Wigs and Fake Plastic Babies

Hey there ‘Redheads… Welcome to the last days of Blogtober. It joins Joke-a-Day in June and Get Jared Out of Debtember in the pantheon of poorly executed ideas. Live and learn. I am that rare combination of procrastination and impatience…I can’t wait to do it later (patent pending). So, I’m sure the hazy shade of winter will bring bloggery botch-jobs of even greater magnitude (it being sweeps and all). Wow, has my Seasonal Affective Disorder kicked in. On to good news, shall we?

While the official trick-or-treatery happens tomorrow night. Most of us, I’m sure, got sauced to the point of living death over the weekend. I was no exception, donning my usual fallback costume, Clark Kent changing into Superman, for a house party in DC.

Up, up, and oy vey…

The costumes in attendance ranged in obscurity and creativity, from Go Go Yubari of Kill Bill Vol. 1 to Mr. Owl from the old school Tootsie Pop commercial. There were, of course, the hot button costumes like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie…complete with plastic adopted kids, one guy came as a bag of spinach, and there was the Mark Foley page. Thankfully, no Steve Irwins. Then there were the concept costumes, like Static Cling with frizzed hair and assorted socks stuck to them, one girl was Craig’s List with ads for roommates with allergies to exposed brick, and one young lady was “under renovation” with various construction elements attached to her. Through all of these, there was one costume that rose above the rest. Brilliantly simple. Not obvious. Begging to asked, “What’re you supposed to be?” The guy stood about 6’6″, wearing a white t-shirt and black pants. Around his neck, he wore a dog collar and leash with a bunch of keys attached to it. When I quizzically posed the question to him, he responded, “I’m Alicia Keys.” Kudos, sir…kudos.
And I don’t know about the rest of you, but I was not happy at all with how I spent my 2am to 3am. Thankfully, I was able to pull a Sam Beckett and go back to set the wrong things right…by sleeping on the other side.

Speaking of time travel, let’s back things up to mention a couple of shows from earlier in the week. Last Tuesday, I got a chance to share the stage with 3 of DC’s finest, Danny Rouhier, Jon Mumma, and comedy dynamo Justin Schlegel, in the name of charity and good will at American University for a show benefiting the Children’s Miracle Network. The show took place in what is essentially the food court of the student union. I had a score to settle with this place. You’ll remember (and I’m counting on you, because my memory pretty spotty) the last time I was there with the giant comedy robot of the DC Standup Allstars, we were met with general indifference and some guy felt it necessary to say AIDS is funnier than me. This time seemed to be shaping up as another round of teeth pulling with the disaffected youth. When putting together a comedy show, the devil is in the details, from lighting to sound to crowd configuration. Comedy needs undivided attention, and with the lights on in the seating area, the crowd had trouble realizing there was a show in front of them instead of jokes to eat food and shoot the shit by. Due to prior time commitments, it fell upon me to close the show, a task I wasn’t sure I was fit for. This worry was compounded by watching Justin and Jon wrestle with a distracted crowd for the center of attention. Just before Danny hit the stage, one of the show’s organizers dimmed the house lights, making the comic on stage the only shiny object in the room. This let the crowd focus on Danny and, afterward, me. I brought things home nicely…for the kids.
Wednesday saw the birth of a brand new weekly comedy venue in Bethesda. The place is called South Beach and it’s owned by legendary Redskins wide receiver, Gary Clark. The space is prime for comedy and Gary is excited about having us there after last week’s debut. It also doesn’t hurt that the bartender, Jessica, is a five alarm hottie. Thanks to Rob Maher for getting it started. Click here to be a friend to local comedy.

Before I wrap this up, a good riddance to the misbegotten clusterfuck that was the Baltimore Rascal’s. Their logo should’ve been a guy with his head up his ass. The club was up and running then came to a sputtering stop all within 3 months. Maybe someday a club can do the right thing with that great space in the Baltimore PowerPlant. Long live the Baltimore Comedy Factory.

Have a Happy ‘Ween.

To be continued…

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