Runny nose, some sneezing, itchy eyes — when Ryan Bos started experiencing those symptoms the week of April 8, he figured it was his annual annoying allergy onset.
By that weekend, though, a slight sore throat kicked in and he had some coughing, all typical of his usual allergies. By Sunday, April 11, he had a fever. A virtual doctor’s appointment the next day helped him determine it was a sinus infection.
During the next few days and with an antibiotic, his sore throat improved and his fever went down. But later in the week, Bos, who’s gay, lost all sense of smell, something he’d never experienced before.
Hearing from a friend that was a common symptom of COVID-19, the coronavirus that has infected 3.2 million around the world and killed 233,600, Bos, executive director of Capital Pride, went to the emergency room at George Washington University Hospital and got tested. Because of lab backlogs, it took 10 days to get the results. By that time his smell had returned but his COVID-19 test was positive.
The Blade this week spoke to three LGBT folks in the region — one in D.C., one in Annapolis, another in Rehoboth — about their experiences contracting and surviving the coronavirus.
Mariah Davis is a busy woman. She’s a policy and campaigns manager for the National Wildlife Federation, is working on a master’s degree from the University of Maryland in public management (she plans to finish in December) and she’s one of the founders of Annapolis Pride. She rents a room in a three-bedroom house in Annapolis and has two roommates. Like Bos, her symptoms also kicked in about April 8.
At first, she thought she had the flu but began to think it was something more serious despite not initially exhibiting many of the typical coronavirus symptoms she’d read about. She had extreme fatigue, body aches, persistent headache and congestion but no fever, no loss of taste or smell, no coughing and no sneezing.
She went to an urgent care center in her area and got a slip to get a COVID-19 test, which she had to drive about an hour away to Columbia, Md., to get through a drive-thru set up at a car emissions testing site.
“It was pretty freaky,” the 29-year-old lesbian says. “You drive through a garage, you get your test, it only takes like 10-15 seconds but yeah, that was an experience.”
That was a Tuesday. By Friday, she had her positive results.
“I knew there was a high possibility I could have caught COVID and by the time I went and got tested, I was already feeling a lot better,” Davis says. “In some ways it was a relief knowing I had it because then I knew what I needed to do to stop the spread.”
Tyler Townsend, a co-owner of gay bars The Pines and Aqua in Rehoboth Beach, Del., had a typically busy and bustling party weekend just before St. Patrick’s Day in March. They were allowed to have 100 on site to hear singer Pamala Stanley perform, which they did. He and friends went later that night to the Purple Parrot and “a few other bars” and did their usual socializing.
He started to feel sick on Friday, March 27. He’d known nobody else in his circle who’d had it and says it seemed to come “out of nowhere, just kind of random.”
“It was scary,” the 31-year-old Rehoboth native, who’s gay, says. “At the highest, my fever got to 104.8. It kind of came in waves. I’d feel OK for a while, then have chills, then take Tylenol and get it down. There was about five days of that cycle. Then after my fever broke, I had a little bit of a cough. It was about a week or eight days total. Then when the symptoms were gone, it was just being tired and just trying to get back to some kind of a normal life in isolation.”
Townsend, who shares a house with a roommate (although Townsend is planning to move into his own place soon), says he “just locked myself in the upstairs of the house” and waited it out.
There was one point his breathing got a bit shallow and he considered going to the ER, but it went away.
He got tested about two days after his symptoms started. He drove to Bethany Beach, Del., about a half-hour away, to get tested. The results took about a week to come in, by which time he was feeling better.
Townsend, who says he’s never had the flu, didn’t know what to compare it to.
“It was not fun,” he says. “It was more than just an inconvenience. There was not much beyond getting off the bed or the couch for a good four-five days. It’s the most sick I’ve ever been.”
The three regions Bos, Davis and Townsend represent are somewhat middling in overall number of coronavirus figures. Maryland is the 13th most affected U.S. state and Anne Arundel, with 2,054 infections and 107 deaths, is the fifth most infected county in the state. Rehoboth Beach is in Sussex County, Del., the most affected county in the state with 2,520 confirmed cases and 72 deaths. Delaware is the 33rd most affected state.
The District comes in at no. 36 in the nation (among states) with 5,322 confirmed cases and 264 deaths, but its figures are enough to put it pretty high among metro areas. It’s fourth behind New York, Chicago and Philadelphia but above Seattle, as of latest numbers according to the New York Times.
Of the three who shared their stories with the Blade, Bos fared worst.
About April 10, he started feeling “something in my stomach” that reminded him of the diverticulitis he’d had six years ago. He took himself to the ER about 4 a.m. on Saturday, April 11 and spent three days in the hospital. He went home, rested but got a fever again on Sunday, the 19th. By Friday, the 24th, his primary care physician advised him to go back to the hospital when it was discovered he had an abdominal abscess, a complication of the diverticulitis.
He says the COVID-19 and diverticulitis were related. The latter, he says, was more painful.
“For me, the COVID, the worst was when I had a temperature but the question was sort of mixed in with this sinus infection so not knowing how the symptoms overlapped — the worst part is just not knowing if you have the COVID, you begin to question everything you feel, every tightness, every cough, you wonder if you’re getting the next symptom and when it’s going to be over. That was one of the most challenging aspects,” Bos says.
He says he was fortunate not to experience shortness of breath or some of the more debilitating symptoms associated with the coronavirus. The diverticulitis, he says, was especially nasty.
“When you have a bad flare-up, it’s very debilitating,” Bos says. “I wasn’t able to stand up, it hurt to stand up, you have these shooting pains through the abdomen, you’re thinking, ‘Is this appendicitis, what is this?’ It definitely was not a fun experience at all.”
The staff at George Washington, Bos says, were “amazing.” It was never chaotic and he says they were on top of the testing and protocol.
Bos, who lives with one roommate (who has remained asymptomatic) in Mt. Vernon Square, says he has “no idea” whom he might have contracted COVID-19 from. He and the Capital Pride team were having their usual meetings in early March.
Davis, too, had several days of misery. She tried doing some teleworking and grad school work but says at its peak, the coronavirus sapped her energy.
“I felt really, really, really awful,” Davis says. “It was hard even to get out of bed. I’d start the day just taking a bath wth Tylenol, just trying to subside the pain. The fatigue definitely kept me on my butt for most of that week.”
Townsend had a gradual road back to health, he says with the cough letting up after his fever broke, then a lot of fatigue.
“It was definitely a slow process but I’m finally back to normal now,” he says. “It’s not just like bam, one morning you wake up and it’s over.”
Davis says now she “feels great.” She’s been told she’s free to come out of isolation and do normal activities provided she practices social distancing. She cites her overall good health with her fairly speedy recovery. The whole ordeal was about two weeks total for her.
Davis and Townsend’s roommates, so far, have not had symptoms.
While she was overall pleased with how her county — Anne Arundel — handled things, she says nationally there are disappointments.
“It’s pretty appalling that a lot of black and brown people are dying most of this,” she says. “I think that says a lot about who we prioritize in our country and that’s an issue that comes up across the board in other social issues.”
Bos said this week he’s “feeling pretty good” but “getting antsy.” He is still connected to a drain tube for his stomach infection and hopes to have it removed this week. “I miss running,” the 46-year-old Indiana native says.
Bos says he’s been pleased with how D.C. elected officials have handled the outbreak but says national leadership has been underwhelming.
“I expected more from our country in handling this crisis,” Bos says.
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Taste of Pride celebrates LGBTQ and allied restaurants
Weeklong event will feature local eateries and bars
Get ready to celebrate LGBTQ-owned, managed, and allied restaurants at Taste of Pride from Oct. 2-8.
The weeklong event is a new initiative by Capital Pride Alliance. In 2021, the organization put on a single-day brunch event in June at LGBTQ and allied restaurants, but this is the first weeklong iteration.
About 15 local restaurants and bars are set to participate, including As You Are, Shaw’s Tavern, Jane Jane, and Code Red. There’s also an opening party on Monday, Oct. 2 featuring food and drink vendors without a traditional brick-and-mortar space, like Suga Chef and Vegan Junk Food.
Taste of Pride will raise funds for the Pride365 fund, which supports local LGBTQ organizations. There will be a three-course prix fixe menu at several of the participating locations, with lunch and brunch menus offered at $30, and dinner menus offered at $40 or $55.
Kareem Queeman, known as Mr. Bake, will be headlining the opening event on the evening of Oct. 2 at Lost Generation Brewery. Queeman, the founder and owner of the renowned bakery Mr. Bake Sweets and a James Beard Award semi-finalist, said he’s excited to spotlight LGBTQ chefs and mixologists.
Queeman said he’s proud to be a part of bringing queer culinary experts together to celebrate the work they’ve all done and discuss what changes need to come to the industry — there will be a panel discussion on Oct. 2 covering those topics. LGBTQ chefs have long gone unnoticed, he said, despite the innovative work they’ve done.
“Queers have been in the industry doing the work for a very long time and we just haven’t really gotten that acknowledgment,” Queeman said.
Providing this space for LGBTQ people in the restaurant industry is paramount to giving a sense of power and ownership in the work they do, Queeman said. He wishes there was this kind of space for him when he was coming up as a chef when he was younger.
Taste of Pride is also a great opportunity for LGBTQ people looking to get into the industry to find safe spaces to work that are run by queer people, Queeman said.
Rob Heim, the general manager at Shaw’s Tavern, said he’s looking forward to being a part of the event. And new fall menu items at Shaw’s Tavern will be available during Taste of Pride, which he’s thrilled to showcase.
“I was really excited to help out and participate,” he said. “It’s a great idea.”
The smaller number of participating restaurants in Taste of Pride is intentional, said Brandon Bayton, a volunteer executive producer organizing Taste of Pride. It’s so each restaurant can be well-represented during the week, and different restaurants will be highlighted on social media on separate days. Capital Pride Alliance is also partnering with influencers to get the word out.
Visibility — all year long
It’s important to have events like Taste of Pride outside of June, Bayton said.
“We exist 365 days,” Bayton said. “So we need to make sure that we continue the celebration and invite others to celebrate with us and just be authentically ourselves. We enjoy and do a lot of things other people do. There’s no reason why we should just be constrained to one month.”
Queeman agrees. His identity as a queer Black man doesn’t stop or start at any given month.
“I’m not just a queer or gay man in June or I’m not just a Black man in February,” he said.
And food is a major intersection that all people of all identities enjoy, Bayton said. It’s a simple way to bring people together.
“We do the exact same things that everyone else does,” Bayton said. “We all eat. We all love to eat.”
Taste of Pride will run from Oct. 2-8. For more information and to make reservations, visit capitalpride.org/event/taste-of-pride.
Hip-Hop’s complicated history with queer representation
At 50, experts say the genre still doesn’t fully welcome LGBTQ inclusion
I didn’t really start listening to rap until my college years. Like many queer Black children who grow up in the closet, shielded by puritanical Christianity from the beauty of a diverse world, I longed to be myself. But the affirming references I could pull from — in moments of solitude away from the wrath and disdain of family and friends — were in theater and pop music.
The soundtrack to my teenage years was an endless playlist of pop divas like Lady Gaga and Beyoncé, whose lyrics encouraged me to sashay my hips anytime I strutted through a long stretch of corridor.
I was also obsessed with the consuming presence of powerful singers like Patti LaBelle, Whitney Houston, and the hypnosis that was Chaka Khan. My childhood, an extrapolation of Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays spent in church groups, choir practices, and worship services, necessitated that I be a fan of throaty, from-the-stomach singing. But something about the way these artists presented themselves warmed my queer little heart. LaBelle wore avant garde geometric hairdos paired with heavily shoulder-padded blazers. Houston loved an elegant slender gown. And Khan? It was the voluminous red mane that gently caressed her lower back for me.
Listening to rap music in college was a political experience. My sociology classes politicized me and so it was only natural that I listened to rap music that expressed trauma, joy, and hope in the Black experience. However, I felt disconnected from the music because of a dearth of queer representation in the genre.
Nevertheless, groups like Outkast felt nostalgic. While delivering hedonistic lyrics at lightning speed, André 3000 — one half of the rap duo — mesmerized with his sleek, shoulder-length silk pressed hair and colorful, flowing shirts and trousers — a style that could be translated as “gender-bending.” Despite the patriarchal presentation rampant in rap and Hip-Hop, André 30000 represented to me, a kind of rebellious self-expression that I so badly wanted to emulate but couldn’t because of the psychological confines of my conservative upbringing.
My discovery of Outkast was also sobering because it was a stark reminder of how queerness is also often used as an aesthetic in Hip-Hop while actual queer people are shunned, rebuked, and mocked. Queer people in Hip-Hop are like backstage wingmen, crucial to the development of the show but never important enough to make a curtain call.
As Hip-Hop celebrates 50 years since its inception in New York City, I am filled with joy because it’s been half a century of Black people owning their narratives and driving the culture. But it’s fair to ask: At whose expense?
A viral 2020 video shows rapper Boosie BadAzz, famed for hits like “Set It Off” and “Wipe Me Down,” rebuking NBA star Dwayne Wade and award-winning actress Gabrielle Union-Wade for publicly supporting their then-12-year-old daughter after she came out as transgender.
“Don’t cut his dick off, bro,” said BadAzz with furrowed eyebrows and a gaze that kept turning away from the camera, revealing his tarnished diamond studs. “Don’t dress him as a woman dawg, he’s 12 years. He’s not up there yet.”
The responses from both Wade and Union-Wade were a mixture of swift, sarcastically light-hearted, and hopeful.
“Sorry Boosie,” Union-Wade said to an audience during a live podcast appearance at Live Talks Los Angeles. “He’s so preoccupied, it’s almost like, ‘thou doth protest too much, Little Boos.’ You’ve got a lot of dick on your mind.”
Wade also appeared on an episode of podcast, “I AM ATHLETE,” and looked directly into the camera.
“Boosie, all the people who got something to say, J-Boogie who just came out with [something] recently, all the people who got something to say about my kids,” he said. “I thank you because you’re allowing the conversation to keep going forward because you know what? You might not have the answers today, I might not have the answers, but we’re growing from all these conversations.”
This exchange between the Wades and BadAzz highlights the complicated relationship between Black LGBTQ individuals and allies and the greater Hip-Hop and rap genres and communities. While Black queer aesthetics have long informed self-expression in Hip-Hop, rappers have disparaged queerness through song lyrics and in interviews, or online rants like BadAzz, outside the recording studio.
And despite LGBTQ rappers like Queen Latifah, Da Brat, Lil Nas X, and Saucy Santana achieving mainstream success, much work lies ahead to heal the trauma that persists from Hip-Hop’s history of patriarchy and homophobia.
“‘Progression’ will always be relative and subjective based on one’s positionality,” said Dr. Melvin Williams said in an email. Williams is an associate professor of communication and media studies at Pace University. “Hip-hop has traditionally been in conversation with queer and non-normative sexualities and included LGBTQ+ people in the shaping of its cultural signifiers behind the scenes as choreographers, songwriters, make-up artists, set designers, and other roles stereotypically attributed to queer culture.”
“Although Hip-Hop incorporates queerness in their ethos, ideas, and trends, it does not privilege the prospect of an out LGBTQ+ rapper. Such reservations position LGBTQ+ people as mere labor in Hip-Hop’s behind-the-scenes cultivation, but not as rap performers in its mainstream distribution,” he added.
This is especially true for Queen Latifah and DaBrat who existed in the genre for decades but didn’t publicly come out until 2021. Still, both faced backlash from the Black community for daring to challenge gender roles and expectations.
Lil Nas X also faced backlash for his music video “Montero” with satanic references, including one in which he slides down a pole and gives a character representing the devil a lap dance. Conservatives such as South Dakota Gov. Kristi Noem accused him of trying to scandalize children.
“You see this is very scary for me, people will be angry, they will say I’m pushing an agenda. But the truth is, I am,” Nas X said in a note that accompanied “Montero.” The agenda to make people stay the fuck out of other people’s lives and stop dictating who they should be.”
Regardless, “Montero” debuted atop the Billboard 100.
In an article published in “Souls: A Critical Journal of Black Politics, Culture, and Society,” scholar C. Riley Snorton posited that celebrating queer visibility in mainstream media could be a problem as this kind of praise relies on artists presenting in acceptable forms of gender and sexuality expression and encourages representation that is “read alongside…perceptions of Hip-Hop as a site of Black misogyny and homophobia.”
In the case of Frank Ocean, who came out in 2012 prior to the release of his album “Channel Orange,” his reception was warmer than most queer Hip-Hop artists because his style of music is singing, as opposed to rapping. Because of this, his music was viewed more as R’n’B or pop.
“Frank Ocean ain’t no rapper. He’s a singer. It’s acceptable in the singing world, but in the rap world I don’t know if it will ever be acceptable because rap is so masculine,” rapper Snoop Dogg told the Guardian in 2013. “It’s like a football team. You can’t be in a locker room full of motherfucking tough-ass dudes, then all of a sudden say, ‘Hey, man, I like you.’ You know, that’s going to be tough.”
So what’s the solution for queer people in Hip-Hop? Digital media.
Williams, the Pace University professor, says that being divorced from record labels allows queer artists to be independent and distribute their music globally on their own terms.
“We witnessed this fact with artists such as Azealia Banks, Cakes Da Killa, Fly Young Red, Kevin Abstract, iLoveMakonnen, Lil Nas X, Mykki Blanco, and Saucy Santana, as well as legacy LGBTQ Hip-Hop acts like Big Freeda, DeepDickCollective, and Le1f,” he said. “The music industry has experienced an increasingly mobilized market due to the rise of digital media, social networking platforms, and streaming services.”
“More importantly, Black queer Hip-Hop artists are historicizing LGBTQ+ contributions and perspectives in documentaries, films, news specials, public forums, and podcasts. Ultimately, queer people engaging in Hip-Hop is a revolutionary act, and it remains vital for LGBTQ+ Hip-Hoppers to highlight their cultural contributions and share their histories,” he added.
(Hip-Hop pioneers Public Enemy and Ice-T will headline The National Celebration of Hip-Hop, free concerts at the West Potomac Park on the National Mall in D.C. on Oct. 6 and 7.)
Cuisine and culture come together at The Square
D.C.’s newest food hall highlights Spanish flavors
Downtown got a bit tastier when “the next generation of food halls” opened its doors on Tuesday near the Farragut West Metro stop. Dubbed The Square, its half-dozen debut stalls are a Spanish-flecked mix of D.C. favorites, new concepts, and vendor-collaborative spirit.
After two years of planning – and teasing some big-name chefs – the market is, according to the owners, “where cuisine, culture, and community are woven together.”
Behind this ambitious project with lofty aims are Richie Brandenburg, who had a hand in creating Union Market and Rubén García, a creative director of the José Andrés Group who also was part of the team of Mercado Little Spain, the fairly new Spanish-themed Andres food hall in Hudson Yards.
Food halls have come a long way since the new Union Market awakened the concept a decade ago. Instead of simply rows of vendors in parallel lines, The Square has a new business model and perspective. This food hall shares revenue between the owners and its chef partners. Vendors are encouraged to collaborate, using one software system, and purchasing raw materials and liquor at scale together.
“Our goal was two-fold: to create a best-in-class hospitality offering with delicious foods for our guests; and behind the scenes, create the strong, complex infrastructure needed to nurture both young chefs and seasoned professionals, startups, and innovation within our industry,” says Brandenburg.
The Square has embraced a more chef-forward methodology, given that the founders/owners themselves are chefs. They’re bringing together a diverse mix of new talent and longtime favorites to connect, offer guidance to each other, and make the market into a destination.
The first phase of The Square premiered this week. This phase encapsulates a selection of original concepts from well-known local chefs and business owners, and includes:
• Cashion’s Rendezvous – Oysters, crab cakes, and cocktails, from the owners of D.C. institutions and now-closed Cashion’s Eat Place and Johnny’s Half-Shell (Ann Cashion and John Fulchino).
• Jamón Jamón – Flamenco-forward food with hand-cut jamón Iberico, queso, and croquetas, sourced by García himself.
• Brasa – Grilled sausages and veggies are the stars here. Chef García oversees this Spanish street-food stall as well.
• Taqueria Xochi – Birria, guisado, and other street tacos, plus margs. Named after the ruins of Xochitecatl in Central Mexico, and from a Jose Andres alum.
• Yaocho – Fried chicken, juices, sweets, and libations.
• Junge’s – Churros and soft serve ice cream. Brandenburg and García both have a hand in this stall.
• Atrium Bar – The central watering hole for drinks. Atrium Bar serves cocktails, wine, and beer curated by The Square’s Beverage Director Owen Thompson.
“Having been part of Jose Andres’s restaurant group and getting to know Ruben and Richie, it’s amazing to see how their values align with ours at Taqueria Xochi. Seeing all these incredible chefs heading into Square feels like a full-circle moment,” said Geraldine Mendoza of Taqueria Xochi.
Slated for fall 2023, the next round of openings includes Flora Pizzeria, Cebicheria Chalaca, KIYOMI Sushi by Uchi, Shoals Market (a retail hub), and more. Additionally, chef Rubén García’s Spanish restaurant, Casa Teresa, will soon open next door to The Square.
The Square is just one of a handful of new food halls blossoming in and around D.C. Up in Brentwood, Md., miXt Food Hall is an art-adjacent space with tacos, a year-round fresh market, coffee, and beer. Across from Union Market is La Cosecha, a Latin marketplace with everything from street food to a Michelin starred restaurant and a festive vibe. Closer to The Square is Western Market by GW University, which opened in late 2021 with a buzzy, relaxed style.
For now, the Square is open Monday through Friday, 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. The Square plans to open on weekends and extend hours to offer dinner service in the coming months. A few alfresco seats will accompany the hall.
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