Dear Mrs. Vera,
Do you think there will ever be a gay lobby?
Dennis the Doorman
Dear Mary Dennis,
Thanks for your light-hearted, carefree inquisition about what the architects of the future have in store for people entering into relationships, and buildings, with members of their own sex. This can be, and often is, a trick-filled situation, especially in Washington DC, around the times the bars close. As a doorman, I know you must diligently practice the fine art of discretion in your daily doings, and I reckon, or “Roy Cohn,” as it were, that you’ve seen everything the closet could throw at the call boy in the name of propriety when it comes to getting big time muckety-mucks a room, quietly, in a hotel full of tourists and hungry cub reporters. In a rare moment of bipartisan support, the Republican Party and I salute your years of dedicated assistance, well-mannered politeness and restraint with that big noisy whistle with which you summon cabs.
I feel it is very important to choose words carefully when discussing easily stereotyped subject matter, as some people hold-on quite strongly to archaic beliefs based on groundless fears and trembly religious brimstoney terrors, such as the one about cats stealing baby’s breaths, whether or not Coca Cola® has actual cocaine in it, or that it is inappropriate to skip and laugh and frolic and cavort merrily at certain social functions, say at a funeral or wedding, for example. These are not places one expects to encounter anything expressing genuine sentiment or, really, any kind of emotion, either joyfully expressed in celebration or in the pained tragedy of loss — not unless you are straight or successfully married and in the closet, anyway.
Some people are gay all the time, seeing the world as a marvelous place full of goodwill towards all humanity, sort of like innocent children or a puppy with an over-sized tuggy toy. But these deviants who shockingly display their positivity right out in public (and I’m not talking about HIV positivity here — everybody knows what a hilarious hoot that trip is!) really spoil it for the people who know how other folks should be living their lives, and exactly who they should marry, without ever even needing to actually meet a single giddily happy person themselves to comprehend how bad it is to be gay.
Without the opportunity to oppress gay people, how will they ever be able to recruit more miserable people to their righteous, grumpy outrage? The thought of happy gay people alone is enough to make the typical busybody sourpuss lose interest in producing offspring of their own and is so depressing that their fruitful marriages wither on the vine like a failed gherkin of love, metaphorically speaking. But the Constitution protects their right to loudly and incessantly shout hate at anything they cannot be bothered to try to understand, even if it’s some kind of God telling them that disowning their own scared children and abandoning them to whatever unknown fate befalls the non-sporty or pink-favoring teen or tween they once knew is the right and Christian thing to do. So we’ll leave them there between God and the Constitution and whatever solace they can find in either.
But perhaps I’ve misread your question, Mary. Were you, perhaps, burdened with unquantifiable speculation over the possible existence of a gay lobby at a tennis match? These are deeply philosophical and head-bandy, back-handed waters one could easily drown in loud grunts to, and my research did not yield much evidence of such a lobby ever occurring in the history of the sport. This is mostly because everyone has to run way too fast to look good while properly posing for the camera, and still hit the ball-thing with the racket-ma-bob, and still flirt with all those sprinting ball boys flitting about and running away before you can even finish asking him what his zodiac sign is. The closest example I could come up with for a gay lobby, tennis-wise, is the one in that Adam Sandler tennis movie where he plays himself, his twin and their cousin girl twins in mixed match finals and they are all pretending to be homosexuals and lesbians to get the inheritance, but I feel my readers may be somewhat dissatisfied by this analogy.
It is certainly a fact, Mary, that there is already a powerful gay lobby movement among us, one working tirelessly to promote its own interests, because gay lobbies, with their nice fabrics, and floor and window treatment schemes, and unusual focus furniture, and brazillions of pillows, and a nice water element, make a lot of money for a lot of people who aren’t going to just step aside in the market, not for the degenerate asbestos-tiled drop ceiling and humming fluorescent tube lighting on offer from the entrenched special interests typical of the punditocracy, itself shilling for the industry titans who have sworn to promote the shadowy Midwest Comfort Inn Heterogenda.
Also, any hotel lobby in an old black and white Hollywood movie… Hello? Gay.
Mrs. Vera Newman is a San Francisco absurdist character, humorist, artist, writer, community organizer, clothes horse and co-founder, with Mister Tina, of The Verasphere. She has been answering the unasked questions she receives from the lonely, empty rooms of America’s heart-shaped circulatory pump room ever since it began beating. Nestled in the politically bent bowels of the Nation since she was a young girl babysitting the very same newborn Nation, her ability to self-reflect about anyone else’s embarrassing shortcomings, inept fumblings or lousy recipes has enabled her invisible rise as a modern-day Cassandra, whatever that means. Feel free to dispose of all your worries by leaving them on her doorstep!