I have a niggle. This niggle, my friends, is the practise of the organisers of charity trivia matches of giving the tablese the option to 'buy' answers. Professional athletes cannot use steroids. Singers should not use auto-tune. So why should trivia players be allowed to do this? And my moaning does not stem from the fact that my team came in fourth at the charity trivia music night on Saturday. Even though my team should have come in first, because after all, I was on the table. Our 'Woodstock' table was an esteemed one. Not only did it have me, the local music trivia gun, but it also featured the director of our local conservatorium and the town mayor. Neither of these worthy gentlemen could hold a candle to me. My jaw dropped at the end of the evening when it was revealed we had come fourth, but it became clear that other teams had used the 'option'. Damn! One of the organisers asked me to be a secret costume judge, and I carried out my duty as honourably as I could. I awarded the best diva to a woman dressed as Slash, and gave by way of explanation for the MC to read that it was due to the novelty of a man who has been clinically dead on at least two occasions being portrayed by a drag act. The table dressed as the Grease Pink Ladies got my vote for best group effort because they seriously had put in the effort. It's not because I am a fan of the show 'Grease'; nay, I detest it, to be honest. Best male costume was to a local GP done up as Elvis, but he didn't do a number which was what I stipulated he must do. My choices caused disgruntlement among others who felt they should have won. The Rolling Stones table actually booed a little. Now, dudes and dudettes, wearing white T-shirts with the famous lips-and-tongue logo won't earn you an award. Not from me, anyway. You no more resembled the Rolling Stones than I do. I was tempted to challenge them, but my identity had to remain secret, much like the hangman in his black hood. Also, I didn't wish to be torn limb from limb by the sore losers.
But without buying answers, we did well. I had to take my 13yo with me because his dad was at a presentation for pool comp, and his brother was having a sleepover somewhere. My son behaved beautifully, and even gave a few answers on the questions geared toward the younger crowd. My team were amazed at his ability and brilliance. I crowed, 'It's my DNA!'
Okay, now for the other big 'news'. Ian Thorpe has confirmed he is gay. Well, I'm glad he has confirmed it in a way: it might be of assistance to young people struggling with sexual identity. A friend of mine from school days came out last year, at the grand old age of 47. He told me yesterday he actually realised at 14 he was gay, and lived a lie, married and had children, and made the decision last year to come out because he could no longer stand the stress. He had even contemplated taking his own life at one stage. This broke my heart when he told me. But back to Thorpie, and in particular, the media. Please stop milking this story like a cow that's bursting at the udders. I was annoyed that he was pressured to tell of his sexuality. It's nobody's business. He does not owe anybody the information. But if his interview helps others, then that can only be a good thing. And to the people who moaned about the sum he had been paid: would YOU knock back the money? Geez Louise, if someone wants to pay several hundred thousand to hear my boring tale, I'd be there going, 'Well, I was born two score and eight years ago, the youngest and by far most adorable of four children....'
Okay, got the writers' group meeting tomorrow night, and as it turns out, our 500-word challenge was 'tomorrow'. I didn't write anything deep and speculative about what 'tomorrow' might bring. I wrote about the Kiss song 'Tomorrow' on the album 'Unmasked'. It always makes me think of travelling with my cousins in my uncle's Ford Falcon 500, and we'd bung this in the cassette deck, and turn it up loud as my cousin's old brother whined at us to turn it down. My cousin and I became close when we discovered our mutual love of Kiss. He even forgave me for the time I whacked the Tether Tennis ball so hard, it came loose from its string and flew in a hyperbolic trajectory through the air before bouncing off his cranium. He wouldn't believe my action had not been deliberate (Hell, that I had managed to even hit the ball was a one-in-one-hundred fluke), and stormed off to the grown-ups, crying that I had done it on purpose and he was telling on me.
More on the oeuvre of Kiss in a forthcoming post.
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