And love is not a victory march

Conveniently, I didn't do very much that was interesting from late June to mid-July. I hung out with various combinations of Hank, Alison, Natalies D. and G., Seth, and Tara. I also read two or three books, overplayed XO and my new Smiths' Greatest Hits CDs, and watched such important cultural documents as Fahrenheit 9/11 and "I Love the 90s." One noteworthy exception (to tedium) took place on June 28, when Ben Folds/Guster/Rufus Wainwright played at Wolf Trap. I really hate Rufus Wainwright; I found his act obnoxious and simpering, especially when he brought his famous mother onstage to play piano during "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Guster was adorable and very catchy, though - three nice Jewish boys covering "The Boy With the Arab Strap," which I happily appended from my seat on the upper balcony. Apparently the band also covers "Come On Eileen" sometimes, albeit not that well!


Ben himself was in top form, though he played for only 40 minutes. I got my money's worth: I was a member of the "Army" horn section, something I've been practicing since Fall 2002 (grin). After the concert, my next significant life event took place on Saturday, July 17, when I awkwardly attempted clubbing for a second time. Tara and I fussed over our clothing and pre-gamed at Natalie G.'s, using daiquiri-flavored wine coolers and homemade tequila sunrises. Natalie's friend Rachel, who is poised and wise, stopped by in time to teach us about eye makeup and cleavage. Then, we Metroed to DC and pretended dignity while walking several blocks in the dark, in the rain, in high heels and shielding our hair with community newspapers. There was a restaurant in the basement of the venue (the Hawk & Dove), where I sat for a while puzzling over the new code of social ethics governing at whom to glance and for how long.


On Thursday, July 22, Dyanne, Tara, Seth, and I went to Ted Leo/The Pharmacists at the Black Cat. For reasons that were never fully explained to me, Dyanne and Tara wore formal gowns. [I wore my Indie Kid costume and a rain slicker, and Seth wore his everyday-indie clothes.] In the club, it was hot, dark, smoky, and crowded, so the girls attracted only occasional incredulous notice. Ted executed his set on speed (everything was 4x the pace it should have been), and made occasional plodding, useless remarks on the "punk rock community" and feminism. Last year after Tara, Nick S., Seth, and I saw the New Pornographers at Black Cat, we encountered shadiness on the way to the Georgia Ave. bus stop in the form of a motorcycle gang (I suppose? a rumble in the distance climaxing in a stream of motorcycles on the highway). This year, our post-show sketch factor was more personally tailored to Misses Dyanne and Tara. A homeless man on the road shouted at Seth, "How come you can get three beautiful women, and I can't get no woman?"


Another passerby insisted (well, it was an empty threat) on shaking Seth's hand. "I gotta get your autograph - I gotta meet the guy who's got three such beautiful queens," he said. I guess I should always travel at night with girls in prom dresses, if I want to be accosted by strange, probably unemployable men. Anyway, the next evening I saw my sister as Lady Macbeth in the BAPA summer show. Two years ago, some friends and I made a really ill-fated trip to see Seth in the same company production (As You Like It, apparently). I was suddenly struck by how young we must have been; Seth, as a rising junior, was only one year older than my sister. And, when I was his age, I was a BAPA stagehand, uncomfortably tongue-tied around the other CITs whenever they discussed their love-lives. I suppose I'm lucky to have a younger sister to make high school seem darling and poignant.


On Saturday, July 24, I attended Live on Penn with a quorum of Bivalves. Fountains of Wayne was the opening act, followed by my beloved They Might Be Giants. It was actually a pleasure to see both groups (hearing "Denise" live was unexpectedly fun), but TMBG alone delivered hardcore bliss. I stood near Dyanne and Tara in the second row, in reach of the guardrail delineating Us and Them, and at ground zero for the confetti explosion during the second song. I know I hopelessly, continuously compare the present with the past, particularly for recurrent events - always gauging differences in atmosphere and impression, asking myself whether I'm happier now. The experience of watching TMBG last year from behind a tall fence was incomparable. I stopped for a moment, amid bouncing and belting song lyrics and shyly forcing eye contact with John Linnell, to realize that I was honestly very happy. There are things in my life that I dislike, but I'm separate and content - and if I'm smart (and blessed), I will keep that.


The final thing I want to mention is how much I enjoyed the Democratic National Convention. Seth and I had a date to watch Kerry on the 29th, sitting rapt in the basement and occasionally cheering or commentating. I feel impelled to do something useful with my time, maybe actively join Penn for Choice or the Queer Straight Alliance. I think/hope (?) there's no shame in being maneuvered in the direction of social consciousness.