Monday, March 12, 2012

One Perfect Moment

Forgive me father, it has been ten months since my last internet confessional. During that time my readership has dropped from a large amount of unique visitors per day to one spammer per month and maybe the odd Fergy tractor enthusiast here or there (although I'm not sure why?).

During that time I have met a man, fallen in love with a man, moved in with a man, and drank far too much beer with a man.

During that time I have bought a smart, sold a 15 year old Holden, driven a smart, returned a smart in disgust, and purchased a 20 year old Honda an a better option.

During that time I have worked ceaseless hours in two jobs that I love dearly.

During that time I've... Y'know what - I have nothing...

I was suppossed to save for a house - I have accrued about thirty bucks in that account and drank the rest. I was supposed to help my sister renovate the house I share with her, and so far she has painted the gate and we've strategically left the rest.

I bought a bike and was supposed to ride it. I mostly leave it in the garage.

The long story, boiled down to nothing is that I'm everything you shouldn't do. I'm the anti-example, I drink too much beer, I shun gyms, I drink too much rum, I eat shit (not literally, you dirtbag), I watch porn, I drink too much wine, I'm late for work every morning, I hate races that aren't white, minorities that aren't gay, cars that aren't Holdens... You get the general idea.

I'm at a low ebb, yet simultaneously the happiest I've ever been in my life.

You know what just occurred to me? This: There are only seven people that will read this, bloggers, people I admire beyond belief. Men and women I idolise and and envy. People I have never met - anononyms. People who have given me the best advice I've ever headed. People who know me not from a bar of soap. Citizens more sober than I.

This is headed nowhere, when I started I'd drank a six pack of beer, by the time I've finished I'll have polished of twelve beers and a bottle of cheap white wine, lamented about my weight five times, thawed a frozen pizza, weighed myself twice, fallen asleep three times, forgotten the point of this post innumerable times, agonised over my suspected melanoma at least once (like right now) and poured myself another glass of wine whilst googling the 15X8 inch Borbet alloy wheels I want to put on the car I haven't even bought yet.

I forgot the point, I'm listening to Jewel (0304, the album no one liked), and I've dranken (? WTF???) more booze, and I've failed - I'm 15kg overweight (thats 34lb), I'm a terrible boyfriend, I'm fat, I'm balding, I'm inebriated, I'm................

A failure.

I had a point and a direction and a plan for this blog post - but hey, shit happens, and things are forgotten and no one minds that you're such a victim that you 'asked for it' four times in your life and you lost your faith in humanity years before your started flirting with your own mortality and.........

(yes, I will still be here tomorrow, because theres still wine to drink and weight to loose and enormous thighs to lament about and wine to drink and scissor sister to idolise)

As you were.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Just Quickly

A couple of things have raced through my mind. In one ear and out the other - not much to slow them down on the way through you see, so here goes:

Why does Melbourne's peak hour traffic only ever stand still on one direction? I can either move North or South freely before hitting an East-West gridlock, or vice versa. Can anyone explain how that works?

This one gets me every time, you know that look on someone's face when you knock on their door and even though they know you're coming over their eyes light up when they swing the door open and see you there. I swear, it never gets old!

I've taken the first tiny step in my journey to no longer be a tanking fat-arse. I bought a bicycle. So far it has been ace, tearing along the Merri Creek trail, cool air stinging my face. The ultimate goal is to end up with fucking awesome legs - there's every chance I'll still have keep my keg-like stomach though. My biggest problem is that for someone who has never really ridden in the city, I'm a terror on a pushy. Jumping kerbs, tearing in and out of traffic, frightening anyone in my path and locking my rear brakes for tail-out action in the bends... Man I wish I'd bought one earlier!

Oh yeah - and in case you couldn't tell I am indeed still here, still breathing and still a scourge to society. To the touching blog-buddies who reached out and fingered me when I least expected it (or just dropped me a line), thank you. You kids rock!

Sunday, April 03, 2011

Big Poof And Little Poof Take Sydney

I remember the conversation well. It is one that will stay with me until my last breath, of that I'm sure. This is how it went down:

"You should take a day off either side of the Labour Day weekend, and we can go to Sydney for Mardi Gras and your birthday."
"Wha... My birthday is on Labour Day weekend this year AND Mardi Gras - that never happens."

But apparently it was happening - so without actually validating any of these facts I applied for time off work, was granted the time off work and then discovered that the fucking Mardi Gras was a week before that. Jesus. Fucking. H. Christ. Onamotherfuckingpushbike!

Bah, whadda ya gunna do. I've still got a five day weekend, and so we ran with it, but at every opportunity I reminded my travel companion, the Big Poof, that he sucks for taking us to Sydney on the wrong weekend. The truth was I was so excited that he offered to take me to Sydney for the weekend of my birthday that I probably couldn't have cared less what was or wasn't on that same weekend!

And so it was on a grey looking morning in March I found myself at Tullamarine Airport with the Big Poof, waiting to climb aboard this big bastard:

So it's getting juiced up here, departure time has been pushed back by fifteen minutes, all good right. Oh, departure is now half an hour later, no biggie. What's that, and hour later? Uh, sure.

So onto the plane we trudge. I'd already read most of the fucking magazine I bought to read on the flight, but that's okay. Ooh, an announcement from the captain! Yeah so we're an hour late because the cabin crew hadn't arrived in Melbourne on time, and now all we have to do is wait for an exit slot out of Tulla, as there's only one runway operating, but the good news is our flight is number twelve in the queue and we should be taking of in an hour.

Fuck me swinging - we should've driven up! As promised though, two hours after the scheduled departure time, we were up the the air and I was tearing pages out of Motor magazine, turning them into paper plans and pitching them at Big Poof.

My enthusiasm was in no way dampened though. I was pretty excited about Sydney and in the taxi on the way to the hotel, as the city unfolded before me, I was wide-eyed and stuck to the taxi window like a Garfield doll!

Even though it wasn't huge, our room was pretty fucking nice, and if it wasn't half-price there's no way in hell I'd have been there, but I was and it was pretty - also impossible to photograph, but at least my view was of the city high-rises, I like them!

Amazingly the green bits at the bottom of the picture are a rooftop school play ground. I thought that shit only existed in the movies, but nope!

So with check-in complete the next trick was:

A pint at Darling Harour! We also decided on a chicken parma while we were there and spent the entire frigging meal sucker-punching sea gulls in an attempt to defend our feed. Good times!

If there is one thing Sydney has over Melbourne, its that you can't possible take a bad photo in or around the city. It might have been laid out by an epileptic with a box of crayons, but the changes in elevation, curved streets, rolling hills and pretty buildings make it breath-taking at every turn. Also just like Paris and the Eiffel Tower, there's no place in Sydney you can't go without looking at the Harbour Bridge or the Opera House, seriously!

The traces of rain you can see on the pavement, combined with Sydney's legendary harsh sun meant that for me with a backpack on in a pair of jeans, it was akin to being stuffed into an industrial sauna. I still found it hard to care though. I got a ripping day for my arrival and that's all that matters. I must remember to pack more shorts in future though.

More proof of that Brige/Opera House theory, then again it might just be because I'm in The Rocks:

Anyway after walking for hours, taking a photo of every stationary, moving, illuminated, pretty, architectural or other item on the way we finally arrived at Circular Quay, just in time to see our friends Jason and Jason take off on a cruise on the Pacific Pearl for a week of tropical sunshine and all the piss you can drink. They'd already made a start as the boat pulled out of the harbour.

Our next few days meanwhile were spent walking EVERYWHERE, with me playing annoying fucking tourist by standing in the middle of busy thoroughfares to take the same photo as a million other cunts before me. Like Town Hall:

If you walked to the window of our room and looked down you can see the top of it, but its big and pretty, as is St Andrew's Cathedral beside it. Between these two buildings and the Queen Victoria Building I think I took something like 300 photos to satisfy my appetite for architecture. I promise I won't bore you with them all.

Big Poof and I had to hustle to get to our next adventure planned for lunch... A family dinner. Shock. Horror! Actually, nothing that bad at all, Big Poof's amazing big brother (and his gorgeous wife) took me to Chowder Bay for a fantastic lunch at Ripples restaurant, at the old HMAS Sydney naval base. We sat outside in the sunshine, drank, ate, laughed and soaked up the sun on a fabulous day, in a gesture that meant the world to me. Thanks so much A and L.

Just so you can be truly envious the view looked like this:

Oh yeah, that really is blue sky, blue water and boats sailing by. I also had to run around the corner and take this photo at an awkward angle to capture the rooftop and razor wire for artistic merit. Our actual view was unimpeded all the way back to Sydney Harbour. After lunch we decided to mosey on down to Bondi Beach, my first time there.

I see why the tourists flock there like flies to a steaming turd, it really is a pretty beach, but if you can put all the sand and fucking water behind you the place is crawling with smokin' hot men. That's my kinda beach! Even on a sunny, but not baking day the place was full as fuck!

Of course if it's beaches you want the next day was all about an early start to head over to Manly on the ferry (first Sydney Ferry ride) that was a whole lot of fun, and of course I was the guy hanging off the ferry at dangerous angles taking photos of absolutely everything. I'm not sure why I chose this one to share with you though, I just like it, what do you think?

Sadly, becuase he was out of town I didn't get to catch up with Muzbot, but on his recommendation we tried the Ivanhoe hotel for lunch. Seeing as it was a late lunch we were fucking starving. I was really looking forward to laying my ears back and ripping into my club sandwich when it arrived, but after my first mouthful I watched a dirty fucking worm crawl out of my sanga and my appetite instantly vanished. Fuck.

The staff were pretty good about it all, but there was no way in hell we were eating there, so we settled on a pizza slice from the kebab shop instead. Sigh. Still after lunch there was beers overlooking the beach, listening to live music at Shelley Beach and I was happy and sunburnt, but mostly just happy.

Before the sun sank too low though it was time to go home. Goodbye Manly, thanks for the grub!

Oh, and even though we missed Mardi Gras, we were still lucky enough to find a few late partiers riding the gayboat:

That's the spirit ladies!

More exploring of Sydney took place, this meant more walking and more photos, coupled with more fucking walking. Seriously, who had the barmy idea of building this city on such uneven ground? Anyway, because I have a revolving restaurant fetish Big Poof took me to lunch at the Centrepoint tower in the city on the day that commemorates 27 years since I punched my way out of the uterus.

I took a photo of each degree of the journey around, again I won't bore you, but seriously, isn't this amongst the more ugly city landmarks you've ever seen?

Hmm, maybe I'm the only guy who thinks so. Everyone in Sydney seems happy with it.

Anyway before I bore you all to tears I'll speed this up a bit. Near Parliament House there's an old court house built in the early 19th century to process convicts, and still used as a law court into the 1970's. Looking at it now its crazy to think how shitty it must've been to work there in its latter days, but I'm sure the multi-storey eyesore that replaced it is even more soul stealing. Meanwhile have you ever seen anyone so happy to be in court?

Big Poof, like me gets excited by obscure shit and together we orgasmed multiple times at this history-rich site, which now stands to educate the public about Sydney's criminal-processing history. Of course here he was just doing his best Few Good Men impression

We were also lucky enough as we passed Parliament House, to catch the opening of Parliament (at least we think it was) this means that the Governor appears and declares that the show is on the road or something. There was much pomp and ceremony which was great to see, but for me this was the very best thing:

That my friends, is the Governors car. As she is appointed to the Queen she gets an even better number plate than the Prime Minister. Bit of a shame they couldn't hide the mounting screws a bit better. So, a few things struck me as odd about this though. The car is a latest model WM Series II Caprice (the rear camera in the bootlid garnish gives that away) yet it isn't a top-spec Caprice V. That's kinda weird. It's also a V6, not a V8 like I would've expected. Anyway - car geek moment over.

Yet again, more proof that Sydney looks good from every angle:

But, what's that white thing off in the distance? Oh yeah, the Opera House! See what I mean now, it's fucking everywhere!

Now the most fascinating thing about Sydney to me is a particular building, standing in the shadow of the harbour bridge, which is considered an eyesore by many, but is a source of wonderment to me, Seriously, who lives here, is it a commission flat, is it architecturally designed, and what's with the uncommon for its era leafy communal rooftop gardens?

What say you, love it or hate it? I can't help but think before the water staining it was probably pretty hot, there's quite a bit of variation in the look of it as you approach from each side. Maybe all it needs is a coat of bondcrete and some fab new colours. Anyone up for a working bee?

So, the big deal is I had a ripping trip to Sydney. Days filled with exploring and nights of gay bars are just what the doctor ordered. I probably would've sat at home and ate an entire ice cream cake by myself it wasn't for Big Poof making me feel like the most important Little Poof in the world on my birthday. Thanks Monkey, you're the acest!

Crossing Sydney Harbour

Friday, April 01, 2011

The Other End

I was a motivated motherfucker. I had a mission. Simple instructions, decisive action.

Then I changed my mind. I was all about shutting the blog down, turning tail, walking away. I thought there was nothing else to say. Then some pain in the arse American dude mentioned my name and, seeing as I think the sun shines out of his arse, I decided to hold on for just a little bit longer.

I still have no motivation. I think they call my current mood a funk, or a low ebb? Something like that, whatever it is that leads you to eat nothing but toast for a week, makes you too lazy to go out to get pissed and sees you waking up next to your fridge with a blinding headache surrounded by empty bottles.

One day I'll do the things I intend to, like wash my car (four months) or my sheets (seven weeks) maybe I'll cut my toe nails (five weeks) have a shave (three weeks) all those forgotten things that are easy to put off until later and later and later.

I might even get all cheery and post up the photos from my birthday. The one where a nice man, who is far better than I deserve, took me to Sydney and treated me to a lovely time with lots of nights out and fancy drinks on pretty glassware.

Maybe I'll settle on the fictional piece I've been telling myself I'll write for the last five years and write a corny gay romance about two buff country lads. Ooh, or I could go and visit the ever expanding list of places noted down in my phone and take the nice photos I've been thinking about for months.

Or I might just make myself get out of bed before lunchtime and eat something that isn't toast. Baby steps and all.

The facebook about someone volunteering to be my life coach, that was genuine. I'll take it on beard if you want to show me how to function properly again. My first self-imposed step is to not leave it two months between posts here, you can start timing me... Now, if you like.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

Where One Hit Wonders Never Die

This is just a quick one kids because there's a really fucking important event on the horizon and its of the utmost importance I tell you about it RIGHT NOW!

If you happen to be in Melbourne on the 27th, 28th or 29th of January then you must check out Craptastica - Where one hit wonders never die. My friend Dean is responsible for it and like all his shows its an all singing spectacular - this time though its all dancing too, with yours truly filling the role of Butch The Back-up Dancer.

The show is just one of a heap of great events that make up Midsumma, Melbourne's celebration of the GLBTIQ community. Neverwhere in Smith Street, Collingwood is where it'll all take place. For info and tickets go to or for a little more background on Dean's amazing work try .

I look forward to seeing you all there so you can watch me tear up the stage to a fantastic collection of the songs you all love to hate and hate to love. If you only see one Midsumma show this year, make sure its the one I'm in!

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

The Adventures of Big Poof and Little Poof

Instead of scraping together all of my shiny pebbles, filling the tank in the Calais and schlepping across Australia in a mincing, screaming, belching, beer-drinking, monument-defiling imitation of a vacation, I decided to play it different in 2010.

There was no Balls Out Road Trip (but fear not, its still in the planning) instead I took a real, grown up vacation. I even took a boy with me and everything. Holidays are fucking expensive - especially when you have four-years of holiday payout burning a hole in your pocket and you decide to do things in style, hang the expense and fuck the bills!

So for those who care for such things The Monkey and I packed our duffle bags, found clean t-shirts and fucked off to Queensland for a week on the Gold Coast, where we pledged to "lie on the beach, drink cocktails and fuck surfer boys". His words, not mine, but an ideology that I was prepared to whole-heartedly endorse!

The first little issue we had was the flights we booked. Ours was like the first fucking flight to depart Melbourne, This means we had to get up early. I don't do early, I'm more akin to getting home at 4:00 am, not getting up then. Needless to say, it wasn't until I was in my car, hurtling along the freeway bound for Tullamarine airport that I finally came to life!

Then as I was trying to avoid inappropriate contact with my fellow cattle-class passengers on the flight the sun emerged and gave me a bit of this:

And I was all like 'oh yeah boyo!' I couldn't imagine a nicer way to start the day! Actually it just kept getting better. After landing at the airport the transfer that the Big Poof organised for us got upgraded, from a dirty old Holden Statesman (still good enough for me) to an Audi A8. Drool much? Then to top it all off, we were sitting facing the ocean, stuffing our faces with bacon and eggs, all before 9:00 am.

Sadly, due to construction works some of the most iconic vistas in Surfers Paradise was reduced to this:

No big deal though. There were still a bunch of boys with no shirts getting around, there was sunshine, there was seagulls and there was my all time favourite ever thing:

How else would you expect me to start the day?

Now, I've not been to Queensland since I was a kid, I must've been about seven or eight years old and I was amazed by the memories that came back to me as I walked around. I vividly remember staying on the seventh floor of the President hotel and the fucking place hasn't changed at all in 20 years!

I just stumbled across it behind the place we stayed at! We also had to pay a visit to Ripley's Believe It Or Not. I remember being so freaked out by the amazing exhibits as a kid, and almost 20 years later I was still beside myself with glee at all that was on offer. So. Much. Fun!

To go with my photo of Philip Island's Dame Edna chocolate mosaic, I now have a photo of Dame Edna made from coat hangers!

It also goes without saying that no collection of the absurd is complete without crickets painted to look like Michael Jackson. Ask and you shall receive!

Day two was all about Movie World - a tribute to all things Warner Brothers, and again strikingly similar to how I remember it as a kid. First priority of the day - just seconds after entering the park - was to ride the Lethal Weapon roller coaster. Wheeeeeeeee! Although knowing what I know now, I'd have left my shoes on the platform as a roller coaster with no floor is a fucking difficult place to try and keep your shoes on!

Then the Hollywood Stunt Driver Show. Apparently kids these days are too fucking stupid to know what Police Academy is, so the show has been converted to this, which is fucking UNREAL. It combines two of my all time favorite things: Lancer Evo X's and driving them like they're stolen! Hell yeah mother fucker!

With the adrenaline pumping there was only one thing to do. I had to subject myself to 3 Gs of force on the Superman Escape:

Big Poof sat this one out, so the poor unsuspecting bitch that sat next to me had to endure me hollerin' and whoopin' like a coke-fuelled NASCAR driver. As the ride pulled up and the harnesses were released she turned to me and deadpanned: "You scream like a woman" I just smiled and thanked her!

The next day we hired a car and fucked off to Byron Bay in New South Wales. Obviously the need to road-trip was just too compelling to ignore! It was quite a nice day and there was a whole bunch more surfie boys to look at - why else to you think The Monkey and I were grinning like idiots!

Also - like anyone that heads off from home, we were amused by some of the town names on the way there, like this one - which could only be the birthplace of the pure Aussie bogan, right?

Sadly it turned a bit overcast and there was a slight sprinkle of rain, however it wasn't enough to stop us enjoying ourselves.

We also got to check out the Easternmost point of mainland Australia, just behind that there lighthouse. Those level-changes are more extreme than they look though and I was rooted by the end of it.

We stopped for an ice-cream at the kiosk - obviously this Bush Turkey had the same idea. At first he was cute, then he started hassling tourists for change to make a phone call, and calling them 'dirty mother fuckers' when they declined him. Rude prick!

Following that we spent the next day doing a spot of whale watching. This allowed three things, the first was an amazing view of the Gold Coast skyline.

The second, as you'd expect, was seeing whales. The fuckers are notoriously difficult to photograph though so this is as good as I got.

The third part of the experience was ending up sick as a bastard from sea-sickness. I did not enjoy that part of it at all, but I was determined not to let it ruin my day - we got to see some amazing vistas of whales launching themselves towards the surface, and it truly is a majestic thing to watch.

From there we went on to Sea World. Now we all know I have a weakness for bears, but seeing these two just melted my heart!

Hudson and Nelson are the cutest little boys ever and they're so playful. Plus they've got really big paws and they love eating watermelon. Me too! I could've watched them goofing around all day, however there was also Dolphins!

And even though its for the kids, the Sea Lion show was the coolest thing I've seen in a long time. Claude the Sea Lion is such a fucking cool dude. I wanna be just like him when I grow up!

The wildlife everywhere proved friendly, like this little cutie who stopped to have breakfast with us one morning in our hotel room.

Speaking of our room, it was bloody nice - of course there was a spa and everything and a bathroom that was bigger than my house, see.

Oh, wait, you probably can't see much in that photo at all. Stupid blinding-white over exposure.

As a parting gift our last day was filled with glorious sunshine - perfect for a farewell walk along the beach.

Good bye Gold Coast

Good bye Meter Maids, you dirty, dirty tramps.

Good bye mysterious performing troop from a neighbouring island.

And finally with some severe cropping, I managed to land that iconic photo I was after.

Sigh - holidays are fun. Meanwhile, reality has a lot to answer for!

Wednesday, December 01, 2010

Farking Flying

So, 2010 hey? It only started, what, like a week ago and we're already staring down the barrel of a new calender. Actually to be totally honest I don't think I've turned a page on my page-per-day calender since April, but that's not so bad as April was only a few hours ago, right?

Well I did set myself some lofty, ambitious goals and they were all to be completed before the end of the year. Little things like getting a tattoo, sitting my motorcycle license test and completing a Balls Out road Trip. Of course none of those things happened, what the fuck were you thinking? Okay so there's tentative planning for the ink, the bike riding has taken a backseat to car building and BORT 10 has been officially renamed BORT 11 for obvious reasons.

I also realised, as I climbed aboard my bathroom scales for the first time in months that without constant negative reinforcement and the threat of gaining a couple of grams, that I've somehow ballooned into a gigantic fat-arse. My current weight is a gargantuan ten fucking kilograms above ideal. I'm not sure where that weight is sitting, but that's only because I'm too afraid to look at my bloated stomach or hefty thighs.

To remedy that I've started a health-kick. My dinner was steamed salmon and steamed vegetables, and to further aid my cause I ate around most of the solids and just filled up on the steam. That should do it. Another sure-fire weight-loss accelerant is smoking, so after six months off I'm back on the fags, inhaling my way to a slimmer figure. Yeah, that ought to do it.

I can't help but wonder where it all went wrong. The correct answer is that it didn't. I just tend to be easily distracted. Instead of blogging I got hooked on the crack that is Grindr and Scruff. Of course the upshot of that is landing more cock than I ever thought possible, on the other hand - no, wait. I don't think there's a negative to that.

This morning as I rushed out the door for work with a piece of toast hanging from my mouth, buttoning up my shirt, with weet-bix already dabbed on the cuffs, I grabbed the bin in my bedroom to empty it for greater waste collection. That was when it all fell into place.

The contents of my waste receptacle were thus: Twenty-three individual socks that haven't had a mate for years, which I'd finally given up hope on. A ham and cheese sandwich that I got too busy to eat and let on the dashboard of my car for a week, until it started attempting to hotwire itself outta there. A used condom - no one came in it so it was probably okay to re-use but I couldn't work out which side should face out. An empty packet of Cialis, at $18 per erection I should probably stop chewing through them like tic tacs. And to top it off, yet another pair of broken sunglasses that I'd sat on, a victim of my lack of attention to my surroundings.

I wish I'd taken a photo, but I couldn't find my camera. Its probably at the bottom of that bin liner come to think of it. If ever my life were to be paraphrased in a physical medium, that is exactly what it would look like.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Hunting And Gathering

Oh dear, looks like someone may have been a little slack with their blogging. Damn good reason for that though, I was busy shopping, I ended up with a pair of work slacks, four Matchbox cars, two Hot Wheels cars, a dent in the offside front door of my own real car and an iPhone that only took two days and two trans-Melbourne trips to get. More details and much hilarity coming soon, I swear.

Friday, August 20, 2010

The Feeling

There it is again. That feeling, that sense. It isn’t quite déjà vu or promnesia or whatever the kids are calling it these days but there’s a certain familiarity swirling around.

Maybe it’s just me. I look for patterns in things, repetitions, tenuous links and strange coincidences.

I think the conspiracy theorist in me would love it all to be true, but that probably isn’t going to happen. Still, a boy can dream can’t he?

Sometimes it’s the things you say, maybe even the way you say them. The dark recess of my mind thinks ‘Ay, I know that line. I know that timing’ but the logical part steps in with ‘but you live in a part of the world were right now won’t happen for 14 hours’ so maybe I really don’t know you at all.

Sometimes you put things on a page that make me smile and laugh. They make me want the things that you want. Your ability to do that is amazing. The flip-side of that is that if you tell me about the bad things in your life I share your pain. I flinch, I mope and sometimes get teary.

But you local buggers are the ones that really get me. When I see your photos and recognise a street on my way to work, a café I have breakfast at, a bar I get legless at. That’s when it really spins me out.

Did you go there intentionally? Was that photo of the shoe store because you know I try on a different pair of runners there every week? Were you waiting for me to arrive or playing the cat-and-mouse game of trying to vanish before I emerged?

Then it hits me – the familiarity. It comes about not because of what you offer me, you offer the same thing to the world. It all happens because out of the world you had showed something that I wanted. Not the other way around.

You talk the same way people I know do. You wear the clothes I would wear. You explore the parts of town that I want to discover.

I know you’re close. You’ll continue to be around. Millions of people will pass through this city, but you’ll flow through the same veins as me and as such we’re connected. The physical mass of steel and concrete belies nothing of the colour and vibrancy that draws us together.

Maybe not the same time, maybe not the same place, fuck – it may not even be the same continent, but it is still there. Intangible, yet real.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Monkey Tales

I swore that if anyone ever gave me one of those ‘cute’ nicknames I wouldn’t stand for it. I mean, those sickening couples you see that call each other ‘Poodle-snatch’ or ‘Schnooky-wookie’ or whatever are just too much. Worse still if they do it in public.

I mean it all started innocently enough, calling each other by the shortened versions of our proper names (as is the Australian way) except for when we were being scowly – then it was full names, or worse: First, middle and last names in that lecturous, parental way.

Then one night camped on the couch, listening to the rain strike his balcony windows he said “Come here and give me a cuddle, Boy”. Instead of balking or making a big deal out of who plays what role, I just moved in close, laid my head on his chest and wrapped my arms around him.

Somehow that then turned into text messages that started ‘Hey Monkey…’ and there it rests, via text I get called Monkey, in person I get called Boy and when I’m putting myself down it becomes Boof, short for Boofhead. Enough to tell me I shouldn’t be fretting about the non-existent flaws I get so hung up on.

Even though two jobs keep me flat out and I still manage to fit in visits with friends both new and old, shopping trips around the city and jaunty country drives. That’s on top of mid-week sleep-overs and entire weekends ‘just hanging out’.

“Did you bring your night insulin?” Sounds like a bit of an odd question – but as a diabetic I usually have to prepare for eating during the day as well as fill-in-the-gaps injections before bed. That means when the question is asked I can linger for the night if I like, instead of having to peel myself out of his arms and trundle home.

As much as I don’t like people making a fuss over stuff like that, it’s nice that he has taken the time to notice. It’s nice that he’s thoughtful and caring and patient. It’s nice that he’s a bunch of stuff that men I’ve known in the past haven’t been.

It also makes for a nice change to find someone who won’t let me get too big for my boots. A bloke who’s prepared to say things like “isn’t there anything that you don’t know something about?” when I start to carry on about a subject I’m probably not qualified to pontificate about. Someone who can go from hanging shit on me about my “chipolata fingers” or my grey beard to telling me how beautiful my eyes are before swinging back into something like: “but I almost didn’t notice because of your whopping great nose”.


He also thinks his farts are hilarious and my objections to them have him almost splitting his sides. That’s okay though, because as payback I try to ramp up my usage of the term ‘cunt’ as this tends to rile him – particularly when out in public.

I used to think that the best a man could ever do was to pay attention to me for a couple of minutes at a time in between everything else his busy and important life dictated. Turns out I was wrong. Some guys actually do want so see me and spend time with me and don’t have an ulterior motive for doing so.

I never though I’d enjoy being wrong as much as I do.
Thanks Monkey.