As July 4 approaches, I am sure there are many neighborhoods that have started to celebrate our independence a little early with some imported Mineshell Mayhem or a Phandemonium 205 Shot. I’m sure police are having a grand time chasing down every dispatch to some little back-alley salute and corner tribute in bottle rockets. And I know the listservs go crazy on this issue. I understand all the arguments against: kids need working fingers on July 5, cops need to chase after gunshot noises not the blast off a roman candle, it’s all such a noisy racket well past the time the Mall has emptied out. But still.

I secretly love driving around the city and watching the illegal stuff go off all sparkly in the air. In my experience, Columbia Heights is awesome with unregulated mini-finales (particularly 13th Street is gold).

So where are the best and worst places to catch the illegal action?

For this week’s S&T, I spoke to Bill Duggan, owner of Adams Morgan anagram bar Madam’s Organ. Since 2000, Duggan’s been sparring with the Alcoholic Beverage Regulation Administration over the issue of occupancy in his bar: ABRA said he was limited to 99 patrons, the number of seats on his restaurant license’s certificate of occupancy; Duggan contested that he could pack up to 393 patrons in, his fire marshall approved capacity. Earlier this month, the D.C. Court of Appeals ruled in Duggan’s favor.

This isn’t the first time that Duggan has dealt with issues of occupancy. For the past decade, Duggan and Madam’s Organ have organized a beach trip for area kids to Dewey Beach, Delaware. Each year, Duggan takes 20 to 40 District kiddies, along with 10 to 15 adult volunteers, for a weekend of bonfiring, crab-hunting, and beach-housing.

Dewey Beach didn’t always like that. “The second year of the trip, I was arrested for disorderly conduct,” says Duggan. “I made sure to tell the local [authorities] that the kids were coming, and they said it would be fine. They said ‘Hey, this is 1999, not 1969.’”

But Duggan says the beach cops were ready and waiting to kill the party. “Sure enough, there they were, hiding in the bushes, waiting for us,” he says. “They didn’t like having a bunch of black kids on the beach … The beach cop, he was like the leader of the Aryan nation: starched shirt, blonde hair, white eyebrows. He kicked us off the beach.”

That’s where Duggan’s pint-sized occupancy issue comes in: “Technically, the permit said only 25 kids at the bonfire at one time. And we had 35. But they were coming and going! Some were playing on the beach, others were at the house; they weren’t all at the bonfire at one time.”

But unlike the D.C. Court of Appeals, the beach cops didn’t buy Duggan’s maneuvering. “They put me in the paddywaggon,” says Duggan. “I said, ‘Fine, but the kids are coming with me.’”

After a brief lock-up and some negotiation, Duggan was released to continue spearheading the kiddie beach adventure. According to Duggan, the experience didn’t put a damper on the kids’ summer trip. “Oh, they loved it,” he says. “They kept shouting, ‘Mr. Duggan! You got locked up!’”

Photo by Charles Steck

The Washington Post’s blog coverage of the Supreme Court’s handgun unbanification is generating plenty of comments. Best comment so far:

“I believe guns are unnecessary. I’ve lived in the District for over 5 years and have successfully defended my home from armed intruders with a Samurai sword on two seperate occaissions. Throwing stars and nunchucks are also very effective against guns. If you practice two to three hours a day and are fearless, you will not fail.”

Posted by: razorsedge | June 26, 2008 11:44 AM

Bad editors and bad college professors always repeat some form of the adage “There’s no such thing as good writing — there is only good rewriting.”

But the ridiculousness of that line or lines was proven over the weekend, right here in the comments section of this very blog. A small item I’d written about Dan Snyder’s approval rating inspired this response:

1. The Mayor of Fed Ex Field Says:
   Jun. 20, 2008, at 10:31 pm Dave:I just googled your name, and at first glance, thought you were some famous jazz musician from Woonsocket, Rhode Island. I was wrong. You’re just a no talent douchebag, writing for some primitive,low traffic news site. Washington City Paper? My MySpace account gets more hits that this piece of shit.3 facts I would like to point out.#1 You have proven time after time,you are anti Dan Snyder/Washington Redskins. We get the fucking point.#2 It’s not just Redskin fans that think you are a douchebag, it’s everybody. Your non talent isnt exposed by just your sports columns, it is exposed in every aspect of your writing.http://lonewacko.com/blog/archives/007719.html#3 You wish you were Dan Snyder, you wish you were Dan Steinberg, and you fucking know you wish you were Art Mills.

   See. Nobody likes you. You probably are single, drive a Prius, and watch transsexual porn on your company laptop.

   Do everyone a favor, pack your shit, and get the fuck out of here bitch.

   Damn. I think Dan Snyder beat you up in middle school.

   Signed,

   The Mayor of Fed Ex Field

   PS: You call 57% to 42% a pounding?

   PSS: We Redskin fans would do an approval poll on you, but its already a proven fact.

   You approve pole.

Though I guess it’s possible the Mayor ran his piece by the First Lady of Fed Ex Field before posting it.

In any case, god bless the Internet.

The second annual Antiques & Modernism Show & Sale is going on Saturday and Sunday at the Thomas Jefferson community center in Arlington. I’ve heard last year’s sale was awesome, with lots of potentially affordable or at least cool to look at mid-century furniture. If you get out of bed early, for once, you might make it for breakfast at Bob and Edith’s.

I wandered over to my new neighborhood bar the other night to engage in an old Valdez ritual: house red and the New Yorker. I took a stool between the two generations of regulars. To my left were the red-faced old men, goofing off and watching sports. To my left, a UVA-looking white hat and his prey, er, date. Mr. UVA looked about 26 or 27, he was good-looking, cocky, talked just a bit louder than everyone else. His lady friend was skinny and big-chested, with curly dark hair and a bit more makeup than she needed. Typical cute Jersey girl. Anyway, Jersey girl was kind of hassling Mr. UVA, I think about wanting to go home or not feeling comfortable about something–I couldn’t tell because she was using her inside voice. He pretended to listen to her and then interrupted mid-sentence and touched the stud in her nose. “Is this new?” he said, going on with some drivel about how she had this great way of spicing up her conservative style. Then he started talking about getting a cab back to the city together. I cringed. Here comes the date rape, I thought.

Jersey girl surprised me then, because she started talking about having a friend come pick her up. The more Mr. UVA told her not to worry, it’d be fine, etc., the more she thumbed out texts on her phone. Then her phone rang. She went outside and never came back. I was so proud. It took Mr. UVA about 15 minutes to realize what had happened. “Balls,” he said, ordering another drink. “That’s what I’m texting her. Balls.”

I think this may be a brilliant idea: John McLaughlin should take over as the new host of Maury Povich, or really, of any of those bitch fight/who’s the daddy shows. Povitch looks a little tired. He doesn’t have any control. He just lets his guests’ natural energy run wild.

McLaughlin might be a bit bewildered at first. But then he would be decisive. He would yell louder than any fat lady. And he would freeze the screaming banshees with his jowly glare and ask unforgiving questions, like, maybe: “How many men were you sleeping with when you claim this man fathered your child?” If the woman swears there was just one, he might respond as he recently did to Eleanor Clift: “Oh come, come, come. … That sounds like such pious twaddle.” If the man really was the daddy, McLaughlin would weigh in with wisdom. He’d say the man was a good-for-nothing jerk. “He’s a jerk. He’s an ultra-jerk. He’s the number one jerk in the house.” Then he’d prove his point: “On a scale of 0 to 10–with 0 representing zero possibility and 10 representing metaphysical certitude–what is the chance of the jerk paying child support?”

I’m less confident about how well Maury would handle the tempers back on the Group: Eleanor Clift and Monica Crowley might sprout acrylic nails.

Dogs! We are all inspired by them. And after the 12-month Wall Calendar Photographer and the Personalized Mug Designer, the profession most inspired by dogs may well be the Poet.

“There is an amazing amount of poetry about dogs,” explains Michael Gushue, poet. Gushue is a member of the Brookland Area Writers and Artists*** collective, which tonight will hold “Dog Days,” a poetry reading “about, by, for and around dogs, canines and man’s best friend.”

Past BAWA* reading themes have included Sterling A. Brown, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, and obscenity. But the dog theme has (four!) legs: This is the fourth year that BAWA* has turned its attention to the domesticated critters.

“In poetry, you can use the dog to talk about anything else you would talk about,” says Gushue. “There are a bunch of corny, brilliant, heartbreaking poems about dogs getting old and dying, which touches one one of the two great themes of poetry: Death. You can use dogs to talk about friendship, about philosophy. Really, I cant think of a single theme that dogs haven’t been integrated into.”

The reading will be held tonight at 7 p.m. in the Brookland Visitors Center at 3420 9th St. NE. Do not bring your dog. “We haven’t figured that out yet, because the reading is held in an art gallery,” says Gushue. “At some point we’re going to do it outdoors and everyone’s going to bring their dog.”

** asterisk theirs.

Dear CNN,

I’m sick of all the primary coverage. I implore you: More rat on cat on dog.

Sincerely,

Amanda Hess

I always turn to Wired’s Danger Room when local news is snoozy. The site doesn’t disappoint today. Pro-Kremlin kiddie activists are getting the blame for this innovative interruption. One of these could really spice up an ANC meeting.

The AltWeekly Awards announced finalists for its final category today, placing Washington City Paper among the top three for Editorial Layout, circulation over 55,000. That bring’s CP’s total to seven, second only to L.A. Weekly, which has eight finalists this year.

Congratulations to our former, much-missed, hugely talented art director Pete Morelewicz, whose layout for “Sects Appeal,” a lighthearted look at alternative Christian churches, impressed what we’re sure is an impressive list of judges. The story, written by Aaron Leitko and illustrated by Tom Deja, appeared in the cover slot of the April 6, 2007, issue. That issue also launched Morelewicz’s redesign of the paper.

City Paper’s other finalists include former staff writers Dave Jamieson and Joe Eaton in the feature category, staff photographer Darrow Montgomery, the CP staff for this very blog, Jeffry Cudlin for arts criticism, and former staff writer Sarah Godfrey for music criticism. Congrats all around!

Whoa. BYT happens upon a juicily secret scoop. A fight club, maybe, at a skate park in DC.

Update: Apparently, this isn’t exactly a discovery.

Forget knitting. Forget Oprah and Bingo and watching sports. This week, D.C. seniors are competing in track and field, bowling, tennis, and archery.

D.C. Parks and Rec and the Office on Aging today kicked off the 25th annual D.C. Golden Olympics for District residents over 50. This year is also a qualifying year for the 2009 Summer National Senior Games in San Francisco, so those who place first, second, or third will get to compete against other overly athletic seniors from around the country.

At this morning’s opening ceremony, Bradford Tatum, 87, and his 89-year-old brother, John, said they have been preparing all year for the Golden Olympics. Both residents of Northeast, they grew up in Georgetown and started swimming almost 80 years ago in their neighborhood pool.

Younger brother Bradford, who is competing in the 500-yard freestyle swim, had the honor of carrying the sort-of golden, possibly plastic torch at this morning’s ceremony in recognition of the six medals he won last year.

So, OK, the paper flames actually fell out of the golden/plastic torch as he made his way around the Emory Recreation Center auditorium. But no matter.

After the pomp and circumstance, wellwishers with mechanical wheelchairs, walking canes, and baggy T-shirts loaded up on private charter buses and made their way to Takoma Aquatic Center for the 500 freestyle.

Tomorrow: track, long jump, softball, tennis, football, archery, and shot put. Thursday: golf, basketball, swimming, and bowling. Friday: pool, table tennis, and the big closing ceremony at Fort Stevens Recreation Center.

Robert King, special assistant for DPR said the Golden Olympics have been so successful because D.C. residents are living longer. “With the senior population at 16 percent and growing, it is important that seniors participate in these games and practice throughout the year,” King said. “It’s never too late to start.”

He doesn’t have to tell it to Sue Barns, 80. A Brookland resident, she started running at the age of 60 and won the gold medal in the Penna Relays Master in 2000 as the oldest female participant.

She’s got some advice for the rest of us: “There is no excuse for young people to be sittin’ around.”

—Whitney Boyd

This weekend I came across the greatest find since moving to D.C. Caveat: My interests tend to skew less toward record stores and more toward woodland creatures. If yours do, too (hey, I know it’s a stretch, but the blog is lookin’ light today, OK?), you should check out Prince William Forest Park. Once you have your immigration papers in order, that is. They don’t like them illegals there, you know, but there are 15,000 acres, so it’s easy enough to get lost no matter who you are. That’s what’s great about this place.

From D.C., the park is only about 35 miles down the road, right off I-95 and the Marine Corps training site at Quantico. That means that in less than an hour, you could be set up at a wonderful campsite deep in the woods for 15 bucks a night. The Oak Ridge Campground inside the park has nearly 100 sites and is located 5.5 miles down wooded roads from the visitor center. Stop in there to get a great map of the park. Each of the three campground loops has decent bathrooms and a water spigot; Loop A has a shower, even, for those who do that sort of nonsense while camping. There are no hookups, however, a blessed deletion for tent campers (there won’t be any retirees and their obnoxious RVs anywere nearby. In fact, having had a few bad experiences with the RV/generator crowd, I found this place with the help of The Best in Tent Camping: Virginia: A Guide for Car Campers Who Hate RVs, Concrete Slabs, and Loud Portable Stereos). One aspect the book fails to play up is the spaciousness of the sites, especially compared to some of the puny ones inside Shenandoah National Park. Each comes with a fire ring and a pole to hang a lantern.

Beware the raccoons, though; they’re cheeky, so hide your grub. Also, I found a tick on my person, quickly tweezed off and killed, so bring some spray, but for god’s sake don’t whine about ticks. Just be careful.

Best of all: There are 37 miles of hiking trails maintained by the Potomac Appalacian Trail Club; several nice ones start right at the campground. The North Valley Trail includes a lovely stretch along Quantico Creek to Lake Quantico Falls and the former Pyrite Mine, abandoned in 1920 after workers went on strike for a 50-cent raise. Apparently, they don’t like them unions in Prince William, either.

Just a word of thanks to the high-class Restaurant K and to the Wrecking Corporation of America (WCA).

They were the stars of the night, as a family member and myself ventured down to the corner of K Street and Connecticut Avenue NW last night to watch the demolition of an out-of-date office building. We arrived at about 10:00 pm and watched as a WCA machine cut into the exposed floors of the building. The contraption was like a pair of scissors affixed to a long cranelike arm, tearing into the concrete and steel of the building, creating loud debris showers. People stopped and gawked.

The action was in full view of Restaurant K, so said family member and I went in for a quick drink. The bartender was nice enough to treat family member with a complimentary cranberry juice.

A while after we reemerged, the star of the show came out. Or came down. It was a wrecking ball that the WCA crane lofted at least 50 feet above the building’s top floor. What a noise it made upon hitting its target! More falling and flying debris. Stuff was going in all directions, though we were at a safe remove, on the other side of K.

A foreman said that the activity will be going on for several more weeks, so get down there. But take into account that the wrecking ball doesn’t start wrecking until late at night, since it disrupts traffic.