The Misadventures of Brian, Queen of the Desert

"Why don't you light your tampon on fire and blow your box apart, because that's the only bang you're ever gonna get."

I think it was my junior year of high school. I had a tight group of friends, mostly from the swim team. Suzanne, Steve, Jill (the three I still see regularly), Troy, Katrina, Shawn... there were others. I don't want to spend time remembering names. We would hang out most Friday nights together. Usually pretty innocent, up until senior year when occasionally we'd have a cocktail or two. Interestingly enough, I can't think of one time any of us drove after drinking during that time. At least I know I never did. We seemed to be pretty responsible, irresponsbile kids.

One night, again, I think during junior year, we were hanging out at Steve's house. Or maybe, Steve just brought the movie. His parents had rented it and loved it. We might as well watch it: The Adventure of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert!

A little indy flick from Australia. Amy knew about because she liked fashion, and it won an Oscar for costume design. Others may have had a passing familiarity with it. We watching the film.

"Me no like you anyway, you have little ding-a-ling."

You should know about it now. It was about three Australian drag queens crossing the outback. They're bringing along a ton of frocks, enough make-up for a Tammy Faye convention, and a beautiful lesson in love, tolerance, and human dignity. Apparently the actors were relatively big names in Australia, including Guy Pearce (LA Confidential, Memento) and Huge Weaving (The Matrix, Lord of the Rings, V for Vendetta) who ended up big names in the States, too.

We watched that movie that night and loved it. We watched it a lot more. For Christmas senior year, Jill bought me a copy and we watched it more. It broke down barriers to enjoy other drag films, like To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar and Victor Victoria.

The whole group embraced it. They embraced me -- maybe not knowing it. I was still "closeted". I don't really know when they knew. I did a crappy job coming out. I never really officially told my best friend, a decision I regret to this day. Hell, I didn't come out to Steve and Jill until this past October when I brought a boy to my High School reunion. They still embraced me!

When we watched that movie, and everyone laughed, and sang, and even cried a little, I felt like they were telling me it was okay. No one cringed when the trannie kissed the burly mechanic. No one looked away as Guy Pearce pranced around in skimpy underwear or a revealing dress.

"Just what this country needs, a cock in a frock on a rock."

I didn't grow up in the most progressive part of Southern California, but I had it easy. I think I was only called a "fag" once or twice, and it was always an isolated situation. No one ever jumped on the bandwagon and encouraged the abuser -- both times I recall he was left to wallow in his bigotry alone. (One offender later apologized and laughed about it. The other never said anything to me after he graduated and today he's involved in Christian ministry. Surprised?)

But I had progressive friends.

I had used the conservative area to build up my closet around me. I put on the appearance of the most conservative of the group, even starting a Young Republican club on campus. (I started it but only went to one meeting. It was LAME!) I think that these friends helped me become who I am today. Their celebrating the differences of that movie was an endorsement of how very different we would all become in the future.

Adolescence is time of conformity. We do everything we can to fit in. We form life-long relationships while acting as someone we aren't. Eventually, we'll spread our wings and change. And hopefully the love and belonging we experienced when we "were just like everyone else" will shelter and protect us when we no longer fit in. I don't always fit in. But I remember when we watched that movie -- when only I knew I was different -- that those three drag queens, Bernadette, Mitzi, and Felicia, were part of our group. If they could belong, so could I.

The movie was on television the other night. I laughed as hard as ever, having seen it nearly 100 times by now. And I went into my room, thanked God for the people in my life, and cried a little.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: "No more fucking ABBA!"

Oh, and did I mention for my 17th birthday my friends chipped in, sent me on scavenger hunt, and bought me ABBA's boxed set, Thank You for the Music? Yeah, I'm sure they had no idea!