Son of a Preacher Man

It’s been an odd sort of a day. But the perfect cure for the lousy week I’ve been having, that’s for sure. It began with the arrival of Wil Wheaton’s new book. I can’t wait to read it! Interesting things that happened while I wandered around, putting up posters:

1. The girl at the Bunnery recognised the girl in the poster, which I found interesting considering how stark the design of the poster.
2. I actually managed to find places for all the posters I took with me. I will probably ask for more and try to get them in more places.
3. I went to the nearby Episcopal church and met Father Brian. Quite handsome, I thought (dishy vicar) and kind. I…I do believe I’ll go to church tomorrow. I’ve never gone of my own accord and not willingly in many many years. I don’t know if this is a resurgence of faith…I mean, if any church you’d think I’d go with UU, but…maybe it’s because of Bishop Robinson and how he got to speak at the Inauguration and how the Episcopal church (parts of at least) are supportive of people like me. Maybe I just need something in the community, something I can be a part of so I don’t feel quite so alone here.
4. I went to an art gallery. And the work was beautiful. This one piece reminded me of Robert Johnson, and I’ve never heard a single one of his songs the whole way through. But it was beautiful and layered and still disjointed and…terrified. I got a sense of terror and frantic work, ‘get that last note down before the hell hounds come for me’. A woman working there was so kind to me (I think she wanted to make a sale), she must have thought I was older than I was and had money to spend on these works. I wish I did. Some were breathtaking. Some I loved, some I wanted to buy for people I knew. There was an artist there with her artist husband. They both had work up and both were also painting or retouching work at the same time right in the gallery. In his work, there was a sense of timelessness that drew me. He’d copy Renaissance works and in the foreground have young women that somehow were and were not a part of the reproduction painting. A modern retelling next to the original. And the woman had two paintings that struck me: someone walking in an autumn park at twilight, another walking past tall city buildings. The little figure, the Wanderer I named them in my head, was the draw. I don’t know why. But of all the paintings, the bluesy, jazzy one that I have nowhere to put and no way to afford was my favourite.
5. As I passed the nearby theatre on the way home, I noticed it was opening earlier to show movies at 5. I went in and looked around. My favourite of the many collections was the buttons. Hundreds of them, including The Man Without A Face. I knelt to look at it and just…felt safe with the image of the boy there, grown up now. I got my five dollar bill I had left and four quarters and I went to see Doubt.
6. Doubt was phenomenal. Absolutely brilliant. I would have preferred the Broadway cast (as I had seen them on tour), but Meryl Strep and Philip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams were all amazing. It didn’t feel as much like a movie as I thought, more like I was sitting on a stage with them, so close. Of course much was added to make the right running time for a movie and I do believe the play was better (when it is not?), but it was still a mesmerising film.Now I am determined to do a scene from it in Acting II and I’ll ask Josh, because he’d gushed over it as well.