Yes This Winter Body

Studies have shown that Late Night Lip Sync is extremely good for relationships.

In February 2015, I invited a friend to join me at the Basement to see my first ever Lip Sync contest and he brought along the brilliant and beautiful young woman he'd been dating for less than a month. Both had a fabulous evening and agreed that they'd never in their lives laughed so hard. Ever.

Those two crazy kids got married last week. Coincidence? I don't think so.

When I got the invitation for tonight's Late Night Lip Sync, I naturally invited them to join me, but with plans to leave for their honeymoon Monday, they weren't sure they'd make it, so I signed on a friend and his main squeeze, only to learn that - wait for it - she'd been part of the very first Lip Sync event at Rare Old Times.

Oh, and by the way, they moved in together last week and they're getting married next summer. Is anyone seeing a pattern yet?

All of which is just prelude because I arrived with the latter couple tonight after a shared meal, got situated in the front row with them and moments later was greeted by the former couple, who'd done just enough packing and preparation for their trip to feel justified in having a raucous night out laughing before they vacate the 804.

Once again, I was surrounded by my people, all of them madly in love and incidentally major fans of Late Night Lip Sync. But then, who wouldn't be?

Certainly not me considering one team was named Team Karen (Caring?) and the other Team Not This Winter Body, both made up of actors hams with familiar faces, boundless energy and extensive props.

That they're all marvelous singers only makes it more improbable since they can't use their voices. It's people like me who can't carry a tune in a bucket who should be lip syncing, but we're not big enough hams.

As usual, there was shit-talking ("Their team is so scared, they ran away"), classic Madonna ("Holiday"), $1 Monopoly bills thrown at the audience, and beer-guzzling to determine who went first.

Another time, who went first was determined by which contestant could find and don full winter attire first (I supplied my gloves to help Team Not This Winter Body come out on top). Yet another time, a Kleenex box of ping pong balls tied to two contestants' backsides were emptied via booty popping.

They're a creative lot, that's for sure.

The friends I'd brought were good sports, not to mention fully invested, with her getting up to tell a groan-worthy Christmas joke (when Santa asks the Mrs. about the weather, she says, "I see rain, dear") during a technical difficulty and him obligingly blowing bubbles once they'd been handed off to him so the team could finish their dancing and fake singing amid a cloud of bubbles.

The cheers were almost deafening when Chelsea did "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend," complete with striptease that included yanking a guy in Santa pajamas from the audience to use as her plaything. He turned out to be part of the act, no surprise given his wildly hilarious mannerisms and admirable agility.

During intermission, the newlyweds regaled me with their month-long itinerary for South Africa, which would be enviable enough simply for the fantastic location, but crossed into full-on jealousy territory upon hearing that the first week is solely devoted to massages, yoga and sex.

This, too, can be yours, with enough Late Night Lip Sync, my friends.

During the improv round, teams alternated sending someone to the center for each unexpected holiday song played, but most of them were bested by holiday hits that predated them.

Witness Elvis' "Blue Christmas" that was more pelvic thrusting than lip syncing, a complete blank on Elton John's "Step into Christmas" and an audience member who laid down onstage for "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer," although again, there wasn't much attempt at the words, just the action.

Anyone can run over Grandma, it's singing about it that's hard, that's all I'm saying.

Without a doubt, the pinnacle of the evening was when Team Not This Winter Body - clad in awful Christmas sweaters and antenna headbands - did their choreographed finale, which managed to touch down on every possible holiday laugh using scores of props in the process.

Want proof? "All I Want for Christmas" segued seamlessly into "Dick in a Box" (gift-wrapped, natch), before "The Christmas Song" began (wherein a team member squatted over a felt fire for the line, "Chestnuts roasting, yada, yada), only to become "Santa Baby" followed by an updated "Mr. Grinch."

In what may have been my favorite moment of the entire mash-up, it was the two male members who appropriately nailed "Sisters" from "White Christmas" (as only men can do), while Mannheim Steamroller's overwrought "Carol of the Bells" had the entire team dramatically playing imaginary classical instruments before becoming a Rockettes-like kick line for "We Need a Little Christmas."

Good as Team Karen/Caring's boy band tribute was, and it rocked, Team Not This Winter Body took home the imaginary prize.

Meanwhile, Santa only knows how many relationships were born tonight out of so much talent providing so much hilarity. Study results will be out in a year or so.

Give Peace a Chance

Some intersections are once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

I seriously doubt I will ever again listen to a poet laureate and living legend on the same night I witness a woman in a mini-trench coat lip sync-ing to "Man, I Feel Like a Woman."

The great January snowstorm Jonas had caused "An Evening with an Icon: Sonia Sanchez" to be rescheduled, allowing even more anticipation for it, so waiting in line for 40 minutes just to get in to the Grace Street Theater despite having bought my ticket two months ago shouldn't have surprised me.

Inside the theater, I sat down between two men, both wearing Bernie buttons (one of whom who had been a Sanders' HQ this afternoon when a 4' cutout of Bernie being arrested during a '60s demonstration had been delivered) and both dedicated jazz nerds.

My only value in the conversation was when it came to current jazz cats (their term) in the local scene, many of whom I've seen play at Balliceaux. The Bernie fan to my right, formerly very active in Detroit's jazz scene and a come-here eight years ago, even asked for a list of local acts to check out.

In return, he gave me a book recommendation, so we're even now.

When he found out I'd done the piece in Style about Sanchez, he leaned in and said, "I wanna thank you for writing that article because otherwise I'd never have known about this." Interestingly enough, he had seen her read her poetry back in the '80s.

First we saw the recent documentary about her, "BaddDDD Sonia Sanchez," a fascinating look at her life as an activist, member of the Black Arts movement, teacher and poet as well as the challenges she'd faced - FBI, being a single mother, recriminations from her father, lack of tenure - for being politically active.

When she was introduced, suddenly scores of phones were held up to capture her arrival and a lot of what she had to say, so I could barely see her onstage for the first ten or so minutes..

Asked about being poet laureate, she told a story of neighborhood children about to fight in front of her house and teaching them how to breathe to unwind. She then surprised everyone in the audience by telling us to stand and do deep ten deep breaths with her as a way of calming, a  practice she teaches her students.

"That's what I've been doing as Poet Laureate," she said to much laughter.

She also said many meaningful things, such as, "Each generation has to continue the struggle of the generation before," and "It always comes back to peace," but the most significant admonishment was, "Don't tell me you came and enjoyed this film and you're not going to go back and do something."

I think that's why my seatmates were wearing Bernie pins.

When one man, during the Q & A, asked how his generation could come together in the same way the '60s and '70s generations had, she corrected him, explaining that that only happens once people begin working toward what's important to them and finding like-minded individuals.

Another man asked how to clear his head of negative energy so he could write better and she  became my hero by asking, "Do you walk? Walking frames you for the day. It clears the brain," and went on about the benefits of daily walking. As an 81-year old, she would know.

All I can say is, major props to the Afrikana Film Festival for bringing such a culturally important woman to Richmond to share her life and stories with a sold-out audience. This city's cool points were off the charts tonight.

The only way to follow something so wonderfully high-brow was with, um, something quite the opposite?

Tonight was Late Night Lip Sync Battle at the Basement and it's impossible to convey how much fun it is to watch teams of local theater types compete for nothing but bragging rights.

Tonight's battle was even more special because both teams - the Velvet Rope and Cats Don't Care - were all women teams who, as Sonia had proven, are fearless and brilliant (one, a doula, had participated in the delivery of a 9 1/2 pound baby yesterday). They can even dance.

So much estrogen at battle also opened the door to multiple costume and wig changes, a lot of pumps and lipstick as prop.

You have to understand, there's a million points at stake for each round and three million for the final round. That's millions of meaningless points.

In between, there are erotic vegetable poses, scavenger hunts (Sarah won because I gave her my ballpoint pen, the requested item) and beer chugging to determine who goes first.

The Velvet Rope killed it with their opening song, "Alexander Hamilton," complete with whisky bottle and umbrellas to further the story and followed strong with Mary singing lead on Beyonce's "Formation," performed in camouflage jackets while tossing out packets of hot sauce.

Pretty impressive, right?

But then Cats Don't Care retaliated with a song from Disney's "Hercules," which Sarah had never heard before yesterday, having been a late addition to the team and having had parents who didn't let her watch Greek mythology.

Or maybe that was just her story and she was sticking to it.

The Improv round is always terrific because the teams don't know the upcoming songs and have to decide on the spot who will handle each. Their consternation is part of the fun of watching.

Watching these woman take on gems like "Man, I Feel Like a Woman," and "What's Love Got to Do With It?" and "Don't You Want to Dance?" and "My Heart Will Go On" was like a primer in the classic gay karaoke repertoire, pure emoting and overacting that worked the crowd into a drama kid frenzy.

The big finales took it even further with TVR doing "Hey, Now" in fur coats and hats and CDC doing "Bang, Bang" complete with black banged-bob.

For those keeping score at home, Cats Don't Care took home the non-existent prize, but, of course, they didn't care and a dance party ensued.

Mind and body got a workout tonight. Tomorrow, like the icon Sonia Sanchez, I will walk to clear the mind.

Only then can doing something follow.

You Look Like a Rock Star

Top five reasons why it's not unusual to find me out on a First Friday (besides hearing Evan Nasteff pretend to sing "It's Not Unusual"):

1. "The Electric Football Game Art Show at ADA Gallery, where every other guy walking in said some version of, "I used to play that." If they are to believed, we have finally reached male geek critical mass, not that that's a bad thing.

Highlight: Art Monk #81 and the cheerleaders. The guy making the bowel-shaking noises sending tiny electric men across  the actual electric football game table was icing on the cake.

2. Drummer Nate Rappole aka Gull curating the "Drum Baby" show at Gallery 5. From Haleh Pedram's "Chair Drum" (the chair had a skin stretched over the frame's seat and people were playing it) to Bonnie Mango's "Gift to Nathaniel Rappole" (a dashiki with holes cut in it wherein she sewed tiny metal gongs) to Adam Juresko's "Married with Children" (a collage in two parts of a drummer with birds in place of a head), it was all about the drum imagery.

Unexpected bonus: a smaller photography show in the back room of Richmond parks a century ago, Monroe Park looking toward Franklin Street with a farmhouse and trees where the dowager Prestwold now sits.

3. Band labeling. After walking my companion back to his car, I headed back to G5 for music, hoping to catch Antiphons' set because they describe their music as "sad farm rock," possibly the best music genre ever.

There, I find friends - the brilliant musician doing the light show, the bearded man who makes clothing, the complimentary neighbor, the scientific-minded neighbor and the community builder/musician who tells me that my blog posts about his shows touch him ("It always takes me to that happy place you are") - but I have just missed Antiphons's set.

When I spot the handsome drummer I haven't seen in eons, I tell him about my futile quest to hear sad farm rock. He's as impressed with the descriptor as I am, vowing to come up with something as pithy for his band. When I hear that he's not seen Dumb Waiter, the band setting up now, I insist he come up with something to describe them after their set.

Given their genre-blending style, sometimes spacey, sometimes mathy-y, often funky, it won't be easy, yet he nails it. "Ornette Cole-metal," he announces. It's brilliant.

Reason to need a smoke afterwards: With guitar, bass, sax and drums, Dumb Waiter manages to get the crowd locked into a groove and eventually all riled up, only to suddenly change tempo and mood, leaving us hanging on for the next section, not sure when they're going to come back and finish us off.

It's exquisite musical torture.

4. Pop music hamming. Lip Sync RVA, three colors of Jello shots and the casts of the last two plays I've seen: "The Altruists" and "Psycho Beach Party" (wearing leis, it should be noted).

Vegetable duels, a Disney tune with blue sock puppet back-up singers, Dan Cimo playing the strict mother for "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," pearl earrings swinging in his lobes, and REM's "It's the End of the World" with singer Evan Nasteff wearing a sandwich board sign (Front: This is the end. Back: This is the other end) as he emotes.

Drop dead gorgeous Jessi Johnson doesn't even have to know the words because her hips and hands say as much as mouthing words. Perky Brent Gallahan in coral lipstick and pumps also fudges and no one cares due to the adorable factor.

Best sugar rush: During a thigh-straddling rendition of "Call Me Maybe," I recognize Chandler Hubbard, not just from "The Altruists" but because earlier he'd offered the bartender a cookie from the box his Mom meant to send for opening night but forgot. The bartender says no, so I ask for it instead. Cookies and Jello shots, that's a thing, right?

5. Late night J-Ward strolling. On my way home, I manage to run into not only the neighborhood's cutest middle-aged beagle and his majestic owner out for a post-work walk, but also the soft-spoken master of the kitchen, arriving home to his dog and girlfriend, coincidentally a friend of mine.

It's the end of this night as I know it, and I feel fine.

We're Halfway There

Flashback to the '60s, flashback to the '80s.

With the water in my apartment finally restored by 5:00 today and rain falling steadily outside (hopefully to melt the snow), I set out to meet a friend for dinner - a terrific crabcake special, Bistro salad and grilled shrimp - at Bistro 27, apparently the place to be tonight with a full house by 7:00 despite the rain.

We didn't linger too long over our chocolate torte because people were still arriving, opting instead to head across the street to find our seats at the November Theater for Cadence Theater Company's new production of  "Caroline, or Change."

I've seen plenty of Cadence's well-executed productions, but this was the first musical I'd seen them do and on that tiny TheaterGym stage, too. The set was brilliant with two levels, one for the band (which included clarinet and cello) and steps leading down from there to the main stage.

Set in 1963 and referencing JFK's death and civil rights activism, the play told the story of Caroline, a black maid for a Jewish family in Louisiana in 1963. The cast was full of black actresses with stellar voices, a lovely thing given that almost none of the dialog was spoken, just sung.

Appliances such as the washing machine were also played by actresses (although the dryer was a man), including the radio which was played by a trio who dressed like the Supremes and sang Caroline's thoughts. Even better, they had the synchronized choreography to go with those dresses.

In many ways, it was a play about nothing more than a black woman's struggle to get by at a time when very little value was placed on their happiness. But in terms of singing, it was a rousing sampler of the some of the very best female voices in town.

Rather than stay for the reception afterwards, I invited my theater-loving companion to join me for the first-ever Late Night Lip Sync Battle at The Basement, TheaterLab's subterranean space in Jackson Ward a few blocks away.

Another friend had already agreed to meet me there after checking in earlier.

Short notice, but are you free tonight?
Unfortunately, no, but I'm going to watch a lip-syncing battle at 10:30 if you'd like to meet me.
Wow, that sounds fun. I'm in!

Walking into the Basement, we heard a woman call out, "Jello shots, two for a dollar," from behind a table covered in brightly colored plastic containers. All of a sudden, it was the '80s again.

When my companion asked if I wanted a glass of wine, I declined and instead decided to revisit my youth. One red, one blue Jello shot, please.

I couldn't have been more surprised when he followed my lead and got Jello shots, too, albeit both red. When he wasn't sure how to shoot them, I demonstrated ringing the glass with my finger and pouring the contents down my throat. Clearly someone had not been paying attention in the '80s (that or being far more responsible than I had).

Josh Small was playing when we arrived, warming up the crowd with his earnest songs, and my short notice friend spotted me and called my name. He'd brought his new squeeze whom I'd heard so much about and we joined them in the second row.

After my second set of Jello shooters, my friend marveled, "I can't believe you had four Jello shots." That didn't stop him (or me) from having one when they began passing them out for free just before the show started, I might add.

Honestly, they were the ideal accompaniment to the tremendously fun and raucous evening that followed.

Two teams, the TheaterLab team (also known as the Labradors) and the Street team, faced off lip syncing and it was up to the audience to vote the winners. One million points per round.

The first song was Louie Vega's "Mambo #5" followed by the Ting Ting's "That's Not My Name," two songs that allowed the Labs to show some attitude and work the microphone.

So, of course, Matt of the Street team began his team's challenge by saying, "The first thing you need to know is that we'll be foregoing the microphone because we can project." Drama kid pride.

It was so much fun watching the teams face off with songs such as En Vogue's "Never Gonna Get It," complete with dance moves. When the emcee asked, "How you gonna follow that?" the Street Team said, "Easily."

Watching Paul emote to Whitney's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" may have been one of the all-time most fabulous things I've ever witnessed. Just a guess, but I think he's sung a whole lot of Whitney in front of the mirror before.

There was always a challenge to decide which team led off a round. One time it was a beer chugging contest (Maggie beat Paul) and another time a quiz. "Who in the 3rd century invented lip syncing?" Mat won with, "Jesus!"

By that point it was obvious to me at least that by the end of the night, the two teams would be fine and everyone in the audience would be hoarse from screaming...and singing along when we couldn't help it (see: "Livin' On a Prayer").

Midway through, my friend leaned over his date and said, "I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard." Clearly I need to take him out more.

My favorite round was the Improv challenge where eight 30-second clips were played. One person on the team at bat had to decide in the moment who would step forward after the song began and lip sync it. This was the round where we saw the most panic on the faces of the team members.

Yet they all came through, each member nailing one song: "I Will Always Love You " with body fondling and song lyrics sung directly to audience members, the aforementioned Bon Jovi which got so loud with the singalong that the walls seemed to shake, "Bootylicious" with killer dance posturing.

For the final round, each team had prepared a full-ensemble set piece. Street team did "Uptown Funk" with Alexander on the lead going full over the top in his white coat, suspenders and pelvic thrusting. The Labradors did the Moulin Rouge version of "Lady Marmalade," all of them wearing white buttons on their shirts to indicate nipples. They were declared the winners.

Jello shots history, mad screaming and applause ensued as the room became a dance party with everyone joining the lip syncing teams on the floor.

Cause uptown funk gonna give it to you
Saturday night and we in the spot
Don't believe me? Just watch

I guarantee you'll laugh a lot.