Loaded for Bare

Synopsis: Set in a Catholic boarding school, the show centers on a group of friends during their senior year. Altar boy Peter is in love with his roommate Jason, one of the most popular kids in school. They are carrying on a closeted romance but Peter wants to go public with their affair, at least to his mother, whom he loves dearly. Jason isn't so keen on the idea, as he feels that his entire world would crumble if word of the relationship got out. Things get more complicated when Ivy makes a play for Jason. Her rejected suitor Matt discovers the secret that Peter and Jason have been keeping and it's only a matter of time before things start to spin out of control.

My thespian friend is onstage with the College Community Theater (CCT) with 2nd Flight Theatre Company production of bare, a Pop Opera in Sterling, VA. He's part of the chorus, a very cute looking part of the chorus. He told me about the production, and how excited he was to be in it. So I decided to go see it.

I did my homework. The Internet is all about Bare. I figured I'd be doing some major eye-rolling during the performance, and I was not disappointed. As the Director's Notes say in the program,

The show was optioned for an off-Broadway run in 2004, where it was panned by critics and audiences alike. Ask someone to explain teh plot of bare and you will hear nearly every Catholic school cliche in the book: teen pregnancy, drug use, homosexuality ...almost the whole canon.

Yes, the show is campy (although the actors played it very straight), the mother is a hysterical mess, and the nun has a big heart. But... the music is catchy, and the lyrics really grab the emotions. More than that, I think bare is honest to its context and premise. Indeed adolescence teems with melodrama. Teenagers, even the smart ones, do stupid things like fall in love with the wrong person, or never figure out how to love the right person. Of course, it all ends tragically, too! (But at least the play didn't include a fag-bashing.)

I enjoyed this production. The acting and singing were good, and the cast put their whole heart into their performances. And yeah, some of my eye rolling is because I'm a jaded old cynic who's thinking, "You're not trotting out that spavined old pony again!" My truest plaint is that you have to kill off the homo before the last curtain falls. But, what was I expecting? This is an opera.

Bitches in the Washington Blade

By bitches, I mean the ranting, whining, complaining kind that Phil Gramm talked about when he was being honest, rather than political.

The Bitches column in the Blade is a type of reality genre. It provides a guilty kind of pleasure for the reader, and a certain notoriety for the writers. Some of the quips/observations/idiocy rises to ironic, shallow entertainment. A lot of it is puerile crap, but even that has a morbid fascination value. Many of the writers appear obsessed with youth, looks, fashion, sex, and terribly failed relationships. Lesbians also come in for a fair amount of unfavorable comment, but not nearly the abuse older men (apparently, any guy over the age of 27) receive.

I point all of this out because I confess that I read this column every time I pick up the Blade. I catch myself chuckling at some of the lamebrain observations of what passes for gay in Washington, DC. For the most part, I don't see my gay friends, or gay me in it, and I often think of some nifty rejoinder that would probably get me bitch-slapped by a screaming 22-year old wearing some gay male version of a Jimmy Choo.

The column is offensive, but any public airing of artless prose ends up being offensive. Most of the writers appear to have the intellectual depth of a Jerry Springer reject. I suppose even they need a public forum. I am bothered by the amount of racism and misogyny that, on occasion, gets slathered on thickly in the column. While the George Bush Center for Intelligence out in McLean could be fooled into believing that the expressions in the column represent all gay opinion, don't you - gentle reader - carry the same misconception. Some of us airheads don't need to be published to prove our wit.

An Evening Out

For my birthday, Ron took me out to dinner at Merkado, then to the Studio Theatre production of All That I Will Ever Be. First the restaurant, then the play.

The chips and salsa are fabulous. And they will bring you seconds. One of the great items at Merkado is the Black Bean Soup. It is full of garlic and a wonderful bean soup taste. It's a real rib sticker. My fave on the menu is the Pork Quesadilla. This isn't your usual quesadilla. It's full of shredded pork and Mexican cheese rolled in a flaky flour tortilla, and served with green tomatillo salsa, and a red salsa. The presentation is a knockout. Ron's entree was Grilled Tilapia served with a Vera Cruz sauce and a tasty seasoned rice. (I ate some of his food, so I know it was tasty.) The Banana Taquito with Caramel Sauce and Vanilla Ice Cream is a killer way to end the meal.

And the play. You may want to see the play (it runs through March 23) before you read this review. Or, you may want to read the review in the Washington Post, then go see the play. A sign in the theatre lobby reads:

"All That I Will Ever Be contains mature themes, explicit language, sexual situations, simulated violence, nudity and smoking of non-tobacco cigarettes."

Let me parse that for you. Mature themes include bisexuality, homosexuality, racism, prostitution, drug use, cell phone marketing, and psychotherapeutic navel gazing. Explicit languages means, "Fuck." Sexual situations include a rousing, bronc-busting, dirty-talking, ass-pounding sexual simulation between two men over a very modern living room chair. Kind of like something I would do if I weren't so concerned about what kind of condition it would leave the furniture. Simulated violence occurs twice: once when the two lead characters get into a fight with each other, and another time when an "outcall" goes sadly awry for the customer. Nudity occurs throughout the production, and certainly makes the ticket price less dear. The above-mentioned sexual situation, and the hot tub are the most memorable instances, but skin is displayed in other situations, too. Smoking of non-tobacco cigarettes may have occured onstage, but the "simulated"(?) pot smoking in two of the scenes took me back to my days at the University of Idaho. Lots of smoke gets generated onstage.

The production is entertaining and funny, but it lacks heart. I could never connect emotionally with the two main characters, one of whom is a pathological liar (Omar, played by Carlos Candelario), and the other who is a whiny, spoiled, druggy who can't get on with his life (Dwight, played by Parker Dixon). Both characters are finely played, but ultimately, I didn't care about either of them. I did like looking at them, though. And if Omar has to be a prostitute, I'd let him work my neighborhood.

Other strong performances include Cynthia (played by Leayne Freeman) who is one badass girl on her way to the top, regardless of the consequences. Phil (played by Steve Nixon) is a wonderfully disgusting sleazy producer. Finally, Chris Dinolfo gives strong emotional depth to his character, Eddie, when Eddie tries to pay off his Puerto Rican stallion in an evening gone wrong.

High cheesecake factor for gay men, great simulated sex and drug use, a final dramatic scene that has you talking about the play when you leave the theatre. Don't expect high drama, but do enjoy the show.

A Gay Breakfast

Gay Power Breakfast

Okay, Ron and I went out to see a gay play last night (All That I Will Ever Be), so I was feeling gay this morning. Ron took care of part of that, but in the early morning glow, I needed much more.

So what is a gay breakfast? How about a cup of coffee, a slice of Chicken and Pork Terrine with Pistachios, some smoked havarti, a couple of cornichons, a few olives, half an artichoke heart, a couple of thin slices of pepperoni, melba toast rounds, and a three-minute poached egg with Tabasco? Arrange on a pretty plate. Savor over this week's Genre, and you have a gay power breakfast.