 2004? Of course, there are layers of irony. I mean, if you've got nothing to say other than to cite Page Six, I'd say that maybe your thoughts on the originality of other ventures aren't exactly worth noting. Additionally, when that Page Six article describes Jess Coen as a backstabbing bootlicker, it's surprising that DCB doesn't realize he's one cutlery purchase away from finding a soulmate. (DC Bachelor)
  4. The Nabob of Pygmalion In A Blanket adds to the collected letters of highbrow film criticism with a dissertation on the motif of blue lightning in the movies. Proving once again that Cahiers du Cinema is for assholes. (So sayeth the PIAB)
  5. Hey, Going Out Gurus, I'll happily mail you a fucking game of Boggle if it'll increase your word power and shit, and help you avoid using the same headline on back-to-back posts. (Dumberer and Dumberest)

Friday, July 15, 2005

DCeptette: Globalism and its douchebags version.

  1. John Tsombikos, the ubiquitous stencil artist who's Borfed our Metropolis nearly to death, deserves credit for having balls big as the swing of Tiger Woods. But as a cultural theorist, he's strictly Grade 9 bullshit. His own words reveal once again that it's better to shut your trap and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt. With a Reading Rainbow-level grasp of subversive art he probably picked up one day reading some brochure in a chaise by his backyard pool in Langley, Virginia, where, as was his wont, he spent many a day sipping a San Pellegrino and being so deliciously bored with all his possessions and priviledge, conceived a painfully naive worldview shot through with a deep and abiding Peter Pan complex and decided to inflict it upon the city, all the while thinking of himself as the next editor-in-chief of AdBusters. Not that you could get any of that from his graffiti, but I guess being articulate is all square and adult and corporate, yo! Rage against the washing machine we bought from Sharper Image! Now that he's been revealed to be so whitebread that not even Ryan Phillipe could play him in the movie of his life, it's hard to imagine he'll go down in graff gang history as anything other than a poseur gentrifying the world of outsider culture. At any rate, you gotta love his Mom. She's like Fenton's mother from Home Movies. She's really got it going on! Unless, of course, your sense of maternal standards involves actually, you know, providing some sort of fucking guidance to your kid. I believe the story of Borf tagging the Acropolis now--mommy probably put the European trip on her Amex as a graduation present. Borf: so boojy. (Post)
  2. Holy shit! New York City is apparently all out of drummers! (Craigslist)
  3. Washington Times slags Arlington County Democrats for going to Hawaii for an annual meeting. Oh, you mean just like when Tom Ridge went to "PARTY PARTY PARTY" when he was supposed to be watching my back? The article ends with mendacity posing as fact. They say: "Room rates at the five Waikiki hotels listed for convention attendees range from $179 to $295 a night." I SAY: Yeah, for you or me to attend. These attendees are getting the government rate. THEY SAY: "Some counties have reported costs of up to $10,000 to send a few of their government officials to Honolulu." I SAY: What are the names of this counties, asshole? THEY SAY: "Conference attendees also can participate in a variety of tourist activities -- ranging from cruises to luaus -- for an additional cost." I SAY: I call bullshit. You're intentionally omitting the fact that the cost is out-of-pocket. Can you prove Arlington's going to foot the bill on that? No? Then shut the fuck up. BOTTOM LINE: The conference is in Richmond next year, so it's all going to come out in the wash, isn't it? (Turdblossom Times)
  4. Somehow, I've become an uncredited content provider for Big Yawn. Well, they do need writers. (7-13-05 Odds and Ends, second item)
  5. Ernie Grunfeld, I'm sorry I doubted you. Wizards trade Kwame to LA for Caron Butler and Chucky Atkins--even though no one thought we could get Chucky Fuckin' Cheese for Kwame. The Wizards front office must have bloodstreams fulla midichlorian goodness to work this Jedi Mindfuck on Doc Buss and Coach Zen. Now you got clubhouse diseases Kobe and Kwame hooping on the same floor? Shit, that's not team chemistry, that's team oncology. I'm still gonna miss Larry, but surely this qualifies Grunfeld for a MacArthur Evil Genius Grant. (DCist, by the Information Leafblower)

Gratis personae.

Over at The Cleveland Park Mens Club, they've added a new member, The Milkman, a rather well-armed user of the English language. As for the moniker, we're taking it to mean that the CPMC are taking a stand against lactose intolerance. Which is a good thing, because intolerance is usually pretty bad.

Since it's likely that the CPMC will continue to grow and recruit members, we thought, as a public service, we'd suggest the types of additional members that can add unique qualities, specialized skills, and overall completeness to their blog endeavors. Without further ado:

TEN PEOPLE WE HOPE JOIN THE CPMC

1. The Haberdasher--Everything went downhill for men's fashion when they stopped wearing proper hats and that UVA LAX ballcap became classified as "business casual." Isn't it sad that when most people think of the fedora, our next thought is of Matt Drudge? Seriously, we have to steal that look back from that pigfucking fool. (see also: The Guy Who Encourages the Use of Pocket Squares.)

2. The Burgermeister--Shit, yo. I don't even know what it is or how to spell it correctly. All I know is that it looks dope on a business card. If it just can't be done, I'd settle for The Beadle.

3. The War Correspondent--He's loved his way from Baghdad to Grozny and back again. If you need someone to find a translator in 24 hours to make that hazardous Tora Bora crossing, tell you which Reuters photographer will put out if you're just too hard up to go another day, or someone to mix you up a bathtub mint julep poolside at the Hotel Palestine, he's your guy.

4. The Cataclysm--Not so much an actual person, but an elemental force of nature that can be summoned and projected at enemies foreign and domestic, anime-style, whenever it is needed. I'm just spitballing here.

5. The Consigliere--Think about it: you've just laid a double-barreled beatdown on some TSA asshat who's been taking a vacation from perspective. Venting is a good thing. But afterwards, it's the Consigliere who sidles up and says: "You calm now? Because it's time to get down to business." Next day, Mr. TSA wakes up wearing a necklace of his mother's toes.

6. Robert Evans--Because fuck it: he's Robert Fucking Evans. He makes everything cooler. If he joined your D&D club today, all the Athens Socialites would be blogging about freaking on some Dungeon Master's bones tomorrow. The Kid stays in the picture, now and forever.

7. The Sommelier--If you have to ask...

8. The Toreador--The Toreador elegantly captures the beautiful ex-pat ennui of the Lost Generation, while simultaneously cultivating the air of authentic romance that can only come from testing one's mettle against primal nature. Sure to melt the heart of that cashier at Wake Up Little Susie.

9. The Croupier--Available for purchase or rental at the nation's finest DVD retailers, and highly recommended.

10. The Gaffer--Because someone could get hurt if all these cables don't get taped down.

AND FIVE PEOPLE WE HOPE DON'T JOIN THE CPMC

1. The Guy Who Wears Flip-Flops: Excuse me. Are you currently on the roster of a professional soccer team? No? Then take those fucking things off. And don't even think of breaking out that hackysack.

2. The Former Castmember of the Musical Cats: Seriously. Haven't you already done enough damage?

3. The Aging Porn Director Who's Written What He Thinks Is A Serious and Legit Screenplay About Growing Up In Queens With His Quirky Family: Obvs.

4. Christopher Hitchens: Fun for about an hour, until you realize that if this guy had been able to keep any real friends he'd have had two-dozen interventions by now.

5. The Astronaut: Oh, God. Because everyone KNOWS that astronauts are scum.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

DCeptette: Electric chairs and dynamos version

  1. See those girls? They're heaven blessed. I guess it's so they know best. (Pygmalion In A Blanket)
  2. Crap. LAist must be stopped. They will ruin it for us. (LAist)
  3. So the MPD ran a trio of Borfs to ground yesterday, causing a million pretentious art-school dropout addlebrains to bemoan their outcast fate simultaneously. (DCist)
  4. Uh oh. Rehnquist is hospitalized again. Meanwhile, somewhere in Washington, a roomful of Republican strategists are asking themselves, "What's the opposite of a feeding tube?" (DCist)
  5. Grrrsh, okay...but only if you promise to bring your balding bookworm beanpole friend! (Craigslist)

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

The Next Big Thing.

Saturday, July 23. Join the crude dickanicals of Cherry Red Productions for Day Old Plays 05: The Final Crust. This is how it works: actors, directors and playwrights meet up Friday evening. The actors get Polaroided, props and costumes are thrown in a pile, and the playwrights start grooving, the directors start planning, and the actors...well, we get to sleep until the following morning. But: when we wake up and drag our hungover asses out to rehearsal the next day at the crack of dawn, the casts have mere hours to stage, tech and get otherwise ready for public consumption that evening. 24 hours from sperm to spent, just like theatre was made in the olden days, provided that your conception of "olden days" are Day Old Plays 1-4. Join the DCeiver and his lovely fuckbuddy as they join a fantastic cast, and see smutty-ass filth peddled by the likes of Paul Donnelly, Jeffrey Keenan, Anton Dudley, Shawn Northip, Jay Olexa and Emily Rems, directed by the sick-as-shit minds of Kathleen Akerley, Jennifer Ambrosino, Randy Baker, Bridget O'Leary, Deb Randall and Brian Smith. This is being billed as the last Day Old Plays ever--so after Saturday, you'll have to suck it up and deal with a future that doesn't give a crap about you.

Saturday, July 23
Two shows: 8 & 11pm
Warehouse Theater
1021 Seventh St., NW
24 Hours
In the time it takes Jack Bauer to save the world,
we promise to fuck the shit out of it.
Do not miss out.

DCent Days and Nights: The Music All Up In Your Neighborhood

Bluestate this past weekend: so hott. We had a mucho grande time, though we had to depart before the festivities ended. Though we were there for the Great Fuse Blowing, and are inclined to agree--darkness makes everything better. We got to see many familiar faces and meet some new ones, such as the in town Boi from Troy and the around town Holly Tegeler (one-half of Razzmatazz, and, it should be said, one of those sorts of people that you automatically assume is super-nice who turns out to be even superer-nicer than you thought.) The Bluestaters, from what I heard in person and read about later, played their hottest set yet, IMHO. It's rumored that their upcoming Saint-Ex gig will feature the Bluestate Battles, so we'll keep you posted. One minor quibble: all those gigs and "Common People" is yet to get dropped? Preposterobvs.

I feel bad. Why? Because I fell asleep at the switch and failed to pimp a June show from the lads of Park Police, who played Chief Ike's. Bad DCeiver. Well, we're eyeing them closely now, in the hopes that their first full-length, Ranchero, gets completed this summer. You may remember the Park PoPo from last March--we did a little artwork for the Brice Woodall/Paul Kamran/Park Police show. At the time, we said they were a "...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." We'll tell you of their new record's approach, meantimes download "Mission Song" and "Down With Control" from their site.

There's news related to the others on that March bill. If I understand it correctly, Brice and his family are soon to relocate to Chicago. The good news is that the Kanye collabs are so imminent. The bad news is that there are only a few opportunities to see Brice before he lights out. Memorize: July 18 at the Black Cat with Pontiak. July 31 at DC9 with Sianspherics and A Northern Chorus.

Paul, meanwhile, continues to blog the making of his new album. It's being recorded in his home studio and at Bias, and drum tracks are being laid even as you read this. If you've got a curiosity for it, or want to leave a question or a comment, go over there. A rough mix of "Bleeding Hearts" is taking shape via MP3--if you want to follow the process of the song coming together, piece by piece (which is, I think, the value-added edumacational bonus), check it out from time to time. This is the story so far. Other downloads are the demo versions of "Pure", "Rosary", and "...for California." (First two download indirectly from the WaPo MP3 site.)

According to the most recent news, it looks like local fans of Franz Ferdinand will be left waiting, perhaps until after the new year for them to put in appearance in town. October could still shape up in our favor, but they, like many others, are setting their trajectory to get them to Texas for Austin City Limits at the end of September, and they're due in Europe on October 28. If you can't wait, they hit MSG on October 17.

Color me tempted...

Be careful out there, people

My friend Jason Milner suffered a stroke recently. This is shit that can happen to you, folks. Gotta be cautious. Go read what he has to say about it, and be mindful--if your body starts doing some weird shit, don't panic, just listen to what it's saying, stay calm and do what needs to be done to protect your neck. Get information, tell someone you trust who can help look out for you, and get yourself in the presence of some medical professionals.

DC residents, take note: Milner's squeeze Jenn urges you check out DC Healthcare Alliance if you're uninsured.

Monday, July 11, 2005

DC, friendlier than Chicago.

Pygmalion in a Blanket reports that Chicagoans are judgemental douchebags.

FYI: Tongue planted semi-in cheek. But I read books on the Metro because I LIKE TO LEARN.

Bonus: Their public art is totally Gee to the Aitch-ee-why.

That said: nothing like a Neo-Futurists' show.

Hee.

DCeptette: Rich creamery butter version

  1. For years, DC animal lovers have held out hope that all the federally funded panda fucking might one day lead to the successful conception of offspring. Well, glory be! It's finally happened, as Mei Xiang gave birth this past Saturday. So far, DC Bachelor has not claimed responsibility for teaching Tian Tian the coital techniques that allowed him to slip one past Mei Xiang's considerably skilled goalie, but, we figure it's only a matter of time. (Post)
  2. Wonkette picks up the Post's odd description of the panda baby as being "about the size of a stick of butter." However, an alert DCSOB, who was visiting the zoo this past week prior to the birth, said that zoo officials were already discussing the potential panda baby in buttery terms. That means "about the size of a stick of butter" is a TALKING POINT! A delicious talking point. Perhaps it was developed, as Wonkette says, to make the pandas sound more tasty. Or maybe it's an image that will serve to ease our minds if the baby doesn't make it--a way of saying that even in its short life of melting away, Mei Xaing's offspring kept the sausage links of our animal fandom from sticking to the hot pan of expectation. All I know is that I am in the serious mood for some pancakes. (Wonkette)
  3. Oh, and by the way. Panda birth=Gothamist editor orgasming. (Gothamist)
  4. When I heard the news that Big Yawn had landed the Brian Jonestown Massacre for their next DC9 show, I admit it, I was sure that a rain of frogs or a plague of locusts was on the way. But, since none of that happened, and I otherwise haven't woken up to a throaty narrator intoning, "From the people that brought you The Ring...", what can I say? I'd be disingenuous if I didn't offer: respect.
  5. You know, Scientology isn't all about shelling out wheelbarrowsful of ducats to supply famously asexual Hollywood stars with much-needed and timely pussy cover. They've got plenty of creepy paranoia on the local level as well. (Craigslist)

Adorable, non-panda related news.

P.Vo: yo! i have good news for you

The DCeiver: what's that? I mean, good news for me: what's that about?

P.Vo: john horn proposed to maggie [glauber] and now they are engaged

The DCeiver: Ooooooh, wow!

P.Vo: or, as patton oswalt likes to call it, they are SUPERFUCKING!

The DCeiver: that is good!


Congratulations to two of The DCeiver favorite all-time people! Let the days of superfucking commence!

Saturday, July 09, 2005

There are powerlines in our bloodlines.



BrooklynVegan passes on some good news. The Decemberists are on their Flight of the Mistle Thrushes Tour and bringing their act to the city on October 2. They'll be at the 9:30 Club, appearing with Sons and Daughters, who I've been meaning to check out, and Petar Haden's Sellout Choir. Ha cha.

Of course, it's also very tempting to go up to NYC and see them on August 18 for Central Park Summerstage to see them perform with Death Cab For Cutie and Stars, but 9:30 has one huge advantage over Central Park: sanitary places to urinate.*

UPDATE: By the by, if you haven't already procured you some mighty good Decemberist versions of other people's songs, get them from My Old Kentucky Blog tout-suite. Colin Meloy covers the Outfield? Tigs.

*comparatively.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Calling All Enthusiasts!!

First: Bluestate. There you go. See you there.

Buzz is in abundance on a couple of shows that you should check out this weekend. Bertolt Brecht's The Caucasian Chalk Circle is out of previews at Open Circle and up, running and fortified with that Grady Weatherford voodoo. Fri-Sat 8pm nights/Sat-Sun 2pm mats. At Round House in Silver Spring. And Studio Secondstage brings the much beloved new play from Rolin Jones, The Intelligent Design of Jenny Chow, Fridays and Saturdays at 8:30, early Sunday show at 7:30.

A lot of clubs take time off from hosting live shows to do a little R&R around their establishments. But the Velvet Lounge has a different approach. They just bring Adam West in to throw down and peel the paint off the walls and frighten off the evil spirits. Check out Adam West's music here, and if you likey, help the Velvet Lounge get cleansed tonight. With Philly's Beretta 76 and Jukebox Heroes.

If you feel like getting your stroll on this weekend, head on up to Adams Morgan this Saturday and join the festivities of Adams Morgan Night Bazaar. Local artisans will be setting up shop outside with crafts, home decor, and food, and local faves Monopoli head up the list of scheduled performances. From 1-9pm, heart of Adams Morgan.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Paul blogs the making of his record.

This might be of interest to some of you out there. Paul of Paul Kamran and temporarily of Down Holly has most of the month of July off from work, and during that time, he's working in the studio to record an album.

That's not, in itself, unusual. What's interesting is that he plans to blog about the entire process. It's especially strange because he thinks blogging is stupid. And, as we may have learned, blog commenting, especially so. But, if only for this brief window of time, he's opened up this aspect of his life for the public, just to see if anyone's interested or has some good advice.

Paul's been through this process before, so I'm sure he'll have a lot to say about the experience, how it compares to previous recording sessions, what it's like to record an album at a studio in the area--the whole trials and tribulations thing.

If you've ever been curious about what this often painstaking process can be like for a musician, if you've got questions, if you've got suggestions, if you think he's mixing the keyboards all wrong, take advantage of the opportunity.

It will be at least as fascinating as my other friend Paul's blog about his kidney transplant surgery, which is, thankfully something that's not likely to be reperformed live at the Velvet Lounge anytime soon.

DCist to be Grassless

Well, we've known about it for a while now, but today it's been officially announced: Mike Grass is departing as co-editor of DCist. Mike, along with Rob Goodspeed, basically created DCist. One of them inseminated the other with the idea, and after that insemination, they went to Blogger Lamaze classes together, one watched as the other grew swollen with birth, one smoked Bloggy crack while the other declined, one yelled "Push, dammit! Push!" as the other strained in the stirrups, face frozed in a rictus of Blog Pain until one of them, with a mighty yank, pried DCist loose from the other's Blogina, kicking and screaming into the world. I decline to figure whether Mike was the pitcher or the catcher in that scenario, as you all no doubt do, probably wishing I had come up with just about any other metaphor to describe the origin story of DCist, or, alternatively, refrained from metaphor entirely, so as to prevent these images from invading your brainpan.

Mike will be leaving DCist and Roll Call to take over at Express, to edit and develop their local pages. Thank God. Express began as a redundant gatheringplace of wire reports most of the plugged-in people in its demographic got hours, even days earlier from the internet. And, as the Washington Examiner washed up on these shores, the tatty Express found itself in desperate need of some original content, some local flavor, and perhaps a smaller army of people shrilly hawking it at every fucking Metro stop in Christendom. These things, Mike can, and shall provide.

We wish him the best in his future endeavors, and I have a funny feeling that he won't be disappearing completely. In fact, he actually may finally start showing up for things before 9pm. Hopefully, Mike will be in the house at Bluestate this Saturday. Please buy him a drink and take no unflattering photographs.

As the world of -ist continues to spread its goodwill and erudite writing from city to city, town to town, excepting New Orleans because Metroblogs is rumored to be squatting on it, Mike will be a part of its history and will hopefully continue to offer what assistance he can.

After all, the day will come that Jen and Jake want to set up an -ist shop in the small, windswept town of Craigsl. And on that day, we're going to need all the help we can get.

DCeptette: You shouldn't have fucked with Old Blighty version

  1. First things first: condolences go out to those who lost a loved one today; strength is wished for everyone in London still dealing with the tragedy. Our thoughts and prayers are with Great Britain tonight. If you want to pass along your regards, head over to Londonist and leave a comment. (Londonist)
  2. You know, many in DC treat the intern class with jowly derision. So young, so bright-eyed, so out of their depth. But I say: we must and should praise our intern brethren. For tomorrow, the great mountain of labor that awaits me shall be molehillized with the help of who? Interns, that's who. And when it looked as if I wouldn't have next Sunday off to bask in relaxation, and all hope seemed lost, who stepped in to save the day? Another set of interns! So, for those of you about to tie ribbon around 250 identical sets of branded giftcards, I salute you. And for those of you who will be hanging up gigantic photographs in the Russell Senate Office building this coming Monday, I honor you as well. You interns work hard, you bring a go-getter attitude to the workplace, and you do it for the LOVE. And while that love is not something you can eat, maybe, or clothe yourselves in, or take shelter inside, or bring with you to the track as I place a few strategically reckoned exacta wagers, that love is indeed a good thing. Not a great thing--you can sell a great thing and get some beer money--but a good thing. And sometimes, a good thing is enough. That'll do, interns. That'll do.
  3. So, out in MoCo, two churches want to build in the county's agricultural reserve. That is not in itself a problem: there are small exceptions that can be made. But both churches want to build massive on land that's been shielded from development. As you'd expect, the various politicos are straining at the bit as they attempt to size up the situation and answer a few questions. Questions like: Just how much should I pander? And how hard? Should I get a funny hat or learn me some hymns? You get the feeling that it's going to be a veritable eBay auction of sucking up. Montgomery County Council member George Leventhal accidentally tells the truth, saying: "If it were not a church, I don't think we would have a problem saying no." Hmmm. Here's a suggestion, George, if there are some fucking rules that have been established governing the development of the reserve, then state what they are, so everyone's clear on it. Then, you can sit back and stop worrying because churches are places where everyday Americans learn to be polite and well-behaved and value following the rules. If it turns out that one of these churches wants to BREAK one of the clearly stated rules, well, then--they aren't a very good church, are they? And, lo, learning to say no should turn out to be easy like Sunday morning. (Post)
  4. Newsworthy because of the heroism of citizenry or the relative affluence of the neighborhood? You tell me. (Post)
  5. Someone's having a missed connection with having a life, it seems, but we hope it works out for the sake of research. (Craigslist)

The Next Big Thing.


It's that time again, folks. And while the Bluestate crew will be without their colleague Miss Weird Curves, it's going to be a stone gas at the Black Cat. This Saturday, backstage, 9ish ought to get it done. And to get it done to you! We'll see you there!

Panic on the streets of London

Fucking terrorists. Killing Londoners, wrecking the Circle Line and ruining this year's DCeiversary. Londonist has the coverage and links.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

DCeiversary! The Glorious First Year of DCeption.


It began... with a story--the story of a man shot in the stomach so severely, that it left him with the ability to pass anything through his alimentary canal. A story that the world needed to hear. A story that was probably remembered in the post-haze of a PBR dawn. Nevertheless, The DCeiver was born. And it became a lot more. A source of inspiration. A beacon of hope to the internet-weary. A place where the love for one of the world's greatest cities could raise its head without shame. A complement to the city's vibrant blogosphere. A warrior, mercilessly skewering of the dick- and dork- and assocracy of the few dicks, dorks, and asses that embarrass us. A proving-ground for the eternal triumph of hard-earned arrogance over ill-informed and pathetic pomposity. Yes, all of that and more.


The DCeiver celebrates its first DCeiversary today. It's a time to look back on the past year. A time to reflect. A time to remember. The DCeiver began with a modest goal--develop a blog that Marybeth Fritzky would enjoy. Mission accomplished.


As we begin our second year, it's important to not lose sight of our starting point, the destinations along the road, the wisdom we've gained from others and the contributions of our great works. So bookmark the shit out of this:


The Complete Year One Index of The DCeiver!


930 Forums:
Allawi, Ayad:
Altman, Andrew:
Amsterdamage:
Arlington Music Scene messageboards:
arsonist, serial:
Australians:
Band Camp:
Barry, Marion:
baseball team:
Basedow, John:
Bay, Michael:
Behold!:
"bend over, here it comes again":
Big Yawn:
black football coaches:
Blackman, Laura:
Blitzer, Wolf:
blogging:

Bluestate:
Bolton, John:
Boone, Pat:
bowels:
Braff, Zach:
Brazil, Harold:
Brooklyn:
Brown Bunny, the:
Bush, Jenna:
Cannon, Ann:
Cannon, Vivian:
Capitol Hill:
Carlson, Tucker:
Carver, Katy:
Castor Oil:
Catania, David:
cat urine:
Ceton, Greg:
Cheesecake Factory:
Chomko, Elizabeth:
Christians, conservative:
City Year:
Cleveland Park Men's Club
Cloud:
Cochran, Emily:
cock-ups:
Coldplay:
Cox, Ana Marie:
Craigslist:
Cropp, Linda:
Crossfire:
Cutler, Jessica:
DC Bachelor:
DCeiver:
DCist:
DC sniper:
DCSOB:
DC United:
DeLay:
Didactic Theatre Company:
Dinker, Carling:
diplomatic immunity:
Ehrlich, Governor:
Eidinger, Adam:
Evans, Jack:
Exit Clov:
Fenty, Adrian:
Fox news:
Gallo, Vincent:
Galloway, George:
Gannon, Jeff:
"Gas Man, the":
Gehry, Frank:
Going Out Gurus:
gunshot wounds:
Halperin, Mark:
Here's a Hint:
Herseth, Stephanie:
Hill Hotties:
Hoboken:
Holden, Mike:
Homeland Security, Office of:
House Judiciary Committee:
inauguration:
information leafblower:
Jess, Sabrina Audrey:
Kamran, Paul:
kilts:
K Street:
Landrieu, Mary:
Lauriol Plaza:
Lehrer, Jim:
Mackaye, Ian:
Malkin, Michelle:
Mangina Dentata:
manwiches:
Marks, Peter:
Maryland, University of:
McGreeveyesque:
mercury crisis:
Metro:
Miller, Karl:
Nassri, Rahaleh:
Null, Ann V.:
Olmos, Edward James:
Owen, Hugh T.:
pandas:
parasols:
Pilate, Pontius:
Pixies:
Promise Keepers:
Pygmalion in a Blanket:
Redskins:
Rehnquist, William:
Republicans:
Rock and Romp:
Rotoscope:
Rwandan genocide:
Scarlet Letter:
Senators:
Slatkin, Leonard:
smoking ban:
snakeheads:
Snark Captain and the New Media of Tomorrow:
Splash Day:
So Others Might Eat:
Steinbuch, Robert:
Stewart, Jon:
Sullivan, Andrew:
Sullivan, Mark:
Tancredo, Tom:
things that are killing us:
Totushek, Courtney:
Trachtenberg, Steven Joel:
tsunami:
Tysons Corner:
Ullyot, John:
Virginia lawmakers:
votergasms:
Washington, DC:
Washington Examiner:
weddings:
what the fuck:
WHFS:
Why I Hate DC:
Wilco:
Williams, Anthony:
wish, yeah you:
Wizards, Washington:
Yo La Tengo: