"50 Guns"

As the Source Festival's short-play showcase "Afterward" makes clear, writing in short form has its challenges. Occasionally, that becomes all too evident in some of these short works, which the festival broadly tasked with "examin[ing] the past through the lens of the present." But the showcase's most successful pieces were those that offered a sense of humor and a strong voice. Here's a look at the slate.

50 Guns

Alex Broun's piece has its roots in a sad 2009 news item from Knoxville, in which an 11-year-old accidentally shot his 20-year old brother who was about to go into the Air Force. The death of William "Trent" Lockett was especially tragic because he had been babysitting his younger brother, who idolized him, and knew how to use guns. He just didn't know there was another round left in the chamber.

There are several ways you could work from a story like this, but Broun chooses an unsubtle route.

Emma walks onstage and empties a carton of different metal parts onto the floor—presumably components of a gun. “I've always been fascinated by guns,” she says, and then proceeds to put back one piece at a time as she lists different cases of people getting shot, with a voice that—to actress Kathryn Ryan's credit—never gives way to melodrama.

Yet, 50 Guns is the history of gun violence by way of Wikipedia. The battle of Agincourt, the suicide of a Sarasota woman, Brandon Lee, Newtown, Virginia Tech, Columbine, Norway, the rape and murder of Iraqi civilians by American soldiers. Through it all, there are wince-inducing lines like, "Guns cannot undo what they have done. The genie cannot go back in the bottle." By the time you discover what Emma actually represents, you may have already checked out; rehashing an agitating series of news stories that have been told the same way again and again doesn't bring a fresh treatment to the very real issue of gun violence.

Lost in Thought

"Lost in Thought"

As a Man (Bru Ajueyitsi) washes a dishes in the center of the room, he is plagued by the things his ex-lover—Kathryn Ryan's Woman—said to him. "I miss feeling pretty," she says at one point, while he continues to scrub and determinedly ignore her. Finally, after several minutes of this, Man has had enough and gets up to push the thoughts of her out of his head, pushing Woman literally out of the room. But she just keeps coming back. Nicely acted by both leads, the ending of Christopher Lockheardt's short piece may be predictable, but it feels spot on.

Minus You

In a play that's full of equations, here's one: Two actors plus one ambiguous script equals headscratching.

In Jennifer Barclay's meditation on matrimony and the afterlife, we know that Gracie (Meredith Richard) and Lennox (Christian Sullivan) were hitched at some point, though we don't really know for how long or how old they're supposed to be. What we do know is that Lennox is trying to get in touch with Gracie in whatever nebulous limbo they've ended up in, which he does by yelling at the ceiling, or talking indirectly at her form as she passes by. There are allusions to some kind of pill that Lennox may have been peddling when he was alive, and skydiving figures prominently into the plot. There are also implications of possible domestic abuse, or at least intimidation. I'm not sure why it was necessary to have Lennox and Gracie recite math problems at each other ("You minus life, plus negative space, plus one phone call..."), but one thing is clear: None of it adds up.

Edward Cullen Ruined My Mother's Love Life

"Edward Cullen Ruined My Mother's Love Life"

We open on Ramona (Carol McCaffrey), a middle-aged woman crying on the couch. Behind her, a younger man (Christian Sullivan) approaches, doing a Bela Lugosi voice, holding a cape over his face. Is it kinky roleplaying? She's unimpressed, so he asks if this is what she was talking about. She yells that it's all wrong. "So wrong it's... right?" He replies, hopefully. It's a promising start to this cutesy but unsatisfying tale of abandonment, told in the first person by teenager Lily (Meredith Richard) who's frustrated with her mom's addiction to Twilight.

But it isn't Edward Cullen who's ruining Lily's mother's love life, as the title promises; her mother is fully responsible for that. She tosses out boyfriends left and right, claiming they won't give her the "eternal love" of a sparkly Robert Pattinson. What's behind mom's obsession? It's unclear. Very suddenly at the end, we get a hint about Lily's father, who may have left or been killed. But this revelation lands with a thud; we haven't been given a reason to care.

Riot Grrrl Reunion

"Riot Grrrl Reunion"

The one play that got big laughs, Darin J. Dunston's roller-derby rollick centers on a fight during a boys' basketball game, narrated and reenacted with vigor by the largest cast of the night. The Evil Sisterhood of Holy Rollers clique is like bloodthirstier Power Puff Girls, who tough-pose with Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation" in the background and go by names like Hermione Maimher—clad in the schoolgirl garb of the Harry Potter character—who clumsily shrieks her tag line: "A horcrux that... uh, fucks."

In a twist of events, the day gets saved by a former derby queen, who appears from underneath the mild-mannered persona of the school librarian, who had settled into the mundane routine of motherhood. It's an old trick, but you can't help but laugh as Mrs. Newsome (Alina Collins-Maldonado, in her second well-delivered turn of the night) describes her actions in an intense monologue, explaining, "Sometimes it's just nice to show those bitches they still can't fuck with me."

"The Man in the Powder Blue Suit"

The Man in the Powder Blue Suit

Showcase highlight The Man in the Powder Blue Suit takes a personal storytelling approach that feels like a short chapter in a coming-of-age memoir. In it, Naomi (another appearance by Alina Collins-Maldonado) recalls a childhood experience traveling with her parents to see her grandmother in Arizona in the dead of summer, and the trip leads to a pivotal encounter with a stranger by a motel pool while her parents are napping.

The minute the dapper evangelist (John Tweel) enters, wearing the blue suit of the play's title, this could easily veer into disturbing territory, but the story stays ambiguous, instead flowering into a moment of shocking clarity for Naomi when she sees a different side of her dad. When the man asks Naomi if she loves her parents, she says yes, then adds, "It never occurred to me—at least not then—not to love them." Here, the uncertainty of how the action will finish, the boredom of the open road, and the tension vaguely understood by a child who hasn't yet learned the language of adult conflict all vividly spring to life.

The Afterward short plays run tonight at 8 p.m., June 22 at 1 p.m., and June 29 at 4 p.m.

All photos courtesy CulturalDC

A napkin drawing of The Continuum of Collaboration as diagrammed by dog and pony dc's Rachel Grossman

Devised theater can raise questions that traditional theater rarely has to face.

For instance: There is no question that Henrik Ibsen is the author of Hedda Gabler. Nor is there any dispute that Michael Kahn gets the final say on creative decisions. But when a group of people get together to make a new show, who is the author? If creative disputes arise and deadlines loom, who makes the decisions that will move the process forward?

To help answer those questions, some theater artists look to what's called the Continuum of Collaboration. The continuum is taught by Michael Rohd, founding artistic director of Sojourn Theater, author of the book Theatre for Community, Conflict, and Dialogue, and faculty member at Northwestern University. Rohd has taught workshops in D.C., and he directed Full Circle at Woolly Mammoth in 2009. He will return to D.C. to teach two workshops at Georgetown University this July, one geared toward theater professionals and another toward a cross-section of artistic and civic disciplines.

The continuum is basically a fluid spectrum of possible choices theater companies can make about how they will collaborate. On one end there is hierarchy; on the other, consensus. In the middle is democracy. Rohd originally encountered the concept while working with Cornerstone Theater Company in Los Angeles, and went on to develop and teach it. Though Rohd admits that it's "not a super complicated idea," putting it into practice can be just that.

"When you talk about collaborative authoring," says Rohd, "that's when people's different understanding of what collaboration means can come into tension." He says the Continuum of Collaboration can be "useful with regards to two specific actions; one is, how does the leadership happen in the room when we're working together? And then the second is how does authorship occur?"

The continuum is a tool to help an ensemble "communicate about your wants, your needs, the goals for the project, the skill sets that people bring in the room, and all the factors that are influencing how leadership might function and how authorship might occur," Rohd says. It is a process which "requires a lot of intentionality, patience, and clarity amidst the collaborators."

This summer, D.C. audiences have a lot of opportunities to see ensemble-based devised productions on local stages. Last week Arena Stage's Kogod Cradle Series hosted force/collision's latest work, Trust Me. The ongoing Source Festival includes a series of Artistic Blind Dates, which combine artists from different disciplines and task them with creating an original work. In July. Forum Theatre's season finale is a world premiere called The T Party, devised by Natsu Onada Power and the Forum ensemble. And then there's the Capital Fringe Festival. Executive Director Julianne Brienza estimates that 15 to 20 percent of this year's Fringe shows are devised, and that's not counting commedia or strait-up improv. At Fringe, Pointless Theatre will return with another ensemble-created puppet show, Mark Twain's Riverboat Extravaganza, and devised-theater troupe dog and pony dc will return with the latest incarnation of A Killing Game.

It was dog and pony dc ringleader Rachel Grossman who introduced me to the idea of the Continuum of Collaboration. Mentioned on a number of occasions by other theater makers, the idea is slowly permeating the D.C. theater community.

Having closely observed the dog and pony dc creative process, I discussed with Rohd how the continuum can bring efficiency to the process of devising a new work with a cash-strapped ensemble on a deadline, and he says it can help strike a balance between efficiency and creative exploration. "I think that a hierarchical form of decision making, for the most part, moves quicker," he says. "But you also sort of have to decide—what is the relationship between efficiency and investment? And what is the relationship between investment and quality? I think that those relationships are unique to every situation."

Michael Rohd teaches two workshops from July 15 to July 21 at Georgetown University.

Remember 2003, when emo was cool and MySpace was a thing? It was also the year that the pillowy, black plastic glasses-clad frontman of Death Cab For Cutie, Ben Gibbard, put out an emotionally charged, terrifically catchy electro-pop album with producer Jimmy Tamborello under the moniker The Postal Service. Ten years later, nostalgia has set in, and the short-lived duo is embarking on an anniversary tour. It’s easy to guess what songs you’ll hear, since they only released 10 of them. But Gibbard and Tamborello are touring with a full band and former Rilo Kiley frontwoman Jenny Lewis, so there may be some surprises along the way. Read more >>> The Postal Service performs with Ra Ra Riot at 6 p.m. at Merriweather Post Pavilion, 10475 Little Patuxent Parkway, Columbia. $35–$45. (410) 715-5550. merriweathermusic.com. (Matt Cohen)

EAT THIS

Jose Andrés unveiled an expanded bar and dining area at Oyamel this week, adding 42 seats. Enjoy the new space at the Tequila & Mezcal Festival tastings, held every Monday and Tuesday from 4 to 6 p.m. through the end of the month. Taste Del Maguey mezcal today—and splurge on an intimate pairing dinner to follow. Call the restaurant to get a $10 tasting pass, and reserve a $90 dinner at 8 p.m. Oyamel Cocina Mexicana, 401 7th St. NW. (202) 628-1005. oyamel.com. (Cara Newlon)

OH AND ALSO

As part of the Theater of the Voiceless festival, which celebrates documentary theater, Shakespeare Theatre Company's Jenny Lord directs a staged reading of Austrian playwright Kathrin Röggla’s Worst Case. 7:30 p.m. at the Embassy of Austria, 3524 International Court NW. Free. (202) 289-1200. zeitgeistdc.org.

Funky duo AM & Shawn Lee performs at U Street Music Hall with The Stepkids and Dungeonesse. 7 p.m. at 1115 U St. NW. $20.

Malian musicians Amadou and Mariam bring their brand of traditional West African music to the 9:30 Club tonight. North African guitarist Bombino also performs. 7 p.m. at 815 V St. NW. $40.

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Lake Untersee is the journey of a boy named Rocky. But before you get visions of a journey up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art and beatdowns in the ring, know that this boy is closer to the very strange, enchanted sort. His journey is fascinating, engaging, confusing, and ultimately unsatisfying.

Playwright Joe Waechter opens his play with a prologue in which 15-year-old Rocky reads a map, the wind howling around him, orienting himself to the geography of Antarctica. His desired destination is Lake Untersee, a frozen freshwater lake surrounded by the Gruber Mountains in the continent's Queen Maud Land region. The majority of the play takes place back in mainland America, where Rocky and his mother, Phyllis, are locked in turmoil, unable to communicate with one another.

Rocky is a product of divorce. He searches for someone named Charlie and believes he must go to Antarctica to find him. At various times I understood Charlie to be a) the memory of Rocky's first lover, b) an alien trapped beneath Lake Untersee, c) a microbial life form, or d) an imaginary hybrid of each. Phyllis views her son as a disturbed boy; he makes odd hacking, grunting noises instead of words.

At first Phyllis (Adrienne Armstrong), an author with writer's block, seems unsympathetic. That is until Rocky, played beautifully by Noah Chiet, unleashes that hacking sound. It's a sound so unnerving that the flow of sympathy shifts. At her wit's end, Phyllis soon sends him to live with his doctor father, Jason (played with sensitivity by Mark Ludwick), who believes he can do a better job. He soon becomes overwhelmed himself.

The only person able to connect with Rocky is Jason's hippie painter girlfriend, Gale, a vibrantly upbeat Liz Osborn. Rocky might be weird, but he doesn't freak her out. Watching how Jason responds to his son changes her feelings toward her boyfriend, sparking conflict in that relationship.

It's a testament to Waechter that we care about these people, even as other flaws start to undermine the success of Rocky's story overall. By the middle of the play I wanted the best for everyone in this family. But Lake Untersee ultimately lost me—a fact I attribute to a disconnect between the scenes of realistic, domestic conflict and the fantastical scenes in Antarctica that bookend the play.

Waechter takes the path less traveled with Rocky. He doesn't make him the typical misunderstood loner who seems strange, but is actually not so bad once you get to know him. Rocky is odd and his problems feel real. Director Rick Hammerly drives his actors to keep a rapid pace with the dialogue, reinforcing the idea that none of them are listening to one another. The pace's greatest payoff comes in a moving scene in which Rocky yells at his father, or tries to; his speech, a complex mix of words and barking hacks, is the clearest expression of emotion he has ever managed. The scene offers a tough challenge for any actor and Chiet plays it impressively.

Lake Untersee's conflicts escalate in a disturbing and somewhat violent way, at which point the Antarctic bursts forth and alters, well, the emotional landscape of the family. But this turn of events seems at odds with everything that leads up to it. Waechter's ability to create sympathetic characters now turns on him. Rocky's point of view seems reasonable, but so does everyone else's interpretation of his behavior. I don't know whose interpretation of reality to believe, and the rules that govern Waechter's world become unclear. Is the reality of Lake Untersee a magical-realistic one, in which unbelievable things are meant to be taken at face value, or are the events of the final scene all occurring in Rocky's imagination? When it comes to allowing the audience to connect emotionally with a character's journey, these distinctions are substantive. Maybe Waechter could borrow a page from the book of Tony Kushner, whose Angels in America portrayed harsh reality alongside fever dreams about guardian angels and hallucinatory treks to Antarctica. Kushner created these flights of fancy to inform the audience about a character's state of mind.

Waechter's final two scenes left me disoriented. Am I meant to rejoice with Rocky because he has finally broken through the allegorical ice and achieved the connection with his parents he needed? Or do I mourn that Rocky has retreated further into his imagination and has become more alone than ever? With no answers, I departed the theater alienated rather than moved. But I hope the Source Festival won't be the end of the journey for Lake Untersee.

The play runs at Source June 21 at 9 p.m., June 23 at 8 p.m., and June 29 at 8 p.m.

Photo by C. Stanley Photography courtesy CulturalDC

The classy Hay-Adams author series commences this summer. [Post]

Architecture firm Gensler redesigns its own office. [Post]

How much do artist studios go for in D.C.? [Curbed]

House of Cards takes over the Maryland House of Delegates. [WTOP]

Want to witness the unveiling of the Frederick Douglass statue in the Capitol's visitor center? Sorry, you can't. [Huffington Post D.C.]

Hear Kanye's Yeezus at U Street Music Hall tonight. [Post]

A brief history of Duke Ellington's favorite hangout, Frank Holliday's Pool House in Shaw [WAMU]

A British television crew stops by the Freer Sackler Archive to shoot a program about Bible hunters. [Smithsonian Collection]

Dave Chappelle: no love for D.C. [DCist]

When selecting its latest lineup of "pocket operas," shorter works that aren’t normally presented together, the In Series opera company looked all the way back to 1918. In that year, both Stravinsky and Puccini managed to create L’Histoire Du Soldat (Story of the Soldier) and Gianni Schicchi, respectively. Stravinsky’s dance/dramatic reading is kind of like a Russian folk version of Back to the Future II: Biff’s stand-in is a soldier who obtains a book from the Devil that predicts the future and gets rich. Puccini’s opera is a farce about a clever peasant hired by a family to reclaim a disinheritance from a deceased relative. Read more >>> The production runs June 15 to June 24 at GALA Hispanic Theatre, 3333 14th St. NW. $21–$42. (202) 204-7763. inseries.org. (Mike Paarlberg)

EAT THIS

Satisfy your craving for Mexican street food at Taco Bamba, a standup counter opening today in Falls Church. The outfit opens for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. and closes at 9:30 p.m. Chef Victor Albisu, who recently opened Del Campo, will serve his signature tacos, like molleja y camaron— containing sweetbreads, shrimp, and salsa verde— as well as pato tinga, a crispy dock confit taco. Also on deck for tacos: Baja fish tacos, a BLT, a selection of traditional tacos, and the portabella spicy 'shroom. Taco Bamba also features the Bamba burger—double-stacked with avocado—and sopas, tamales, quesadillas, and huevos rancheros. Taco Bamba, 2190 Pimmit Drive, Falls Church. (703) 639-0505. tacobambarestaurant.com. (Cara Newlon)

OH AND ALSO

Local jangle-pop band Teen Mom performs at Comet Ping Pong with New York's Other Factors and Silver Spring's Go Cozy. Find more details and preview tracks on Facebook. 9 p.m. at 5037 Connecticut Ave. NW. $10.

Local theaters are wrapping up their seasons this month, but that doesn't mean the drama has to end. Head to Signature Theatre for theatreWashington's Show Tunes and Cocktails celebration, featuring pianist Glenn Pearson and vocalist Tim Rogan, soon to be seen in Studio's Rocky Horror Show. 7 p.m. at 4200 Campbell Ave., Arlington. Free.

Southern-tinged indie rockers Turf War play at the Black Cat Backstage with Portland-based Hausu. 8 p.m. at 1811 14th St. NW. $10.

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Which is to say, it’s a shame the theater was half-filled with septuagenarians rather than spilling over with 20-and 30-somethings. The target audience for this biting comedy is anyone with at least a passing interest in theater who has ever been tempted to select the "It’s complicated" relationship-status option on Facebook. That’s what, half of under-50 Washington? So it seems relevant to point out that Bethesda is just a Metro ride away. And even if there’s track work, it’s worth the trip to check out the best play about trainwreck relationships that you may ever see.

Will Gartshore, better known around town as a song-and-dance man, makes a fantastic straight-play star turn as Max, the adopted son of a recently deceased well-to-do Richmond businessman. Now a successful financial adviser, Max summons his adopted mother Susan and sister Suzanna to New York to sort out the family’s finances, and the news he bears is not good.

But it’s sex, not money, that’s the root of all evil in this play, or at least a serious complicating factor. Susan (Brigid Cleary) has taken up with a young gold digger named Lester, which angers Suzanna (Alyssa Wilmoth Keegan), who desperately misses her father. Max urges her to stop wallowing, and somewhat impulsively, she marries Andrew (Rex Daugherty) a fellow grad student from Brown. She’s a psychology Ph.D candidate who needs therapy; he’s the sensitive MFA type. They’re a match, though perhaps not for long.Daniel Conway designed the turntable sets, which seamlessly rotate from a three-star Manhattan hotel room to Suzanna and Andrew’s no-frills Providence two-bedroom. Andrew isn’t quite sure what to make of Max, who didn’t join the family until his mother died, around age 10. In an a well-meaning effort to smooth things out, the newlyweds talk him into to going on a double date with a temp in Andrew’s office named Becky Shaw, who is played by Michelle Six with hard-to-read nuance.

In literature, Rebeccas tend to be devious, amoral females. There’s the conniving Becky Sharp of Vanity Fair and the titular character in du Maurier’s novel Rebecca, who traumatizes people from beyond the grave. Playwright Gina Gionfriddo has not used the name lightly. Becky Shaw is trouble from when she first walks in, but the extent to which she intentionally becomes a caustic catalyst is a major element of tension in this disturbingly funny play.

“You looked like a birthday cake,” Max announces, sizing up Becky’s fitted hot pink lace dress, oversized necklace, and decorative headband that’s nearly a fascinator.

The date does not go well. Max is not a terribly sensitive guy—“He’s emotionally crippled," is Suzanna’s assessment. But she disagrees with her husband’s pronouncement that Max is an all-around asshole. “Goodness,” he tells her, “is not the same thing as being nice to Suzanna.”

The entire script crackles with wit and aphorisms. (In 2009, it was Pulitzer Prize finalist.) This is the sort of play that has you laughing in the seats and sends you home unable to sleep. The set of collected circumstances that these characters face may seem extreme, but individually, Max, Suzanna, and Andrew are all too real. They are the sort of people you are drawn to date or sleep with—and you regret it. The thrill of Becky Shaw is akin to watching videos of last month’s CSX explosion outside of Baltimore: you know you’re watching a stunning disaster, but you also know you’ll survive it.

The play runs to June 23 at Round House Theatre in Bethesda.

Photo by Danisha Crosby

On Friday, June 7, after two hours of slogging through the rain on my belly and shivering from high winds, I figured that my performance art project was doomed. Our team of three performers—Caitlin Tucker, Maggie Schneider, and myself—had only made it halfway across the Francis Scott Key Bridge, heading toward Rosslyn. By this point we’d originally planned to be done with the bridge, past the George Washington Parkway exit ramp, and mounting the skywalk over Lee Highway. Instead, we were still fumbling over the Potomac and soaked to the bone—and all of our simulated climbing effort and bravado was quickly turning into real misery and panic.

Months earlier, I had proposed this surreal, slightly joke-y endurance challenge: For the SuperNOVA performance art festival, I would lead a team of urban rock climbers with ropes, helmets, and other protective gear on an expedition through Rosslyn. We would move horizontally, not vertically, getting up close and personal with Rosslyn’s quirky, inadequate pedestrian amenities—narrow sidewalks, obsolescent skywalks, and gross stairwells. And although it would definitely require stamina to crawl for eight hours, there would be no danger of falling, and nothing like the strain and physical demand of actual rock climbing.

Or so we thought.

It was all tougher than we’d imagined. We had trouble finding our rhythm and adapting our motions to real conditions, and it was seriously slowing us down. Days earlier we’d bought a bag full of sunscreen and icepacks—but the sky was a wall of dark storm clouds and we were all freezing our asses off. And it wasn’t clear if we’d ever reach a bathroom. “Any astronaut will tell you: Urine is sterile,” I joked, as we all discussed the possibility of pissing ourselves.

The Key Bridge was beating us—yet we had only ever envisioned it as a warm-up for the main event. In the weeks prior to the festival, we had walked our entire route several times, stopping here and there to try crawling up a staircase, down a parking garage ramp, or through a crosswalk with a brief signal. But we had never calculated how long the bridge would take. It was relatively flat, and had a big barrier separating car traffic from the pedestrians. Easy-peasy, right? Somehow the fact that it was more than 1,700 feet long didn’t register.

Multiple photographers had met us at the bridge a little after 9 a.m. that day despite the tropical storm-related downpour, along with a film crew that was speaking in a foreign language. Cars stopped in the middle of traffic to take pictures of us. Someone called NPR about rappellers on the bridge, and we'd been mentioned in their traffic reports. At first we were chatty with all of the people who had braved the rain to see us. But as the crawl bogged down, and as we became increasingly wet and filthy, we turned inward, focusing on our breathing and yelling our tongue-in-cheek climbing commands—“On belay—belay on! Climbing—climb on!”

We picked our way through a ruined breakfast—muffins, wrappers, and other rain-soaked sludge—tossed into our path from a passing car. We picked pine needles and bits of broken glass out of our spandex. And we confronted unexpected gear problems: Fingerless gloves had seemed like a great idea initially, but our fingertips, pruned up and softened from all of that water, were bleeding on the concrete. Buckles and loops on our climbing belts were digging into our hips as we flopped on the pavement, eventually leaving grapefruit-sized purple welts.

It was nearly 1 p.m. when we finally finished that goddamn bridge.

The George Washington Parkway ramp was our next obstacle, and it scared us a little. Sure, there’s a traffic light and a pedestrian signal, but in the days prior I’d watched a constant stream of cars zipping through the intersection without stopping, despite the red light. On our first trek on foot through Rosslyn to map our route, I’d almost gotten hit, and the driver gave me the horn—despite the fact that I had the right of way.

So when it came time to clamber across, we were taking no chances. Yes, we would crawl, but we’d do it three abreast, instead of in the relay formation we’d been doing all morning.

I can pinpoint the exact moment when Maggie Schneider—a dancer, a fearless Baltimore performance artist, and our only honest-to-goodness rock climber—was finished. Allison Gulick, a former grad student of mine, took about 100 pictures of that crossing, and she captured Maggie getting hurt. We were scrambling, breathing hard, bumping into one another, and when we reached the curb, Maggie made a terrible face, clutched her shoulder, and toppled over, collapsing headfirst into the grass. There was serious talk of a torn rotator cuff, and that was that.

We paused for 15 minutes in the lobby of the Key Bridge Marriott. We used the much-dreamed-about bathroom. Artist Rachel Schmidt fed us Lara bars and plopped weird Alka-Seltzer-like fitness tablets in our water bottles. Catherine Akins, another former student and the leader of our support crew, couldn’t get towels for us from the Marriott, so she ran down the street to the Holiday Inn, walked up to the second floor, and blithely asked the first person she saw for "extra towels for her room." Soon we were all drying off.

There was no talk of quitting. Caitlin and I would keep climbling; Maggie, though injured, would belay us on foot. We looked at our map and began revising our route. We would still climb all day; we just couldn’t climb as far.

Once we were back on our bellies, in the rain, climbing the steps to our first skywalk, I began to lose track of everything but the stretch of concrete directly in front of me. New photographers arrived to document this second leg of the journey, including Steve Strawn, who kept telling Caitlin to show him her “pain face.” I began making preposterous childbirth noises without really meaning to as I threw first one hip, then the other to the pavement, pushing myself along with my toes the entire time, like a good fake rock climber.

On the skywalk, we encountered a three-inch deep puddle that appeared to be about 50 feet long—from my viewpoint, anyway. As I floundered and sputtered my way through it, and as the rain became more intense, Kim Ward, former Washington Project for the Arts director and current public art coordinator for the Rosslyn BID, followed alongside me, telling me a strange story about how she and her sister once swam across the Chesapeake Bay. I didn’t know whether to thank her for distracting me or to beg her to drown me.

At one point, I lamented to her that we didn’t have much of an audience, aside from photographers and people connected to the festival. “Are you kidding?” Kim said. “You should look up.” I swiveled my head to the glass tower to my right and saw about a half dozen faces peering through windows, gawking, snapping pictures.

We crossed over the six or so lanes of Lee Highway. We descended a slippery and truly disgusting stairwell to North Moore Street. We passed a queue of people boarding some buses. It was nearing 4 p.m., and we only had an hour more of climbing ahead of us. Suddenly Philippa Hughes, Pink Line Project founder and festival director, was standing over me, asking where and when we were going to finish.

“Whatever route we take,” I spluttered, “we need to get to Freedom Park.”

“Why?” she asked.

I blinked. “Because that’s where the Festival HQ is.”

“Not anymore,” she replied. “It’s been moved indoors. In fact... it’s just a few blocks away, right around the corner.”

“Obviously this is what I need more of,” I said as I grabbed one, uncapped it, and dumped it over my own head. To hell with being dry.

Photos by Steve Strawn

David Alpert thinks zoning tweaks will help local theaters find places to perform. [Post]

Could more local theaters learn from Woolly Mammoth's digital-engagement initiatives? [Post]

In the 1940s, what's now the 9:30 Club was Duke Ellington's. [Post]

The Shakespeare Theatre Company might go back to court with its landlord. [Post]

More art space for Hyattsville! [East City Art]

Olney Theatre lets its patrons choose what type of plays they want to subscribe to. [D.C. Theatre Scene]

The Post runs a shorter version of the Sweetgreen story we ran two years ago. [Post]