Seriously.

It seems lately that my moods, thought patterns and general outlook are on a roller coaster ride worse than the performance of the Aussie dollar. So, I'll refrain from blogging anything deep and introspective lest I sound totally manic and bipolar.

Instead, I'll just post this pic.

Cutest photo you'll see all day... and hella disturbing, too. Seriously.

Look, Point and Whisper

Last Friday for Halloween, a friend and I attended a dress-up party. I kitted up as a dark angel, almost Gothic, while my mate came as a Sith Lord from Star Wars. When we got to the venue, I saw Jules there. I knew he'd be at the party since one of the owners of the house we were partying at is his best friend.

Immediately, I sensed his excitement to see me - and throughout the evening, he pretty much didn't leave my side. A few times during the night I caught sight of his best friend whispering at other friends while looking at Jules and I. It wasn't hard to guess that they weren't merely talking about my "Brandon Lee in Crow" inspired outfit. They were talking about the two of us.

It made me wonder what Jules has already said to his friends. We've never really said anything about seeing each other but we're obviously in each other's company. I found the whole 'look, point and whisper' thing somewhat strange and surreptitious.

I guess there might really be more to this than just emails and coffees.

What A Boy Needs

I'm writing this post at two in the morning because I can. And because I no longer have to get up early for work on Monday mornings. That fact alone is the reason why I'm currently feeling chilled and happy to be still awake, alert and sleepless when I'd normally be all panicky and stressed by now.

The weekend was really awesome. I know that seems like a very juvenile word to use, but it really was. I don't know how best describe it. Almost life-affirming and amazing all at the same time.

For one, it's a long weekend in Melbourne, which has set this almost contradicting low-key party vibe to the whole city. Driving home, it was great to see so many people still being out and about so late in the evening. It's kinda electric.

Lately I've had this feeling of being disconnected with people around me. Part of this is the stress of work and various commitments piling up, but mostly it's a sense of disengagement from those who I normally consider my anchor.

My family and I haven't been spending much time together - and when we do, I get this feeling of being out of sync from them. They seem to be cohesive in their interests and pursuits and I'm feeling on the outer. Not really anybody's fault and I love them to death, but I guess I'm just starting to realise that what I find stimulating is something they wouldn't - and vice versa.

At the other end of the scale is this uncanny experience I'm having of meeting so many new people who are on the same wavelength as I am. Most are into creative arts and they have similar passion and understanding about it that I can really appreciate. If not, they are at least open to listening and learning. The reason for this post-Sunday glow is that this very thing happened at a friend's birthday dinner tonight. Discussions over traveling, music and creativity has given me that feeling of connection and a sense of validation that I've been sorely lacking.

Yeah, I can get totally precious and pissy at times, but really, all a boy truly needs is to be understood once in a while.

You...Think?

Date: Tuesday, 28th October
To: Jules
From: Joshua
Subject: Thanks and Stuff

Hi Jules,

Thanks for sticking around to meet with me today. Really enjoyed catching up with you - you didn't have to walk me back to my building.

In case it wasn't already obvious, I like you. Not sure why I just couldn't say that over coffee this afternoon, but there it is.

Anyway, I guess I'll see you on Friday for that party.

See ya,
Joshua

- - -

Date: Wednesday, 29th October
To: Joshua
From: Jules
Subject: Re: Thanks and Stuff

Hi Joshua,

What a nice email you sent!

It was fine waiting around all day to see you. It was the highlight of my day.

I don't know where I'll be next year and how things will work out but if you can put up with me for now, then I promise I will be available.

I think I like you too.

See you Friday night!

Jules

The Rainbow Club

Picture it: Sydney, early weekend morning. Streams of people are making their way down Oxford Street to join the large throng that have already gathered in Hyde Park.

A kaleidoscope of individuals, some are costumed in feathers and wings while others are even more creatively decorated. A few brave souls are clad in nothing but underwear and body paint. Most, though, are dressed appropriately for the occasion: short running shorts, skin tight lycra and comfortable running shoes that have seen their share of kilometres.

This, however, isn’t Mardi Gras. It isn’t even a gay and lesbian event. It’s Sydney’s annual fun run, City2Surf.

It’s unusual to see the areas surrounding Oxford Street being barricaded for an event that doesn’t include glimpses of fantastically flamboyant floats or the hundreds of bright pink coloured banners and rainbow flags being waved with so much pride. Instead, there are groups of athletes, casual runners and a plague of breeders with prams. Running bibs decorate one and all.

And amongst this chaos is my friend, Scott.

Here especially for the event, recently ‘out’ Scott has flown over the border as part of a small contingent fronting up on behalf of a running group in Melbourne. A club that is made up of gay, lesbian and queer-friendly runners, it is an activity social club whose sexuality is a uniting factor but with a main interest centred firmly on pounding the asphalt. It is one of many in a trend of associations that largely focuses on specific activities and not solely on the sexuality of its participants.

“I initially found out about gay sporting clubs at my first Melbourne Pride March,” says Scott when quizzed as to how he got started, “I had always been into sport so I thought I would give it a go. I went to one of their Saturday morning social runs and I've been going along ever since.”

While most individuals seeking initial contact with the community will approach support groups, such as those facilitated by organisations like the Victorian AIDS Council, guys like Scott, however, have taken a different course altogether. While similarity in sexuality helps, to them common interest seems more paramount – and in Scott’s case, it’s sport: “the best thing about sport is you can socialise while doing it, which opens up more avenues for conversations and getting to know people.”

Scanning the community contacts list on MCV reveals at least a dozen other ‘common interest’ gay groups. From film buffs and 4WD enthusiasts to tennis and rugby supporters, even one for board game addicts. You name it and more than likely it exists.

Is that then the reason why such groups are more of interest for some than actual support groups?

“Support groups are still vital parts of the community,” Scott explains. “Activity social groups simply provide another facet – a variety. And with mine, there’s a great mix of guys and girls which makes it a real representation of life in the real world. And because of this, we’re able to participate as well as better represent our community at events like City2Surf – and of course, we also get to have a lot of fun along the way.”

Random Thoughts On An Early Sunday Morning

Lately I've been having this overwhelming feeling that time is getting away from me and I'm being pushed along unceremoniously in its wake. Monday, I wake up and before I can turn over in my bed, Sunday has arrived, ready to begin a new week.

Some days, I feel like I'm standing still, a passive silent presence watching the world whiz by unrelentingly.

But yesterday, well, yesterday was different.

What began typically with the inanity and monotony that obligation and responsibility brings, soon gave way to something a little more promising and self-empowering.

Spending a balmy spring evening with Jules, we explored the city and got to know one another. Bar hops and drinks gave way to conversations both revealing and endearing, and soon the subtlety of attraction gave way to something a little more tangible and obvious. Before long, the crowd has disappeared and the company of two is all that there is.

It only needed for someone to push beyond that invisible line.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I've forgotten how good a good night kiss can really be.

In Which I Turn Into A Beetroot

Jughead and I have this running gag. As happens with good friends, we've come up with plenty over the years. This one, though, is relatively new.

You see, Jug is the kind of guy, who despite his protests is what you'd call a hopeless romantic; ready to be swept off his feet at a drop of a hat (or pants, in his case). Lately, he's been meeting up with new potentials after a winter-long hibernation and at one point even had five going. Definitely not one for being left behind.

Most of the guys have been harmless virtual fun: chatting on the net and a bit of webcam action. A couple, however, have turned into real-life meet and greet. I caught up with Jug a few days after one of his most recent "dates" for our usual debrief.

"How was it?," I asked. He blinked, flicked his hair back, took a moment and then smiled. And before he even opened his mouth to reply, I already knew the answer.

"You're already smitten, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not!"

"Oh, yes, you are."

"...okay, I am. But you don't understand. He's a policeman!"

Then followed my shaking my head in mock disappointment and he blushing and turning the shade of beetroot. Ah, my best mate. Always so besotted, always so early.

Over the weekend, I met a guy at a wedding. A nice change of pace from the usual gaggle of straight single (and desperate) girls, Jules is a long-time friend of the groom. Over our tiny serves of reception-styled feed and copious amounts of free alcohol, we got to know one another. By the time the formal proceedings were over and the dancefloor started booming, we had our arms around each other.

Yesterday, we met for a post-wedding catch-up. I was worried that what had happened at the nuptials was a once off thing and that the magic felt was a complete fluke. But over coffee and more than an hour later, I guess it's safe to say that my initial concern is unfounded. Granted, there were no intertwining of arms but there was the same easy and subtle bubbling attraction. I can't get him outta of my head.

I guess this time it's Jug's turn to shake his head and for me to turn bright red.

Now, that is what you call a root!

A Different Kind of Closet

When I was eight years old, my mother entered me into the school's Christmas pantomime. I was an elf, amongst a chorus line of nine. Our role: to recite a poem espousing the magic of the season. It was a yuletide extravaganza.

When show day arrived, my breath caught at the sight of the hall filled to capacity. With hundreds of people – student body, faculty, family and friends – nervousness flooded my tiny body and soon the butterflies in my tummy were doing Olympic-style acrobatics. But dressed in my green elfenery, I took to the stage and fronted the crowd.

One by one, we recited our poems. Waiting anxiously for my turn, repeating lines in my head, I started to feel sick. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I suddenly couldn’t breathe and I began to panic. When my time had arrived, I was completely paralysed. The bright spotlight shone overhead, the crowd quiet with anticipation, my parents staring and waiting. I couldn't speak. I gulped; I took a deep breath but nothing. Seconds rolled on, the crowd began to stir.

Then it happened – and I felt it before I even knew it. A warm, wet sensation began to spread down the front of my pants and before long they were absolutely soaked. The crowd pointed, others stood to have a better look and then people began to snigger. I ran off the stage as fast as my little feet could take me.

More than harmless stage fright, my unfortunate debut performance was my first ever experience of an anxiety attack.

While everyone feels anxious from time to time, some people experience these feelings so often and so strongly that it can affect their everyday lives in significant ways. Sitting an exam, driving to new locations, even meeting someone for the first time; these are only but a few examples of general activities considered normal which can trigger an irrational behavioural and physiological response. I should know. They're the kind of activities I've been once too intimidated, too scared and even have become physically ill from doing.

Anxiety, along with depression and bipolar disorder, are mental health disorders that affect a significant amount of people. All three are common in that a disproportionate number of sufferers identify as having an alternative sexuality. Whilst not a clear-cut indicator of the potential for the debilitating condition, the intense self-assessment needed and the journey involved in coming to terms with the awareness of a new sexuality can prove to be taxing and distressing at best. It's easy to see why many from our community may be affected.

What makes such conditions even worse is the angst and stigma attached. Fear of becoming ostracized by friends and family, some ignore any form of help while most choose to keep quiet, dealing with it on their own. Sound familiar?

October is Anxiety and Depression Awareness Month and organisations like beyondblue are doing their best in raising understanding and breaking down the stereotypes of mental health sufferers. More encouragingly, initiatives are being taken to reach out to certain sections of the community – and ours is one that is being helped. This goes a long way in beginning the process of acknowledgement, acceptance and the stepping out of a different kind of closet.

Roll Cameras!

Filming turned out to be every bit as scary as I imagined. So much in fact that at one point I wondered what I had gotten myself into. That thought came to me as I was staring down the barrel of the camera, about to have an onscreen meltdown.

Going into TV presenting, I haven't been so naïve as to think that it's all going to be fun and games. Just point, smile and shoot. I knew that there was going to be some serious work and commitment needed. Doing our first lot of episode shoots over the weekend made me realise that there's so much more to the experience than originally expected – even if it is only grassroots community television.

Behind the scenes, there are cameras to calibrate, audio to setup and sets to decorate. Inside the booth, there are switches to flick, buttons to press, and videos to be queued and processed. And before fronting the cameras, there are also segments to summarise and scripts to memorise; what I and the three other new presenters were tasked to do.

And it would have been a pretty straightforward undertaking if only said scripts and segments were actually done and written beforehand, ready for us to simply read off of the teleprompter. They weren't. So, on top of having to get used to being in front of the camera for the very first time, we were also going to be doing it unrehearsed and on the fly; ad-libbed and improvised. It made for an already challenging experience doubly frenetic.

It would go somewhat to explain my near meltdown moment. On what must have been my tenth take on trying to introduce the next segment (I kept stuffing up the same three sentences), I suddenly felt overcome and overwhelmed. The cameras, the bright lights, the need to perform on cue, it started to get to me. I felt ready to chuck the whole thing in.

Too concerned about doing everything right as well as being paranoid about making a fool of myself, I got so worked up that I completely forgot the reason why I decided to get involved in the first place: that it was supposed to be a fun and exciting experience.

So, taking a few deep breaths and a quick moment, I decided to do the one thing that came to mind – channel my inner Kerri-Anne. So, as I stared down the barrel of that camera with the bright overhead spotlights beating down on my face, I mustered as much panache and pizzazz as the plastic-fantastic blonde goddess does with so much ease on her morning talk show, and attempted once again to deliver those elusive lines. And you know what, I nailed that bitch down!

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this television hosting thing.

Kerri-Anne Kennerley, the patron saint of daytime television,
is a great source of much-needed laughs inspiration.

Next Time I Go To Disneyland...

...I'm gonna get me a pair of these.

I wonder if they come in black?

Loser

I'm feeling like the biggest loser right now. The tax refund I just received recently, and the one I was planning on putting aside for a rainy day, is gone. Already. Well, there's about $100 of it left - but that might as well be zero.

I didn't realise I had spent so much this month until my credit card statement arrived. Fuck me. My financial planner would weep - if I actually bothered to see him anymore. I won't tell you what I spent my money on. Not junk since I purchased what I did for a reason - but that could be a moot point if others are asked.

Seeing the bill today made me realise - in all its black and white glory - that I'm living almost a thousand dollars a month beyond my means and I am ever so slowly, but oh so surely, drowning in debt.

My mum has started making jokes about the money they've loaned me as "being written in water". Well, it loses something from the translation but it's probably more close to the saying of things being written in the sand. What it really means is that the Mum & Dad Bank is no longer holding its breath to see its loans repaid anytime soon. If at all. I think that's what cuts the most - to know that my parents have come to believe that about me. And they're right.

Rain money gone. Credit card still not zero.

"Hi, my name is Joshua. And I'm a fucking broke arse loser..."

Directions

It's been a while since I was able to knock out something completely fresh and on time for the gay and lesbian publication I write for. But this week, I did it.

I guess it helped that my Editor had given me some form of direction on what to cover (he usually gives me free rein, which probably doesn't help since I'm both too imaginative and indecisive). The next issue will be "green" themed, so he asked me to write something about the environment.

So, I did. I wrote about eco-friendly condoms.

---

Loving Up the Environment

Once the realm of serious environmentalists and well-meaning but misunderstood tree-huggers, being eco-friendly has now become an everyday reality for all.

Gone are the days of bleached white paper products made from old growth forests as well as those once-ubiquitous throwaway plastic bags. In their place are plantation-harvested and reusable alternatives. And this environmental awareness hasn’t only been limited to simple consumption of paper or plastic but also to other products we use day to day.

How about slipping on a pair of sustainably grown underpants made from bamboo and hemp? Or applying those biodegradable plant-based moisturiser and hair products? Or even drinking your favourite fair-trade wine and latte? Being green conscious is now de rigueur.

Is it any wonder that this would also affect those things we use in a more pleasurable manner?

In the world of prophylactics, the humble condom is king. Used properly, it can prevent not only the transmission of AIDS and HIV but also prevent other sexually transmitted infections and diseases. It can even put a stop to unwanted pregnancies. Something daughters of American republicans may not be aware of.

But did you know that the environmental effects created by condoms can make the carbon emissions produced from China’s plethora of factories seem like mere puff of smoke?

Condoms are manufactured from different materials, with most being made of latex. Latex condoms are biodegradable; a plus for the environment, but the use of casein, a milk protein, in its production is of some concern with certain groups, mainly the animal rightists. Vegans will be hard-pressed to slap this on their meat. In addition, the use of essential condom peripherals such as spermicidal and lubricants can further hurt the environment as these products are likely to contain preservatives and synthetic materials.

And here’s another eye-opening titbit you can share over your seafood dinner: latex does not biodegrade when it is under water, which is why you should never flush used ones down the toilet. Imagine how poor Nemo would tackle one of these! And what of the wrappers? Most are made from foil that will neither break down nor can be recycled.

Nope, the safest bet in getting rid of used condoms, apart from flinging them over your neighbour’s fence, is to place them in the garbage ready to be made into landfill.

It’s enough to make little green Johnny think twice about having eco-nookie.

Enter condom manufacturers like Glyde and Condomi. Both companies are now producing an alternative rubber that has the environment in mind as well as the thing in your pants. Made from plant-based materials, they claim their product not only to be eco-friendly but vegan-friendly, too.

And they’re not the only companies jumping on the green love band wagon. A Brazilian manufacturer claims to have a “male preservative based on eco-friendly extracted natural latex from the Amazonian rainforest”. And in China, used condoms are being recycled into hair bands! There are also oils and lubricants now being made from soy-based organic products and even a website that claims to donate fees to a campaign to save rainforests for every condom purchased.

Now, that’s what I call loving up the environment!

Well, that's one way to reuse those rubbers.
This dude pwns Project Runway.

Bright Lights

Writing a new résumé recently (I lost my old one in the big data wipeout of 2005 – damn Windows!) gave me an excellent opportunity to look back at the way my career employment had unfolded over the years. It's provided me with some interesting insights I hadn't considered before.

In the last decade, I've had eight different job roles with five different employers. Out of these five employers, one is a multi-national finance company, two are independent private businesses in retail and fitness, and the rest are community organisations who employ me as a freelance writer. The multi-national offered the most in terms of benefits and numeration and yet it was the job I enjoyed the least, nor lasted longest in. Office politics made working there difficult as well as the inflexibility of the role. The independent businesses meanwhile were the most flexible but provided the least in terms of career opportunity or growth. And the community-based entities, well, they pay the least but the ones I find most enjoyable and rewarding.

The reason for writing a résumé has to do with something I've been kinda pursuing in the last couple of weeks. A few spots have opened up with a local community TV show and at the suggestion of a friend, I applied to screen test as one of the presenters. Along with being interviewed in front of the whole cast and crew, scripting a segment for the show, pitching a story idea and doing some impromptu acting, the résumé was the last necessary requirement and formality to round off the whole audition process.

I guess on top of being a personal trainer, writer and radio broadcaster, I can now add TV presenter to the list of things I do that takes up my time. Yes, I got the job!

It's strange to think that a background in sciences (graduated with a Genetics and Microbiology major) has led to careers in finance, fitness and even, the media industry. I guess sometimes you never really know where the wind – and the bright lights – will take you.

Crying Game

So I decided to take the plunge and finally got myself a new pair of contact lenses. (I broke my glasses recently after accidentally sitting on them. Evidently, they couldn't stand the weight of both my arse cheeks.) I would have been wearing them a long time ago if not for the unfortunate false-start experience I had years before.

At about the age of eighteen, I purchased my first pair of contacts. The completely artificial and totally unsuitable blue coloured lenses were chosen more for their cosmetic appeal rather than their ability to help me better see. I was trying, with all my baby poof delusion, to channel my inner twink at the time. They didn't last long. After getting one of the lenses lodged in my eye overnight and having the other pop out on to the dirty floor of a public bus, both got ripped on the third day when I tried cleaning them. It was an expensive exercise in vanity.

So, you can understand my hesitation.

But buoyed by the thoughts of warm sunny weather ahead and hoping to wear my Ray-Ban aviators AND actually being able to see, I thought it was time to give the soft lenses another go. So last week, I got them: plain and uncoloured. Everything was going well - I even managed to put them in without too much hassles - but then came the third day when I ran into a bit of a problem.

Feeling suddenly like I had sand in my eyes, I whipped off the lenses only to find that a small tear had formed on one of them. Back at the shop to get a replacement, the optometrist decided to also give my eyes a quick once over to see how they were adjusting. After poking and prodding to the point of feeling like I was being eye-raped, his diagnosis proved unexpected. I have dry eyes, caused by blocked tear ducts. Apparently mine were so full of built-up gunk that I wasn't producing any tears at all. This resulted in the tearing since there was a lack of the wet, slimy film needed for the contacts to work effectively.

In all honest, the prognosis shouldn't have come as a surprise. It's been a very, very, very, VERY long time since I've had a good cry. Who knew being a heartless, unemotional bastard could actually be bad for you?

Mister Optometrist had one simple advice to fix the problem: place a warm cloth to the eye area when showering. Sound, sensible and bound to work, right? Probably.

But just to be sure, he also had a few unorthodox prescriptions on top of his conventional one. He also suggested, amongst other things, blinking very fast in succession, cutting up a bunch of onions or even watching a few mushy movies to force the tears to come. PS I Love You, Titanic, Beaches, While You Were Sleeping. These are allegedly great flicks for bringing on the water works. I doubt if it'll work for me. I didn't shed a single tear when I saw the Notebook. The only person in the whole theatre filled with men, women, young and old; all sniffling.

No, if I am to get crying and clear this blockage, drastic measures are needed. I think I'll need to watch endless re-runs of this – or better yet, participate in it:




Here's hoping that mere watching will work.

Have You Noticed...

...that this blog hasn't been updated in more than two weeks?





Yeah, me neither.

Angel No Food, No Cake

Are you there, God? It's me Joshua.

I've just had the worst week of my life and I spent seven days wearing a donut on my arse after I impaled it as a child. But that's not what I want to talk to you about.

I've been battered, Lord. Both physically and mentally, and now I'm feeling totally exhausted and bruised. This must be what one of those little Chinese ladies feel after a night of "Five-Dollar Sucky Sucky" specials.

It all started really with the onset of spring and some well-meaning but totally misplaced good intentions of undoing the horrors of the past winter. You see, I've put on a bit of padding – the kind that a bear in hibernation would be totally jealous to have. Mother's cooking and her magic pantry have been much too good and well, before you know it, I'm starting to look like a great candidate for John Goodman's body double.

So, in preparation for the warmer weather ahead and if I were to have any chance of wearing the skimpy polka-dot speedos given to me last Christmas by my still single 50-something year old Uncle (don't ask, it's a touchy subject), I have to shed this weight and be my fabulous sexy self again. And quickly.

So, what better way than a week-long detox?

Out went the sweet chilli and sour cream chips that I devoured by the bag fulls, the blocks of Crunchie chocolates that I munched on with so much glee and my midnight snacks of apple pie with ice cream and caramel custard. No more coffee and alcohol either. Instead, I've been subsisting on steamed vegetables, fresh fruits, protein bars and lots and lots and lots of plain tasteless water.

It only took until the afternoon of the first day for the headaches to arrive and there they've stayed for the last four days. The caffeine and sugar gods are no longer being appeased and I guess this is my just desserts. So to speak.

If the constant poundings in my brain weren't bad enough, then came the indigestion on the second day. Thanks to the combination of water and fibre I've so suddenly ingested, I was more bloated than a bloat fish stranded on Bloat Island in the Kingdom of Bloatdom. Honestly, Lord, I have never been so full of gas in my life, and you remember that episode with the helium tank. What's worse is the ensuing release of said fermented gases. Oh the smell! I should have come with one of those biohazard warnings. Really, I felt very sorry for my family. Even the dog was disgusted.

The fifth day proved the most challenging of all as the bloatedness gave way to cramping. And boy did it hurt! All that crystallised salt along with the sugar cubes and fat blobs being pushed oh-so-forcefully and yet so efficiently through my lard infested insides. It was certainly doing a number to my otherwise delicate constitution. I have an all-new respect for the girls who all have to go through this feeling each and every month and to mothers for the, well, mother lode of cramping ever. How do they do it, Lord? That's probably why you made sure they had higher pain thresholds than us blokes.

The sixth day is nothing to write about. It was full of shit.

And so we come to the last day. And how glad I am to have gotten here. There were moments during the week when I felt like I wouldn't make it, when I thought I would break, when I was tempted by the Devil and all his vices to quit. Especially when Mother decided to cook one of her famous feasts: deep-fried wonders, succulent roasts and sticky sweet delights...................

But I persevered, God. I persisted. I pushed through. I made it. And it's all because of you. And the Angel you sent to watch over me.

So, thanks be to you, oh Lord.

The Good Food Angel: off to her next victim, erm, charge.

Sugar Pushers Exposed!

I was in the middle of writing a hard-hitting post exposing the seedy and corrupt underbelly of Melbourne's notorious Krispy Kreme mafia - those unrelenting and unforgiving sugar pushers must be stopped! - when this annoying headache crept in and decided to make a mess of my otherwise intelligent, sexy brain.

Full blown migraine now.

So, while I go turn down the lights, get naked and soak myself in a bath full of ice and vodka mixers, check out the following videos. Do more for the cause of animal welfare than that damn WWF panda. You'll love 'em.

How freaky is that lemur?!? O__o

1 Unread Message

Sorry, peeps. Been totally meaning to update the last few days but I've been kinda sidetracked. And yesterday, when I had the whole day to do so, I spent it staring at the laptop instead. Apparently, lack of sleep isn't conducive to creativity. Or brain flow for that matter.

Anyway, interesting thing happened on the weekend – and it all came about from a single line of text message I got on my phone.

I know what you did.

Not a missive from a potential serial killer from summers past, the SMS actually came from a friend, Adrian. He and I first met back in the late 90s when I joined a youth group local to my area. I had just come out and needed to meet some like-minded individuals. He was the president and co-convenor.

Amongst this tiny ensemble of funky lesbians, lip-wristed twinks and uber-political queers were two guys: Daniel and John. Daniel was Asian. John was European. And the two were a couple. Both were approachable and friendly – not to mention cute – and so were the ones I naturally gravitated to. Mutual admiration ensued and before too long, we became very close friends.

We spent lots of time together; going out, spending in or just shooting the shit. It was all good until I started noticing John give me those too-friendly touches and too-suggestive smiles. All behind Daniel's back. I guess apart from being a freshly out kid back then, I was also pretty stupid – and horny. Which led to the fateful night spent with John while Daniel was away. In Daniel's house. In Daniel's bed.

To say the experience was nowhere near worth the fall-out would be an understatement to the nth degree. When Daniel eventually found out, the proverbial excrement hit the spinning machine in the ceiling. I stopped making contact which was just as well since I would have been cock-blocked. The two boys separated and all three of us left the group without giving any explanations. A whole lot of drama for a few dark hours spent merely on mutual fondling – and nothing more.

That was ten years ago and all but forgotten until Adrian's text message.

Quite by accident, he had run into Daniel at a bar. And I guess after not seeing each other for so long, the two had plenty to catch up on. And I mean plenty.

It seems that after all this time – a whole decade – Daniel had not only not forgotten about what went down between the John and I but remembered more of the story than I ever would. According to what Daniel had told him, Adrian said that I apparently sucked off John. That I apparently then let John suck me. And that when we were both dry of saliva, that I apparently fucked him. And he me. It was a far steamier session that I actually experienced.

I tried pleading otherwise but Adrian simply refused to believe me. It seems the thought of something so scandalous happening under his nose and instigated by his otherwise unassumingly nice guy friend is just way too titillating news, especially after all these years. Seems nostalgia is far more appealing than reason. Regardless of how clouded it may be.

Even Britney can't work up that kind of notoriety.

Glasses Maketh The Man

I've been wearing the same pair of glasses for the last couple of years, the rimless kind with thin lenses held together by two flimsy bits of metal. It's so light and inconspicuous that sometimes I forget that I even have them on. I guess some people don't notice either.

I realised this the other day when I found an old pair of specs that I had hidden in the drawer. They're the bookish kind, the type with the narrow black plastic frames that you often see geeky sorts wear. Suffice to say, these ones are very conspicuous. When I wore them to work this morning, I was surprised by the number of compliments I received from people about how good glasses suit my face and at the same time, confused by their asking if I've always had them before. Uhm, these are people I see every day.

On my lunch break, I popped over to the shops to buy the daily newspaper. Whenever I've come to the store, I always get the same chick at the counter with the dourest disposition. Of the times I've had her ring up the register for my paper, not once has she ever said hello or made any kind of small talk. And forget about her cracking a smile. That would just be one thing too much for her $10 an hour job.

But today when I came to pay, eager to just give her the money and get back to work, I had to stop and stare when she greeted me with not only a "hello" but also with a "how are you?". She was even smiling! I wondered what had caused her to be so friendly. Perhaps she got a raise, perhaps she got up on the right side of the bed that morning, or perhaps someone took pity on her and she got lucky the night before. Whatever it was, I was feeling curious and suspicious by the change in her demeanour. Until she said, "nice glasses".

I couldn't believe it. Can something as innocuous as spectacles really elicit that kind of change in people's reactions? Enough for them to go from Feral Beryl to Flirty Myrtle? I guess if today's experience is anything to go by, perhaps that could really be the case.

I've always considered them a bit of a nuisance but it seems glasses can - and sometimes do - maketh the man.

Monkey + glasses = mildly funny internet fodder

A Bad Day At Work

I will never ever complain about my job again. Ever.

Death And Hot Chocolates

The Sydney trip went well as Jug and I spent a few relaxing days catching up with friends, exploring the city and doing what comes naturally while on holidays: eating, drinking and pretty much bugger-all.

It was a pleasant experience that almost became a distant memory as soon as I got in to work the following day. Aside from the usual pile of crap that I was expecting to be waiting at my desk, I also had to deal with the sad and shocking news that one of our client had recently passed away. It threw me for a loop.

Leah had only recently joined the Club but soon became friends with almost everyone she met including me. She had one of those infectious bubbly personality which you couldn't help but be gravitated to. One of the things that I would remember about her is her fondness for hot chocolates after our training sessions. And she only ever asked me to make it for her. My hot chocolates do kinda rock.

The weirdest thing that keep playing through my head when I learnt that she'd died – aside from not fully believing it despite confirmation from her family – is the conversation we had before I left for the weekend. Leah asked if I was sticking around after the session for our usual post-workout drinks but being short for time and wanting to get some last-minute clothes shopping done, I made some lame excuse and basically lied to her about why I had to leave early. It's such a small thing but still, I can't stop but feel guilty about it.

Death seems to be something that has been prominent in my life of late. An old friend of mine lost his brother from a tragic accident just last month and over the weekend, I learnt that one of the participants died during the City To Surf marathon, the very one that I'd only recently been watching. Now, to know that my client and friend Leah will no longer be asking for my hot chocolates... Well, I find it just strange. Real strange.

Friends And Marathon

So, I'm heading to Sydney this weekend with my friend, Jug. He's a bit of an athlete and does all these crazy sporty stuff like pounding the asphalt, running non-stop for kilometres and wearing really short jogging shorts. Yes, some people have weird fetishes.

On Sunday, he's doing the Sydney City to Surf 15K marathon and I'm going with him for a bit of moral support. So, I'll be cheering and watching. From the hotel balcony. While drinking a glass of champagne.

The other reason for our trip to Sin City is to be there for a friend's birthday. Jim is turning thirty and to his credit, instead of lamenting the beginning of the end of his gay life, is going to celebrate his special day with much gusto. He's kick starting the night off with a Moroccan banquet of at least 10 courses with wine to match, followed by more drinks as we go bar-hopping. It's going to be a different kind of marathon.

This means that I'll just have to eat more than I normally could, drink more than I generally would and look more fabulous than I usually do. Ah, the things I do for my friends.

See y’all at the flipside!

To improve his time in this year's run,
Jug is trialling a new, more aerodynamic running suit.

Another Grumpy Monday

I hate Mondays. In fact, I hate Mondays so much that if it were a person, it would run away crying from the relentless barrage of expletives that I can throw at it. And all before noon.

The reason for my lack of fondness for the start of the working week is more than mere Mondayitis, which, according to recent research, is now merely a psychological illusion borne from those who have had way too much fun over the weekend. Scientists are such killjoys.

No, my hatred of Mondays stems from some serious lack of sleep that has to do with voluntary work that ends way too late on Sunday evening and paid employment that starts way too early the following day. Four hours shut-eye at most. Not even enough time to get some decent snoring action.

It makes for being a cheerful door bitch very, very, very, VERY hard work. But I manage.

That is until "Grumpy Guts Sally" walks through the doors.

Looking like she's just rolled out of bed, Sally enters wearing her trademark crusty-eyed frown and equally crusty demeanour. A friendly question about her health elicits no more than a simple grunt – which is just as well, since seeing her thin-lipped mouth still stained with dried drool would probably kill a small animal when she actually opens it.

Today, I came close to throttling her.

Me: Morning.
Sally: Hmph.
Me: Erm, okay then.
Sally: Well, what’s so good about it anyway?
Me: It's the start of a new day?
Sally: Only for people who get to sleep in.
Me: Maybe – but I don't. And I don't get to sleep until late either.
Sally: That's because you stay out all night partying.
Me: Not at all. I do voluntary work.
Sally: Wait until you have kids. You'll know what sleepless is like.
Me: Up yours, lady.

So, I didn't really say that last part, but boy, if I was already a millionaire and wasn't working hard to sustain my childless lifestyle, well, she would have been like Monday running away.

Whatever You Do...

...don't click this link.

www.lemonparty.org

No, really. Don't.

Should It Stay Or Should It Go?

So, I've been contemplating for a while now whether I should close my other "regular" blog and just continue on with this one, Joshua's.

Aside from my increasingly busy work schedule and general inability to find more time in the day, the pressure of keeping up with two blogs as well as my regular print columns is proving a little too much to handle. It's probably what's causing my worsening problems with stringing words and sentences.

Those who have been reading from the very beginning, aside from being deserving of a gold star, would know that this whole second "secret" postings all started because I needed a place to write without the need for censorship. Mainly, I needed a medium where I can bitch and moan about certain individuals without them being privy to my rantings.

This was all meant to be temporary. A passing phase. But instead, I found that it really fit - and I likes it. Joshua is me, and that other one, the self-titled one, well, it used to be me. Somehow, over the course, that blog became a little too manufactured; less a reflection of who I really am and more of what my online persona had become. And besides, my friend Jug said that he's gotten boring. Joshua is where the interest is at.

Which bring me to today's dilemma: I've kept both blogs out of obligation to my readers and because of their history but one really must be closed. And the delete button is pointed at the other. I just can't bring myself to press it.

So, what do you think I should do: should it stay or should it go?

(I realise I'm totally making mountains out of molehills here, but right now, this is my Everest. Help me scale it.)

There's Always One...

Okay, so I know everyone, including myself, is still recovering from the Catholic lovefest that was World Youth Day (which is in itself a stupid title for something that dragged on for a whole WEEK) and are officially on Pope-overload but I couldn't resist sharing this photo.





Feel the force, you religious bitches.

Off To The Movies

The Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF) starts this Friday and for a movie nut like myself, it's going to be the start of an exciting few weeks.

I love a good cinema lovefest and although I've missed much of the past few years' showing, I try and make the most of what I actually go and see. It usually becomes a night out with coffees, drinks or meals. Sometimes before AND after the show. This year is no different and what's more, it looks like I'm going to be catching up with a few peeps, especially with long-time online bud, Evol.

So, after pouring over the guide, buying the mini-pass and booking the sessions, I'm now set for this year's festival.

Check out below the list of films I'm watching - all TWELVE of them.

DAY OF THE DEAD
Gore becomes almost conceptual art in this third (and unduly underestimated) chapter of the 'Dead' series. Written as a colossal finale to the series, but downsized at the last minute due to budget cuts, it's quintessential Romero at his most minimal, effective and ferociously visionary.

FUNNY GAMES
After arriving at their lakeside summerhouse, a middle-class family of three are besieged by two young men. The merciless pair challenges the family to a series of 'games', and make them a chilling bet: that they will not survive the next 12 hours.

DEAD ON: THE LIFE AND CINEMA OF GEORGE A. ROMERO
Director Rusty Nails explores Romero's work, life and methods in this documentary, drawing on interviews with filmmakers and artists including Dennis Hopper, Stephen King, John Carpenter, Dario Argento, Wim Wenders, Danny Boyle, John Waters, Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez and many others.

THE CRAZIES
A plane crash in Evans City leads to a poisonous spill in the local water supply. To contain the plague and keep things under wraps Washington sends in a sinister, brutal force in white decontamination suits and black masks. Caught between two horrors, the infected town fights back.

SHALL WE KISS?
When Gabriel and Emilie meet, both know that feelings are building up between them; the politeness of their encounter is overshadowed by the kiss that seems to be waiting at the end of the evening. But both have partners and, as Emilie explains, no kiss is innocent. Box-office smash French film.

SLINGSHOT
A fast-paced swoop into the streets of Manila, Slingshot follows the lives of a group of tiradors -or 'slingshots' - local slang for petty thieves who operate the streets, stealing, fighting and avoiding the police. Multiple award winner, including the Caligari Film Award at the 2008 Berlin International Film Festival.

DONKEY PUNCH
Making his feature filmmaking debut, Olly Blackburn gathers a cast of beautiful people for an orgiastic ocean voyage that goes horribly wrong. When some sexy young holidaymakers get together for a cruise on a luxury yacht off the coast of Spain, the scene is set for a drug, booze and sex filled romp. But things take a darker turn, one that soon sees the boat's inhabitants turn viciously on one another.

THE AMAZING TRUTH ABOUT QUEEN RAQUELA
Raquela Rios has a dream: to make it all the way to Paris, to meet her Prince Charming and to settle down into a life of luxury. But Paris is a long way from the streets of Cebu City in the Philippines and Raquela is a transsexual prostitute - the odds, it seems, are stacked against her. Winner of the Teddy Award for Best Feature at the 2008 Berlin Film Festival.

STRANGERS
Israeli Eyal and Palestinian Rana are two strangers who, in normal circumstances, would never meet. But a chance event sees their lives intertwine when, in Berlin for the World Cup finals, they accidentally swap bags on the subway. This twist of fate leads them to spend three days together amongst the roaring soccer crowds, falling for each other even as the second Israel-Lebanon war erupts in the distant Middle-East.

BOY A
After his released from jail into a bewildering adult world, 24-year-old Jack is given a new name, a new job, a new home and a new life. But when his heroic actions thrust him into the media spotlight his anonymity begins to crumble, and Jack is forced to contend with his past - and the monstrous crime he committed. Winner of the Jury Prize at this year's Berlin International Film Festival, and a multiple nominee at the BAFTA Awards.

DIARY OF THE DEAD
Taking a shot at Zack Snider's accelerated version of the living dead, Romero returns for the fifth time to his own franchise with a trip back to the future. A film full of energy, as close as ever to Night of the Living Dead yet rooted in our own new media culture. Shooting for the first time in HD, Romero constructs Diary through the lenses (two videocameras and one cell phone) of a group of students caught in the zombie invasion - while shooting a Mummy movie.

OTTO; OR, UP WITH DEAD PEOPLE
Filmmaking provocateur Bruce LaBruce's (The Raspberry Reich) latest film features a hoodie-wearing zombie, Otto, who reticently rises from the grave and wanders the gay clubs of Berlin. In his journey of self-discovery he stumbles across an underground filmmaker, participates in a documentary about himself and attempts to reconnect with a former boyfriend, with disastrous results.


So, what are you watching this year?

Like A Wave of Japanese Locals

I'm battling a really terrible case of blogger's block so bad that I feel like a solitary figure trying to make my way through a huge wave of hyped up Japanese locals on the run like they've had a bad serving of raw sashimi.

I just can't string a decent sentence nor simile together.

So, in the meantime, have a peek at this video and get yourself entertained by... well, you'll see. Enjoy.

Blonde Busty Buxom To The Rescue

I just sat through the last hour of Big Brother and watched as Pamela Anderson, she of the busty buxom, made her much-announced entrance into the house. I feel like a million of my brain cells have just suicided.

There's obviously something about this show that I don't get but every other moronic idiots who were loudly screaming in the studio audience that do. (Apologies to those who were doing the same in the comforts of their lounge room.) But seriously, what is it? Is it voyeurism? The contemporarised and popularised study of human nature? Or just plain entertainment? I can understand how the first two may play a large part in the appeal of such shows but entertaining is definitely something I don't agree with. I found the whole thing utterly boring.

Earlier in the day, I saw a televised media conference of Ms Anderson being interviewed by the journos and press. When asked how much she was getting paid to be a part of the series, the blonde one played coy but implied that it could be in the six-figure sum. Seriously?! That's a lot of money for someone who doesn't really have any thing to do with the program apart from the shameless ratings grab that would ensue from her appearance. Still, I know plenty of "celebrities" who would do the same for far less.

Surely there's a point where the cost to one's self-identity far outweighs that of the price being paid for such things. Prostitution is a term that seems almost applicable here.

Anyway, I've intellectualised far too much something that doesn't really deserve to be. After all, we're talking forgettably mediocre trash TV fodder that's hosted by the fat and ugly Kyle Sandilands. It's a wonder the bloody thing rates at all..............

And now, I guess, I understand why the producers brought in Pamela.

Appetite

Here I am apologising again for neglecting my blogging duties in spite of only about two or three of you guys out there actually reading. Still, I like to take care of my peeps.

The reason for the lack of updates? I've had the biggest CBF week in my life. Ever.

So much that I've lost appetite for everything, including that thing that men are meant to have on their minds every seven seconds or so... and gay men, oh, every three. Nate messaged me about half-a-dozen times during the week wanting to hook up, once even inviting me to go for a dip in his spa. But even the prospect of some wet (water sports) fun couldn't budge my stupor.

Work has been pretty boring, too, and socially, well, not much of that happening either. Despite the numerous invites for drinks and outings, I've been sequestered at home, watching endless episodes of the Golden Girls, thanks to a complete series of DVDs ordered via Amazon. Yes, I'm moving ever closer to being a spinster forever.

But where my appetite has abated is some areas, it has come back with a vengeance in others... especially where it truly applies. Food!

Pizza, lasagna, chocolates and biscuits. A bag of potato chips at every sitting. A whole apple pie with a tub of ice cream. Sometimes with custard sauce, sometimes with maple syrup. I'm seriously close to forfeiting my Sexy Bitch card and swapping it for a name badge at an Overeaters Anonymous. Can you imagine?

"Hello, my name is Joshua. And I'm a potato crisp and apple pie addict."

There really aren't any good reasons why I should be binging or feeling this way. I'm not depressed, not unemployed, not socially-disabled, nor am I lacking sex. I don't know why I feel this desire to stuff my face constantly and to be honest, nor do I care. I guess I should, but, well, at the moment, I really Can't Be Farked!

In the meantime, though, I have more episodes of the Girls to go and I think I spotted one last bag of crisps sitting in the pantry.

Behold! My self-portrait as I type out this post.
My tan is just horrible this time of the year.

Hiring And Firing

Whether through sheer dumb luck, good looks or actually being good at what I do, I now find myself in a position where I'm responsible for a whole department at work. Basically, I'm tasked at heading up and coordinating a whole horde of Fitness Instructors as well as managing the gamut of classes we run at the Health Club. It's an interesting role and a not-at-all-insignificant step from being the plain Ass Whipper and Door Bitch that was yours truly's previous job description.

Being the Coordinator is fun work and one of the most enjoyable things about this new role is being able to hire new employees. It's empowering to have the ability to bring in new talent on board and provide someone that much-needed opportunity. I know from previous experiences of looking for employment, it's often a daunting task to front up and go through interviews hoping to land that job you're applying for. It's nice - and surreal - to be on the other side of that.

But there's also the flip side; the worst thing about this job. And that also involves dealing with employees but in this case, instead of hiring them, I'm firing them. Fortunately, I haven't had to do many of these but the very first time that I had the responsibility to do so didn't pan out so well.

An Instructor that had been at the Club for a number of years had been on the receiving end of some very negative feedback for several months. Basically, the poor girl is no longer motivating nor inspiring in her classes to the point that attendances in her sessions have dropped from twenty per class to four, the latter being her die-hard groupies. Several attempts at coaching and training didn't improve her lacklustre performance and when it was time to let her know that she was being dropped, she instigated a boycott which affected not only the Club but several other employees. She got very bitter, very quickly, and attacked yours truly personally for something that was done solely in the name of business and without a personal agenda. Anyway, that whole sorry saga is now sorted and last I heard, that particular Instructor has also been dropped at other Centres for her divisive attitude. I think she's a check-out chick now.

Anyway, so it was with some trepidation that I had to do the same thing again this week and let someone else know that we're no longer needing his services. Agonizing all week at the best way to approach the issue, I almost worked myself into a state and even started feeling ill at the thought of having to do it. When the time finally came and I sat the Instructor aside for "the chat", I mumbled so much that it was surprising that the guy actually understood what I had said. In fact, he felt so sorry for me that he started apologising - the person who was firing him! In the end, it worked out that he already knew what was coming and was only waiting for me to do something. He thanked me for giving him the opportunity to work at the Club and also for being so considerate of his feelings. When he came in today for his final session, he even brought in a cake to celebrate. How nice is that?!

So, yes, this job is definitely fun and sometimes, it proves to be very interesting.

And as for Instructor, well, I'll definitely be sorry to see his arse go, and I mean that literally. The guy teaches Cycle and has buns the shape of peaches. Now that he's no longer an employee, I wonder if he's single.............

Age Shall Not Weary... Maybe

So lately the kind of things that used to give me a real buzz hasn't.

For example, instead of slapping me awake, coffee has actually been making me drowsy. I figure it's the warm milk that's been causing it and not because I'm now immune to caffeine. Beer doesn't seem to have the same kick anymore either, but that could be due to my liver now becoming very good at metabolising the alcohol instead of, you know, being slowly killed by it. And even crack doesn't trip me up the same way as it did before... Well, okay, so that last bit is a lie. I'd never ever do crack.

But I have had the occasional recreational party drug. And so when some E were offered at a party this past weekend, I decided to partake in the pill-popping, buoyed especially by an already extra debaucherous time had.

Now, it's been years since I last got high on the white tablet but I do remember feeling it within minutes. So, it was with some disappointment that after half-an-hour of taking half-a-pill, downed with bourbon no less, I still wasn't feeling tripped up. Instead, I got very sleepy. Must have been some cheap shit.

I would have gone and punched the guy in the face for selling me useless crap, but, well, by that stage my back was feeling a bit stiff. So, instead, I laid down and fell asleep.

Bah. Crazy kids.

Not An 80s Teen Flick

I caught this video clip of The Presets' newie, This Boy's In Love, and must admit that I really like it. Apart from the trip-hop scintillating tunes, I like the whole aggressive yet homoerotic theme of the two guys duking it out.

It reminded me of this jock I befriended when I was back in High School.

I was, for want of a better word, a nerd who was hopeless at sports and almost failed Phys Ed due to lack of effort and, erm, attendance. Basically, I cut class as much as I can to avoid not kicking the footy, not shooting basketball and not swinging the cricket bat. You get the point.

In my year level was Brad who was great at sports but hopeless with his Literature. He wasn't in my circle of friends and I wasn't in his, but over detention, we met each other and somehow became study partners.

(Yes, okay, so this is all starting to sound very much like an 80s teen flick, but trust me, Molly Ringwald doesn't star in this one.)

Eventually, Brad and I became very good friends. At the time, my feet were still firmly stuck in the closet while my head tentatively poked out the door. I knew which way I was swinging. But I still didn't dare come out. After all, this was a school located in the western ghetto. I liked being alive.

I don't know if he sensed it but I soon found I liked Brad more than a mate. It wasn't hard not to. He was tall, a jock, friendly, a jock, fairly good-looking, a jock, and we spent a lot of time together. He was also a jock.

One late evening studying at Brad's place, we were laid out on his bed pouring over a Lit text that needed to be analysed. We were on our stomach with shoulders touching reading this book. The closeness was getting to me and I was finding it *very hard* to concentrate. To relieve the building tension, I playfully shoved Brad over with my shoulder. He looked at me surprised but shoved back. I hit him harder in return. Before you know it, we were jumping on his bed, pushing each other. It ended up into a wrestling session between the two of us, with one trying to pin the other down.

Eventually, we stopped. We were both kneeling on the bed, our chests heaved, breaths panted, clothes messed up and barely on. We looked at each other for the longest time, just staring. All I wanted to do was to grab Brad and plant him some big ones - but then he cracked a smile and we soon fell into a heap of laughter. The tension dissipating. Nothing more happened that evening and nothing more would happen since.

It's been a very long time since I last heard from Brad but I'll always remember that night. Two teenage boys raunchily wrestling in bed, aggressive and homoerotic..............

Gay Porky's anyone?

Shoot The Shit

For the last couple of weeks - probably even longer - I've been feeling this kind of restlessness that, I guess, has come from familiarity and routine. It's not anything bad but it has been gradually gnawing at me to the point that now it seems there isn't anything else but it.

As a result, I feel this boredom and staleness with things that I once used to feel quite excited about: work, hobbies, even writing. Is this the doldrums? Sometimes, I feel this urge just to yell. But since I don't do screaming (I laughed my head off throughout the theme park rides while everyone else broke their voice boxes), I went drinking and binging instead.

My mate Jug spent last night with me in camaraderie as we hoed into a large pizza and did my best to down a bottle of Jimmy while he polished off a bottle of wine. At the same time, we watched this movie called "Across The Universe". It's a quirky, indie-ish musical set during the 60s at the height of the Vietnam War that I can only best describe as a cross between Rent, Grease, even High School Musical, tripped up on acid.

I think it was halfway during one of the film's song and dance number set in a dark and dingy underground New York bar when Jug turned to me and asked how exciting it would have been if we were both in our twenties during the 60s. That set off a spirited conversation on the kind of shenanigans we could have gotten up to. Pretty much the same kind that we do now: drinking, dancing, picking up boys.

That's the thing I really like about Jug. I didn't tell him why I felt like stuffing my face and getting trolleyed but he went along with it anyway. I sensed that he knew something was up and yet still didn't feel the need to prod and ask. But that's not to say that he wouldn't pull me up when I deserved it. He's already done that. In fact, I would have gotten myself in plenty more trouble if it wasn't for him. He's saved my arse from embarrassment many times.

The rest of the night was spent half watching the movie, half talking and trying to keep ourselves from chucking up the alcohol and junk we'd consumed. Eventually, I'd had enough and dragged myself to the spare bed that Jug had made. Waking up this morning, I didn't feel like the world had magically changed nor the things that niggled at me only yesterday had completely disappeared, but still, I felt a little better.

Sometimes you don't really need anything complicated or profound to find the kind of solace that's sorely needed. Sometimes all it really takes is to shoot the shit with your best mate.

Sun-kissed And Water-buffed

The next time I'm back at the Gold Coast, I'm bringing binoculars.

It's fascinating to see the kind of things residents in high rise buildings get up to when they think - presumably - that no one is watching. I watched amazed one evening as a couple across the way went for it in the bathtub then in the shower. And when they were done, the guy - who even from afar I could see was buffed and well-endowed - stood in front of the window rubbing himself dry with the towel first behind his back and then between his crotch, all the while his penis bobbed up and down like an over-zealous pendulum. Unfortunately, I couldn't make out whether his was cut or not.

I spent the long weekend up north in Queensland with the family for a mini-getaway and to do the Holy Trinity of theme parks: Sea World, Movie World and Dream World. It's something we've always talked about but never got around to doing until now. To be honest, I didn't really think much of going at first since the thought of spending four days with snotty kids and daggy rides didn't at all seem appealing. But I had fun.

I like Queensland. Much more than I like Sydney. It feels closer to the laid back vibe and culture of Melbourne and, of course, with all the extra benefits of sun, surf and sun-kissed, water-buffed boys. And boy, were there plenty of 'em! Nowhere else had I ever seen a Micky Dees full of boardies-wearing, topless guys instead of the fat, tracksuit wearing mob that usually populate the place. Not for the first time that weekend was I salivating for something more than a Big Mac.

As for the theme parks, they were exhausting but I made sure to get my money's worth and went on almost all the rides. I did the Corkscrew twice at Sea World and at Movie World, Superman Escape was followed straight by the Lethal Weapon rollercoaster. I think a little bit of pee came out from that. At Dream World, the last theme park, I rode the Tower of Terror... and no, that isn't a reference to John Holmes and his (in)famous phallic member.

Apart from that, went out Saturday night to Cavill St Mall and Orchard Avenue, which looked to be the nightlife strip at Surfers Paradise. Part King St, part Chapel St with hints of St Kilda's Fitzroy St, it was filled with bars, strip joints, really good shopping and drunk men with great arms and pot bellies. Strange. Would have liked for a bit of beach-flavoured holiday fling but I was with sister and brother-in-law so felt the need to behave.

And lastly, at our hotel was the most delectable porter who looked like he stepped out of an aussieBum catalogue. Dark cropped hair, piercing blue eyes, delicious golden tan and an obviously pretty banging body underneath his thin cotton uniform. When he took my luggage, the bottom of his top lifted to reveal a surf-toned six-pack abs with a light snail trail. I wondered how much of a tip I needed to give for the kind of room service they don't advertise on the Guest Directory........

On my last day, I went to the beach and cooled off in the waters of the Pacific Ocean. It was freezing but I persisted. It helped. You know what I mean?

A Lazy Blogger's Post

Okay, so I haven't actually been completely lazy, more pre-occupied, but that still doesn't excuse my whole week's lack of blogging duties. Won't offer any excuses but just say that my lack of activity here also reflects those of my, erm, carnal ones. Mainly, still no follow up action with tall and fair fly boy. Hmmm.

Anyway, here are a few videos that caught my eye during the week. Enjoy!

Watch: Chas & Rove Pash
Chaser Chas taking Rove to task with his infamous interview question: who would you turn gay for? Hot.




See: [REC]
Blair Witch meets 28 Days Later is how this Spanish zombie-horror has been described. I have my own: pants-pooing scary. Bring it.




Listen: No One Takes A Bow
I love a good mash-up and this latest from Norwegian Recycling appeals to my closet pop-addict heart.




Play...
Erm, just watch it.

Bitch, Bitch, Whore

I'm both bemused and annoyed to realise that it's practically hump day. Where have the days gone?

I went into work on Monday morning thinking that I'd have a pretty lazy day ahead after a quick stint whipping arse and being a door bitch only to find that I wasn't only covering for one person, but two. Result: a 50-hour work week. I guess it's small potatoes to be complaining about but you see, I'm used to doing not more than thirty-five each week.

Anyway, enough whining. How was your weekend? Mine proved interesting.

The media conference that I attended on Friday blew out to an all day slash nighter event that I can now say with a bit of authority that as exciting as it may first sound, covering entertainment biz is not all that it's cracked up to be. In fact, it can really suck. I won't go on with the ordeal as I've already covered this in detail on my other blog. For those of you in the know, head over there now. The rest who don't... well, I've got something else for you. Keep reading.

The other thing I did on the weekend? My meet up with the 6'3" Air Force hunk. Yep, he's that tall and yes, he's associated with the armed services. The other crucial bit: this really was a meet up and not to be confused with a date.

Believe it or not, as much as I've acted like my blog's namesake in the past, I've never been one to meet potentials purely for sex. Sure, I've had the random casual encounters but these have often been spontaneous occurrences, mostly fueled by alcohol. So, the drinks with the boy on Saturday was a totally new experience.

The initial meet started at a quirky alternative pub 30 minutes away from where we both live. Despite the numerous messages and phone calls we've already exchanged I was still adamant about seeing personally before we did the deed under the sheets. In all fairness, I would feel weird being with a guy who would be willing to do so without first seeing me in person. Is that being too cerebral about something that should really be just plain animalistic?

I guess he sensed my apprehension since one of the first things he said when we finally shook hands was, "So ready to run away yet?". Self-deprecating humour, check. And that wasn't the only thing that got the boxes ticked. He looked as his photos did, he could carry a conversation, and more importantly, he found me yummy. In any case, we didn't stay at the venue long as after a few glasses of Jack's and coke, we were soon doing a combo back to his.

A few more drinks, a bit more chat and then our clothes were off and we were swapping spit. It's unusual for a guy to be so big but to be so gingerly sensitive at the same time. It wasn't mind-blowing sex but it was... nice. Scratch that. It was fucking sensual. Strange but not in the unpleasant kinda way.

But the strangest thing of all actually came from me. Soon as the whole deed was done, I made my excuse to leave. No after-glow cuddling, no sleeping over. It was goodbye, see you later and into car. As I drove into the night, back to the comforts of my own bed, I couldn't help but think that there's a whole new side of me that I'm about to discover.

Weekend To-Do-List

Hi Team,

Just a quick update before the weekend rolls around:

• Off to my first media conference early Friday morning to interview two A-list overseas male celebrities who are here for a concert that I'll also be reviewing and seeing for free later in the day.
  
• Weekend steak dinner with the family to celebrate Mum and Dad's 29th Wedding Anniversary.
• Watching the new Indy flick in Gold Class, courtesy of work's complimentary passes.
• And catching up with a 6'3" Air Force spunk for drinks - and whatever else that may happen. You'd probably remember him. His name is Nate.
  

So yes, as you can see, I'm going to be pretty busy.

See you after the wash-up.

The Day After The Night Before, or Drunk Texting Fallout

From: Nate <+61401555555>
To: Joshua <+61410555555>

Hey. How's the head today. I'm just checking to see that you remember how you offered yourself to me last night?



From: Joshua <+61410555555>
To: Nate <+61401555555>

The pounding's stopped. But need a bit more sleep to feel human again. I have the txt msgs to remind me of last nite, so yes i do remember... embarrassingly.



From: Nate <+61401555555>
To: Joshua <+61410555555>

I didn't mind tho. I wont keep you awake. Just wanted to make sure you weren't regretting calling me.



From: Joshua <+61410555555>
To: Nate <+61401555555>

Not at all... s'long that you don't. Now if only i could remember the whole conversation. Erm so yes, sorry.



From: Nate <+61401555555>
To: Joshua <+61410555555>

Not at all. I'm just spewing i had to say no. Would love to had know what could have happened.



From: Joshua <+61410555555>
To: Nate <+61401555555>

Haha. Yes, that would have been interesting.



From: Nate <+61401555555>
To: Joshua <+61410555555>

Well, here's hoping, hey.



From: Joshua <+61410555555>
To: Nate <+61401555555>

Sure.

Who the fuck is Nate???

Don't Throw Your Supermarket Plastic Bags Away...

...recycle it!

I Did It

It took most of the weekend and half a bottle of Southern Comfort, but I did it. Actually, I drank a bit more of the stuff that my mouth still feels like sarsaparilla overload. Nasty.

Anyway, here it is.

So much effort and stress for 10 cents per word - but fark, I'm loving it!

-----

Commercials, Movies and Relationships

We are a product of the times.

In this day and age of 24/7 consumerism and materialism, round-the-clock communication and constant access, we have become a society much too used to knowing that what we want and when we want it is usually but a click away. Instant gratification delivered straight to the door.

And this modern day affliction seems to have manifested itself in surprising ways.

Pete Burns has recently commented that "gay relationships are a commercial break, not a whole movie."

The bisexual, cross-dressing Dead Or Alive singer observed that when it comes to gay men and their capacity to have any form of long-lasting and meaningful relationships, we are a lot to be lambasted. "The relationships I'm aware of...," he goes on, "it's as though there's some kind of emotional inadequacy or narcissism, where they feel emotionally inadequate and need more validation."

Burns definitely has reasons to be resentful, having split with his husband of 10 months due to infidelity. But forget for a moment that these bitter words are coming from a man scorned. Is he right? Are gay men simply too emotionally-stunted, too self-serving to be capable of being faithful and exclusive? Is the sexual liberty that we enjoy dooming that very thing that we so desperately want?

There seems to be a generally held cynicism within the community at large when it comes to the integrity and durability of gay relationships. That old joke that for every year of a gay relationship equals seven is one that gets plenty of mileage. Why is it that some gay men out there hoping for an Affair To Remember are getting a Sean Cody snippet instead? Do we all have a debilitating short attention span quicker than a New York minute?

I only have to look at my friend and his partner to think otherwise.

"The reason why most relationships don't work – gay or straight – is because the people involved in it don't want to make it work," Scotti explained. "If we gays, no, correction – if we men tried keeping our dicks in our pants and only getting it out for our partners, relationships might just work."

Scotti and Trevor should know. Meeting in their teens, the two have been together for close to ten years. Both have been through plenty; what began as an adolescent kind of romance has developed into something mature and nurturing and still going strong.

"Ours may be an exceptional relationship, but it isn't rare," Trevor continues, "and it still needs the same things now that it did before: trust and respect – and plenty of patience."

So sure, there may be the bit part players out there who are making short stints in the relationship reel, but there are also the enduring stars, like Scotti and Trevor, who are proving that gay relationships can last longer than a flick of Titanic proportions.

After all, it's not in the length of the movie that ultimately dictates its success; it's in the strength of the characters and the parts that they play.

Just don't ask Pete.

Fraud And Fluff

I feel like such a fraud.

For the last two days, I've sat in front of this notebook *trying* very hard to type out my next article for the magazine I write for. Still, I'm yet to come up with anything remotely thought-provoking, entertaining, let alone, coherent for print.

My biggest problem is that I'm really not that opinionated. My laid back and open nature - which I normally think of as one of my strongest trait - doesn't lend itself very well to being an "Opinion" columnist. Whilst the other scribes in the same publication often write about current issues and events, such as gay marriage, legislation changes and human rights issues, in a witty and pointed manner, I'm penning articles on personal experiences and reflections that may not necessarily have any particular relevance to the readers and the community at large.

And so, I feel that not only am I failing to come up with the goods but that I'm increasingly pigeon-holing myself as a writer of no impact or significance. Like the very last piece on a weeknight news broadcast, full of fluff. If so, I'd rather not write at all.

So, now it's Saturday night and for the last two days, I've been trying to come up with something not only worth reading, but something fresh and something new. I don't really want to be digging again into my back-catalogue of blog posts.

There are two topics I've been toying with: the brevity of gay relationships OR scat and dating. Which would you choose?

The column is due Monday, before 9am. Wish me luck.

Holy Shit!

Fletcher Says

Fletcher left for Sydney yesterday. He'd been staying at mine for a whole week while organising his move down south. In all honesty, I couldn't wait for him to go back home. It sounds terribly harsh, but I found living with him very difficult.

I've never met anyone so self-assured at the same time so conflicted with their self-identity as much as Fletcher. He makes this worse by eschewing strong opinions about things that totally contradicts himself. I think that's what I found most frustrating about him: the things that he says. Oh, and the fact that he is a constant name-dropper.

On Dating:
Fletcher: I'd never date an Asian guy. I'm more into the rough, white dudes.
Joshua: Why, what's wrong with Asians?
Fletcher: I dunno. I just want a real guy.
Joshua: Erm, you're Asian, Fletcher, and you're a real guy.
Fletcher: Yeah, but you know what I mean.

On Picking Up:
F: I don't understand why I never get picked up at clubs. It's so frustrating. Maybe it's because I'm Asian. I hate that.
J: Yeah, but didn't you also say that you wouldn't even date your own? So, why are you pissed off?
F: Well, that's different. I'm different.

On Friends:
F: I don't like adding too many Asians on my Facebook friends list. I try to get away from that whole thing.
J: What's wrong with having lots of Asian friends?
F: You know, I want a bit of variety.

On Employment:
F: I work for X Fashion Label on the weekends.
J: That's cool. You design clothes for them?
F: No, I sell their couture.
J: So, it's clothes retail?
F: No, it's Fashion.

On Synergy:
F: I love my soon-to-be housemates. We had this really awesome synergy.
J: Good to hear.
F: Yeah, and they work in the industry, too.
J: What industry?
F: The Fashion industry. They work for Y & Z labels.
J: They design their clothes?
F: No, they sell them.

Under The Weather

Long weekend was interesting.

It was Anzac Day on Friday and despite it being a public holiday, I actually worked. In fact, I worked longer hours than usual since I covered for someone who took the day off. I didn't mind. I need the cash.

Late that night, I went to a party and got drunk. Very drunk. Swore like a sailor and danced like a slut kinda drunk. Of course, I couldn't remember a thing the next day, but suspiciously, I woke up finding cuts and bruises on my knees. Happened again.

Saturday, I spent trying to recover from a major hangover, which was made exponentially worse by the fact that I had to be at work. Surrounded by little children. Snooty dance student children. With their stage mothers. Passively aggressive, incessantly demanding mothers. Lucky I left my shotgun at home.

Sunday was a long day. I got up early to pick up a friend from the airport who is staying for a week. Fletcher is moving down to Melbourne from Sydney for a "culture change" and to further his career in the fashion industry. He's a wonderful guy but sometimes his extrovertness really grates. He's too friendly, too in your face and too upbeat. Am I being a fuddy-duddy to think that way? I know there's nothing wrong with him but the thought of his staying with me for a whole week really frustrates me. I'm trying to feel otherwise but having had heartburns and headaches since Saturday hasn't helped. I really hate being under the weather.

Speaking of which, this video was a saving grace over the weekend. Mr Gay Weatherman made me laugh so much, milk came out of my nose.

I was having breakfast and eating cereals at the time.

Try To Keep Up

One day, Joshua meets Jacob and the two unlikely duo become friends. Meanwhile, Joshua begins to get to know Raoul and introduces him to Jacob. Raoul is from out of town. At the same time, Chris arrives on the scene and befriends Joshua. He just arrived in the city.

When Raoul pays Joshua and Jacob a visit, he brings along friends, Zac and Daniel. The five boys go out for the night, with Chris tagging along. Zac mentions to Raoul that he finds Jacob interesting, but sadly nothing happens between the two. Meanwhile, Joshua introduces Chris to Daniel and the two hit it off. They're not seen again for the rest of the evening. The next day, the three out-of-towners go back home. Chris and Daniel remain friends.

Some time later, Joshua and Jacob meet Simon at a social group. He is a nice boy, similar to Joshua. Simon has a friend named Michael and is introduced to the two. Joshua and Jacob think that they be something between Simon and Michael but neither can be sure. Michael goes out and spends some time with Joshua and Jacob, but after a while, he goes back to his on-again, off-again boyfriend, Brad, and disappears. Meanwhile, Simon is introduced to Chris and he becomes part of the group, but not before Chris chastises Simon for flirting with partnered Michael.

Joshua and Jacob visit Raoul. At the same time, they catch up with Zac and Daniel. Daniel introduces his friend Sammy. Sammy is hyperactive, but he seems like a nice guy. He tells Joshua and Jacob that he'll come visit them in their city.

A week later. Sammy arrives and catches up with Jacob. Joshua is unavailable. Jacob shows Sammy around the city. Sammy meets Billy who is introduced to Jacob. Jacob finds Billy attractive. Billy needs a new place to stay. He is from out of town, too. Jacob remembers Chris mentioning that he needs a new roommate. Jacob brings Billy around to Chris' house and the two hit it off. Billy moves in. Sammy goes home.

Meanwhile, Chris tells Simon about his new roommate. Simon comes around to meet Billy. He finds him attractive, too. Simon begins to flirt with Billy, knowing that Jacob liked him first. Jacob and Simon come to blows. Jacob feels Simon didn't respect him while Simon doesn't see anything wrong with what he did. Billy remains unawares and Chris finds the whole thing amusing. Joshua watches silently from the sidelines.

Simon's friend, Lars, arrives from out of town and he is introduced to Chris. Lars has a boyfriend back home. The three spend Saturday night drinking at Simon's house. Simon sleeps at the guest bed, while Chris and Lars sleep in his. Simon wakes up in the middle of the night hearing Chris and Lars fucking. Simon is not happy but doesn't confront either. Lars goes back home the next day and Simon confronts Chris. The two come to blows. Simon feels Chris didn't respect him while Chris doesn't see anything wrong with what had happened. Jacob finds the whole thing amusing and Joshua still watches from the sidelines. It is unsure whether Lars remains unawares.

Cue today. Joshua and Jacob are still friends but as for the rest of the group, well, that seems up in the air.

Confused? Me, too.

Training For Melons

So about October of last year, I was in pretty serious training mode trying to look my best for an upcoming holiday. I was motivated. I was determined. And aside from the occasional slip with alcohol and a handful of chocolates now and then, I was pretty disciplined. I was resolute on achieving my super fantastic gym body.

And I got there; stripping my body fat levels down to single figures as well as putting on a few kilos of pure muscle on my relatively small frame. It took lots of sweats, plenty of grunts and a heap load of persistence. It was the best I've ever looked.

Now, fast forward six months and I find a softer, fatter and a much lazier version of my former fabulous pre-holiday self.

It's not like I didn't try. I jumped straight onto the gym floor pretty much as soon as I'd stepped off the plane to get rid of the excess holiday baggage. I pumped the same weights. I ran on the same treadmills. I went to the same aerobic classes. But nothing.

No improvements, no change in the last three months since jumping back on that fitness wagon. If anything, I'd gotten worse. When not out eating junk and imbibing beer, you could probably find me actually training. Even then, it's only half-heartedly and only once or twice a week. The problem is that I no longer had anything to work towards. Sure, there's my health as the ultimate goal, but I need something more tangible. A definite line on the horizon.

This is where my friend Simon comes in. A budding photographer, he is looking to diversify his portfolio of landscape shots to include studies of portraits and human movement images.

Simon: Can you help me?
Me: With what?
Simon: Can you be one of my models for a new portfolio?
Me: Erm...
Simon: C'mon, please, I'm desperate!
Me: Well, since you make it sound so enticing...
Simon: Thanks!
Me: What is it exactly that I need to pose for?
Simon: Oh, I'm gonna surround you with fruit. And you're gonna be semi-naked. It'll be awesome. You still workout, right?
Me: Well, more or less...

I'm on my second day of a strict training regime.

I'm sore, I'm tired and damn, I'm hungry. But boy, I feel fantastic. I'm motivated again and I'm feeling that same crazy passion for the gym I had months ago. Just as well. I only have 12 weeks to get the temple looking good again... or Simon is gonna have a hard time finding watermelons in the middle of winter, you know, to hide all the flab.

Sure, he's smiling. But the bastard already looks lean...
and clothed.