I recently caught up with Mr. Gay Pride Portland, 2001, Scott Weimer, at a local eatery on a sunny spring morning. We giggled nervously as we ordered our shared French press of Kenya AA. In person, Scott appears very well kept, a little brawny, and well, GAY. Before our salmon tartlets arrived, I started in on the questions...

Me: Can you explain to our readers how exactly one becomes Mr. Gay Pride?

Scott: Explain? Hmm probably not, considering that the process of becoming Mr. Gay Pride may be a bit too complex for your typical reader. But let me try to put it as simply as I can: Contestants compete in a pageant, much like the Miss America pageant, or say, the 2000 election (oh, I do crack myself up ). There's a question-and-answer category, formalwear competition, plus a category for creative club attire. But let's face it, it all comes down to the swimsuit contest. If you can cavort around on stage in something slinky for a panel of "experts," you're taking home the prize, baby. It also helps to smile a lot--that's why I got my teeth capped.

That sounds super complex! Well, after putting in all that work, I hope gaining this title has improved your love life.

Well, yes and no. I mean, let's face it: a big velvet sash with gold embroidered lettering and a rainbow running down the back isn't exactly a man-magnet. Nobody ever once came up to me, rubbed his hand all over the sash and said, "You look so goddamn hot wearing this--take me now!" Of course, there were a few hard, crusty spots on the sash left over from the previous Mr. Gay Pride, which didn't help, either. But strangely enough, I did get laid quite a bit more this past year. Maybe it was sporting the title of Mr. Gay Pride that worked a little magic. Maybe it was my monthly waxing. Maybe I keep lowering my standards as I get older. Who's to say for sure?

Well... you're preaching to the choir on lowering one's standards. Speaking of which... how did you feel about being named one of the "Most fuckable people in Portland" in the Mercury's recent sex survey?

Well, of course, it's flattering. It's always nice to be publicly acknowledged for one's accomplishments, and by such a prestigious, classy publication as the Portland Mercury. Though I was a little disheartened that I came in as a mere runner-up, taking a backseat to the likes of Rob Marciano and Rasheed Wallace. I mean, what have they got that I haven't got? Hmm? I mean, just look at me.

I am looking at you and I think you and me and Rob Marciano would make a very nice "Manwich." What do you say after breakfast we... [Just then our lime sorbets arrived (thank God!) to cool our soaring passions.] Seriously though, what will you do now that you're all washed-up?

I don't know. I used to be a tall, cold, fresh glass of milk--y'know, good for strong teeth and bones! Now I'm more like cottage cheese: aged, curdled, but still in edible form. Of course, the only problem with cottage cheese is, "How do you know when it's gone bad?" So what will I do now? I will, of course, make myself available as a mentor or advisor to the new Mr. Gay Pride. I'd like to seek out new avenues of representing the great GLBT community we have here in Portland. And, I think it goes without saying, I will continue to order my gin-and-tonics and drink myself into a soft comfortable oblivion. I may also learn to sky dive

Last question... any heroes, Scott?

I would probably have to say Susan Lucci when she finally won her Daytime Emmy oh my, what a joyous event for her and for all of the fans of daytime TV. I felt such a wave of emotion and was just so extremely happy for her that I must've cried myself to sleep that night.

We chatted on throughout the morning, talking of love, hate, and DVD/VCR combos. When the bill finally came, Scott excused himself to the bathroom and mysteriously disappeared. Hmmm... I suppose duty called.