As all three of you who may or may not read this blog know, I grew up in Florida, a gay-intensive state. Native Iowans frequently ask me what I miss most about Florida (in a horrified/fascinated way, as if to say, “Why the hell did you ever move here, nutjob? You are aware it’s only warm three months out of the year, right?”). The answer is not family (because I am a horrible person with very strange relatives), or the weather (I make Casper look black); it’s the gay community. That’s right—I love the gays!
Iowa has very few gays, from what I’ve seen. And they mostly live in more metropolitan area(s). I think our tiny town had two whole gay men living in it at one time or another. How could I tell they were gay, you ask? They were wearing their Super Secret Gay Identity Rainbow Rings. Both, unfortunately, were working at fast food restaurants. I wanted to jump across the counter and say, “Hey! I like gay people! I’ll be your friend! Let’s go have big gay fun!” Is that condescending? Assuming that they were lonely and isolated and needed me to be their friend? For all I know, they had a ton of friends, and I’m the one who needed them (which, sadly, is true).
Three of the people I have been closest to in the world have been gay men. I even had the privilege of being the first person one of my friends “came out” to. That’s a lot of trust to put in one person.
Some coworkers told me that there are lots of gay people in Iowa, you just have to know where to look for them. They suggested Nevada (by their estimation, the town of about 8,000 people had approximately 5,000 gays). So here’s my proposal: why don’t we go on a big gay road trip? Let’s go to Nevada and find us some new gay best friends. I’m starting to have withdrawal symptoms and I really need a hit of gay soon.
Sound good?
