WTF?

I'm not one to fly the rainbow flag. In fact, I've flown no flag but the stars and stripes since folding away my freak one at the end of the eighties. I'm not on the down-low, I've no shame or hatred of self, and I'm certainly not trying "to pass". I just don't feel a need to identify with any group; least of all, the gay one. After being in a relationship for fifteen years, I'm not having enough sex to trumpet it as my definition. Plus, I live in East Cobb, for chrissake - how less gay can my life be without moving out of the metro Atlanta area and in to a nunnery?

No, I gave up on flags and labels at an early age when I saw a chick with the legend "classy lady" tattooed on her right breast. I realized then that if you have to inform people of what you are, you probably are not what you are proclaiming. You know, like "!Christians!".

With that said, I was surprised when I found myself getting angry yesterday while trying to find a book at the nearby Borders. I had recently read, and fell in love with, John Weir's "What I Did Wrong" and was looking for a copy of his first novel, "The Irreversible Decline of Eddie Socket". Sorting through the W's in the fiction area I found nothing and then remembered that I had found my copy of "What I Did Wrong" in the remainder bin which in turn reminded me that it was part of the haul I'd purchased when the store reduced the shelf space in its Gay and Lesbian section which then reminded me that John Weir was gay. That, of course, reminded me that I was, too.

Finding the two short shelves that make up the Gay and Lesbian section, I finally fully noticed that it always seems to be tacked on the back end of the African-American section. The African-American section spans two full book cases minus the two Gay and Lesbian shelves which began to seem a bit disproportionate for the area as I tried to remember the last time I saw an African-American in East Cobb - a pointless task since I seldom notice these things. Then I wondered if the African-Americans living in East Cobb have a version of "Oh, thank God we're not the only ones" look that we encounter during those very rare moments when my partner and I turn into an aisle at the grocery and are spotted by two men "of a certain age" who are sharing a cart. Then I began to wonder where the Jewish-American section was since, it has been noted by several notable friends of mine who notice such things and who happen to be Jewish that, our little corner of East Cobb is heavily populated by Jews. Again, I seldom notice these things since I was raised in a idealistically diverse area of Baltimore and therefore thought that everybody drove past a pack of bearded, black hatted men leading their families to temple on Saturday.

Scanning the two allotted shelves, I noticed that the books weren't even in alphabetical order and that, my friends, is when I lost my mind. Isn't it bad enough that books have to be segregated by color or sexual preference or religion? Do they really have to be subjected to the further indignity of being slapped on the shelf in whatever order they were grabbed, regardless of whether they were non-fiction, fiction, memoir, or collected essays?

As the lingering anal retentive side effect of having worked retail took hold and I began sorting the books alphabetically by author or editor, a Trevor* came up to me with a hint of nervousness as he glanced down to the section that held my attention, and asked if I needed any help . "Yes", I replied. "I'm looking for a book by John Weir. He's a black gay guy and I think he might be a Jew. Where is that section?"

Seeing the confusion that my little joke had created, I guy-slugged him on the arm and said, "Never mind, Dude. I'll order it from Amazon". When I got to the check out counter, I made sure that my copy of the Out Magazine swimsuit issue landed on top of the Eels cd and, in noticing that I did so, flew my gay flag proud and high.

Unless your reading habits tend not to stray far from Patricia Cornwell or Danielle Steele, I highly recommend "What I Did Wrong" by John Weir . Yes, the narrator is a gay man but I promise that, if you are boy, you will not have an immediate desire to take it in the face and, if you're a girl, you won't see Ellen on the tv and immediately start masturbating. Actually, I can't promise any of that but should it happen, I doubt that it's because of the book.

I also suggest that you buy it from Amazon if you are not fortunate enough to have an independent bookseller nearby. By trying to provide one stop shopping for all of your books and music needs, stores like Borders and Barnes and Noble are neither book nor music stores. At least with Amazon you don't have to talk to eighteen year olds that not only know nothing about either one, but don't even care.



*A Trevor is any boy born in or after the late eighties who is wearing a name tag and has just been told to "go help that customer", meaning you. No conclusive data has been issued but it's my suspicion that 90% of all Trevors are also a Gus** or will grow up to be one.

**For the definition of a Gus,
blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-krCXu4QhaaNpFHID1Vvw?p=157