I'm depressed. I've lived in the Plains exactly three years today. I miss the gay neighborhoods of California, New York, and Florida:
1. Heterosexuals are aware that gay people exist.
2. You can be open without getting stares, idiotic questions, and quotes from Leviticus.
3. You can be assured of meeting gay people everywhere you go: the bank, the post office, the gym.
"I know what will cheer you up," my friend Gabe says. "Antiquing! There's an Antique Fair and Farmer's Market on Saturday in a small town about an hour's drive from here."
"Are you kidding? You want to cure my depression over living in a small redneck town by taking me to an even smaller, more redneck town?"
"Antiques," he repeats. "Every gay couple within a hundred miles will be there."
"So, like three gay couples?"
"If you're going to live on the Plains, you're going to have to get over your fear of small towns. There are some open-minded people there, not just bigots.."
"Ok, we'll go," I said, "But incognito. No androgynous costumes, no camping it up, no holding hands. Everyone will think we're a heterosexual father and son."
Gabe smirks. "Sure, Daddy. Whatever you say, Daddy."
The full post, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.