Brightest Young Things

all photos Sexy Fitsum

Dunday, noon
Me, waking up on my couch — which is technically a futon, but also not my actual bed, so, yeah, lame ... crack my eyes open in time to watch Sevilla score against Real Madrid at 16 minutes (Madrid wins 2-4 in the end though) ... wait ... WTF happened to all the shots I took at RENT last night? Did I actually cave to some offended bama — after assurances upon assurances that shooting was cool — and agree to drunk-erase some shots and end up killing em all? (Yes. Confirmed.) Can't say I remember anything particularly awesome or horrible about the party (unless the cops did shut it down), let alone anything or anyone I saw there. I do finally half-remember seeing Sharkey — who was back from mixing his Dastardly project with Kokayi in New York City — and made sure to text and confirm that, as well as my good behavior, at least during the ride home he gave me. Check and check. I probably wouldn't have been so Jameson-blind had I not just come from the sudden Ethiopian after hours hootenanny that owners Abdullah and Haile allowed Velvet Lounge to become. At 2:45AM the bar's windows got shuttered and the music changed from Ashley May's grindcore-cum-nu disco playlist to some good ol' Addis Abeba get down and stomp (what?). When the Jameson died, pop went the Makers Mark bottle til that piece was enhanced-interrogated to def by the lot of us. I know I took pictures there, but ... well ...

Rewind to a more evidence filled Friday night at Abdullah's cousin's place Policy. Adrian Loving was at the controls and all was gravy before turning grave about one minute after I shot my first photo of the night. I was chatting with the woman and man I photographed when their Greg Brady-looking friend leans and slurs "That was a horrible shot". My first instinct was, "OK, joke time. Haha ..." until the woman whispered in my ear "I'm so sorry. He's really drunk, please ignore him". Tension meter at 2 out of 10.
"Why don't you just finish school?!?" What?
"Just go back to school and graduate so you don't have to ask me whether the picture is good or not" Huh?
He steps closer, the meter's at 5 now and his ladyfriend is apologizing to me like she crashed my favorite car. "You're walking up to me like a fucking homeless person asking me if it's a good picture ...."
That's about when Grady saw my face drop. Meter's at 11, I'm gripping the lens of my camera tight-leigh and fully hawking the bridge of his nose. The lens is worth $2000 and the service warranty's good til next year. The body? Pffft. $400-something used. So ready to watch the little cartoon birds and stars orbit his head when he comes to. He backs up and starts jerking his arms, "You want to make something of it!?!"
"You wanna leave the club?"
"No". His pitch inflects up as if to say "Duh. Stupid question".
"OK then calm down" and I walk away. My face is kiss hotter than hell. Can't even see straight.
Less than a minute later, I lose whatever mind I have and head back to the scene looking for him, probably to try and pull some loser shit like, "You know what? Let's fight". But he's gone, thank god. Dipped out the back exit, according to his friends who're still there. Meter back at 0.

And in that spirit, guess who else, plus entourage, showed up that night. There was some fight on Saturday that he was either presenting or doing commentary for. Yosi Sergant and Bim Ayandele of the White House Public Liason Office were also in house. Pretty cool folks. Considering that the scene with them at Policy is the diametrical opposite of the pro-life Klan Rally clam bake I'd've had to attend and get shot at to hang with Bush Administration staffers, I'd call this a

Fuck The World

For The Win(ugh). After the laughter, tears and re-Wu-nion, I headed over to Velvet for a nightcap ...

» More photos from Friday

... which happens to be where I was the night before, for another episode of Bee's Knees. Sexy as always but late as usual, I missed Will Eastman's set again! Three times in three weeks. To be honest though, Will's set seemed sharply out of place for a night where people mostly come for the scaled down version of Black Cat's Red Room vibe. And so we dranked ...

like a wave on the ocean, bromanced
We were liars in love and we dranked ...

» More photos from Thursday

What do I do between weekends? I wait. And rest. Especially true in this case when the prior weekend was such an end-to-end grind of shoots. Fun shoots: diverse crowds and venues, decent monions, no whiskey-breathed Greg Brady looking motherfucker trying to fight me over some hallucinated insult, etc ... but I'm just not in shape for two two-a-days in a row, and it's good that I didn't know that until it was too late ...

Saturday
My first — and sole non-paying — shoot was at a benefit for Woolly Mammoth Theater Company at

a hotel in Cloud City

at the Mandarin Oriental. I was so tired and procrastinate-y, I went to that bitch at the latest possible time I could without looking like a total nunce. Per usual, the sights and sounds were on point and the crowd was very relaxed and playful. It was cool to hear from the Woolly staff that they dug the write-up on last year's fundraiser. And .. erm ... the food everyone

but me

was eating smelled good ... Anyway, I already wrote about that ep here.

A couple of hours after that, I headed to Ibiza for the Tittsworth/Stretch Armstrong/Will Eastman (whose set I missed, natch) teamstravaganza. Shit was so quiet when I got there, I almost considered giving the management a discount on my shooting fee. Almost. Wrote about that'n here. Happy birthday Charles! I can't believe you're only 24! Still want to punch you just for that!

» Saturday night photos here and here.

I got a last-minute call to shoot the Pecka Kucha event at House of Sweden in Georgetown on Friday. SWEET, as I live only five or so blocks away. Pecha Kucha literally means "chit chat" in japanese, and the idea is that creative folk gather to listen to other creative folks' short presentations on a particular subject. Tonight's topic was sustainable design with respect to whatever: architecture, industrial design and user interfaces. I went to a Pecha Kucha joint last year that was held in someone's moderately awesome loft apartment. Trouble was, no one would shut the fuck up during the presentations. Grown — shit, OLD ASS'D — men and women would be up in the kitchen (moderately awesome open concept loft) yapping about personal minutiae and rushing the free food and wine, clinking glasses and silverware while nervous presenters tried to summarize, in or around six minutes, whatever it is they spend working days or spare hours slaving over. Unfuckingnerving? More than just a little. Then there was this ascot bearing Quentin Dracula Crisp-looking wet corpse of a man floating around with his Nikon and his Gary Fong diffuser sniffing on my arse all night. Almost every time I shot someone, I'd catch them looking over my shoulder at him while he's behind me. When I turnt around he always seemed to have just finished rolling his eyes and started walking away. Whatever, dunny. While the fool wasn't at this most recent PK at House, almost every other yappy no-indoor-voice-having bama in DC was. Incredible. Where's Jonestown when you need it? Regardless, the majority of attendants made up for the classlessness of the bamafied few.

A couple of hours later, I found myself paying dues again at Policy. Jackie O was spinning and tonight's micro-celeb was local billionaire and bizware magnate Michael Saylor. The people in his entourage (every supercat has one.) was laid back and mostly friendly. His date, or girlfriend, or .... was spectacularly photophilic. I've never had a woman who wasn't paying me for it demand so many shots to be taken of her, like ex-model on vanity-crack withdrawal. She was a nice enough woman .. not so much demanding as she was insistent. It could've been worse. She could have ripped off her mask and turned into a Bread Grady and yelled some drunk shit at me about finishing school. Then there was this substitute second-grade teacher I met from down south. Now, who wouldn't unhand an apple for a teacher with a nice smile?

» Friday night photos of Pecha Kucha and Policy.

But the honest to goodness entry point into this nearly-untenable schedule I agreed to dip deez into was on Thursday night at The Young and The Guest Listed party that Washington Life Magazine hosted — the same Washington Life I'd regulary scan at the Borders and Noble in Georgetown during my afternoon waker-baker strolls, wondering why I ain't get the call yet (thanks Michael). And the party was in same building where Artomatic 2008 happenned and BYT's site relaunch party happened, and . Unfortunately, I can't post any shots from that night until, maybe (or, just, maybe not), the May issue comes out. I can vouch for the sweetness of said photos, though, which accounts for the angina I'm giving myself for not being able to post them right now. The party was covered in DCist by the same woman who wrote the party scene for Washington City Paper. And by "covered", I mean oven-baked with a healthy fistful of mercenary snot.

As for this weekend, there's no time for blurring. Barcelona is coming to Real Madrid's grounds to receive a beauteous bit of internationally televised asswuppin.

Hala Madrid!

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Previously in I Heart DC:

• 2/13: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use:
• 2/13: 101 Reasons To Love DC-Part 1
• 2/10: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use
• 2/9: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use
• 2/8: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use
• 2/8: Perfect Date Outfits + Outings
• 2/7: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use
• 2/6: DC News You Can Maybe Use:
• 2/2: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use:
• 2/1: DC News You Can (Maybe) Use: