Having spent Saturday night with more than 3,000 gays and lesbians at the HRC dinner, I felt that a Sunday afternoon at the Virginia State Fair would provide necessary balance to an otherwise homo-oriented weekend. After all, if there is any antidote to the whimsical hope for gay equality, it's fried foods, racism and other traditional values.
I enjoyed the fair as one might a colonoscopy - after some initial discomfort, I relaxed and allowed myself to learn something about a region I knew existed but had never seen up close before. Sure, I could extend this metaphor indefinitely, but suffice it to say that the sights, sounds and smells of the South taught me a lot. In fact, more than I ever cared to know.
For instance, Southerners are all about the Confederate flag. My friends and I at first made an effort to tally all Confederate flag sightings, but we were easily and unexpectedly overwhelmed by the mass of Southern Cross-emblazoned t-shirts, bandanas, tattoos, buttons, stickers, belt buckles, thongs, and home decor that greeted us at the fair's entrance. It was funny at first, but the sight of a barefoot child dancing around with a corn dog in one hand and a Confederate flag in the other was just scary. Perhaps the symbol no longer stands for racial intolerance, but there were a lot of black families at the fair, and I didn't see any of them wistfully recalling the days of the Confederacy.
Hmm, let's see, what else did I learn? Well, there were a lot of overweight individuals, many of them bound to a wheelchair. I'm not sure what use I can derive from this scientific observation, but I'd be willing to advise these people to lay off the fried everything for a while. However, in the interest of empathy, my boyfriend and I did indulge in a shared "elephant ear" - fried dough with sugar on it. We ate it while watching small children ride a mechanical bull. One of these activities is surely worse than the other, although I will leave that up to debate.
Like all violating experiences, our day at the Virginia State Fair eventually came to a merciful end. Highlight: The pig race, despite the "evil" potbellied pig being named Tyrone, and the announcer calling only one dark-skinned child from the audience to be among the 20 children who participated in the race. Lowlight: The discomfort of being in my own skin, of holding my boyfriend's hand, of simply touching him. Oh, I dared not do any of those things. Perhaps my fear was irrational, but having just been exposed by Southerners to so much culture, I wasn't really in the mood to return the favor.