The Charlottesville 29

Are time capsules still a thing? I remember elementary school projects where we would collect items to bury in the ground in a capsule for future humans to open and learn about our way of life.

When time capsules jump into my mind these days, sometimes it’s for bad reasons: things I hope future humans never learn about us. (Like, please don’t let them know we would argue about whether immigrants are eating housepets.) But, other times, my mind wanders to the topic for happier reasons.

The most common is Stop Making Sense. If I were in charge of our generation’s time capsule, the 1984 Talking Heads concert film by Jonathan Demme would be a lock. I am no expert on art — or anything for that matter — but, from my amateur perspective, it is one of the greatest works of art of my lifetime. But, it’s not just its artistry that would earn it a spot in my capsule. It’s what it says about our generation: we are capable of creating joy.

And nothing is better than that. Is it?

As I approached fifty this year, letting the days go by, I thought of Stop Making Sense. While it was one of my favorite works of my first half century on Earth, I have never seen it in a theater, as it was intended. It’s hard to imagine that nothing at all, could be so exciting, could be this much fun. Fun, natural fun. As luck would have it, next week affords a chance to remedy that — a way to celebrate life as I enter my second half-century.

One night only. October 2, Regal Stonfield. If someone asks this is where I’ll be. Anyone is welcome to join our celebration, and bounce til you ache. The lord won’t mind.

Here’s your ticket.