That Washington is a city riven by stark divisions — of class, of race, of opportunity — is a fact sadly beyond dispute. Yet the recent AIDS conference did draw attention to one of the city’s most troubling fault lines — the deadly geography of HIV/AIDS.
What I’m writing now is meant as nothing more than a love letter to a filmmaker who I never sought out, but who has emerged at unexpected moments, and whose films have woven themselves into my life in ways I could never have predicted.
For months now I’ve been tuning in to WGAR 99.5, Cleveland’s Hit Country Music Station, and recently I did a little experiment: I turned on the radio and decided to listen until one song, any song, was repeated.
There’s something secret about them, tucked back inside the endless looping streets filled with vinyl-sided homes, newly planted trees and signs that say “Residents Only.”