another eye opens

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We spent Fourth of July weekend at our friends Andy and Michael’s beautiful house in Bucks County, mostly sitting around the pool sunning and reading quietly. But the weekend began with a Sausage Fest for 16 gay men featuring 17 different varieties transported across state lines by Tom and Michael from DC. There were backyard fireworks. Saturday night we attended the local community picnic, band concert, and fireworks display. Sunday afternoon Mr. David Zinn drove up from Philadelphia to visit.

This weekend was even more chill. Aside from the farmer’s market, the main activity was a Sunday afternoon walk, stopping first to observe the tribute to Bill Cunningham in the Bergdorf windows, then taxiing up to the Met Museum for high-speed tours of three exhibitions on the second floor: “Pergamon and the Hellenistic Kingdoms of the Ancient World,” “Court & Cosmos: The Great Art of the Seljuos,” and “Divine Pleasures: Painting from India’s Rajput Courts — The Kronos Collection.” We meandered back on foot through Central Park and the always unpredictable staging area in front of Bethesda Fountain.

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After breakfast on Saturday, we said goodbye to our beautiful house, and our friendly companions dispersed to their next destinations.

Andy and I returned to Casa Howard in Florence, where we spent part of the afternoon wandering around the Oltr’Arno window-shopping (dazzling housewares, the coolest jazz record store ever) and enjoying the witty graffiti (iconic American as blockhead) until we noticed a poster announcing that the Tuscan gay pride parade was taking place…today! In fact, right now!

So we wended our way back to the other side of the river and eventually found the parade, full of enthusiastic youngsters who kept waving at someone over our heads — we crossed the street to see who it was, and it was all-purpose Nonna, beaming beatifically at the marchers and accepting their excited greetings.

Then it was time to park in a pleasant piazza for a classic Italian cocktail (Negroni) with classic Italian cocktail snacks (potato chips).

We followed a costumed marching band from Lucca to the Piazza della Signoria, where they mingled with the plethora of homoerotic statues, new sculpture by Belgian artist Jan Fabre, and a wedding photographer taking his job very seriously.

We had dinner al fresco at Michael’s first choice, where the waiter engaged us in zesty conversations about wine and American politics and where Andy ordered one of the most sublime dishes we ate all week, gnudi with spinach and sage. Gelato, a good night’s sleep, and off to the airport. Va bene!

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On our last day together, we took an expedition to Montepulciano, where I’d never been and which turned out to be an exquisitely beautiful and charming town to visit. It’s one of the highest Tuscan hill towns. From the top of the bell tower in the Palazzo Communale (Town Hall) the 360-degree views are spectacular.

After strolling around the town encountering unexpected sights and sounds (a tenor serenading passersby with a passionate aria), Andy and I settled down for lunch with Jay and Terry Wayne at a cafe overlooking the main piazza. While a Brazilian couple played flute and piano in the square, we shared a bottle of the local wine, vino nobile de Montepulciano, and I had the tastiest lunch of the week — simple grilled sausage with roasted potatoes.

A spectacular sunset capped our day.

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Our plans for Sound Day centered on visiting the abbey at Sant’Antimo, a beautiful austere 14th century rural church where a group of French monks perform the traditional six services of Gregorian chant. John and I have brought groups before, and it’s quite magical to experience classical a cappella singing with the acoustics of an old stone church. We planned to take in the midday service, but sadly on this day the monks were performing it privately, and in the church we heard only a recording of the service. (My theory is that they were in their private quarters in boxer shorts drinking beer, glued to the World Cup championships on their flat-screen TV.) Nevertheless, it’s a peaceful place to visit with scenic backdrops for pictures.

We had lunch in nearby Montalcino, celebrated for its wines (brunello di Montalcino and rosso di Montalcino). These are wines that can get quite pricey in the States, so we got a kick out of having a bottle of delicious rosso for local prices. Jennings models a fun jacket that Michael bought recently. And his pasta course took advantage of early truffle season.

San Giovanni d’Asso is known for its truffles, and Il Chiostro arranged for us to meet a renowned local truffle hunter named Paolo, who gave us an informative presentation on how truffles are grown, cultivated, and harvested. We met Mimi and Pipo, the dogs who are trained to find truffles — they don’t look like your idea of hunting dogs, do they? And Paolo’s friend Lorenzo served us some truffle-buttered bread while we admired his tattoos. Linda’s dinner started with a plate of extra-delicious antipastos: bresaiola wrapped around field greens, a tiny cooked artichoke, pecorino nero with flecks of truffle.

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My Pride weekend began Saturday afternoon dropping into the “Gays Against Guns” T-shirt making party in the back patio of Lucky’s in the East Village, a bustling vortex of artistic activism.

“Gays Against Guns” has galvanized the streak of action-oriented community spirit that drove ACT UP, Queer Nation, Occupy Wall Street, and other political demonstrations. It got me and lots of others out this year to participate in the full length of the Pride March. It was definitely more than a parade this year, feisty but also festive.

It was great to see old friends and meet new allies, like this guy Jessie, a cadet at West Point who grew up in Southern Indiana and was participating in his first Pride March.

The Gays Against Guns contingent included a beautiful performance art piece called “49 Human Beings,” in which a collection of downtown performers dressed in white veils processed silently down Fifth Avenue representing those slain in the Orlando massacre.

Every 10 blocks or so, our group would fall to the pavement for a “die-in,” which at first felt a little corny but grew increasingly powerful as a visual image — this is what it looks like for people to be mowed down by deranged killers with guns that shouldn’t be on the market. “How many more have to die?” was one of the compelling chants. Someone had made up a few tricky new chants — “Trans straight bi gay/We’re gagging on the NRA” — but they didn’t catch on as readily as old reliables such as “Hey hey ho ho/NRA has got to go!” It was surprisingly invigorating to chant “Fuck the NRA!” And then there was the unimpeachably gay “NRA Sashay Away!”

In the Village, the streets were packed with the babies, the young’uns of every stripe for whom Gay Pride really matters.

While we were paused in front of the Stonewall Tavern (newly crowned a National Monument by President Obama), there was suddenly a flurry of police action, with the K-9 unit sniffing around. I wondered if there had been a bomb scare. Later we learned that, no, they were just securing the area for the appearance of Hillary Clinton, Andrew Cuomo, and Bill DeBlasio who marched a few blocks together. I didn’t see Hillary but I met this gal Kayla rocking a dress she’d made herself.

We were buying organic lemonade from this Village entrepreneur.

At the end of the route, the angels stepped out of their costumes, and I chatted up the gigantically tall person who’d led the procession carrying a disco ball on a pole 40 blocks for a couple of hours. It turned out to Machine Dazzle, the great downtown costume designer, who was happy to step out of his high heels and head to Cowgirl for some margaritas.

I landed at John Salvato and Nick Mazza’s annual post-Pride reception, conveniently located in Abingdon Square for taking a break, having refreshments, and sharing stories from the day. Liam Cunningham took this picture, showing me the Photoshop app on his iPhone.