I'm Just a Girl

Making "The Taming of the Shrew" relevant for 21st century audiences is challenging and therein lies the rub.

I have seen the play produced every which way: set in the wild, wild west at an outdoor stage framing Roanoke Sound; set on a 1930s Hollywood movie set at a toney West End school; and as a staged reading where Petruchio lost his place in his script, causing Katarina to shrewishly shout, "Page 42!"

And while I have been a devoted audience member for gender-reversed stagings of many of the Bard's best - Much Ado About Nothing, Twelfth Night, Hamlet, Midsummer Night's Dream and even Coriolanus - I had never seen a Shakespeare play done by an all-female cast. Until tonight.

Hallelujah and pass the estrogen.

With so much talent and so many girl parts on stage, it felt like a fitting production to follow the women's soccer team's world triumph. 2019, the year of girl power continues. Knowing that men had originally played all the women's parts in Shakespeare's time made it all the sweeter.

Foto Boy and I began the evening in the front tiki booth at My Noodle & Bar for dinner, scarfing my broccoli and chicken entree and his green curry tofu while he tried to cool down after a hot day spent holding a yard sale. Our server couldn't refill the blue water bottle on our table often enough.

Anticipating a sweaty evening at an outdoor stage - and because this wasn't my first Agecroft rodeo - I'd brought along fans for us both. For myself, I'd chosen a fan that doubled as a program from a 2013 Sycamore Rouge production of "Twelfth Night" in Petersburg. When I saw that the director of that production is now the artistic director of Quill and tonight's production manager and that the actress who'd played Viola would play tonight's Petruchio, it seemed like an inspired choice.

You can be sure I showed it to both of them before the night was over.

We found seats in the second row, only to wind up behind the three tallest people in attendance. When I told the guy in front of me that he won for best shirt - brown with leopard markings and bees embroidered on the front - he said I got the best lipstick award. Sharing that it's called Violetini, his response was, "Hello, Violetini."

Best summation of what we were about to see: "I know it's a problem play, but it can't be misogynistic with an all women cast, right?" Um, we'll see?

The show began, appropriately enough, with songs of female empowerment - "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar," "You Don't Own Me" and "I'm Just a Girl" - sung by the cast and accompanied by guitar, ukulele, kazoo and random compliments like, "You're so beautiful you could be an air hostess in the '60s."

Use thoughts and wits to win her

We were just getting into the set-up of the story, so it was well after Baptista tells his daughter Bianca's multiple suitors that she will not be married off until her shrewish sister Katarina gets hitched, yet not long past when Petruchio arrives looking "happily to wive and thrive as best I may" that there was a shout behind us because a woman in the audience had fainted.

All eyes turned to see.

After she came to in her seat, a cluster of doctors who just happened to be out for a night of Shakespeare, began gathering around her, suggesting she lay down on the ground for a bit. Eventually she stood and her date led her across the now-empty stage toward the building.

House manager Noah took to the stage, saying, "So, everybody hydrate! We'll resume in just a minute. Just ignore that ambulance out there. It's definitely not the first time this has happened."

Ah, the hazards of Shakespeare outdoors in July.

Waiting for the play to resume, the tall trio in front of us shared that the fainting was all their fault. Seems whenever they go out together, bad things happen to others. Sometimes it's minor, like somebody vomiting nearby and other times, like when they were at a restaurant for Cinqo de Mayo, somebody committed suicide by jumping off the balcony.

Foto Boy and I inched our chairs back away from these Typhoid Marys and hoped for the best.

When the play started up again, the brilliantly comedic Maggie Bavolack playing the aged Gremio observed, "I had forgotten my line anyway!" before taking up the script exactly where she'd left off. Not long after, as a small plane flew overhead, she improvised, "Hark! There's a plane!" and cracked up the entire audience. Like the talented comedienne she is, she waited for the laughs to die down before saying, "Hark! This gentleman is happily arrived" and then posing, hands under chin with a big smile.

I know she is an irksome, brawling scold 

Bianca Bryan was masterful as Petruchio, denying his bride Kate her creature comforts (food, sleep, clean clothing), but also hilarious, as when she showed up for their wedding wearing dirty pants with "Kiss me, Kate" embroidered on the back pockets.

For I am rough and woo not like a babe

During intermission, bottles of water were handed out for free and after claiming ours and pouring their contents into the large water bottles we'd brought, we strolled over to the stone patio to admire the waxing moon ahead of Tuesday's full moon.

Overheard on the way back to our seats: "You didn't tell me I needed to see movie before I came tonight!" to which her friend explained that "Kiss Me, Kate" was based on "Taming," not the other way around. I suppose reading it - even a synopsis - never occurred to the angry first-timer.

Act II began with the cast singing Adele's "Hello" followed by "Why Do Fools Fall in Love?" and "Tell Me Do You Love Me, Too?" and an extended kazoo solo by the actress playing Bianca. Petruchio and Kate then took the stage so he could serenade her with the greatest stalker song of all time, the Police's "Every Breath You Take" while she grimaced at the lyrics.

I'm with you, girl, that is so not a love song. Creepy, that's what it is.

For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich

Throughout the hot, sticky evening, Foto Boy and I marveled at the actors running, jumping and  stage fighting in layers of heavy men's clothing while we sweated in our minimal summer garb.

Director Chelsea Burke kept the thirteen talented women busy moving the story along with only a few of the actors being difficult to hear. Allison Paige Gilman shone as the small but mighty Tranio, her sense of comedic timing impressive, her face wildly expressive and her physicality fun to watch. Desiree Dabney turned the Hortensio role into something special with her asides and noises of upset and displeasure. Easily one of the best at nailing the Bard's cadences and projecting her voice to the fainting seats was Meg Carnahan as Biondello.

But truly, everyone shone (and not just from perspiration) and you could tell how much fun they were having with this all-female cast doing such a dated, chauvinistic play. Besides, I always tell myself that while Katarina appears to have been subdued, when they're alone she calls all the shots and Petruchio does her bidding willingly.

But that's just my take so I can enjoy it without feminist guilt.

Because of the delay - where's a fainting couch when you need one? - by the time we left Agecroft, it was time to head directly to the Basement for the piano bar known as the Ghost Light afterparty, which was in full swing when we walked in.

There were cast members from "Dance Nation" already with beverages in hand and soon some of the "Taming" cast showed up, along with theater types and lovers from all over town.

As host Matt (also part of that 2013 cast on my fan from Sycamore Rouge) proclaimed in between songs, "Through musical theater, we can do all things!" Evenings like this are proof of that, no?

We found room to stand at a table near the back with a great view and fine acoustics for songs sung by anyone who cared to get up there. Song choices always vary widely and yet still hue to millennial favorites with a surprise or two thrown in, a fact I know from all my years attending these after parties.

There's "Seasons of Love" from "Rent, a perennial singalong favorite with this crowd, but also "A Whole New World" because of the crowd's childhood nostalgia. A song from "The Fantasticks" because it's currently in production at the Cultural Arts Center at Glen Allen. Tonight we got a couple of unlikely choices: Radiohead's "Creep" and Elvis' "Blue Christmas."

When Foto Boy wondered aloud about the odder selections, I explained that there's no rhyme or reason to what you hear at Ghost Light. You come for the buzzy vibe, fabulous voices and to see what craziness might happen over the course of the evening.

Why, indeed. As the Bard so wisely put it, "Sit by my side and let the world slip; we shall never be younger." It's really that simple.

Truth be told, after a night at Agecroft, the air conditioning doesn't hurt either.

But the World Goes Round

It's hard to leave the beach on a gorgeous, sunny afternoon.

Beau and I did our final beach walk, spotting more than a few sandpipers in search of their fling. If we have accomplished nothing else this week while lounging about, it was researching and learning the plural names for birds. Sandpipers are what started it and someone guessed their group name would a be a "flute," which isn't all that far from a "fling."

At various times, we learned about a scurry of squirrels, an unkindness of ravens and a stand of flamingos, but my favorite remains the fling. For obvious reasons.

I took the longest possible outdoor shower I could manage, knowing I won't be soaping up outside with a view of the sky and the sound of the waves for some time to come.

After bidding goodbye to Pru, Beau and Queen B, I made my way up the beach road toward home. "Prayers for down south," read a heartfelt sign on the Nags Head pier. Another hurricane reminder was the sign on the Quality Inn in Kill Devil Hills, proclaiming, "Very open."

Further  up Route 158, I passed a sign advertising an upcoming event: "Boggin' for Boobies." Talk about knowing your audience.

Around the time I crossed the Virginia state line, the beautiful sunny day I'd left behind on the beach gave way to a gray and cloudy sky that made it a lot easier to keep driving north. No one wants to leave the beach during prime time, least of all me.

Driving past the Disputanta Baptist Church, I saw their sign calling to my people; "Women's Empowerment Seminar 9/29" and wondered what kinds of things would be taught at such a thing and if I didn't already know them all anyway.

And then I was back in the city again. And much as I'm a city person, it's always a tough transition away from the constant sound of the surf and the mesmerizing attraction of watching the ocean. In J-Ward, it was business as usual.

For me, that meant a change of clothes and a walk over to the Basement to see TheatreLAB's production of "Significant Other." As you might imagine, the subject called to me.

My seat was in the front row, next to the theater critic I seem to run into just about every time I see a play. I laughed when he asked if I'd ever acted - there were a couple of amateur films made by a  friend in college, but all they did was prove I have no acting talent - but was surprised when he said he had. Apparently he'd only given it up to study journalism in college. The things you learn when you're elbow to elbow.

Grownups live alone.
I keep forgetting we're grown up now.

The play told the story of a group of friends, one guy and three women, as they navigate adulthood and find mates.

At the center of the action is Jordan, played by Deejay Gray, who is not having nearly the good luck at finding his forever person as his girlfriends are. He's about to turn 30 and is convinced it's not going to happen to him ever.

You know, because he's so old.

And if ever anyone was born to play this role, it was Deejay, who managed to convey the frustration of being supportive because your friends are happy while beginning to give up on your own possibilities and fearing a life alone. Because if anyone can play sweet, earnest and sad, it's him.

Life is finding someone to go through it with.

What struck me about the story was how premature Jordan's reaction was. I'd say a person is incredibly lucky if they manage to find their life partner as early as 30. Realistically, many of us aren't even formed enough to know who we are at that age, much less be ready to take on the responsibilities of a live-in relationship.

He's also Jewish, so we can talk about our Moms and it's not weird.

Al three of the female leads nailed their characters. Always impressive no matter what the role, Kelsey Cordrey as Laura shone as Jordan's best friend and partner in single life. As Vanessa, Jessi Johnson walked the line between being a negative Nancy and reveling in finding an adoring partner. Mallory Keene as Kiki embodied the ditzy, "it's all about me" persona, always in a tight dress and the highest of heels.

You know I'm not a happy person. I like foreign films.

Matt Polson and Dan Cimo (his way of saying "Hey, girl!" every time he saw Jordan was a guaranteed laugh) each managed to make their three different male characters distinct from each other. Honestly, I've never seen Dan without being impressed with how he owns his time on stage every single outing.

If I had to come back from the beach, having such a well-directed production to come home to made my landing a whole lot softer.

Mingling after the show, I overheard a man talking about how sad the play made him with its unresolved ending. I talked to a favorite artistic director who admitted that the Jordan character had been him 4 1/2 years ago, before he met his true love and they had their first dog-child. I reminded him that some of us took far longer to achieve half that.

The final part of my return to city life was right in the same place I'd just enjoyed the play. The Ghostlight Afterparty, recently resurrected after a hiatus of several years, is essentially a piano bar with a roomful of actors and audience members busily drinking and socializing while anyone who wanted to could get up and sing a song to piano accompaniment. And when no one was drunk enough ready to sing, he played alone.

When he began playing "All That Jazz" from "Chicago," a woman took to the floor to dance a part she'd probably danced before. Soon after, he began playing "Seasons of Love" from "Rent" and half the room was singing along.

But it was when the incomparable Debra Wagoner approached the mic to sing "And the World Goes Round" that the magic really began. She warned the room that she was doing a slow, bluesy number so they'd have to listen and when many kept talking as she sang, she yelled, "Shut the f*ck up!" and some of them did.

Afterward, someone stood up and scolded the talkers for having the nerve to gab through Debra's singing. telling them nothing they were saying sounded a fraction as good as what was coming out of her mouth. Truth.

You gotta love the Ghostlight Afterparty because no one holds back. Also, there's a whole lot of drinking, so people often forget their manners. But you know when the pianist began playing Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'," it got people's attention.

Some time around midnight, my combination beach and city day was enough to send me home through the streets of Jackson Ward - admiring the Pride flags hanging in J Kogi's window - and to my own bed for the first time in a week.

Flings of sandpipers may be in my rear-view window, but that's okay. At least I've checked "find my significant other" off my to-do list. That it happened decades past 30 should be reassuring to the Jordans of the world.

Don't stop believin', kids. Life really is about finding someone to go through it with. Dog-children optional.

The Moon Again, Waxing

Lucky me, I am awash in poetry this weekend.

Not all of it is the traditional kind. Today I cut armfuls of lilacs, my favorite flower, and now it's perfuming this room as the open windows waft that beautiful smell toward me.

Ever since I was young and smelled lilac for the first time, I have been entranced by its scent which somehow induces a sense of euphoria in me, as if all wonderful and romantic things are possible.

It's the poetry of scent, pure and simple.

I left my lilacs to join a roomful of people at Chop Suey to hear Ryan Kent read from his collection, "Poems for Dead People" to the musical accompaniment of a guitar.

So, yes, every poem read in his deep, sonorous voice was about a dead person, whether someone he knew or someone he read or heard about.

"Little Black Dress" was about the suicide of Jagger's girlfriend, L'Wrenn Scott, Even the way you die is in vogue.

Some subjects were dear to him -"The Family Will Receive Friends" was about his father's death while "You Better Apply Cream" finished with a recommendation about hemorrhoid cream.

Mid-reading, he paused to take a sip from a wine glass of clear liquid, holding it up and noting, "This is vodka."

Not that it mattered what it was.

I love the imagery of "Slowly Going Death" - The conga line of entitled white people - and the phrasing of "You are Everywhere" - A place where light goes to die.

His poetry was sharply observed with definite undercurrents of 21st century cynicism and before reading his last one, he said, "Okay, I've got one more and then we should probably go get drunk next door."

Everyone else may have joined him for that, but my hired mouth and I had places to go and meals to eat at a place I knew of but had never been, despite its long-time presence.

Then it was on to the Ghostlight after party at Richmond Triangle Players with tonight's revelry taking a decidedly literary bent. The theme was a gender-reversed Shakespeare's birthday celebration (abridged). Inside jokes abound there.

Last month's GLAP had been cancelled and I'd been away the month before, so it felt like ages since I'd come for a night of show tunes, drinking and pizza. Will.i.am was pure icing on the cake.

Tonight we were in for a huge treat, a reprise of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (abridged) (revised), a three-man show I'd caught last month at the JCC, here, and spent the evening laughing my ass off.

Tonight, we only got Act I, but even so, I was in the enviable position of having one of the actors fake vomit on me, another offered me a head pie during Titus Andronicus and during Julius Cesar, one stopped by and inquired how I was doing as he made his way down the aisle.

Because we were at Richmond Triangle Players (whose tag line is, "If we don't do it, who would?") there were lots of RTP jokes about nudity (we only got partial) and inferences, like when the actors were discussing not doing Coriolanus and one cracked, "We're at RTP and we're not going to do the anus play?"

No one ever said GLAP was highbrow entertainment and that's why we like it.

After a break to get more libations, the second half began with a man standing up in the audience and taking the part of Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, making his way toward the stage, only to be answered by a woman with a drink on the other side.

I would rather listen to my dog bark at a crow than hear a man swear that he loves me.

They turned out to be actors from Bard Unbound, a fairly new group who takes Shakespeare off the page and off the stage and into non-traditional places. In this case, that apparently meant to a roomful of people drinking and carrying on.

Host Maggie started talking about the gender reversed Shakespeare series that Billy Christopher Maupin has been doing in Richmond for years now (I've seen almost all of them and it's been fabulous seeing all those women onstage in men's parts) and next thing we knew, Molly Hood (with her crstalline elocution) was taking Benedick's part and BC was Beatrice and by total coincidence, they played the exact same scene the first two actors had.

Except this time he was a she and she was a he.

I would my horse had the speed of your tongue.

Of course, after two such stellar Shakespearean scenes, we had to come back to earth, or at least earth in the GLAP world, when host Matt explained that he and Maggie had dressed as prescribed for a gender-reversed show, meaning gray scale with one pop of color.

That led to a tangent about how Matt's parents finally understood him enough to end him a gift of Cabernet colored skinny jeans and boxers decorated with roosters (or cock boxers, as he enjoyed calling them), which he was wearing.

Somehow, this was a segue to them reminiscing about last month's GLAP, scheduled for St. Patrick's day (they even had Lucky Charms and milk on hand), but unexpectedly called off when RTP lost power.

The story was a lead-in to them singing Eddie Grant's 1982 hit "Electric Avenue," a song they had been buying the sheet music for when I'd walked into GLAP tonight.

Why plan ahead when flying by the seat of your pants is so much more fun?

Anyhow, about to begin singing the song, Matt said, "If you know this song, you're a step ahead of us because we don't."

Didn't matter. Pianist Sandy can play any music put in front of her and what Matt and Maggie lacked in knowing the song, they made up for in volume and enthusiasm.

We heard lots of songs from Shrek: The Musical tonight, along with reminders to go see it in the next two weeks before it closes.

Matt decided to do a ballad and there was some low level grumbling, but he's got such a fantastic voice and the song he chose, "Better Than I," from 2007's Joseph: King of Dreams came out beautifully.

Jacqui, a GLAP virgin, did Someone to Watch Over Me, and although I met her years ago, I had no idea she could sing so well. The things you learn at GLAP.

Things were getting pretty silly by then - alcohol will do that- and the last couple of Shrek numbers we saw had their fair share of asses and men playing women to the hilt.

Before you could make an another anus joke, Matt yelled that it was time for pizza and a dance party and all hell broke loose as "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" came on.

"Oooh, I love Madonna!" the woman near me squealed (and I didn't correct her) as I downed a slice of pepperoni pizza.

I like Madonna. I love poetry and lilacs.

A Sunday Kind of Love

First rule of Sunday: start high and get progressively sillier.

You really couldn't start much higher than a dazzling audio vision like "Koyaanisqatsi," the 1983 film about life out of balance with a Philip Glass soundtrack.

Sitting at UR's Modlin Center with a roomful of people willing to forsake a crystalline late summer day and the NFL for a non-narrative movie with only one word in it (the Hopi chant "koyaanisqatsi") surely qualified me as both a music and film nerd.

Unfortunately, not everyone in attendance was as enthralled with the movie as my companions and I were.

Directly in front of us was a UR student who moved constantly and restlessly from side to side in his chair, his head always in his hands as if he needed to hold it up.

In front of him, a kid napped through the whole thing.

Personally, I find the visuals of nature followed by technology followed by cultural references and eventually decay to be a meditation on the planet.

And of course, on the late '70s, early '80s when it was shot.

Like the billboard in Times Square advertising, "Sony Betamax."

And the beauty of implosions, long a fascination for me.

I am one of those people who got up at the crack of dawn to watch the old Times Disptach building imploded  back in September '98.

The film had image after image of implosions, truly a combination of science and beauty.

But if you've seen the film, you know how tense the score and images make you by the end of the film.

We stayed for the talkback with UR's music director and the remaining devotees of the film for some additional insight.

Afterwards, the four of us dined at Don't Look Back, discussing the film and its two sequels, neither of which I've seen.

A Frito pie and Herradura Reposado helped clear my head of the apocalyptic vision we'd just seen on the big screen.

And, honestly, where can you go after apocalypse and Fritos but to the Ghost Light Afterparty?

This month's event was called "Sha-GLAP," leading me to suspect a '50s theme.

Walking in to a room full of poodle skirts, bobby socks and ponytails, I knew I was right.

My date guessed that there's be some '60s, too, and a chat with co-host Maggie confirmed this.

The decades may change, but the GLAP is essentially a piano bar with members of the theater community taking the stage to sing whatever the hell they want.

As co-host Matt said tonight, "If you wanna sing a song from Les Mis and then talk about how much you hate Les Mis, that's fine."

Maggie explained the housekeeping issues, including a plea for some appropriate music. "We do appreciate some theme-i-ness."

And we got theme-i-ness almost at once with the marvelous Wonderettes (currently in production at Swift Mill) doing "Son of a Preacherman," complete with choreography and praying hands.

And we were off and running.

Part of the drill at GLAP is always Mad Libs set to a song of the period and we were warned that two Mad Libs were now in circulation and to feel free to contribute any dirty words we cared to to the project.

"F**k hasn't come up and we only have one penis," Miss Mad Lib informed us.

"One penis is never enough," Matt quipped.

Lamentation gave way to opera as Stephanie and Ingrid got up and sang a piece from "Tales of Hoffman."

"Last month we had "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Matt laughed. "And now we have opera. That's what Ghost Light is all about."

Maggie sang "Let the Good Times Roll" with Matt on shaker balls, providing my favorite lyric of the evening, "Love can be such a swinging thing."

Warning us that, "This could be tragic, but we welcome tragedy here," Matt did "On Broadway" (with back up singers), even changing the lyrics to "On Broad Street" and ending with jazz hands.

We like jazz hands at the GLAP.

Elizabeth jumped decades and did "Sweet Baby James,"  Peter did a soulful version of "Let It Be Me" and Sarah did "Stand By Me" with an impromptu group of backup singers and shakers almost upstaging her.

The Wonderettes returned for a beautifully-executed "Mr. Sandman" and an hysterical "Lollipop" that included a take-off on a Saturday Night Live skit that had one of the Wonderettes wearing prosthetic tubes with doll arms attached.

Georgia was the brave one to sing the first Mad Lib to "It's My Party," full of innuendo and trash talk ("It's my party and I'll masturbate if I want to").

When Matt spotted Evan looking very much like Buddy Holly, he burst into Weezer song, "Ooh,we, ooh, you look just like Buddy Holly and Karen, you're Mary Tyler Moore."

Not gonna lie, it was my first musical shout-out from the stage and I could get used to it.

"The Lion Sleeps Tonight" got the bongos and shaker treatment.

One of the night's highlights was Katrina singing (with flowers in her hair)  and Iman beat boxing to "Killing Me Softly."

It was the kind of sublime moment that you just had to be present for.

The TheaterLab group did "Summer Nights" from "Grease" and Evan added a mean tambourine to that.

Then it was intermission, meaning pizza time and Matt instructed, "Crank up that tuna-age!" so we had music to munch by.

Sarah did "Freddy, My Love" before raffle winners were pulled.

One prize was a bottle of malbec and Maggie read from the bottle's label that the winemakers selected from grapes that were 47 years old.

"That's so old!" Maggie exclaimed.

God, yes, 47, that's practically deathbed material.

Paul did a sweet version of "In My Own Little Corner" from "Cinderella," complete with high drama and an abrupt and unexpected ending, at least for him.

"That was very unceremonious and I loved it," Maggie observed.

Katie got Mad Lib duty this time and hers came with a warning at the top saying, "This is filthy."

Sung to Grease's "Sandra Dee" it included phrases like "pink velvet sausage pocket."

GLAP is not for the faint of heart, kids.

Nick did a rousing rendition of "If You Wanna Be Happy" with the sage lyrics "never make a pretty woman your wife" and three guys on heartfelt backup vocals plus bongos.

The crowd, now well lubricated, got vocal, testifying as Carla sang Streisand's "Evergreen" to shouts of "Come on!" and "Go, girl."

In a nod to the mood, she even changed a lyric to "Every day I am tipsy."

Katrina got called back up next, prompting her to say, "Oh, great! I have to go after Carla!"

Oh, great was right as she did "Stars and the Moon," noting midway through, "This song makes me cry."

Meanwhile you could have heard a pin drop in the room as everyone listened intently.

Even as our own bottle of Rose got lower and lower, Matt acknowledged, "I just accidentally chugged my bourbon and ginger and there's so many words on this page," before singing the hilarious "Therapy" from "Tick Tick Boom."

Paul did a song requested by Annie, saying, "To all you Glappers who have nothing better to do on a Sunday, there's nothing better than love, so here's "A Sunday Kind of Love."

Once again, he finished unceremoniously, getting many laughs for it.

The last song was "The Shoop Shoop Song (It's In His Kiss)" with Carla, Matt, Maggie and even Evan shaking his moneymaker tambourine along with everyone else who couldn't resist joining in the last big singalong.

Conclusion after nearly five hours of Glappage?

If it's love, if it really is, it's there in his kiss.

That, and I'm happy to concede that I have nothing better to do on a Sunday evening than let tipsy theater people sing to me.

Where else on earth am I going to be able to relive my youth singing along with a roomful of people to "Good Morning, Starshine"?

Only at GLAP, my friends, only at GLAP.

Spice Up Your Life

I passed up the Spice Girls for Nirvana, with a stop at Fort Knox along the way.

And by Fort Knox, I mean the pop-up called "And Now for the Last Course" held at Avalon by Chef Knox Vaughan and Mattias Haglund of Comfort.

It may not have been a true pop-up since Avalon used to be Knox's kitchen, but the one-night only event was a send -off for Knox, who's leaving RVA.

Naturally, he broke all the rules, meaning no set time for the dinner and no set menu.

Instead he'd created a  one-night only menu to tempt the faithful and from which to order.

So many choices - cumin lamb lollipops, skirt steak Oscar, ants on a log- made it hard to pick just a few.

An amuse bouche of heirloom cherry tomatoes, red and yellow, with EVOO and fresh basil merely whetted our appetites for more.

We began with the Misto to Share, a plate of peppery arugula with a creamy arugula, leek and Manchego pesto atop it, along with Spanish olives, sliced Manchego and saffron crackers.

It was the perfect starter.

Corn-husk wrapped  escolar came with cilantro corn and tequila lime reduction.

As promised by our server, the escolar melted in our mouths while the sweet corn was as summery as an August day.

I could have eaten an entire bowl of that corn.

We finished with melon panna cotta, the melon puree a vivid orange and tasting like the melon was barely hours old.

Usually panna cotta is not my thing, but this was too fresh-tasting not to savor.

The chef worked the dining room, saying goodbye to diners as they scarfed his delicious work.

Thus fortified, it was time for us to get in the way-back machine and revisit the '90s.

We did that at the Ghost Light Afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players.

This month's theme, "Saved By The GLAP" was a shoe-in for a Sunday funday kind of evening.

Host Matt was late, although we got a report from the stage that he'd be there the moment he finished eating McDonald's in his apartment.

Apparently, rehearsals for "All Fall Down" ran late.

But The GLAP audience is a patient one and we had plenty of alcohol and company to amuse us.

I was disappointed to hear that a talented friend is pulling up stakes for San Diego, but absolutely charmed when she described how she felt about RVA.

"We've been stupidly happy here," she said, smiling widely.

When Matt did arrive wearing a "This is Hardcore" t-shirt (hardcore never looked so adorable), the party swung into full gear.

Even his mother had come down from Jersey to join the fun.

Co-host Maggie kicked things off by saying, "This is what the '90s is to me," before singing "Groove is in the Heart."

Her Mom and Dad and assorted kin had also come down to be part of the GLAP festivities.

It was a family affair.

As usual, lots of people got into the act, dancing or playing instruments.

"Marquise is starting to turn into our resident bongo player," Matt observed after he'd added some nice percussion to a song.

We took a turn from Top 40 to punk when Matt did Green Day's "Long View," albeit in a slightly more Broadway style than Billie Joe had likely intended.

Or maybe not. The man did go on to write a musical, after all.

Afterwards at the mic, Maggie chatted up the crowd.

"First," she said dramatically, "Marvin Hamlisch."

There was a collective "Ohhhh," as only a theater crowd can do and not surprisingly, several Hamlisch songs were sung tonight.

The talented Robyn O'Neill (looking fabulous in green pants, green sandals with green toenail polish) did a stunning version of Hamlisch's "I Still Believe in Love."

Liz, in undone overalls and with a hat on, returned us to Top 40 with Four Non Blondes' "What's Going On."

We heard a mad-lib sung to which I'd contributed (tangoing, swimming and kissed) to REM's "Losing My Religion," and Matt rapped.

Seriously, sometimes you have to be there to believe some of this stuff you see.

We got an audience lesson in how to beatbox from  Annie, who told us afterwards, "That's on my resume."

Sadly, I was slow on the uptake so I don't think beat boxing will ever be on my resume.

"In a minute, the acoustic guitar is going to come out an then it'll get real '90s," Matt solemnly informed the crowd.

With a little tuning and very little previous practice they said, we heard the Goo Goo Dolls "Name" and Third Eye Blind's "Jumper" and we were suddenly knee-deep in the '90s.

It was awesome.

Maggie took the microphone looking uncharacteristically serious.

"My mother has harbored some bad feelings all these years about Kurt Cobain because of the pain he caused me," she mugged.

Which could only mean that it was time for some Nirvana worship in the form of "Smells Like Teen Spirit."

It could be the anthem for Ghost Light Afterparty audience: "Here we are now, entertain us."

And month after month, they do. Hilariously. With an array of talent. With corny jokes and raffle prizes. With songs we'd like to forget and ones we're thrilled to hear live.

"Now Nirvana has been done at GLAP," Matt said mock-seriously, as if looking for meaning. "Never saw that one coming!"

Of course, as a loyal butt in the audience, I never see any of it coming.

I just show up prepared to be unprepared for whatever happens.

And I inevitably leave with my face sore from smiling and laughing.

Maybe like my friend, I'm aspiring to be stupidly happy from here on out.

Blushing Brides and Basic Bitches

Romance yielded to a cruel, cruel summer.

Friends recently returned from a romantic trip to Italy where they were married and tonight they celebrated with all of us who didn't make it across the pond for the wedding.

The celebration was held at the Roosevelt, so Virginia wine flowed and the buffet table groaned with Southern delights.

Fried chicken sliders and Gabriele Rausse Vin de Gris may be the most sublime reception food I've ever tucked into.

The highlight of the night, besides so many people I rarely see in one place, was the slide show created by the blissfully happy looking groom.

Throughout the evening, images of Italy played on the restaurants wall: colorful boats in a harbor, winding, cobblestone streets, hillside towns, everything that makes Italy seem like a desirable destination.

But once everyone was pleasantly lubricated, we saw the true work of art, a visual testament to what Italy does to two people in love.

The pictures of the bride, whether in her white dress or a t-shirt and shorts, were exquisite.

Maybe it was the Italian light, maybe it was the thrill of marrying her handsome hunk of man meat by saying "Si" instead of "I do" but every picture of her was drop-dead gorgeous, no matter how or where she was being photographed.

Let's just say guests cheered and clapped every time her radiant face showed up on the wall.

And, yes, the far fewer pictures of the groom showed a clearly happy man, too.

After hours of celebrating, things began to wind down and my date and I got ourselves to a very different kind of revelry.

It was the Ghost Light Afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players.

You know, where a roomful of theater types and lovers spend five or so hours singing whatever they want for the amusement of us non-singing types.

This month's theme was "Cruel, cruel summer" and the stage was appropriately set with a beach umbrella and several brightly-colored beach chairs.

Since we'd missed the first couple of hours, everyone was pleasantly tipsy when we arrived to buy a bottle of Rose' and slid into our third row seats.

How tipsy? When the stellar accompanist Ben asked, "Can I do the other song?" after a rendition of George Micheal's "Faith," host Matt laid it down.

"You can do whatever the hell you want."

And therein, my friend, lies the beauty of the Ghost Light Afterparty.

Everyone does whatever the hell they want.

We got to hear "Broadway is not just for gays anymore!" from the 2011 Tonys.

We're asking every hetero to get to know us better, oh...
So put down that Playboy and go make a plan
To pick up a Playbill and feel like a man
There's so much to discover with your different sex lover

Yes, even we breeders had a reason to enjoy a night of Broadway.

Susan Sanford was the night's guest because of her impending departure.

At one point, she took the mic and said of her last role, "Spring Awakening, neither spring nor awakening. Discuss," and went on about her business.

She, along with hosts Matt and Maggie, wore large purple flowers in their hair.

Composer Jason Robert Brown was described as "the love child of Stephen Sondheim and Billy Joel" and it was meant (mostly) as a  compliment.

Tonight we even got comedy from Mary, who warned the crowd, "This is raunchy as hell if you're easily offended," before going on to explain the concept of the "basic bitch."

Come on, we've all known a few.

DeeJay sat while Audra sang "Popular" to him, shaking his head "no" when she sang, "You'll be good at sports."

Not likely.

Some of the cast of the new Joe Jackson musical opening next month did "Love Got Lost" with violin, cello and a stellar vocalist.

Susan did a mad-lib to the tune of "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina," substituting (what else?) Richmond, Virginia.

She joined Anthony, BC and David for a "Seymour-off," pointing out that despite the song "Suddenly Seymour" being done at every GLAP. there had never been any female representation.

"I'm bringing the female," she warned.

We got a white girl rapping Biz Markie's "Just a Friend" with dancing back-up singers, male and female.

Now, that's a rare treat.

In a nod to the evening's theme, Garth Brooks' "That Summer" put in an appearance and Liz did Cole Porters' "Too Darn Hot."

Late in the night, host Matt observed to no one in particular, "It's so hard to hold on to a drink and do the things we need to do."

That's life, sweetie.

Before we knew it, GLAP was ending, the dance music came on and bodies began gyrating everywhere.

The only thing missing was a finale of "Hit Me Baby One More Time," so I'll just have to hope to be hit next month.

Otherwise, it will be a cruel, cruel summer.

Theater Killed the Video Star

Let's hear it for the boy.

You know, the one in the white lace glove. And there were more than one.

No big surprise since tonight's theme for the Gostlight Afterparty at Richmond Triangle Players was "Papa Don't Preach (So What if I Got the GLAP)!"

That's right, it was an '80s extravaganza unfolding right before our eyes, with Stacie Reardon Hall as tonight's special guest.

We arrived to a milling crowd, got ourselves a bottle of French rose and took seats in the second row to revisit our youth.

Unlike the usual Ghostlight Afterparty where all the theater people sing show tunes, tonight's was devoted to the decade that gave us so much great music and soooo much schlock.

80s looks were everywhere: gym shorts, athletic socks, headbands. basically, everything we wanted to forget from the first time around.

Hostess Maggie had on a short black Madonna-looking bustier dress which we learned she'd borrowed from co-host Matt, who was sporting a pink Barbie t-shirt.

Am I painting a clear enough picture here?

It was the kind of evening where someone on stage suggested singing the theme song to "The Gummi Bears" and suddenly a dozen people in the audience were singing along to every word.

Judge me all you want, but I didn't even know there was a Gummi Bears cartoon.

Although the music was supposed to be from the '80s, sometimes it wasn't, like David doing "Take Me Home, Country Roads" (accompanying himself on piano), definitely from 1971.

B.C. was called to the stage and said he'd wanted to do a Debbie Gibson song, but only if he had the right headgear and a white grand piano.

Apparently the double pom-pom growing out of his headband qualified and Matt played a white toy piano while accompanist Sandy played the real thing and we heard "Lost In Your Eyes."

Good as it was, it probably brought on mall flashbacks for some people, but I wasn't one of them.

Kelsey did Traci Chapman's "Fast Car," a song that had been inescapable back in the 80s.

Matt and Susan stood facing each other across the audience to begin singing "Endless Love" before holding hands and singing together until they reached the stage.

Mid-song they even did a brief slow dance.

The corny quotient was through the roof and downright hysterical.

There were a few show tunes, like Ally and David's "Tonight You Belong to Me" from the Steve Martin movie "The Jerk."

It was a perfectly lovely song (if 1979) made more special by David wearing a t-shirt with her picture promoting Ally for Student Council vice president.

"My Mom made it," Ally explained. "I did not win."

Such was the heartbreak of the '80s. I know; I was there.

Megan and her Dad did Gershwin's "Summertime," noting, "It's not an '80s song but I'm sure it was sung in the '80s."

Midway through, someone in the crowd yelled, "Play it, Pops" to her dad who accompanied her on guitar.

"Did she say Pops?" Dad inquired mid-strum.

Andrew played "Steppin' Out Tonight" because, "This is the song I play to remind people that they know who Joe Jackson is."

Of course, anyone who lived through the 80s doesn't need a reminder.

Evan was one of the guest hosts tonight and his ensemble was so spot-on I laughed out loud when I saw him first. I'd danced with guys that looked just like that in the 80s.

Introducing the next act he dryly said, "These two want to perform something they have been practicing tirelessly. For fifteen minutes."

It was B.C. and Thomas taking Evan up on his earlier Facebook challenge.

Evan had posted that he'd buy two drinks for anyone who did "Open Arms" by Journey.

The two had a scripted response to Evan's challenge, basically summed up in their succinct responses.

"Check."

"Checkmate."

They then sang possibly the most treacly song Journey ever foisted on the public and that's saying a lot. At least they dd it well.

B.C. and Thomas, that is, not Journey.

Late in the evening, everyone from "Spring Awakening" arrived after their show and were promptly called to the stage.

The young cast treated us to "Totally F**ked," no doubt ensuring that anyone on the fence about seeing the play will now make a beeline for it.

I was already planning to.

After the pizza intermission, always a highlight after three hours of drinking and laughing, host Matt returned to the stage in gym shorts and thigh-high boots.

The pink barbie t-shirt was still there but a black and red cravat had been added for flair.

Just so you know, no one looking like that asked me to dance in the '80s.

Carly did "Get Here," a song huge in the 80s but not often heard since (do you remember Oleta Adams? I didn't think so).

One of my favorite Shakespearean actors, Foster, took the stage to tell us, "Those who know me know nothing intimidates me. This scares the shit out of me."

He proceeded to sing a lovely version of "I Melt With You" to his seated wife, even cajoling the crowd to sing along for the "Mm, mmm, mmm" part.

It was definitely a high point. Afterwards, Matt said, "That was epic," which only barely covered it.

For certain 80s veterans, Modern English trumps Journey and Debbie Gibson then and now.

Stacie and Matt sang "Total Eclipse of the Heart" while Kerry and K.B. did interpretive dance behind them.

Robin's magnificent voice gave us "Making Love Alone," I song I didn't know (Sondheim) but could appreciate, if not want to revisit.

Evan took over the piano (brilliantly, I might add) so he and D.J. could do "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me," a terrific song and excellent version, but definitely from 1974.

'70s, '80s, what's the difference?

Okay, everything, but that wasn't the point.

Andrew returned with Stacie and said, "Somebody mentioned on Facebook a need for Bananarama" before doing a medley of Lovin' Spoonful's "Summer in the City" and "Cruel, Cruel Summer."

There was an '80s costume contest late in the evening with several worthy contenders, but as far as awards go, I'd vote for a couple of standout performances.

Matt did "Faith" with high drama, hand gestures and impeccable timing.

Between his head swivels and arched eyebrows, even George Micheal would have been licking his boots.

My other standout was Lucy with a guitar doing "I Would Die for You," probably my all-time favorite song by the Purple One.

She introduced it as, "This song is from 1984 by the artist formerly known as Prince. If you know it, you know it's all electronic and not a guitar, so you may find this funny."

So not funny. Her slow and soft-voiced version was as beautiful as the original was intense and driving.

The big finale was Queen, with far more people on stage than in the audience, but by 1 a.m., who really cares?

We'd been to the '80s and back, with enough stops in the '70s to ensure that we fully appreciated the Reagan years.

And no banana clips had been harmed in the making of the '80s Ghostlight Afterparty.

Rock on, GLAP.