Music To End The Year

On the recording (what do you call them now a days?) of Lady GaGa and Tony Bennett, Cheek to Cheek, GaGa sounds a lot like Judy Garland. On the Cheek to Cheek TV special she sounds kind of like Liza Minnelli.

And throughout the TV special, she seemed to be channelling Cher, with a nod to a couple of Patti Labelle hair pieces.

(10 minutes later) I may never have written a gayer paragraph.

6am this Morning

The Golden Flame Tree, bathed in warm light

I Thought There Was One Man With a Gun?

I thought it was just one nut with a gun, (with a long history of violence and mental illness) what was with the "Die Hard" response from the police? That fire storm of bullets for just one guy with a gun? Really? It is one of the problems with having “Law & Order” Governments, you get “Law & Order” happy police.

I think the most shocking thing – okay, perhaps not the most shocking – was that everybody accepted the amazing reaction from the “Law & Order Ecstatic” policemen, without question.

And I guess that is because our government keeps telling us that we had a politically motivated act of terrorism... without any proof. They continually tell us what a grim threat we now live under. We have been conditioned to be so fearful of terrorism that we no longer even question what happened. We don’t question the laws this government is bringing in.

My favourite Geranium

My favourite geranium. It was growing in the front yard when I bought the house. The old girl who lived here previously had, reputedly, lived in the house for 55 years. It didn't look as though she'd done anything in the front yard for 50, so I'm guessing it's old. They used to be in everyone's garden. I'm now growing it in pots, as you do, with geraniums. I've got windowsills, I decided. I might try and grow one inside under the glass roof, (I have a glass roofed atrium that joins the front of the house to the back, it is full of plants, it is like the lungs of the house) not that that turned out well for the lemon scented pelargonium, it didn't like it at all. It was on top of a dresser, though, and too close to the ceiling. I'll grow the geranium on the floor.

My First Gardenia

I'm planting only white flowers in the back yard. It doesn't have to be strictly white, whatever is there can stay there, but all plants from now will be white. (unless I see something else that I like, of course) 
I am plating just pink flowers in the front yard, it was already predominantly pink anyway.

We ate a Japanese banquet for dinner last night in Chapel Street with Jill. It was a gorgeous evening, we caught the tram, because we live in the inner suburbs and that's what you do to save the planet, and because I'd been smoking pot all day. Jill, the bitch, wouldn't drive us home, even after I suggested it. We cursed her all the way home, when our connecting tram didn't arrive and we had to walk all the way home from Church Street... in jest... it was a nice night for a walk. It's not like I am over exercised. Since she inherited her father's millions, she hasn't got anything to do tomorrow, or the day after, for that matter. She never has to work again, so what gives? I was a bit taken aback when she said no, it is not like her. Well, she can be a bit of a princess, she was raised that way. All of her friends tend to keep her grounded. She has just spent the last six months on her own, maybe it has been a little long. Oh, I don't know, who really cares, life's too short. We have known each other for 30 years - time flies. I hit that grease patch at 25 and I have been skidding through time ever since - so, we'll see, I might mention it.

Cool motorbike parked in the street, very sleek, very shiny. I can't make out the brand, not that I am an expert, but I do know something about them. Virago. Soft tail. I didn't recognise the name, Huys... something, I think it is Chinese.

It is a Sunny Morning, I Am Up Early

It is a sunny morning, up early. It is cool, but it just feels like it is going to be hot.

I water the garden, front and back. It is lovely out in the fresh morning breeze. I vacuumed immediately afterwards, just to get it over and done with. I watered all the indoor plants, all before 8am.

I drink my yakult and take my fish oil and lysine tablets and laugh to myself, what is it all for? I want to be there at the end. I am going to be there at the end, I’m not going to miss out on anything. Me and Sam and every body else. Everyone I know. (I was never prepared for friends dying young, that was never in my scheme of things)

It makes me wonder what it is all for? I look at my mother in the nursing home all wizened up and staring blankly, knowing she’d hate that. We cleaned out her house in a weekend. Two days, maybe a couple more the next weekend, but essentially her life was obliterated in a matter of days. Gone. House rented out. All she has left is what she has with her in a six by three room, with sensible furniture. Everything, this university educated, world travelled, much loved woman ever had. Gone in days, dispersed across our homes, eBay and various rubbish tips in between. That’s all you get at the end, a six by three room and your meals on time. A catheter and the muscles gone at the rear.

So, what do I want to be there for at the end? Mushy food and somebody who is paid to toilet you whenever it is needed. Prop you up. Wrap a blanket around you when it is cold.

But, I do know, I don’t want to miss anything in between. Funny, aren't we, never want to miss a thing. Inquisitive?... 

Shake of the head. Gaze out the back windows to my beautiful garden, which I have created. I learnt how to water it, that's all, so simple, now it is lush and green. My new gardenia flowered for the very first time. Everybody said they were hard to grow, but I do have green thumbs.

Some Parent's Really Are Weird

Parent's outraged because Kitty Flanagan said that Santa doesn't exist on The Project. Parent's demand an apology. Really? Some parents clearly need a dose of reality. The world doesn't, actually, revolve around your kids, guys, no matter how much you may think it does.

People are just too weird for me to work out sometimes.

Maybe, it is the stupid people who, actually, think Santa is real.

Interesting fact, Santa, or Saint Nick, was traditionally green and white until Coca Cola change him to coca cola colours.

Sam wagged from his company Xmas party being held at Etihad Stadium. It was some fight to the death scenario, the company hasn't done well and it became gladiatorial with the execs hunting the employees down with spears, or, at least, I think that's why he said he didn't want to go, so he had the afternoon off. Instead, he sent me photos of Buddy being uncooperative during his Xmas dress rehearsal. He doesn't look as though he likes it to me. Last year, he wore his head piece with no objections. Maybe this year, the head piece is heavier? Maybe it is the bells? (snigger) Maybe he is just older and more settled and no longer up for our nonsense.

And the rain came down. I quite like the rain. I like the difference in the weather, the cold and the heat. But to all you climate deniers, I do not like this new humidity that Melbourne now suffers from. Let it be cool when I am walking to work and let it be hot on the weekends and when I have an expanse of water in front of me.

The Jacarandas in full bloom, so pretty, such a gorgeous carpet of mauve. I think the council should plant more Jacarandas around Parliamentary Reserve making it Melbourne's Jacaranda Corner. Wouldn't that be lovely? Two weeks of mauve madness, if anything concerning Jackarandas can be considered madness. It is a bright flash of colour and then it is gone. It burns brightly and then falls to the ground.

Does Julie Bishop Have a Banana? She Certainly Walks Like She Does

"Julie Bishop went bananas at Tony Abbot", said Rove.

"I heard Joe Hockey went off his tits," said Kitty Flannigan.

"Does Joe Hockey have tits?" asked Rove. (Fat, angry men usually have tits, I reckon)

"I don’t know," said Kitty. "Does Julie Bishop have a banana?" (She certainly walks like she does, I say)

The Beginning of Summer

Do we need any further proof of climate change than the general fear that we now feel as summer arrives. It's an attitude, once there was hope, suntans and a beach romance, and now there is fear. The spectre of bushfire and the country burning is making us fearful every year. It never used to be like that. I remember when summer was just a thing of joy, fresh air and long afternoons on the beach as the sun seeped away for yet another day. Golden skin, blue skies, free as a bird, flying high above. Winding roads, tingling skin, the evening breeze, sand.

The Colourful Hive

The Hive shopping whatsit (mall, centre, place) has been transformed with the fresh fruit and veg market that has opened recently. Where it was just a lost, dark corner down the back, awkwardly sitting in front of Chemist Warehouse and next to Aldi, (Is it just me, or do other people feel that shopping in Aldi is like visiting on Mars?) it now vibrates with people and colour and movement… and that all important air con. I know, I know, we’re not usually such pussies, but it was hot today. 

"Oh baby, I'm sweating."

"I'm dying, how much further is it?"

We had to go to the butcher and the other Asian grocer, but we soon scurried back to the cool of The Hive. "Phew!"

I bought apples for 90c a kilo, I bought granny smith and pink lady to stew for my morning muesli. That's very nana, now isn't it? Who else stews apples?

Sam tried on his usual con regarding the distribution of the bags to carry on the walk home. Claims of unfairness, and “I’m dying back here!”

He tries out all the carry bags and quite unashamedly gives me the heavy bags to carry home... if I let him. The trouble starts when I push back and refuse to play the "harmonising" of the bag weight. Then Sam's whining about the bag situation doesn’t stop for the whole walk home.

Today, I out smarted him "ha ha" and swapped heavy items for light ones, as he would do to me if I allowed him too, when he wasn't looking. He soon caught on and he kept up the complaining all the way from Victoria Street to home.

I stewed the apples. I made doubledecker two colour jelly with lychees, earlier this morning. I just needed vanilla ice cream now and I have the perfect English pudding.

It was hot, the sun blazed, the heat beat down. Spring is change, one week hot, one week cold. I like it, I like the change. Actually, I don't much like the heat and find the cool that follows such a relief.

No Queues in Fitzroy to Vote.

We decided not to go early to vote, last year when we did that it seemed like all of Fitzroy thought they'd go early too.

We ate lunch sitting out in the sun on the footpath in Smith Street. It was a sunny day, the sky was blue, the breeze blew. A good day to change government. I ate Nasi Lemak. Sam ate that Asian version of gnocchi, I have no idea what it is called.

No queues in Fitzroy to vote, just a handful of people, we had to wait a few minutes. I had to go to the local table, Sam had to go to the aliens voting in an electorate that isn’t their own table, as we usually do, so we always vote alone. We even got hedgehog on the way out. 

Fat?

No.

Money for charity sweetie, money for charity.

No sausage sizzle, I was disappointed. Not that I wanted one, of course, we'd just eaten lunch, but it is always nice to smell the sausages sizzling in the breeze. 

There is something forever connected with elections and sausage sizzles. Perhaps, it is metaphoric, Who comes before us daring to say they know how to run the country, risking having their sausage cooked on the metre of public opinion. You know, something like that.

I So Wanted To Push Her

The first side of Victoria Parade was clear, so I zipped across. With its white concrete surface, I always feel as though I am tippy-toeing across a Pavlova case whenever I cross it. 

I tip-toed across the tram tracks, the gravel between the lines is lethal. The other side, the inbound lane, was full of cars. I walked along the inside row of parked cars, waiting for the traffic to break. 

A woman opened the door to her silver Ford Falcon right into my path. She then did that bend at the knees manoeuvre into the driver’s seat of the car, which only managed to turn her into a great big arse right in my way, and not much else. 

I could see the black tights struggling with the backs of her thighs. I so wanted to push her face first into her car, but I settled for a clear of the throat and a side step around her, as she did tiny little staccato steps towards the steering wheel as if she’d never seen the inside of a car before in her life. 

People shit me, I thought.

This is What I Imagined

Do you think Tony Abbott masturbates?

I thought about it in the shower this morning. I reckon Tony would be a quick downward pull under the running shower kind of guy. Quick. Efficient.

That's what I imagined, as the shower water ran down over me this morning. You know, when the warm water first hits the top of your head and you let go of your thoughts (dreams, hopes) and they swirl around in your skull all soft and squishy. I'd been thinking something about federal politics as I headed to the bathroom. Hot water massaging the top of my skull... Abbott, one term loser, destroying Australia, 50's neanderthal, try-hard in lycra, when will he stop doing those speed shots, I wonder if he masturbates. Can you see the train of thought?

I think I washed all over with soap again after that. Sam gets right down and washes his toes with soap individually. I don't do that. Does that make me unclean? I did this morning. Shiver all over. Abbott masturbating. Did I get a mental picture? Shiver all over again.

Do you think Margie would catch him? Do you think they'd even share a bathroom?

Putin vs Abbott? Top? Bottom? Putin is your great mountain man, Abbott is your great triathlete, or so both men would have you believe. Once the image of them meeting up at the G20 both in blue suits, awkwardly next to each other, morphs into them kissing and pulling the blue suits off each other, I turn off the water and got out of the shower. 

Putin is on his stomach on the pillow top mattress, his trousers and jocks around his ankles Tony is on top of him... well? Did you think I'd be, um, er, rooting for the enemy?

barberini faun, I think everybody should have one

Casual Friday

The boys at work, you can't help but imagine on casual clothes Friday, how will they look. They look so different, not so buttoned up. Some of them look quite different. Of course, casual clothes Friday only applies to the guys, girls have casual clothes Friday ever day. Girls at this work wear thongs to work. What would happen if a man wore thongs? (As petty as that, actually, sounds)

Chris Carter had on those jeans that made him look like a thoroughbred horse. Slender, but muscular. Pert, sexy. Even Kirin has commented on it, something about following him down the street and not being able to concentrate.

Alex Clover's bum in jeans looks a little chunky, he needs the thinner and tighter cotton of his work pants to capture all of his magnificent contours.

Chris sure is cute. The boy would have a great cock, I am sure, as everything else about him is perfect.

Alex is sexy.

The cute Asian guy told me in the kitchen that his name was Peter. I didn't ask, but I'm glad he did. I think I am quite circumspect at work, continually being the new boy and all. He just told me, then he held out his hand. I never know how tight you have to grip to confirm that you are a guy, so I am sure my handshakes always come off as odd, always testing the water, actually feeling their skin against mine. I guess that is the gay bit.

One Term Tony

Now the world is telling Tony Abbott that he has done the wrong thing on climate change. China and America and now Germany. I believe that is three of the biggest economies in the world.

I only mention it on the off chance that someone amongst you may be influenced not to vote for the Liberal party in the next election. Federal, state if you like. Come on, Tony Abbott deserves to be a one term prime minister. Surely, just in principle, everybody should be against our prime minister looking us in the eye and lying, 

"There will be no cuts to health, no cuts to education, no change to pensions  no cuts to ABC or SBS."

Surely everybody wants to know that the person for who they are voting is telling truth about?

There should be an integrity commission after every election, looking into the conduct of politicians.

Sad old Vladimir

Oh that sad criminal, megalomaniac, narcissist who now runs poor old backward Russia, Vladimir Putin, has his ships arrive at all the conferences he attends. He sent them to the APEC conference in Singapore, he sent them to San Francisco to accompany a visit there. 

It is his compensation for the small penis Putin clearly has. What a sad sad little man, who will be forever remembered for sending Russia back to the 80's, corrupting the Russian political system in the process to stay in power.

How small must Vlad's penis really be? I'd say a button, for him to have to have war ships follow him around the world. What a big dope, so unsuitable for running an ageing super power.

The press is loving it, attempting to connect it to the shirt fronting episode, to sell newspapers, or whatever it is news agencies sell now a days. The Australian public is loving it, because most of them are bored, or stupid, or both and need drama in their lives. The big old boggy man Russia! Sure they are idiots, they are all idiots. Little boys playing tough guys.

It is supposed to make him look in control, apparently, but in these days of carbon footprints it just makes him look like a man of the past from a backward country.


Does it make Vladimir Putin look tough, or does it make him look like a GI Joe doll, all smooth down there?

Six Foot, Eyes of Blue

It was a nice morning, sunny and fine, walking to work this morning. My front door faces east, so I am kissed by the morning every time I leave for work.

Two chicks in short black skirts were walking in front of me up Gertrude Street. Coming the other way towards us was a very handsome council worker, close shave, brown hair, blue eyes, six foot, overalls, with a leaf blower in his hand. His mate was driving the little car-thing picking up the leaves he was blowing onto the road. The trimmed-bearded handsome guy noticed the girls checking him out, as he blushed and smiled and did that awkward straight boy thing of looking kind of coy and turned-on all at the same time, as he gazed after the girls, smiling.

The girls sashayed away. Heads forward. High heals clacking on the bitumen footpath. Ponytails swinging in the breeze.

He blew the leaves after that enthusiastically, adjusting his crotch.

Cute boy with machinery in hand blows hard all over footpath. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see drips on his shoes.


His mate in the small orange car – which I have such a desire to drive one day, the car, not the mate – looked like a giant squashed into a small box. His cheeks were pushed up against both side windows. His knees were around his ears. His hands were between his legs, pulling the lever. The circular brooms whirred on the front of the truck, swirling in opposite directions, brushing, sweeping all the debris, that Six-foot-and-eyes-of-blue had blown at him, into the catcher at the front.

It was a lovely morning, warm like honey and blue like hi-def newness. The girls walked away, ahead of me. The council boys flirted, behind me. I crossed the road and headed to my office. The sun sparkled, morning sun, I love it, it is so full of promise, so full of possibility, so full of hope. So full of handsome men and pretty girls. Anything is possible when the morning sun shines.

I'm sure the birds sang.