Sunday, June 29, 2008

Ferdinand the Bull

Something occurred to me yesterday. I'm not sure why it popped into my head - actually it could have been because I'm going through an ABBA phase and was listening to Fernando - but I suddenly remembered an old Disney cartoon which delighted me as a child. Ferdinand the Bull.

And I suddenly realised that this character was high camp.
A bull which doesn't want to bullfight but would rather sniff flowers.
There was a book as well, I recall, with a red cover which they had at the Mount Helena Primary School library. I didn't like that as much... I guess, in hindsight, because the drawing wasn't camp enough.
Ferdinand was delicious high camp. I would love to see it again, or even read the book. If anyone happens to know where to lay my hands on one, do let me know.
I realise now he's something of symbol for me. I want to get some t-shirts made up. Or a tattoo.
Okay, not a tattoo.
But I am so thrilled that Ferdinand popped into my head. And I wonder if my parents already had their suspicions about me when they let me watch this cartoon all all the time?

EDIT: Good old YouTube! Why didn't I head there earlier? For all those who fancy a magnificent trip down memory lane... here it is... Disney's 1938 cartoon of Ferdinand the Bull.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

I love these guys

Busily watching so much Wimbledon that I've barely done anything else except work and Wimble for a week. Love it.
I'm starting to hone down a bit on who I like and who I don't. I'm not loyal to a country, let alone my country (Lleyton, you're a fuckwit and your every success is a dagger in my heart. The way to hog the limelight and the Channel 9 coverage fucks me off completely. You're also getting fat and your wife can't act) but I do love that lovely Casey Dellacqua.
My favourite players are:
He's Serbian, hilarious, cute and talented. Dipped out of Wimbledon surprisingly early but anyone who puts superglue on the French Open cup for a joke is okay by me.

He gave Lleyton a hard time last night and he's bloody gorgeous. Hottest Italian I can name, after Michaelangelo's David... and I don't think he counts.

He's the same age as me and going through "the thickening", but he was very cute when he was younger. Took out Novak the other night in stupendous fashion, is deliciously Russian, lives in Monaco and with US$13million in career money, he's a bit fantastically loaded as well.

His eyes might be a bit close together, and he does have a tendency to bite things, but he also has fantastic arms and has a tendency to wear really tight shorts... which is something generally missing from tennis.

There is no disputing his title as the current king of tennis. He is beautiful and his game is spectacular.

I haven't forgotten the women, I'm not being a typical homo... I'll do them later in the day.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Spot of tennis?

It all started with a few free tickets to the Hopman Cup through work earlier this year and now I am in love with tennis.
I watched the Australian Open compulsively. I was enthralled by the rise of Casey Dellacqua.
I tried to catch what of the French Open I could - from a hotel room in Coffs Harbour.
Right now I am listening to Wimbledon Live online. I can't watch it because I'm on a Mac. You have to pay, but I don't mind that... but it says it won't work on a Mac. Fuck them.
I am taping the tennis every night so I can watch it later.
God I love it. I finally understand how people feel about football and cricket. Only the advantage (no pun intended) with tennis is that by and large it is an individual sport, and that more appeals to me than team sports. My favourite is Novak Djokovic because he is such a larrikin but generally I go for the Russians when I'm being serious and the Aussies when I'm being patriotic. Mostly Alicia Molik and that nice Miss Dellacqua. I don't like Little Lleyton. Also love Marat Safin.
The men's games are so fast, they're awesome.
I can't believe I missed out on nearly 28 years worth of good tennis before I became obsessed. Robbed.
Anyway, if you need me until July 6, you'll know where to find me.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Judge Judy, I will miss you

As my holidays come to an end, I can honestly say, one thing above all has proven an inspiration these last couple of weeks:

Such simple, delicious, voyeuristic television. And what a personality. So respectable. So no-nonsense. You can't imagine Judge Judy doing a fat line of coke off the Kodak Theatre's marble bathroom vanity at the Oscars then busting a move on the dance floor before hooking up with two busty blondes and their pimp for an after-after-party private soiree in her Mulholland Drive 16-seater spa.
Or can you?

Ok, I'm not sure who did the truly terrible photoshop jobs... but I found them while I was googling for the image above and thought them somewhat amusing. Not as amusing as I find the things computer geeks clearly choose to fill their days with.

Monday, June 16, 2008

New hair cut

I go to these crazy Japanese hairdressers in Northbridge because they always give me crazy punk rock hair. My usual woman, Van, is on holidays, so the owner of the salon did my hair. He informed me my natural colour was "dull" and proceeded to put in a splash of colour - I think just to satisfy himself.

You can't really see it in this pic... but you can see I have yet again got crazy Asian punk rock hair.
I don't know WHY that is so satisfying... but it is.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

There is nothing this man does not have

Last night I went to see Michael Buble.
Best concert ever.
He is such an incredible showman. He engaged the audience, came across as a genuine down-to-Earth Canadian with a big heart and a huge voice. He is hilariously funny. He is a dag. Your Mum's daggy bachelor younger brother. Lad about town. Heart of gold.
So many fucking cliches. So true.
He spent at least as much time flirting with the audience, cracking jokes and having a great time as he did singing.
It was a slick, enthralling, organic, dynamic concert.
And the music was just incredible.
He is doing four concerts in Perth - all sold out, I imagine - at Challenge Stadium. If he can fill the venue four times over, he could easily have done one concert at the Dome instead and saved on overheads. But no, Challenge Stadium - in Buble's hands - becomes as intimate as a small jazz club. A larger venue would not allow him to engage the audience in the way he does... and does so incredibly well.
He's your typical goofball-done-good and the delivery of his music, the way he entertains, right down to the size and kind of venue he choses to play, all go to show that he's still that ordinary goofball... done good.
I had the most thoroughly enjoyable night out. And I am now spastically in love with the Buble.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

How do you loo?

Further to Kato's post about bizarro I-don't-want-anyone-to-see-me-coming-out-of-the-stalls toileting behaviour, I thought I'd add my own recent tale of horror.
First things first. I too do not like to be seen coming out of the stalls in the work bogs. The toilets are a bizarre place and I don't want to engage anyone in conversation in there - although I have a good friend who I love dearly who delves headlong into a deep and meaningful with you the second you swing open the door. I don't want to look anyone in the eye in there. I don't want to see them in their ablutions and I certainly don't want to be able to attribute smells and sounds to individual colleagues.
I am a private pisser.
There are a lot of us, especially in the gay community, who gag at the idea of the trough and prefer the privacy of the stalls. This is a trap for young players as people wander in and out, proudly rattling out a thunderous fart at the piswah - perhaps because they don't care, perhaps because it snuck out, perhaps because they didn't notice one of the stall doors was closed... who can say? I don't need to know who is responsible for this kind of act.
I wait until everyone is gone before I leave the stall. I also don't like being seen leaving the toilet. I don't mind being seen going in... I can conduct a conversation at the door... but I don't want to be seen leaving. I don't know why. If someone has come in to the toilet while I've been in there, I'll go to great lengths to make sure they don't think it was me who was in the stall... as if they're going back through the news floor working out who isn't at their desk and might be calculating who it might have been behind the locked door.
Which all leads me to the horrifying experience I had at Perth Airport the other week as I prepared to jet off on holidays.
My flight had been delayed several times and I'd amused myself in the waiting lounge variously by reading and people watching - including checking out a reasonably cute boy. Unfortunately, he caught me looking a couple of times and I got a bit shocked and stopped looking.
I had a coffee and a bottle of water and then, as you might expect, my bladder demanded some relief. So I trotted off to the loo. To my horror the stalls were full. There are extra bathrooms at the airport so I swung back out the door, nearly collecting the cute boy coming in as I went out, and marched around the corner to the other loos.
To my continued horror, the stalls were full here too. So I thought "fuck it, let's brave it". I stood at one of the porcelain bowls on the wall and did my thing. No sooner had I built up a steady stream than someone stood at the one beside me.
I was mortified enough as it was but when I realised it was the cute boy... who had pulled his boy bits out and was intently studying mine... all my vital organs stopped functioning at once and I was consumed by a fight-or-flight-cardiac-arrest-with-triple-pike-and-nuclear-fission-blast-of-terror.
I was peeing. I couldn't run. I couldn't do anything. I was peeing and he was judging my performance. Or my equipment. I'm not sure. I didn't care. I felt like I was being raped.
He didn't pee... just put it away and walked away.
28 years of dedicated stall attendance and the one time I venture out into the big man's world and that happens! I'm still mortified just thinking about it.
I didn't go to the loo the whole flight. Apart from the fact I hate being seen lining up for the toilet and then seeing the face of the person about to inherit the post-pee space after you as you leave, I didn't want to risk his attention again.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Excuse me, WTF?

Um, I've just had a 15minute phone conversation with a woman from the company who delivers my paper every morning.
For three weeks the paper wasn't delivered. Then we discovered it was being delivered out the front. For another three weeks Dad and I have been calling asking for it to be delivered to the back... where we actually live. It's not hard.
They've been filled with apologies and said yes yes yes, no problems. They actually went out with him one Saturday morning to show him exactly where it needs to go.
Well this morning I get a phone call from the company saying they're very sorry but the delivery man will not deliver the paper to our door. He'll lob it in the alley way 50m from our house, behind two locked doors, a gate an up a sandy passage, but he won't lob it at our door.
"I'm sorry we've tried but he won't do it".
Excuse me? Are you fucking serious? He's a paper delivery person. His sole job is delivering the fucking paper? How can he not deliver it to my door? How can he tell his boss he's not going to do it? How can his boss not force him to do it? He says our house is "off the round" and we should pay more.
Um, it's fine with the boss... who the fuck do you think you are?
Apparently it makes no difference that I work for the paper he's delivering.
He's also told his boss that she can't take on any extra clients because the round is too big as it is.
And it's taken them two months to convince him not to drive into a particular block of flats every morning because he wakes up a man who is dying of cancer with his headlights.
Compassion plus.
I'm so confounded. There is nothing I can do. The company don't want to sack him because "labour is hard to come by and apart from a few situations like this, he's actually doing a good job".
Umm... he's dictating terms to his employer in a ludicrous way. I don't see why the customers or customers-to-be have to suffer because of this man's misplaced egomania.

It's a burglary!

When you get back home and your things are gone... it's a burglary!
(Apologies to the BeeGees and whoever it was covered it late last decade or early this one).
May a pox fall upon the crack den of which ever fucked-up junkie decided last night he had more right to our belongings than we do. Thank you for not hurting the dog. I hope you enjoy my iPod... it's filled with Russian lessons which might confuse you a bit as I suspect you barely speak English on a good day. That was a present from my boyfriend you cnut. I don't mind you taking the work's phone but as to why you took the dead five-year-old Motorola off the counter I hadn't got around to recycling yet I am mystified. Not sure what you think you're going to sell that for. Very well done taking the charger for my phone, that was quite clever. You fucked up though because I bought it in Singapore so when you pulled it out the wall, you managed not to take the adapter with it. That should confuse the fuck out of your tiny little Ice-fucked brain.
But what really pisses me off is you took my brand spanking new Panam bag (purchased in Brisbane with great excitement) to carry all our stuff away with you. You fucking wanker! I bloody loved that bag!

But thank you for inexplicably not taking my laptop, DVD player, DVDs, CDs, camera, etc. We note you took our spare set of keys in case you feel like coming back for the items you've left behind. I shouldn't bother... I'm spending an entire day of my holidays at home now waiting for the locksmith to come.
Very best wishes for your impending overdose,
Bolton Gray.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Census for June... it has been a while since I did one of these

Reading: Just finished Holding The Man... about to start Dandy In The Underworld. I'm doing a gay lit thing at the moment.
Watching: Skins. See post below re this new obsession.
Listening: It has been Kylie X for a month or two but following a fantastic drive up the Pacific Highway with Daniel listening to Mika... I'm now listening to "Relax" on repeat for a few minutes.
Downloading: Not so much downloading as YouTubing - entire episodes of TV shows... and Mika, to be honest.
Website du jour: Skyscrapercity has been on my daily list for a while.
Café: Last time I wrote a census I said Milkd in Maylands was fab. Six months later my boyfriend has been working there for the last four months or so. Loyalty and honesty both compel me to admit that this is still my cafe of choice.
Pub: Not doing much pubbing in Perth lately. I thoroughly enjoyed my grotty night at The Beat in Brisbane. It's like a combination of the Court and Connies but with this bizarre Rise-style straight raver place downstairs in the same complex. It's been going for nearly three decades so I guess the mix works. LOL
Club: Well I'll have to say the Beat again. I haven't been anywhere else. Oh no wait... Daniel and I went to Arq on Sunday night. I don't remember much of that. God bless the Power of the Gods of Long Island Ice Tea.
Eating: Pasta I cooked up yesterday. So good.
Drinking: Long Island Ice Teas. Vodka Redbull. Gin and soda. Vodka Lime and Soda. I've been going nuts while I've been on holiday.
Wearing: Clothes that have been freshly laundered... unlike during the past week.
Last show: I went to the ballet just before my holiday and I have to say it was the most magnificent night out in forever. See post below.
Next show: I don't think I have any tickets to anything or know of anything good coming up, actually.
Can’t wait ‘til: Well all the things I was really looking forward to have come and gone. Although Thom and I have a thing tonight which should be awesome fun. And there is a gathering for Bea on I think Friday.
Most recent scoop: Well my most recent scoop was partially plucked out from under me. Less said the better. I hate the ABC.
Most recent purchase: Enough petrol to get me 1780km. A great jacket from Satch (on staff discount thank you very much). Heaps of presents, especially stubby holders.
Want but can’t afford: To be on holiday forever. Seriously considering paying off my flat ASAP and living in it... and just working enough to cover some travel and ongoing expenses. I'd like to be one of those work-six-months-travel-six-months kind of people. If I can pay the flat off in say five years, then I'll be ready to do it.
Need but can’t afford: Almost everything. It has been an expensive week or two.
Last nice act: I bought presents for people.
Last bad act: I pretended I didn't know my ex has a new boyfriend when I met him in Sydney. He just seemed to have gone out of his way not to mention it so I waited for him to 'unexpectedly' show up... which he did. Adam, I can still read you like a book. LOL. I'm pretty sure he doesn't read this any more... so let's just move on.
Bad news: Between the renovation and the holiday I am completely skint. Tell you what though, it's been a really fucking fun year from that perspective. Not every day you write a cheque for $8000.
Good news: I am only half way through my holidays.
Goal: Liz kept asking me, like repeatedly, what my goals are - where I see myself in five years. I can't pass the five year test. I don't know where I see myself. I've never really been without ambition before. I know I want to travel more. I know I want to pay off the flat so I'm debt free. But my goals have always been career related and at the moment I don't have any. I need to do a bit of soul searching on that. I'm genuinely happy now though... which is a start.
Yesterday I: Watched Skins all day.
Right now I should be:Getting ready to dash round to Thom's... he finishes work at 2pm and I have stuff I need to do first.
Later today I’m: Catching up with Thom and a friend or two for some good times.


A bit like Kato's admission on Penn Badgley, I have a bit of a thing for both coming-of-age story telling and boys in uniform. And to clarify... I'm not a paedo either. My own coming of age was perhaps a bit traumatic and I think a part of me is stuck inside 17-year-old me... which is probably more incest than paedophilia.
Anyway, I wanted to tell you all about Skins.
You might have seen it on SBS. I watched an episode of series one and liked it, but I never remember to tune into programs on TV and despite liking it, never saw it again. Then Andrew and I watched an episode of series two when I stopped with him in BrisVegas last weekend... and I became immediately hooked.
Monday I bought Series One. I had to really go looking for it as it had sold out at JB. Seems everyone is into it now. Series Two is now showing on SBS but I've watched as much as I can on YouTube already.
It is incredibly clever, original, funny, divergent, exciting story telling. I urge you all to watch it.
It's not a happy place. it's very angsty. It will fuck you up for a day or two.
But then... that's what the good stuff is supposed to do.

I always fall in love with gay teen characters. The ones who are proudly out and just being themselves. I wish that had been me. In the case of Skins, Maxxie holds a particular attraction because he also dances. Beautifully. I wish that were me.
Here he is.

It just makes me wonder... when did I stop grabbing life? Why didn't I do this shit when I was young enough to do this shit?
Anyway. Watch this series. It is fucking spectacular.

I'm back... from outer space...

You just walked in to find me here with that same look upon my face...

Hello darlings, I'm home. I had a truly fantastic week away with Daniel visiting the Allcorns, the Tourles and the marvellous Andrew. It was great just to get out of the city and the State for a week. To not have to read the paper. Not go to council meetings or think about stuff at home. I didn't even really see the news for most of a week. We listened to CDs instead of the radio and I completely chilled out.
We covered 1780km from Sydney to Brisbane via the back of Dubbo and saw some tremendous things, including the BIG guitar, banana and prawn. Photos are on Facebook if you want to take a look.
So now I'm back home and I have two weeks off. I've trusted myself to do one job a day and today it was take my drycleaning in, which I've already done and I'm bored so I'm also doing tomorrow's job which was finish my laundry. I'm going to be completely rebellious and dry them in front of the gas heater. I didn't know about the gas shortage/explosion thing until I got back from holidays so it doesn't seem real to me and I don't feel it counts therefore if I go on using gas as I always have.
I met plenty of new people while I was away but got no numbers so God knows who any of them were. Going out in Sydney was the same as always. Spastically drunk on Long Island Ice Teas and Vodka Redbull. Daniel and I felt we'd earned it.
We picked up our Wicked Van, which was rather tamely painted thank God... although it did have "Honk if you married the wrong sister" painted on the back. We got surprisingly few honks in the outback (perhaps people there don't admit such things?) but in Queensland it was out of control. Either that or Daniel and I are bad drivers and we've assumed perhaps wrongly they were honking at the tasteful screed.
Going back to Oxley Downs, or Naroo as it is actually called, just south of Dubbo, was a strange experience. It was wonderful to see Scott, Liz and Kennedy and I was so pleased to spend some real time with them - though sad the boys were at school and I didn't get to see them. Such a generous family and such a good time was had. Getting out to the Outback House homestead was a surreal experience though. It's the only way to describe it.
I guess it's a bit like a mummy of ancient Egypt. It looks about the same and it is surrounded by golden trinkets... but the life is missing. That's not the fault of Scott and Liz, who have done a truly wonderful job in preserving the place. There is nothing that could be done to make it seem less like a museum because that's what it is. It no longer has Brigid, Paul, Juli, Pierette, Persephone, Portia, Russell, Adam, Mal, Fiona, Dannielle, Claire... do you see my point?
It was like a scene from a movie for me. The kind of scene where you see the rusted old dinner bell swinging lifelessly in the wind, then you hear someone ring it and they flash back to some footage of the cook banging away at it and the children running to the kitchen for their lunch. Then it cuts back to the bell swinging lifelessly in the breeze.
It was a little sad. But I didn't cry. It was wonderful to be able to revisit it and I'm glad it is there. Very great love to Scott and Liz for keeping it.
Daniel and I went out in Brisbane too, this time with Andrew. Funnily enough I kind of know Andrew through Outback House too because at the height of it all I googled my name sliiiiiighly obsessively. That's how I came across Phil's blog. And that led to Andrews. Perhaps it was because he was cute, or perhaps because he was funny, I don't know, but I started reading it regularly. That was three years ago. I feel like we've been great mates all that time but I can't believe it has taken me so long to meet him. I was slightly nervous, but I needn't have been. He's a prince. A real find. Gorgeous and I adore him. Ever such a generous host, he showed us around and took us out on the town. Gay Brisbane is very much like gay Perth. Insular. Pretentious. Bitchy. I think I handled myself well in that I ignored almost everyone. Except for Andrew's way too heterosexual but hot and genuinely lovely flatmate Mitch.
Flying home I got to share a plane with the Fremantle Dockers, which was a slightly titilating. Who wouldn't be titilated? I mean they take the lead for three quarters, then roll over and come last. Divine.
Anyway... that's my shithouse summary of what was a truly marvellous week's holiday through the outback and two eastern seaboard capitals with my beautiful Daniel... who I love intensely and never get to spend any time with these days.
And now for another two weeks of reading, watching DVDs and trying to forget that I'm due back at work soon.