Today's sermon

I choose as my text the Gospel of St. John, Chapter 15, verse 13.

Jarring moment... In an instant--a veritable blink-of-an-eye--it happened. While engaged in the pedestrian task of placing dishes from the dishwasher back onto the shelves--the very essence of mundane domesticity, I perchanced to nudge a clean and empty little jelly jar from its place upon the uppermost shelf with a classic, newly sanitized Tupperware container. Before I could say "lickity-split" or "Holy hasenpfeffer" the small glass receptacle had launched and was careening down toward the granite counter and certain disaster.  But wait!  Eye's tightly shut in anticipation of shattered and flying glass and the sound of crystal breaking--all I heard was a muted phthumph!  "What ho?" says I.  And there it was, the savior of the day!  A once perfectly formed rectangular prism of butter--reduced to creamy, light-yellow splat.  But not glass was broken--the butter had given itself complete to save the jar. 

Hollywood Squares? Hollywood Cool Kids!

Just remembering this classic game show from my youth.  Enjoy!

Quotable Quotes for 200

Walls

I keep this little piece of the Berlin Wall out where I can see it all the time.  It reminds me that all walls fall down...

HIV Postive

I have a handful of favorite T-shirts. They are generally made from high quality cotton and have stood the test of time. One is from the 2015 Cherry Blossom Festival here in DC, another is from the Los Angeles Integrity Chapter of the LGBTQ advocacy organization in the Episcopal Church. But my favorite came from the Greater Cleveland Aids Task Force. It was a gift from a dear friend that makes it all the more special to me. Its message is blatant in one respect and subtle in another--and whenever I'm feeling especially cheeky and subversive, I don it and do my public commerce. It never fails to illicit a constant stream of reactions. And I love it!

Theater!

It all started innocently enough. Just an idea. A desire to take more seriously something I'd done haphazardly and generally enjoyed. Way before it got OC, I christened it "My year of living theatrically". Every decent project needs a theme, right? You also know how much I love creating graphics and looking at data. This image was bound to happen! So here is my entire year laid out. It covers a wide range of events from Plays and Musicals to Gallery Nights, Symphonies, Operas, and Poetry Readings. The only glaring omission is a Ballet... Hmmm. The 50 events have taken me into the arms of 22 different companies and venues here in the Metro DC region and beyond--from Philadelphia to Norfolk. The span of this "year went from September 2016 to July 2017 and so 18 events remain to be experienced, though tickets have been purchased. In two cases, so far, I was unable to attend, and so even though 50 events were planned, in the end only as many as 48 will have been experienced. Still a 96% completion rate is very good. At some point, I will take time to think more fully about the implications of this project--seems like it ought to amount to something greater than the sum of its parts... But even if it doesn't, I'm enjoying it on every level.

Legacy Memorial Park - DC

I recently visited a memorial to 9 people who died in 2009 as a result of an error in a safety system for Metro. In a nutshell, two commuter trains collided because of a failure of a track warning system. It was a horrible accident...and worse because it could have been prevented on so many levels. The grieving families sued the city and as part of the compensation package got this park built as a place to remember their loved ones. I visited it recently. It troubles me.

The Memorial placard that is fixed to the safety
railing on the New Hampshire Avenue bridge
crossing the tracks nearest to where the
accident occurred.

What justifies a public memorial after someone dies? I totally get the memorials for soldiers, and those for victims of terrorism and certainly those who have died in defense against attacks on our moral and national ideals. But victims of a train wreck? Where do we draw the line between personal and public grief and the need for a place to commemorate?

This plaque references the Civil War Legacy of the district.

The history of the park and a guide to which obelisk represents which victim

The obelisks rise from hillocks and I believe they are illuminated from their bases at night.

A long dead rose taped to the railing on the bridge next to the placard.

Watching a Metro Train head in the direction of the site of the accident...do any of the passangers think about that day, not many years hence?

License Plate Game

As a kid, my family took road trips involving Turnpikes and hours of travel.  Most often the trip was between the panhandle of Maryland and Detroit, Michigan.  But there was also one cross country extravaganza to Denver from Detroit.  And on the way, we played road games!  One was also a timed round of "Slug-Bug-No-Touch-Back".  This is involved sighting and claim Volkswagen Beetles.  My sisters and I would peer longingly at both the surrounding traffic flow and the adjacent roads and places along the way.  My mom, in the wing-seat, always had the role of arbiter of disputes, and her word was final--of the game ended then and there and "no one will win."  She was a good mom who knew how to maintain the established order.

Another game was to collect states via the license plates on cars.  Everyone could collect the same state, but not from the same car.  So, if I got Georgia off of the Oldsmobile station wagon, my sisters would have to get from some other vehicle.  As a result, I became quite adept at recognizing the color schemes and then the imagery on license plates.  And when a state transitioned to a new design, it was a big deal.

As an adult with a commute around the Beltway and then north of the nation's capital, I sometimes--okay, often--play a version of this game myself.  This time I assign points to the various license plates I discover based on the votes of the Electoral College.  I rarely ever make it to the magic 270!  But I average on a daily basis of a full commute 195 points.  And there is a single state that I do not see over the course of any year.  In this, I have become an expert on identifying the state origin of a license place.  The pale yellow back ground of New Jersey, the cactus in the middle of Arizona, the oranges and green letters of Florida, the particular fade of blue background that is Connecticut, or the look of the pale blue Mount Rainier behind the numbers and letters of Washington state.  Consistency of design in this matter is a crucial component to it's function.

And so it really hit me the other day about my own state.  Maryland is just off the charts strange when it comes to license plates.  We have (not counting personalized or honorific plates that express support of an alma mater) 6 distinct designs currently being used on our cars and trucks.  SIX!!  They are as follows:

1) The plain black letters on white background

2) The same, but with a shield in the middle from the heritage of Lord Baltimore

3) The Farm friendly plate with a red to yellow background and panorama of a barn across the bottom

4) The Chesapeake Bay plate with a Great Blue Heron on the left side

5) The Fort McHenry Bi-centennial plate with the red and blue image of the fort's rampart and fireworks exploding above it (The plates I own)

and 6) The new 2017 plates with a image of our state flag billowing across the bottom

I pity people who play such games and have to recognize a vehicle from Maryland for a piddly 10 points.

Project Chimp

Marlon on his sweet sixteenth birthday

I first too notice of this Sanctuary back in the autumn and have since come to know about it more personally.  I am trying to make it a regular part of my philanthropic agenda.  My last donation was given in honor of Marlon's birthday.  Along with the acknowledgement letter I received this fetching photo of the birthday boy, a postcard to share and a sticker for my truck.

Metro Encounter...Damn that Steak!

METRO TALES

Coming home tonight on the Metro Red Line, I boarded at Dupont Circle and took a seat in the end of the car. It was a lone seat facing neither backwards nor forward but mounted against the exterior wall of the train facing the aisle. Two young African American women entered with me and sat together opposite me and in the last seats on my side, opposite the two women was a man already sprawled. The man was black and wearing a black toboggan hat and a puffy shiny mostly yellow coat and he had a duffle bag with him that he was sort of cradling as he listed like a ship about to come free of its moorings and we were still sitting still in the station... And here's where it gets a little tricky. Drunk? or Psychotic? Only people who are inebriated or mentally ill are as carefree and oblivious of others in public. There was an empty seat between him and myself, and he was kitty-cornered to the young women. As we all took notice of him, I began reading my play program and the women squirmed and pulled out their cell phones. He, for his part, didn't seem to take much mind in us. He was still in the thralls of his last meal and speaking it's praises over and over and over again, "that was one fine steak...he he he he, one fine steak and one fine baked potato! Ho ho ho ho...'at's why I'm so tired... he he he" He chuckled as he spoke and sometimes gave a little chuckle between every syllable as he repeat some form of praise for that steak and potato. The next stopped arrived and both ladies got up and left the train. It was a sparsely populated station and no one new got on. Neither fact bothered my friend has he just droned on and rocked back and forth, now hugging the duffle bag like a pillow. As we approached the next station he said, "I have never had such a sweet, juicy, perfect steak before in my life." He didn't say it to me, but I still looked right at him and smiled. And he noticed and looked at me and went into an even heartier rolling chuckle, as the train came to a stop. He grabbed the straps on the duffle and stood up and I said, to him, "That was a might fine steak!" And his eyes twinkled and he replied, "Yes, it was!" and as he passed me toward the entrance I called out to him, "Sweet dreams, my friend!" He shot me a little side wave chuckling all the way off the train. The older I get, the more I want to just be a part of what comes my way...even just a little part.

My Door for 2017...Is Dressed

I have to say that the majority of traditions that mark my holidays come from Truman Capote's "A Christmas Memory". The roots of placing the cards I receive on my front door for the coming year can be found in this passage, I've no doubt.

"The black stove, stoked with coal and firewood, glows like a lighted pumpkin. Eggbeaters whirl, spoons spin round in bowls of butter and sugar, vanilla sweetens the air, ginger spices it; melting, nose-tingling odors saturate the kitchen, suffuse the house, drift out to the world on puffs of chimney smoke. In four days our work is done. Thirty-one cakes, dampened with whiskey, bask on windowsills and shelves.

"Who are they for?

"Friends. Not necessarily neighbor friends: indeed, the larger share is intended for persons we've met maybe once, perhaps not at all. People who've struck our fancy. Like President Roosevelt. Like the Reverend and Mrs. J. C. Lucey, Baptist missionaries to Borneo who lectured here last winter. Or the little knife grinder who comes through town twice a year. Or Abner Packer, the driver of the six o'clock bus from Mobile, who exchanges waves with us every day as he passes in a dust-cloud whoosh. Or the young Wistons, a California couple whose car one afternoon broke down outside the house and who spent a pleasant hour chatting with us on the porch (young Mr. Wiston snapped our picture, the only one we've ever had taken). Is it because my friend is shy with everyone except strangers that these strangers, and merest acquaintances, seem to us our truest friends? I think yes. Also, the scrapbooks we keep of thank-you's on White House stationery, time-to-time communications from California and Borneo, the knife grinder's penny post cards, make us feel connected to eventful worlds beyond the kitchen with its view of a sky that stops."

It used to be for many years I would host a gathering at this time of the year with a dinner proper, and then I would read to whole of the story to my guests.  If you're looking for a tradition to share with friends, this might just be the one to start!

I Shall Live!

My doctor liked what he saw in my appointment on Tuesday.  He apparently thinks I good to go to outlive 2016...no small feat these days...  To celebrate the end of my fast and successful blood letting for biannual work-ups, I went first to Kramers Books & Afterwards Café for brunch and "Croque Madame".  OMG, I'd forgotten how decadent and rich this dish was!

But the best part of the appointment came out of our discussion of a wee issue that I mentioned to him back in June.  This involved my plumbing and changes to the sexual aspects of it.  He gave me some advise and I took it to heart at the time and then ignored it.  Sure, the change in things was annoying, but not debilitating, and I guess I just expected some changes as I got older...

This time he folded the needed the tests into the routine blood work.  Prior to this, my doctor asked, "So how frequently are you sexually motivated?"

I immediately made a down-turned face of "Oh golly disappointment" and said, "Well, actually it has effected my libido. I'd say maybe only 3 or 4 times a week now..." And what happened next was so unexpected by me, and then so obvious that it delighted my heart to no end. He just burst out laughing! And he tried to contain it, but he couldn't. And my face took on the new expression of "is what I just said unusual?".... Eeek! And his laugh basically said, "If I could only get my libido angst ridden patients to that point--I'd be a genius!"

Life is good, my friends!

Nobel Prize Commentary...

There was a time when the Nobel Prize was considered the pinnacle of achievement within the field of concern. Short of the prize for peace, I think it's safe to say that ALL of the other categories were obscure in the minds of the average person. So they actually meant something to members of those fields. Then without a single accomplishment in the realm of peace they up a gave the Peace prize to Barack Obama. I mean why? Just because the American People elected him?--why the fuck wasn't the award given to the American People? We did the deed!

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Obama. Voted for him twice. Would have again! But he didn't do much for peace on the planet. Oh, he stopped us from marching into or escalating needless wars, but seriously, ask the residents of Aleppo about how that strategy's worked out for them? Or the residents of Yevpatroyira? And if you don't know where that is--you're just gonna have to google it!

Clearly that choice was meant to reflect the current zeitgeist. What the choice of Bob Dylan was supposed to reflect this year for the prize in literature remains to be explained. While an icon of sorts, the genre of lyrics as poetry deserving of THE international prize is a stretch. As a personality and an American Original, Dylan wins hands down. But as a lyricist and composer he's a simpleton. He was the right sort of half-talented oddball to be in the right places at the right time. This doesn't mean that he's talentless--OH NO, not what I'm saying. I saying he was and is lucky. The fact that he completely snubs the Nobel Prize folks just goes to show you how stupid their choice of this man is. He hasn't even the good sense to accept it.

My Promise

My Own Rainbow and A Gift For Myself: Memento For This Election Season!

 Made my own chromatic rainbow wreath from dogwood leaves.

 Visited the shops in downtown Takoma Park and my found this in my favorite little Tchotchke shop. It seemed like the perfect token for this year's election, because no matter what happens, pigs might just fly!

A Gift

Romeo and I came upon this little gift left by someone here before us.  A reminder that each of us can give a gift of grace anywhere we go.

"Audrey" Moves Inside

 Audrey, my Tree Philodendron of 30 years moves inside.

How Our World Becomes A Better Place 101

A post-script as a preamble to today's Theater adventure.  Going to so many theaters for the first time requires some imaginative planning and whenever possible the use of the Metro.  Today's decision to take the Green Line in from West Hyattsville to Columbia Heights was pitch perfect!  And I had a book along to read, never leave home without one.  Usually I take a collection of poems, or sometimes--like today--essays.  Having almost finished them, I had with me "The Fire This Time" collection of essays, edited by Jesmyn Ward.

On the way back out, with just one station to go, I finished a excellent essay by Carol Anderson titled "White Rage".  Sitting across from me were two young men, one black and one white, in redskins T-shirts who had been talking football since I embarked on the train at Columbia Heights.  No sooner had I closed the book than the black man asked, "Good book?"  I assumed by asking he was familiar with it, or at least "The Fire Next Time".  He denied knowing about either, and so I gave him a very brief overview of Baldwin's progenitor, and then shared the premise of Anderson's essay on white rage with him.  He listened intently and said, "I'm gonna have to get that one."  In hindsight, I wish I had just given him my copy--I can always buy another...

The Gay Agenda!

My "Gay Agenda" T-shirt, and "Gay Agenda" Hoodie arrived yesterday!  I wore the T-shirt today on my romp at the National Arboretum with Romeo.  It was a good crowd for it, Liberal Straight couples with strollers and toddler and kids, Dog loving Lesbians, and health conscious Gay Men in pairs and singles.  I won't someone to notice, but alas...  The war's over with this crowd.

Gay And An Object Of Desire!

You may recall my recent frustration with Nielson Ratings corp. They tried very hard to recruit me into there army of raters. I do not watch TV. I only listen to the radio, and I have no desire to surrender my privacy, in any account, to their electronic surveillance gizmo. I thought that I conveyed this to them via multiple phone calls which they placed to follow up on the cash that they sent me in the quest to buy my information back in May.

Then on Thursday I received another goddamn packet from them with two more crisp $5 bills in it! Jesus Christ, already! I tore out the money--I'm not that stupid--and then tossed the rest of it. I anticipated another phone call. WRONG!

Knock on the door this afternoon, and there stands Steve with a gift basket and wanting to follow up on my recent letter from Nielson. I acknowledged that I had received it and told him that it really pissed me off. I then explain why. And he said, well, Nielson has an auditor that grades them on the depth of their demographic data base. Once they discover a person who participates in polls and fits a needed weakness in any demographic sub-group, they can be aggressive in their campaign to recruit them. OOOHHH.....now, I get it. They need more gay men to use to disaggregate their data. He didn't say that, but as he explained the situation to me, he purposefully glanced at my rainbow flag hanging below my American flag over my front door--and I think I can safely assume that Nielson already has enough Americans in there data ranks!

Needless-to-say, I didn't change my position. My homosexual radio listening habits are both boring and NOT for sail. This after he offered me another $200 to reconsider. Ultimately, He gave me his card and promised to pass on my desire to end what is becoming mild harassment (and a petty cash drain on Nielson, I should think) in regards to me. And I didn't get the gift basket!