Oooh It's A Killing Machine

She and I wore pink ballet slippers to shreds in different classes in the studio behind the Hungarian-American Club in the seventies, danced in musicals in high school and made performance art in the nineties. She teaches yoga, works as a massage therapist and polishes the shiny imaginations of happy children as a faerie. Her faerie name is Willow. Until recently, I didn't know people had faerie names but I used to go camping in clown costumes with Medieval recreationists. So. Live and learn.

She's gorgeous.

Apparently, people with faerie names and faerie costumes get together and do faerie things at faerie festivals. I had no idea! Event photographs are beeee-yootiful and children look very pleased with their filmy wings, tutus and crowns. Some have feathery masks and costumed pets. It looks like lovely, colorful fun with the possibility of walking on stilts. Except - believe it or not - the recent festival drew protesters.

Willow says, "Yes, I had grown men and women screaming things like 'Faeries aren't real!' 'There is no mother earth, turn to Jesus Christ!'"

Delicately put: these church douchebags need a better hobby, perhaps one that produces something and helps people. How about whittling? I'm sure lots of de-funded school music programs could use handmade wooden flutes.


And speaking of flute-handling, bigots have festivals too, though one has to wonder how fairies go over at an Ex Gay soiree. Ex Gay - if you haven't heard - is the term for persons who came to heterosexuality (so to speak) after a brief encounter with the Word of the Lord. To me, they sound tragically fearful of blow jobs but to each his own. So long as he says he doesn't.

I can only pity the Ex Gay crowd. They make me look well-adjusted.