my new favorite gay.

There was a time in my life, if you'll remember, that I lead a rather isolated existence on the Colville Indian Reservation. It was Central Washington. 2005-2006. My JVC year.

And during that time, while I gained a broadened sense of cultural awareness, a deepened spirituality, an appreciation for nature's wilderness, and a surprising affinity for scrapbooking and Dairy Queen, I lost some things too.

Collegiate social drinking opportunities.
A rodent-free lifestyle.
Even my sanity on occasion.

But there was one loss in particular that really shook me to my core. One loss that couldn't be supplemented with prayer or meditation or even satellite television.

I lost access to my gays.

And when you lose your gays, you very nearly lose your life.

I was spared by quarterly visits from Greg, the Reading Program Specialist from San Fransisco with the buttery voice and equally buttery elbow-length locks. But were it not for his periodic visits to discuss phonics and Targeted Treasure Hunts, I may have asphyxiated on my Pegler-Sysco chicken nuggets. He came like manna in the desert, as if from the sky, just when I needed him most.

But what would happen if I found myself in that situation again? How would I cope? How could I prepare? Would I be able to survive the next time around?

Well, luckily, I need not fear the gayless terror of the night. Nor the gayless arrow that flies by day. Because armed with internet access and a steadfast dose of flamboyance, I have seen the light. And that light is "What the Buck".

So even if I end up on some Brokeback-esk ranch in the middle of America, or even if Camilo goes back to Spain and doesn't call me for months at a time, or even if my ultra-hetero male co-workers subject me to droning details of tired Budweiser commercials and Oregon Ducks stats, I will survive.

Neh, I will thrive.

Michael Buckley? You are my new favorite gay.