Minneapolis 3

 

July 13, 2024

The day begins with hard rain on the windows. I brought no rain gear.

A newly informed glance makes me realize I can see the roof of the Art Institute– as well as the Hyatt where we’re meant to rehearse– from my window.

Returning to yesterday, went to see several sessions at Orchestra Hall and the Convention Center. The sameness, the relentless pop-y hyper-activity, the underdog triumphalism began to exhaust me sooner than I anticipated. I never need to hear another gay chorus singing gay anthems, ever, though I certainly will– beginning with today. The crowd, in its anxiety to uplift and support, manages to ruin every number by screaming and bravo-ing after every high note, after every achieved rhythmic effect, thus obliterating the end of each of those moments and then next ten measures of music after. Some groups, such as Atlanta and Columbus, manage both effect and music, but most aren’t trying, understanding that the crowd wouldn’t know how to react to good music making without a headdress of peacock feathers and flaming batons. 

Met Michael from Columbus in the hotel lobby. He has a tic toc channel where he talks about his life as a gay man and the surrogacy that brought him and his partner, also Michael, a son long before it was fashionable. I ran from building to building to hear Columbus for his sake. Lunch with members of the gang, who invited me to the Normandy for dinner and drinks. When I got to the Normandy, no one was there. I had been stood up Ordered cocktails anyway, in conversation with an old spinster who lives a few blocks away and volunteers at the church because she wanted to meet more gay people. She lamented that most people find her irritating, and I stand witness to the truth of that. Left Normandy, returned to the Hilton, more cocktails with guys from Turtle Creek (Dallas). Surprisingly, they shared my exhaustion with the relentless up-ness of the festival. Conversation with men pouring into the bar from a meeting, stately old guys in tuxedos, wearing medals, youths radiating insolent good health. Phi Kappa Psi having its bi-annual fete. Took a negroni up to my room and disappeared into sleep.

Evening: Full day. Sat in Peavey Park and wrote a poem in intermittent rain. A lesbian version of myself haunted the other corner of the terrace.  Rehearsal at the Hyatt, dinner at Hell’s Kitchen (which I liked) with colleagues. I’d been wandering around wondering what to do with my evening when the invitation to dinner came. 

I must temper my criticism of crowd behavior with this: The Triad Chorus (otherwise undistinguished) sang “Lift Ever’y Voice and Sing,” and immediately, silently, as one, the crowd rose to their feet. I was so proud of everybody that tears came to my eyes.

Someone shot at Trump at a rally in Pennsylvania, piercing his ear. My surprising reaction was sadness and sorrow for a bewildered old man who had to put up with being hurt in a place where he should have been safe.