I
HAVE
NAMED
the
malaise
from
which
I
suffered:
"gay
fatigue."
No,
it’s
not
an
allusion
to
the
camouflage
pants
that
shirtless
gay
men
donned
with
combat
boots
to
look
macho
in
the
disco
era;
it’s
a
thoroughly
modern
feeling
of
being
tired
of
the
whole
gay
thing.
That’s
right.
I
was
burned
out
on
GLBT.
Gay,
gay,
gay.
Over
the
years,
I have
joined
any
number
of
gay
clubs
and
volunteered
for
gay
causes.
I
co-founded
a
networking
group
for
lesbians
in
the
entertainment
industry,
which
was
an
endless
gala
of
gay
mixers
with
gay
gals.
Then
of
course,
in
my
private
life
I
held
gay
dinner
parties,
went
to
gay
bars,
marched
in
gay
parades,
read
gay
books
and
saw
gay
movies.
After
nearly
a
decade
and
a
half
of
community
activism,
I
wanted
out
of
being
out.
THE
MOUNTAIN
OF
hype
surrounding
the
gay
cowboy
movie
that
needs
not
speak
its
name
was
the
straw
that
broke
my
back.
It
seemed
that
the
film
and
its
gay
theme
had
become
the
topic
of
every
coffee
chat,
news
report,
TV
talk
show,
radio
program,
magazine
article
and
late-night
monologue.
As
I
was
striding
on
my
elliptical
trainer
in
my
bedroom
one
morning
watching
the
"Today
Show,"
yet
another
commercial
came
on
for
this
groundbreaking
love
story
that
was
destined
to
become
a
classic.
I
suddenly
felt
exhausted,
and
it
wasn’t
the
elevation
to
Level
9
on
the
Himalayan
Trek:
I
was
suffering
from
gay
fatigue.
I
was
tired
of
all
of
the
fuss
over
homosexuality.
As
I
cruised
into
a
virtual
valley
on
my
stepper,
I
imagined
Katie
Couric
cooing
about
romantic
Valentine’s
outings
for
same-sex
couples.
"Guys,
take
your
boyfriend
out
for
a
candlelight
dinner,"
or
"Ladies,
how
about
an
Olivia
cruise
for
the
two
of
you?"
Why
not?
I
fantasized
about
us
as
gay
people
being
considered
not
as
queer
but
as
ordinary
folk;
not
defined
or
pigeonholed
by
our
sexual
orientation,
not
seen
by
straight
society
first
as
gay
and
second
as
relatives,
neighbors,
co-workers,
doctors,
teachers,
shop
clerks,
Pilates
instructors
or
whatever.
Rosie
O’Donnell
defended
staying
in
the
closet
so
long
because
she
didn’t
want
her
name
preceded
by
an
adjective
for
eternity.
"Lesbian
Rosie
O’Donnell,"
she
said,
"It’s
like
‘Aries
Rosie
O’Donnell’
or
‘size-10-shoe
Rosie
O’Donnell."
I
couldn’t
agree
more,
I
thought.
And
then
I
thought,
"That’s
a
pretty
big
foot."
As
I
hit
a
plateau
and
strode
at
Level
7,
I
realized
I
had
no
choice
but
to
accept
that
despite
millions
of
TV-watching
middle-American
housewives
welcoming
a
big
dyke
into
their
living
rooms
everyday-—-Ellen,
not
Martha-—-they
still
view
us
differently
than
themselves.
THEN
I
WONDERED,
just
how
do
they
think
we
are
different?
Well,
everyone
knows
that
gay
men-—-think
Fab
Five-—-dress,
groom,
decorate
and
cook
better
than
straight
men,
and
way
better
than
gay
women.
Gay
women-—-think
Martina-—-are
better
athletes
than
straight
women,
and
way
better
than
gay
men-—-think
Fab
Five.
Gay
men
are
excellent
dancers,
and
gay
women
are
good
talk
show
hosts.
It
occurred
to
me
that
being
gay
makes
an
average
Joe
or
Joely
more
interesting,
more
individual.
It’s
like
having
a
hip,
cool
style
without
having
to
work
at
it.
I
thought
about
how
we
as
gay
people
have
formed
alternative,
extended
families.
We
take
care
of
each
other,
support
each
other,
spend
holidays
together,
and
host
potlucks
and
throw
Academy
Awards
parties
together.
And
despite
the
common
saying,
"You
can’t
pick
your
family,"
we
did.
With
that,
I
started
to
feel
a
little
sorry
for
those
people
that
my
gay
old
friends
Richard
and
Tucker-—-partners
for
58
years-—-refer
to
as
"non-gay."
As
the
machine
beeped
and
congratulated
me
on
a
great
workout
that
burned
432
calories
in
45
minutes,
I
no
longer
felt
weary.
Instead,
I
felt
energized.
Light
in
my
loafers,
so
to
speak.
Suddenly
I
felt
like
a
gay
cowboy
myself.
A
trailblazer.
I
had
taken
the
road
less
traveled,
less
common
and
less
ordinary.
While
the
truth
is
that
we
do
our
daily
dozen,
go
to
work,
come
home
and
microwave
our
leftovers
just
like
everyone
else,
if
straight
people
want
to
think
that
we
are
different,
in
fact
fascinating,
then
let
them.
Like
those
bumper
stickers
ask,
"Why
Be
Normal?"
After
all,
different
is
good.
Some
might
even
say
extraordinary.
