I'm alone in my house, listening to the rain softly drumming - well not even drumming, it's more a gentle rhythmic tattoo - on my roof, and there's a constant trickle from the eaves near my back seating area (my computer is situated near the back of the house). I am alone because my household are attending a family reunion for my in-laws, and I cannot attend as I have been rostered to work tomorrow. The rain is so sorely needed here. At the moment it is not so sorely needed in Sydney where the 37th Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras is no doubt happening in all it's camp, colourful, glittery and sequinned glory. I hope any rainfall has not made it unpleasant for participants and attendees. It is with disconcertion that I sit here and realise I have not attended a Mardi Gras parade for twenty years. Seriously, it has been twenty years since I last staked my spot in Oxford Street to smile and wave to the Dykes on Bikes, bop along with the phalanx of dancing boys, and try to swallow over the lump in my throat as the float festooned with the banner: 'HIV and Positive' went by with its brave and determined people on the back. I used to be able to get quite the good spot because one of my best friends was a parade marshall. Before he became a marshall, I had to find whatever spot I could. One year I got stuck standing near Reverend Fred Nile with his coterie of God-botherers, all praying their guts out and standing with their eyes closed to shield themselves from the passing cavalcade of filthy and depravity. My friend reckons I should have chortled, 'Hey, Fred, cop a load of THIS!' whilst simultaneously sticking a pin in his bum, such action having the effect that his eyes would fly open, and he'd be forced to see the very spectacle he wished to not see as he prayed like a mad thing. Someone I briefly dated told me he and some friends had tried to halt the Mardi Gras one year by sitting across the road of Oxford Street to obstruct the parade. Mate, dunno if you're reading this, but you know who you are; what you don't know (unless someone else has told you already) is that you are a colossal tool. You are entitled to protest provided you do not obstruct someone going about their lawful business, but you didn't do it that way. You obstructed a legal event, and just tried to wreck a fun night out for people. You broke the law, and you're just an asshole to boot. Don't like it? How's about not bloody going to it? If I had daughters, I would warn them against guys like this. I have no daughters. I do have three nieces. One is married with a child, so I guess she's safe. Another is in a relationship. My other niece is fifteen, and probably interested in guys (I was interested in nothing else when I was that age, although crippling shyness prevented me doing anything about it). If my darling niece should perchance read this, Auntie Simone suggests you avoid these types of men: married men, men who are violent, men who are emotionally abusive, and homophobic assholes. Some advice I have imparted upon my sons is: should you develop pimples when older, don't pick at them; and don't be a homophobic asshole.
I missed the special on telly the other night that dealt with the fetishists known as 'maskers'. I don't think it's particularly new, but it's received a fair bit of publicity lately. If you don't know what it is, it's people (usually men although there are a small number of women into this) who get into latex feminine body suits, and a latex (I think latex - might be another material) mask, together with a wig, and look just like a life size doll. I saw footage of a masker, in his latexed and wigged glory, giving an interview and the only thing that was disconcerting is the mouth didn't move at all. Of course the usual pearl-twisters are decrying the fall of civilisation, but you know what? These guys are hurting absolutely nobody, and if you're hurting nobody, then whatever blows your hair back, I reckon. To be honest, the interviewee looked no more creepy than some of the over-botoxed celebs and socialites you see at times.
Over the next few months, I have to organise a book launch. I am excited and overwhelmed, but I guess I will manage. I've managed twice before, so should be an old hand now!
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