The Advocate’s annual look at the gayest cities in the country ranked each contender with measures like LGBT elected city officials, trans protections, LGBT bookstores and gay-friendly sports teams. Other highly-ranked contestants were Orlando, Cambridge and Fort Lauderdale. Here’s their write-up on the winner:
While those unfamiliar with the Beehive State are likely to conjure images of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, far-less-oppressive-than-it-used-to-be Salt Lake City has earned its queer cred. There are more than a half-dozen hot spots for men and women, including the eco-friendly nightclub Jam (JamSLC.com), though the sustainable bamboo flooring is perhaps less of a draw than the packed dance floor. The Coffee Garden (878 South 900 East) is a gathering spot for those looking for a caffeine fix, the Sundance Film Festival brings LGBT film buffs to screenings downtown, and lesbian-owned Meditrina (MeditrinaSLC.com) is a true wine bar — yes, you can get a drink in this town.
Ha! “More than a half-dozen hot spots.” C’mon, I know Atlanta may not really be the best, but we’re at least better than this.
My Dear Julia I am here this Sabbath eving [sic] or (night) sitting alone in my Tent writing on my knee, and I am so anxious about your welfare that I concluded to talk a letter with you, how are you + the children all getting along——Nov 12th Since I commenced…
Kudos to AHC for getting picked up by NPR and Flavorpill.
Apparently, a few weeks ago, my father was in Boston, doing the tourist thing. (Background: My parent’s have a place along the Cape, and my mother’s family is from central Massachusetts, but for whatever reason, they hate the city and have rarely been, so whenever they go, it’s always in the most touristy ways.) He was walking around town, and ended up getting caught on a closed-off street with a bunch of OWS protesters. As an ex-hippie who used to live in a tepee, he’s all in favor of the principles underlying the movement. However, at the time, he just wanted to get back to his hotel. Unfortunately, that proved difficult.
Another notable aside: My father hates having his picture taken. So throughout this entire experience, he kept dodging people snapping photos. However, being a white man in his sixties wearing a Red Sox cap and sunglasses who periodically goes out of his way to not be in any pictures, well … he didn’t exactly seem like part of the movement, and he didn’t exactly seem like a casual guy on the street. What he did seem like was an undercover cop. My ex-pothead dad was confused for an undercover cop at Occupy Boston. As in, a protester actually repeatedly yelled “undercover” at him. This is my new favorite family story.