Topics: Russ Likes Sex and The City, “Ultimate Washington Insider” SM Shrake, The Count Censored, Smartass Darth Vader, Going Acoustic and The Bon Jovi Effect, Night Ranger, RCRD LBL. Playlist: Ninja Gun, Sparky Dog.

Preview: “You may or may not know, but you can’t tell what a puppet is saying by reading its lips…”

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First of all, hiiii! I always like to give a warm Southern welcome to my readers, y’all! As some of you who follow my exploits know, I’m working like a rented mule to become the Ultimate Washington Insider (UWI), which is not easy when you’re looking down the barrel of the big Five-O, do not work anywhere near politics, have no skills professional or otherwise, and are a painfully shy introvert.

Part of my futile plan is to accept every invitation I get, within reason. (And to miss some events strategically, creating an impression of Shrake-scarcity. Oops, I just gave away my secret.) So on the last Sunday in June, I went with some girlfriends to see the saucy sex romp “Measure for Pleasure” at D.C.’s Woolly Mammoth Theatre. I spotted several frenemies there — every UWI needs frenemies — and also laughed when my friends snuck in some airplane-style mini-wines in their purses and drank during the show. D.C. is a big drinking town, case you didn’t know. We can’t even get through a two-hour play without some hooch.

Then we hit Proof for an après-théatre drinks-and-hors-d’oeuvres extravaganza. Just as I was telling my wallet to be brave, in walked a party wearing tuxes and fanciful cummerbunds (cummersbund?) and bowties, along with some girls. One had on a black felt fedora pulled down pretty far on his forehead. I immediately knew it to be my arranged lunch date for the following day: Spike from Top Chef. I had e-mailed him about a month previous to ask his zodiac sign. He responded, “I’m a Sagittarius, can’t you tell?”

Instead of running over and accosting him at Proof, I just turned back to my wines. But then Nature called. I went to the pissoir, and while I was in there someone came in. Being psychic, I thought, I’ll bet you it’s Spike. It was. We both tried to get the automatic faucets to work on the sink, then the automatic paper-towel dispenser. As we messed with those I said casually, UWI-style, “You’re Spike.” He said hi. I said, “I’m Scott. I’m coming to your [special, insiders-only, closed-to-the-public media preview] lunch thing tomorrow.” We shook hands and chatted for a while, then rejoined our groups out in the main (non-bathroom) room.

In our conversation it came out: It seems that not only is Spike helping his family open a new restaurant here, he has moved to my city.

Next day’s function: High-class luncheon. Food is served and you’re stone cold munchin’.

So, I arrive at Good Stuff Eatery (303 Pennsylvania Ave. SE, Washington, DC) and walk in. Loud ’90s music (see above) is blaring, Spike is wandering around, media folks are arriving per our appointment, we sign in. I introduce myself to some people (The Hill newspaper, Washingtonian magazine, Corks & Knives, local TV, Yelp are represented.) The girl takes our orders. I want a turkey burger; they’re offered on the real menu. NO DICE. Okay. Even though I don’t eat red meat, if Spike makes me a burger I’ll eat it, I want to be polite, and (sorry, Jeff!) a little beef won’t kill me…

We eat. It is good stuff.

What I want to talk about in the rest of this post is not the food, because I’m not qualified to do that. I just eat for sustenance.

I want to talk about reality-show celebrity, its value and meaning.

There’s something about “ordinary” people being on reality-TV shows that gives them ideas. I remember back in about 1993, running into that long-haired guy from the first season of MTV’s The Real World at Gusaline Alley, a bar in Royal Oak, MI (he was from Detroit), and one of my female friends went up to him and said hi and he was like, “Hi, I’m [X... can't remember his name! -SS] from the Real World.” And she turned on him suddenly (viciously) and said in a bored voice, “Oh, really? That’s nice.” And walked away.

They’re not famous-for-being-famous, exactly. They’re famous in the way every single one of us is famous now. As a famous (in the same way) blogger told me, “We’re all famous on the Internet.” But at least the competition show people can do something (cook, cut hair, design interiors, model, sing/dance). Jayne Mansfield, they’re not.

When I first watched this last season of Top Chef, I decided Spike was my favorite based on the look in his eyes. Now he’s my neighbor, practically. Coincidence? No, fate. Earlier this year I was seeing Sara from ANTM Cycle 6 so much in the block around my office that I wanted to buy her coffee at the Starbucks.

Spike’s sister/PR person freely admitted that the concept for this restaurant (which they want to franchise) was set before Spike even appeared on Top Chef. It’s not his “vision.” He is helping out the family enterprise by lending his “celebrity” to their restaurant, as well as some ideas.

His family already lived here. But when asked by media people, “Why D.C.?,” he gave lip service to it being the next big food city, etc. But he’s really just here to be with the fam, and I think that’s cool.

For D.C. denizens, it will be a kick in the pants to go into Good Stuff and see Spike. We take the celebrities we can get in this town. And learn to do without the rest.

Several of Spike’s Top Chef co-contestants (and maybe Padma!) are slated to appear at a “red-carpet event” at the Eatery on Bastille Day, July 14. Interesting. I like how the Top Chef kids seem to be going around helping each other out. I do! Former competitors, now just fellow chefs trying to make it with their fleeting boost from Bravo! and reality TV.

Maybe I’ll go to that event, too. With my borrowed digital camera. I want the turkey burger this time, though.

I forgot to write about this, but did you guys know I saw Karl Rove on the street in Georgetown? My archenemy?

He should get his own reality show.

Oh, wait, he already has. It’s called the catastrophe of the last 8 years.

Signing off now,

Love you,

Mean it,

SHRAKE

Read more SM SHRAKE at You Wanna Know What? and The Shrake-tionary.