Remember the Brian Williams imbroglio? Here’s what he could learn from DC storytellers…

The commentariat loves gifts like the Brian Williams/RPG-gate saga as it allows for easy and unrestrained blogging. Just imagine their relief: What’s this, an esteemed cultural icon – one whose authority in IconLand stems from some pesky yet venerable notion of trust – has been caught fibbing at the expense of American soldiers??? Holy Walter Cronkite, get out the pitchforks because Brian Williams is obviously a giant lying bag of poo. Continue reading “Remember the Brian Williams imbroglio? Here’s what he could learn from DC storytellers…”

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Protect DC’s tree canopy! C’mon, bros – it’s easy!

Fellas… FELLAS! May I call you fellas? Look, I know what it’s like…

It’s 3 a.m., the lights have come up at the sports bar – even though there’s a West Coast game still in progress! – and management is cranking Sinatra’s “New York, New York” to nudge you out the door. You look for the girl you’ve been macking on ALL NIGHT, but now she’s hanging on a guy wearing a blue cap and Schlitz t-shirt and shouting “Wright’s back, baby! Wright’s back!” in an endless loop. Continue reading “Protect DC’s tree canopy! C’mon, bros – it’s easy!”

The Virgin Diaries: check out my feature in the Washington City Paper

I’ve been working hard on my one-man storytelling show, No Sex, Please, which premieres Friday, July 12 at the 2013 Capital Fringe Festival.  I’m very excited and can’t wait for the show to open – it covers my bumbling experiences with love and sex from my formative years on through to my mid-twenties.  Long story short:  I was a virgin until I was nearly 28-years-old.

Go here to learn more about the show and my process (read: struggle) to create it – AND WHAT IT ALL MEANS! – in my feature for the City Paper. Continue reading “The Virgin Diaries: check out my feature in the Washington City Paper”

Steel cage match: Excel Xlerator vs. Dyson Airblade

Among watering-holes and restaurants catering to perpetually unmarried folk who like their prices high, portions small, and wait times in excess of 90 minutes, I’ve found bathrooms appointed with one of two brands of automatic hand dryer (often in addition to linen-infused paper towels for the environmentally unconcerned)…  First up is the Dyson Airblade, that darling of the National Sanitation Foundation (NSF), whose air-handling innards are said to smite 99.9% of germs that cross its path.  Its womb-like chamber beckons your dripping fingers and promises to dry them in just seconds!  But crimony – it’s a stupid British import!

Well, fret not, Francophiles.  Its challenger is as all-American as school shootings and cure-all tax cuts Continue reading “Steel cage match: Excel Xlerator vs. Dyson Airblade”

Back our hacks!

I’m bummed that, sometime by the end of this decade, all DC cabs will be red.  I suppose the tarty sheen will make the city’s wheezing fleet of 7,000 90s-era Crown Vics easier to spot among tourists and other out-of-towners – and perhaps inspire an end-times showdown with their slick-dick competitors, Uber, over a giant checkerboard in Dupont Circle – but this is one reform that I could do without.

But don’t lump me among nostalgia-prone pensioners just because I’m wary of this change.  Continue reading “Back our hacks!”

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