Mondo Guerra

Before I talk about the ways that Mondo Guerra has worked his way into our hearts, let me say a few other things about last night’s show:

• People are really funny talking about Ivy:  She can sew, but she’s not so much as a designer.  She’s intense and bitchy and exacting.  She thinks pretty highly of herself.
• Gretchen — despite a few snide comments about Casanova — seems to have calmed down somewhat from her earlier antics. Perhaps she took Tim’s criticism to heart?
• Kristen Bell?  Really?!?  Has it come to this, Project Runway?  Is she about to appear in some Lifetime TV movie and this was something worked out with the network?  ’Cause she is hardly known for her fashion forward choices. Aside from Veronica Mars and that unfortunate looking film about some wedding in Italy with Josh Duhamel, she is hardly known at all.  Did you see the dress she was wearing?  Did you see the way that Kors and Heidi and la Garcia hardly interacted with her?  Did you hear her say that she would wear April’s “dress” on the red carpet?  Did you hear her describe herself as punk baby doll?  Did you ask yourself why that would be a good idea for an aesthetic?  As far as guest judges go, it was a train wreck from beginning to end.

But now on to MONDO!  Yes, he may have designed a “junior” outfit (a term heretofore confined to department stores) that the judges hated.  Yes, even we may have thought it was a bit silly looking, but for all these reasons, we love him still:

• His description of Ivy: “She’s a powerhouse and a bossy lady.”
• His wonderful turnaround on the Michael C front.  Do I love Michael C?  I do not.  But Mondo seems to have realized that he may have judged him too harshly.  And he said this, not only to us at home, but also to Michael himself, apologizing for being a bitch and a dick and a jerk.  Props to Mondo.
• And then he did so again on the runway, claiming that whatever faults his outfit had, they were not because of Michael’s sewing.
• His outfits!  I loved the little suit with the pink shirt and the bowtie.  Adorable!
• His hair!  So many options, so many styles!
• His tiny little limbs in those shorts and t-shirts.  Alastair and I are on the smaller side ourselves and we do like to see the non-muscled gays represent.
• He’s from Denver!

Mondo Guerra, will you be our friend when you return to the Mile High City?  This city needs more folks like you.  Where do you hang out?  Who are your friends?  Do you belong to a little clique of fashionable hipsters?  If so, can we join you?  Please email us at downandoutindenver AT gmail DOT com.

• This Friday, IIDA’s Rocky Mountain Chapter hosts Prêt-a-Porter at Exdo Event Center.
• The recent New York Times article, “Denver Chefs Head for the Garden,” provides a glimpse into three Denver restaurants that produce or source ingredients from in and around the city.
•  Harry Nilsson’s “Everybody’s Talkin’,” from the 1969 film “Midnight Cowboy”) is a classic and John Scheinfeld’s 2010 documentary “Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?),” explores the singer’s enigmatic life and music that came to an early end.
• MCA Denver’s Energy Effects is on view in its entirety through Sunday, September 12. See the exhibition Westword described as “over the top.”
• El Diablo just opened, and Tambien is now closed. 
• Late addition: Next to Johnny Weir, Brad Feels Masculine. This has to be one of the best scenes from this season’s Rachel Zoe Project. If you were lucky, you also caught a glimpse of Johnny in the newest Bluefly.com commercial.

Peach Carr

This post will have to be brief — I’ve got fun things to do in the city, after all — but I would be remiss if I did not mark the occasion of Peach’s departure.  Was her dress the worst?  Indeed it was. Did she know it?  She sure did.  Peach Carr was a realist.  And that was pretty refreshing on a show of bloated egos and insecurity masked as arrogance.  She also — despite constant self-deprecating references to her own age — was a thorough delight and I am going to miss her.  She did keep up with the young ones.  And she did make me laugh.  And she also — take note, Gretchen Jones — managed to be both funny and interesting without constantly saying nasty things about other people’s designs.  There is a lesson here.  What impressed me most about Peach came at the very end; it was pretty clear that everyone there was going to miss her.  There were tears.

So we here at DOD join with the remaining contestants in wishing you a very fond farewell, Peach Carr.

Flowers and Wine at GFF

Every year to celebrate our birthdays, which are quite close to each other, my gal pals Historiann and ej and I go out to dinner. Alas, ej has moved out of state recently so she was unable to accompany us, but we toasted her repeatedly.  (Were your ears ringing last night, ej?)  This year Historiann suggested that we have dinner at Grant Family Farms.  Dinner at a farm, you ask?  Why yes, indeed. Grant Family Farms of Wellington (just north of Fort Collins) is both a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) farm with members and a supplier to restaurants and, one presumes, grocery stores and the like.  And they have begun a series of dinners on the farm that include music, entertainment and tours.  So last night Historiann, Dr. Mr. Historiann, and I got back to the land.  And what an adventure we had.

We decided to live it up — as well as avoid driving — by spending the night at the lovely Armstrong Hotel in downtown Fort Collins.  The Armstrong offers a discount to those participating in the Grant Farm dinners.  And one can take a shuttle bus — a brightly painted former school bus — from the Sports Authority parking lot, just a few blocks away.  The bus, driven by the friendly Maria, dropped us off at the Farm around 4:00.  And we were immediately treated to a delicious selection of hors d’oeuvres: dates wrapped in bacon; fresh vegetables; MouCo ColoRouge and Camembert cheeses; Il Mondo Vecchio cured meats. And wine and cocktails, too.  We were particularly fond of a very refreshing cucumber and mint gin and tonic.  I am a huge fan of the G&T and I usually don’t like it messed with, but this was very tasty and something I might just have to try at home.

Bus as Chicken Coop

Grant Family Farms is not just a family business, it’s also a family business, if you know what I mean, not at all what I was expecting in northern Colorado.  I was very much at home.  After a walk around the beautiful grounds we all hopped back on the bus — cocktails in hand — for a tour of the farm.  We bumped down the lane as farmer Chelsea explained how the farm works.  They farm about 2,000 acres, 600 of which they own; the rest they lease.  They harvest an astounding array of fruits, vegetables, flowers, and trees: eggplants, tomatoes, parsley, onions, raspberries, basil, sunflowers, and so much more.  They grow more cilantro than anywhere in the nation outside of Arizona and California.  Everything — including all the chicken, ducks, geese, and pigs — are raised organically and many of the chickens live in roving coops fashioned out of old school buses.

Before the Feast Commenced

Following the tour it was time for our four-course meal.  We began with a Romaine and butter lettuce salad, topped with poblano vinaigrette, wax beans, carrots, and tomatoes. Then came a very tasty green pepper stuffed with Lebanese zucchini, corn, Anaheim peppers, and cherry tomatoes.  It was served with goat cheese and a cabbage slaw.  I had just eaten two courses without meat and I was satisfied; who knew?  Following a brief interlude of dancing and hula hooping — music courtesy of Cowboy Jazz — we were served our main course: oven roasted duck with wilted spinach, cauliflower, and spicy pico de gallo. This was definitely my favorite of the four courses.  Dessert was a peach cobbler with a biscuit and a surprise flavored ice cream (it was Cap’n Crunch!). Food was prepared by the staff of Café Vino and the wines were courtesy of Vintages. Dinner is served at a very long table, set with beautiful flowers from the farm.  After a couple glasses of wine had loosened everyone up we were chatting with our table neighbors from Fort Collins, Boulder, and Denver, many of whom are members of the farm and regularly partake of their eggs, vegetables, or milk.

Fire Dancers Perform Mid-Meal. It was even more dramatic in the dark.

But the fun was just beginning!  After dinner and in between sets by Cowboy Jazz, fire dancers performed in the dark.  Two dancers had ropes that were lit at each end and then swung round rhythmically in a coordinated routine.  As we lounged on blankets spread out on the lawn, the fire dancers lit up the night sky.  And then there were fireworks! One must say this for the staff of Grant Family Farms: they pull out all the stops to insure that their guests have a good time.  I was expecting fresh and tasty food, maybe even a tour, but the cocktails, the music, the performers, and the fireworks made this so much more than just a dinner out; it was an extravaganza.  For those interested, GFF will be hosting a two-day Harvestival on September 11th and 12th: tours, activities for kids, a farmer’s market, and live music (featuring the one and only Judy Collins!).  If Harvestival is anything like their dinners, it’s sure to be a good (and tasty!) time.

Happy Birthday ej!  Happy Birthday Historiann!

Free drinks, entertainment, and special guests were the rule of thumb at the Denver Modernism Show Early VIP Gala… and they use the term gala very loosely. Black Tie it was not. Blake and I had the pleasure of being some of the first to shop the show, alongside our fellow modernism enthusiasts: Mr. and Ms. B, and the fashionable, Ginger Snap. We were kindly greeted, on multiple occasions, by Charles Phoenix, the self-proclaimed “King of Retro.” Our VIP tickets got us two free cocktails: Your choice of Mai Tai, Blue Hawaiian, or some other rum cocktail at the fabulously decorated Tiki Bar. Blake don’t care for rum, but I’ll drink just about anything, especially if it comes free with admission and an umbrella. We were also treated to live music, heavily tattooed hula girls, and some unmemorable entertainment. Yours truly fell in love with some serious chartreuse colored champagne/sherbet cocktail glasses (see below) by the versatile Russel Wright, designed to complement his recently reissued American Modern dinnerware. At twenty dollars a piece, I had to painfully pass, but they would have been a spectacular addition to a mid-century modern themed New Year’s Eve party.

Keeping in line with the mid-century theme, Ms. B suggested dinner and drinks at Bastien’s Restaurant and Steakhouse, located on East Colfax Avenue, near the Bluebird Theater. Blake has visited Bastien’s before, but this was Alastair’s first visit. Let’s say my expectations were not high, but I was tremendously pleased with my entire experience.

Bastien’s is an old school steakhouse and bar with an interesting architectural design. Started by William Bastien in 1937 when he bought out the Moon Drive Inn, the present twelve-sided building was constructed in 1958 and has a sort of subtle Googie flair—an exaggerated modern architectural style seen in the coffee shops, bowling alleys, and motels of the 1950s and 1960s. After a drink at the bar lounge, Blake and I, alongside Mr. and Ms. B and Ginger Snap sat down for a wonderful dining experience. Now, Bastien’s is not inexpensive, but compared to the prices we pay at Potager, this was a bargain and we were well fed! We all started with salads. I had the Caesar, while everyone else had the Ice Berg wedge with Blue cheese dressing and bacon crumbles. My salad came with grilled romaine, a very nice touch, and plenty of shaved parmesan cheese and croutons, along with a tasty balsamic reduction and a DOD favorite, anchovies! Ms. B received something that looked more like half a head of lettuce, rather than a wedge. But who’s complaining!

Moving onto dinner, Blake ordered LaLa’s Steak, a ten ounce New York steak grilled with fresh lime and cracked pepper, served with fresh peppers and pico de gallo. Mr. and Ms. B went with a German theme. Mr. B enjoyed his Beef Liver sautéed with onions, “just like mom made,” and seasoned mashed potatoes. Ms. B seemed very pleased with her wiener schnitzel. Ginger had the pork chop special and I chose the ten ounce New York with Deep Fried Shrimp. It came with a reasonably sized baked potato with sour cream, butter, cheese, and chives, and the steak was perfectly cooked to a true medium rare. Delicious! We ended our meal with some apple pie sizzling skillet dessert with vanilla ice cream. The perfect ending to a perfect meal.

After going our separate ways, Blake and I enjoyed a brisk walk down Colfax to grab ourselves a night-cap at HER BAR located at Colfax and Washington. According to the website Fridays at HER BAR are FemmeBar with DJ Love, who seemed to be spinning an eclectic mix of 80s new wave and current hits by Usher, Gaga, and others. We grabbed ourselves a seat at the bar and a drink. Blake was intrigued by reruns of The Nanny projected onto an interior wall. Is Fran Drescher a lesbian?  Is there some lesbian connection that we DOD boys are unaware of? Clearly, the Nanny was a gay icon… I mean look at those highlight clips on YouTube. Just saying.

In any case, the DOD boys seemed to be a magnet for the more interesting ladies enjoying themselves last night. My friend, whose name I did not catch, was clearly a fan of the drink. Tired of waiting for a refill and patience running thin, she decided to continually stand then sit until finally waving her hands in the air as though she was directing a 747 from its final approach to the gate. Blake’s lady friend, Nila, was much cuter than mine… but perhaps just as drunk. I don’t know much about Nila, but the girl liked to dance… and apparently found the two of us very interesting. We later met her gal pal Fay, who had no idea “what was going on.” As the night went on, Nila became even more friendly. I think she may have slightly molested Blake as Fay and I chatted offline. I hope that Nila understood that she wasn’t going to get very far. In any case, we found HER (or HER, or HER, or HER) BAR lots of fun and an amusing way to end the evening. We’ll be back Nila, don’t you worry your pretty little big pocket shorts! And the DOD boys will have their dancing shoes with them next time!

Gretchen Calls the Shots

April may have summed it up best, and it is from her that I take this post’s title, though even she had no idea what was in store for Team Luxe when she asked the question above. Hitler as a point of reference is undoubtedly extreme, but Gretchen proved herself the ultimate Project Runway villain last night.  And clearly she had already been practicing.

The sad thing, of course, is that while Gretchen is clearly a backstabbing, egocentric, arrogant evildoer, she is probably the most talented of the bunch.  She’s also tall, stylish, articulate (if verbose), and pretty.  Damn her!  Our only consolation is that this time she got a little comeuppance, and from the usually reticent Tim Gunn.  But first the episode…

As we settled in to watch PR last night with Alastair’s homemade caesar salad (anchovies!), a Fat Sully’s pepperoni pizza, and a bottle of chilled pinot grigio (97 in Denver yesterday!), we knew things were gonna get nasty as soon as Heidi announced a team challenge.  And big teams, at that.  I will admit that I didn’t think that the military lace gang had a shot from the get-go.  Yes, they had Valerie (who is probably our one hope to take down Gretchen), but they also had Casanova and April. Further, they were proposing Military Lace as their theme and fabric.  How could this end well?

And indeed I have to say that I don’t think that either collection actually worked out all that well, though Alastair and I both agreed with the judges that Team Luxe was the worst: ill-fitting, drab, baggy, and largely lifeless. But Team Military & Lace also just seemed a little tacky to me.  I kind of agreed with Ivy and the dreaded Gretchen that it wasn’t remarkably cohesive sometimes.  The blue popped up from time to time (the outfits of Peach and Valerie) but always seemed a little out of place.  And some of the lace and extra hardware appeared a wee bit tacky to me, like a shopping spree at Forever 21 or some such. But clearly it was leaps and bounds ahead of Team Luxe, who may have been all kinds of cooperative but also sent an ocean of beige boringness down the runway.

Gretchen and teammates in happier times

Let me just say that from the moment that Team Luxe vowed backstage that they would not turn on each other, I knew we were in for some true fun.  Because there was no way they were going to stick to it.  And indeed they did not.  I can see, of course, why they all turned on Michael Costello.  Not only did he have immunity (as the judges continually pointed out), but what the judges don’t seem to see is that he appears to be remarkably unskilled, and the other designers really did spend a good deal of time helping him out.  It doesn’t help matters that they were all so irked at what they believe (and I agreed) was his undeserved win of the week before.  But oh, Gretchen, you need to just shut up!  If you could keep a  lid on it, most people (the DOD boys included) wouldn’t hate you so much.  But she just can’t stop herself.  In the beginning she kept on bossily repeating — choking back the tears — that the judges needed to be “mindful” of how cooperatively they had worked and how proud of their collection they were. And then, when push came to shove, all of them — save A.J. — turned on Michael.  And Gretchen completed her 180 revolution, claiming falsely that she had never liked the collection and had tried valiantly to salvage it with styling at the last minute. At least Gretchen was reprimanded by the judges when she appeared in the final two, but it was clear to all watching that it was A.J. who would be saying auf wiedersehen.

Bless your heart, Tim Gunn.  Rare are the moments when he expresses any sort of opinion about what happens on the runway. (Long-time viewers may recall an earlier moment where he called out a designer who had lied outright to the judges.) But he went after Gretchen this time around. I cannot wait to see the fallout from this episode next week!

• Introducing Let’er Buck Cologne, a new fragrance that finally lets you embrace the scent of a rodeo cowboy, available now. I’ll assume this ain’t your first time at the rodeo.
• Egyptian scents + the afterlife + King Tut’s curse + a dose of the unexpected = UnTutled #32 (Tut) at the Denver Art Museum… the final Untitled of the season. Friday, August 27, 6:00–10:00 p.m.
• The Denver Modernism Show takes place this Friday thru Sunday at Denver’s National Western Complex, home of the National Western Stock Show. A VIP gala will be held Friday evening, from 5:00-7:00 p.m. Tickets are $35 but you get free cocktails. I was told that last year’s drinks were ridiculously strong. SOLD! 
• Interested in all things mid-century? The 2010 Arapahoe Acres Home & Garden Tour takes place this Saturday, August 28th. Arapahoe Acres is the first post-World War II residential subdivision listed as a historic district in the National Register of Historic Places. Participants can tour 12 homes and gardens from 1:00-5:00 p.m.
• ARTCRANK Denver will open on Saturday, September 4 at the Lisa Koslowski Gallery. The show will feature the work of 56 local artists and run through Saturday, September 11. (via xrocksthespot™)
• SF Weekly‘s food critic, Jonathan Kauffman reports, When Pink Ice Cream Isn’t Gay Enough: Tranny Smackdown at Humphry Slocombe. Oh, San Francisco… Oh, Cazwell.

I like stories about friendship, particularly ones that acknowledge the importance that it has in our lives.  Like Ann Patchett’s very moving Truth and Beauty – also the story of two writers, one of whom dies suddenly and tragically — this is the chronicle of a long friendship between two women, but there is much less drama to the actual friendship between Knapp and Caldwell than existed between Patchett and the poet Lucy Grealy.  The friendship between Knapp and Caldwell is arguably more central to both of their lives.  They meet when Knapp is in her late 30s and Caldwell is 9 years her senior.  Both have recently adopted dogs and are well nigh obsessed with training them properly (Knapp was also the author of Pack of Two: The Intricate Bond Between People and Dogs, where Caldwell and her dog, Clementine, make a pseudonymous appearance).  Both are also recovering alcoholics.  Neither is married or involved with a man, though Knapp eventually reconciles with her on-again-off-again boyfriend and marries him the month before her death. Their friendship quickly escalates to the status of a primary relationship for both of them.  In a society where many people don’t marry, or wait many years before doing so, and many more leave marriages, Caldwell and Knapp shared their lives together as friends.  They talked, they competed, they swam and rowed (both exercise fanatics), they vacationed, they trained and walked their dogs together.  When Caldwell bought her first home, Knapp carried her over the threshold, laughing the whole time. Their friendship was deep and meaningful and important.

Of course no book is great just because it’s about something interesting and important.  And this is true of Caldwell’s.  It’s great because she writes beautifully, doing her utmost to describe what friendship means, how grief feels, and how loss manifests itself in our lives.  Caldwell begins:

It’s an old, old story: I had a friend and we shared everything, and then she died, and so we shared that, too.

Her writing is simple without being stark.  At times it is funny.  And often it is heartbreaking.  (I should say also that on the subject of grief, I far preferred this to Didion’s much fêted Year of Magical Thinking, which I found pretentious and without much new to say.) What works is how observant she is and how she is able to translate that to the page, to make us see what happened between her and Knapp, and why it mattered, why friendship matters. Caldwell recalls the moment when Knapp, a long-time smoker, is first diagnosed with lung cancer:

I remember two things from the rest of that day with glaring clarity.  One was Caroline crying as I wrapped my arms around her, after they had brought her back up to her room, when the first thing she said to me was “Are you mad at me?”  It was the voice of early terror, a primal response to bad news, and to this day I don’t know whether she meant because we had fought about the smoking or because she knew she was going to leave me.

And after her death:

For years, through the trials of writing or dog training or life’s ordinary bruises, Caroline and I had been the soothing, modulated voice in each other’s heads.  Now my thoughts were clanging around unnoticed and unheard, lonely music with too much bass.  For months, I kept wanting to call her, half assuming I could, to tell her what her dying had meant, what her death had done to my life.

These two excerpts simply do not do the book justice.  Suffice it to say that I read it all in one sitting, crying through the final third.

Alastair was an early convert to Denver B-Cycle.  It took me longer, largely because I don’t mind walking everywhere.  But I just joined, and last night was to be my very first night using a B-Cycle.  I signed up Friday online and was told that while my membership card would not arrive for a little while (understandably) I could use the credit card that I’d registered with in order to take out a bike. It was not to be.  I inserted said card at the B-Cycle station at Boulder and 16th in the Highlands: not recognized, no membership.  As I waited on hold with B-Cycle headquarters I walked over the Highland Bridge to the station at 16th and Platte.  The nice gentleman on the other end of the phone told me there was a glitch in the system and that it wasn’t fixable right now.  However, I could sign up for a $5 one-day membership that he would reimburse to my credit card.  Done. Except that when I tried to take out a bike the system froze.  No luck.  Alastair advised me there was a station across the park at 16th and Little Raven.  There I finally met with success.  I sailed off down the Cherry Creek Trail (on the pedestrian side; I’m still getting acquainted with bicycling etiquette) to meet Alastair at Sketch Wine Bar for a glass of vinho verde, served up by the ever-friendly J.D.

Update: Denver B-Cycle called me on Monday and has straightened out the entire problem with the credit card.  Seems like they run a pretty tight ship!

Red Lights over the bar at El Diablo

Alastair had arrived at El Diablo before me and put our names on the waiting list before heading over to Sketch (located next door and also run by Jesse Morreale, who brought us Tambien, Mezcal, and La Rumba).  Midway through our second glass of wine at Sketch, we were approached by one of the hosts at El Diablo: had we put our names on the list?  Indeed we had.  Now that’s service! While the host and hostess were indeed very accommodating, the table service left a little to be desired.  Granted, it was their second night in action, but we waited a long time to have our order taken, and even longer to have it actually appear. While some of the waitstaff seemed to be wandering around aimlessly, ours was often nowhere to be found or rushed by our table without looking at us.  The food and drinks were tasty, though nothing remarkably special.  We started with chips y tres salsas and two very tall glasses of sangria.  The salsas were good, if a little runny, and the sangria — perhaps because so plentiful — was pretty watery and devoid of much fruit flavor. (The pricier sangria made with more fruit was unavailable last night.)  Our tacos — one order of carne asada y papas and one order of carnitas with salsa — were very tasty, though the tortillas had become hardened and brittle. And our very small sides of rice and beans — at $4.95 each — were overpriced and underwhelming.  It was opening weekend so Alastair and I agreed we’d give it another chance. The place is packed and the atmosphere is fun.  It’s dark and the tacky red lights worked well with the bad plasticized tabletops.  It reminded both of us of a place in the Mission in San Francisco called Velvet Cantina: hipster Mexican.

And we were off!  A night of karaoke awaited us at Armida’s, site of a wild night in early May that I documented here. This was actually our gal pal’s Whitney’s birthday party and she once again delivered some stellar performances, even joining Alastair for a rendition of Estelle and Kanye’s “American Boy.” Alastair took Estelle’s part, natch.  And they were not the only enthusiastic singers.  A gang of six thirty-something straight guys got up to deliver a somewhat too rousing rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory.” One couldn’t help but wonder if they were mourning their own youth, gone in the aforementioned blaze. And there was even a lady fight!  Involving actual punches. One very drunken young woman (part of an entourage of mid-20s women in strappy dresses and large engagement rings; is this Denver?) took a swing at another young woman who had spent most of her awful rendition of Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” trying to show off her quads to the audience. Oh my. It was not pretty.

Stay tuned for Alastair’s report on our delicious (and boozy) Sunday brunch at Root Down…

My regular driving pals: Renée and Steve

I recently completed a little road trip all by my lonesome: San Francisco to D-Town.  Before leaving I dutifully printed out my NPR map (courtesy of NPRroadtrip.com).  I can hardly stand to be in my car without Steve & Renée; Robert, Melissa, and Michele. What I had forgotten, however, was that good portions of the drive through Nevada, Utah, and Wyoming on I-80 leave you out of range of local NPR stations.  I did have some CDs with me but for whatever reason I ended up just flipping through various radio stations until NPR came back to me.  And guess what I found?  Christian radio.  Lots and lots of Christian radio.

I don’t want to get into a long discussion here about religion. This post is meant to be about Christian radio specifically, not Christianity as a whole.  Here’s my beef: no matter the subject up for discussion the answer to every single question, problem, conundrum, or mystery is the same on Christian radio: God.  Why did it happen? God.  Who made it happen? God. How did it happen? God. When did it happen?  Whenever God felt like it should.  To whom did it happen? Whomever God chose. This may well be the party line in certain Christian denominations but it makes for incredibly boring radio.  In under an hour you quickly realize that there are not going to be any surprises coming your way.

Until I realized that there were indeed surprises, and not particularly pleasant ones either.  In one segment the host was interviewing Lynn Cherry, co-author (with her daughter) of Kalyn’s Secret, the story of Kalyn’s abuse by an older member of the Cherrys’ church.  While this is clearly a serious issue, it quickly spiraled into a condemnation of the “teaching” of homosexuality in schools, and of Islam, as the host trotted out the specter of the prophet Mohammed’s child bride.  But Kalyn, of course, was abused by a male fellow parishioner in the church where her father was pastor.  In other words, not a lesbian or a Muslim.  I was flabbergasted.  How on earth could these things be related? Was no one else stunned by these leaps?

And that’s just the news and “debate” portion of the show (the latter in quotation because there never really is any debate). The music, too, is all about God (or his kid).  Almost every singer either praises the Lord or hopes desperately that s/he could return to properly loving God.  While secular music tends to dwell on one theme (love and sex) a little more than most others, at least other themes do exist (revenge, sadness, joy, depression, California gurls being unforgettable).  Not so much on Christian radio.

Driving through Eastern Nevada (surely one of the ugliest places in this great nation of ours) I heard an interview with Cathy Liggett, author of Beaded Hope, a novel about four Ohio women who embark on a mission to South Africa to help AIDS patients. While Liggett was extremely articulate about South Africa, AIDS, and the novel’s theme of female friendship across racial and national divides, she also fell back into the same old rhetoric when explaining how she came to write the book. Why did it take her so long to finish the novel after she’d started it?  God’s plan.  How did she come to have the money to journey to South Africa to do the research for the novel?  Once again, the Big G.

I tune in to the radio either for music or to learn something new about the world, something that I didn’t know before.  It became clear to me that Christian radio might offer the former but not so much on the latter.  It simply confirmed — over and over and over again — what listeners presumably believed already.  It also offered up passivity and abnegation of responsibility as a strategy for living. If everything is God’s plan, what decisions do we actually make for ourselves?  Who is responsible for his or her life?  Most of the people on Christian radio seemed to think that God was.  And that left me a wee bit scared.