Joshua's Loose Lips

Celebratory

2009-11-24T22:56:00.005+11:00

There's a part of me - and a huge one at that - that thinks it absolutely crazy that in a few hours time, I'm turning thirty. Who would have thunk it?

Really, I'm surprised that I've even made it this far, considering the amount of times I've entertained the fantasy of dying before anyone else in my family. I realise that this is some borderline institutionalised crazy behaviour but part of me has always had this notion in the back of my mind. Perhaps it's a relic from years past of growing up in a dysfunctional family; not to mention dealing with a sexuality that was yet-to-be widely accepted, let alone spoken about.

But I digress.

Tonight, as I celebrate the last few hours of my 20s with a bottle of wine, some candlelight and my own solitary company, I can't help but feel happiness that I haven't previously felt before. I've made it. I'm well, I'm healthy and I feel fulfilled.

In spite of the fact that many I speak to - usually those of the younger generation - bemoan the death of my own "youth", I feel particularly excited about entering my "dirty thirties". I can sense the endless possibilities. And boy, will it be fun!

So here's to being formally considered an adult, to leaving the heady youth of the 20s and to welcoming the rockin' 30s that's about to unfold.

Happy birthday, me!

Anger Stage

2009-11-20T15:30:00.004+11:00

I'm not going to preface this post except to say FUCK! That pretty much sums up at how upset I am from the email I received this morning.

I got an email from my editor who summarily told me that they no longer need my column. Seems I've been bumped off for more 'arts articles' space. I'm a little annoyed that it was so sudden - I didn't even get a chance to write a vale piece - but mostly, I'm feeling sad that after all this time - more than 40 issues and just short of two years - it's over. Just like that.

No warnings. No further explanations. No chance to say goodbye. I knew it was going to happen at some stage - I'm under no allusions as to my longevity of being a columnist for this magazine - but I didn't expect it to be so soon and in the way that it was done. Am I supposed to just accept it? I guess I have no choice. Besides, I don't want to make a big deal of it and surely I'll find a writing job elsewhere. But right now, I'm just pissed. FUCK!

I think it's pretty obvious that I've reached the Anger Stage.

Stock Non-Standard

2009-11-16T18:00:00.009+11:00

As my Dirty Thirty approaches ever closer, I can’t help but look at my life and take stock. Especially when those I speak to inevitably remind that the 30s is the age when you’re truly considered to be an adult. No more of that cheerful irresponsibility the 20s afford, 30s is where you really get down to business. I’m afraid I fail.

For one, I’m still homeless. No place to call my own. My job barely pays for my weekly necessities let alone payments for mortgages or even rent. I have no real substantial asset, unless you count a credit card loaded with debt as something remotely redeemable. And I’m still single with only a history of failed relationships to keep my bedside warm.

But then I find myself having spontaneous cocktails with friends on a balmy Sunday evening, with no need to be anywhere else or a need to answer to anybody, and I realise my life is pretty good in spite of these failings, especially when recalling the marvellous weekend...

...comedy shows, festival discussions, art galleries, film screenings, radio shows, television production, lunches, banquets, birthdays, wines, beers, cocktails, cocktails, cocktails, friends, family and BFFs...

I may be considered a failure when measured by traditional yardsticks, but looking at my own, I realise that my stock isn't bad at all. I guess it's just different to most.

Man Tears

2009-11-12T15:42:00.005+11:00

My sister is probably the only person in this world who comes closest to knowing the real me. In spite of the exceptional relationships I have with other family members as well as friends, there are parts of me they still haven't seen. My sister has, warts and all, and she still loves me for who I really am.

Which is why the last few days have been most miserable.

She and I had a fight, not a trite bickering or a silly argument but a real one where spittle flew and hurtful words were said. It was particularly terrible. And it was made even more painful by the fact that I didn't really want to be angry at her in the first place. I was just trying to protect her from herself after she and her husband had a fight themselves. I guess fiery tempers run in the family.

I would never dream of getting myself involved in any argument that my sister may have with her husband. After all, it's their business. But when she starts disappearing in haste, driving away angrily, without a single explanation as to where she might be going, I deeply worry. So when this exact thing happened again last weekend, instead of standing by the sidelines, I finally spoke up. It wasn't well received.

I was told to mind my own business. That it didn't concern me at all. That not everything was about me. That I should just fuck off.

We waged a silent war for almost a week. Neither acknowledged the other, let alone spoke. It hurt not to be able to talk to her or even look at her, but every time I tried, it just made me angry. As well as tempers, pride runs high.

In the end, my mum intervened and got the two of us in the same room. For a while, we didn't speak; just sat there in silence. Then she whispered something that made her burst into tears.

"Sorry."

I guess things have been hard for her, too. Of course they have! Why wouldn't it be? Anger has made me stupid and blind. She's been as miserable as I have been. And the thought that I made her feel that way, made me depressed. That's when the man tears came. Thick and fast, all that pent up anger disappeared and in its place came sadness and exhaustion. I cried so forcefully, it became hard to speak without my watery voice catching in my throat. In the end, I had to whisper.

We're good now; sorted our differences. She knows that I didn't want to be involved but had to do what I did; I was only looking after her. She knows that I didn't mean to say the things that I did; I was only reacting to her own painful words. And she knows that I still love her, just as she does me. After all, I'm still her brother and she's still the one person who knows me best.

Man tears are ugly but boy, they help.

Vincent & Ben

2009-11-08T12:18:00.003+11:00

Writing for a magazine has taught me to be conscious of my intended audience and how to pitch the story without due bias or influence. I have learnt this from the numerous negative feedbacks I've received whenever I've been a little too opinionated about certain issues that some readers feel they have a better understanding of. One such topic is 'coming out'.

Below is the article I wrote with the help of two friends, a couple who have been together for a decade and yet are largely still in the closet. I've been careful when writing and editing this piece that I don't portray their 'choice' to be neither good nor bad. I'm hoping this will be published as a feature article for a future issue.

For now, you can read it in its entirety.

-----------------------------------------

Vincent*, 40, and Ben*, 45, are a couple who have been together for more than 10 years. Aside from a handful of people, both are still in the closet with their sexuality and relationship, even from their families. Vincent and Ben talk about forging and navigating the complexities of their special kind of relationship.

How did you meet?
Vincent: Ben was one of the support staff at a personal development course I took. The relationship developed as I began talking about my personal life; the past, the present and the future. Ben started sharing his stories with me too. There was such a relaxed and comfortable sense when being with each other: lots of laughter, good conversation, and a lightness that seemed “right”. Ben and I seemed like friends from long ago, yet we had only just met. I guess it’s that inner knowing that this relationship was meant to be. When the course ended, we kept in touch and started seeing each other on a regular basis.

Was it a conscious decision to “stay in the closet”?
Ben: I suppose it was not completely intended to be “in the closet”. But as time went on, it became harder to tell friends and colleagues since we had not been up front from the start. It seems to not be an issue for us with newer acquaintances and friends, and we enjoy the freedom experienced when with them. So the embarrassing side with older friends is not so much that “I am gay”, but rather, “I neglected to tell you I was gay all these years later after a seeming open/honest relationship”. I suppose I should just get over it! Concerning family, well, it’s awkward since they live in another country (I’m an immigrant here). And they have voiced their views openly. I just can’t be bothered with having to justify myself to them. They haven’t asked. If they did, I’m quite certain I would be honest.

How does this affect your relationship?
V: There were lots of lies involved. There was a time that we had to use different addresses even though we were already living together. There was also a time when I had to think of changing my superannuation beneficiary because my superannuation company did not recognise same sex relationships. Also sometimes I envy other couples who can show their affection towards each other publicly and without minding the people around them. These are challenges and complexities, but I think there is also a healthy side to our relationship as we give 100% focus to one another when we are alone.
B: I suppose the lies become difficult when trying to remember who knows and who doesn’t. Then there’s the possibility of being “found out” – though I’ll deal with it when it happens and probably be relieved. So you probably wonder, “why not just get it over with?” There’s a major block which needs counselling. Shame? Catholic guilt? I don’t know…

Do you think that those who aren’t supposed to know already do?
V: My mum thinks Ben is my best friend; an older brother! I don’t think she needs to know. But I do think that my sisters know already though we don’t talk about it. I think they are okay about it as they like Ben. As for Ben’s family, I only exist as his housemate; they don’t even know my name! I keep joking with Ben that I will have a big problem when he dies as I will have to explain to his family why I am crying at his wake and funeral!
B: Interesting that Vincent thinks I’m going to die first! Anyway, my family is on the other side of the world, and don’t seem too interested in my personal life. So it just doesn’t come up. A lot of friends just seem to know even if we don’t say it outright, and is seems okay. I’m not fussed one way or another. My work colleagues are different. Because I never mention much about my personal life, they assume I am straight, and after all these years, it seems awkward to have to “set them straight”.

What changes have you noticed in other people’s attitude towards your relationship and sexuality over the course of time?
V: Since only a handful knows, I haven’t really noticed “other people”. But I have noticed a change in our attitude towards our relationship. We are somehow freer and more relaxed as we start to have friends who know about our relationship. Before, we had a completely separate set of friends.
B: People who know us genuinely like us (what’s not to like?!), so I can not imagine they would think less of us. Well, I say that about the people I particularly care about, and the others who may have a problem, it’s their loss. I suppose it’s when it comes to family… That’s a hard one and I’m not sure what would happen. That’s sad, isn’t it?

What do you envisage in the future for you as a couple?
V: We are not planning to get married and not planning to have kids. Everything‘s fine. Just pay the mortgage. Maybe more holidays, including a cruise! But generally, just enjoy life.

*Names changed.

Over-Thinking

2009-11-04T21:49:00.001+11:00

1/ I think I’m rundown. And my proof of this lies in the three ulcers that are currently pestering inside my mouth. Not to mention the patch of cold sore that has so glaringly appeared on my upper lip. I’m tired, moody and lack any semblance of energy. And I don’t know why. I’m eating well – salads, vegetables and plenty of fruit – and I’m not staying out as much as I used to. But it seems that my recent run of good health was very short lived. I’m looking forward to this year ending; in fact, I can’t wait for it to be over. I can’t ever recall having such terrible string of illnesses before, even during the year when I suffered through migraines and eventually had to have surgery for sinusitis. Even with hospitalisation and the after-surgery experiences, it hadn’t been such an ordeal as the one I’m now going through. Someone please tell me which god I should go offer a virgin sacrifice to?

2/ I think I’ve reached that stage where I can no longer consider myself as part of the youth. This dawned on me while I was at my brother’s Halloween Party when I completely felt out of place amongst his friends that were about 5 to 10 years younger than I am. In-jokes and familiarity aside, they all seemed to have their own way of speaking which I couldn’t quite grasp and their level of conversation seemed to be one that isn’t quite on my wavelength. I felt silly for being there – in spite of my gorgeous sexed-up winged costume – and aside from spending time with my sibling and a chance to dress up, I wondered why I attended in the first place.

3/ I think I need to change jobs soon. The place I’m working at now has become filled with passive in-fighting and bitchiness the likes that one might see exclusively in reality TV shows starring starving models and wannabe celebrities. Much of what we cultivated – the openness and close relationships – amongst staff seemed to have turned in on itself and everyone seems to have something terrible to say about someone else. I try to stay away from it all but inevitably some shit will fly and stick. Worse still is that the perpetrators for the undercurrent of negativity hovering over the place are colleagues I consider as close friends. Yet, I feel hesitant to say anything lest I cause more problems. The result hasn’t been good for my psyche as I feel that work has turned me into a vessel of indifference, in a sea of pessimism. If only I can use my middle finger as cannons.

4/ I think this weekend will be an opportunity for me to close chapters in my life I have left open-ended for too long. I’m attending the wedding of a high school friend, a gathering where much of the guests in attendance will be people I haven’t seen close to a decade. It’ll be a good reunion to see how everyone has moved on since high school days and to find out if people are much the same or much different to how they used to be. There’ll be one person in particular whom I’m anxious to see since we parted ways in the most acrimonious fashion where hurtful words were exchanged and a high school length’s worth of friendship were quickly broken. I’m hoping ten years is a long enough time for things to heal and for people to move on, but then again, sometimes it’s barely the beginning. Either way, I’m hoping for an ending.

And to think, I'll have this god-awful ugly cold sore on my lip.

Work Load

2009-10-27T14:43:00.003+11:00

Have you ever masturbated in public?

I realise it’s a strange question to ask, not to mention incredibly personal, but I’m curious to know just how many of you guys out there are doing it. The reason I ask this is because of what had happened a few weeks ago at work. I walked in on a client rubbing one off in our gym change rooms. I guess he was whipping up a post-workout protein shake.

I don’t know who was more in shock; he, for the wank interrupted, or me, for the weird way I saw him pleasure himself. Two-handed, one palm opposite to the other, like he was wringing out a dish cloth. It was a strange technique I’ve never seen before. At least the boy was blessed with a two-fist full of manhood.

Speaking to a friend online, I asked him the same question. To my surprise, he admitted that he, too, has done it. And at work, no less.

Apparently, at times when he finds himself alone in the office late evenings, he points his dick over to the ‘Guys With iPhones’ website and go double-clicking. I’d hate to see the state of his mouse.

So, isn’t he worried about getting caught?

“No, not at all,” he says nonchalantly. “We’re only a small office and I can look down the hall to see if anyone is coming.” What, apart from him? He didn't laugh; I guess the joke went over.

So, why do it?

“Why not? After a stressful day at work, a guy needs some release. And this is the best kind I know of. Besides, it’s healthier than, say, drinking alcohol or smoking a joint.” He has a point. “Have you done it?”

Have I done it? No. Will I do it? Not sure.

Masturbation, in general, is something that I find uncomfortable admitting to doing. Not sure why exactly, I guess you can blame my Catholic upbringing; spilling seeds, brimstones and such. So, the thought of pulling off anywhere but the comforts of my own bedroom/bathroom/toilet/garage makes me feel less inclined for some self-sexy time.

So, am I missing out?

“It’s exciting,” continues my friend. “The thought of getting caught is part of the thrill. I’ve had some of my best orgasms right here at my desk.” Well, at least no one can say he doesn’t do anything in the office. But has he done it anywhere else?

“I tried but it wasn’t the same. I even got caught once. And she didn’t look impressed. You wouldn’t think a nun could swear like that.” A nun? I didn’t dare ask. “So, no. I’ll just stick to work.”

So, will you ever stop? Surely, this is something you can get fired from.

“It might be, but you know what, if masturbating in my office is wrong, I don’t ever want to be right.”

Right.

Gay Ol' Time!

2009-10-15T18:43:00.003+11:00

One of the things I didn’t expect about being gay is the terrible lack of ceremony. Think about it. Our straight counterparts have engagements, weddings and even baby showers, but for those of us who live the “alternative” lifestyle, there really isn’t much to look forward to. Or at all.

Sure, there are birthdays—the ubiquitous equaliser—and these days I guess some lucky gays are now also able to celebrate their marriages, even births of their kids, but for the majority of us single homosexuals, what do we have? Not even a ‘coming out’ party.

Having been privy to the growth of their relationship, I’ve been present in all of my sister and brother-in-law’s ceremonies.

I was there for their engagement (a house party) and at both of their two weddings (first an intimate civil ceremony and then a lavish extravaganza event overseas). I was even there for my sister’s hen’s night (a male revue show – that was loads of fun). Then afterwards, there was the baby shower and when he was born, my nephew’s christening.

In all of these events, I was there; present and in most cases, even helped organise. And each time, I was amazed by the amount of people who came to celebrate my sister and brother-in-law’s momentous life occasions. The love and support was palpable.

It made me think of the disparity we, as gays, further experience when not following these “traditional” paths. Why can’t we, too, mark these kinds of occasions? Why can’t we rejoice in the same way? What are we really missing out?

Certainly at times I have felt a little jealous; most especially when my sister and brother-in-law celebrated their vows in the presence of hundreds (and I mean HUNDREDS) of people. It was a massive statement about their love for one another that they were allowed to make. That was when I really felt I understood the most basic argument that is pushing the fight for gay marriage: the equality in recognition and validation. That it should be a statement allowed to be made by all, regardless of sexuality. I mean, that’s only fair. Isn’t it?

But in any case, this post wasn’t meant to be about my stance on a subject that others have already contributed thousands of words to.

No, all I really wanted to share is the fact that in spite of not being able to celebrate the kind of ceremonies my sister and brother-in-law have had the privilege to, there are still momentous occasions that I can rejoice in.

My upcoming 30th birthday is one of these.

I’m planning a party and today, I’ve booked the venue and the date. It’s still about six weeks away but already I’m excited. Not for being able to make any kind of statement (because there's none to make, except getting older) but because for the very first time in years, I’ll be able to gather all those who are dear to me and share with them my very own special occasion. And of course, purely and simply, to have a gay ol’ time!

Suck Face No More

2009-10-10T22:09:00.006+11:00

Earlier this week, I spent a butt-numbing three hours to see a doctor who's been helping me over the last few weeks. Normally, I wouldn’t waste so much time waiting to see someone (my regular doctor is usually available within 15 minutes) but this GP came highly recommended. He’s the third opinion on the recent bout of illness I’ve been having. The reason I went to see him this time was to get the results of my blood test, which he’d ordered to find out what’s been making me overly tired and sickly, on top of the strange stomach problems (I’m just a bundle of bad health and hypochondria).

Anyway, as it turns out, I'm a vampire. I guess with all that sucking and nighttime proclivities, it was bound to happen. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner.

But seriously, the diagnosis was this: I have a severe deficiency of vitamin D. The normal range for most people is between 70 to 360. Mine came back hovering just above 10. Apparently, this pretty much explains the lethargy, weakness, aches and pains, and mood swings I’ve been feeling. Sadly, it doesn’t explain why I’m still single and sexless. But that’s a whole other kind of vitamin D deficiency.

His prescription was simple: get out in the sun at least 10 minutes a day to maintain levels and take a vitamin D tablet to bring me up to normal range.

So that’s exactly what I’ve been doing in the last few days. It’s amazing what a world of difference a few minutes bathe in sunlight does to you. I’m sure you know what I mean. Instantly you feel refreshed, happy and alive. And to think that’s it just out there--and free! It’s a pity that most of us fail take the time to do this even once in a while, what with desk-bound jobs and errands that need doing.

So there you have it. My ordeal for this week. Not too bad a result really. I mean, for all the things that you can find, I guess low vitamin D levels is the least terrible you can ask for. It’s easily fixed with a pill, not life-threatening and what’s more, an excuse to be outside and away from the drudgery of the indoors.

The only thing is, now I guess there goes my starring role in the next Twilight movie. And I was so looking forward to sucking face with Mr Pointy.

No big loss. I hear he's quite the stinker.

I Really Have Nothing To Add To This But...

2009-10-09T17:41:00.004+11:00

...OUCH!

Clueless

2009-10-05T20:30:00.003+11:00

Friday. AM. Work.

Client: Hello.
Me: Hi.
Client: I saw your photo on Facebook.
Me: Yeah? Which one?
Client: The one in your undies. They were blue.
Me: Oh. That one.
Client: I have the same ones, you know. The undies.
Me: Really?
Client: Yes. Except mine are pink.

*pause*

Me: So, shall we get started with your workout?

* * *

Saturday. PM. Bar.

Me: Hi.
Bartender: Hey. Can I get you something?
Me: Yeah. A beer?
Bartender: Would you like to try an Asahi?
Me: Sure.
Bartender: It's my favourite.
Me: I know this place that has them during happy hour.
Bartender: Yeah? Where?
Me: A bar. In the city.
Bartender: I'd love to go there sometime.

*pause*

Me: Sure. I can give you the address.

* * *

Sunday. PM. Friend's House.

Friend: What's been happening with you?
Me: Not much.
Friend: Seeing anybody?
Me: No.
Friend: I really don't understand how you can still be single.

*pause*

Me: Yeah. Me neither.

Why Did You Eat That Gnocchi?

2009-09-23T14:37:00.002+10:00

To: Future Joshua
From: Past Joshua
Date: Thursday, 23 September, 2010

Subject: Why did you eat that gnocchi?

Dear Future Me,

It's 2pm on Tuesday, 22nd September 2009 and you had gnocchi for lunch. Now you're sitting here typing away while the potatoes and cream go bubbly in your stomach. You've been stinking up the place with your hot farts. The question is, why the hell do you do it to yourself?

For the last couple of weeks, you've been dealing with stomach problems that's seen you go to three different doctors and subjected to as many tests: a gastroscopy exam, an ultrasound and a course of blood work. You don't know the results yet, though you suspect it might be gall stones. Deep down, however, know that it will probably turn out to be nothing. You'll know the results by Thursday.

It's roughly four months away until Christmas. Your whole family is going overseas and for the very first time in your life, you're not going to be with them. You've decided to stay home for Christmas with the idea that you're doing so to save money. You are in considerable amount of debt and finding it a challenge to keep up. How is it now?

The other reason you've decided to stay is because of a boy. You've reconnected with a friend you met ten years ago. His name is Brian. He was involved with your other friend, Tristan. Do you remember? For Christmas, he is visiting from Canada and will be spending time with you for two weeks. You are excited to see him and is very much looking forward to his company. At the same time, you're worried because you have put on some weight and feel that you won't lose this in time. You want to look good for Brian because you know that there is some serious attraction between the two of you and sex is inevitable. You also know he has a boyfriend. Do you care? Perhaps not.

Your life is filled with challenges right now - work, money, health are your stumbling blocks - but you're also blessed. You have a six-month old nephew whom you adore and feel privilege to watch grow.

You love your family deeply, despite of the recent argument you've had with your mother but that happens. You think she's going through menopause. You have an envious life and you have great friends. Remember this even though at times your mood swings erratically and you want nothing more than to be left alone.

You are still single, despite offers from several suitors. You're still as fussy as ever. Perhaps you wear your independence as a shield?

You are also two months away from being thirty. You are excited but scared at the same time. You know you need to start living like an adult, though you don't really understand what that means. You also need to start looking for a place to celebrate, so get your fat arse moving. Where did you end up booking?

Ryan, I know today is tough for you and you feel sad for no particular reason. Never forget that you're surrounded by people whom you love and love you. Feel happy.

So a year on, what's your life like now? And are you still eating those damn gnocchi?

Yours,

Past Me.

Wet Dreams

2009-09-19T23:51:00.006+10:00

Just when are you supposed to stop having wet dreams?

I ask this question because a friend asked me the very same. I was speaking to him the other day when I mentioned that I totally messed myself up after a particular dream I had one evening. I dreamt I was on a boat filled with hot, naked and very horny men. You know, the orgy ship, Lollipop.

“You still get those?,” he asked, looking absolutely surprised.

“Yes, apparently. Don’t you?”

“No. I stopped having them in my late teens.”

“Really? Well, I haven’t had one in a really long time. But I did last night.”

“That’s good, I guess. Lucky bridge.”

Well, I don’t think he actually said ‘bridge’ but something that sounds similar. I couldn’t hear properly, you see. He spoke rather softly then.

Anyway, back to my wet dream. Picture it: big boat, big guys and big, ah, personalities. I don’t really remember how I ended up on the ship, though I don’t think that matters much in the whole scheme things, but I do remember being on it and mingling with the nuded up passengers. All sorts were there: leather daddies, muscled jocks, skinny twinks and even spunky Mormons.

I made my way through the crowd, heading to the bar for a drink, when topless Latino deliciousness grabbed me.

“Hola guapo. Estoy caliente.”

Before I could say “no hablo Espanol”, he’d grabbed me and proceeded to stick his tongue down my throat. You don’t need a translator to know that means he was pleased to see me.

Some tonsil hockey, a bit of groping and then somehow we ended up on a bed; he on top, and me with my ankles behind my ears. Obviously, my hamstrings aren’t nearly as tight in my dreams as they are in real life. He continued to mumble something in Spanish and then kissed me some more. I noticed he had a pair of sparkling blue eyes, like the deep blue waters of the ocean below us, and long curly locks surrounding his face. His lips were luscious and his chin chiselled. Sweat poured down from his face all the way to his manly, bulging pecs. He wanted me badly.

With a cheeky smile and a knowing nod, he whipped off the tight pair of briefs that contained his manhood. And what a manhood! It looked like a baby’s arm. I closed my eyes. Held my breath and braced myself for the inevitable.

And just as I was about to receive what sure to be the best riding of my life, I suddenly found myself in a muddy field with my Latino suitor suddenly replaced by a donkey. The ship was gone and so was my hunk!

Not liking the fact that I was now riding it, the ass started bucking wildly and I ended up landing in the mud. Covered in dirt, I tried getting up but instead fell flat on my face. Then suddenly, and to my utter horror, I found the donkey standing over me, sporting a huge donger. That’s when I woke. Thankfully.

Absolutely relieved that I came to before the dream went any further, I soon became aware of feeling something weird below. With a caution, I stuck a hand in my pyjamas and sure enough, my fingers came back sticky. Holy bloody donkey.

So, let me ask again, just when are you supposed to stop having wet dreams?

Don't be fooled by that innocent, toothy smile.
This donkey means business.

In Which I Try To Be Understood (But Fail)

2009-09-14T22:30:00.006+10:00

Many years ago, I made the most god-awful comment to a friend that resolutely established two things: one, my deft ability at firmly lodging my goddam feet (plural) in my big fat mouth, and two, cement the fact that I can be a foolish bastard.

Meeting said friend for coffee one afternoon, she arrived late and looked all forlorn. Making jokes at her propensity for not being on time and the seemingly endless excuses she often dished out, our conversation went something like this:

“Glad that you could make it.”

“Sorry, I’m late.”

“Where were you this time?”

“At the hospital.”

“Oh really? Shopping for a hospital gown?”

“No. I was visiting my sister.”

“Why? She’s not sick. That girl’s always complaining about something. She’s a hypochondriac. What she say she got this time? Cancer, I suppose.”

Silence. Followed by tears.

The following day, I went to the hospital and visited my friend’s sister. She was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She's now fully recovered.

I share this tale because I want you to know that I still clearly remember the day when I woefully let my mouth run away from me. No, after that day, I learnt my lesson; that when it comes to someone’s health, it’s not a joking matter.

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been nursing a sore stomach. A temperamental belly is nothing new after being diagnosed with gastritis more than a decade ago. At times, eating proves to be a gastronomy spot of Russian roulette. Ingest the wrong thing and I’m in for hours of cramping, debilitating pain. But I’ve become pretty good at playing the game.

The pain I felt more recently, however, was different. Granted the usual symptoms were present – indigestion, spasms, lower back pain, lethargy – and I immediately took the same course of action – antacid tablets, antispasmodic pills, herbal tea, homeopathic creams – but nothing helped. By late afternoon of the attack, the pain moved to my lower right abdomen and I doubled over in pain every time pressure was applied in the area. Stubbornly, I refused to go to the hospital. The next day, I went to see a doctor whose indifferent bedside manner produced the brilliant diagnosis that it wasn’t a serious enough condition to warrant further tests, promptly prescribed pain killers and then sent me home for bed rest.

Clearly gutted (no pun intended) by the experience, I made the mistake of posting a status update on Facebook. Stupid. I don’t know what upset me more; the comments that others had left behind, dripping with jibes and jeers for my own supposed hypochondriac tendencies, or the fact that these were people who should know better. I decided that both were equally disappointing.

Granted, Facebook was not the best place to air my frustrations, but I needed to vent; and as impersonal as it may sound, they were real friends, real people. I assumed that I’d have at least some sympathisers amongst them. Obviously, my own sarcastic nature had bred some equally sardonic company. In the end, I decided to delete the whole thing.

Look, I don’t really know if I have a point here. I just know that for the very first time, I was genuinely scared that something seriously bad was going to happen to me. Even now, I still don't know what's wrong with me. I'm angry, frustrated and feeling completely misunderstood. It's all a big joke.

But I’ll tell you one thing: I'm scheduled for an ultrasound and gastrocopy exam this week. Once I get the results and they find that I have, oh say, stomach cancer, guess which foolish bastards will be sorry then?

Yes, that would teach them.

Prodigal Blogger

2009-09-12T13:19:00.003+10:00

Hi. Is it safe to come out?

I'm back from the wilderness; hiding no longer. You see, my Witness Protection Program has finally ended. Jacko is dead. What, too soon?

So, I'll be the first to admit that I've been a little absent updating this blog – heck, completely neglected it, in fact – but I don't think the four of you who read it really minded.

But neglected is still what it was.

A lot of things have happened over the course of the ten months in which I was away. Too many to mention in one single post. Don't worry though; I'll catch you up over the course. Here, however, are a few things that I want to highlight:

I finally ended my "other" blog, after months of agonising and procrastinating over the decision. As of May this year, it's been laid to rest.

I'm now an uncle – a godfather, in fact – to a healthy and happy six-month old nephew. My sister's child brings me joy and happiness that I feel I shouldn't be entitled to. I'm absolutely in love with him.

My foray into media is slowly becoming more involved. I've gone from being a cast member to heading up my own TV show. And soon, I'll be producing my own segments as a roving reporter. Rove should quiver in his tiny boots.

And lastly, a confession. There is an ulterior motive to my return and it has to do with self-preservation. Over the last year, I have felt my writing ability slowly deteriorate and increasingly, I've become anxious that I will lose it completely. Those who know of the regular column I write for a magazine would probably notice that the articles have looked familiar. For good reason. I haven't written anything new for a long time and so have been rehashing old blog posts. It's my secret shame.

So here I am. Blogging again; forcing myself to get back on that proverbial horse (though between you and I, I'd prefer the cowboy). So far, the ride is proving a lot less bumpy than I'd expected.

But don't be too excited. I'm not really sure how long this phase will last. Gosh, that doesn't really instil much confidence or excitement, does it? But hey, it's a start, right?

The prodigal blogger is back... for now.

Seriously.

2008-11-09T21:38:00.003+11:00

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

2008-11-06T13:02:00.002+11:00

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

2008-11-03T02:04:00.008+11:00

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?

2008-10-31T14:43:00.006+11:00

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

2008-10-27T13:29:00.003+11:00

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

2008-10-26T01:56:00.003+11:00

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

2008-10-15T21:15:00.001+11:00

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

2008-10-11T21:01:00.003+11:00

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!

2008-10-06T22:02:00.008+11:00

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...

2008-10-02T22:17:00.001+10:00

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

I wonder if they come in black?

Loser

2008-09-30T21:14:00.003+10:00

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

2008-09-26T18:38:00.003+10:00

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

2008-09-23T22:44:00.004+10:00

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

2008-09-20T21:07:00.014+10:00

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...

2008-09-18T21:32:00.003+10:00

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

Yeah, me neither.

Angel No Food, No Cake

2008-09-03T22:10:00.008+10:00

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!

2008-08-28T19:28:00.006+10:00

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

2008-08-25T21:57:00.005+10:00

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

2008-08-19T20:04:00.008+10:00

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

2008-08-15T16:40:00.004+10:00

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

Death And Hot Chocolates

2008-08-13T15:12:00.000+10:00

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

2008-08-08T13:31:00.006+10:00

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

2008-08-04T22:33:00.003+10:00

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...

2008-08-02T19:21:00.006+10:00

...don't click this link.

www.lemonparty.org

No, really. Don't.

Should It Stay Or Should It Go?

2008-07-29T14:35:00.004+10:00

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...

2008-07-24T14:20:00.005+10:00

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

2008-07-21T21:16:00.006+10:00

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

2008-07-14T20:20:00.004+10:00

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

2008-07-09T21:41:00.004+10:00

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

2008-07-07T13:20:00.008+10:00

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

2008-06-29T13:42:00.005+10:00

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

2008-06-25T08:24:00.000+10:00

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

2008-06-19T00:17:00.006+10:00

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

2008-06-15T18:21:00.006+10:00

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

2008-06-10T13:52:00.007+10:00

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

2008-06-04T14:04:00.003+10:00

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

2008-05-27T20:12:00.004+10:00

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

2008-05-22T20:43:00.003+10:00

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

2008-05-19T14:07:00.007+10:00

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...

2008-05-14T20:28:00.000+10:00

...recycle it!

I Did It

2008-05-12T16:53:00.002+10:00

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

2008-05-10T22:38:00.004+10:00

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!

2008-05-07T11:36:00.001+10:00

Fletcher Says

2008-05-05T14:06:00.007+10:00

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

2008-04-29T18:58:00.004+10:00

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

2008-04-24T09:58:00.002+10:00

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

2008-04-21T14:09:00.014+10:00

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.

Oh, boy.........

2008-04-16T22:30:00.002+10:00

......I think Phillip dropped one. A royal bomb.

Lofty Ambitions

2008-04-10T10:49:00.005+10:00

I've always imagined that by the time I reach my 30s that I'd be living in a crystal palace amongst the clouds somewhere in the middle of the city. Well, the milestone age is only a few years away but the dream is definitely quite far from becoming a reality.

I admit that a big part of the reason why I haven't made any headway to ever realising this dream is the pilfering of a sizable chunk of my youth on overspending and hedonistic pursuits. The kind of things you're only supposed to enjoy generally in retirement, after earning and saving a shit load of cash along the way. But even if I was given the benefit of hindsight and a do-over, I reckon that it would still be pretty darn challenging to achieve even close to what I'd imagined.

Unless you're been living under a rock, in a cave, on an island, somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, you'd be aware that the current (mis)state of World Finances seem to be going down the drain. The way things are going, I'd be lucky to shack up anywhere on my own where there'll not only be electricity but also running water.

But I digress.

The reason why I've delved into this particular bag of nostalgia is an email I came across while clearing out a backlog of saved missives in my Inbox. It was written many years ago. A forward chain, it was one of those timewaster Get To Know You deals designed to give others a peek into one's personality simply by answering a series of random and not-so-random questions. The one that set off this train of thought: how do you see yourself in 10 years time?

Well, aside from the inner city apartment are the following others in my then-future wish list:

A sports car, preferably a convertible;
A holiday house by the beach;
A round-the-world trip;
A family with two kids; and
A room filled with a Lego City

So, yes, quite a list, huh? Didn't realise I had such lofty ambitions back then. I guess, that's foresight being optimistic.

Anyway, I have no idea where I'm really going with this post. Just that I found the above fascinating, if not poignant, to see how much disparity there can ultimately be between dream and reality......... Lego City! Ha!

Extratrestrial

2008-04-01T08:08:00.006+11:00

An American news reporter was out to get some reaction on a recent alleged UFO sighting at Chicago's O'Hare airport and came across this guy. He could have been stoned, drunk or just plain stupid; either way, he was TV GOLD!

Happy Fools Day!

Anything's Possible

2008-03-29T15:23:00.005+11:00

There's something about predictions of the future that we as human beings seem to be eternally fascinated with.

From the enigmatic Nostradamus who is claimed to have foretold everything from The French Revolution to the Kennedy Assassination; to the late Sir Arthur C. Clarke who predicted the emergence of something he referred to as a 'global library', now more commonly known as the Internet, or Porn Library; and George Orwell who envisioned a future omnipresent totalitarian entity that in these days is no more better exemplified in the form of reality television series, Big Brother. History is peppered with soothsayers, prophecies and crystal-ball readings that forecast a multitude of future possibilities.

But what is it about these predictions that we find so captivating? Is it the idea of a better world, a better life that is the allure? A hope that, one day, we would all live in a Utopia filled with wonder, joy and, erm, spaceships? Or is it just our inherently strong desire to see what's around the corner, an early peek before the big reveal?

Recently published online, an article printed in 1968 holds some surprisingly accurate details of what life would be like in 2008. Titled "40 Years In The Future", author James R Berry wrote about cashless transactions, GPS units, phones with TV screens, space tourism and even newspapers that you can read on a screen; things that may sound like common fare today, but 40 years ago were the stuff of sci-fi fantasies.

Which made me wonder, what kind of things will we see 40 years from now? What kind of future-fantastic things can we expect?

Well, I've looked into my crystal ball, jumbled my runes and divined the tea leaves at the bottom of my cup, and have come up with the following predictions for 2048, all with a gay bent, of course:

PERSONAL FORCEFIELDS. People are now individually equipped with an invisible, impermeable barrier that protects in all sense of the word and takes the term of safe sex into a completely different meaning. Just think of it, those awkward moments at the height of passion are forever eliminated.

MIXED DNA. Same sex couples are now able to combine their individual DNA without the need for conventional reproductive means to produce an offspring in their likeness. Brad Pitt and Colin Farrell would surely have the most gorgeous baby in the history of mankind; Iggy Pop and Michael Jackson, not so much.

HOLOGRAPHIC PERSONALS. Gone are the days of grainy pixelated pictures that one must do neck acrobatics with in order to view properly, personal ads of the future will all come with holographic images. Not only can potential partners be viewed head-on but now also back-to-front, upside down and, well, any which way you like. Be warned though: reports of holograms with heads attached to disproportionately-sized bodies also increases.

BIO-ORGANIC GAYDARS. No longer relying on subtle cues and secret handshakes, implanted bio-organic gaydars will soon take the guessing game out of finding out. Not only will you know whether the person you may be interested in is gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, intersex or anything else in between, but this sophisticated little implant will also let you know if they're single, attached, in an open-relationship, or just way too drunk to care or remember.

GAY WORLD. Human civilisation finally becomes an all accepting society with prejudice and bigotry eliminated. Gay marriages are not only legalized but common, but also are gay divorces. Adoptions are open to all sexualities and children are not preferentially provided. Gender identity and sexuality studies become a compulsory subject in all schools which results in youth suicide rates plummeting to zero. There are openly gay leaders in several countries and the world has even seen the installment of the very first gay pope. Equal rights are provided to all.

Okay, so perhaps these things seem a little too fantastical even by today's standards. I mean, who would be comfortable walking around in a forcefield all day? Or be willing to replace an implant that's malfunctioned? I know I probably wouldn't...

But that last one sure sounds great, doesn't it?

Well, whatever happens and however fascinating, there's one thing about the future that's certain: anything IS possible.

Here's hoping.

Protect Us From Sins... And Hot Cross Buns

2008-03-21T22:15:00.006+11:00

I'm breaking tradition this year - as well as my poor Catholic mother's heart - and heading out for some feet shuffling and beer imbibing during the Easter long weekend.

The event: Final Witness Protection Party. Ever.

Punters

More Punters

Skanks with cream

Official Party Crack

I hear there's going to be some Hot Cross Bun Wrestling at midnight, too. Boy, looks like I'm getting in early for those sins come next Easter.

See you for the debauchery at Roxanne's Parlour this Saturday!

Fart Jokes Kill Me!

2008-03-16T17:59:00.005+11:00

Apologies for another YouTube-centric post, but this stuff is G.O.L.D.... Enjoy!

Crazy For You

2008-03-08T22:13:00.005+11:00

Did a whole month really go by just like that?

I've been so pre-occupied with trying to settle back into the swing of things and working as many shifts as I can to payback all those holiday loans I've accumulated, that I completely skipped the month of hearts and even missed the leap day.

In any case, nothing interesting happened. Well, besides the fact that I've now come to a realisation that a once-promising relationship has completely degenerated into something completely dysfunctional.

It made finding the below draft post bittersweet - not to mention ironic. How much things change in only a few weeks.

* * *

The wedding went well.

The nuptial that was supposed to start exactly at 3pm was delayed, expectedly, by half-an-hour. And it wasn't the bride that the people were waiting for. She was ready in time. No, it was everyone else.

Everything was so hectic right up until the last minute. If it wasn't for misplaced pairs of dress shoes, bridal party members going missing, and even formal ties needing last-minute extensions because they were far too short, it seemed that almost anything and everything were going pear-shaped.

But the moment my sister began making her way up the church aisle that was all forgotten. She looked so radiant and so happy that it was all I could do not to cry to see her smile so beautifully, especially knowing how stressed she had been for the last few days. I've never ever seen her so beautiful - and deep inside, I felt a tremendous amount of happiness for her, as well as a momentary pang of jealousy. She found her "the one".

Once the ceremony and reception were over, bridal party and sundry held a low-key after party at the resort venue. We had beer, karaoke, singing and lots of laughing.

I was buzzing that night, buoyed by the euphoria of the earlier evening events and plenty fueled by liquid persuasion. I flitted from person to person; making conversations and sharing jokes. It was between shots of beer that I came to sit next to Zanjoe and as soon as I did, I knew I was in for something special.

He was the groom's second cousin and although I had seen him in passing, this was the first time that we actually got chatting. I liked him immediately and I was completely intrigued - he was guarded and mysterious. A different kind of beat suddenly started skipping in my chest.

We stayed sitting next to one another, and it could have been the alcohol (goodness knows we were pretty drunk by then), or it could have been the growing familiarity; whatever it was, we somehow found our legs intertwined, propped up on the chairs in front. We didn't care who saw.

As the night wore on to early morning and the alcohol flowed endlessly, the group became more and more risque. A round of truth and dare suddenly saw everybody jump into the nearby pool, fully clothed - and then promptly strip into nothing but underwear. Zanjoe and I didn't hold back, taking it a step further. Skinny dipping isn't for the faint-hearted and I was glad to find a partner in Zanjoe.

Groping hands, some pushing and shoving, and suddenly we wear locking lips... a full moon shining in the clear, ebony sky, casting a glow below on a murky pool full of naked drunkards... and two boys in full embrace. Pulling away for a much-needed breath, I looked into Zanjoe's deep brown eyes and felt that familiar heartbeat skip once more.

"Nice to meet you, Joshua."

I could only manage a smile before he leaned in again to kiss some more.

* * *

That magical evening occurred December of last year. Zanjoe and I didn't get together that night, despite the instant closeness we shared. In fact, it would take several more weeks of sporadic communication and forced contact until we eventually became "official". The couple of weeks we spent together were some of the most memorable moments of my trip. Separating didn't prove easy but we both knew we'd see each other again.

Or so I thought.

Long-distance relationships rarely work - and for good reason. It's hard and terribly challenging. And it seems neither two of us were up for the challenge.

Zanjoe is someone special that I will always hold dear to my heart, but I guess, our timing just wasn't right. It's like that Barry Manilow song... "we had the right love at the wrong time".

And speaking of which, the music clip above is of an overseas punk rock outfit called Sponge Cola, who sings a cover of the song that would probably forever remind me of Zanjoe: "Crazy For You".

Life Vest Required

2008-01-26T15:58:00.000+11:00

I'm finding it more than a little difficult re-adjusting back to normality since finally coming home from THE HOLIDAY earlier this week. I guess it's what happens when you live in a bubble of tripping, merrymaking and the lack of conventions for nine-week straight.

Surely, it couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm still waiting for some of my luggage to arrive after the airline has generously decided to send them on a round-trip around the world.

Or the fact that my mobile has since refused to work soon as I step foot on home soil, presumably from being put through the airport security X-ray scanners one too many times.

Or that even before I had a chance to drop my bags on the floor the day I got home, I started receiving phone calls from the uber efficient bank representatives letting me know of the generally horrendous state of my finances. Or lack thereof.

Certainly, it couldn't be because I had left someone behind............

So, if anybody out there know how I can get over this particularly awful post-holiday phase, please share! I'm dying over here.

Too Busy For Words...

2008-01-02T13:04:00.000+11:00

...so here are pictures.

Back soon!

Who Are You Looking At?

2007-12-03T17:45:00.000+11:00

Sorry for the lack of posts, team.

Since being here, I've found that time has a way of getting away from you. And it's not so much that I've been doing a heap load of trip hopping - although I've already done a fair amount of that - no, it's just the everyday things that people do here that tend to eat up a lot of time. Like eat, go shopping, eat, visit friends, eat, sing karaoke, eat, go drinking, and did I say eat? My grandma has been cooking up a storm since we've all arrived and thank goodness for the month of detox diet I did before I left since I would seriously be the size of an elephant by now.

I've caught up with plenty of people, some I remember from when I was a child, a few I've just met and plenty that I no longer recognise. It really is awkward when they come up and greet me as I'm often stumped to think as to whom I'm speaking with. In any case, I seem to get by.

My sister's wedding comes up plenty in conversations as the whole town seems to know that she's going to tie the knot at the end of the week. Invariably, either one of two things will happen. The first is that I'll get asked when I will get wed myself? This usually happens when I'm speaking to someone who hasn't seen me since I was young and so feel the need to ask the question out of politeness or curiosity. After all, it's especially unusual here for the eldest child to not be already married before their younger sibling. I simply answer jokingly that I'm still having far too much of a good time.

The other thing that happen is the one that I find most amusing as well as the most curious. Instead of being asked the question, I will instead get the "look". You know the one, the "I-know-your-little-secret" look, which is usually coupled with a polite smile and not without a hint of pity. It doesn't faze me so much as it unhinges me in the way that some people get unhinged when confronted with something completely unfamiliar. With my not-so-close relatives, whom I haven't felt the need to say anything about my being gay, I can understand why I get the look. Things best left unsaid, and all that. They still treat me the same regardless, so I accept this as their unspoken acceptance (not that I'm after it, you should understand). But from complete strangers? That's something I still need to wrap my head around. I almost want to ask out loud what they know and how they know each time I get it from them. I feel like I'm in a middle of a Chinese Whispers game.

The funny thing is that it happens to some degree every time I go back home. This time around, though, I've found less of the former happening, and definitely more of the latter. I guess that it's a game that's been going around for a good long while.

Oh, and postscript, I'm fast becoming a big fan of Hen's Nights and Bridal Showers, especially since the stripper at my sister's gave a little private performance to, erm, yours truly. It was wicked.

Just So You Know...

2007-11-25T10:29:00.001+11:00

...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!

2007-11-16T13:34:00.000+11:00

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

2007-11-14T13:41:00.000+11:00

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...

2007-11-13T22:23:00.000+11:00

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

To Shag Or Not

2007-11-12T17:09:00.000+11:00

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'

2007-11-11T10:00:00.000+11:00

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

2007-11-10T00:27:00.000+11:00

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

2007-11-09T09:49:00.000+11:00

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

2007-11-08T10:31:00.000+11:00

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

2007-11-07T21:29:00.000+11:00

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!

2007-11-02T14:04:00.000+11:00

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:

The nicest thing about the future is that it always starts tomorrow.
Money will buy a fine dog, but only kindness will make him wag his tail.
If you don't have a sense of humor, you probably don't have any sense at all.
Seat belts are not as confining as wheelchairs.
A good time to keep your mouth shut is when you're in deep water.
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?
Business conventions are important because they demonstrate how many people a company can operate without.
Why is it that at class reunions you feel younger than everyone else looks?
Scratch a dog and you'll find a permanent job.
No one has more driving ambition than the boy who wants to buy a car.
There are no new sins; the old ones just get more publicity.
There are worse things than getting a call for a wrong number at 4 AM. It could be a right number.
Think about this... No one ever says "It's only a game" when his team is winning.
I've reached the age where the happy hour is a nap.
Be careful reading the fine print. There's no way you're going to like it.
The trouble with bucket seats is that not everybody has the same size bucket.
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!)
Money can't buy happiness -- but somehow it's more comfortable to cry in a Corvette than in a Yugo.
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!

Dreams And Pumpkins

2007-10-31T09:41:00.000+11:00

So, I'm slowly getting myself organised as my flight date gets ever closer, and yesterday's task was to clear out the increasing amount of paperwork I have piling up on my desk.

I found this short piece I had written a few months ago when, for a good period of time, I was having some insanely vivid dreams. I wrote a few of them down, mostly for kicks but also for record-keeping since I'd be lying if I didn't also say that a small part of me secretly expected that they may actually happen one day and wanted some proof when they did. Hey, it wouldn't be the first time. Seriously. Although, as you'll soon read, I hope these ones never ever do.

I've been having really vivid dreams in the last week, and I'm beginning to feel a little worried.

In one of these crazy trips, I was driving a car that plowed into a head on collision with a semi-trailer. I can't remember if I ended up getting hurt, or worse, dying.

In another, I reconciled with my estranged half-brother, even making him cry as we hugged, only for him to be suddenly taken away as a terrorist suspect.

And last night, I dreamed that I was being chased by the authorities and tried hiding in an old colonial mansion only to be found and tried in a court of law where I was found guilty of a crime I do not know of and then sentenced to jail. I was about to serve a lifetime of imprisonment when I woke up with a start, feeling absolutely relieved as well as traumatised to know that it was only a dream.

Random and somehow not. They all seem to be stuff of real-life events - despite being surreal and nightmarish, and highly improbable from happening.

I wonder what it all means?
I wonder what I'll dream next?

Pretty crazy and morbid, huh? And somewhat fitting that I share it today, being Halloween and all. Happy Halloween!

Now this is scary... nothing says Halloween like
an ass pumpkin!

Car Bingle: The Musical

2007-10-29T17:34:00.000+11:00

Last night, my friends and I went to see Priscilla: The Musical...

But before I get to that tale, let me just tell you first what had happened to me after the show.

I lost a fight against a cement wall.

Well, rather my car lost a fight against the cement wall. Trying to reverse oh-so-carefully out of a tight parking spot in one of those typically mini-sized underground carparks, I inadvertently rammed the back of my car into a support wall. The reason: I was so preoccupied with trying to avoid from clipping my driver side mirror against the other car parked very close that I didn't even notice the looming concrete behind me. Boom! As soon as my ride rocked into an abrupt halt, I knew what had happened. I don't know whether I was more frustrated with myself for doing something so stupid, or mortified from embarrassment as the carpark full of theatre-goers, all on their way out also, gawked at the idiot who couldn't pull out properly. I got out of the car, quickly checked the damage (cracked brake light and 12" long deep scratch along the side bumper), feigned shocked and got back in. Made a hasty retreat with my tail tucked between the seats. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Anyway, back to the show. Long anticipated, after having purchased my tickets months before, the wait was worth it. Priscilla was everything that I've heard of. Awesome. The lights, the colours, the songs, the costumes. It was like a bunch of frenetic drag shows strung into a one long fantastic performance. Sticking very close to the movie's plot, everything were familiar but new (with plenty of in-joke references for those who know the movie inside out). And although it seemed to lack the depth of substance when compared to the film, it was still a thoroughly satisfying experience, that stands on its own. Priscilla was, dare I say it, fabulous!...

...inane car bingle and all.

Stomp, Stomp, Splat!

2007-10-26T16:47:00.000+10:00

Music Moves

2007-10-25T12:08:00.000+10:00

It must be the inner maths geek in me, but last night, during the start of Darren Hayes' concert, I wondered what critical mass of people would be needed for the audience to go from being seated to up standing. The reason I wondered this was because my friend and I had already been told off twice by those behind us for blocking the view. Admittedly, they had every right, but we were only rocking it out as Darren opened up the show with a pretty funked up number.

Standing atop a mechanical gang plank right in the middle of the stage, his "One Show Only" Time Machine concert in Melbourne was off to a great start. The sounds were booming, the lights were flashing, and the screens were displaying random abstract images. It was very atmospheric and quite electric. The only problem was the two sods behind us.

It's an age old problem, isn't it? To stand up or to sit down? To rock it out without a care or to be restrained and considerate? Both sides carry valid points that could be argued until one is blue in the face, but really, all I wanted to know was, how many more people would it take to change the tide?

Apparently, two.

Whilst, there were random groups of upstanding peeps here and there, they were still outnumbered by the largely seated audience. And what a varied audience; lots of gay men, a sprinkle of lesbians and plenty of young women. Obviously, Darren's coming out hasn't had any ill-effects on his former-Savage Garden fans. And why would it, he still sang the same, if not better, and he looked very comfortable on stage.

Darren moved from one energised beat to another and my friend and I were once again on our feets. And predictably, we get asked to sit down. This time, though, instead of dropping our wiggly arses back, we leave our seats and head down the aisle to dance it up by the stage. At first, it was just the two of us. Then, two more joined, then three, and not long after, people began running from right down the back to swell the gathering throng up front. Suddenly, everyone else were up on their feet. And it was like that for the next hour and a half. Empty seats, almost the lot of them, save for those who remained rooted watching both Darren and the moving mass upfront, happy to have a clear view.

It was an amazing experience to be able to dance and enjoy a concert like it ought to be. And Darren seemed appreciative. He swayed close to the throng, grabbed hands and acknowledged the crowd. As for the cranky two behind us, well, they were up the front with the rest. Evidently, they couldn't restrain themselves either.

Music moves - never contain it.

Hens And Cocks

2007-10-23T06:59:00.000+10:00

Here's one thing I thought I'd never ever see: my sister being dry humped from behind by a burly black man, with my mother whooping it up for encouragement. No, it wasn't some bizarre Jerry Springer kind of a family moment, but rather part of a wild evening that was my sister's Hen's Night. Crazy.

Even though she is technically already married with her Civil Ceremony having occurred earlier in the year, my sister is still madly organising for her Church Wedding in December. What makes her preparations doubly stressful is the fact that it is going to be held overseas. Bridezilla, she is close to becoming.

So, to hedge of any unnecessary, but quite likely, connubial homicide, we decided to organise a surprise Hen's Night to distract her from the hair-pulling stress of the past few weeks. Let me tell you, it would have been far easier to keep a State secret than it is to keep something like this from my sister. She sensed something was up, although not knowing exactly what. All she kept saying was, "there better be strippers!"

Well, that's exactly what she got.

With thirteen of her closest gal pals, along with two gay boys that included myself, and our mother in tow, we had pole position at Mandate, a male revue venue, and front centre of all the action. Bless. And ours weren't the only Hen's Night being celebrated with up to a dozen other groups there, all wildly screaming and jeering for the boys to come out. What is it with chicks and their seemingly unending propensity for creating loud piercing noises? I was hoarse after only a few goes.

So, after a long build-up - the stage version of foreplay - the boys finally came out and expectedly, all looked buffed and very hunky. They moved, they teased and they stripped. The girls were going absolutely stir crazy. Oddly, though, I found the boys rather ordinary. They were all good to look at, that much was a given, but really, better eye candy could be found at Exchange, a local gay haunt. No, it was their antics with the chicks that I found more entertaining.

Hens were brought up on stage for some very special, very close, one-on-one attention. Gropes, humps, licks and kisses, anything goes. Which leads me to my sister's hilarious turn. Her close encounter with the Black Cop stripper was relatively tame by comparison, despite the embarrassment factor of being groped and being done in front of all her friends and mother. At least, it wasn't like the girl who was made to lie down while a sweaty, oiled up spunk, wearing nothing but a shirt, knelt down in front of her up-turned face. Talk about being tea-bagged!

Lucky bitch.

Eight Is Not A Prime Number

2007-10-17T14:15:00.000+10:00

I got tagged to do this meme on my other blog, but since I've already done the same one there before, I thought I'd do one here instead. So, here's 8 things you might not know about... well, Joshua:

I like eating liver spread and ketchup on toast for breakfast.

When I was a kid, my grandma owned a milkbar where I can pretty much take whatever I wanted for free. But sometimes, I'd sneak into the cash register and take some spare change to buy something at her competitors.

I once stuck a piece of rubber up my nose so high that I needed to go to the hospital to have it taken out.

I own a DVD collection worth the price of a small European car. I started collecting when I was 18 and it's now grown to a 1000+ titles. I've only seen about 25 per cent of them. Some are still in their original packaging.

I got very drunk on a whole bottle of black Sambucca and got very sick from it. Now, even the slightest hint of licorice smell makes me wanna gag.

Today, I had some very impure thoughts for a married man, with kids. I think I have a DILF fetish.

More on fetishes, I get really horny when riding elevators. I have fantasies of being stuck in one with a really hot guy where we fool around to kill time and then a really hot mechanic catches us when he jumps in from the roof, but instead of leaving, he joins in and we have hot, greasy three-way elevator sex... Wow, is it me or is it hot in here?

Whilst Joshua isn't my real name, it was actually one of three I added to mine and pretended to have back when I was in high school. It was a "I wish I had a middle name" thing. But it didn't hold up for very long since I kept forgetting the right order they were supposed to be in. Stupid, huh? The other two names: Andrew and Kenneth.

I won't tag any other bloggers to continue the meme but if you do happen to read this, then you must leave a comment with something about you that no one else knows. Let's call it Group Emancipation. So, go on, press that "Comment" link.

Is It Wrong That...

2007-10-16T08:10:00.000+10:00

...whenever someone mentions they're having a baby, the first thing I think of is that they've had sex?

Food, Glorious Food

2007-10-15T18:16:00.000+10:00

For the last week, I've been on a detox diet. Partly for health reasons but mostly in preparation for my upcoming overseas holiday, I'm on a restrictive eating plan that would make even a rabbit binge in disgust. Carbs, sugar and fats are out and so is alcohol, and more depressingly, coffee, too. Instead, I've been munching on fruits, eating steamed veggies, downing protein shakes, and drinking lots and lots and lots of water. I've never gone to the toilet so much in my life! Aside from the initial headaches due to caffeine and sugar withdrawals, I feel great - my insides feel clean, I have energy to burn and my cravings are gone. I've even lost a kilo when I did my weigh-in this morning.

One thing I hadn't counted on though is the effect it's having on my social life. It's been rather interesting this past week.

Have you ever noticed how our relationship with people or the way we relate to others usually involve some form of eating or drinking? No, really. Take a moment. Think about it. We are beings who celebrate with food and drink. We have dinner with family, share a beer with mates, have meals with friends, catch up for coffee, and heck, we even give out edible treats as presents and gifts.

It's something I've never really taken notice of and, I guess, something I have always taken for granted, but lately, it's something I've recently become acutely aware of.

With a friend visiting from Sydney, my friends and I had organised to meet up for dinner. The venue was a place I have frequented often with plenty of favourites on the menu. The challenge this time was to find something that will fit my prescribed eating plan. Caesar salad, tandoori chicken, Vietnamese spring rolls were big no-nos. Instead I went for a bowl of vegetable chick pea soup and a side of steamed vegetables. I was fine with my rather meager choice when the waiter was taking our orders... until he asked what I'd wanted to drink. Just plain water, thanks. I could almost hear what he was thinking and see him turn his nose up. I wanted to tell him that no, I'm not really a tightarse scrimping on cheapies. I have money. Really I do. I just can't eat or drink like a normal person for now.

And just this past weekend, I attended another social event. A friend's birthday soiree... at a bar. I lost count of how many times I had to explain to people why I was nursing a bottle of water and not getting suitably lubricated like everyone else. You should have seen the looks of bemusements and pity on their faces. I felt like a real right pariah. I think I should just say no to invites. It'll be easier.

In any case, I still have at least another week to go. I'm hoping that by that stage I'd have the pre-holiday body in check, ready to get fattened up again. In the mean time though, I'm gonna stick to my guns. I'll try not to succumb to the collective jeers, remarks and temptations. And I hope that by the end, I haven't done too much damage to my social life. Or lost all of my friends.

Hmmmm... cake!

Lost In Translations

2007-10-12T17:35:00.000+10:00

For the last couple of months, I've been working on translating a series of mobile phone text messages as a favour for a friend. The SMS have all been sent by the estranged husband of my friend's niece and documents, frankly and vicariously, the acrimonious breakdown of their relationship. It's an interesting, if not a draining, experience as I attempt to accurately interpret each message that range wildly from desperate and begging to nasty and abusive. Clearly, he isn't coping very well with their separation.

But the thing that gets me, aside from the spiteful words and terrible sentiments being passed on, is that this man clearly still has feelings for his wife. He pleads for her to speak to him and to see her and the kids and even offers his assistance if she ever needs it. It seems that it's only when he doesn't get a favourable reply that he turns nasty on her.

I often wonder at what point in a relationship do things start to go sour. Is there a flash-point event involved or is it more gradual, the build-up of tension and erosion of respect? Just when do you stop from having your good side show that is so persistent at the beginning and start being less than warm and downright nasty to the other person? Working on these translations has definitely resonated that curiosity.

For me, in my limited personal experiences with relationships, it has often been a case of what I've dubbed as my "three-month itch". Basically, at the point when the honeymoon phase of a relationship is about over, I get restless and invariably break-up with the other person. I've already explained previously the chief reason for this but put simply, it's because of the fact that I get real involved from the very beginning and often, I find the response lacking. It's not something I'm blaming on anyone else but rather, one of those unfortunate character traits that I need to work on. In any case, at least I'm glad that most, if not all, of my break-ups have been amicable and I remain on speaking terms with my ex's. I'd hate to go through the pain and stress that my friend's niece and her husband are going through.

Oh, and I forgot to mention the reason for needing to translate said text messages. It's legal: to make it easier, potentially, for lawyers to understand in English the SMS that have been sent to my friend's niece, in the event that they need to be used as evidence in Family Court. Pretty full on, huh?

So Wrong, But Oh So Funny

2007-10-10T15:28:00.000+10:00

Little Sally came home from school and with a smile on her face told her mother, "Frankie Jones showed me his willy today!"

Before the mother could raise a concern, Sally went on to say, "It reminded me of a peanut."

Relaxing with a hidden smile, Sally's mum asked, "Really, small was it?"

Sally replied, "No... salty!"

Tool

2007-10-08T15:59:00.000+10:00

"Nice to meet you, Joshua."

"Nice to meet you, too, Nate."

"And that's your friend Jug?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Hmmm. That's funny."

"What?"

"I have friends named Joshua and Jug. And they're a couple.... Are you two a couple?"

"A couple of best mates. Yes."

"Oh. So you're not together?"

"Nope."

"So you're single?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Joshua, would you like a drink?"

"Thanks, but Jug's getting me one already."

"The next one then?"

"Oh, but it's my shout next."

"Right. Well... I'm just gonna go say hi to my friends. Might catch you later."

"Sure, Nate. Catch ya."

I'm a tool sometimes. A real daft one.

Almost There

2007-10-07T20:52:00.000+10:00

I've just read the last six month's back-catalogue of posts on my other "real" blog and felt a quiet stir of emotions.

In fact, amidst the varying posts that swung wildly from poignant and sincere to total fluff and nonsense (was I on drugs or something then?), I started to question why I ever stopped? Was there ever, in reality, the need to disappear, or was it all just in my head? I seriously wondered whether I made a big deal out of nothing.

But then, I get an anonymous comment like this:

"I agree your writing has been a bit stale for awhile, and a break might do you the world of good. I was about to applaud your brave decision! Or were you just fishing for compliments?"

I admit that I get very insecure and defensive when subjected to criticism and feedback that seems unwarranted and not wholly transparent, but that's because I'm fiercely proud of what I write and of what I've written. Maybe I'm just a little too over-protective, maybe I'm not as enlightened as I'd like to believe.

A fellow blogger and friend asked me recently what it felt like to blog on a smaller scale? "To be able to count your readers on one hand", as he puts it. My answer: an irrational sense of relief. It took a little while to find it but I eventually worked out the balance between the need to post that I previously constantly felt to the whim of just posting when I wanted to. Here, I feel something that is assertive and welcoming.

Still, without sounding like a self-absorbed wanker, I've been quietly impressed to read what I've written on the "real" blog. I've loved the challenges that it has presented - antagonistic nameless comments included - as well as the evolution that my creativity has taken because of it. I catch myself every time wondering how I've ever been capable of such words, turns of phrase, and expressed sentiments. A big deal for an immigrant who didn't learn how to write nor speak English fluently until the age of eleven.

Anyway, enough of my ego-stroking platitudes. I just wanted to let you know that part of what quietly stirred within was also a tempered sense of excitement...

I'm almost ready to go back.

The Sad Thing Is, It's Friday Night

2007-10-05T10:39:00.000+10:00

I spent the last two hours playing Mahjong on my laptop instead of blogging as I'd originally intended. The reason I wasted so much time on it was because I was trying hard to finish a game. It took about ten tries before I did, and the reward I got for my troubles, apart from a hint of smugness and self-satisfaction: some computer-generated Chinese fireworks.

I used to be addicted to Mahjong many years ago when it was installed on our first computer - a 486 Pentium behemoth. It was the perfect distraction from the responsibilities of high school that involved endless essays, assignments and practice exams. MySpace and Facebook were yet to be invented. It was perhaps the sole reason why I failed Specialist Maths with such spectacular results (5 marks out of 50) during the final exam when I had all of an hour to cram a whole year's worth of formulas and equations, after spending the whole night on the game. And that's the excuse I've been sticking to.

So, yesterday, when I actually got around to exploring the other programs that had been pre-installed on my notebook, it was with both surprise and dismay when I found the game amongst the items listed on the Start menu. Surprised because it was good to see an old fave, and dismayed because I knew this was going to happen. Hey, at least it actually inspired this post.

As for what I was originally going to write about, well, here's the first and only line so far:

One of my biggest fear is finding myself stuck in a public toilet cubicle without toilet paper and yesterday, it actually happened...

Maybe I'll get around to finishing it tomorrow. But for now, just one more game.

On And On And On

2007-10-02T07:00:00.000+10:00

I was watching the telly yesterday when an ad came on for a new R&B compilation album and in the background played an old familiar song.

Every time I hear Zhane's 1993 hit, Hey, Mr D.J., I'm fifteen again and back in high school. During those days when cool kids wore bright oversized Cross Colours pants, carried Country Road duffel bags, and listened to Sony walkmans, I was a chubby, timid boy, not part of the cool click. I was into R&B when everyone else seemed to be into something else - headbanging heavy metal music and pop that was popularised by the then locally manufactured group, Girlfriends. I was also in an all boys class that I couldn't completely relate to. It was a confusing and isolating time.

Hey, Mr. D.J. will also always be the song that will remind me of MJ.

MJ and I met at a friend's house party and got on easily and became bestfriends very quickly. He was the first male friend I had that appreciated what I did: writing, dancing, and R&B music. Finally, a kindred spirit - and I didn't have to pretend in having interests in cars or sports. There were many afternoons spent chilling to the groovy tunes made by the Black artists from the States that were big in Australia at the time, but particularly over Zhane's song. We almost wore out my cassette single tape of Hey, Mr. D.J.

At the height of our friendship, MJ and I were inseparable, and everything was going well until R came along. The new girl at school, MJ befriended her and I could sense that he was really interested in her. Not long after, he began spending less time with me and more with R. I couldn't understand what I was feeling - I just knew I didn't like what was happening between us. So I acted out. I ignored him when he paid me attention, I got annoyed at him when he didn't, and I was a complete bastard to her. Somehow, I thought by acting the way I did, it would bring MJ back closer to me. I was just being an arse.

In the end, the tension between us became too much and he and I came to blows. In our one and only fight, I called him a faggot. I don't know why I said what I did but as soon as it escaped my lips, I knew I'd lost him for good. He didn't reply but simply walked away. We stopped speaking from then.

Looking back, I realise that I was really in love with MJ, even though at the time, I considered him more like a brother. In a way, he was my unrequited first love and the friendship that we had was a relationship where unrecognised and unacknowledged needs were sustained - if not mutually, at least mine - for a time...

Ironic how things pan out, isn't it? More than 10 years later, here I am, the one that actually turned out gay, and last I heard, MJ is about to settle down with his long-time girlfriend. To this day, we've neither spoken nor seen each other. I only ever hear of him from friends of friends.

I've moved on now - no longer regretting what had happened. I've made many friends since and I even have a better bestfriend now, but I'll always hold a special place for MJ. And, of course, there will always be that song that will remind me of him... on and on and on.

Funniest Old Ladies Joke Ever

2007-10-01T15:05:00.000+10:00

Two elderly ladies are sitting on the front porch, doing nothing.

One lady turns and asks, "Do you still get horny?"
The other replies, "Oh sure I do."

The first old lady asks, "What do you do about it?"
The second old lady replies, "I suck a lifesaver."

After a few moments, the first old lady asks,
"Who drives you to the beach?"

Rose-Tinted Lenses

2007-09-27T12:05:00.000+10:00

My dad bought our very first camcorder in 1997. We were late to the whole home video thing, but once had, we sure made up for it.

Over the last few days, I've been backing up all the grainy footage shot on our old Video-8 cassette tapes over to DVDs. Not an easy task considering there are more than 30 of them... each at least an hour and a half long. As a consequence, I've watched plenty of home videos.

My favourites are the Christmas ones, which has become a tradition in our household. Started in the same year we got the video camera, we've filmed every year without fail, usually beginning four days before Christmas and finishing up just before midnight on the day. The big highlight is when we gather around the tree in the morning to open presents. A fun affair for all its anticipated, hurried craziness.

Aside from the typical scenes of Christmas trees and Christmas Day fare, here are some of the things I've observed that invariably happens every year at ours:

Candid (and usually stolen) shots of feet and toes, accompanied by my sister's behind-the-scene commentaries and giggles.
Someone being grumpy for being woken up early (me).
Waiting impatiently for Mum to get ready and join the rest of the family to open presents.
Sister annoyingly sing-songing "Who wants to go first, my darling? Who wants to go first?" and screaming indiscriminately out of excitement.
Brother chucking his opened boxes, ripped up wraps, and recycled ribbons at sister.
Mum getting overly excited and doing some kind of a funky-arse chicken dance.
And Dad getting shafted with his presents.

Definitely some unique and odd antics involved, sometimes embarrassing, but often fits-of-laughter inducing. I think what I've enjoyed the most seeing is the joy and happiness that were present on everyone's faces - happy, perfect little family vignettes. It's made me wish to go back and relive it, enough that I've gotten a real palpable sense of desperation for it... But then I realise that yearning for those days and feeling sad that things are no longer the way they were is simply futile, because a) I would always feel the same way any time I reminisce, and b) there's always going to be a chance to do it again anyway... like this coming Christmas, for example. So, I guess, the lesson that I took away from this experience, despite the clichéd nature of it, is to live and cherish the moment... And to always have a camcorder on hand.

Anyway, not sure if this is at all relevant or making sense to any of you guys out there but I thought I'd share one of the things that I truly appreciated while growing up.

The View From The Top

2007-09-24T14:15:00.000+10:00

Typical lazy Sunday afternoon at a not-so-typical venue.

52nd floor apartment at the Eureka Tower, Melbourne's tallest residential building. Sweet views from atop the crystal palace.

Vertigo inducing.