You...Think?

Date: Tuesday, 28th October
To: Jules
From: Joshua
Subject: Thanks and Stuff

Hi Jules,

Thanks for sticking around to meet with me today. Really enjoyed catching up with you - you didn't have to walk me back to my building.

In case it wasn't already obvious, I like you. Not sure why I just couldn't say that over coffee this afternoon, but there it is.

Anyway, I guess I'll see you on Friday for that party.

See ya,
Joshua

- - -

Date: Wednesday, 29th October
To: Joshua
From: Jules
Subject: Re: Thanks and Stuff

Hi Joshua,

What a nice email you sent!

It was fine waiting around all day to see you. It was the highlight of my day.

I don't know where I'll be next year and how things will work out but if you can put up with me for now, then I promise I will be available.

I think I like you too.

See you Friday night!

Jules

The Rainbow Club

Picture it: Sydney, early weekend morning. Streams of people are making their way down Oxford Street to join the large throng that have already gathered in Hyde Park.

A kaleidoscope of individuals, some are costumed in feathers and wings while others are even more creatively decorated. A few brave souls are clad in nothing but underwear and body paint. Most, though, are dressed appropriately for the occasion: short running shorts, skin tight lycra and comfortable running shoes that have seen their share of kilometres.

This, however, isn’t Mardi Gras. It isn’t even a gay and lesbian event. It’s Sydney’s annual fun run, City2Surf.

It’s unusual to see the areas surrounding Oxford Street being barricaded for an event that doesn’t include glimpses of fantastically flamboyant floats or the hundreds of bright pink coloured banners and rainbow flags being waved with so much pride. Instead, there are groups of athletes, casual runners and a plague of breeders with prams. Running bibs decorate one and all.

And amongst this chaos is my friend, Scott.

Here especially for the event, recently ‘out’ Scott has flown over the border as part of a small contingent fronting up on behalf of a running group in Melbourne. A club that is made up of gay, lesbian and queer-friendly runners, it is an activity social club whose sexuality is a uniting factor but with a main interest centred firmly on pounding the asphalt. It is one of many in a trend of associations that largely focuses on specific activities and not solely on the sexuality of its participants.

“I initially found out about gay sporting clubs at my first Melbourne Pride March,” says Scott when quizzed as to how he got started, “I had always been into sport so I thought I would give it a go. I went to one of their Saturday morning social runs and I've been going along ever since.”

While most individuals seeking initial contact with the community will approach support groups, such as those facilitated by organisations like the Victorian AIDS Council, guys like Scott, however, have taken a different course altogether. While similarity in sexuality helps, to them common interest seems more paramount – and in Scott’s case, it’s sport: “the best thing about sport is you can socialise while doing it, which opens up more avenues for conversations and getting to know people.”

Scanning the community contacts list on MCV reveals at least a dozen other ‘common interest’ gay groups. From film buffs and 4WD enthusiasts to tennis and rugby supporters, even one for board game addicts. You name it and more than likely it exists.

Is that then the reason why such groups are more of interest for some than actual support groups?

“Support groups are still vital parts of the community,” Scott explains. “Activity social groups simply provide another facet – a variety. And with mine, there’s a great mix of guys and girls which makes it a real representation of life in the real world. And because of this, we’re able to participate as well as better represent our community at events like City2Surf – and of course, we also get to have a lot of fun along the way.”

Random Thoughts On An Early Sunday Morning

Lately I've been having this overwhelming feeling that time is getting away from me and I'm being pushed along unceremoniously in its wake. Monday, I wake up and before I can turn over in my bed, Sunday has arrived, ready to begin a new week.

Some days, I feel like I'm standing still, a passive silent presence watching the world whiz by unrelentingly.

But yesterday, well, yesterday was different.

What began typically with the inanity and monotony that obligation and responsibility brings, soon gave way to something a little more promising and self-empowering.

Spending a balmy spring evening with Jules, we explored the city and got to know one another. Bar hops and drinks gave way to conversations both revealing and endearing, and soon the subtlety of attraction gave way to something a little more tangible and obvious. Before long, the crowd has disappeared and the company of two is all that there is.

It only needed for someone to push beyond that invisible line.

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I've forgotten how good a good night kiss can really be.

In Which I Turn Into A Beetroot

Jughead and I have this running gag. As happens with good friends, we've come up with plenty over the years. This one, though, is relatively new.

You see, Jug is the kind of guy, who despite his protests is what you'd call a hopeless romantic; ready to be swept off his feet at a drop of a hat (or pants, in his case). Lately, he's been meeting up with new potentials after a winter-long hibernation and at one point even had five going. Definitely not one for being left behind.

Most of the guys have been harmless virtual fun: chatting on the net and a bit of webcam action. A couple, however, have turned into real-life meet and greet. I caught up with Jug a few days after one of his most recent "dates" for our usual debrief.

"How was it?," I asked. He blinked, flicked his hair back, took a moment and then smiled. And before he even opened his mouth to reply, I already knew the answer.

"You're already smitten, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh, yes, you are."

"...okay, I am. But you don't understand. He's a policeman!"

Then followed my shaking my head in mock disappointment and he blushing and turning the shade of beetroot. Ah, my best mate. Always so besotted, always so early.

Over the weekend, I met a guy at a wedding. A nice change of pace from the usual gaggle of straight single (and desperate) girls, Jules is a long-time friend of the groom. Over our tiny serves of reception-styled feed and copious amounts of free alcohol, we got to know one another. By the time the formal proceedings were over and the dancefloor started booming, we had our arms around each other.

Yesterday, we met for a post-wedding catch-up. I was worried that what had happened at the nuptials was a once off thing and that the magic felt was a complete fluke. But over coffee and more than an hour later, I guess it's safe to say that my initial concern is unfounded. Granted, there were no intertwining of arms but there was the same easy and subtle bubbling attraction. I can't get him outta of my head.

I guess this time it's Jug's turn to shake his head and for me to turn bright red.

Now, that is what you call a root!

A Different Kind of Closet

When I was eight years old, my mother entered me into the school's Christmas pantomime. I was an elf, amongst a chorus line of nine. Our role: to recite a poem espousing the magic of the season. It was a yuletide extravaganza.

When show day arrived, my breath caught at the sight of the hall filled to capacity. With hundreds of people – student body, faculty, family and friends – nervousness flooded my tiny body and soon the butterflies in my tummy were doing Olympic-style acrobatics. But dressed in my green elfenery, I took to the stage and fronted the crowd.

One by one, we recited our poems. Waiting anxiously for my turn, repeating lines in my head, I started to feel sick. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I suddenly couldn’t breathe and I began to panic. When my time had arrived, I was completely paralysed. The bright spotlight shone overhead, the crowd quiet with anticipation, my parents staring and waiting. I couldn't speak. I gulped; I took a deep breath but nothing. Seconds rolled on, the crowd began to stir.

Then it happened – and I felt it before I even knew it. A warm, wet sensation began to spread down the front of my pants and before long they were absolutely soaked. The crowd pointed, others stood to have a better look and then people began to snigger. I ran off the stage as fast as my little feet could take me.

More than harmless stage fright, my unfortunate debut performance was my first ever experience of an anxiety attack.

While everyone feels anxious from time to time, some people experience these feelings so often and so strongly that it can affect their everyday lives in significant ways. Sitting an exam, driving to new locations, even meeting someone for the first time; these are only but a few examples of general activities considered normal which can trigger an irrational behavioural and physiological response. I should know. They're the kind of activities I've been once too intimidated, too scared and even have become physically ill from doing.

Anxiety, along with depression and bipolar disorder, are mental health disorders that affect a significant amount of people. All three are common in that a disproportionate number of sufferers identify as having an alternative sexuality. Whilst not a clear-cut indicator of the potential for the debilitating condition, the intense self-assessment needed and the journey involved in coming to terms with the awareness of a new sexuality can prove to be taxing and distressing at best. It's easy to see why many from our community may be affected.

What makes such conditions even worse is the angst and stigma attached. Fear of becoming ostracized by friends and family, some ignore any form of help while most choose to keep quiet, dealing with it on their own. Sound familiar?

October is Anxiety and Depression Awareness Month and organisations like beyondblue are doing their best in raising understanding and breaking down the stereotypes of mental health sufferers. More encouragingly, initiatives are being taken to reach out to certain sections of the community – and ours is one that is being helped. This goes a long way in beginning the process of acknowledgement, acceptance and the stepping out of a different kind of closet.

Roll Cameras!

Filming turned out to be every bit as scary as I imagined. So much in fact that at one point I wondered what I had gotten myself into. That thought came to me as I was staring down the barrel of the camera, about to have an onscreen meltdown.

Going into TV presenting, I haven't been so naïve as to think that it's all going to be fun and games. Just point, smile and shoot. I knew that there was going to be some serious work and commitment needed. Doing our first lot of episode shoots over the weekend made me realise that there's so much more to the experience than originally expected – even if it is only grassroots community television.

Behind the scenes, there are cameras to calibrate, audio to setup and sets to decorate. Inside the booth, there are switches to flick, buttons to press, and videos to be queued and processed. And before fronting the cameras, there are also segments to summarise and scripts to memorise; what I and the three other new presenters were tasked to do.

And it would have been a pretty straightforward undertaking if only said scripts and segments were actually done and written beforehand, ready for us to simply read off of the teleprompter. They weren't. So, on top of having to get used to being in front of the camera for the very first time, we were also going to be doing it unrehearsed and on the fly; ad-libbed and improvised. It made for an already challenging experience doubly frenetic.

It would go somewhat to explain my near meltdown moment. On what must have been my tenth take on trying to introduce the next segment (I kept stuffing up the same three sentences), I suddenly felt overcome and overwhelmed. The cameras, the bright lights, the need to perform on cue, it started to get to me. I felt ready to chuck the whole thing in.

Too concerned about doing everything right as well as being paranoid about making a fool of myself, I got so worked up that I completely forgot the reason why I decided to get involved in the first place: that it was supposed to be a fun and exciting experience.

So, taking a few deep breaths and a quick moment, I decided to do the one thing that came to mind – channel my inner Kerri-Anne. So, as I stared down the barrel of that camera with the bright overhead spotlights beating down on my face, I mustered as much panache and pizzazz as the plastic-fantastic blonde goddess does with so much ease on her morning talk show, and attempted once again to deliver those elusive lines. And you know what, I nailed that bitch down!

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this television hosting thing.

Kerri-Anne Kennerley, the patron saint of daytime television,
is a great source of much-needed laughs inspiration.

Next Time I Go To Disneyland...

...I'm gonna get me a pair of these.

I wonder if they come in black?