you know you are in a gay resort town when...

I wanted to have a magazine so I would have something to read on the ferry ride back from Provincetown to Boston. I went into the store that said it was Provincetown's Largest Newsstand. I would have preferred to buy, perhaps in order, The Economist, The Atlantic, or Harper's. The store had none of these, but it did have an entire rack of gay porn magazines and an entire rack of nongay porn magazines (granted, GQ, which isn't specifically gay, and Details, which as far as I know is still a strange kind of closeted gay*, were on this rack as well).

As we figured out when we arrived at the Pilgrim Monument in Provincetown, yesterday just happened to be the 100th anniversary of the laying of the original cornerstone by Teddy Roosevelt at this monument, and so Provincetown was having a special celebration. So, there was a parade. The parade was comprised mostly of Freemasons, and thus the day combined a disproportionate number of male couples walking around with a disproportionate number of men-in-fezzes.

I am neither gay nor a Freemason. Having this instance to observe them both side-by-side, however, gay culture makes a lot more sense to me than Freemason culture. I think whatever goes on behind the closed doors of Freemason temples must be either wilder than anything I can imagine or more boring than anything I can imagine; there can be no in-between.

Back in Boston, we went back and forth trying to find the Boston Massacre site before being informed by a street vendor that it was just this circle of cobblestones in a little triangular intersection, without any explicit plaque marking it as such. Our photo, there:



We also had dinner last night at Cheers; by this point, everybody there really does know our names.

* When it was a Conde Nast publication, Details fabricated reader's poll data to downplay its percentage of gay readers.