Two Times Tennis
Twenty!
"Ha Ha! That is a very good pune, or play on words."
No, seriously, second tennis session in five days this evening. This time played an hour and a half of singles, so much more energetic, and at no point was I even remotely out of breath. And no matter how shocked you are about this, your shock is nothing compared to mine.
Hope the weather keeps good for Sundays session.
In other news, I've been a bit rubbish around here again this week. It's largely due to work. On Monday, this week looked like it was going to be pretty straightforward, and suddenly, it got really, really busy. And I'm in no way complaining, because look at the alternative, but it's kept me a bit distracted. In a good way though.
I'll try to be better though.
“Working All The Time….
....to make you mine all mine."
Following on from my recent Erasure retro-fest, I'm having a similar evening in the company of Holly Johnson tonight. He's stoking up the Love Train just at the moment.
I'm also having odd online conversations again. It's a weird thing - considering how long I've been online (I mean in years, not this evening), it's only in the last few months I've really started to engage people I don't know in real life. And I'm making what feel like good friends in people who it's entirely likely I never will know in real life. I wonder if I just hit some odd point of crtitical mass earlier this year where I was just taking part in so many online projects, communities and other activites that enough people were aware of me that I was just absorbed into things. Not a very scientific analysis, but I can't at the moment think of another.
Please Tell Me This Is A Joke
They're bringing back Blake's Seven.
No, seriously.
They're bringing back Blake's Seven.
I thought it was some kind of sick, twisted monster's idea of a joke, but it's not.
You’d Better Sit Down For This….
I'm going out shortly.
To play tennis.
Yes, I know - I didn't prepare you properly for the shock, did I? I'm sorry - I should have laid the groundwork better, given you more chance to build up to it, not just blurted out something so shocking without having provided a link to some kind of trauma support group.
Anyway - I'm heading off to lunch at Alison's after, and then on for a much-delayed marathon viewing of the last five episodes of The West Wing Season Three and the first of Season Four. So I probably won't be back.
My silence for the rest of the day is not because I'm in A&E.
Well, it might be of course, but it won't automatically be.
Catch you tomorrow.
The Reason For Pride
One more for the theme of the weekend, then I'll shut up about it, I promise.
The question of whether we need Pride anymore is one that occasionally comes up both within and without the LGBT communities. Such great strides have been made, the argument goes, that there is little reason for us to need to make our presence felt through special events.
In response to the thoughts I posted last night, the online debate took in many points, but one was this:
"Okay, I'm going to preface this with the statement I don't object in the slightest to gay/bi pride, but I'm going to say I don't understand it. It's my understanding that it's generally accepted in the gay community that homosexuality is not a choice, but something you are and are born with. I can understand that, as I couldn't choose to be gay any more than you could choose to be straight. But that's where my confusion comes from. How is it you're proud of something natural that you have no control over? To me, if it's something you're born with and is natural, saying 'I'm proud to be gay' doesn't seem any different than saying 'I'm proud to have two eyes.' "
I understand this viewpoint completely, but it misses some specifics of the experience that informs Pride.
Discussion followed, some of which I extract here (note 'extract' - I'm missing a fair bit out).
"For me it's about being able to stand up and be who you are. You're right, it's not the same pride you might have in something you've done or achieved, but it's pride in yourself.
You won't have experienced this, but to be told all your life that what you are is wrong, or evil, or unnatural... look, you're attracted to women. That's not something you've chosen. If I told you that it was wrong, that you had to be attracted to men, you couldn't do it. This is the fundamental misunderstanding straight people make when they talk about our 'lifestyle choices'. A townhouse is a lifestyle choice. Homosexuality, Bisexuality, Heterosexuality is part of who you are.
Personally, I've gotten this from both sides. Straights who tell me it's wrong to be attracted to other women (and they offer my appreciation of men as proof that I'm just 'in a phase') and lesbians who tell me I should have the courage to make a choice, or to stop pretending to be straight."
The questioner replied:
" I think I get it now. You're proud because you're doing what you should despite the fact people have been known to go out of their way to make that difficult. That applies to a lot of situations. I personally wouldn't be proud if I were in any of them, because in my head I would just be doing what I should be doing.
But then it falls back to what you believe. I'm not a proud person, so I have a hard time understanding when other people are."
To which the respondent hit the nail so firmly on the head I was embarassed not to have managed this summation myself:
"The word Pride is generally taken to mean some sort of conceit about yourself, or about something you've done. We don't use it that way. Nor would we (most likely) consider ourselves 'proud' people.
I didn't choose the word, but I think we use it not for its Dictionary meaning, but for its Thesaurus meaning: It's the opposite of Shame."
I mean, really, that's it, all of it, in one sentence. I'm awestruck.
On Pride
To pick up the theme of the weekend:
"The ability for people of different sexual determinations to stand up and be counted wherever we can is as important now as ever. Individual hatred and institutional prejudice remain widespread, and in too many countries, expressing that sexuality can still result in persecution, imprisonment and even death. Where we can display our unity, we must, as much on behalf of those who can't as on our own.
So I just thought I'd ... offer a few words on the subject of pride.
To me, pride is about standing up when the world wants you to lie down, and having the confidence to say 'yes' when the world is saying 'no'. Pride in oneself, and the knowledge that who and what you are is valid and good, is a gift of immeasurable value. Pride lets you stand up to the bigoted and the ignorant. I've never been ashamed of my sexuality, but I've occasionally been afraid of what other people might do out of their hatred: It was my pride which got me past that fear. And it's helped me to help others get past their own.
Pride is strength in adversity. Pride is companionship and support. Pride is a wonderful thing to find.
Pride - is no sin."
Have A Little Pride
So it's that time of the year again. Pride Weekend is upon us, and much is being made of the fact that for the first time ever, the post-march event is being held in Hyde Park - yes, they're letting the fags and dykes party right in the middle of town, where the tourists can see, and everything.
Note that I still persist in regarding the event as a march, and not a 'parade', even though the move towards parade is now well-established. At least the event in the park is actually being called Pride again now, rather than (*shudder*) Mardi Gras.
Sadly, the bad weather looks like it's set in. I wonder if that coven of white witches still performs its good weather ceremony the night before the event every year?
Those Missing Days
I've noticed recently that I miss odd days of posting anything here, like yesterday. This isn't actually a problem, because there's no rule, and no one ultimately is going to care about a little less of this crap in their daily mix, but I do find it weird that I only realise I've missed a day afterwards. Which I know sounds blatantly obvious and like I'm being a muppet again, but what I mean is that until I just looked, I was quite certain that I'd posted something yesterday. I couldn't tell you what, but I was sure I had found something to share with the world.
Everything's starting to merge together, that's what it is.
I blame the weather - my brain's overheating.
Or lack of sleep.
Or bad nutrition.
Or my upbringing.
Or Mike. Blaming Mike usually works.
Muppet
Have you ever had one of those occasions where you're so completely certain of something it literally never occurs to you that you could be anything but right?
Because I just have.
Trying to get to the last of Mike/Underhand's Comedy at JoJo's events of the season, I disembarked from the tube, running a little late, and walked directly to Madame JoJo's location. It's on Old Compton Street. It's been on Old Compton Street forever. I know exactly where on Old Compton Street too - it's just opposite where one of those north/south Soho roads comes out. I've been a bunch of times, and I used to work just round the corner. I know exactly where it is.
Hang on though. It's not there. Has it moved? Or am I just slightly misremembering? It must be further down the road. Hmmm, but it's not. On none of the three trips I've made along the length of Old Compton Street have I been past it. It must have moved. Damn! It simply never occured to me to look at the address on Mike's mails - I just saw 'Madame JoJo's and assumed it was still in the same place. Oh well, I'll give a call and ask Mike where it's moved to. Ah - no I won't, my battery's dead. Still, not to worry, someone round here will know.
It is at this point that I discover that more has changed than the location of a drag club. Drawn from years of hanging out there, my mental image of Old Compton Street populates it with old school fags who know the scene like the back of their hands. The reality is that the street is now occupied by 50% tourists (useless in any circumstance - doubly so when seeking directions in one's own city), and 50% pretty but vaccuous young things who seem to know only the bar they're currently outside of like the back of their hands. Actual response to my question:
"Ooh. Er, it's not this place is it? (Indicates sign that says 'Balans') No? Sorry, I can't help then."
So hot and sweaty, and in decidedly non-comedic mood, I came home.
Where I've discovered that JoJo's is not, and never was, on Old Compton Street. It is, and has always been, on Brewer Street.
I hold my hands up. "My name is Jon. And I am a muppet."