I Am So Popular: Of Fuzz Munchers And Tea Baggers

Some of you know that I make a good part of my living performing weddings. I advertise at a big commercial wedding website, which brings me leads from people of all walks. Recently, I got a note from the mother of a bride-to-be, asking about my rates and services. I responded with this basic information. She followed up with this query:

To be perfectly blunt, and I sincerely hope you won't be offended, with your name being what it is, it will be asked by some of the family (specifically those who do not live in Austin, if you get my drift) if you are gay. Having read some of your writing, I believe the answer is no, but could you please clarify that issue?

At first, I began to compose a note to her in my head, in which I sympathized. I thought about telling her that I have a lot of homophobes in my family, it happens to the best of us, and…

And then I caught myself. WTF? I asked. WTF WTF WTF? No really, how can it be that in this day and age, some people are still so homophobic? What if she’d asked me if I was black? And how dare I even think about sympathizing? So I wrote back the following:

I must also be perfectly blunt. I do not work with homphobes. I'm sorry my sexuality is important to you. Every year I get more requests than I can handle from people who hire me for my skill and the joyful attitude I bring to ceremonies. Whether or not I choose to munch fuzz in my private time makes no difference to them.

In retrospect, I sort of wish I’d said, You know, I’d love to perform your daughter’s wedding, but I have a contract clause stating I will only do the honors if I’m allowed to stop, mid-ceremony, and hump the bride, a special ritual that sets my services apart.

But I was distracted from composing the perfect riposte by the aforementioned Tea Baggers, who were vying, neck-in-neck, for the role of Who Can Chap Spike’s Ass the Most? To explain this one, a little setup is in order. Maybe it was astrological, or hormonal, or willed by the Gods, but for whatever reason, I was not the most pleasant company last week. As Warren can attest, I was actually in major bitch mode. Sadly, I haven’t the space here to rationalize this behavior and suggest that Warren provoked me—by, say, taking his seatbelt off and rummaging around in the backseat while I was driving 85 mph—and that my sour attitude was ALL HIS FAULT. But it is important to note that, by the time we got to the trailhead for Santa Elena Canyon in Big Bend, I was loaded for bear and, in the moment, ready to file for divorce. So I told Warren, in essence, to take a fucking hike.

Telling one’s equally irritated partner to take a hike in Big Bend nets interesting results. Take a hike? Warren thought, Why not? And so he set off down the trail without me. By the time I cooled off enough to follow suit, my timing was such that I spotted a couple we’d seen the day before while hiking The Window trail. This first encounter was civil bordering on friendly. The menfolk whipped out their big cameras and the womenfolk chatted about vacations, then we parted ways.

But this second encounter—I heard the husband, who’d cornered another hiker, giving her an angry earful about how fucked up the country is, what a dictatorship Obama is running, and how the Democrats are trying to get everyone on welfare, and if you want to know how that’s going to turn out, just look at all the lazy Indians, living on the dole on their reservations. I bristled but hiked on.

Santa Elena Canyon is divided by the Rio Grande. When I reached the massive rock formations where Warren sat, I delivered my laundry list of grievances, and then we both fell silent—it’s hard to stay whipped into a frenzy in one of the most gorgeous places on earth. I sat on one boulder, high above Warren, who sat on another, down by the river.

Along came the Tea Baggers— by now I knew their political views, but the unsuspecting Warren had no idea. I buried myself in a book, vowed not to engage if they started in on another hater diatribe. They began chatting Warren up, and within moments, were going on about how fucked up Mexico is— yes, right there, on the banks of the Rio Grande. Then the husband launched into his anti-Obama shit. This left me feeling like times I’m at the movies and the people next to me won’t shut up. If I ask them to be quiet, I know we’ll all be mad for the rest of the movie. But if I say nothing, I let them ruin the movie for me.

From my perch on high, I spoke. “May I respectfully ask that we don’t discuss politics?” I asked. “Because I didn’t come out here for that. And your politics are different than mine.” And then, to Warren’s delight, I exhibited some on-the-spot hypocrisy, working in a little politics of my own, by explaining to just how much money I make (okay, I exaggerated) and noting that I still can’t get insurance.

Enraged— I guess he thought I wasn’t entitled to my opinion seeing as it differed from his— the husband told his wife that that was that, they were getting out of there. And, as they stormed away, he said— loud enough so that it would echo off the canyon and reach my ears—“There are SO MANY STUPID PEOPLE!!”

Boy, I’ll say.

The next day, in Marfa, we caught a talk at the Marfa Book Company, by some guy who was going on about our need to take action against folks like the Tea Baggers. This time I didn’t mind the political talk, not simply because I agreed with him, but because I willingly and knowingly walked into an event clearly labeled political. (Well that and, they were serving some really awesome free food.) When he was done reading, I raised my hand and asked him to list ways—beyond just sitting around and bellyaching—we might realistically work for change in our day-to-day lives.

He gave a vague answer, nothing concrete. Which left me wondering, what do we do to affect change? Did I actually think my email to the homophobe and my sermon on the mount to the Tea Baggers would suddenly win them over and prompt them to cease their homophobic, racist, classist ways? No, I did not. Really, I just wanted them to shut the fuck up.

Years ago, during the Bush Reign of Terror, I read an article that suggested a lot of liberals were shying away from political talk at parties, fearful of offending others with different views. Even I, with my big mouth, did this a lot. Much as I can’t stand a lot of the bullshit I hear, I try to remind myself that as I am entitled to my beliefs, so the conservatives are entitled to theirs. I might not like what they have to say, but it’s an allegedly free country and all that. I saved my own commentary for my writing and the many protests I attended.

But last week’s adventure changed my mind. I’m not going to go out of my way to provoke unsuspecting strangers in the wilderness. But from now on, when some stranger gets up in my grille, I, too, plan to be perfectly blunt.

Spike Gillespie respects your right to your opinion, even if she doesn’t respect that opinion. She blogs, among other places, at www.spikeg.com.