doubting thom

Well, if the driver this morning whose car was sporting said bumpersticker is any indication, Jesus would enter a major thoroughfare from the parking lot of a 7-11, causing the oncoming driver to have to slam on his brakes, yet immediately turn at the very next intersection anyway. Without signaling. Or, from the color and quantity of exhaust left behind, without having received a valid emissions inspection anytime in the last decade.

Based on his other bumpersticker, Jesus also voted the Bush-Cheney ticket in 2004.

On Saturday, October 1, Jeff and I will be walking in AIDS Walk Washington, a 5K walkathon benefiting Whitman-Walker Clinic, which provides important community-based health care, especially HIV/AIDS services, in the D.C. metropolitan area. The Clinic needs help to keep these services available and to reach everyone who needs them. We are walking with Team AGLA (Arlington Gay and Lesbian Alliance). If you’d like to help us support the Whitman-Walker Clinic’s mission and programs, please consider making a worthwhile (and fully tax-deductible) donation.

After a very stressful morning and an only slightly less stressful day at work, last night we went to a pleasantly relaxing preview screening at Potomac Yards of Just Like Heaven, a cute new romantic comedy starring Reese Witherspoon and the endearingly-sexy-in-a-“normal guy”-though-not-classically-handsome-or-pop-idol-model-way, not to mention nicely furred Mark Ruffalo and set–and filmed–in San Francisco. The incredibly gorgeous apartment in which much of the film is set and featuring the most stunningly amazing views is, apparently, a real one in San Francisco in which the co-writer used to live.

Jeff had won free tickets to the screening–the movie doesn’t officially open until September 16–from the Washington Post Express; we’ve lucked out with free tickets to movie screenings on a number of occasions, and we’ve begun searching out other opportunities to enter and win such.

OK, granted we didn’t pay for the movie (which I enjoyed, even though it’s a pretty formulaic fluffy film), but I still feel entitled to rant about the concessions, since they’d have cost the same even if we’d had to pay the 8 or 9 bucks each ticket normally would cost. Total: $22 for two small, plain hot dogs (yes, I know, but we had to go straight from work and miss dinner), two sodas and a small, incredibly stale popcorn. The smallest soft drink available costs $4.25, and the smallest popcorn $5.50; at these prices, even DC gasoline at three and a half bucks a gallon begins to look like a bargain.

A plus to the evening, though, was the very responsive audience, one of the better in which I’ve experienced a movie in some time. In fact, the free screenings I’ve attended have had a better feel in that regard, overall, than the movies I’ve paid to see. Interesting, that.

At last night’s Duncan Sheik concert, as Jeff and I were sitting together in the bar/bandstand later in the evening after having (at least initially) talked about the issue that was troubling me, a young man walked over and asked if he could ask us a question. We said sure, though admittedly there was a little tension, given the combination of circumstances. He then launched into an odd, awkward, halting question about what we thought about Duncan’s appeal to gay fans, followed by apologies about not meaning to offend us, not feeling like he’d made the right impression, etc.

I actually found his honesty and willingness to approach us endearing (but are we that obviously queer?), and I was intrigued by the question, though it initially was phrased so ambiguously that I was confused as to whether he was saying that he thought either 1) that Duncan would have more gay fans than seemed apparent from the crowd last night, or 2) conversely, that he saw a number of seemingly gay folk at the concert, but couldn’t understand why we would find Duncan’s music appealing. I asked him to clarify precisely that, and it turned out that the second was his intent. (As an aside, while I saw a few couples I thought were gay, and one guy I know is, the numbers didn’t seem unusually high, and I’d have estimated that the proportion of gay to straight at last night’s concert probably pretty closely mirrored that in the general population.)

His assertion, in fact, was that Sheik’s songs, to him, seemed really pretty clearly and directly linked to the heterosexual experience. And, certainly, Sheik’s songs do seem to draw quite often upon an exploration of the mysteries of women and being in (or out of) relationship with them.

My response, though, was that it was precisely the emotional openness, the raw honesty of Sheik’s lyrics and delivery, and his exploration of the thoughts and feelings resident in human relationships (he might sing about women, because of his own direct experience, but the situations, ideas and emotions he describes seem pretty universal) that I personally found appealing, and that might similarly be appealing to other gay men. What I also thought about as Jeff and I were walking to the car, though too late for the conversation, was that Sheik often expresses a sense of alienation and loss in his lyrics, additional concepts that seem to have a particular resonance for gay fans.

I also didn’t mention in the conversation with our new acquaintance, though I mused to Jeff later, that it doesn’t hurt that Sheik is so cute.

He sat with us for a while, and we talked about music, our lives, and our homes. It was an interesting, brief–yet simultaneously satisfyingly genuine–connection, and we’ll probably never see him again. I do find myself wondering, though, if there’s more to the story; he presented himself, without saying so explicitly, as heterosexual, yet there was an element to the conversation that left me curious as to whether that’s the whole truth, that maybe there’s something even he–or perhaps even especially he–hasn’t yet recognized. Or it could be I just think that because he was cute.

Last night, Jeff and I went to the Birchmere, a great music venue in Alexandria not far from us, to see Duncan Sheik and opening act David Poe.

Overall, it was a great concert, though I have to confess that about halfway through I got upset and angry over a personal issue over which I then quietly stewed to the point that I almost made myself sick. As a result of this, combined with the fact that my ears were starting to ring, I left the hall about an hour and a half into Duncan’s set, standing out in the bar/”bandstand” area watching and listening on the big screen television. Jeff came out a little later and joined me, and we watched a little more of the set together–and also were joined by a third person, who engaged us in an interesting conversation–before heading out at 10:30. At that point, Duncan was still playing, fully two hours after first taking the stage–and after having joined David Poe for two songs during the first set. Considering that the ticket prices were a cheap $17.50 to begin with, the long, excellent show was an incredible bargain as well.

I wasn’t familiar with David Poe before last night’s concert, but he was terrific; his musical style seemed pretty similar to Duncan’s, moody and raw, both of them perhaps even evoking Rufus Wainwright for me, though clearly at the other end of the Kinsey scale (which also plays into that other conversation to which I alluded earlier). His lyrics especially were quite compelling, containing some great imagery. I also discovered that he is a fellow flickrite; he even posted some photos he took last night, including some snaps of the crowd he took from the stage.

Duncan Sheik was fantastic. With the exception of a (well-executed) cover of Oasis’s “Wonderwall,” which despite his demurring he clearly made his own, and one or two other upbeat selections last night, he appeared to be eschewing the lighthearted pop sound of his early hit, “Barely Breathing” (which he didn’t perform, unless he did so after we left), for a darker, moodier, tone-poem feel that seems much more true and honest, but which may explain why he’s achieved critical more than commercial success and a smaller but very devoted following.

If I had any complaint about last night, it would be that the sound, once he was joined by three others on guitar, base and percussion, seemed extraordinarily loud for the intimate space at the Birchmere. Admittedly, that may be as much due to my own aging ears and tendency toward tinnitus after such concerts, though it did seem to me that the decibel level didn’t always mesh well with the lyrical style. Even so, there were some well-executed harder-rocking moments mixed into the set that worked really well, long instrumental overtures that washed over us like waves of emotion, moving me at times into almost a state of alternate consciousness before Duncan’s smooth husky voice would begin, all the more effective for its lengthy delay.

Oh, and it turns out that Duncan Sheik is a blogger.

Two years after my father’s death and sometimes I go for days or even weeks without consciously thinking about it, and then all of a sudden I’ll be blindsided by a wave of fresh grief and the recognition of how much I miss him, welling up with tears in the middle of a crowded room, or sitting at my desk at work. The past few days it’s been coming back again and again, seemingly out of nowhere, brutal and almost physical in its assault.

Does the pain never really go away, only stealing away to hide and replenish its strength before the next frontal attack?

Sunday night, Jeff noted that he was having a hankering for Mexican food; I didn’t really want to get showered and dressed for a sit-down restaurant dinner, so we decided to look into delivery or take-away. We had a small menu for Baja Fresh, which doesn’t deliver but does offer call-ahead ordering for pick-up. I seemed to recall that the last time we ate there, the menu had some new items, so I decided to look online.

The “Nutrition Info” links piqued my curiosity; with my most recent test results showing high triglycerides and borderline-high cholesterol, I’ve been trying to be even more mindful of what I’m eating. In this case, that was a depressing mistake.

The lightest fare on the menu, the “Bare Burrito,” isn’t too bad as far as fat goes, at 15 fat grams for the steak and 7 for chicken, with only 5 grams and 1 gram respectively of saturated fat. Both have 97 grams of carbs, though, along with 75-100 mg of cholesterol. And here’s the kicker: each has over 2300 mg of sodium! And it turns out that the “bare” in the title means that the “burrito” consists of veggies, beans, rice, meat and salsa in a bowl, with no tortilla and no sour cream.

A regular “Baja Burrito,” with tortilla? Well, the carbs and sodium actually are marginally lower than the “light” fare at 87 grams and 2200 mg respectively, but the fat content ranges from 44 to 51 grams, with 16-19 of that as saturated fats, and cholesterol in the 120-145 mg range. Total calories are around 1000. I might as well have a Whopper.

And my previously favorite Baja Fresh meal, the chicken nachos? Well, I’ll never again be able to indulge in them in my life, unless I intend for it to be a particularly short life: 2000 calories, 108 grams of fat (41 saturated), 165 grams of carbs, 230 mg of cholesterol and 3000 mg of sodium.

There’s an option on the menu for getting your burrito “enchilada-style.” The web site posts the nutritional information for that as well. To the already heart-stoppingly bad stats for a burrito, this option adds an additional 500 calories, 34 fat grams, 75 mg of cholesterol and 1450 mg of sodium. Why don’t they just put cyanide on the menu?

So what did I do? I seriously considered just dropping Jeff off at the restaurant and coming back home and having Raisin Bran, but in the end I went with an order of enchiladas… because there was no nutritional information for them posted on the web site, I didn’t have to know just how bad it was for me. la la la. I can’t hear you. la la la. Rather than eating the whole thing, though, as I normally would, just because it was there, I stopped eating once I was full, leaving half of the meal for Monday night’s dinner.

Speaking of Craig, he has season tickets to the DC Nationals, and has offered us use of his seats next week, so next Tuesday Jeff and I will attend our first DC Nationals game.

Last night, we got together over dessert with my dear friend Craig, whom I hadn’t seen in months, his new girlfriend and his young son. Craig has custody of his son only a few days each month and a few weeks each summer, so I’d never before gotten to see the boy in person. A truly delightful kid, Chase exhibited a presence well beyond his “three and three-quarters” years, as he so exactingly put it himself. While he didn’t lack for the typical exuberance of a toddler, displaying stores of energy I don’t think I’ve personally had in at least thirty years, he also was extraordinarily poised, polite almost beyond imagining (he met us at Craig’s door with a handshake and a greeting… a three-year-old), and exceedingly verbal and bright. I felt like I was able to engage in real conversation with him at times, exploring his likes and dislikes and talking about common interests (Justice League and Teen Titans cartoons, for example), rather than only the parroting of memorized information, though that of course was present, too–he has an odd delivery of knock knock jokes, for example, that not only does not rely on two-party interaction, but specifically forbids it; a knock-knock joke for him is rather a monologue, with him taking both roles and even providing some foreshadowing of the punchline (“I’m going to say orange in a minute”).

I tend to adore kids anyway, and get along fairly well with them in general (since I can be such a big kid myself), but had an even better-than-usual experience last night. And Craig emailed me today to say that Chase told him he had “fun” with us last night; could there be a better compliment from a three-and-three-quarters-year-old?

Craig’s new girlfriend was quite special, too, and I felt immediately at ease with her, and she and Craig seem well-suited; she has a comfortable and clearly mutually adoring relationship with Chase, as well, that bodes well. I hope that the four (or five, when Chase is around) of us can socialize more often.

Saturday we drove up to Baltimore for the day. We decided on Friday not to try to cram too much in, but to enjoy a leisurely day. So we slept in and then had a hearty brunch at home before hitting the road around 1:00. Normally only about an hour’s drive, we were doing fine until just a couple miles shy of our destination, when we hit some construction work. Funnelling the Baltimore-Washington Parkway’s three northern lanes into one ended up adding almost an additional hour to the drive, just in that two-mile segment.

We parked next to the American Visionary Art Museum, and went there first. It’s a striking building, with large portions of the exterior covered in glass and mirror mosaics (somewhat reminiscent of the Magic Garden in Philadelphia), but not an aggressively large space, so it didn’t take much time to explore it fully (though I realize now that we spent time only in the central building, and missed the sculpture barn and wildflower plaza). It’s certainly a unique collection, with visionary art being defined in the museum’s mission statement, and amplified on its web site, as follows:

“Visionary art as defined for the purposes of the American Visionary Art Museum refers to art produced by self-taught individuals, usually without formal training, whose works arise from an innate personal vision that revels foremost in the creative act itself.”

In short, visionary art begins by listening to the inner voices of the soul, and often may not even be thought of as “art” by its creator.

Much of the work, in fact, has been produced by artists suffering from various physical or mental illnesses, or using unusual materials; there’s a huge model of the Lusitania, for example, made entirely of toothpicks and white glue, and some absolutely gorgeous masks, sculptures and ornate boxes constructed solely from wooden matchsticks and food dye.

The central exhibit at present is entitled “Holy H2O: Fluid Universe,” featuring art about or inspired by water or watery environments, and including one hall devoted to the Voudoun mermaid spirit La Siren, featuring a room-sized shell-encrusted water fountain, and a queen-sized bed also covered in shells, with a spread fully decorated with sequins in the shapes of snakes and eyes (or perhaps simultaneously sperm and ova).

The gift shop is a little strange, featuring not only unusual books and magazines, which I expected, but a huge array of 20th-century pop culture kitsch, which I didn’t. It felt almost more like a Spencer’s Gifts or a joke shop than a musuem store, with items ranging from Magic 8 Balls to Hello Kitty stationery to Edgar Allen Poe and Shakespeare bobble-heads to Menudo keychains. Unexpected, but fun.

We left the museum around 4:40, heading to the Science Center just up the street in order to make the 5:00 show at the planetarium. It was a miserably hot and humid day outside, with temperatures edging towards the 100-degree mark. Notwithstanding, there were folks playing volleyball and we even saw an outdoor wedding party taking pictures, she still attired in formal wedding dress, veil, train and he in his black tux.

After the planetarium show, we briefly walked through a couple of exhibits, but then decided to go and get something to eat and drink at the museum cafe–dinner reservations weren’t until 9:30, so we wanted to have a snack to tide us over. Jeff was starting to feel ill, though, and by the time we got to the cafe, he was looking pretty pale and felt rather clammy. We sat for a while, debating how to proceed, and around 6:40 we decided to go ahead and walk over to the convention center to meet up with Sheldon, and see if Jeff could lie down in his room.

So after getting the room key and dropping Jeff off at Sheldon’s and Gretchyn’s room, I went back to watch the “Game of the Year,” featuring a match between Richard Garfield, the creator of Magic: The Gathering, and a top-ranked player whose name I can’t recall, but who was one of the first inductees into the Magic Hall of Fame this past year. The game featured three-foot cards, and was a lot of fun to watch. It ran a little long, though, and we missed our 9:30 dinner reservation, but by the time we finished closer to 10, Jeff had called and was feeling better, well-enough to join us (along with a fifth, Nick, an acquaintance of Sheldon’s and one of the judges at the week’s tournaments) for seafood.

By the time we finished eating, it was nearly midnight. Sheldon and Nick had to be up for an 8:00 start the next morning, and we had an hour’s drive home, so we all said our goodbyes and headed our separate ways. We had a pleasant, trouble-free drive home (and averaging over 50mpg in the Prius), and then ended up staying up until after 4am, catching up on some TiVo’ed programming and (for my part) playing on the computer.