Moe at Jezebel points out the oh-gosh politics and journalism cross in strange ways news that Andrea Mitchell won’t let her hubby Alan Greenspan spend any time alone with his one-time snuggle bunny, Barbara Walters. Moe thinks our generation of women is more comfortable with sharing past partners. I think she’s right, for the most part. Especially in incestuous fields like journalism and politics, it’s sort of inevitable. And if you’re not totally dependent on dudes for your sense of self-worth, you won’t waste your time wondering if your girlfriend gave that one dude something you couldn’t. Mitchell’s situation is a bit different, since she is still in possession of said dude, and since Babs is so freaky. But, still, she should loosen the reigns a bit.

By now, you may have heard of the legal troubles of one James L. Walls Jr., the mayor of District Heights, Md., who was arrested for soliciting a male undercover cop for prostitution early Thursday morning.

Fun fact: Mere hours before Walls was arrested near Verizon Center, he had been hanging out with Ward 7 Councilmember Yvette Alexander at a community meeting in the Prince George’s County burg of Fairmount Heights, where Walls serves as town administrator.

What was Alexander doing across the District line? She had planned to attended a community meeting in her ward, but a scheduling snafu meant that didn’t happen. So she decided to check out the Fairmount Heights meeting and work on those interjurisdictional relations a bit. There, she met Walls.

LL learned of this when he ran into Alexander at the Wilson Building yesterday—before the Walls scandal broke. At that time, Alexander referred to Walls as “an amazing individual.”

When Alexander learned of Walls’ arrest later in the day, she called LL. “I can’t believe this!” she exclaimed between guffaws. “We were just talking about the prostitution on Eastern Avenue.”

LL inquired whether there were any outward signs that Walls might have been on the prowl. Says Alexander, “He had some fancy brown-and-white shoes on.”

Want to share medical information with past sexual someones, but just can’t find the words to say? Say it in an e-card! Internet Sexuality Information Services has developed inSPOT— short for “Internet Notification Service for Partners or Tricks”—to help bring pesky STD chats into the realm of belated birthdays and “just because” dancing GIFs. InSPOT provides a variety of virtual cards (Slate’s got screenshots of the e-offerings) complete with cute little phrases like “I got screwed while screwing, you might have too,” “Sometimes there are strings attached,” and “Got laid. Was happy. Got tested. Wasn’t healthy.”

As you might imagine, there are right ways and wrong ways to send an STD notification e-card. According to InSPOT, “If you decide to compose a personal message, put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Think about how you were told—what you liked and what you didn’t—and put the best of it into words.” Furthermore, “You can send postcards anonymously or from your email address. Historically, when you tell a sex partner(s) yourself, it’s more likely s.he will ‘hear’ the message and get tested.”

I’m all for making STD notification easier, and if this e-card system helps people take the initiative to get tested, I think that’s great. Still, please do not send me one of these e-cards. First of all, as the e-card subject line reads “e-card from a concerned friend re: your health — via inSPOT,” it’s probably heading straight to my Spam folder, along with p3n1s enlargement notes and overseas investment opportunities. Second, I fear that the “anonymous” feature may encourage the grade school community to abuse the inSPOT system for its own amusement. Finally, while I accept the witless drivel of the e-card on throwaway holidays, I’d really prefer it not be used to impart important information concerning my reproductive system.

Take one inSPOT e-card for example (perfect for the journalist!). It reads: “Who? What? When? Where? It doesn’t matter. I got an STD; you might have it too. Please get checked out.” Actually, it does matter. And these oversized emoticons aren’t helping.

You know the fifty-color fliers and postcards good neighbors leave on your windshield? The ones inviting you to those exclusive afterhours parties and special events? The ones that would make Luther Campbell nod in approval?

While I’m not sure who actually responds to this spam and goes to these things, I do know that they constitute an annoyance. How many of these cards have I tossed into the backseat of my car? Too many!

It’s not a shock that people have complained. Southwest residents have been up in arms over them for a while. They’ve started calling them “Booty Cards.” Kinda perfect.

And they got Councilmember Tommy Wells‘ attention. After months of effort, Wells—along with the D.C. attorney general’s office—has been able to at least banish one company from distributing them. Wells, in a press release, calls this a “partial victory” for Southwest residents—and D.C. citizens in general.

Although he considered them pornographic, Wells knew he couldn’t fight them on indecency issues. Instead, his office went after the company over the trash they produce. A smart move!

-”This is just one battle in a much larger effort,” explains Wells’ Chief of Staff Charles Allen.

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Last week, the Post published an investigation by resident gender expert/increasingly irrelevant old person Laura Sessions Stepp on the effects of women’s empowerment on child-rearing. In order to engage Stepp a bit, let’s ignore the fact that she’s missed this issue by a decade or three and just skip on to her central question: With women now succeeding in the workforce as if they were men or something, “Who will take care of their children?”

Stepp keeps the queries coming: “Will women continue to run themselves ragged trying to be boss at work, full-time caregiver at home and on call for either obligation day and night?” Stepp asks. “Or will they look to their mates, who, should projections hold, may not be putting in as many hours at work as they?”

Stepp’s answers aren’t as important as her questions. Do we really need to continue to ask them? Can we not assume that women, men, childcare professionals, and villages will raise our youth while these crazy kids buy into this new trend of women succeeding in the workplace? Maybe Stepp, 56, is operating under some outdated assumptions here. To wit:

None of this is easy. We’re talking about changing habits of thought that go back to the days when women tended children in caves while their mates were out catching game and fighting off intruders.

Now, women are leaving the cave in increasing numbers and some men get nervous thinking women may one day lead the pack. Could it be that as men tiptoe back into the cave, we women worry that they’ll eventually take over?

Ah, leaving the cave: our eternal struggle. Allow me to suspend my rudimentary cave drawing for a moment to posit this question on the complex series of information tubes that we in the modern world refer to as the Internet: Why always with the babies?

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A couple of days ago, things seemed to be looking up for Kristen: “Girls Gone Wild” founder Joe Francis had offered Ashley Alexandra Dupre one million dollars to appear in a Girls Gone Wild magazine spread and tour video–no sex or nudity required! But Francis rescinded the offer yesterday when Girls Gone Wild staff discovered that Dupre had already stripped for a Girls Gone Wild tape–or seven.

“It’ll save me a million bucks,” Francis told The Associated Press on Tuesday. “It’s kind of like finding a winning lottery ticket in the cushions of your couch.”

Are there no true Cinderella stories? These have to be the saddest two sentences I’ve read in recent memory:

According to a “Girls Gone Wild” press release, Dupre visited Miami in 2003 to celebrate her 18th birthday. After fighting with a friend and getting thrown out of her hotel, Dupre found a nearby “Girls Gone Wild” bus, the company said.

AP’s got the (censored) video.

A young woman I’m acquainted with just started a Facebook group dedicated to outing her ex boyfriend as a lying cheating bastard. It’s called “I hate *** ***” and has five members so far. Now the scorned lady seems to have some good reasons for being upset with the guy in question, also an acquaintance of mine. He went on an exotic vacation with an ex, lied about it, reunited with the current girlfriend and then posted pics of the steamy trip (clear water, bikini, frolicking) on, you guessed it, Facebook.

She explains:

So, look I know this group is ridiculous and immature and really classless, but I just cannot get over how unfairly this ended. I am over ****, I’m just not over the disrespect, you know?

You don’t have to actually hate *** to join this group cause let’s face he is pretty adorable and he is pretty great to go to a party with.

The only intention of this group is that *** maybe has to endure a couple of awkward conversations. Like what if a bunch of people went up to *** and were like “You got [scorned lady] pregnant? What the fuck?” That would be a pretty fun conversation.

Anyway, yeah, I think there is beauty in the breakdown and I kinda’ just want to see what life is like if I live totally impulsively. Good things come from bad situations right? And, besides I am about as dramatic as it gets anyway. Me and Britney…

Yeah, well. I think only bad things can come from this situation. It isn’t very nice and it could lead to even less nice developments, for *** and the rest of us. If I were a lying, cheating bitch, I certainly wouldn’t want to be called out on the internet. What about false accusations? Maybe *** is really innocent. I think this is the bad ending I feared from another Facebook group scandal in Portland, Ore. My friend Beth wrote an awesome story about a group, called “Morgan Shaw-Fox is a Piece of Shit Rapist.” It concerned a student at Lewis & Clark college, who several people suspected of being a piece of shit rapist. Problem was, they didn’t go to the police first. Some of my friends thought the group was a good idea, a viable choice in a society where women’s claims of rape often don’t stand up in court. And that’s a good point. But I really, really think the whole rule of law thing is still more important. Right?

Kudos to the New York Times for digging into Spitzer prostitute Ashley Alexandra Dupré’s MySpace page and coming up with this gem:

On the Web page is a recording of what she describes as her latest track, “What We Want,” a hip-hop-inflected rhythm-and-blues tune that asks, “Can you handle me, boy?” and uses some dated slang, calling someone her “boo.”

But the Times missed the real draw of Dupré’s site: the user comments. What do you say when your online acquaintance is revealed as a prostitute? Whatever it is, it’s probably in all caps. The highlights:

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You may have heard of D.C.-based freelance writer (and former City Paper writer/editor) Charlotte Allen: She wrote that thing about how women are (spoiler alert) “kind of dim.” Needless to say, a lot of people didn’t like it. Yesterday, Allen was kind enough to meet up with me to talk about the Post piece, the Clinton campaign, and why women are good at tending for the weak and the old (sign me up!).

Here are some excerpts:

CP: You’ve certainly gotten quite a response from the piece. What do you think of the responses?

CA: Well, I thought [Post Ombudsman Deborah Howell's] position was essentially ridiculous. She was saying that women are such frail flowers that nobody can make a joke about them, including other women, which is just absurd. You know, we’re half the population.

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Did Spitzer do high-priced hooker in D.C.? From NY Times story: “The governor’s travel records show that he was in Washington in mid-February. One of the clients described in court papers arranged to meet with a prostitute who was part of the ring, the Emperors Club VIP on the night of Feb. 13….Mr. Spitzer appeared on a CNBC television show at 7 a.m. the next morning. Later in the morning, he testified before a Congressional committee.”

In this week’s Show & Tell, I profile Jae Ellis (pictured) and Allen Bickoff, childhood friends who overcame broken engagements, college sexual dry spells, and crippling “nice guy syndrome” to become Reston’s resident romance experts. Ellis and Bickoff are co-founders of AskRomeo.com, a dating and relationship advice outfit that helps (so far, only heterosexual) men and (yes, sometimes even) women find dates through group seminars, private coaching sessions, and, in extreme cases, week-long sleepovers in the pair’s Reston apartment.

Though AskRomeo.com markets its services to both men and women, their advice tends toward the masculine–dragon-slaying, fire-fighting, Top Gun masculine. Indeed, 80 percent of AskRomeo’s one-on-one clients are men. “Being men, a lot of the stuff that we put together comes from a male perspective,” says Bickoff. “We were never women that needed help, so we don’t know what that transformation is like.”

Michael Karlan, whose social networking site Professionals In The City partners with AskRomeo.com to provide its relationship courses to local singles, agrees that AskRomeo.com “tends to be a more male-centered event.” But Bickoff says they’re working on it: Bickoff, Ellis, and their female instructors are currently conducting research for a female-specific curriculum.

A preview, after the jump:

(Photo by Darrow Montgomery)

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Stetson’s Bar and Grill on U St. is covered with these ads for LifeStyles condoms (up-and-coming frat house decorators can click for a free poster). The ad series features pictures of half-naked ladies along with tags that describe each girl’s particular “lifestyle”: from “Spontaneous” to “Naughty,” “Impulsive” to “Ready-to-Go.”

These “lifestyles,” of course, suggest the way that the girls like to have sex. Fine. But they also, obviously, play off the name of the condoms, which is why the above ad, situated directly across from the toilet in Stetson’s upstairs bathroom, rubbed me the wrong way. I don’t mind that the girl with the undersized tanktop on the washing machine enjoys a dirty “lifestyle.” The implication that she enjoys a dirty LifeStyle, though, is significantly less sexy.

For this week’s paper, I wrote a story on the Sex Workers’ Art Show, a touring cabaret-style showcase that brings prostitutes, strippers, and porn actors off the pole, out of bed, and onto the stage. The show presented a twist on the age old question: What is (sex) art?

In the story, I quote porn performer Lorelei Lee, who says that while filming porn can feel like working the assembly line or flipping burgers at a fast food joint, it can also achieve meaningful expression. For Lee, porn DVDs can be art.

Fine. But the Sex Workers’ Art Show seems to want all sex industry wage earners to be considered “sex artists.” I’d submit that they are “sex artisans.” Sex workers are skilled in their craft. That doesn’t mean they’re creating art, necessarily. As Lee suggests, sex workers can be artists. But factory workers and hamburger makers can be artists, too.

Where does one draw the line between sex art and sex craft? Ponder that while checking out our NSFW audio slideshow of burlesque performer and Sex Workers’ Art Show participant Dirty Martini devouring money and then pulling it out of her ass. Naked.

I couldn’t help but notice the photo in the Post of the photographer at City Paper. It’s meta Darrow! Can you spot him??

Also noticeable: It’s harder than a rubber dildo to cover the Sex Workers Art Show and still abide by the vanilla rules of a mainstream newspaper. To wit:

“At the same time, it is very much about, well . . . that word.” (Translation: fucking)

“One performer, dancing to ‘God Bless the U.S.A.,’ pulls a chain of dollar bills from a place money should never be saved.” (Translation: her asshole)

Stay-tuned for the full-on, noneuphemized version from CP’s Show & Tell columnist, Amanda Hess, who has done her post-show homework about the artistes.

There’s an interesting debate over at Jezebel about the subject of this week’s cover story, Ameenah Franks, a young mother from DC who got really good at stealing from highly-secured federal office buildings. She charmed her way into places like the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and stole cash from people’s purses and desk drawers. Franks told me she chose to steal because she wanted to keep her family together. She had a husband and, by age 20, four children.

Some of the commenters think she was recklessly irresponsible for having so many children, and make caustic comments like: “another case in favor of forced sterilization.” That really took me by surprise. Obviously, Franks might have had an easier life if she didn’t have children so young. But teen pregnancy isn’t just about personal responsibility. It’s about culture and education and a whole complicated stew of factors that don’t necessarily make sense if you were brought up knowing you’d have a real shot at a stable life. Think how hard it would have been for her, living very much on the periphery, to have gotten birth control pills. And she was married. Doesn’t Bush think marriage + babies = the cure to poverty?

One thing we cut from the article was the story of how Franks first got pregnant. I think it says a lot about the state of sex ed in this country.

When Franks first started dating her future husband, she told him she didn’t want to have sex until after they got married. But she was in love with him and, like anyone, wanted physical intimacy. So she let him rub his penis against her vagina until he came, never letting him go in all the way. She thought it was safe. She didn’t realize she was pregnant until after he’d left for boot camp.

Franks was obviously smart, but she made decisions that seem pretty stupid from the outside. I think the interesting thing here is the fact that someone can have the intellectual capacity to succeed and still fail. If you focus only on her personal responsibility for screwing up, you miss all the other confusing, argument-starting stuff, like education and health care and poverty and race.

I think it also comes through in the story that Franks didn’t steal just to support her family. She got a thrill out of being good at something. Doesn’t make it right in any way — but it is interesting.