Endangered Species: A Surly Bear in the Bible Belt by Jeff Mann

Author:Jeff Mann [Mann, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lethe Press
Published: 2019-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

II.

The Pulse shooter can rot in hell, as far as I’m concerned. For four decades, I’ve done my best to be brave in the face of homophobia, and no terrorist attack like that which occurred in Orlando is keeping this almost pathologically ornery and defiant West Virginia redneck/leather man/daddy bear out of a gay bar if I feel like lumbering into one for a martini or two. What is far more likely to keep me out is geographical distance and the strong preferences that have developed as I’ve aged. In other words, these days not only do I prefer to drink at home, I prefer to enjoy my queer spaces at home as well.

John and I have become inveterate homebodies. During the day, I’m either teaching at Virginia Tech, preparing for classes, or trying to write, and he’s either working at his desk or traveling on business—to Texas, Tennessee, Oregon, South Carolina, California, and any number of other states. In the evenings we’re weary, and we prize our quiet time together, which usually involves a couple of stiff drinks, home cooking, profound relaxation, and Netflix or DVDs. Sometimes we watch queer series like Where the Bears Are and RuPaul’s Drag Race, or campy film classics like Addams Family Values, The Birdcage, Victor/Victoria, or Hairspray. Other times, we might watch the superhero/action films I relish. The Captain America and Avengers movies and anything from the X-Men franchise are my most recent favorites, though 300 and the Lord of the Rings trilogy are always to-be-seen-again options. (Yes, fundamentalist Christians, these are the details of Our Sinister Gay Agenda. Scared yet?)

Every now and then, though, we’re in the mood for queer companionship. When that happens, we don’t drive an hour to Roanoke to gyrate at the gay bar (the Park is, amazingly, still there). We’re both in our fifties: the bass thumping and jostling crowds of such an establishment are not in the least appealing, plus the much-younger regulars would no doubt regard us sad old bastards with palpable contempt. (And, honestly, I’ve had enough of Generation Z’s electronic-gadget addiction, bad manners, political correctness, and sense of entitlement. The more I avoid them—the generation that makes retirement look sweet—the better, though certain venomous colleagues and Virginia Tech administrators make retirement look even sweeter.)

“The Soul selects her own Society,” wrote Emily Dickinson. It’s a line I’ve often thought would serve as a fine T-shirt slogan for introverts like me. Spending time alone, with my spouse, or with small groups of close friends has always been more enjoyable than noisy public spaces with crowds of strangers. So, when John and I start hankering after the simpatico company of other queers, instead of going out, we encourage a select few gay and lesbian friends to join us for a weekend. Luckily, we possess the resources to make such private gatherings possible…which is to say that we own two comfortable and roomy residences and possess the salaries sufficient to purchase loads of liquor and groceries.

Sometimes we invite

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