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All photos: Sexy Fitsum

Friday, May 8, 2009 It was bound to happen sometime (no, not this). Policy’s run of Friday night balls-to-walls packed crowds came to an end tonight — or so I thought. The celeb headcount was definitely trending downward, at least the established celeb count. Where big ol’ beefalos like Tito Ortiz, Marc Barnes and White House PR hotshots once roamed, etc, tonight belonged temporarily to NYC (Brooklyn, basically) up-and-comer John Record and his one-woman camera crew, who used the club — and the slow but steady bubble-up of people — as the backdrop for the VH1 pilot they were shooting. About an hour before last call, thin crowd turnt thick and usual business returned, and stayed that way almost uncomfortably well past “lights-on”. Tonight’s high point was reached minutes after I left Policy and spied the Fojol Bros (pretty certain that it’s actually bros and not brothers abbreviated) truck parked on 14th just above Wallach or whatever. Mmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmmm. A food and pricing get an unqualified Fuck The World. And a ham-fisted Fuck That however goes to their recent decision to move biz over to 18th Street.

Well fed and Velvet Lounged, I fixed on walking it out homeways down Freemason Boulevard 16th Street and caught this bit of stank gouda. Not nearly as cringe-inciting as the bumper stickers I’ve seen in my neighborhood lately that go “Be a REAL guitar hero. Call XXX-XXX-XXXX for guitar lessons” or those FM radio bus ads desperately selling themselves as “Free Radio”. The sound of sinking ships … Bloop … bloop … bloop. Even sadder was this staggering hot mess of a man who went completely out of his way to reverse course and cross 16th in a beerlarious attempt to cruise me. After walking in front of me for about 5 minutes, checking me over his shoulder while signalling his heat to me by weirdly stroking his bottom and his hair with his ring-spangled fingers, he gave up and headed back up north. For his sake, I hope it was to Annie’s or someplace to get his hungry ass some food.

» More photos from Friday

The night before, I made a late decision to drag ass out to warmed-over Dragonfly Current where full-fledged mega legend Afrika Bambaataa was dropping that lime at an afterparty sponsored by the omniscient, highly tentacled Red Bull and it’s music academy. I’ve been to jam-packed Roots shows at 9:30 that spanned two or three consecutive nights so I know DC’s got enough real hip hop heads to fill the room. But those heads didn’t show, and that’s our city. Those numbers who did come out sort of made up for it I guess with gusto and the inevitable dance circle. I admit, I’m harshing on what other people probably saw as a successful night. I just think that DC could’ve done better on a Thursday night for a True Master.

As fast as possible, I stepped over to Lucky Bar for some exhalin’ and nightcaps where I ran into a couple of servicemen-lookin dudes sporting these. They actually do long distance trail runs in them. Impressed and sold.

» More photos from Thursday

What do I do between weekends? I rep and rep til I can’t see skrate, yo.
No I don’t.
But I do work. I walk to it and walk back home from it daily. Lucky me: what with being employed and the walks home for lunch. On the wizzle home one night, around Penn and 17th, I found myself portside to a mentally ill black gentleman who seemed to just be babbling. A father and his 3 or 4 year old son walked by and I heard dad say something like “Haha! Yes he’s so crazy!” with a thick indeterminable accent. Way to teach your kid compassion, dick. Back to questin: the babbling was getting more orderly by about 20th and Penn. By Washington Circle, it occurred to me that he was singing “Cuts like a knife” by Bryan Adams.

Sometime later (or before, who knows) I saw Fox News comedienne Laura Ingram at my neighborhood Trader Joe’s looking partly like any random late-80s English grindcore drummer and Father Time minus the beard. At least the bitch eats food — apparently — and not babies of color. I wanted to ask how she could call Meghan McCain a plus-sized model, then turn around and ask with a straight face why more feminists weren’t standing up for Miss Nazi Figurine California against the criticism of her (DOH! STATE SPONSORED!) titplants. Then I remembered I’m brown and she white and that’s no way to kick off a public confrontation in Foggy Bottom, deserved or no.

Last friday rolls around and Policy is back to being the biggest little party in North West. Stacked top to bottom and from beginning to end. Remember the original BYT Movie Guy, Jason Griffinsniffin? He was there with his wisdom Megan. DJ Doc Rok — whom I haven’t heard back from since I me-mailed him my photo rate$ — was on his first tour of d. The sound was overdriven and muddy as shit until owner Omar finally came to the booth and made adjustments. Monitors in the booth, yall. Not that anyone seemed to care tho, as around this time of night, ears are mainly tuned to bass thumps and every other word of given screamversation. Highpoint: spotting Real Madrid’s next sporting director (Bye Bye, Mijatović) and some spontaneous bar-top danceration, very very much to the ownership’s chagrin. The club security’s group thought bubbles read something like “Please don’t fall white lady. Pleeeeeeease”. Lowpoint: No more Fojol Broz waiting for me when I dipped. :(

» More photos from last Friday

Finally Saturday and the mighty mighty Voltron of a party called Bigger Sex that the ELM scientists and Chris Burns built. Questing up Georgia Avenue might as well be a trip to a dune on Mars. At least that’s how my cabdriver took it when I got in and admitted the address. Well, he and his lot can fist fuck themselves with the left and use the right to take my tipless payment. How dare he try and deny me passage to weekend Canaan? The clubhouse has made some serious renovations, the most important I think being the extra port at the bar downstairs. Ordering your Colt45 or whatever will forever be quicker and easier. There was so much action in the basement in fact, I cold forgot about the whole Party Bros and Joe L. action upstairs.

» More photos from Bigger Sex
I’m going sit back and let the comments flow from those few of you who can actually recall more about Saturday night than I could ever possibly … um … rep.

» More of more
» My world-turning thoughts on Twitter

Related:

• PHOTOS: Getting Gay’ed @ RNR 3 Year Anniversary (7)
• PHOTOS: Red Stripe presents Terry Lynn & Johan Hugo at G Fine Art (and Wonderland) (2)
• PHOTOS: Dip Set! Dip Set! (and Mr. V) (4)
• PHOTOS: My Weekend Blur. Maydazed. (18)
• Competing C.U.N.T.’s (12)

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