Racing on 17th Street in Very High Heels
In the grand scope of things, Hearsay realizes that the annual 17th Street High Heel Race, March & Demolition Derby pales in comparison to the signing of the Hate Crimes Bill into law by President Barak “Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia!” Obama, yet Hearsay must report on what it knows best and, well, what it knows best has little to do with politics and a lot more to do with feeling for lumps in the crotches of other men. And Hearsay must report that last night’s High Heel Race along the 17th Street corridor was one of the biggest ever. And it went off without so much as a hitch (or a clasp, if you happen to be carrying a clutch), all the more impressive considering the changes made to this year’s event. JR.’s Bar & Grill’s manager Dave “Super Mario” Perruzza, the festive madman behind the logistics of the annual run in women’s wear, reported that inverting the race’s starting and finish lines worked like a wet dream. And so, a new and improved tradition is born.
There were the usual suspects cavorting along the street prior to the 9 p.m. race, all playing to the massive crowds. Hearsay was particularly struck by the gargantuan “let’s play dress-up” effort undertaken by the DC Cowboys. These guys who already look good as guys also look pretty darn good as gals. And gals with individualized sashes to boot! Maybe the boys should incorporate a few feathers into their rawhide act and rename themselves the DC Plowboys. (Hearsay doesn’t know exactly what that means — it just wanted to write the word Plowboys.)
Those who partook in the costumed ritual ran the gamut from wildly overblown and insanely elaborate to simple yet sophisticated to plop on a store bought wig and smear on some of mother’s cheap lipstick. Hearsay was amazed by the overall ingenuity on hand, super-duperly so by the “We’re Good With Glue Guns” trio who concocted elaborate get-ups honoring Cats, Wicked and that show that brings the sun out in us all, Annie. (But, alas, no Sondheim!) Hearsay could be wrong about this but the always-popular Princess Di and her entourage of protectors appeared to be no shows. Perhaps Di was disguised as someone else? But who might that be? Hearsay was infinitely amused by the amusing crew who called themselves Cash for Clunkers and sported hubcaps for hats. Finally, every year people dress up as Batman and Robin, but this year, Batman was toting a Robin not comprised of flesh and blood, but one made of plastic and filled with hot (or at least warmish) air. Yes it was an adult services Robin. Hearsay wanted to tell Robin to shut his tauntingly gaping mouth but quickly realized that would defeat the entire purpose and so made a quick deposit instead.
Despite the inclement weather, the race was jam-packed with hopefuls. And the winner was… disqualified. Seems that the pink-wigged gent crossed the line in his stocking feet (Hearsay has foto finish proof, courtesy Metro Weekly photographer Ward “Cleaver” Morrison). The young man, whose name was never revealed to Hearsay, claimed to have lost his heels long the way. The event’s de facto hostess, Lena “Short ‘N Sassy” Lett said “Sorry, buddy, but it’s called a high heel race for a reason. Anyone can run without heels and cross the finish line first.” Which left a startled (and very ecstatic) first runner-up to be named the official winner of this year’s race. He’s a cute bearded cub boy named Daniel “Blah Blah” Blah, and he wore a fetching turquoise dress and svelte silver heels but no girlish wig (he lost his hairpiece along the route, but there’s no regulation about crossing the finish line wigless — it’s not called a Big Wig Race, after all). So congratulations Mr. Blah, if that indeed your real name, there’s definitely nothing blah about your super-human abilities in pumps. Enjoy your new logo-festooned orange shirt.
More photographs coming soon to Metroweekly.com and in tomorrow’s print edition.
Watch Metro Weekly’s 2009 High Heel Race video below or click here.
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