It’s been close to a year since my first at-bat for TNG. In November of last year, I penned a piece on gayborhoods. As a then-student of urban planning, I thought it would be a nice, easy way to ease into this new role of mine as a gay columnist. Boy was I wrong. I suppose the pitcher read me like a book, because I spawned an anti-column, as it were. One of TNG’s readers, Ed Jackson, wrote a thoughtful and coherent  post attacking my first column as myopic and typical of the gay community.  

I blog owing to an opinion that I find it most fulfilling. To know that so many folks cotton to my thoughts is uplifting. But I can’t always talk about unhumorous and significant topics. Occasionally, it’s good to kick back a bit and unwind. 

Words link us and bind us. And words bring about laughing and thinking in all of us.

I’m not usually the type to listen to AM radio shows. Unless, that is, you count Morning Edition. But now that I’m carpooling to the Metro with my boyfriend, I have an opportunity for a few minutes each day to listen to the juvenile antics of the disc jockeys. Usually I don’t find much interesting in these shows, but occasionally, things are different.

As I mentioned in my last column, I’ve recently moved to a new apartment with my boyfriend. Aside from the major change of being in the suburbs, my life has been drastically altered by my contraction of ‘Nesting Syndrome.’ This acquired affliction has been presenting itself for the past few weeks, and only shows signs of intensifying. I think that I’ve either contracted it from or passed it too my boyfriend, because he is also exhibiting symptoms.

The gay community has long had a connection to the city. Urban areas have been more open to us and have been the places of many of our civil rights struggles. From New York’s Stonewall Riots to pride festivals, in many respects the gay community has become almost synonymous with urbanity.

I attended my fourth Pride Festival this weekend, and like always I had a good time. But I also find myself conflicted about Pride. As a celebration of gay culture, I think is it rather limited. As a street festival, it certainly gives us a chance to take over the street as a community, at least once a year. But as a political exercise, I often wonder whether it is counter-productive.

Last week, I reflected on my newfound impatience for full rights. The recent spate of gay marriage legalizations in Iowa and New England has made me realize that while we’ve come a long way, we’ve yet a long way to go. A look back in time really shows how far we’ve come.

A famous senator from Arizona once said that “moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.” And while I don’t often quote Barry Goldwater, his words ring true for me. I am also reminded of the words attributed to William Gladstone, that “Justice delayed is justice denied.

Yesterday, I submitted my final assignments. Tomorrow, I’ll be wearing a black robe (and peacock blue hood) while the band plays “Land of Hope and Glory.” Today, I’m meeting my parents at the airport and preparing my house for my program’s congratulatory pot luck.

This week, I’m swamped with term papers and exams. So as the last of my 19 years of consecutive education comes to a close, I’ve chosen to reflect upon an adventure I made back in the summer, when it was still warm and sunny outside.

Washington tends to be a more transient city than most in America. As a result, many of us move here from other regions with little knowledge of the ground upon which we are standing. Sometimes, however, we can find traces of the past which give us clues about what the Captial City was like long before we left our hometowns. History has long fascinated me, and I’ve always enjoyed finding little slivers of the past which remain in the urban fabric today. That’s why I was so excited to finally go on a tour of one of Washington’s most complete historic artifacts. I invite you to take the trip with me.