I was walking along the footpath and a garbage truck came up behind me. The mechanical arm grabbed me around the waist – i got tipped upside down, shaken and some flourescent textas fell out of my pants-pocket. It was pretty good fun.
I miss my textas.
It’s crop circle wrap up time again. The Northern summer was supposedly hot and fast to get it on, which means that crops were pulled up pretty quickly = not as many patterns as other years. Arial fotos at CropCircleConnector and TemporaryTemples.
I was trying to write a clever little thing called ‘Straight Eye For The Queer Guy’ – see —
(the obligatory reversal)
where our fag, Brian, finds himself in the unenviable postion of having to take a job in a rural town with pop. of less than 20,000. It’s either that or stay in the city on a less-than 50K a year job and we can’t have that, because that’s when the effects of homophobia really start to kick in.
Our team the you-beaut bonza blokes pour into Brian’s newly leased rural twonship pad. They’ll teach him to blend in, thus saving him from being beaten to a bloody pulp by the local rednecks.
It was going to include dialog scenes and have Kev as footy expert…
I just ran out of steam and there’s this huge gap between taking things too seriously, and letting things roll by unchallenged but I feel like I’m stuck at both poles similtaneously.
I s’pose it’s the superficiality of the show that sticks in my craw. It’s nice to see gay guys on telly that aren’t automatically being typecast as fairies (well, not all of them at least) — but I feel like any apparent gain that they make (as an opressed minority) through situations like this show getting a gig will be at the expense of all men being subjected that bit more to feeling like we should be fitting into some prescribed appearance.
At that point I can hear a chorus of women yelling ‘welcome to my world, buddy’, but it’s still no way forward.