Sunday

(This is an excerpt from my journal)

6.30am. We were both up, which makes a change. Normally, it is just me up first.

Sam dreamed that he was in a public toilet in Asia and he had to scoop the water to flush the toilet and the water was full of poo and he was dipping his arm into the water to collect it to flush the toilet and the poo was going all up his sleeve up his arm. 

"It was disgusting," he said, as his face screwed up.

Sam blamed the still sound asleep bulldogs for his poor sleep. They just naturally speed out across our bed when we get out.

7am. I make coffee.

I read The Guardian.

Tony Abbott implores Cpac to give Liberals ‘one last chance’ and condemns party’s ‘factional warlords’. (But, isn’t he a factional warlord?) Former PM, Jacinta Nampijinpa Price and conference chair Warren Mundine among right faction heavyweights urging conservative voters to unite. (all the religious, conservative geniuses)

Why is Trump so obsessed with Jimmy Kimmel and US late-night TV shows? From JFK to Bill Clinton, US presidents have long accepted the relentless punchlines of late-night hosts as part of the job – until now.

‘The devil is not gonna win’: how Charlie Kirk became a Christian nationalist martyr. The rightwing pundit’s meteoric career was in some ways a microcosm of the rise of Trump-era Christian nationalism.

7:40am. I make Vegemite toast, the breakfast of champions.

7:47am. Otto and Brun were both up.

I watch YouTube, yes, American politics.

8.20am. I make more coffee, despite Sam forbidding me to. Oh, that’s okay, he always forbids me when I want more coffee, and I always ignore him. It is the secret to a long and happy relationship, give and take.

9am. I vacuum. Of course I do, it is Sunday, after all. Sam starts to dust, which is the first sign on my life of leisure Sunday coming to an end and the start of my housework.

9.30am. I finish vacuuming. I have stopped using the LG stick vacuum, it is a total piece of rubbish. I’ve gone back to the full sized Dyson, it works.

I watch YouTube clips on hagsploitation movies. All the old movie dames in their late career films. Oh, so many of them. Lauded, and acclaimed movie starts in Monsters from the Deep, Trog, Flesh Feast, or Die Die My Darling. I contemplate buying a few to add to my movie collection. Admittedly, I already own a few of them. What movie collection is complete without them, I ask you?

I order an old Tallulah Bankhead movie from eBay.

From Instagram, something just catch in your emotions.

John Movido (1959 - 1984) was known as Robbie Leonetti in the adult film industry. Kent Schlesselmann (Kurt Detrick) had given him the name “Robbie” because of his likeness to 70’s heartthrob Robby Benson.

Though I told everyone I was 18, I met John in 1982, when I was only 17. I was on the streets and without family. John quickly turned into an older brother, advising me to quit hustling on the street; becoming my advisor as he guided me through the perplexing world of escorting in Los Angeles.

John was an extremely intelligent, kind, and giving person. He helped me become known, introducing me to many people, pre-qualifying many “clients”, protecting me from the scoundrels who took advantage of us.

In 1983 I noticed John had a lingering cold and cough that persisted without end. By the fall of that year, it was clear to both of us he had this new “Gay disease” that had killed so many of our friends.

Although many of my friends died on the street, outcasts from society, John went home to his family and passed away in 1984.

Though the adult film industry is an almost upward career move today; to me it’s ubiquity makes it stale and uninteresting.

Back in the early 1980’s, it was unforgiving, and most of us who got into it came from broken homes. We were the disposable ones, discarded and unloved; most of our families were torn apart by drug abusing parents, and many of us were molested in Boys’ Homes or by family members.

But we were valuable, they deserved better than they received. Everyone counts or no one counts.

I loved you John – you were my mentor, and my friend. Thank you for sharing your life with me” 📖 by the late Shawn Mayotte

Late morning, I have a shower and get ready to meet the day.

Midday, We leave the house with the Bulldogs. I call Andrew back because I have ignored his two calls this morning. It’s a game, as he demands that I answer his every phone call, so I ignore some of them, just because I can, often sending him text messages about a witch cackling. He says he can’t speak to me when I’m walking the dogs, so I hang up on him.

We were heading to Brunswick Street to eat Mexican, but we so often eat Mexican, so we got distracted.

A leisurely walk later, we’re on the corner of Victoria Street, eating at the dumpling place. 

“What do you think?” asks Sam.

“I don’t care?” shrug. “I don’t care.” Helpful, I know.

It is cold and windy and kind of unpleasant, as their outside tables are out in the open. I suggest we get up and head to Mexican, as it has a plastic screen shielding us from the worst of the inclement weather.

Nyr? We were sitting by the stage and we had menus, so we decided to make the best of the less than ideal conditions and we stay put.

I’m persisting with the new Apple journal to dictate my journal, but I am having trouble making it work. “This app is crap. It keeps doing weird things.” Sam had insisted on my using an Apple product, him being a total Apple nut.

It is grey and seemingly threatens to rain the whole time we eat, but it doesn’t actually rain. A couple of times we may have thought we felt to drop, but we didn’t.

There are lots of girls with their boyfriends in pale grey track pants, which tend to show a lot more than darker track pants. There is a parade of them. Strapping guys.

We ate steamed dumplings and fried dumplings and Santo ate noodles as well.

An hour later, we’re finished eating and we head off.

We turn into Johnston Street to go to Smith Street and the supermarket.

The day is grey, and overcast, the skies all shades of grey. The cold wind blows also.

Not long after, Brun, Otto, and I are awaiting outside Woolies whilst the Santo shops.

Brun lies in the doorway of Woolies initially, until I move him.

“You can’t lie there,” I say, as I move him away from the door. A girl walking in makes a sympathetic moan in Brun’s defence.

The older Asian chick who walks up and down the footpath in front of Woolies is walking up and down the footpath in front of Woolies. She keeps a committed vigil, up and down the footpath all day.

A tall handsome guy in black track pants and a black Hoodie takes a photo of the Bulldogs. They often try to take photos surreptitiously, like he did. “So cute,” he says when he sees me looking at him. So are you, I think.

I watch a friend and her dog walk up. Brun has a bark at him initially. I don’t know why? It is out of character for him. Perhaps Brun was asleep and was startled. I don’t know what else to say that’s really unusual for him, in fact, he has never done that before. My friend pats his head and says, “What’s up with you?”

Twenty minutes later, Sam reappears.

Not long after that, we’re home.

We change into track pants and comfy hoodies and get our devices and take up our position on the couches, things that had to be done, now were done

I read about the many, many people cancelling their Disney, HuLu and ESPN subscriptions over the treatment of Jimmy Kimmel.

I fell down the Facebook rabbit hole for a while. I saved historic photos of Melbourne. It is so seductive scrolling on Facebook, not my feed, or my friends feed, but the Reels, from cute guys dressed in very little more often than not flexing their muscles, to singing stars, Benson Boone, Bette Midler, Patti LaBelle, comedians, Matt Rife, Anthony Jeselnik, Will Burkart, Josh Wolf, talk shows, the advice collum guys, and The Golden Girls.  It can keep you, er, me hooked, if I am not careful. So much time to waste.

I lay on the couch looking at my laptop, while Sam slept on the couch with the bulldogs for most of the afternoon.

I watched firemen and policemen dance to Blurred Lines.

I watch guys in brightly colour clothes dance to Paloma Blanca

I listen to Kenneth Williams. I could listen to him indefinitely. One of the funniest men who ever lived.

I read about the movie Plainclothes, Russel Tovey and Tom Blyth. Tom Blyth is super cute. It is a story about undercover cops entrapping gay men in public spaces until one of the cops has an attraction for one of his victims. You have me straight away with that story line.

I tried to find out if Tom Blyth is gay in real life like Russel Tovey, but I didn’t seem to manage to find that out. Here’s hoping.

Midafternoon, the rain fell down. A lot of rain fell.

I watched one of my favourite car YouTubers with his Model T Ford.

We ate teriyaki chicken for dinner.

We watched Amazing Race. The cute red boys got eliminated. The Parcor boys. I couldn’t work out if they were brothers, or not, either way, I wanted to see them do a little action on each other.

We watched 60 Minutes, Indian national Prabha Arun Kumar died after being stabbed multiple times in the neck by a person dressed in black while walking home alone through Parramatta on the night of March 7, 2015. Ms Kumar was then taken to Westmead Hospital but died the following day.

We watched Charlie Sheen 8 years sober who has written a memoir. He’s always had the gift of the gab, as they say. He was very appealing in the interview.

I finished watching Mortske and his 1926 T model ford.

10.48pm. It was time for bed.