People's sexual orientation isn't something I think much about—not unless I'm hanging out with a gay friend and need an insult. Mostly this is because I don't care. I have higher priorities. There are far more important reasons to hate people.
If I do think about it, it's alien to me. They say orientation is a spectrum, and I accept that on faith. Mine is most decidedly a single point on that line, and from here it's hard to imagine orientation being a range of points. But I have comparable difficulty imagining anyone enjoying peach schnaps or Kanye West. Yet here we are.
When the bear bar was filled with fat bearded guys, I was of course not surprised. Biker jackets, flannel shirts and testosterone abounded—also not a surprise. But everyone watching, delighting in, and squealing at RuPaul's Drag Race? I have to say that's a surprise. These guys? That show? Can someone kindly draw me a map from the Harleys parked outside to RuPaul's trannies?