It's Monday morning, and I'm driving through the Carson Valley en route from Reno to South Lake Tahoe. I'm on my way to tape a five-minute segment on "Tahoe Tonight," a television program that will air twice a day for a week on RSN, the Resort Sports Network, Tahoe-cable channel 15. I don't like to watch TV, but I'm excited to be appearing on the small screen in a
As I hurtle southward along U.S. 395, I listen to a report on NPR's "Morning Edition" about a study performed on young children who watch television for more than two hours a day. Apparently they have a 20%-increased risk of developing attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder upon reaching pre-adolescence and become unable to concentrate on any single thing for more than a few moments at a time. I wonder, who in their right mind lets a two-year-old watch TV for three hours every day?
I pull off the highway in Carson City to buy gasoline. I swipe my Visa card through the magnetic-stripe reader at the pump, and as soon as my credit is approved, CNN appears on the pump's small video screen, even before the fuel begins to flow from the nozzle. Three women are discussing the latest trends in wallpaper at a decibel-level so high that the sound distorts in the tinny, blown speaker and echoes off the overhead metal canopy. Not wanting to be assaulted by ear-splitting home-decorating tips as I wash the dead bugs from my windshield, I instead walk into the mini-mart to voice my displeasure, give 'em a piece of my mind. I affix a polite smile upon my face and quietly approach the register. A thin, sexy Latino with solidly gelled hair looks across the counter and says hi. Next to him, a heavy-set young blond girl with acne stares at me like a cow at a passing car.
The sexy Latino laughs and winks. "Okay, man," he says, and raises his hand in a simple wave that says he digs my vibe, fuck the man and all that.
"Thanks," I say, then look over at the bovine girl, still silent, though now there's a displeased look on her face, like she's smelling bad cheese or her own sour milk. I want to shout, Moo! but hold my tongue. I thank the man and tell the girl to have a nice day.
I object to television in public spaces. It's an assault on civil society. Wasn't it bad enough when CNN began broadcasting in airport departure lounges across America? When infomercials appeared on the bulkhead movie screens of transcontinental flights? Enough is enough. I won't accept it at the pumps, too.
I put the nozzle back in its cradle, and the talking heads shut up mid-sentence. Making my way southward along the highway toward Spooner Summit, I tense behind the wheel, reviewing in my mind the ever-increasing evidence that America is worse off than I ever had thought-—it takes a trip out of San Francisco to be reminded of just how bad things really are. While ascending the wall of mountains toward the Tahoe Basin, I lose reception of NPR on my rental car's radio, and for several miles, I can only receive a Christian-fundamentalist talk-show, whose host is bashing gays for wanting to get married. A caller on the programs asks, "Will our church lose its tax-exempt status if I circulate a political petition to support the president's constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage?"
As I hear him say the words, I wonder how he knew this detail and what I could possibly say in response that would be interesting. This was not what I had imagined we would discuss, not what I had rehearsed. I had wanted to be ready, and now it seemed I wasn't. What the hell do I know about Fodor's anyway? I'm a freelancer, not a full-time employee, let alone a corporate spokesman for Random House.
"Uh, I guess so. That sounds about right. Fodor's has been around a long time. I don't know. Hmm. . . . Well, what I really want to talk about is Lake Tahoe. God! it's soooo beautiful here!" Nice save, I think to myself as I continue to talk. And with a quick segue into downhill skiing and the fabulous vistas from atop the Sierra, I lead into a quotation by John Muir that I had rehearsed just for the occasion: "You will top arise and behold creation, and you will need the tongues of angels to tell what you see." Cut to commercial. After a pat on the back by the producer and a handshake from the host, I depart the studio to ski the afternoon at Heavenly Mountain.
The episode consumes my imagination for much of the afternoon on the slopes. How did he know I'm gay? Is it that obvious? Why does it still upset me to get called a faggot? Two little words and I'm back on the playground, getting picked on for getting picked on. Christ almighty. I can't stop thinking about it. I hardly notice the beautiful vistas or the luxurious spring snow. I need no tongues of angels to tell what I see, because I can't see anything but my own mind spinning out of control. By the end of the day, I'm exhausted.
Following an early-evening nap in my hotel room at the bottom of the gondola, I lie in bed, watching my image flicker across the screen during the broadcast of "Tahoe Tonight." Earlier in the day, after we had finished taping the program, the producer and host both told me I was a natural for television-—they even asked me back on the show later this summer—-and I was proud of my comportment. But now, watching my head bob, my arms flail, and my eyes dart, I shudder in that way you do when you first hear your voice on an answering machine. That can't possibly be me. I sound so...well, gay. Shit. For the first time since my late adolescence, I feel embarrassed about how I might appear to strangers. What a horrifying, demoralizing realization that, at 37 years old, I should still carry around internalized homophobia, embarrassment about being gay. I pull the covers up around my chin and suffer through the rest of the interview, then turn off the TV and take a shower.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror with my gaze fixed, I stare at my reflection until everything but my irises loses its shape, gets fuzzy, and I try to see into myself, beyond personality and the layers of self-identity, into someplace beyond space and time. I draw a deep breath, tell myself to expand, become porous. Be present. Let go. I exhale and break the trance, take a few deep breaths and feel grounded and centered again. I rub pomade into my palms and run it through my hair, pausing between strokes to practice smiling for the camera in preparation for my next appearance on RSN's "Tahoe Tonight." Next time I want to be ready.
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