4 posts tagged “washington dc”
Before I went to bed last night, I could not help but to wonder, what I was going to do with myself with a day off from The Capital Fringe Festival? I even entertained the idea of heading down just to pitch in and help wherever I could. However I woke around noon today with an aching back and sore feet telling that making a cameo was out of the question. There are plenty of quick, smart and capable people to hold down Fort Fringe without me. Besides, I have a boat load of washing to do. Failing to find the male equivalent of dress shields or the fortitude that convinces Rick Ross to stroll around topless, this week I realized that I needed to wear a shirt I was willing to sweat through on the walk from the Metro to Capital Fringe headquarters and carry one I could change into once I got there. That way I did not look like I walked through a torrential downpour by the time the first patron made came in for the day. By the way, I'm so glad that the AKA sorors have wrapped up their centennial celebration just around the corner in the convention center. It was nice seeing that sea of pink and green and all the history it carried with it. However I was deathly afraid that I would run into a classmate from undergrad while looking a sweaty mess and damn near of breath (rendering me even more inarticulate that I usually am) and having them think I was fresh off of a crack binge.*
They really do like self-deprecation. It's true y'all: Adding a twist to suggestion from a co-worker and constant source of joy, MJ, who suggested we keep a checklist and mark it off every time someone mentions something from Stuff White People Like, I decided to turn it into a bingo game with customized WHITE cards. The numbers on the card correspond with ranking on the list (I had to thank another co-worker who saved from the laborious task of paging through the book and writing down numbers 1-75 . She suggested that I look in the back of book. "White people like indexes," she informed me.). We haven't set up any concrete rules which maybe the reason I'm in the lead. A black guy with a Whole Foods' canvas bag, that count as irony right (or has Alanis Morrisette and past dalliances with Maui Wowie muddied the definition for me? I'm a disgrace to my English degree.).
I tried to keep it on the QT and amongst the co-workers to keep from tainting the integrity of the game and having someone take it the wrong way (It's all in love). However those that have heard of about the game have gotten a good chuckle out of it. Of course, I don't know how I would feel if the shoe was on the other foot and folks where ticking off boxes when they saw me chomping away at my Chop't Po Boy Salad ("Fried Chicken! That's number one!"), puffing away on a Newport during my smoke break ("Menthol! Number fourty-four!") or ambling into work a little after noon because I to take a breather and wipe myself down in between the hike from the Gallery Place-China Town Metro and Fort Fringe ("Colored People Time** ! Number sixteen."). I might have to get a little salty and commence to telling folks about themselves ("Indignation-- and confrontation! Dude, that's so number fifty-five and sixty-eight! BLACK-O, bitches! Give me my over sized T-Shirt, grape soda and Black & Milds!").
Highlight of the week (aside from the opening of "Lebensraum":): Friday night, I asked M to come down and volunteer. I don't know why. Part of it was punishment. Last week, he and his cousin went to Philly for the weekend. While I'm knee-deep in packing shows, he had the gall to call and tell me about how he'd just got finished sight-seeing. It was a short conversation abbreviated by the agitated tone in my voice. Part of it was to save himself from future embarrassment like the one he suffered on Friday night. He decided to wear one of my staff shirts to cookout (Again, while I'm at work. He's having himself a grand old time this summer. But I'm not bitter.). He tells me, some guys light up, he approaches M and decides to ask him about the Capital Fringe Festival. M is at a lost because about the best he's able to get out of me about the festival after a long day is exhausted ramblings about Jesus(es), cat-headed babies, bears-- and BUTTONS! I tell ya, by the end of this wild ride, M is going find me curled in a corner singing, "Button, button! Who's got the button?" But before I lose all touch with reality, I figured it would be best if M saw what Capital Fringe was all about rather than me explaining it to him. So I asked him to come and he rolled on down with me on Saturday.
One of our less than than dependable volunteers decided to flake out on us again. So our volunteer coordinator (and star of "Lebensraum") was more than willing to put him to work running box office at The Studio Theatre which is one of our more cushier venues. Thus negating the passive-agressive punishment of roping him into going to hell's armpit downtown and having him suffer. Sure, the cat-headed babies can get their revenge, but me? No. To make the gig even easier, our box-office manager had to make a few drops at other venues and gave him a ride to the theater. So there was no suffering the indignities of public transportation for him. Nor were there indignities like having buttons (or button cards) thrown at him, while working his enclosed and air conditioned booth with the help venue manager from heaven, X. After he was done with his three shifts, he couldn't praise X or the experience enough. He also realized all of the hard work that the rest of the box office team, Fringe staff and I are putting into the festival. That's a good thing. What's not a good thing? He's become a bit of a diva. M has agreed to volunteer for the festival next weekends, but insists it is at the Studio.
*The shit has happened before. Thankfully, it was not a classmate though. After seeing "Take Me Out" for the second time at Studio(!), I was walking to the Dupont Metro and just dampening my cute little Mexican tunic. I decided to take to cool out a bit before I got on the train. Some derelict noticed me and said, "Damn, man! Look like you done found you some good rock! You looking for more?"
** At the regular job, we host a lot of Kuchipudi events and learned that there was such a thing as Indian People time too! It truly is a small world. In spite of all of the difference, we're all the same. Kumbaya and all that jazz . . .
I'm on vacation this week. Going nowhere-- save to see Mika on Tuesday. So I loaded up books at the library and stumbled across this one from Andrew Holleran. I had him as a professor for one of my fiction workshops at American University. I've tried reading his most popular novel, Dancer from the Dance, a few times but could never settle into it. After reading Grief in nearly one sitting (only 150 plus pages), I may have to give Dancer from the Dance another try.
Grief is the story of a gay middle-aged professor who takes a job teaching at DC university, shortly after his mother's death. Not only is he haunted by his mother's death, he also haunted by the deaths of many of his contemporaries whom were casualties of the AIDS epidemic. I know it sounds like depressing stuff, but Holleran manages to bring a certain beauty and elegance to bear in the telling of the tale. Along with that, the book really opened my eyes to parts of DC I really hadn't taken notice of before and made me realize there's life and culture to be had outside of Dupont Circle. It also deepened my respect for the family elders by bearing witness to their strength over the years and enduring so much.
Last night, I was so happy it was Wednesday and I had to ride down to DC to pick M
up from work. Because I won't be able to make to the big
street festival on Sunday for Capitol Pride. So I figured Wednesday was
as good day to make my cameo during pride week and visit Omega, the club
where I used to be accosted by cute little twinks certain that I wasn't gay or certain that if they flirted enough I wouldn't card them bounce.
Wednesday meant I got ogle at the dancers in their skimpy underwear (no more nudity unti . . .yay!) and
marvel at the some of the folks that got up the gumption to take off
their shirts for free drinks from 10pm to 11pm. Maybe I'm just overly
self-conscious and self-critical than other folks, but sometimes I feel
like pulling some these folks aside and saying, "Baby, if dignity has a
price, I'm fairly certain it's might bit more than the cost of rail
liquor. Put your shirt on, please. Next one is on me. Top shelf. Just
cover up and let the young folks have their fun."
And I was set to have my fun, driving down the road and cranking the NERD ("Fucking Poser!"). I get to Omega. There are four bars in the club, two downstairs and two upstairs. The only ones open are the main one downstairs and the video bar upstairs. My usual post, the back bar downstairs, is closed. And its kind of dead for a place that giving away free booze in a matter of minutes. That's when I should have known something was off. But no. Then ten o' clock rolled around and there were no dancers and no pale white moobies and graying back hair coming out of hiding. Thank that I don't have it in me to be the party-starter. Could you imagine my dismay, if I pulled off me shirt, demanded my free drink and discovered it was fucking Tuesday.
Somehow I managed to travel forward in time yesterday. Unfortunately, time, space and the rest of the world didn't make the trip with me. I think it was the delivery of the TV Guide yesterday that through me off. It usually comes on Wednesday. On top of that, the cover is dedicated to The Sopranos and Sunday can't get here quickly enough. And more than likely I'll be singing a different tune come 10 PM on Sunday and saying that it came too soon.Whatever the reason, I was fairly certain that yesterday was Wednesday and today was Thursday. And I didn't figure it out until watch the news the morning and the weather was talking about Wednesday's weather and I asked M what day it was. He told me Wednesday and no doubt begin to question my sanity.
