Author: Jeff Tabaco

After seeing Morgan Spurlock (Super Size Me) on The Daily Show, talking about his new series, 30 Days, I thought I’d check that out. The premise is that people volunteer to experience a walk of life very different from their own for 30 days. Last night I caught part of an episode in which a Christian from West Virginia goes to live with a family in a predominantly Muslim community in Michigan. As Spurlock remarked on The Daily Show, the series tries not to be sensational. I found this episode interesting, entertaining, and educational.

Next week, a conservative ex-Marine lives with a gay man in the Castro. Oh, boy. 30 Days (I had first typed “30 Gays” just then; Freudian slippage, don’t you know) airs Wednesday nights at 10 p.m. on FX.

I was reading about the Google Maps API earlier today (via The Map Room), and just now came across a very sobering use of the map: marking hometowns of American casualties in the war in Iraq (via Adam Fields). Wow.

Aside: I love Frontline and all the in-depth reporting they do, but sometimes it can be a little depressing. Or more charitably: sobering. (That seems to be the theme of this entry.) The other day I watched a couple of episodes one right after the other, from a bunch I had accumulating on my TiVo, one on private contractors in Iraq and the other on Republican party “architect” Karl Rove, so believe me, right now I’m about as sober as you can get.

This afternoon you can get a free sample of Starbucks java chip ice cream at most Starbucks locations in the U.S. Here in downtown Bethesda there are three within walking distance; the one closest to my current office is located a few blocks away, on the first floor of my former office building.

I like how their announcement suggestively tells you to stop by and “enjoy the delicious treat with your favorite barista.” Mm hmm.

According to Popstrology, I was born in the year of Debby Boone (“You Light Up My Life” rose to the top of the charts in 1977), and my birthsong is Leo Sayer’s “When I Need You.” Kind of a snoozer, don’t you think? (However, the site warns, “it is a central tenet of popstrological thought that there are no bad pop songs — there are only songs whose deeper meanings are, shall we say, less groovy to contemplate than others.”)

Okay, after listening to clips of 11 different versions of the song on iTunes, I find there’s a jazz version by Ethel Ennis that’s actually quite nice.

What’s your sign?

» Notes: Link via Faustus. Related New Yorker and All Things Considered coverage. The NPR piece is a good listen.

Just to catch up on a few outings last week:

On Tuesday evening, striatic and emily ann came through Washington, D.C., on the “striatic does America” tour, and a few of us Flickr folk met up with them at Union Station and took a short photo stroll around the Capitol. (See also Thom’s blog entry and photos.)

On Wednesday the passing storms relented, and that night Thom and I went to Screen on Stead, which I’ve mentioned previously. I’d seen bits of Mommie Dearest on TV now and then (and of course I know about “no wire hangers!”), but it was nice to finally see the whole movie. And a park full of queens who know certain scenes by heart does add to the ambiance. That’s a photo of us before the movie began. (Thom’s got some photos up too.)

Yesterday evening we had a lovely time at Signature Theatre‘s free concert of showtunes at Wellburn Square in Ballston. (Again, Thom’s got full blog and photo coverage.)

There’s a bunch of theater currently playing in the area that I’d like to go see (closing dates noted): Once on This Island (Round House Theatre to July 3); Pacific Overtures (Signature Theatre to July 10); Red, White and Tuna (Kennedy Center to July 10); The Last Five Years (MetroStage to July 24); and Lady Windermere’s Fan (The Shakespeare Theatre to July 31). Whew. We’ll see if I actually get around to all of them; thankfully most of them have been listed on Ticketplace. Aside: last week I got tickets to Brian Stokes Mitchell‘s appearance in September with the National Symphony Orchestra, so I’m looking forward to that too.

Just in time to kick off summer, Screen on Stead, the outdoor movie series sponsored by the D.C. GLBT Center, starts tomorrow night at Stead Park (P Street between 16th and 17th Streets NW) with Mommie Dearest. Next is The Rocky Horror Picture Show on July 20, and a movie yet to be announced for Aug. 17. Last year we saw Sordid Lives and The Wizard of Oz there and had a great time.

The flagship event of this kind in the city, Screen on the Green, which takes place on the Mall, starts on July 18 with The Way We Were. Other movies in the series this summer are The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (July 25), Suspicion (Aug. 1), Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (Aug. 8), and The Big Sleep (Aug. 15).

The photo above is one Thom took of me at Screen on the Green almost two years ago, in July 2003, when we saw Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. In fact, we’re coming up on two years since Thom and I first met. Did we ever pin down that date? June 21, 2003, is when we saw The Kinsey Sicks at the Birchmere. Whoa. June 21 is today!

A while back I tore out a little booklet from one of my magazines (either The New Yorker or The Atlantic Monthly); it’s sponsored by a financial company, and thinking it was just advertising I was going to throw it out, but I realized it’s a small collection of poems, entitled “Well-Versed: Poems for the Road Ahead.” I finally got around to reading through it, and one of the poems seems especially appropriate for Father’s Day, yesterday: “I Worry More” by David Filer, in which the narrator talks about both his son and his father.

A father’s no shield for his child —
— Seamus Heaney, “Elegy”

I worry more now that my son is out
On his own, earning a handsome salary
Back east. How big the country is, and how
Many ways to navigate it. He’s free
To cross his streets without a father’s help —
A father’s caution, practice reading the signs.
And though I must admit he’s doing well,
Anything could happen, and he’s still mine
To fret over. Finally I understand
My own father’s silence. Not uncaring,
As I once thought, it’s the brave wordlessness
Of love and wonder, and no little fear:
Two fathers, now watching from their distance,
Two sons who risk the futures they will miss.

It makes me think about my own grandparents, parents, and me, each successive generation having wandered farther — from the Philippines to California to D.C. — in search of new experiences, always with that mix of worry and love, wonder and fear.

The poem references Seamus Heaney’s “Elegy,” written on the occasion of Robert Powell’s death, and for reference I’ve included it in the extended entry.

This past weekend Thom and I went to Covington, Va., to visit his family, and we had a good time. It was definitely a better experience than the previous visit last year, which was my first time down there and meeting them all, when I was a nut case behind the scenes. Whether I’m still generally a nut case is debatable of course, but I enjoyed this weekend nonetheless.

One of the funnier conversations: we were talking about the local caverns, and Thom recalled that years ago he went and it happened to be the day that Elvis Presley died. They had just emerged from the caverns and the news was announced to them.

I asked him, “Was that 1977?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, it must’ve been. I know that Elvis died the year I was born.”

“Sometimes you say things that make me feel so old.”

Heh. (For those of you keeping score, Thom and I have a 15-year age difference between us. We like to joke that he is the Demi to my Ashton.) Anyway, also at his mom’s house I got to see some photos of Thom when he was a boy. What a cute kid! He totally needs to scan those photos one of these days.

[Addendum: On the drive back from Covington, I had to take a photo of this bus. Now I’m sure it’s a fine, reputable company, but man, what a name.]