I've Always Had a Secret Freecell Addiction

I'm secretly addicted to Freecell. I always have to have one, or two, games when I first turn my computer on, you know, just to warm up. Just a couple. Maybe more. Does that sound outmoded? You know, I should be playing Donkey Kong 78, or Quogg Starship.

I dunno, I just find it relaxing, kind of sets my brain in a certain mode. Ha, ha! And, I can never let a game go once I've started it... gotta finish, gotta finish, gotta gotta finish.

Does that say out of touch dope?



Elizabeth Taylor's Hairdresser

Elizabeth Taylor's hairdresser was FuFi Fondue... how's that for a name?

About a month ago, at the suggestion of her hair stylist, presumably, FuFi Fondue, Elizabeth Taylor decided to place her gold lamé Cleopatra sandals on eBay. They were purchased by a Mexican buyer for $7.2 million.
Not bad for a pair of old sandals.
But I read that old Liz was worth anything up to a billion dollars, so what would she care about 7 odd million, really? I ask you?

She wasn't much of an actress, but goddamn she was beautiful.

 

I'm Going Away for the Weekend

I'm going away for the weekend, up the country, heading out for fresh air. Pot will be smoked, I know. Sam says it is the reason I’m going. It's not, it's beautiful up there. But, I'm worried about my quitting smoking, it's been three days today since I had a cigarette and I already feel fitter and healthier.

I don’t want to smoke. I don’t want to smoke.

I'm sure, I'll smoke pot. I'm sure, I won't be back on the fags. I’m guessing, saying “sure” almost ensures it comes true. So it's a positive affirmation, of sorts.

I'm taking my buddy Anthony, you know the third one of my long lost best friends, the one that's not dead. Damaged, been in rehab, been in the locked away. I'm taking him up to Bolago, for the weekend, for the first time in years. He drinks like a fish, by his own admission, but we'll just be sitting around, so what does it matter.

Be back Monday. 

Dirty Christian

I was singing to Sam, we'll, actually, texting him, the milk milk lemonade around the corner chocolate made song, as I sat on the toilet taking a dump.

He didn't know it.

I was giving it to him complete with appropriate sound effects, so he'd pick it up fast. Actually, it was just a series of texts saying plop, plop, plop at the appropriate moment.

He told me I was disgusting.

Ah, the sanitised world… I told him we were all only one bad diagnosis away from being Ann on Little Britain and rubbing faecal matter all over ourselves.

He sent me back a series of unhappy icons.

I laughed.

When I told him I had it under my fingernails, he baulked.

The things that amuse me sometimes, you know, I've got to wonder.

People falling down…

The world’s fattest twins… the countries ugliest woman… the stupidest parents.

The dumb things people do. You know, I used to want to change the world... but now I just want to sit back and laugh at the stupidity.

Who Should Pay For The Carbon Tax?

I think the people with children should pay for the carbon tax, as they are the ones who have a vested interested in the races survival. Everything is geared towards them, the tax system, the political system, the social system, working families, how many times have I heard that? Let them give something back, for a change after years of favouritism, where they’ve been allowed to breed unchecked.

I personally don't want to pay a carbon tax, hands in the air, as I don't care if the human race survives, or doesn't survive, after I have died, as I don't have children, there’s nothing of me going forward.

And, I think, it will survive relatively the same for my life time, at least.

Until that time, I want my costs to be as small as possible, you know, like everyone else does. Minimum costs, for maximum income.

There is a good argument to be made that the human race won't, and shouldn't, survive, as we haven't made much of a job of it, thus far. At any given point, a third of the world is starving, a third of the world doesn't have access to fresh water, while the other third eats itself to death. At any given point, fifty per cent of the population hates the other fifty percent.

What's the point? What is there to save?

Why should we survive?

One hundred thousand years and there won’t be any trace of us having ever been here, that’s how clever we are.

Nice Tits

Bad Auntie

An Auntie of Sam's has tagged along to Australia on his parents first trip to visit their son. Sam was not happy and has been mean to her, picking fights, putting her in her place, at the slightest provocation.

You see, she has been trying to direct the show, influence proceedings, like wanting to always do things other than what is proposed. They are now all going to Sydney for three days, as Auntie declared she couldn't possibly come to Australia without seeing Sydney. You know probably true, but with that rationale

Sam has a plan for his parent's entire holiday. He only sees it as his parent's holiday, onto which Auntie has tagged along, so he has no compunction about putting her in her place.

He doesn't like her, it would be fair to say. Some of the things he tells me that he has said to her, they seem tough and I know he does have a tough, unbending attitude to him occasionally, I hadn't quite seen it in all its glory.

Note to self: don't upset him.

Actually, I usually laugh when I see it, so I don't see it so often. It shrinks under the face of ridicule, like most things of an unreasonable nature.

Then he laughs too. His face breaks into that adorable smile.

I said to him, "But with you always arguing with the Auntie, doesn't that affect your parent's holiday? And not for the better."

He explained. "I can't have her going home and giving a good report." His serious face."Oh Sam's house is a good place to go, he's doing very well for himself." Serious face, hands up in the air. "Otherwise, every relative I know, and some I don't, will come."

Dinner Tonight with Sam and His Parents

I'm having dinner tonight with Sam and his parents. His parents are in Australia for the first time, they are here for 2 weeks. They don't speak any English. Oh, come on, it should be lovely. Nervous smile. I usually have parents charm, but not if I can't talk to them. Hey? They are dropping by late in the afternoon after they have spent the day in the city.

They don't know Sam is gay. Sam thinks it's a good idea, dinner that is, he says they won't think of it? But they keep asking him if he has a girlfriend? When are you getting married?

I might just lean over and kiss him in the middle of dinner, that would fix it, hey?

You know, I don't care if my boyfriend is in, or out, to his parents, it's up to him. It is a personal decision, whatever he wants to do is okay with me. However, you are not giving them a chance if you don't tell them. Only one of my friends has parents who never got used to the idea and who still give him grief about it. So, one out of how many? You've got to give them the chance.

And, every little bit helps. The more people who are out, it'll be just be that little bit easier for everyone else. Not that you have to do it for anyone else, mostly it is your own life that is easier.

But, I guess you all know that. Big smile. 

Sam Sent Me This Today... He's not Happy About Me Smoking

Then he sent me this

Which Reminds Me

Which reminds me, I should head outside for a smoke.

Those anti smoking ads always have me reaching for a cigarette. Stupidity? Perverse human behaviour? A fault in me, my psyche, my mental abilities, my addiction?

Having said that, I'm all for obliterating the packet with those evil pictures, why not? I know that I was drawn to the packets and packaging of cigarettes right from the get go.

I must quit tomorrow. 

He's Home Again

As soon as I saw him, he smiled that smile and I thought, how cute are you.

My baby is home, cute as ever. I pinched his cheek and slapped his arse. Twice. He was on me the second time, kind a surprise attack. It seems two weeks away and the boy has greatly heightened needs. Just like that, not too much was said, it was all action. I liked it. Any time you want, sunshine.

He bought me a jumper and an umbrella. It's a great umbrella, well, the idea is good. It's a real gizmo umbrella, it folds away to nothing, but when you extended it, it is the size of a golf umbrella. When we walk to work together, I only have one umbrella, so I guess he's sick of getting his hair wet. I mean, he is gay after all under that mild mannered exterior.

But, do I really want to carry something extra in my brief case, every day?

I took him out and bought him a hamburger. He was nearly impressed.

I told him that I still haven't got a new battery for my car. He held his hands in the air and said that I'd had two weeks.

He was tired from jet lag, so we fell asleep in each other's arms for the afternoon. How sweet.

He's grown pubes, I like it.

Easy Fucken Peasy

I didn't get my car battery changed. The greatest of ideas, hey?

It was the simplest of plans, head to the country Saturday, spend some time with Mark, smoking some hooch, finish rendering the walls that were destroyed in the recent floods... well, an excess of water that thundered down the gully, more so than any river breaking its bank and taking out the whole goddam ponderosa, you understand. Monday morning get up head to the country automotive shop where I'd be able to drive right in and have the man change it for me, then scoot down the highway and into the arms of my boy.

Easy fucken peasy!

Well no, it’s a public holiday, isn’t it. God dam! Okay, I guess it serves me right for all the times I’ve smugly said that I don’t feel any disappointment around missing out on Monday public holidays, as I don’t have to ever work a Monday, ha ha, when asked by fellow work colleagues.
Bugger! Now I’ve got to battle with a faulty car for the rest of the week. Good thing I don’t drive it... much... nervous smile.

Any other Monday...

Grrrr! I head off to see Sam... with my fingers crossed.

Sam Comes Home Tomorrow

Sam comes home tomorrow. Yay! I miss his happy face. I miss him because... because... and I guess people will be underwhelmed by this description, but I miss him because he is so normal.

He  doesn't have lots of baggage, or angst, or crap he's dealing with... he's happy and relaxed and laid back.

He's cool and I can't wait to see him.

And, of course, he likes me. Ha ha!

Joy in your hands

A little dappled sun under the gum trees, a gentle breeze. Soft gravel under my feet. Intelligent conversation with one of my favourite (behind hand, if not favourite) men in the world. Forrest all around me. The birds tweet.

A lovely piece of hand crafted wall in front of me to work on, swish, swish goes the rendering brush in my hand. And with every swish, the transformation is apparent before me.

Magical rock walls beside the driveway, designating where the forest finishes and the house (compound) starts, beautifully. They are, actually, rendered eucalyptus logs, sandstone to match the house in the distance. Four sweeping panels with railway sleeper uprights in between.

There is joy in such hand craftsmanship.

Mark and I have a lovely time.

We Were Doing That "S" Thing That's Going To Ruin People's Lives

Sam and I were talking dirty, you know, what we were going to do to each other Monday morning. He's back in the morning, I have Mondays off. So, I sent him a photo of what his descriptions were doing to me, just as a spur of the moment thing, just like that, I didn't really think about it. I pointed my phone camera down, it was that easy.

Sexting. I hear all the kids are doing it.

Do you think it is going to ruin my life, as all the conservative liars... er... commentators warn our young? Do you think I'll wake up tomorrow to find a photo of my penis on the cover of the newspaper? Do you think I'll be a star on some Czechoslovakian porn website?
He sent me a photo of him with his pants around his knees, pretty cute it was too, really nice. I'd forgotten how impressive he is. Well, not really, I'd forgotten nothing, but I haven't seen any of him in nearly two weeks. And I've missed all of him, you know.

So, I came up with an appropriate response. You know, it's not easy... camera in one hand, holding it in position and getting the focus and the angle right. It's not as easy as it sounds. Spit on my palm. There... there... there.
I'd just got all those things right and Bzzzzt! "Shit! Jane!"

My step daughter was arriving some time after 4pm. I had momentarily forgotten. Oops! You know, just distracted... by what always distracts us boys.

Fuck it!

Camera phone in one hand, well, you know what was in the other hand.

Bzzzzt sounded the phone. Bzzzzt sounded the phone again.

I pulled up my track pants, dried the palm of my hand on the back of my leg with one downwards wipe and headed to the door.

I hit send twice, as I walked down the hallway.

I straightened my t-shirt and gazed down at my track suit pants, just checking nothing was hanging out, ha ha, could you imagine? Then I reached for the door handle.

"Hi Chriso, what have you been up to?" asked Jane.

Well? I thought. I could feel my cheeks crease. "How about you?

Jackson and the Rose

I didn't get home until kind of late, as it was my last day for the week and everything had to be done before I left.

We cut the rose down, Jackson and I. Jackson had called me yesterday about it hanging over into the laneway, potentially, blocking people's way. I had notice what it was doing that morning. Jackson said he’d have a go at it.

When I got home, he’d tied five, or so, white ropes to it, which he’d thrown over the fence for me to secure to something on the other side. I had told him that the whole idea of the rose was for it to grow up the outside of the wall and then fall over the top, cascading with roses down my wall on the inside. However, with the ropes it looked like sail rigging and I wasn’t going to live with that coming over the fence, no sir.

So we cut it back heavily.

Chop, chop.

I like Jackson, he's the mad professor type. He said he had a drill and we can drill the wall and secure the rose properly. Good idea, I must take him up on that. Again, I chastise myself for giving my drill to Mark. Stupid me, what was I thinking. Idiot!

If I didn't give my drill away, I wouldn't have had to chop the rose down.

My world

I Miss Him

I miss Sam, he'll be home in a week. He continues to send me fascinating photos of Malaysia. Today it was only two shots of a flash new Jaguar XJ zooming past him on the road from Penang to Kuala Lumpur. They aren't available in Australia yet, I don't know how he knew to photograph it. But, I turn all my boyfriends into car nuts, it's a sign that they are the right guy for me.

Well, I thought it was pretty cool.

I was surprised how deserted the road is. When I think of Asian countries, I think of jam packed roads and cars every where.

He says how he can't wait to see me, we talk continually on instant messaging, all day. Gotta luv modern technology for that. He says how he is getting... um... er... well, frustrated, if you know what I mean. I'm sure you can guess how he's feeling, you know, hanging out. It's good to hear.
Big smile.

Sam's Penang

Jambu

You've got to love those colours

Roxy Music

I went to Roxy Music last night. Ner! They weren’t so good. They sang a couple of songs well, Love is the drug, despite it being at break neck speed, Let’s stick together and Avalon. The play list was really weird, lot’s of obscure stuff. They, seemingly, finished with Let’s stick together, but then went on to play some obscure song after that, at which time we left. Jealous Guy showed up every flaw in Brian Ferry’s voice and probably shouldn’t have been attempted at all.
The sound was crap at the beginning, until about the 3rd song, the bass drum was being played annoyingly badly, not behind the beat or in front of the beat, just randomly. I’m not kidding
The backing singers were fantastic, but not heard enough.
The whole vocal mix was dodgy, maybe because Brain Ferry’s voice isn’t so good any longer.
The sets and staging were great; video, lighting, hand held cameras, but then we live in the technology age and it should be, huh?

I went to the toilet to have a piss and the hand dryers had advertising in them. WTF! Do you believe that? Little televisions mounted in the body of the hand dryer, can you believe it. You can’t get away from it anywhere, not even when you are taking a piss. What effect would that sort of advertising have, other than to annoy people, I ask you? The advertising industry really is becoming a virus on society, a scourge that will have to be reined in one day.

It says something, if you go to a concert and the thing that made the biggest impression on you was the hand dryers in the toilet.

Sam's Malaysia