The presidential candidates have spent plenty of time introducing and debating their economic polices. For a short-term boost, they should look no further than their own names for help. They are being used to sell products that have nothing to do with the campaigns. And I suspect, in most cases, the gimmicks work quite well.

For the past few days, Medaterra in Woodley Park has been serving the Obama Rama Martini and the Sugar McCain, and advertising the drinks on a sidewalk sign. Both are on the normal menu. The Obama drink is a Banana Rum Martini, with banana liquor, vodka, and cranberry juice, and the McCain drink is fresh lemonade, Stoli and Cointreau.

I called up Medaterra to see how the drinks were selling. In short: good. Martini sales are up overall, estimates waitress Andrea Tehan. “Everyone keeps asking who’s winning,” she says, adding that staff have been monitoring the drinks sales and have noted that the Obama Rama Martini has outsold its Republican counterpart by a 4-1 ratio, despite the McCain drink being more popular under its normal name. Which is to say this entire thing is pretty dumb, and pretty smart from a business perspective.

This got me thinking. Who else has recently jumped on the campaign commerce bandwagon? Read the rest of this entry »

Dear Landlord Dude:

I saw your ad in the Post and called you yesterday afternoon. The apartment you were offering sounded good enough: 1700 block of Corcoran, $1900, one-bedroom described either as “sunny” or “cozy” or “featuring hardwood floors.”

I thought: I just can’t swing that kind of rent. Not even sharing that kind of rent. No way. Not unless I want stomach aches and no fun for the rest of my life (or at least through the terms of a one-year lease). But screw it. You told me to meet your guy at 5 p.m.

When your guy called my cellphone at 4:30 p.m. to ask where I was, I explained the 5 p.m. meeting time. I was “sunny” on the phone. I told your guy I could change our meet-up time to 4:40 p.m. I showed you—or your guy—that I could be whimsical, flexible, and carefree. I showed that if say the A/C didn’t work I could play along, adjust my schedule to fit your schedule. That’s just the kind of person I am: “sunny.”

But anyway. Thanks for wasting my time. Your ad said nothing about the rundown closet, the stove that looked like it had last given heat to a crack pellet, and the hardwood floors being just the right shade of beat up. Nor did your ad promote the view from the small living room: a Supercan.

I wouldn’t normally care. But you kind of ruined my afternoon. We renters take your ads as truth. They swiftly become the start up points for little dreams. Not big dreams of flat-screen televisions and warm glasses of cocoa. But simpler stuff like being able to live reasonable and sort-of content. We think of all the good times we’d have with your hardwood floors and central AC. So when we show up to find our dreams replaced with the outlines of a slum, we can only be disappointed. Deeply disappointed.

I ended up leaving your rental after about 10 seconds inside. I didn’t need to inspect the small closet to realize I ain’t ready for a $1900 un-sunny junior one-bedroom with view of Supercan.

Walking away, I filled 17th Street with whispered curse words about fairness and the impossibility of living here. Talk about crushed dreams. Two years ago, an ambitious resident could find a two-bedroom dump for $1900.

Not any more. Now there are only over-priced one-bedroom dumps.

Sincerely,

Jason Cherkis

P.S. 17th Street NW hasn’t changed in at least 10 years. It still sucks. Charging $1900 to live within walking distance of one of the worst Safeways in the city is almost criminal.

You don’t have to be PoP to obsess about homes that are not yours. This is one of the city’s great pastimes: walking its blocks and gawking at its homes. We are all rubberneckers for a great built-in library, interesting stained-glass, a well-manicured yard, a big, well-lit living space.

Then there are the mystery buildings–the places that either look like rundown embassies or the once-grand quarters of some senator or freaky cult. I’ve spent a lot of time recently trying to figure out the large Grey Gardens-style joint at 1720 16th Street NW.

The building has 15 bedrooms, 9.5 bathrooms, and covers 6,700 Sq. ft. And a big-ass horror-classic gate. Inside, there must be a candelabra or two, a player piano, some Anne Rice books, and of course, Magick.

I could be wrong about the Magick. The building rarely appears occupied. On only one occasion did I find people hanging out on its stoop. I took this as my big chance to find out what goes on inside.

I carefully walked past the gate. I asked as politely as I could a variation on “What the hell is up with your building?”

Unfortunately, the kids decided to be snotty about it and refused to tell me. Now the building is for sale. List price: $7.5 million.

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

Local artist Adrian Parsons has revealed himself as one of the stars of ANC Commissioner Frank Winstead’s now-infamous clandestine ping pong youtube video, shot outside of Comet Ping Pong. Parsons says he recognized himself and opponent Karl Southgate immediately when he saw this video of the sidewalk match-up, posted last summer on DCist:

“At first i wasn’t really thinking it was all that harmful,” Parsons says of the video. “I thought it was sort of playful, that it was Winstead’s opinion and of no legal consequence. But when it started to look like the video might be a problem for Comet, I thought, ‘Well. That sucks.’”

Adds Parsons, “I was concerned that my face was on this advert that might serve to hurt James [Alefantis, Comet owner]. It was not something that Karl or I were interested in being involved in.”

Read the rest of this entry »

On Tuesday, downtown D.C. nightclub Platinum surrendererd its Alcoholic Beverage Control license in a hearing in front of the ABC Board. Platinum, located at 915 F Street NW, is owned by Abdul Khanu, who also owns Southwest Waterfront club H20 Restaurant & Lounge. The decision has also put a chill on Khanu’s proposed third nightclub, The Big Chill.

According to a memo from Sgt. Joseph Massey of MPD’s 1st District, which covers the neighborhoods of both Platinum and H20:

At the end of hearing, Platinum surrendered their ABC license and officially closed for good. The ABRA board decided that Mr. Abdul Khanu can hold only one ABC license in the District of Columbia (currently H20). This action places a hold on the new establishment which Mr. Kahnu was attempting to open in the 5th District (The Big Chill).

Photo: The interior of the Bryan School, courtesy Lance Horsley

If you look carefully, you’ll notice a peculiar trend in D.C.: there are school buildings everywhere. Some are still operating in their original mode, while others now serve different functions. Take, for example, Joshua R. Giddings Elementary School—or as people call it these days “Results: The Gym” at 315 G St, Southeast. Or Franklin Pierce Elementary School, which is now an apartment building and occasional event venue.

Both sites are featured in “Capitol Hill Converted,” a new coffee table book by first-time author Kristen A. Dennis, a neighborhood resident. Dennis became interested in the transformation of various old educational facilities when she began looking for a public school for her young daughter. She couldn’t afford the private school options, and the area’s charter and public schools were either inaccessible or not up to her standards. Dennis ended up sending her daughter to Thomson Elementary at 1200 L Street, Northwest. But, over the course of her search, she became interested in the abundance of old converted DCPS buildings scattered throughout her neighborhood. (More pictures below.) Read the rest of this entry »

In a Post feature story out today on the semi-booming H Street (tagged with the lame headline: “H Is For Happening”), the writer leads with a description of the cheap sushi joint Sticky Rice. She sets the scene this way:

Rock music plays, and tattooed waiters with fashionable mullets work the dining room. In each of the two unisex bathrooms you can pick up a phone that calls the other bathroom, a strangely entertaining and potentially useful feature.

So what the hell is a fashionable mullet?

Sources tell LL that more than a dozen people were laid off last week from the Washington offices of MacFarlane Partners, the development company owned by San Francisco real-estate magnate Victor MacFarlane. MacFarlane also owns the D.C. United soccer squad and has been pushing a soccer stadium at Poplar Point in Anacostia since buying the team in early 2007.

The most telling casualty is Linda Mercado Greene, the former top aide to Ward 8 Councilmember Marion Barry who became MacFarlane’s VP for public affairs and community relations in the summer of 2006. Greene was a crucial connection in securing Barry’s support for the Poplar Point soccer stadium and convincing other leaders in Ward 8 to follow.

According to LL’s sources, the only executive remaining in D.C. for MacFarlane will be Dana Bryson, once a top aide to former city administrator Robert Bobb.

The downsizing comes at a crucial time, with three crucial elected officials—Mayor Adrian M. Fenty, Council Chairman Vincent C. Gray, and finance committee chair Jack Evans—all reticent to support the $225 million in public financing that MacFarlane has reportedly been seeking. Only Barry has been pushing hard to get a deal done, and with Greene out, it’s likely that will no longer be the case.

Meanwhile, investors and politicos in Maryland have been attempting to lure MacFarlane out of the District to sites in Howard and Prince George’s Counties.

It is unclear whether the layoffs were immediate; Greene’s assistant answered the phone at the company’s regional office on Connecticut Avenue this morning. Greene and other MacFarlane representatives have not returned repeated phone calls for comment.

UPDATE, 4:20 P.M.: MacFarlane spokesperson Julie Chase says Greene hasn’t been laid off, but rather that “her role has been moved.” The move in general, Chase says, isn’t a downsizing, but a “restructuring.” More to come.

UPDATE, 7:53 P.M.: The positions being cut, 14 of them, were not in the D.C. office only, Chase says, but also included the New York and San Francisco offices. As for Greene, she says, MacFarlane “no longer has a need for the role that Linda Greene was filling in D.C.,” which included responsibility for securing support for the soccer stadium. But Chase says that Greene has been offered a position with D.C. United itself “that would allow her to continue to focus on the team’s stadium in DC and Prince George’s County.”

The greener pastures of utility lobbying hold only so many charms, apparently: According to elections-board records, former Ward 5 Councilmember Vincent B. Orange Sr. has picked up ballot petitions for the District’s male slot on the Democratic National Committee.

Orange, who did not immediately return calls for comment, took a job as vice president for government affairs for Pepco in early 2007 after his failed 2006 mayoral run. Since then, Orange has been seen often around the John A. Wilson Building. A national party committeeman spot would be a perfect perch for Orange to hone his already razor-sharp political skills while still drawing a nice private-sector paycheck.

He’ll be running against Arrington Dixon, the former councilmember and Ward 8 businessman who has held down the national committeeman spot since 2000.

Orange’s run also means the District’s Democratic voters might have no fewer than three Pepco executives to choose from on their primary ballots. Besides Orange, Deborah M. Royster, Pepco’s deputy general counsel and president of the Ward 4 Dems, is running for the national committeewoman spot and Linda Jo Smith, a public-affairs representative for the company, is running for an at-large spot on the D.C. Democratic State Committee.

Pepco spokesperson Clay Anderson says the company has no problem with its employees’ civic aspirations: “We’re fine with people’s personal lives,” he says.

One wag LL recently consulted called an Orange-Royster-Smith ticket the “Vote for Us or We’ll Turn Off Your Power” slate.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

This afternoon, I was again stuck in the rain. At least this time, I could take refuge in my car before most of the big drops fell. But jeez, not 30 seconds into riding back to WCP from Congress Heights (where myself and our resident filmmaker were doing some on-location business for our upcoming neighborhoods issue), I noticed an already downed tree.

Thirty seconds into a thunderstorm and a dead tree.

The tree was a neighborhood tree. It wasn’t part of the National Mall. It had been planted along a row of squat red brick apartments. It had survived the crack epidemic, neglect, and piss-poor area schools. And now because of a quickie thunderstorm it was gone.

That’s pretty weak. I saw more scattered leaves, branches, and tree guts along MLK Ave. And near the on-ramp to 295, the limbs of another tree were blocking the road. Weak.

I thought to myself: “D.C. has some pretty weak-ass trees.” Trees: Please step it up.

Today’s Washington Post article about pro-life pharmacies refusing to dispense birth control pills and condoms, and ambulance drivers refusing to take women for abortions, raises important questions, like: Are women really taking ambulances to their abortions? I’ve never heard of that before.

I called American Medical Response—an ambulance company in Northeast—to ask if they’d ever heard of a woman being taken by ambulance to get an abortion. A dispatcher named Kiesha sounded flabbergasted at the suggestion.

“An ambulance? To get an abortion?” she said. “No, I’ve never heard of that.”

My sample of one having said her piece, I wonder—have you ever heard of anyone taking an ambulance to get an abortion? And if it turns out that no one takes ambulances to get abortions in the first place, does it matter if ambulance drivers are refusing to take women to their abortions?

I’ve still got my gay pride beads on from today’s rain-soaked parade. But here’s a question for the rest of the folks who lined 17th and P streets today: is it just me, or has Capitol Pride gone a little corporate?

The parade started with the Chief of Police and the Gay and Lesbian Liaison Unit, followed by Mayor Adrian Fenty, Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton and a smattering of Councilmembers. But then it seemed like one business after another.

Citibank, Verizon, Bloom Grocery Stores all participated in the parade. Southwest Airlines had one of the coolest and biggest floats all day (they even gave out inflatable airplane toys). You should have seen the woman on the Maid to Clean float gyrate.

The D.C. Cowboys were great, and PFLAG’s “I Love My Gay Son” signs always make me a little teary. And far be it from me to judge how a marginalized community celebrates itself. But it made me a little sad that the guys in leather were so far behind SunTrust Bank’s ATM puppet.

First, let me explain this strange, barely discernible image. The blue rectangle: that’s a pool. The green blobs: those are trees. The dark gray parts: asphalt, and the big intersection at the top left side of the picture is the crossing of 18th Street NW and Columbia Road in Adams Morgan.

Now that you have your bearings, let’s discuss that lined structure in the center: a boutique hotel occupying the space currently home to the Washington City Paper and Pacifica radio’s offices.

A hotel deal has been in the works for quite some time now, as we reported last fall. But, this spring, developer Brian Friedman has been making the rounds to various neighborhood associations to talk about his vision. Recently, the local advisory neighborhood commission endorsed the idea of the project, though members oppose the 90-foot height of the building, which would set a new precedent in the area. The Reed-Cooke Neighborhood Association took a similar stance.

“I’m in favor of the preservation of the building and the idea of a hotel. My problem is the bulk of it and the height of it. It would be asking Champlain Street to absorb an awful lot—the traffic, the cabs,” says Denis James, head of the Kalorama Citizens Association, who attended last week’s ANC meeting. James said he knew the height of the building was going to be a hot-button issue for his group, so he told developer Friedman to bring plenty of plans showing the size.

That, apparently, was a no-can-do.

“I met with him for two hours. I pointed out four or five different things. He didn’t bring any of them,” says James.

Of course, City Paper itself will not be affected by these concerns, should the hotel plan be approved. We will be gone—hopefully, in a funky converted warehouse in some part of town that is both Metro-accessible and not terribly conducive to random employee muggings. At least, that is the dream, says our real estate agent Susan Cohn.

Read the rest of this entry »

It’s thunderstorm season. I should know that. I’ve lived here forever. And yet, recently, I have often found myself stuck without an umbrella, covering head and shoulders with an old T-shirt or an old issue of this fine publication (the wider pages would have come in handy; the smaller edition just doesn’t cut it). I usually end up cursing the rain.

Screw you rain, I will say. Or worse.

During the last major T-storm, I was riding back to work on a Metro bus. We had just passed 14th and Irving Streets NW when the bus pulled over and idled. A minute passed. The rain beat hard on the bus roof. Ping. Ping. Ping. Finally, a man sweating through his undershirt hollered to the bus driver a serious what-the-hell-is-going-on!

The bus driver complained that the doors had stopped working. He couldn’t close the doors. He said he could close them but not through the authorized way. He had to call the home office.

The home office told him he had to wait for repairs. The rain started to sound a lot meaner. We could wait it out on the bus or leave. I left. I ended up running home—five long blocks—and getting soaked. Awesome.

Last night, I was all the way across town at the D.C. Jail when the rain hit. Can I confess something? I started to get scared. I thought about bailing, pulling over and waiting out the thunder and lightning around 10th and S Streets NW. I am genuinely freaked that a tree will topple onto my car and I will die. I kept thinking: Which are the ugly streets without old trees?

Thank God for the new Target complex. No old trees!

So I stuck with it and made it home and even found a parking space. I picked up an old hoodie from the trunk of my car, wrapped it around my head, and scampered home. My pants and backpack got soaked. But I was just glad to be home.