Be Prepared for Peace

Because when you see a guy sever his patella right in front of you, the least you can do is go to a fundraiser for him afterward.

Beckham and Beauty met me at SPARC for the lip sync benefit show for Durron's patella, not just because they'd been with me when Durron first fell, but because they were just back from a month-long honeymoon in South Africa and I wanted all the delicious details.

I joined them in the second row for an audio highlights reel of their adventure, from winery hopping to every other day beach jaunts to a safari - petting cheetahs and and feeding elephants - to loads of books read over delightfully long days.

Not going to lie, I was pea-green with envy.

When they did venture out to do the proper tourist-y things, they were continually met with uncontrolled children running amuck, an annoyance they likened to the best possible birth control.

As I'd have guessed, their re-entry to the real world has been cold and harsh - and not just because they left a cultured, competent and contemplative leader running the country and came back to a fascist creating a police state - as they adjust to early mornings, less time together and the realities of setting up a shared household while holding down demanding jobs.

Fortunately, they're young and strong with love and endless optimism on their side. And, like me, they love some good lip syncing.

The show began with Durron walking onstage, stiff-legged and using a cane, to take his rightful place in the "king's" chair, a red armchair complete with footstool for the ailing gam. Onstage was to be his spot for the entire evening.

Unlike the usual lip sync battles Beckham, the Beauty and I've attended in the past, tonight's was more of a showcase of local acting talent singing their hearts out for a fallen comrade, with host Phil kicking things off brilliantly with The Lion King's "Be Prepared," complete with a full range of actions to reflect the words.

To be honest, I had no idea about the song, but Beauty brought me up to speed.

The quartet of "Team Not This Winter Body," who'd also been present for Durron's spill, came out and addressed him directly, saying, "This is for you, buddy. We love you a lot and we're so sorry," a sentiment that was expressed repeatedly throughout the evening.

Reliably fabulous Mags blew the roof off with her histrionic take on the vocal (yet silent) acrobatics of Demi Lovato's  "Heart Attack," but she stumbled a bit getting offstage, causing host Phil to call out, "No one falls tonight!"

New to the lip sync business was Natty who emoted the hell out of "Bernadette" while pounding his chest, dropping to his knees and eventually handcuffing himself to Durron to prove his love, per the song lyrics.

Epic best describes what we witnessed as this lip sync virgin showed us his mastery of the art form.

Forrest, whom I knew solely as a guitar player (a very good guitar player), pulled off dance moves in sunglasses, while he silently sang Justin Timberlake's "Can't Stop the Feeling," a song that sounds like every other auto-tuned male pop hit of this century. Or is it just me?

Britney's "Lucky" got the full treatment - tiara, feather boa, robe - from Liz who also used signage ("Because she can't walk") and a water bottle to splash her face with the tears of her lonely heart, tears which dripped down on poor Durron as she hugged him from above.

But when the song ended, everyone began freaking out about the water on the stage (no more falls, remember?) and a crew of paper towel-wielding driers descended on the stage to ensure there wasn't so much as a drop to slip on.

Up to this point, Beckham, Beauty and I had been thoroughly enjoying the show, with equal parts laughter and appreciation for how well choreographed most numbers were tonight.

Then it was Asa's turn, a good thing since I'd already decided after the last lip sync battle that Asa is a lip sync god.

He sure didn't disprove that with tonight's choice of Beyonce's "Single Ladies," coming onstage in a black bodysuit, white fur-trimmed jacket and ankle booties and shaking it for all he was worth, smacking his backside and oozing enough sass to sell every word.

Behind him were a half dozen dancers in black bodysuits and tights, nailing every booty shake, every extended ring finger, every nuance of the original choreography while Asa continued to "sing" lead from the front of the stage. More dancers joined them and suddenly, we were seeing a full-blown synchronized dance sequence with nary a hip swing or hand flutter out of place.

It was a thing of beauty, no less so for Asa's charismatic presence as front woman. That's one agile man and the look on Durron's face was pure pleasure.

The final round was the improv round, supposedly with seven contestants, although only six showed up onstage. "We need one more!" Phil called out.

"Asa's coming! He's putting his pants on!" someone hollered. One number in a bodysuit is probably enough for any man.

With all seven in place, we watched as songs - "Man, I Feel Like a Woman," "What's Love Got to Do With It?" and something from The Little Mermaid - were played for 30 seconds and one of the contestants had to lip sync to it on the spot.

Everybody had had a turn except Natty and when the first notes of the final song began, he seized the moment, extending his arms and silently belting out the syrupy "My Heart Will Go On" in Durron's direction to great dramatic effect.

There's just no way to come down after that kind of stellar entertainment.

Although my friends and I hadn't made any post-show plans, we were on such a high after witnessing that array of terrifically talented people, that we resolved to go to Secco for vino and conversation. Though it was prime time Saturday night and the odds were stacked against us, we scored bar stools, where Beckham insisted I sit between the two since, "We've seen a lot of each other lately."

All talk. I know because they were touching each other the entire night and it was pretty charming to see. Nobody was tired of anybody.

It was a night to introduce Beauty to Hungarian wine with Affinitas Tokaj Furmint, floral, rich and a fine pairing with spicy octopus Bolognese with chile oil, not that it didn't hold up just fine to fried acorn squash (the very same I'd had a week ago and fallen hard for) with buratta, fermented honey and gingersnap crumbles, plus the reliable tortilla espanola and one of tonight's specials, a thoroughly obscene poutine of oxtail gravy with white cheddar over fries.

The funny part is, when we'd met at SPARC, Beckham made sure I knew they'd already eaten, yet his first words at Secco were, "We're feeling a little peckish," while requesting a food menu.

Naturally, that led to a conversation of how some people (*cough* Beckham) can say they're not hungry but that only lasts until they have access to something tasty. Like a restaurant menu.

Beauty admitted that too often she allows herself get to the "hangry" point, but tries to mitigate that by keeping a snack cabinet over her desk. Meanwhile, I eat every chance I get.

Mainly we discussed their time in South Africa, which disappointed only on the cultural front (a New Year's Eve concert in the botanical gardens featured a band so bad they left, while a piano bar seemed to be more of a recording of a piano), a fact which only bolstered their conviction to spend their free time drinking wine.

Like me, Beckham had been there before, but he was nevertheless surprised at how many new varietals are being planted and grown successfully now. Hello, South African Tempranillo.

And of course we talked about dealing with the ongoing disaster of the past eight days under a thin-skinned tyrant and whether it would be possible to have a repeat of Nazi Germany here. We're more connected so it would be more difficult, we agree, but impossible? Who knows?

When Gorbachev, the former Soviet leader and Nobel Peace Prize winner, is going on record today as saying that it "looks as if the world is preparing for war," I, for one, am all ears.

Even fabulous lip-syncing can only keep the fear at bay for so long. All the single ladies know there are people we want to see a lot of before it all goes up in flames.

Can't stop the feeling time is running out.

The Moon is the Moon, That's All

Maybe it was my Catholic upbringing, but I am Bible ignorant.

My art history background has ensured that I'd seen depictions of the severed head of John the Baptist countless times by Caravaggio, Titian, Botticelli, Masaccio, Rembrandt and any number of lesser painters.

But did I know why he'd been beheaded? Tragically, no.

So you can imagine my excitement when I saw that upstart theater company TheaterLab was producing two nights of Oscar Wilde's "Salome: A Wilde Experiment."

I gathered Pru and we were at SPARC in time to claim good seats and chatter beforehand. After a few minutes, the woman next to me got up to move so I asked if it was something I'd said. "No, but this lady offered to buy me a drink so I'm going to sit next to her," she said as she left.

Perfectly understandable.

The evening began with TheaterLab's directors announcing the upcoming season which will begin with "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" in October, a major cause for excitement.

On top of that, they've started an Indie Go Go campaign to raise the 35K necessary to renovate their new home, which will be called the Basement (because it is) and be right in my neighborhood in the Arts District.

Asking that we contribute whatever we could afford, directors DJ and Annie said naming rights were available for everything in the theater. "If you give us enough money, you can even rename us," DJ claimed presumably speaking for Annie as well.

What Pru and I hadn't realized was that tonight's show was a bootleg production, meaning the actors were given their scripts less than a month ago and told to memorize, find their own costume and props and hope for the best.

They came together only this week and rehearsed for just eleven hours, the play's director James Ricks informed us. "Unlike with bootleg Shakespeare, the actors can't call for lines tonight. If anyone gets lost or confused, we'll just sit back and watch and enjoy."

Obviously a bible-illiterate such as myself wouldn't know the difference.

Except I'm not completely illiterate anymore since now I know the story of Herod and his step-daughter Salome. Or at least I gleaned a few facts from TheaterLab's outstanding interpretation of Wilde.

Herod, a self-centered old goat, must have had a foot fetish or he wouldn't have made Salome take her shoes off to dance.

His wife Herodias was bitter about having married Herod and tired of him ogling her hot daughter.

Salome was bat shit crazy and only wanted the one man who had no interest in her, like so many nubile, hot young women.

See, kids, bible study can be fun!

Now I can finally truly appreciate those masterworks depicting the head of John the Baptist in a way I never could before. You can't imagine how relieved I am to know the back story.

And then for something completely different, I got myself to the Roosevelt for a night of funk, soul, R &; B and garage 45s played by my favorite neighborhood record store owner, Marty.

Bartender T. greeted me with, "Karen!" and in short order, Espolon on the rocks.

Not long after, a woman asked if I was the Karen of "I Could Go on and On" and a friendship was born. It wasn't the first time a blog reader had recognized me, but it was the longest time a reader chatted with me.

She and her husband were delightful, familiar with my life and fun to talk to, too. She kept apologizing for knowing so much about my life (how are your new windows? the river sounds like it's a beautiful place) but I was flattered to talk to a regular reader.

From there, there were so many high points: a favorite drummer with whom I spent the evening discussing the role of the bass in R & B and the state of the dating world while drinking Espolon, the chef who had two great secrets to share, the server/photographer I hadn't expected to see, the mixologist who shifted me from tequila to mezcal ("why would you drink the same thing twice in a row?") once he got off work and showed up at the bar with his boss the chef, the biking pioneer who now drinks (a first!) and the musician/businessman talking about the challenges of keeping a girlfriend happy and saying it was all worth it.

The music was killer, all vintage soul that I only wish I knew but mostly didn't and too long played too softly until I went over to DJ Marty and asked that the volume of the music exceed that of the chattering masses and he accommodated me despite concerns about the Church Hill neighbors.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, last call was announced and classic Spinners came on.

There's always a chance a tiny spark will remain
and sparks turn into flames, yea
and love can burn once again
Whenever you call me, I'll be there

If it's a good time, I'll be there.