The protest.

Today as I was walking past the wee observatory that holds court in the forest in the middle of the Old Crescent, watching squirrels the size of hale kittens lumber about in their desperate search for winter nutrition, I heard a strange sound. It was a shrill voice crying out on a megaphone. The only word I could catch consistently was "God", and curiostity got the best of me. As I approached I saw some crudely painted signs being held up by white trash townies; surely this was going to be a protest against abortion or something, replete as it would be with pictures of mutilated fetuses and likenings to the Holocaust. Instead, as I got nearer I saw the signs:

No fags in heaven.

Homos, leave Bloomington.

God hates queers.

It was, of course, a protest about the sizeable gay and lesbian population in Bloomington. The ringleader, a man clad in what can only be called a frock, held a Bible high and screamed at passers-by and cars. People were throwing half-full cans of Coke out their windows at the protestors and giving them the finger. Bloomington may be a lot of things, and people may believe what they want, but one thing Bloomington is not is intolerant. The sheer number of people who were retaliating led me to believe that it couldn't only have been gays and lesbians; people who just weren't keen on being intolerant were reacting, and doing so with vigor. I thought to a story I heard about how, in the aftermath of September 11th, a Malaysian woman who wore the headscarf was attacked in Bloomington, and how the people ran out of restaurants and stores to beat the perpetrator to the ground. One man sat on the guy until the police came.

I left before the protest ended, and it is my fervent hope that it ended with rubber bullets and teargas and, perhaps, the liberal use of some unlubricated nightsticks. It was a heartening lesson: outside Bloomington it may be still Indiana, but here in the Republic, people don't put up with shit at all. Martintucky may be only a half-hour's drive away, but it is leagues away when it comes to the quality of people.

I could sure use some Chinese food right about now. Tonight I had a French exam, and it was tragic, oh so tragic, like finding your beloved pet's ear in your yard at the height of pine marten season. (Pine martens: arboreal weasels, endemic to Maine and Eastern Canada).

I need some sleep. I need a hug. And today, I really needed one of them there half-full cans of Coke. One out of three isn't bad.

Good night, Bloomington.

Dom