Just So You Know...

...the holiday is going well.

Woke up this morning with a penis in hand... and it wasn't mine! A wonderful start to a birthday, wouldn't you agree?

Scrumdidlyumcious!

Regulars readers of this blog (that's the four of you; thanks Evol, Gabriel, Sebastiane and Jughead!) will note that the normally sporadic updates have lately been a daily event. The reason? Simply, time.

Contrast to last holiday's mad dash when I was literally still packing my suitcase at the 11th hour, this time, I've been super organised. So much that, aside from the regular posts, I've also had the chance to...

• Take an absentee vote AND the early opportunity to stick it to Howard.
• Setup the plasma TV, VCR, stereo system and home wireless network at a techno-challenged friend's new place.
• See the new crocodile monster flick, Rogue, and god-awful vampire thriller, 30 Days of Nights.
  
• Register as a Sole Business Trader entity for (hopefully) future work as a freelance writer.
  
• Finish watching the backlog of taped TV shows, some going as far back as BB06.
• Have a two-hour long remedial massage to relieve the four weeks' worth of over zealous weight training and cardio (due in part of below).
  
• Attend farewell dinners, lunches and breakfasts with friends and sundry.
• Drive all over town in my brand spanking new pimped-up ride.

And now, I'm truly done. For most of today, I've been pretty much just killing time. Right at this moment, I'm watching Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory as I type out this post. I love how scary and maniacal Gene Wilder appears in this film, much to my obliviousness as a child.

Every person who finds out that I'm about to leave for my 9-week jaunt invariably asks the same question: "Are you getting excited?" In truth, not really. Perhaps due to having kept myself occupied or in fear of preempting, I'm yet to feel that giddy, butterfly-in-the-tummy sensation. But soon as I have those bags checked-in tonight, I'm sure to start jumping on the spot AND clapping like a little schoolgirl hyped up on Bratz-branded sugar.

So guys, this is it. My last post for a little while as I head off to the big blue warm waters and sunny isles of the tropics. Wish me luck, don't be a stranger and be sure to keep in touch.

I can't wait to eat that airplane food.

A Good Day

Today marks a momentous occasion. And no, it's not because the Divinyls are again back on tour. No, today has a far more personal significance.

As long as I can remember, I've always had this irresistible and innate desire to be creative. From painting with acrylics, playing instruments, stitching embroidery and even drawing my own comic books. But nowhere have I found this creativity channeled more perfectly than in my writing, and thankfully, I've been blessed to have the ability to do this with relative ease.

Though something I may have mentioned once or twice, pursuing my passion for writing and making it a career has been a quiet dream of mine since high school. I never realised that it's actually something that I can, well, realise.

So, after years of scribbling short stories, essays and dissertations, years of writing blog posts after blog posts, and another year of voluntary columns and contributions, today, I officially became a paid writer. An article I submitted to the local gay press will be published tomorrow, and along with it comes my first ever pay cheque for my written effort. The money is meagre, I'll be honest, but that's not the point. The fact that I have finally realised my dream is what's causing me to dance like a giddy school girl every so often.

And when I told my parents about the news? My mum replied, "That's nice, but 10 cents per word? You couldn't really retire on that, could you?" Oy vey!

Isn't it funny how things are never as a big a deal with others as it is for you? Oh well. Nothing's gonna change this inner glow I'm feeling right at this moment. I think I'll go celebrate with a quiet drink. A toffee nut latte at Starbucks.

Today is a good day.

Back On The Wagon...

...and boy, was it ever like heaven. Starbucks, how I missed thee.

To Shag Or Not

Jug and I visited a friend who just came back from Europe. Voula had some wildly interesting and funny tales from her mostly solitary four month experience overseas. The kind you get when you're living out of a suitcase and following an itinerary that comes from a well-thumbed Lonely Planet guidebook.

But what I found really intriguing were her stories of drunken shenanigans and crazy sexcapades. If only because I'm looking forward to some of my own.

Holiday sex is exciting, let's admit it. It's random, exhilarating and quite often spontaneous. There's something about an unfamiliar setting, a new place, where experiences, and even at the times the people, are yours for the taking. You do things you may not normally do because there isn't that thing that defines you from back home; the identity, the ties. But what if that isn't the case?

Voula recounted the brief time she spent back in her hometown to catch up with long seen family. Despite her initial misgivings and subsequent lapsed into insanity, she ended up having horrible sex with a local. In a loading bay. There wouldn't have been much of a consequence if it weren't for the fact that the local was a boy known to the family. Her cousin's ex. She couldn't wait to get the hell out.

Which is the sobering point to my otherwise hot and sweaty fantasies of tropical sessions. Complications will inevitably ensue from the fact that for most of this trip, I'll be in my hometown, where everybody knows everybody and particularly, where everybody certainly knows my well-connected family. Whilst my folks may know that I am gay, I definitely do not want them knowing anything of my gallivanting and philandering. Grandma would never look at me the same way.

The solution? Maybe my own solitary holiday from the holiday? I wouldn't know where to go. Abstain and go without for the duration? Three months is a long time. Or simply go with the flow and root like a local? Most probably, especially in a place where humidity and heat, the smell of rain, and the lean farmerboys dripping with sweat just screams sexual promise..........

Excuse me, I think it's time for a cold shower.

Listen To 'Just For You'

I was cutting a summer edition of my Back To Mine playlist - the tunes you're likely to hear playing when you came back to mine - yesterday when I came across this old hit from M People.

I can't remember when I first got into this British group, but I've been a long time fan of theirs. They make beautiful feel-good music that empowers and celebrates life. Search for a Hero is a great example. Plus, they have gay sensibilities. Fantasy Island, anyone?

But this song, Just For You, is my favourite. It always reminds me of summer when I hear it, which is apt since it's a wonderful summery day outside.

I'm off to spend the day with friends for a yumcha banquet and chill-out in a park somewhere with some liquid amber. The last week of my pre-holiday detox diet has been seriously derailed.

Keep it light, peeps.

Mood: Contemplative. Topic: Slideshows

I sit and look out the window with the passing traffic building up in the early hours of Saturday. My friend J sits in front of me tucking into the wholesome serving of fried bacon, poached eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes we both ordered as a special treat for a long day. Soul food.

I look at her slowly disappearing pile, I look at mine. I look outside again. The quiet stillness inside the cafe - a prelude to the busy day ahead, like the eye of a storm - is broken momentarily by the shrill sound of the coffee machine, creating another brew to save another sleepy soul.

Then a thought strikes. This is a memory that would last, something that would be remembered for a long time. Not due to anything of significance, but because of its ordinariness. And many months later, I'm still able to go back like it had just happened.

We create memories every day - most fleeting, some lasting, a handful forever. Have we control to dictate which? I'd like to think so. Lately, I force, nay, for that word carries a negative connotation... Rather, I welcome the opportunity to burn the memories in my mind of things big and otherwise, like snapshots forever captured, frozen in time, to be remembered and made to surface, and to feel what was felt at the time.

Dinner tonight was sublime. Good food, great company. Laughter, a background music to the interplay of words, ideas and thoughts. Friends make it easier to remember, makes it harder to forget, makes the effort worthwhile. Leave the cameras at home - they don't capture the feelings, the emotions. The slideshows of your mind.

If only I hadn't had that whole bottle of wine, I may yet remember this tomorrow morning. Thank goodness for blogs.

The Hardest Word

It's been several days since Dad and I had a blue, and in that time, I neither spoke nor looked at him. I was simply too angry - at him and at myself for letting him get to me the way he did. It was easier to shut him out rather than work things out.

I know, I should know better but old habits die hard, and God only knows I've had plenty of practice.

I guess I'm as stubborn and full of pride as he is because from experience he would never be the one to reach out first, let alone apologise. How ironic! To be like father, like son.

It seems, though, time can prove anyone wrong.

Sitting in the local cafe today, engrossed with the newspaper, I didn't even see him approach. Only felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Your mum and I are on our way to the supermarket..."

Too startled to speak, I could only look at him.

"Did you want us to pick you up something?"

"Ah. No. Thanks. Dad."

"Okay, then. See you later."

I watch him walk out of the cafe and kept looking, even after he's rounded the corner out of sight.

He may not have said the word and it may not have been an actual apology, but I know, too, what that meant to him. Sorry.

The Clothes On My Back

With only a week left until I fly out, I should really get my arse in gear and start packing. So yesterday, I went through my wardrobe and on top of working out what to take with me, I also decided to reorganise the whole thing.

And just as well.

It's amazing how much clothes I've accumulated over the years that my closet is actually very close to being filled to the rafters. I'm a bit of a hoarder who can't bear to chuck most things away. So, yesterday's effort was an exercise in ruthlessness and less of restraint. My plan: to get rid off anything I haven't worn in more than a year. Didn't get far until I got sidetracked.

I found a shirt - a light blue Saba summer number - that used to be my favourite. It was the shirt that I wore when I met A, my first boyfriend, and by coincidence, was also the shirt I had on when we broke up many months later. Bitter sweet. It astounds me the kind of feelings and memories we attach to material things - clothes in particular. And how much of this comes flooding back even after a long time has passed.

There was the slightly ripped jumper from one winter when a domestic argument spilled over to a real fight. The shorts from overseas that my departed Grandma gave as a gift when she visited for the last time. The overworn tracksuit pants from Kmart, considered a luxurious purchase when we didn't have much in a way of finance. The t-shirts an ex bought when things were still good.

But as much as sad emotions were also the tragically funny ones. The well-intentioned purchase of a muscle top two sizes too small, even now. A long sleeve pullover too fluffy even for a sheep to want to wear. Tight polyester 70s inspired shirts from the freshly out gay days. And baggy jeans galore from a rather forgotten homie gangsta period.

But tag them and bag them, I eventually managed to do. What a cathartic experience!

Now, the clothes I actually wear have the room neeeded to breathe... Although, I may have been a tad too zealous in the culling. There just seems to be a little too much space between the hangers and piles. Well, I guess there's only one thing I need to do to remedy that... a spot of retail therapy!

The Long Weekend That Was

So I've been staring at this blank screen for the last 30 minutes trying to write something about the long weekend that's just gone. Not that it wasn't good, it was amazing. I'm just feeling a little (a lot) uninspired, I guess.

So, really quickly, here's what happened:

Friday
Caught up with friends to watch La Clique at The Spiegeltent for a late evening of burlesque acrobatics and sublime performances. Hunky Englishmen stripped to their undies, balancing off one another. Long haired Swedish contortionist with ten and twelve inch tennis racquets. Papier-mache dolls with acts saucier than their real-life counterparts. And a bathtub boy that got everyone seriously wet. Sexiest. Circus. Ever.

Saturday
Skipped on my final Trough Faggot Party for the year to head to G-Town, aka Geelong, for a friend's 21st birthday party. Dud decision. Apart from the lack of food upon arrival, the dismal turn-out, the cold and yucky outdoor setting, the only saving grace from the long wet drive was the three eskies worth of free booze. Still, I could have had double shots at Trough and some promise of action.

Sunday
Gastronomic trip into the city with my radio crew for some Japanese cuisine at Meiji Bar Cafe in Chinatown. Miso soup, tori kamameshi, gyoza, sashimi, and warm sake. Just the perfect soul food for an atypical blustery, wintery evening. And what to do when we found ourselves with some extra time to kill before the radio show? Why, visit the nearby Adult Bookstore, of course! Now, I know where to go to buy that extra personal presents for friends and family.

Monday
Headed to Rod Laver Arena, along with several hundred others to catch JT's (that's Justin Timberlake to those of you uninitiated) to watch his first concert in Melbourne. And boy, it went off! Amazing technicolour lightscape, an elaborate stage that has more moving parts than a Mechano set, and a pretty solid set list that cements JT as a damn good entertainer. Did I mention that he was less than 10 metres away from where we sat? Well, he was.

So, all in all, a pretty good weekend...............

Except when all's been said and done, you still recall heavily the non-argument you have with a parent whom you've foolishly assumed that after all this time, they're okay with you for who you are, only to find out otherwise, simultaneously wounding your ego, worth and sense of liberty. I hate that despite how much I think I've grown and matured, I still find myself affected heavily by my parent's approval. And I hate how I can't make myself stop from doing so.

TGIF!

I'm feeling super today.

It's finally November, which means my birthday is only a few weeks away, Christmas is around the corner, and what's more, I leave for my holiday overseas in two weeks!

Plus, it's Friday and the start of a long jam-packed weekend in Melbourne. Life's great.

So, in the spirit of all things wonderful, let me share these little pearls of wisdom that I stumbled on today:

1. The nicest thing about the future is that it always starts tomorrow.
2. Money will buy a fine dog, but only kindness will make him wag his tail.
3. If you don't have a sense of humor, you probably don't have any sense at all.
4. Seat belts are not as confining as wheelchairs.
5. A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you're in deep water.
6. How come it takes so little time for a child who is afraid of the dark to become a teenager who wants to stay out all night?
7. Business conventions are important because they demonstrate how many people a company can operate without.
8. Why is it that at class reunions you feel younger than everyone else looks?
9. Scratch a dog and you'll find a permanent job.
10. No one has more driving ambition than the boy who wants to buy a car.
11. There are no new sins; the old ones just get more publicity.
12. There are worse things than getting a call for a wrong number at 4 AM. It could be a right number.
13. Think about this... No one ever says "It's only a game" when his team is winning.
14. I've reached the age where the happy hour is a nap.
15. Be careful reading the fine print. There's no way you're going to like it.
16. The trouble with bucket seats is that not everybody has the same size bucket.
17. Do you realize that in about 40 years, we'll have thousands of OLD LADIES running around with tattoos? (And RAP music will be the Golden Oldies!)
18. Money can't buy happiness -- but somehow it's more comfortable to cry in a Corvette than in a Yugo.
19. After a certain age, if you don't wake up aching in every joint, you are probably dead. But, we're all here, so ENJOY TODAY!

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!