Good evening, Gentle Reader. If you weren’t aware, I’m a big ol’ queer. I grew up in a rural area – hell, I’m living in a rural area now. I’m accustomed to the frequent shout of “Faggot!” or “Homo!” It’s not right and it makes my blood boil, and when I can, I aggressively do my best to educate those in my sphere. Those who know me that I’m not only belligerent, but downright scary when I lose my temper.
I came down to my mum’s after the poetry reading last night. She was supposed to take me to a doctor today (as I don’t have any insurance, and occasionally lose the use of my left leg, at the moment, for no damned reason.) Instead – I’m not sure why – she wanted to see a play at the High School instead. Whatever. We did so.
The play was “Legally Blonde,” and was a good show, that portrays gay caricatures. They’re well-intentioned, but – they’re still caricatures. It contains an ardent activist-in-general/feminist who is called a lesbian once early on, objects, and then shows attraction to other females avidly through the play (for laughs, I’m sure,) and a lovely little number called “Gay or European” wherein the straight defense council need to determine a witness’s sexuality to sway the outcome of the case. I found it both amusing and offensive. It *is* both amusing and offensive. The character – who, it turns out, is gay AND European, har har – is portrayed in a positive(ish) light, despite being a minstrel character. On balance, I ended up bemused, but was slightly pleased that a play at my old high school contained openly gay characters at all.
Not so the local townsfolk, it transpires. Maman and I stopped off for dinner, afterward. I never order cocktails in straight bars, so I ordered an unpleasant amber ale. We chatted, but as ever – we really like to eavesdrop. A lot. A few of the locals were up in arms over that scene in the play. In fact, a brawl seemed imminent. Several brawny greyhairs were crowding around a father of one of the actors – not even the father of the “gay” kid. Slurs were flying. When the waitress approached and apologized for the language (doubtless eyeing my velvet blazer and brooch,) she suggested that we pay up and depart. Not in a threatening way; it was more a “Have you heard of Matthew Sheppard?” sort of thing.
Ordinarily, I would have confronted the bellicose yokels. However, I was using a cane, and not for show – I’ve been hobbling about for days, now. I turned tail and fled, Maman not quite understanding why the waitress and I were rushing us out.