a&e features
William Shatner’s message for LGBTQ fans: ‘Keep on queerin’
World’s largest Star Trek convention features cosplay, queer stars
LAS VEGAS — STLV, the annual Star Trek Las Vegas convention — hosted by Creation Entertainment — this month brought together fans of all ages, abilities, and affections for the many incarnations of the 59-year-old science fiction franchise, from the original TV series to new streaming shows and online games.
Boldly going among them were dozens, if not hundreds, of LGBTQ Trekkies and Trekkers alike, living the ideal that predates DEI by more than 50 years: An anagram that Trek creator Gene Roddenberry devised as the basis of Vulcan philosophy (as well as an early merchandising opportunity).
I.D.I.C.
“‘Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations,’” TrekCulture podcaster Seán Ferrick told the Los Angeles Blade. “This is the type of community that is tailor-made for embracing,” said Ferrick, who identifies as pansexual. “The truth is a lot of the world doesn’t do that.”
Ferrick traveled from Wexford County, Ireland, to attend what he called “the biggest Star Trek convention of the year on the planet,” and to judge a cosplay competition.
“They might be wearing Vulcan ears or they might have Ferengi teeth or something, but this is a tailor-made community about spreading love and joy,” he said. “So, when I walk into something like this, what I see is, for a large part, the world as it should be. There is hope out there. I stand at something like this and I see nothing but hope.”
This was the first Star Trek convention this reporter has attended since 1978, and some things have not changed. There was a huge amount of Trek-related merchandise for sale, from tribbles to jewelry and model spaceships. Actor and first-time author Nana Visitor of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine sold out copies of her groundbreaking book about the women in front of the camera and behind the scenes of the franchise, Open a Channel: A Woman’s Trek. And the only people who stood out in the crowd of thousands were the ones not wearing a costume. Three fans put together amazing Vulcan outfits that will appear in an episode that has not even streamed yet, just based on what they saw in a trailer. Some folks even dressed up their dogs.
David’s homemade Starfleet uniform resembles a miniskirt but is called a skant. Male actors as well as women wore them on Star Trek: The Next Generation, and he was hardly the only man wearing one at STLV.
“There is nowhere else I would probably walk around in a dress,” he said. “I came last year for the first time and this was the most comfortable I’ve felt.” That was especially true, given that on this day, the temperature reached a high of 109 degrees in Las Vegas.
David is a gay man from Sheffield in Northern England who said he used to call Los Angeles home. He described his skant as “Pride for Star Trek” and was gratified by the reception of other convention-goers to his cosplay.
“There’s just no judgment. No matter whether someone’s costume looks really homemade, whether it’s really professional, everyone still appreciates that you’re part of the fandom.”
Peeved at Paramount
Judgment, however, was on the minds of some stars who identify as LGBTQ. They talked with the Los Angeles Blade about their fears that Skydance’s purchase of Paramount, the company that produces Star Trek, would change the franchise’s legendary embrace of diversity, to further appease the Trump administration as it works to eliminate DEI.
“We only have to look at the parent network of this series alone, where Star Trek lives now, where they have bent the knee in order to sell this studio to a right-wing, Trump-loving owner,” said out gay actor Wilson Cruz, who played one of the first out gay characters in the franchise in Star Trek: Discovery and was a trailblazer when he played Rickie Vasquez on My So-Called Life. Cruz was blunt in his criticism of the Paramount sale to Skydance.
“Shari Redstone had no problem selling out the entire company and everyone who works there, and all of the people who have been on screen representing people of color, the LGBTQ community,” said Cruz. “She has completely turned her back in order to keep her family richer than they ever need to be.”
Cruz is also worried for queer representation in the current era, and not just on Trek.
“I think in this moment in history, it means a lot more to me now than it even meant eight months ago, which it meant a lot to me then, but given the fact that we’re going to start seeing less and less of us on TV, we’re being erased,” he said. “And because we are being erased, because we are being shamed again, it’s really important to celebrate the success of the representation that we have had, to remind people why it’s important for people to be able to see themselves, to have their lives mirrored back at them, to inspire them through our stories, that that kind of storytelling has value and relevance and has even more relevance today.”
In between signing autographs, Cruz voiced gratitude for the fans who say his portrayals reflected their lived experiences.
“I’m incredibly moved every time somebody comes by, whether they’re talking about Rickie Vasquez or Hugh Culber, that I’ve been able to give people a voice and a story that they can identify with that makes them feel like they belong, in a moment where there’s so little of that.”
“I’m very fortunate to be part of two major things,” said Cruz’s Discovery costar, out gay actor Anthony Rapp. “Rent and Star Trek have these profound communities of fans around them. I say ‘fan.’ I mean, it’s not a word that I have any animosity toward. But it doesn’t quite speak to the level of connection to these pieces of art.”
As for the deal Cruz railed against, Rapp said it was “too upsetting to engage too much.”
“I’m on a little bit of a media brown-out because of having two toddlers. I’m certainly aware that Colbert was canceled, which is very upsetting. I heard Wilson mention something about Trump getting them to agree on a certain kind of media coverage,” he said, referring to the installation of an ombudsman, “who will receive and evaluate any complaints of bias or other concerns” at CBS News, according to The Hollywood Reporter. “I mean, that’s insane.”
Out actors Cruz and Rapp, who appeared on Star Trek: Discovery from 2017 until 2024, were among the more than 100 actors and creative types on hand who gained fame thanks to Trek and other sci-fi projects. They joined iconic fan favorites William Shatner, Scott Bakula, Kate Mulgrew, Jeri Ryan and Edward James Olmos — all of whom played captains of various fictional starships — in meeting their fans, face to face, for a price.
Those fans, dressed in every conceivable and even inconceivable cosplay creations, stood for hours in long lines for a signed autograph and to pose for photos with their heroes. They packed ballrooms to hear behind-the-scenes stories at a wide variety of panel discussions and presentations. The best seats cost $1,400, with photos and autographs costing anywhere from $25 to $300 apiece.
Meeting the Captain

This reporter was next in line to ask Shatner a question at his one and only appearance on stage, as he rhapsodized at length about nature, the planet, and beyond.
“We all belong to each other, and all of us belong to the rest of existence, the world, the universe,” said Shatner. “We are linked chemically and electronically with the word ‘quantum’ attached to it. ‘Quantum’ is the study of the small particles called atoms. We should all never forget the awesomeness, the incredible forces that we have no idea about that work everywhere in the universe. It also suggests that we are caretakers of our earth and we must, without question, care for the water, the air, the earth.”
It was at that point that the 94-year-old actor decided to end his hour-long talk, 10 minutes early. So, unable to ask him a question, I joined a queue with hundreds of attendees, who paid to have a moment with the original Captain James T. Kirk. There he was, seated on a chair at the end of the queue, as a fast-moving assembly line of fans stood by him for a very quickly posed photograph, and swiftly moved along.
I had literally just enough time to utter one sentence, and so I asked him, “What message do you have for queer Trek fans?”
“Keep on queerin’!” said Shatner, with a smile captured in a photograph.
That was a welcome message for two groups that celebrated their marginalized status in society: The Lambda Quadrant and the SyFy Sistas.
Tamia, the SyFy Sistas podcast host, spoke at their panel about how in the past, there was backlash directed at Black fans, at “people that look like us and didn’t want us in the room,” she said. “That’s not what Star Trek is about. But I think it’s changing.”
“Many, many people come up to us at the table and say that historically they have not felt comfortable expressing their full and true selves, even here in the fandom,” said Ursa Wright of the Lambda Quadrant, a group dedicated to promoting queer representation in fandom. “We are the one table in the whole place with big rainbows everywhere. So, people, for a long time, they come up and they tell us they did not actually feel safe. Like, they can wear their Star Trek outfit, but nothing overtly expresses that they would be gay, or whatever it is, because they still didn’t feel comfortable, because no one else was in the space doing the thing. Which, in our year of the Lord, how are we still there, where people feel that?”
Boldly LGBTQ
The Blade asked queer fans what Star Trek means to them.
“Accepting everyone,” said Sarah from Southern California. “Everybody is who they are.”
“Being free,” said Rachel from Nebraska. “To express anything and everything.”
“Togetherness,” added David who hails from Nova Scotia.
Boyfriends Anthony and Ryan said “acceptance” and “tolerance.”
“Star Trek is what this world needs to strive for,” said Tom Noe of Pleasanton, Calif., a straight ally whose partner is pansexual. “Acceptance of all races, sexualities, regardless of what they are.”
“It is a different way of looking at the world, and I appreciate that,” said Jess from Upstate New York. She was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a rainbow and the face of an omnisexual alien character from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, and the words, “Friend of Garak.” When asked why she chose to wear that top, Jess said, “Because I’m gay.”
“Sounds Gay, I’m In,” was the message on a shirt worn by a gay fan from New Jersey who asked to be identified as Sandra. “Because here is the only place I feel safe to be out. I’m not out with my family or my co-workers,” she said. “Star Trek makes me feel like there is hope that eventually I can live free. But I don’t know how it’s going to happen in the next couple of years.”
“Let’s just say I have not been able to go to the entire convention without seeing a Trump hat,” said Kyla, an out transgender nonbinary fan who was visiting Las Vegas from just outside Sacramento. They said didn’t feel comfortable using the casino hotel’s strictly binary restrooms without an escort. “But I have felt more safe here than I have on the strip,” she conceded.
“We have nonbinary characters. We have same-sex characters and relationships, and we need more of that,” said a pansexual fan who goes by the nickname Hoops. “As the kids would say, Star Trek is very woke. Like, it just means you have a heart and, like, compassion,” she said.
“There’s so much hate and so much bigotry and homophobia and transphobia. All of that,” said Hoops. “We’re just here to care about other people. And we just want to love other people. And why do you care who someone’s in love with or who someone takes care of? Or how they identify? What they’re wearing? If they’re wearing a skirt or pants? Does it really matter what path they’re taking? And in Star Trek, nobody cares about any of that.”
TrekTech
STLV also offered fans a chance to explore strange new immersive tech that allows them to virtually tour the Starship Enterprise, created by OTOY and The Roddenberry Archive.
“We think about this stuff a lot,” said OTOY CEO Jules Urbach about LGBTQ+ representation in his digital exploration of the franchise, which started with the first film in 1979 and only grew after he became childhood friends with Roddenberry’s son, Rod, 40 years ago. “It’s really part of representing everything. And that’s a big part of Star Trek.”
OTOY’s latest short film reunites two iconic characters using “digital masks:” Kirk visits Spock’s deathbed in “765874: Unification,” with actors Sam Witwer and Lawrence Selleck in the roles originated by William Shatner and the late Leonard Nimoy, respectively.
“This is pretty magical,” Urbach told the Blade. “We’re really happy with how it turned out and how people interpreted it.”
At star-studded panels, fans watched that short film and also learned of new shows in the pipeline and potential new movies. Next month, Paramount debuts a new audio drama podcast that tells the untold story of arch villain Khan Noonien Singh’s life in exile, featuring the voices of Naveen Andrews, best known for his role in Lost, and of gay icon George Takei, among others.
“It’s never far from the minds of the people creating these shows that how important representation is, how vital it is,” Kirsten Beyer, executive producer of Star Trek: Khan and a nine-year veteran Trek producer and writer, told the Los Angeles Blade in a phone interview following the convention. “And never, ever more so than now.”
Queer Stars, Allies
During a panel discussion with her out queer costar Jess Bush, Celia Rose Gooding of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds told the Blade she’s hoping to see more LGBTQ representation in the show, now in its third season streaming on Paramount+.
“As a queer person, I would love to see more of it,” said Gooding, who plays Uhura and is preparing to film the fifth and final season starting next month. “I can neither confirm nor deny what we’re going to get because we haven’t seen a single script yet. But I think for so many reasons, it’s important for marginalized group to see themselves in the future.”
“I’m a Greenwich Villager, so the LGBTQ world is my world, and it’s our world,” said Michelle Hurd, who played Raffi on Star Trek: Picard. In the series finale, written and directed by showrunner and LGBTQ ally Terry Matalas, Raffi is portrayed as the bisexual first officer who had a relationship with her bisexual captain, Seven of Nine, played by actress Jeri Ryan. “We’ve been here, we haven’t gone, we’re not going anywhere, and we’re going to be here until the end of time. And art is the way that we can convey those sort of stories. I hope that we continue to tell those stories more and I hope that this world continues to open its eyes, its arms, its hearts to the fact that love is love is love is love.”
Out gay actor and author Jonathan Del Arco — who played a Borg who became an individual named Hugh in both Picard and originally on The Next Generation — chose the convention to launch his children’s book about the search for belonging, identity and acceptance, Freddy the Alien. He told the Blade it was inspired by both his own childhood and his Trek career, and about the timing as immigration raids are in the news.
“It’s a really important time to make kids feel included, and it’s tough,” said Del Arco, who attended the convention with his husband, Kyle Fritz. “We live in Los Angeles, and you can’t help but be surrounded by the immigrant experience, so you don’t even need the book to have that conversation. It’s happening all around,” he said.
In a panel discussion, Del Arco revealed that although nothing was written about Hugh’s orientation, he chose to play him as having fallen in love with Evan Evagora’s character, Elnor,
“I decided when I found out I was getting killed, and I had this young man on the ship, I figured it would be kind of cool if Hugh had found love for the first time, only to die. And he did.”
Andrew Robinson played a Cardassian named Garak on Deep Space Nine and confirmed to the Blade he “always” considered his character was something other than heterosexual, such as an omnisexual, even though his orientation was never revealed in the series. However, in 2024, he played Garak once more, in an episode of the animated series Star Trek: Lower Decks, created by LGBTQ+ ally Mike McMahan. This time his character was in a same-sex relationship with Dr. Julian Bashir, played by Alexander Siddig.
“I’ve never played an alien before,” said Robinson. “And one of the things that occurred to me was, there are certain hang-ups that they don’t have that we have. And one of them was the whole thing about sexual identity.”
Terry Farrell, who played Jadzia Dax on Deep Space Nine, spoke about a 1995 episode, “Rejoined,” in which her character had a romantic relationship with another woman. Some Southern TV stations, primarily in the so-called “Bible Belt,” refused to air that episode. Many transgender fans have embraced Dax as someone who shares their experience of living in more than one gender, and “Rejoined” featured the first same-sex kiss in Trek.
“What I was most proud of was, in that episode, nobody talked about the fact that we were both women,” said Farrell. “I have goosebumps right now. Love is love. It doesn’t matter what package you come in. If that’s your one life, enjoy it, be you. It’s such a struggle in our culture to just be yourself. And clearly it can be dangerous to be yourself. And that’s horrifying to me.”
For the most part, this was an inclusive and entertaining event for one and all, especially for the many attendees who used wheelchairs and scooters to travel around the incredibly large convention space, which was located a considerable distance from the main casino hotel. But it’s only fair to point out that there were some issues, such as the lack of all-gender bathrooms.
Observers also noted that although this 23rd convention organized by Creation Entertainment was expanded to five days for the first time, it was not as well attended as 2024’s event. That’s in line with a trend that reports say has hit Las Vegas hard this summer, with tourism down 11 percent from a year ago. A spokesperson for Creation did not respond to an email request for comment on attendance.
The Blade also asked for comment on what were described later as “inadvertent” slights to the one and only Black woman to appear on a panel of Star Trek writers at the convention on the evening of Saturday, Aug. 9.
Once the four men and two men were introduced, the host — “Inglorious Treksperts” podcaster Mark A. Altman — had to be reminded that he had not invited Star Trek: Strange New Worlds story editor and episode writer Onitra Johnson to join them; she was still backstage, waiting. After finally being introduced, she was seated at the end of the stage next to legendary out gay screenwriter and author David Gerrold, who three times answered questions intended for Johnson. The third time, members of the audience interrupted him, shouting, “Let her speak!” which prompted Altman to blame “bad acoustics” in the ballroom.
While fellow Treksperts podcaster Daren Dochterman called these repeated slights “inadvertent” in a face to face conversation with the Blade on Aug. 10, neither he nor Altman, nor Creation, officially responded to messages from the Blade seeking comment.
a&e features
Yes, chef!
From military service in Syria to cooking in coastal Delaware, Justin Fritz delivers comfort and connection
Driving down the long stretch of road that connects Rehoboth to Bethany Beach, I’m thinking about the morning ahead of me. I’ve done tough jobs before on subjects I knew nothing about. But when it comes to this assignment – profiling a local chef – I can’t help but worry that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.
I eat food. I love food. Ironically, I can’t cook.
Sure, I can make a passable meal in a pinch, but when it comes to innate culinary skills, I don’t have the gene. That means I eat out often. Even when the food is good, the experience is rarely inspiring. I have no doubt that the guy I’m about to profile can cook, but for me, food is fuel, not fun. Writing about eating feels like reading about dancing. You can understand the mechanics, but the magic is harder to capture.
Sooner than I expected, I reach my destination. Rising quietly from the dunes, the weathered cedar shingles and wraparound porch of The Addy Sea Inn gives off the kind of understated confidence money can’t buy. Built in 1904, it doesn’t try to impress you. It just does. I pull into a gravel parking space, step out of the car, and take a breath. Already, I sense that I’ve misjudged what this morning will be.
Inside, breakfast service has just wrapped, but the dining room is still humming with energy. Plates clink. Fresh coffee is brewing. After a quick round of introductions with the staff, I’m ushered back to the kitchen, where Executive Chef Justin Fritz is waiting.
The room is modest, only slightly larger than my kitchen at home, anchored by a narrow stainless-steel island that serves as the operational center. Whatever the kitchen lacks in space it makes up for in technology. The appliances are state-of-the-art and the multi-tiered glass oven on the wall looks smarter than I am.
There’s no brigade of line cooks. No shouted orders. No “Hands” or “Yes, chef!” echoing off the walls. There’s just me and him. It’s a one-man show.
His first wedding tasting is less than an hour away, but instead of rushing, Justin offers me the grand tour. Pride radiates from him — not ego, but something quieter. We move through the inn, past guests and staff he greets by name, out onto a porch overlooking the beach and Atlantic, where meticulously planned weddings unfold like carefully choreographed dreams.
“This whole place transforms,” he says, gesturing toward the lawn. “We pitch a 90-foot tent in a yard that can accommodate 150 guests. We set the DJ and the bar up in the back on a floating deck that becomes a dance floor.”
On our way back inside, we stop to see herbs growing in a double row of hanging planters — mint, basil, strawberries trailing down the wall like decorations you can eat. It’s not performative. It’s practical. Everything here has a purpose.
Back in the kitchen, the tempo shifts. There are no printed-out recipes or neatly arranged mise en place. Justin stops talking just long enough to consult the whiteboard hanging on his refrigerator. There are notes – words, not sentences – cueing him on all the things he needs to remember.
When he finally goes into action, it’s intense, but controlled. Justin knows every inch of his kitchen and moves efficiently to gather what he needs to get five different entrees into the oven. I try to be a fly on the wall, but I’m the elephant in the room. I try, and fail, to move out of his way.
After our fifth near-collision, he laughs. “You just stay there,” he says. “I’ll move around you.” And he does.
Justin’s path to The Addy Sea Inn wasn’t linear, and in many ways, that’s what defines him. After culinary school and early professional success, he made a decision that shifted everything: He enlisted in the Army Reserves alongside his younger brother. In an unexpected twist, Justin completed the enlistment process first, while his brother’s path was delayed pending a medical waiver.
Initially, Justin’s role had nothing to do with food. He worked as a computer technician, repairing advanced equipment — a technical, methodical position that stood in stark contrast to the creative environment of a kitchen. Then, as often happens in Justin’s stories, his circumstances changed. A casual conversation with a commanding officer one afternoon led to a sudden reassignment.
“He said, ‘You’re supposed to be at the range. Get in the car — I’ll explain on the way.’” Justin recalls. “Next thing I know, I’m deploying.”
The destination was Syria. And instead of working with electronics, he found himself back in a kitchen — only this time, under conditions that redefined what cooking meant.
“They didn’t want military cooking,” he says. “They wanted home cooking.”
That expectation, simple on the surface, became extraordinarily complex in practice. Ingredients had to be sourced from local markets where quality and safety were inconsistent. Refrigeration was limited. Water couldn’t be trusted. Meat arrived butchered in ways that required improvisation rather than precision.

“One time I ordered lamb,” he says. “It came back as bones. Just bones. I scraped the meat off and turned it into sausage because I couldn’t waste it.”
So, Justin adapted. He baked bread from scratch, created meals that could be eaten days later, and found ways to bring a sense of normalcy into an environment defined by uncertainty. French toast, burritos, pretzels, tiramisu — dishes that, under different circumstances, might have felt routine became something else entirely.
“I think people underestimate what food means,” he says. “It’s not just eating. It’s memory. It’s comfort. It’s safety.”
That last word lingers.
By the time Justin arrived at The Addy Sea Inn, he carried more than just professional experience. He brought discipline, resilience, and a perspective shaped by environments far removed from coastal Delaware. But he also brought uncertainty.
The new role required something different from what he’d done before. Here, he wasn’t executing someone else’s vision — he was responsible for creating one.
“I realized I get to do this,” he says. “I get to build this.”
What he has built is both ambitious and carefully controlled. Under new ownership and with a growing team, The Addy Sea Inn has evolved into a sought-after destination for weddings and events. The scale has increased, but the operation remains intentionally lean, which puts more pressure on Justin to deliver.
A single day might include breakfast service, take-away lunch preparation, afternoon tea, wedding tastings, and a full-scale event execution. Layered on top of that are cooking classes, early-stage digital content, and a catering business Justin has deliberately paused so he can focus on something more cohesive.
“I want to grow the culinary side of this place,” he says. “Not just more events, but better experiences. Classes, tastings — things that bring people into it. I love teaching. I love sharing it.”
It’s a vision rooted less in expansion and more in depth. Not more for the sake of more, but more meaningfully.
When I return a few days later for breakfast service, the experience feels both familiar and entirely new.
The day begins with sunrise. Before anything else, Justin pauses and brings his team outside. It isn’t a long break, and it isn’t framed as anything formal. It’s simply a moment — watching the light shift over the water, occasionally catching sight of dolphins moving just beyond the shoreline.
Then, without ceremony, the work begins.
Eggs crack. Bacon sizzles, potato pancakes bake on the grill. Orders move in and out with steady consistency. There’s no frantic energy, no sense of scrambling to keep up. Instead, there’s a flow — continuous, measured, almost meditative.
“It doesn’t always feel like work,” he says.
Watching him move through the morning, it’s easy to understand why.
Hours later, after the hustle and bustle of the first meal has ended, Justin turns his attention to a larger, albeit more creative task — cupcakes for two themed parties. Already inspired, he lifts a heavy electric mixer onto the counter and pushes a flour-dusted binder in front of me.
“I’ll bake the cupcakes. You make the butter-cream frosting,” he says, flipping to the page with the recipe. “Double it.”
The request sends me into a mild panic, especially since it requires math. But Justin believes I can do it. To my surprise, so do I. The first batch of chocolate cupcakes are already out of the oven before I finish the first bowl of frosting. Since all I have to do is repeat the process, I’m starting to feel relieved and maybe even a little cocky. That’s when it hits me.
“Chef, I made a mistake…I forgot to double the amount of vanilla. I need to do it over.”
“It’s fine,” Justin says casually, swiping a small disposable plastic spoon across the silky surface. “It tastes great. Focus on the next batch.”
The result, two exquisitely decorated cupcakes, are almost too pretty to eat.
“These are yours to take home,” he says as he carefully packs them away in a to-go box.
I start to protest, to tell him he should save the best for himself or the other guests. But I stop myself and pause and savor the moment. This one, I keep.
Chef Justin Fritz resists easy categorization, and that may be part of what makes him so compelling. He is classically trained, but without pretense. His military background suggests rigidity, yet his approach is flexible and intuitive. He carries himself with a quiet confidence, never needing to announce it. Part Jason Bourne, part Willy Wonka. Justin isn’t just cooking food, he’s making magic.
By the time I leave, my understanding of the assignment has shifted. What I expected to be a story about food has become something broader, more nuanced. It’s about care. About connection.
That sense of purpose extends beyond the kitchen. When I ask Justin what’s next, he speaks not just about growth and ambition, but about balance — about building a life that allows space for both. There’s a quiet acknowledgment of Cheyenne, his partner of five years, woven into that answer. Not as a headline, but as something steady and grounding, part of how he measures what comes next.
I arrived thinking I would write about a chef. What I found instead was someone who uses food as a language — a way to communicate, to connect, and to create something that stays with you.
The only way to experience Chef Justin’s cooking is to step inside his world — by checking into The Addy Sea Inn (www.addysea.com) or securing a ticket to one of the inn’s limited public events, including the Spring Soirée and the Toys for Tots Holiday Fundraiser. There’s no standalone restaurant, no reservation to book online. His food exists within the rhythm of the inn itself.
In louder, larger kitchens, “Yes, chef!” is a command — sharp, immediate, unquestioned.
But here, at the edge of the ocean, it lands differently.
Not as an order.
As trust.
And maybe that’s the real story — not the food, not the title, but the quiet, deliberate way Chef Justin Fritz makes people feel something they don’t forget.

a&e features
Memorial for groundbreaking bisexual activist set for May 2
Loraine Hutchins remembered as a ‘force of nature’
The Montgomery County Pride Center will host a celebration honoring the life and legacy of Loraine Hutchins, Ph.D., on May 2. People are invited to attend the onsite memorial or a livestream event. The on-site event will begin at 10 a.m. with a meet-and-greet mixer before moving into a memorial service around the theme “Loraine a Force of Nature!” at 11 a.m., a panel talk at 12 p.m., break out sessions for artists, academics, and activists to build on her legacy at 1 p.m. and a closing reception at 2 p.m.
Attendees are encouraged to register for the on-site memorial gathering or the livestreamed memorial. The goal of this event is also to collect stories and memories of Loraine. Attendees and others can share their stories at padlet.com.
An obituary for Hutchins was published in the Bladelast Nov. 24, where people can learn more about her activism in the bisexual community. A private service for friends and family was held in December but this memorial service is open to all.
Alongside her groundbreaking work organizing for U.S. bisexual rights and liberation including co-editing “Bi Any Other Name: BIsexual People Speak Out” (1991), she also integrated faith into her sexual education and advocacy work. Her 2001 doctoral dissertation, “Erotic Rites: A Cultural Analysis of Contemporary U.S. Sacred Sexuality Traditions and Trends,” offered a pointed queer and feminist analysis to sex-neutral and sex-positive spiritual traditions in the United States. Her thesis was also groundbreaking in exploring the intersections between sex workers and those in caregiving professionals, including spiritual ones.
In an oral history interview conducted by Michelle Mueller back in August 2023, Hutchins described herself as a “priestess without a congregation.” While she has occasionally had a sense of community and feels part of a group of loving people, she admitted that “I don’t feel like we have the shape or the purpose that we need.”
“I’ve often experienced being the Cassandra in the room, the Cassandra in the community. Somebody who’s kind of way out there ahead, thinking through the strategic action points that my community hasn’t gotten to yet, and getting a lot of resistance and hostile responses from people who are frightened by dissent and conflict and not ready for the changes we have to make to survive,” she said.
“For somebody who’s bisexual in an out political way and who’s been a spokesperson for the polyamory movement in an out political way, it’s very exposing. And it’s very important to me to be able to try to explain and help other people understand the connection between spirituality and sexuality,” she explained citing how even as a graduate student she was “exploring how to feel erotic and spiritual, and not feel them in conflict with each other in my own spiritual contemplative life and my own sensual body awareness of being alive in the world.”
“Every religion has a sense of sacred sexuality. It’s just they put a lot of boundaries and regulations on it, and if we have a spiritual practice that is totally affirming of women’s priesthood and of gay people, queer people’s ability to minister to everyone and to be ministered to be everyone, what does that do to the gender of God, or our understanding of how we practice our spirituality and our sexuality in community and privately?”
“There’s no easy answer,” she concludes, and she continued to grapple with these questions throughout her life, co-editing another seminal text, “Sexuality, Religion and the Sacred: Bisexual, Pansexual, and Polysexual Perspectives,” published in 2012. Her work blending spiritual and queer liberation remains groundbreaking to this day.
Rev. Eric Eldritch, a local community organizer and ordained Pagan minister with Circle Sanctuary who has worked for decades with the DC Center’s Center Faith to organize the Pride Interfaith Service, is eager to highlight this element of her legacy at the memorial service next month.
a&e features
Queery: Meet artist, performer John Levengood
Modern creative talks nightlife, coming out, and his personal queer heroes
John Levengood (he/him) describes himself as a modern creative with a wide‑ranging toolkit. He blends music, technology, civic duty, and a sharp sense of wit into a cohesive artistic identity. Known primarily as a recording artist and performer, he’s also a self‑taught music producer and software engineer who embodies a generation of creators who build their own lanes rather than wait for one to appear.
Levengood, 32, who is single and identifies as gay and queer, is best known as a recording artist who has performed at Pride festivals across the country, including the main stages of World Pride DC, Central Arkansas Pride, and Charlotte Pride.
“Locally in the DMV, I’m known for turning heads at nightlife venues with my eye-catching sense of style. When I go out, I don’t try to blend in. I hope I inspire people to be themselves and have the courage to stand out,” he says.
He’s also known for hosting karaoke at Freddie’s Beach Bar in Arlington, Va., on Thursday nights. “I like to create a space where people feel comfortable expressing themselves, building community, and showcasing their talents.”
He also creates social media content from my performances and do interviews at LGBTQ+ bars and theatres in the DMV. Follow the Arlington resident @johnlevengood.
How long have you been out and who was the hardest person to tell?
I have been fully out of the closet since 2019. My parents were the hardest people to tell because my family has always been my rock and at the time I couldn’t imagine a world without them. Their reactions were extremely positive and supportive so I had nothing to fear all along.
I remember sitting on the couch with my mom, dad, and sister in our hotel room in New Orleans during our winter vacation and being so nervous to tell them. After I finally mustered up the nerve and made the proclamation, I realized my dad had already fallen asleep on the couch. My mom promised to tell him when he woke up.
Who’s your LGBTQ hero?
My LGBTQ heroes are Harvey Milk for paving the way for gays in politics and Elton John for being a pioneer for the fabulous and authentic. My local heroes in the DMV are Howard Hicks, manager of Green Lantern, and Tony Rivenbark, manager of Freddie’s Beach Bar. Both of them are essential to creating spaces where I’ve felt welcome and safe since moving to the DMV.
What’s Washington’s best nightspot, past or present?
Trade tops the list for me because of the dance floor and outdoor space. It’s so nice to get a break from the music every once and a while to be able to have a conversation.
We live in challenging times. How do you cope?
I’m still figuring this out. What is working right now is writing music and spending time with family and friends. I’ve also been spending less time on social media going to the gym at least three times a week.
What streaming show are you binging?
After “Traitors” Season 4 ended, I was in a bit of a show hole, but “Stumble” has me in a laughing loop right now. The writing is so witty.
What do you wish you’d known at 18?
At 18, I wish I would have known how liberating it is to come out of the closet. It would have been nice to know some winning lottery numbers as well.
What are your friends messaging about in your most recent group chat?
We are planning our next trip to New York City. If you can believe it, I visited NYC for the first time in 2025 for Pride and I’ve been back every quarter since. Growing up in the country, I was subconsciously primed to be scared of the city. But my mind has been blown. I can’t wait to go back.
Why Washington?
It’s the closest metropolitan area to my family, but not too close. I love the museums, the diversity, the history, and the proximity to the beach and mountains. It’s also nice to live in a city with public transportation.
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