All Sodomy, All the Time

In accordance with Silentio having become in recent weeks a salacious sanctum of sodomy -- in the run-up, if I have not yet made it explicit enough, to the imminent Supreme Court decision regarding Texas' law barring homosexual sex -- you simply must read David Schmader's article, 'Sodomy Tour 2003: Four Days. Four States. Four Infamous Crimes Against Nature'. The titles says it all, I guess; but if you're not yet sold,l here's a glimpse:

Five hours later Jake and I hit Ponca City and checked into the Rose Stone Inn, a locally owned mom-and-pop place whose desk clerk honored our request for a room with a queen-size bed without batting an eye, only periodically turning to scream at the collie wandering the lobby: "Dixie, get your motherfuckin' ass over here or I'll slap you sideways to Thursday!"

The B&B-meets-crackhouse vibe continued in the room, where we found a TV, dresser, and some plants, all of which boasted hefty layers of gray dust, offset by the array of mustard-toned stains adorning the sheets and pillowcases. "They ain't dirty," insisted the desk clerk, who promised she'd just run said sheets through the wash. "They're just stained." If ever a room deserved criminal sodomy, this was it.

[. . .]

Jake took the upper hand, flipping through the phone book to find anyone who seemed likely to know about gay people in Branson. After rounding up numbers for Branson's florists, interior decorators, and Gap, Jake decided to call the hotel's concierge. "Hello," Jake said. "Does Branson have a gay bar?"

"No," said the concierge, in a tone that suggested Jake had asked if he might fill the concierge's mouth with piss. "I don't think so."

Discouraged but not defeated, Jake returned to the phone book, but calls to Branson's florists (all women), interior decorators (ditto), and Gap (closed for the night) were unhelpful. Finally, Jake scanned Branson's bar listings, searching for the hidden-in-plain-sight names favored by small-town gay bars -- the Incognito Lounge, or Ain't Nobody's Biz -- but found nothing.

Defeated, we headed out to take in the sights. Most impressive: the Shoji Tabuchi Theatre, featuring twice-nightly shows by Mr. Shoji Tabuchi, a Suzuki-trained classical violinist turned rambunctious country fiddler. Every Shoji performance ends with the host belting out his signature catch phrase -- "God bress Amelica!" -- but the real show at Shoji's is the men's and women's restrooms, whose construction and luxury appointments cost Shoji a famous $1 million each. "Fabulous bathrooms can only appeal to two types of people," said Jake. "Old folks and homosexuals." We saw a lot of old folks.

Back in our room, we did it for Branson's invisible gays...

(Thanks for the link, Vaara.)