Parting Glances: Don’t bother reading this!

By |2018-01-15T20:49:18-05:00April 11th, 2004|Uncategorized|

It doesn’t make a difference what this column is about. It was written before the election, for which I voted by absentee ballot.
If Bush wins everyone will be too damn depressed to care. If Kerry wins, everyone will be too darn elated to read about the aftermath. Quite frankly, I’m glad the whole pollster ping pong match is over.
Win or lose, I earn ten cents a word (to spend with gay abandon) by once more poking, prodding, and browbeating my thoughts into a 590-word Rubik’s cube. (PS: I never paddle my prose. I use disciplined nouns, obedient verbs, and pre-lubed semicolons.)
When Parting Glances started 300 odd columns ago it was a 150-word ($15.00) history filler. It took a decidedly controversial turn when Sr. Serena Scatterpin, Renegade Sisters of Mary, came out with a bang (instead of a wimple) for country, God, and Donna Karan.
Speaking of Sis, I was in a bookstore buying stamps when a student asked, “Aren’t you Charles, something or other?” As she didn’t appear to be a psych major looking for a case study or a Southern Baptist saleslady selling Jesus is Coming deodorant soaps, I answered, I am what I am.
Something or other.
She said she usually reads my column as a zesty condiment to a brown-bag lunch. I allowed as how that was an admirable thing for one so attractive, and said it was also a great way to spice up her sorority life, if any.
“May I ask a rather probing question?” she added. Ready to check yes, no, maybe, in the usual Gay 101 Q&A, I was surprised when she said, “Is Sr. Scatterpin really real?”
“No dear, that much-beloved nun of our business is a figment of somebody’s overly demented imagination. We all are. You, too. She’s also the fashionable religious I’d like to be if I were reincarnated for the future good of humankind and the betterment of the rest of the still-unbushwhacked world.”
My fan seemed startled by my 53-word ($5.30) explanation. Her response – with a modest blush of redolent but Democratic chagrin – was couched in a memorable expression typical of sorority types: “You go, girl!” (Meaning me, I suppose.)
As I’m sure there’s nobody reading this post-election blow tickler – for the reasons provided above – I feel I’m on safe ground telling a secret I have kept from friends, colleagues, and Archangel Michael’s ever-virgin hairdresser: Sr. Scatterpin is real. I’m a crypto-Catholic figment of her pseudo-Protestant imagination.
Having admitted this conundrum, I’m totally free to be a liberated persona. Yes, Dorothy, there is a Sr. Scatterpin. She’s real as heaven above. And Charles? Well, he’s something (or other) the holier-than-wow! knee bender concocted while waiting seductively for life’s Grand Train Conductor to pop in at one of those windy stations of the cross and put things back on track.
Another ping pong match from now who’ll know Charles existed? Who’ll remember this whimsical nom-de-plume of Sr. Scatterpin was (holy) ghost written for BTL as a columnist, an artist, an activist, a collector of anecdotes? Who’ll care that Charles and Sr. Scatterpin cohabited (in print) to affirm there’s room in life’s club car (or caboose) for all shapes, sizes, faiths, and joyfully coupling pairs? Who indeed . . . .
Mr. Kerry . . . Mr. Bush . . . Sr. Scatterpin pauses in her eternal beadwork to offer this prayer ($2.50): “No matter who dreamed you two up or voted you two in or out, get really real. And Ralph Nader, get a life – preferably cloistered. Amen.”

About the Author:

Charles Alexander