I was en route to the LGNY office, after picking up tickets for 20 Dates, and heard my name being called. Sort of. I either heard "Seth!" or "Zest!" I don't recall which.
Let me explain.
A few weeks ago Paul joking suggested that my name was not gay enough, and that I should perhaps go by the name "Zest Bouquet." Obviously, I am quite happy to be published under my full legal name. When the city goes completely fascist this will save the NYPD the hassle of torturing Paul for my home address.
In the course of working on the premises at LGNY, Troy, the publisher, has called me "Nellie" and "Marylou." I am told he only does that with people he likes, and of course, I am flattered.
Fifteen years ago, I would not have been so thrilled. I remember that once, after bravely attending the ill-fated Hofstra University's first Lambda Society meeting, which was bravely held off campus, I was approached in the library by a person who attended the meeting. I was working in periodicals and Bruce dropped over to say hello. He was wearing corduroy shorts in April. (That's a sure sign of homosexuality.) He said something along the lines of of "after all, we're sisters."
Comments like that sent me running for cover. Comments like that made the closet suddenly seem a little roomier. This is a common problem for budding homosexual men: Being gay and keeping a distance from the attendant behaviours. Not just keeping a distance but maintaining a real active disdain for camp and drag. After all, you're so busy trying to show how you are "just like everyone else" (i.e., just like straight people, except for that vital difference that involves penises), how can you act campy or female and prove to everyone how you're "not so different."
What seems so upsetting to a lot of straight people is the idea that their male relation or friend has any female identifications whatsoever. This is also upsetting to a lot of gay men. How many times have I heard gay men say how much they hate media coverage of the Pride parade: They also seem to focus on the drag queens and leather folks.
It took a while for me to become campophonic and dragophilic, and I am now quite capable of camp, although I have not done drag... yet. All it took was volunteering on the Center's Dance committee for me to get over whatever dragophobia I had. We had more than a few guys who did drag. It didn't take long to for me to realize there's no guilt by association, or that you can have fun witnessing or doing drag.
I could go on and on, but I will leave it at this: The classical hatred for things female is just too pervasive. I think the whole world would be a lot better off if men could just get over it and deal with a multiplicity of gender identifications. There are worse things than being referred to in th female. So call me Seth, call me Zest, call me Marylou, call me Nellie. I will not be offended.
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