Wait, don't get me wrong. I think it's hilarious poetic justice that a right wing lawmaker who did everything he could to trample gays under his feet was brought down for tapping said feet in an airport toilet. I wish every moralizing moron would have his or her closets so publicly yanked open. But I still feel sorry for the guy, in a we-are-the-world kind of way.
I watched some "family values" hag on TV (I've blocked out her name, lest I dream of going after her with a ball peen hammer) yammer on about how dare gay people solicit sex in bathrooms, as well as listened to the Mayor of Ft. Lauderdale lie about how an epidemic of public sex is ruining his town so you can't see the forest for the penises. These wonder how in the world gay people can lower themselves to behave in such a sordid manner. I've got a news flash for these bitches: that's the way we're taught.
From the moment they can think, straight children are taught to have boyfriends and girlfriends, to play house, to pretend their Barbies and Kens are married, and on and on, world without end, Amen. Heterosexuality is shouted from every possible rooftop, from TV to children's books to cereal boxes. Gay children are taught: nothing. Or rather, by silent suggestion or outright statement, they are taught if God forbid you must diddle with someone of the same sex, go do it somewhere we can't see it, keep it hidden, and don't dare talk about it or try to figure out who you really are. The very thought of it makes me gag, and if the neighbors find out I'll take off my belt and beat the tar out of you, boy. Finish your spinach.
Human nature has a way of crying uncle, so why the hell else do you think that some gay men lurk around in the dark? If they are unfortunate enough to be raised in a town where sexual repression is served for breakfast, what do you think they're going to do when they're lonely and frustrated and desperate for human contact? Sit home and watch Jeopardy?
Christian fascists want to have it both ways, saying, "Homosexuals live miserable lives filled with anonymous encounters and are unable to form stable monogamous relationships, and we're going to make sure it stays that way."
They also call efforts by gay people to reach out to young gays, let them know that they are actually worth something, and maybe help prevent them from resorting to hidden anonymous encounters "recruiting." News flash: gay people don't recruit, Christians do. They even go door to door, for heaven's sake. Can you imagine if gay people knocked on doors and said, "Hi, I'm Jim from Dorothy's Witnesses. Do you like Liza Minnelli? Are you interested in a lifetime of fabulous parties? Would you like to read our pamphlet, 'The Crotchtower?'"
Craig and his ilk represent a whole generation of sad closet cases who, unable to even begin to explore their gay feelings (and in Idaho, to add location to injury), are reduced to secret, furtive sexual encounters that are about as fulfilling as eating fish sticks when you're starving. I know, because I've been there. My hometown was so small the only gay bar was the men's room at the K-Mart.
So I can't help but feel sorry for the guy. Hopefully the next generation of gays from the sticks will be well adjusted enough to stay out of the shadows, avoid Craig's fate, and end all this toilet titillation for good.