Leon Freilich just sent this in.

The San Diego Independent ran this article a few days ago. It’s by Penny Patterson, who writes an online column about gay life at independent.com/gaygirl.

It’s true that Park Slope used to be known as a lesbian neighborhood. Now it’s stroller central. Which isn’t to say that PS doesn’t have its fair share of gay parents—and plenty of lesbians.

But things have changed.

Last month, my girlfriend, Jackie, and I went on our first vacation together. We went to New York to visit a Santa Barbara friend who moved there to broaden her professional horizons and, for an added bonus, date a few ladies. Despite having lived in Santa Barbara for a good three years, my friend had never really met any dateable gals. The one time she did end up with a girl’s phone number, we were at a club in West Hollywood. After a few pleasant phone conversations, WeHo Woman got a little obsessed and wouldn’t stop calling my friend. Chalk up another failed attempt with the ladies.

But New York would be different. My friend lived in Park Slope in Brooklyn, and practically every travel book Jackie and I read used some variation of the phrase, “Park Slope, or Dyke Slope as it’s referred to because of the high concentration of lesbians, is a lovely brownstone neighborhood …” Plus, two New York natives swore it was lesbian heaven, and one of my coworkers, who lived in the city for seven years, actually said,

“You’ll be in paradise; you won’t ever want to come back.”
Could it be true? Lesbians, in herd-like form, taking over an entire part of an N.Y.C. borough? Its reputation alone would have required Jackie and me to make a stop in Park Slope, but we would be making
it our home base for a few weeks; we couldn’t believe our luck. The first morning we were there, I excitedly wiped the sleep from my eyes, put on my best dangly earrings, and bundled up in my warmest clothes: We were going to our first New York brunch and, to make matters infinitely better, there would be lesbians.

Ah, the pang of disappointment: nary a lezzie in sight. In fact, quite the contrary; we were surrounded by straight couples and sat next to two gay fellas who spent a large portion of their morning trying to get their adopted child to say “Dad.”

That, more than lesbians, turned out to be the theme: families. Everywhere we went there were strollers, toddlers, criers, screamers, snotty noses, and Happy Meal toys. My friend, whose chosen career as a writer must be supplemented by more lucrative jobs like babysitting, is living it up with several well-paying gigs per week. And they’re predominantly heterosexual families, who are well-off and hoping to raise their children in the safe streets and good schools of Park Slope.

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