[This came to mind bc of Surfah's inference from the fact that all of my restaurant recs for DC seemed to fall NW near Dupont, and yes I realize the subject header will prompt a few "are you SURE it was accidental??" thoughts or comments; also, the below contains no metaphor or allegory for any close calls or confusion in my life, with no further ado...]
On June 11, 2007 I was about to go on my second date with the girl I might (emphasize might) now marry (yeah, it's been a bit of a winding road that still hasn't run its course - it's what happens when you're trying to talk someone into switching from Team Judah to Team Ephraim - it's like getting Kaveinga to BYU, takes a few years). We were attending a symphony performance at the Kennedy Center and she was going to pick me up at Dupont Circle where (oblivious to the imminent festivities) I had a meeting at the Aspen Institute.
I left that meeting around 5:30 and headed for the west side of the Circle to Mass Ave where she was going to pick me up. But I hadn't counted on thousands of gay men marching down P Street physically separating me from the point on Mass Ave where I was supposed to meet her. Not only marching down P Street but then winding left up the circle on Dupont, effectively barricading me from getting to where she was. In full suit and tie I stood on the edge of P Street a bit bewildered wondering what my best course of action was - and I decided to bolt across the street.
When I appeared to step from the throngs on the side of the road into the marching line a startling cheer went up from the people who had been right near me - I actually paused and looked back to see what had happened and realized that they were applauding me: the straight suit who had decided it was time to march for gay pride.
When I paused I opened a door for new problems. A couple of marching queer folk also interpreted my jaunt into the middle of the road as a coming out of sorts and one veered over to put his arm around my shoulder. And it was at this point (also fearing the news cameras that were everywhere and imagining my poor mother at home in Nor Cal watching the news and shrieking silently as she sees her unmarried son marching with the gay crowd on Dupont) that the deepest residue of my latent and mostly cured homophobia (just being candid here, people) roared to life and I shook the dude's arm and busted through for the other side.
Once through I never looked back. Later that night I had the most electric first kiss (with the girl, to be clear) of my life over the Potomac, standing behind the Kennedy Center.
So there you go. This should be fun.
On June 11, 2007 I was about to go on my second date with the girl I might (emphasize might) now marry (yeah, it's been a bit of a winding road that still hasn't run its course - it's what happens when you're trying to talk someone into switching from Team Judah to Team Ephraim - it's like getting Kaveinga to BYU, takes a few years). We were attending a symphony performance at the Kennedy Center and she was going to pick me up at Dupont Circle where (oblivious to the imminent festivities) I had a meeting at the Aspen Institute.
I left that meeting around 5:30 and headed for the west side of the Circle to Mass Ave where she was going to pick me up. But I hadn't counted on thousands of gay men marching down P Street physically separating me from the point on Mass Ave where I was supposed to meet her. Not only marching down P Street but then winding left up the circle on Dupont, effectively barricading me from getting to where she was. In full suit and tie I stood on the edge of P Street a bit bewildered wondering what my best course of action was - and I decided to bolt across the street.
When I appeared to step from the throngs on the side of the road into the marching line a startling cheer went up from the people who had been right near me - I actually paused and looked back to see what had happened and realized that they were applauding me: the straight suit who had decided it was time to march for gay pride.
When I paused I opened a door for new problems. A couple of marching queer folk also interpreted my jaunt into the middle of the road as a coming out of sorts and one veered over to put his arm around my shoulder. And it was at this point (also fearing the news cameras that were everywhere and imagining my poor mother at home in Nor Cal watching the news and shrieking silently as she sees her unmarried son marching with the gay crowd on Dupont) that the deepest residue of my latent and mostly cured homophobia (just being candid here, people) roared to life and I shook the dude's arm and busted through for the other side.
Once through I never looked back. Later that night I had the most electric first kiss (with the girl, to be clear) of my life over the Potomac, standing behind the Kennedy Center.
So there you go. This should be fun.
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