Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, Kennedy Center Concert Hall, Washington

The evening began with 2002's Prayers on the Edge, choreographed by Lynne Taylor-Corbett. It's the most narrative-driven piece. "Prayer for Rain" gives Matthew Rushing the opportunity to flaunt some powerful abdominal contractions. Peter Gabriel provided the music, thankfully with no vocals save some keening.

Next up is Ohad Naharin's Black Milk (1992), a slightly surreal initiation ceremony. To a xylophone scored by Paul Smadbeck, four and one men ritualistically dip into a pail and streak mud down their fronts. They dance a whirling dance, and their flowing cotton trousers suggest dervishes. The initiate thinks better of this, and dips into the pail again, this time drawing water which he uses to clean himself. It's an interesting piece, but it's one that must be followed by an intermission to give crew a chance to swab the deck.

Elisa Monte's Treading (1979) could have easily been named "Soaring," because the languid, yogic flexes that define this piece for one man and one woman suggest the easy flight of birds. Linda-Denise Fisher-Harrell and Clifton Brown are the stars. Music comes from Steve Reich's "Eighteen Musicians."

The evening closes with the company's money-spinner, Revelations, made by Ailey in 1960. I liked the condor arms of the opening dance, "I Been 'Buked." I also liked (and I don't usually go for props), the green and blue banners that suggest a flowing river in "Wade in the Water." I felt the echo of the fan-dance "You May Run On" in a dance that I saw in a student jazz dance recital ten years ago.

posted: 11:35:58 PM  

I had the most enjoyable afternoon and evening with Leta on Saturday!

Both of us are very busy (she's working on a show too), and she's just back from a trip. We really don't get to spend much time together, just dinner and movie about once a week.

We met in the early afternoon at the Freer Gallery. I got there ahead of her, after my volunteer reading stint in the morning, so I plotzed myself under an elm tree and watched the tourists pouring out of the Smithsonian metro station. (Tip: if at all possible, use the Independence Avenue entrance to this station, not the Mall entrance.) 'Twas warm, but a jacket was still useful.

Maybe it was the earliness of the season, or maybe it was the three orange-vested cops hanging around at the top of the escalators, but the usual clump of hustlers offering "free" maps in exchange for a handout wasn't there. (The cops must hate those "high-visibility" vests they have to wear on anti-terrorism duty. Makes 'em look like highway construction workers.)

As Leta arrived, a bagpiper was just getting set up, with his case opened for tips. Leta likes bagpipes.

We wandered around the Freer and the Sackler for a few hours. Then, we needed a snack, so I mentioned the snack bar next to the carousel down the block at Arts and Industries. Leta loves carousels. So we got her a ticket, and bless her heart, she did not insist that I ride with her. She said, "Your job is to wave as I go by." She got 20 turns around the carousel for her two bucks, and I snapped some pictures of her grinning away. Have I mentioned that I'm a softie for a beautiful smile?

For the evening, we had tickets for Sandra Tsing Loh's show at Woolly Mammoth in its Kennedy Center space. We rolled over to Raku in Dupont Circle, because there is virtually nowhere to get dinner near the big kleenex box. Raku is an "Asian diner" that I'd always walked past on the way to KramerBooks but had never visited, and we needed someplace with vegetarian choices for Leta, who is keeping veggie for the season. She tucked into a bowl of edamame, which turns out to be Japanese for "peel and eat peas." I had a nice bowl of sloppy noodles with spicy ground pork.

We saw the show, which had us back on the street at 9:30 (S.T.L. makes it a point that no one-woman show of hers runs more than 1 hour and 17 minutes). We walked out Pennsylvania Avenue to Georgetown, looking for dessert. We stopped at Bridge Street Books and pawed over the offerings on the table outside, the table of "buy it or steal it, matters not."

We washed up at Bistro Français, which was sufficient unto the task. My peach melba tasted a bit processed, but the port was fine. We talked about politics more than I would have liked, because even though we agree on most issues, talking politics usually gets me exasperated at what fools and scoundrels people are.

Ah yes, it began with the question of slot machines in Maryland. I think slot machines are vulgar and that they victimize the statistically challenged, but I'm beginning to think that the state should let people make their own mistakes when it comes to this. Of course, if Maryland put in slots, Virginia would find a way to follow, and nobody but the casino owners would find a way to profit.

About half past twelve, feeling quite the bon vivants (ahem), we walked back to Foggy Bottom station, rode out and shuffled the autos, and then found our way home.

I am still trying to catch up on sleep.

posted: 12:11:16 AM