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Heading south through a steady downpour with intermittent patches of a hard rainstorm, me, sus, and mimi keep returning to talk of online vs. real life interaction. Sus and mimi wonder aloud what it might feel like to meet the folks we’d met online all at once in a public space.

We speculate how typed text in forums and chat reveals some deep personal things about people and also how it distorts other things. Until one meets the folks one is reading and typing to, what exactly is revealed and what is distorted is unknown. Even after meeting in real life however, our public personas - subtle and complex constructions – reveal and conceal other things. Finally, what can really be known about others considering we humans have only partial knowledge of ourselves?

I call Wile_E and BuDDaH just as we pull on to 695. They are on their way after a late start heading down 95 for the same destination. Baltimore’s looping beltway behind us, I point the Sebring toward the nation’s command and control center.

The trees here are a week, at least, ahead of where they are in their springtime development at home. The apple-green shoots are just arrived in Pennsylvania, outpaced by the early riot of flowering trees. Here the full flush of early spring is everywhere unfurled!

Then just outside of the exurbs of the District of Columbia, in Kensington, MD, we notice the kingdom of OZ looming on a distant hill. Upon examining our incredible first intuition, we decide it is actually just a billion dollar Disney theme park. Sus, armed with the trusty AAA TourBook, informs us it is in fact, a Mormon temple. No matter, it is a stupendously tacky vision of truly cosmic proportions – and worthy of whole conversations about silly things religions do to persuade us they are “authentic.” You can see this remarkably inauthentic vision of heaven or something here:

link:
mormon whatever

http://lds.org/newsroom/showpackage/...-5-379,00.html

The concrete trail through megalopolis widens. Sudden influxes of rolling fleets of trucks and cars flow into the main chute from its various paved tributaries. Washington D.C. – hub of the nation, lately the globe – sprawls on every bank. Centers of industry and commerce – their corporate headquarters hunch like post-modern fortresses among the leaves of grass and maple, and blossomed magnolia. You don’t see many homes on this run. From these roadways America looks like a vast infrastructure or superstructure, really, with a massive moveable feast of motorized inhabitants.

Talking more and more of the folks we were expecting to meet - Hal, the vision of TFP whose disembodied voice I spoke with via phone and typed to online; BuDDaH its soul, a brother to us all and who had been mostly out of touch since his move; Wile_E, with whom I’d cultivated a solid friendship nearly from the time I’d first set type here - the girls wondered, perhaps a bit skeptically of all these folks I’d become so close to and of whom I’d spoke so well of. They know I have perhaps more friends online than in real life, that I do my business on the Net, and that they have interacted well and positively with folks on TFP.

But still, a nagging sense of anxiety hovers in the air as it always does on epochal occasions. The veils separating us here are more than mere scrims concealing only degrees of sunlight. We are buttressed between our typefaces, separated by distance, connected only by electronic pulses. My experience seems to satisfy them and my reassurances fall on trusting ears

Turning into an Anywhere, America parking lot of an Anywhere, America suburban strip mall, I’m trying to sustain the drama while being surrounded by the quotidian. I search for any sign distinguishing this place from a hundred thousand others and am getting nowhere. The name, “Mr. Smith’s” looms above a sector of the nondescript strip and we know we’re about to experience the secrets of the Grail which is the object of our journey.

My own anxiety peaks at this point and the girls know it. I mention I believe everyone knows I’ve described myself as “not a party person” but sus and mimi know the absurd extent of that description. I’ve been known to not attend my own parties, exhibitions, friends’ weddings, family funerals – or perhaps even worse, to show up for a few furtive moments and then disappear, leaving sus to answer the barrage of “Where’s art” queries which typically ensue.

I reflect upon this pathetic social history and commend myself for my recent “improvements” in this area. Both mimi and I have worked on this aspect of ourselves to the degree that we’ve passed quite a few social engagements with sus with normative colors!

This helps compose me as visions of what now seem the unknown humans I will be encountering in 30 seconds begin spinning ever more rapidly through my abruptly ineloquent brain. I announce the strategic decision to “walk around the mall” as a palliative to calm me down and get acclimated to the idea of inevitabilities we’ve set in motion…

For some reason I am still searching for something to mark this mall distinctive. Probably to imprint some unique memory of place for this much anticipated event. We remark that while the stores are just the same as they are everywhere, the people here seem more cosmopolitan, and many nationalities are apparent in the attendant population. This is clearly a “big city” suburb.

All right, there it is! Tucked in a shady back corner of the place is an establishment called, “Night Dreams”. Scantily clad mannequins stand at loose attention in the window wearing just the flimsiest pretty nighties. The sign on the window proffers “CLUB GEAR, PVC, RUBBER”. Well now, here’s a place one won’t see replicated in most suburban shopping scenes. Satisfied we are at an “interesting” location, I state my readiness to commit.

Swinging open Mr. Smith’s door and peering in at the décor, I see dark wood, green glass, and iron. There’s no crowd scene anywhere in sight. Committed, we probe the place until I see the folks whose images I recall from TFP posts seated at the back, smiling and engaged in conversation. We move toward the table, are recognized, greeted by a group stand up, and I commence to hug each participant. It occurs to me that this may not be the expected greeting and may be the day’s first hugs.

A band of brothers is here: Unclephil, looking identical to his photo; TopHat65, whose image I have not encountered previously; Peetster, another first time visage; rogue49 in his current metamorphosis; and Halx, who I can not stop touching – perhaps to verify his reality but probably to let him know how close I feel to him already. The ice of personal space having been split Titanic-style by my zealous greetings, it seems to me hugs are now the currency of the day. Sus and mimi get and return theirs and we settle in for some get-to-know-each-other chat.

One thing immediately apparent is that small talk is at a minimum. We type to each other daily online so the opportunity to communicate more deeply is immediately available. Settling in, we trade job descriptions. First up is Hal’s “dream job” in production of Internet erotica. He tells a bit about it. Mentioning he’s creating sites for each of the models on board and fills us in on some anecdotes which cut to the everyday realities that underlie the glitz and glamour of working with beautiful nude women.

Unclephil’s recounting of his smorgasboard of past and current employment earns him the title, “semi-retired” for the day. His macho cherry red Corvette is noted by the group of guys. The waiter anticipates an order of drinks and I take a stab at the only adult beverage I know I can possibly stomach, Campari and soda. The waiter has never heard of this and I end up with Diet Coke and coffee for the duration.

We remark on the nature of online communication. I refer to the severely limited nature of the available media with, “Typing is all we have” and Peetster says, “You type the way you think”. I'm thinking this guy Peetster is sharp and I acknowledge the keen intellect he’s displaying. Somehow, I had missed this obvious fact previously on TFP.

TopHat strikes me so differently in real life than online. I mention I’d experienced him on opposite sides of issues and had perceived him as doctrinaire. In meatspace he is affable, thoroughly engaging and warm. Some intense geek-speak repartee with rogue and Peetster riffing off of my Campari reference entertains us with Star Wars trivia as does rogue’s peppered anecdotal recounting of his intense work routine. It's tough to be a 24/7 genius these days.

Sus engages unclephil, trading off stories of the educator’s life and mimi is more talkative and animated than she often presents in social situations. I’m thinking this is all great stuff and even better than expected.

It’s time to say something to push us deeper. I say, “In real life I am nothing like I am online. I know I come on all intellectual, formidable, and intimidating online. It’s just the way I write. All those big words, etc. That’s not really what I’m like.”

After an interlude of stunned silence, Hal says “Yeah, OK, time to read Art’s latest post: grab the thesaurus and the dictionary…” The group agrees. Sus and mimi add revelations contradictory to my assertion, letting us know I am actually quite like my online persona, just more accessible perhaps. Sus indicates I present things in black-and-white terms and take strong rhetorical positions on things most of the time.

So much for self-knowledge. At least I’m nudging forward the continuing personal revelations.

A second call to Wile_E and BuDDaH: they are on the outskirts of D.C. and due in about 45 minutes. I spy a steak being delivered to the other end of the table. I order some fries for mimi and a salad for me. Susan’s Reuben sandwich is served up. The first round’s appetizers are upgraded with a cheese platter. Another round of drinks and we’re still talking non-stop. Soon, TopHat and Peetster take their leave. I’m glad to have met them both and I let them know.

Hal moves to a closer chair and I’m pleased about this. I just need to say how much I like and respect this guy. Working, collaborating with him has been as good as the feeling I got while my friend Keith Haring was alive. Just as with Keith, when we’re collaborating on his project it’s his ballgame. I’m just pleased to facilitate and I say it.

There’s something about the age difference between us that is transcendent - as it was also between Keith and me. The feeling of no barriers in our mutuality is inspiring for both of us, I believe. I bring up the way members defer to Hal’s authority. Someone says, “It’s good to be King”. He wields power effectually and with deliberate discretion.

The whole collaboration thing is how I like it, creatively. And since I see the unity of art and life, it’s how I like to live. This reminds me how pleased I am sus and mimi are accompanying me here. The guys always remind me how lucky I am, but I really don’t need the reminders. I feel appreciative every day that I am we.

Looking up, I see Wile_E and BuDDaH bounding through the place like unloosed lions. Wile_E, the driver, seems filled with the frustration of being late while BuDDaH, the driven, is filled with flames of an inner fire that doesn’t diminish – ever! Suddenly we are taken over. Again, I can’t resist the urge to get physical with these dudes – just to reinforce the sense that we are really here and not imagining all this. A round of full body hugs later and we’re an established group mind.

Wile_E in a gray-on-gray pullover, BuDDaH in black shirt and cap and deep blue baggy jeans, Hal in blue-green and black, me in bluejeans – we’re a muted looking group, deceptively casual but intense. The waiter, and later the waitress (we stay through two shifts) seem to eye us with deference or perhaps they’re just re-calculating their anticipated gratuities. The girls head out for a brief tour of the mall.

BuDDaH orbits the group with the gravitational pull of an intense interstellar object. One by one, we spend time alone with him outside or at the bar. It’s some private time to huddle and pledge loyalty to an unspoken, yet intimately shared vision. For me, it’s a chance to do so on a cosmic scale – as I am wont to do…

I’d promised sus a trip to the National Gallery of Art and it’s getting to be time to make good on that promise. We create some quick and dirty navigation notes and since sus will not drive my car – notwithstanding my protestations to the contrary – we set out toward the heart of downtown with plans to return after we’ve drunk from the well of culture.

Leaving the gathering of online personalities for a projected couple of hours, we head out for a bout with the city and a date to sample some of the freest expressions it contains. Directed toward downtown, our metabolisms increase with the pace of travel. I make a couple of quick turns, drive fast enough for mimi to become visibly nervous and sus to utter apologies about her impetus for us to strike out on our own.

I’m attuned to this and make it clear I’m letting go of any hesitations and I’m pleased to attend to sus' desires. I tell her I’m so totally appreciative of her and mimi’s willingness to accompany me on this weekend’s trip that I have no issues with leaving the group, although I don’t understand her unwillingness to drive my spotless, endlessly pampered pride and joy of an automobile. On second thought – when she puts it this way, I immediately understand it.

Appearing on Constitution Avenue evokes a sense of timelessness –it’s as if this place is immune to change. The stately granite and marble monumentality and verdant floral landscape speak of our nation’s unalterable self-image – grand, and deservedly proud of itself.

The National Gallery of Art comes into view and I park our ride. Sus and mimi head out immediately. I need some decompression time. Soon enough I’m moved to pursue them through the galleries. A cell call later and I’ve located them in a little gallery full of Dutch Renaissance paintings.

We walk through the interconnected galleries and proceed to a pivotal corner of art history, stopping at the remarkable and stunned by the ineffable – a little Vermeer, a roomful of Rembrandts. These works were the cinema of their day, filled with astounding visions, brilliant light effects, and keenly observed detail. I remind sus of the Fredric Remington exhibit in the East Building and we move through the submerged walkway toward the later centuries.

The Twentieth Century wing sprawled around the stairways draws us magnet-like. A Chuck Close portrait casts its hypnotic spell and we’re hooked to take the quick tour of recent art. Surrounded by the freest art in the world means a little more now than it ever did. I consider how these walls of Warhols and cubicles of Calders are repression busters and the bane of dictators the world over. Everything I see makes me proud to be American and a citizen of the free world.

Fredric Remington’s paintings of nighttime subjects (referred to as the “Nocturnes”) are displayed against the walls of a deeply chromatic blue-gray gallery. They have the visual brilliance of black-light paintings with none of the garishness such a resemblance might conjure up. The paintings radiate an inner effulgence of incredible intensity, yet they are, on the whole, restrained. In fact, it is their serene restraint that acts as a vessel for the brilliance they exude – like lighthouses on fog-shrouded isles. The effect of this exhibit calms us even as it energizes our spirits. We are transported to a realm of palpable and shared contemplativeness.

Fredric Remington - Nocturnes

5 p.m. and we are re-tracing the route back to our boys. A mid-course cell call to rogue gives us the current coordinates of our destination – The Hard Times Café. Zooming toward it, we anticipate the promised bouts of billiards. The ladies express they're curious about my abilities. I answer with my standard position on games: “I love to play and I don’t care if I lose”.

We’re back together. I love everything about this scene.
My girlfriends by my side - seated on high wooden stools -
sus and mimi are a beautiful vision to behold in the macho den.

My good friends are arrayed like cool troops around the big wood and green felt of the tournament-size tables. Already engaged in competition, they are bobbing tin soldiers with cues like rifles in stages of shooting and rest. I put our drinks on the tab and scope out the talent on hand.

Rogue is acknowledging unclephil’s expertise. Wile_E, Halx, and BuDDaH are taking no prisoners at their table. A game of doubles shapes up with Halx and unclephil against rogue and me. Halx seems off his game, so does phil for that matter. It’s probably the intensity of the moment. The energy we’re feeling is more psychic than physical.

I get off a few good shots. The girls seem thrilled at this. It’s great to have fans! I’m feeling great and we get through three games pretty evenly scored until the final ball – sunk by unclephil and the winners are declared.

Plans discussed for future evolution of the site gain a momentum of their own from here. We sense agreement and cooperation to a degree not previously present. To mark the significance of this event, Wile_E is promoted to Administrator.

For we three, the time of leaving is drawing near. A club employee volunteers to take a group shot and ends up with three cameras - taking six pictures and saying it’s his pleasure to do so. Lining up for the picture makes me instantly nostalgic. I know these dudes will carry on through the night – carousing with the best carousers in town. That’s how it needs to be. And for us, we need to head back home. It’s all good...

Our drive home is sufficiently long for talking through and reflecting upon the day’s events. We are filled with insights and it’s fun taking turns and sharing them with each other. Mimi is first to say she is pleased we came and that everyone seemed nice and better than her pre-trip expectations. She never says something like this without meaning it. I say I’m glad she feels this way. Sus has something good to say about everyone. I believe they’ll both be interacting a little more since they’ve made the human connection.

Something is changing. What was once diatomaceous, granular limestone and unbound, fluid water solidifies – setting by the catalysis of our meeting into concretions of solid granite and monumental marble. A glacial movement of independent souls - now aggregate, is bound to a single vision.

Just as words in cyberspace, it’s not what is said but what is unspoken. In real life, it’s also the pauses between statements – the body language, the look in the eye, the personal space, the indescribables - that set the meaning of the scene and the sense of the situation. We reveal ourselves. We become transparent.

It’s all I ever want - to be more involved in constant creative collaboration. This is a real dream!