A few weekends ago, it was perfect outside. Jeff and I spent the day tooling around the Hirshhorn and National Gallery. At the Hirshhorn, I told him how Francis Bacon said he met his lover George Dyer when Dyer attempted to burglarize his home. It had been a long time since I last got to talk about about Francis Bacon with someone who didn’t know much about him but cared to hear about it.
Dean and Britta were performing 13 Most Beautiful …, their album of song tributes to some of the most stunning screen tests by Andy Warhol, at the Gallery. We slumped against the wall and shared a magazine while we waited in line, and he held my hand during their performance. I never listened to Luna, the band Dean and Britta previously played in together, somehow, though it seems like something I would have been very interested in being very into when I was in high school and college. Anyway, it’s just my thing. I love these songs.
Then we ate bar food and drank beer at the Red Derby. Jeff knows most of the bartenders there, and the server was reading US Weekly and reading interesting and hilarious bits from it out loud to us. After our meal, we went to see Ted Leo in a church basement. A lot of people I know through Clark were there. I walked in and was a coin that had been flipped. With tails facing up, the part of me who took care of Clark dwarfs the part who loves Jeff and dreamy music and art museums. I am struggling in my search for a balance.