Internet Filtering

Hands up those people who don't believe the Internet is being censored by the catholic religious right wing of the Labor Party?

Family values? Don't you mean making allowances for the slack and the incompetent.

"Somebody should do somfink about it?" said mum chewing gum.

Yes, you, get yourself a filter, they are freely available, and monitor your own child's progress.

That's where it really doesn't make sense, filters have been freely available for years for any parent who has concerns about what their children are looking at. But, apparently, parents don't care so much, as the take up rate has been small.

So the god botherers are stepping in... as they have an ‘avenue in’ to impose their ideas yet again on everyone around them.

Think of the children, familiar words when the adults don't like something.

(We're just thinking of the children. No, it has nothing to do with the religious myths in which we choose to believe)

Raising the Sales

Never Gets Old

"Yeah, Pete. I'll criticise you for being spineless and limp and you say I was a megalomaniac who wouldn't let go of power."

"Sure John, no problems. I can do that."

"Could be your next column, Pete."

"Yes John."

"Now, if I could just get some one to throw shoes at me, you know to do with mussos and the middle east, you know like George W."

"Good idea, tie in Iraq and Afghanistan..."

"It should boost my book sales no end."

Odd Couple

I think Russell Brand and Katy Perry are the odd couple. Who’d have thought they would get together? I do not think he is sexy, in fact, I find him a bit, um, ick. Twitching fingers. He looks kind of hairy and smelly. I am surprised so many women find him sexy. Grimace. 

And she looks like a buttoned-up kind of wide-eyed, ex-Christian, who would impose a sex ban for the week before her wedding, like it meant something. I’m not saying she is that person, but she kind of looks like it. 

I don't know why I say that, I have absolutely no evidence on which to base it. She has good tits, I have to say, but kind of sexless, other than that. (maybe that is because I am gay?) 

He's a big, hairy, repellent, knob and she's just a bit pop. So yes, they are just odd together.

Back to Work

Oh, back to work tomorrow. Back to the saltmines. Back to the swamp. It's been so nice, soooo nice, being the lord of my own time. The weather has been so nice, soooo nice. Sparkling. No more fruit salad and honey and an hour, or two, to read the Age. Or afternoon naps, it is so cruel. I had the nicest arvo nap today.

Ah lazy mornings.

Don't make me. You can't make me. I'll do anything. Anything!

Ha, ha, he, he.

I guess I've got to go.

How am I going to cope though? You see, I've had no caffeine or nicotine since last Saturday. It's work that drives me to both those substances. The unhealthy addiction of work, it's inherently bad for your health, it leads to substance abuse, let me tell you. Not to mention, cake addiction, donut addiction and muffin addiction.

Poor me! Poor, poor me.

I've got a big jug and it'll just be water, as it has been for the last week. I'm drinking nothing but water. It's my new health kick, fad, call it what you want. Just water is passing these lips. I want to see how long I can keep it up. 

Will He Say What? Of Course Not? Blood’s Easier to Get From Stones

Sam isn’t speaking to me, this morning. But, it is more than that, he seems upset about something. Will he say what? Of course, not? Blood’s easier to get from stones. He looks like he is going to cry when I push him for why he is seemingly upset with me, why he is silent. His big brown eyes have a pale shade of rouge surrounding them. They are almost pleading, Don't push it or I will dissolve into tears.

I ask him if I am misreading the situation, he doesn’t deny it, well, not strenuously. He just looks nervous, as though he has some big secret he has to tell me.

I don’t know what's wrong, he won’t say. Is it because I didn’t want to sleep at his place last night, telling some truths in my reasoning, bringing home to him the predicament he is in? There are lies involved here and I said I didn’t want to be a part of them.

I think this is the real reason.

We head off to the Classic Car Show. It is a beautiful day. I get a couple of smiles out of him as we head up Gertrude Street with a couple of funny things I say to him. I'm looking at him out of the corner of my eye, he's looking at me out the corner of his.

There is a queue halfway across the front court yard of The Exhibition Buildings when we get there, I am surprised. We stand in the queue dutifully.

Sam hardly says a word for the entire time we are at the show. He has his glum face on, it doesn't change.

"Are we finished?" are about the first words I get out of him.

We head outside onto the vast court yard between the Exhibition Buildings and the Museum. The Valley of the Midgets. The buildings are of such grand proportions, the people in between look like colonies of ants. It's dry and gray in the sun, concrete and flat surfaces as far as the eye can see. I want to shade my brow with my flattened hand.

 I've never been to the museum.

"I took my sister and it was boring," says Sam. "Do you want to go?"

"How could I refuse with that sales pitch?"

Sam thinks there is free admission, but there isn't, you need a coupon, or some such thing, cross promotional bah humbugery. We get free ice creams instead, apparently, the museum is 10 years old.

He only, really, starts talking when we start thinking about food. We eat Malaysian in Grattan Street, nothing quite like I’ve ever tasted before. Sam slowly starts to thaw out and speech resumes again.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, as he always quotes me.

He starts to smile and make jokes, it’s nice to see. Welcome back, I think.

“You made me go to that stupid car show... and I had to pay twenty dollars to get in.”

“You know, if you didn’t want to go so much, why didn’t you just say? I don’t want to make you go to something you really don’t want to go to.”

“You wanted to go, though.”

“I wouldn’t have cared, it’s just a stupid car show.”

And I wouldn’t have cared, I’ve seen all of those cars before, many times. Except maybe the Tucker, it was pretty cool, but for one car, no I didn’t have to go. And it was crowded, full of toothless morons, all shuffling along in the thrill-me-entertain-me-make-my-life-more-interesting-than-it’s-miserable-reality kind of way. I wouldn’t have cared. It was nothing special, really. I’d rather a happy Sam.

"So that's what was upsetting you?"

Those great, big eyes return, momentarily, at my question.

I guess I'm not going to find out any time soon.

 

Suddenly, It Seems Like I Am Sneaking Around

We're lying in bed at Sam’s, it's Saturday morning, I'm half asleep, he is playing with his iPhone. He says that Charlie has asked if he can stay for two months, November to January. Sam and I have a mutual friend, Charlie; two randoms connect, four degrees of separation. Sam realised when he was on Facebook. 

Charlie is moving back to Australia after 2 years, he wants to stay for two months to find a job and a place to live.

Not that Charlie knows that yet.

But, the third bedroom is a study?

The penny drops, the cogs start to turn, my eyes open. Or is it something I knew all along, but didn’t want to look at? Charlie's question is the focus? 

Did I tell you, Sam still lives with his boyfriend, Anthony, of four years, but they are in the process of splitting up. I can understand that... jesus, I've been there. I'd never criticise anyone for how long it takes to separate, as I've taken forever myself. Look at Mark, we're still not really split up, although I don't live with him, of course. Anthony travels with his work and is away a lot of the time, it would seem. In the last two weeks, Anthony has been there for one night.

I thought that Sam and Anthony slept in separate rooms, now that they were at the beginning of their break up.

But, where do Anthony and Sam sleep if Charlie is going to take the spare room?

It rained all night. We come out to the car and one of the sun roof drain holes had blocked up and the car was dripping inside with water. Grrr! There was a pool in the passenger foot well. Damn that gum tree in my back yard. It’s cold and wet, as I force wire into the left drain hole to unblock it. Rain falls gently on me and into the car, as I stand on the door frame with the sun roof open working as quickly as I can.

We head off to eat in Hawthorn. The cafe is closed when we get there, something about a festival.

So we go and eat Thai next to Coles, the pink fish and meatball soup that we had in Victoria Street when we are moving the furniture from mum’s house. Fucken yum!

Then Sam leads me up Glenferrie Road, I don’t know where he is taking me, I don’t really care, the sun is shining, I haven't window shopped in eons, it feels nice. And it's just the day for it. 

I’m not surprised when he leads me into an Apple Shop. Of course, what else. The new MacBook Air. He thinks I should by one. Yes, my lap-top is out of the Ark, I know that. Yes, it is big and heavy and old, but, it still works just fine. I just don't see the reasoning in this day and age when the planet is faltering under too much human consumption to buy something new, just because it is shiny and pretty and fast, when what I have works just fine.

We also look at bikes in the bike shop. They are selling an entry level racer for $699, I should buy it, rather than spend the $1500 on the other bike I have picked out. It’s just for exercise, it’s not for racing or professional bike riding, or anything like that. It is just to haul my fat arse around the bike tracks so it isn't so, um, er, fat any more.

We drive to Studley Park, The Boulevard to go for a walk. It’s a glorious day, one of those perfect Spring days. We run across the ovals, one chasing the other. It feels good to run. We are heading to the convent when we think about the car. The stupid car! We can’t just wander as far as we feel like, because we have to come back for the car. We should have taken it home and then walked down here.

“See, we need bikes,” I say.

He agrees.

We head back to Sam’s place. He puts on rice for fried rice and we head to the supermarket. We watch more Harry Potter, but I've watched more than I realise. Sam cooks great fried rice. I again have trouble staying awake watching teev, it seems to have become a sedative for me. I think it is the combination of the comfy couch, the blanket engulfing us and Sam’s legs across me keeping me warm as toast. 

He says bedtime around 11pm, when he catches me falling asleep for the millionth time.

I'm thinking about Anthony, as I slide into bed.

"So, you and Anthony still sleep together?"

"Yes."

“Does Anthony know I sleep here in this bed with you?”

“No.” 

Suddenly, it just doesn’t seem right. Sam should come sleep at my place, if we want to sleep together. Me sleeping in his and Anthony’s bed behind Anthony’s back, seems like I’m going behind Anthony’s back all of a sudden. It just doesn’t seem right. I wouldn’t like it to be done to me.

He turns out the light, we are drifting off to sleep. It’s only 11.30pm, though, still time to do any number of things on a Saturday night.

I tell Sam that I want to go to my place, because "this" doesn’t seem right any longer. He says go to sleep and stop being a drama queen. 

"It's not like he is going to come home."

"That's not the point."

"Come on, let's go."

"Now?"

I insist.

We head to my place and get into my bed.

Guy Porn

Just too cute, almost perfect

Car porn

Me and My Cat

You know, one of the nicest things to do is to pat my cat. She comes into my study every morning around this time and sits under my chair and I lean down with one hand, as I type and give her pats for about 10 minutes. I love the feeling of my finger tips passing through her soft fur. If I stop too soon, she reaches up and gently claws at my thigh. When she's had enough, she wanders across to the middle of the room and lays out on her side and purrs with her eyes half-closed.

What is it that they say? Patting a cat, lowers your cholesterol and generally cures you from what ails you?

Some Car, Hey?

Diana Dors' 1949 Delahaye Roadster

Sunny Day

I felt better today, the antibiotics must be working.

It was a glorious day, the sun was shining brightly. I went out for breakfast and ate fruit salad with pistachio and macadamia nuts and yogurt and honey dribbled all across it in thick lines and read the newspaper. The fruit was as fresh and taste as the day. The morning sparkled in front of me, I watched the people pass by the window. I wondered where they were going; everyone with a purpose, everyone with a story. Where were they headed?

I walked into the city in a t-shirt, I even had to find my sunglasses. I started out in a jacket, but returned it to home after only walking a short distance. It felt nice. I ate Indonesian food with Sam, it was great. I haven't seen him since Sunday. He's good, you'll be glad to hear.

We went to look at the new Apple Macbook Air, in Flinders Street, of course, but they weren’t in stock as yet. Sam thinks it is high time I updated my old lap-top.

I wondered if I should be walking through the city when I was supposed to be home sick. I told Sam, as we crossed Bourke Street Mall. He asked where would my colleagues would most likely be and I said here in the mall, so we quicken our step, like robbers or thieves to slip back into the shadows of the busy footpaths on Swanston. Oh, who cares. So I was out for the first time all week. It's true. Practically.

I sat in St Paul's Cathedral for a short time and enjoyed the solitude and no, none of the roof fell in. I can still enjoy their architecture even if I think their ideas are stupid. There is a certain serenity to be found amongst all that cold, hard stone.

I walked back through Treasury Gardens and Fitzroy Gardens in the sparkling sunshine. What a glorious day.

Not working is grand. It's amazing how many people who live in my street are coming and going all day, clearly not 9 to 5 slaves. It's an unnatural state, working, I wouldn't recommend it.

What's is Real?

Zoo Weekly magazine's raunchy nun-themed shoot days after the canonisation of Mary MacKillop has been branded "disgusting" by the Catholic Archdiocese of Sydney after a five-page "St Mary Mac and her holy rack" spread which featured a busty model wearing a nun's habit and halo.

And yet in The Age today, in response to "Safe Schools Coalition" gay friendly schools for often troubled gay teenagers, the christian lobby raised concerns the government was "normalising homosexuality as a lifestyle in schools."

Okay, if nobody else will say it, yes that is exactly what we are trying to do, making being gay normal. That's the agenda, no doubts.

"Our concern," continues the Christian lobby, "is that some of these programs promote homosexual behaviour rather than allowing children the time to work these things out for themselves."

What does that even mean? Don't help the gay kids who are struggling with their identity, leave them strung out and vulnerable? So hopefully, what? ...they'll be bashed or commit suicide and the problem is solved, no doubt.

So, on one hand you have the Christians outraged at a little harmless fun being poked at one of their manufactured, mythical saints, which has nothing to do with anything real, except in name only. What did Mary McKillop do, perform a miracle 60 years after her death? Oh yes guys, that seems real.
And on the other, they don't want real kids with real issues, namely gay teenagers, to be told that they are normal, therefore clearly wanting them to continue to be laughed at, made fun of, and ridiculed, which could be help by education.

They want the image of imaginary of a dead woman performing stunts from beyond the grave upheld, but real kids with real problems ignored.

Way to go Catholic Church.

Ed note - I've had a bit more of a look into the Zoo photos and they are pretty tacky, there is no doubt about it, even my mouth fell open, but I still think the principle remains the same.

Blurrrrrr

I was up at 9am to call work to give them the good news. “See you next week, suckers!”

Shane’s last words before he left were, “Now  Guadalupe is coming, don’t throw anything at her.”

At 9.24, I heard the quiet click of the front door and the scuff, scuff, scuff of her feet. “Egads! So early!”

I wasn’t expecting her for another hour, but this was actually good.

I had a shower and went out for breakfast.

I went to Cocos to have breakfast and to get Sam’s jacket, he left there on Sunday. When I got there the first thing the nice lady said to me was, “Just coffee?”

“Um no, breakfast.”
“Sorry, the kitchen doesn’t open until 10.30am, it’s just coffee now.”
And I left.
Without the jacket. I was so surprised about no food, I forgot about the jacket.

Sam would say later, I’m very disappointed, as he does.

So, I went to Arcadia and ate fruit salad and fruit juice. I haven’t drunk coffee since Sunday and not that I have given it up, but I just want to see how long a break I can have from it.
No nicotine since Saturday and no caffeine since Sunday. And I’m feeling fine in those departments. It must be like a distraction thing, give the body bigger things to deal with and it doesn’t notice the small withdrawals. I mean, everybody says that you get a massive head ache from quitting coffee, but no.

I got my hair cut. My stomach was hurting as I walked down Smith Street, but I didn’t want to turn back, I didn’t want to go home, not with  Guadalupe there. I did wonder, momentarily, if I was going to make it there and back again, but I pushed on.

I wonder what the noun for fear of cleaners is?

I bought more Gatorade on the way back. I’m becoming addicted to the stuff. Well, doc said yesterday to keep drinking it.
My stomach was knotting up in pain when I got home and I had head straight to the toilet. Victoria Falls came out my arse. Three times. That is, the entire water flow of Victoria Falls. Three times.
Oh, three times, ten times, I lost count.
Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, my stomach would sound quite audibly.
A big long fart.
Then squirt. Gush.
Do you remember that greeting card sometime back which had a photo of an elephant pissing on the cover with the caption, It never rains but it pours? That is how it felt.

OMG! It is so exhausting, I can’t begin to tell you. Euthanasia for the terminally ill, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. If this kept up for much longer, my finger would be hovering over the speed dial to Exit, no problem.

I called Luke and told him about my Niagara moment. He laughed.
I am one for healthy pooh talk. (smile) Just in case you hadn't noticed. And as it turns out, Sam isn't. Quite the baby, shuts any such talk down. Ironic, really, considering what he likes having done to him.
I went to get more Gatorade.

Facebook
I’m so sick, I could hire myself out as a garden manure sprayer... and I wouldn’t need a machine.
Aby wrote
"Nice!
Thanks for that : )"

I went to get Sam’s jacket. And I got more Gatorade.
I wrote my journal for the afternoon.

Raining

“It’s raining,” he said.

“Yes, glorious spring rain, don’t you love it?”

He gazed out at it and shrugged. “I guess.”

“You guess?” I said.

“Not much to do when it is raining.”

“It’s beautiful to look at.”

“I guess,” he said again.

"What do you want to look at in the rain?" I said.

"I don't know," he said. Rain drops formed like crystals on his black hair.

"There must be something to look at?"

"Yes, there must."

"In the rain," he said.

"Even in the rain," I said.

"A nice piece of arse?" I said.

“I nice piece of arse?” he said.

I shrugged. “That’s what I always do when I’m bored.”

“Am I boring you?”

“No,” I said.

He looked out at the rain and then looked back to me. "Well, I can always look at a nice piece of arse," he said. He shrugged. "There will be no joggers, though."

"No," I said.

"We can't go to the beach."

"No, not in the rain."

"Not in the rain," he said.

"Is it 3.30, yet?" he said.

"Nearly, not quite."

"We could go perve on the school boys?" He smiled his naughty smile.

"The schoolboys?" I said. I tilted my head and looked at him quizzically.

"Year 12?" He shrugged again. "It was just a thought."

"Not a good one," I said.

"Is it 5.30, yet?" he said.

"Not yet," I said.

"We could go purve on the suits in the CBD?" He smiled again.

"The suits?" I said.

He shrugged again. "It was just a thought."

"Too many jackets," I said.

He looked quizzical.

I turned around and mimed something covering my arse.

He looked down at my arse and smiled in understanding.

"Do you want to get sticks and unblock the gutters?" I said.

"The gutters?" he said.

"Yes, the gutters."

He tilted his head and thought for a moment. "We'd need umbrellas and rain coats."

"I've got umbrellas and raincoats."

"Both?" he said.

"Yes, both."

He looked out at the rain. "The gutters?"

"Like we did as kids."

"Did you?"

"Yes.”

“Oh,” he said.

“It always takes me back to my childhood," I said.

“When was the last time you played in the gutters with sticks?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

He shrugged. "Okay."

"We can make paper boats and float them in the torrents we release."

"Paper boats?"

"Paper boats," I said.

"In the torrents?"

"In the torrents," I said. "See whose boat comes first."

"Like a race?"

"Exactly like a race."

“Will I get my shoes wet?”

“Why, are you getting cold feet?”

“Ha, ha,” he said.

“Ha, ha,” I said.

“Will I?”

“I have boots.”

“Boots?” he said.

“Gum boots,” I said.

“Are they black?”

“Are they black?”

“Yes, are they black?”

“Yes they are,” I said.

“They are?”

“What colour would you expect gum boots to be?” I said.

“I once had green ones with buckles on the side.”

“Green ones with buckles on the side?”

“Yes, green, buckles down the outside.”

“No, these are black.”

“I just wondered.”

“I’ve never seen green gum boots with buckles on the side.”

“No, neither have I.”

“But you just said…”

“Except for that pair.”

“Oh, except for that pair.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Why so fancy?”

“What?”

“Your green gumboots with buckles?”

“My mother used to put cling wrap on our shoes as kids when it was raining,” he said. “I think it was rebellion.”

“Rebellion?”

“Against the cling wrap.”

“And your mother.”

“Indeed.”

 

Mark's Incorrigible

I've lost weight, I can see it in my face. Well, I didn't eat for two days, I just couldn't face it, as I have had an upset stomach. The diarrhea still hasn't stopped. I've pretty much been on a liquid diet, orange juice, chicken broth, beef broth, and since I went to the doctor, I've developed a new addiction to Gatorade.

Still, I'm getting back my slim face again. I can see it when I look in the mirror.

Mark has quite an unhealthy body/fat relationship which he got from his mother. It is quite fat phobic.

When I told Mark he said, "Really? Well, you've got the week off, don't take the antibiotics. You body will naturally clear the infection, anyway, without them and you'll probably gain maximum weight loss as well. It's making a positive out of a negative."

He's given up smoking for nearly twelve months and has put on some weight himself, for the first time in his life. "In fact, I wasn't you to keep some of your pooh on a jar, so I can come down and lick it, I could really do with the loss of five pesky kilos."

I've Been Sick

I've had gastro for three days. Oh, it's not fun, let me tell you. I can't be far from the toilet. Sad, anxious, face.

Not fun? It's exhausting.

I haven't eaten for two days I just haven't felt like it. I feel weak, but the thought of food makes me nauseous. Shane has made me chicken broth and Sam said he'd come over with his grandmother's recipe, some porridge thing with egg and chillies.

The only thing I've wanted was orange juice, not sure why and to be left alone.

I was hoping it would clear up, but it doesn't seem to be getting any better. Everything is beginning to hurt. I'm going to the doctor today.

I felt so weak, I hadn’t eaten for two days, pretty much, so I forced myself to eat muesli, and it wasn’t nice.

I went to see Doc, who gave me the week off.

I took a pooh sample to the pathology clinic in Victoria Parade. Hmm, do you want me to tell you about squatting over an ice cream bucket?
“Done today?” the nice receptionist asked.
“Yes, fresh,” I replied.

I watched Tru Blood for the rest of the day.

I've lost weight, I can see it in my face. Well, I didn't eat for two days, I just couldn't face it and the diarrhea still hasn't stopped. I've pretty much been on a liquid diet, orange juice, chicken broth, beef broth and since I went to the doctor, I've developed a new addiction to Gatorade.
I'm getting back my slim face again.
When I told Mark, who, of course, has quite an unhealthy body/fat relationship which he got from his mother, he said,
"Really? Well, you've got the week off, don't take the antibiotics. You body will naturally clear the infection, anyway, without them and you'll probably gain maximum weight loss as well. It's making a positive out of a negative."
He doesn’t like feeling fat himself, for the first time in his life. "In fact, I want you to keep some of your pooh on a jar, so I can come down and lick it, I could really do with the loss of five pesky kilos."

I ate what was left of the chicken broth. This time the chicken pieces and all, it was nice.

I lit a fire.

Sam called and said come over he’d ordered two pizzas from Dominoes.
“Dominoes?” I questioned.
“It was a special offer.”
You’d have to bring it to me.
No.
I turned him down.

Shane went to yoga and bought me home beef broth afterwards.

Smoking Chimney

I wanted to clean out my chimney, stop it from smoking. The soot builds up in the flu and then the smoke can't clear away as quickly and it wafts into the room. Puff, puff... and the house gets smokey.

Of course, I should get a chimney sweep, or what would they be called today, a chimney maintenance professional, I know that, however...

The easiest way to do this is to stuff the fire place with newspaper and then light it. The super heat of the burning paper sets the soot in the chimney alight, the excess soot is burnt up and the problem is solved.

I discovered this many years ago quite by accident, when the chimney caught alight all on it's own. And I've done it myself once before, or at least, Mark has done it for me. He's the "Solo" man when it comes to such things.

So, I got all of my old bills, the ones I've been meaning to buy a shredder to take care of, you know, to avoid identity theft, you can't be too careful, so they say. The crims go through the tip and find them? Anyway, I stuffed them into the fireplace, in they went, one by one. The fire built up to quite a nice temperature, flames roaring. You can hear when the soot catches it makes quite a whooshing sound, like a jet aeroplane, okay, a small jet aeroplane. Once, I heard the whooshing sound I headed out side to look. The flu coming out of the top of the chimney goes bright red.

What I saw was smoke billowing out as if the house was on fire. Jesus! It was like 9/11. Fuck me! I guess, since I'd always done it at night, I hadn't realised how much smoke was produced.

"Okay, I think that is enough," I said nervously.

Sam and I were out in the back yard as we heard sirens approaching. I turned to him and said, "You don't think they are coming for us, do you?"
He shrugged, then smiled
I looked up at the chimney, the smoke had stopped, there were now just some extraneous particles of soot shooting out. When it catches it burns hot and quickly and then it is done.
The sirens got louder. The sirens got softer. Then they got louder. Then they got softer again. As if they'd seen the fire they were supposed to be attending and then lost it.
My stomach buzzed with nerves, I reckon they were coming for us.

Mary MacKillop

Mother Mary MacKillop died on 8 August 1909 in the Josephite convent in North Sydney.

In 1925, the Mother Superior of the Sisters of St Joseph, the order Mary MacKillop founded, Mother Laurence, began the process to have MacKillop declared a saint and Michael Kelly, Archbishop of Sydney, established a tribunal to carry the process forward. After several years of hearings, close examination of MacKillop's writings and a 23 year delay, the initial phase of investigations was completed in 1973. After further investigations, MacKillop's 'heroic virtue' was declared in 1992. The process for determining this declaration is internal to the church, and conducted by those in senior positions.

That same year, it was considered that MacKillop's intercession to God had been responsible for the recovery of an apparently dying woman in 1961. The decree on the miracle was read in 1993 and MacKillop was beatified in January 1995 by Pope John Paul II. [Who is also in line for sainthood]

In December 2009, the Congregation for the Causes of Saints issued papal decree recognising a second miracle, the complete and permanent cure of an Australian woman of lung and secondary brain cancer.

Her forthcoming canonisation was announced in February this year, and is due to occur this month. She will be Australia's first saint.

Events to mark the Canonisation of Mary Mackillop will take place around Australia tomorrow, including a major celebration at her birthplace, 7 Brunswick Street Fitzroy. A morning Mass at St Patrick's Cathedral, will be followed by a parade from Brunswick Street to the Royal Exhibition Building, where a festival of celebrations will take place, including a live telecast from Rome of the Canonisation by the Pope at St. Peter's Basilica. [No vow of poverty there]

In the week leading up to her canonisation, the federal government announced that it is protecting the use of Mackillop's name for commercial purposes. This will be enacted through legislation, and will block companies from calling themselves names that include Mary MacKillop or Saint MacKillop. It may also block other terms such as Our Mary, depending on the circumstances. [or what the lobby groups can achieve, no doubt] Apparently, the only other individual Australian's name with similar protection is cricket legend, Sir Donald Bradman. [sport and religion, hey?]
For the occasion of the beatification, an official commemorative portrait has been commissioned. [Apparently, the official photo is photoshopped to within an inch of it's life]

There is no doubt that she was a good woman who did good work. Her story is an interesting one - ministering to the poor, often in remote locations, travelling the world, excommunication, pedophilia, to mention just a few facts.

However... what can I say? The catholic church needed a good marketing strategy to help it through the 21st Century, to help with it's much tarnished reputation and what better strategy, not unlike Hollywood honouring it's past stars, than to rummage up a few new saints.

I'd be guessing, but I would think that all the catholic outposts in the world, who don't have saints yet, will be in the process of getting them, or will soon have them.

The first miracle attributed to Mary MacKillop happened in 1961, the second some 30 years later. More than fifty years after she had died. So, she has continued to do her good work for the last hundred years since her death? She was such a good woman, even death hasn't stopped her. Amazing.
Of course, there can never be any, actual, physical proof of this.
It's the perfect marketing strategy, something other advertisers and markets of today must be green with envy over. Now, if only they could get their claims raised to the highest level without a single piece of physical evidence they be happy people, let me tell you.

The site for the new Saint Mary of the Cross Chapel is on the Australian Catholic University's vacant land opposite MacKillop's birthplace at the top end of Brunswick Street in Fitzroy.

The gateway to Fitzroy, arguably the gayest suburb in Melbourne, will now be a catholic chapel.

In the process, the catholic church managed to demolish a lovely, deco building which used to be the gateway to Fitzroy.

Funny how religion continues to impose itself on all of us whether we like it or not. I know which building I would rather.

Spring Rain

Don't you just love the rain? A day off. Coffee brewing on the stove and a sweet muffin fresh from the muffin shop. The misty, hazy hues of the garden under it's blanket of water droplets. The pitter pat of the rain on the tin roof.

Everything is wet, everything is dripping. I so love it when the day is like that. Of course, if I had the Greek Islands surrounding me, I'd feel different.

I head out to the shop with my big umbrella, the wind and the rain is sleeting down. It feels bracing. It makes me feel alive.

I buy smokes and head back.

I might just light a fire and set myself up in front of it and write all day.

 

“Be Careful With That,” He Said

I worked back late, yesterday, getting every thing finished for my deadline. 

Sam headed home. Work, smurk, he said. He emailed me later in the night and said he’d prepared noodles for me. Lovely noodles. Come over.

It was 18.30 and I'd just got home. I’m tired, I thought. I can't be bothered driving over to his place.

Then he said he had Sarah Lee ice cream too.

Well, I thought. Shane was out and I was home on my own and would have to get my own food and Sarah Lee ice cream, hmmmm. So, I said yes and headed over to his place.

God I'm cheap.

He cooked lovely noodles and he put chili on the side. “Be careful with that,” he said. The noodles we great.

We watched Prince of Persia. Jake Gyllenhaal was hot. I've never thought that about him before, I've always though he was a bit wimpy, but not in this movie. And cute. Adorable.

I stayed home today, I pulled a sickie, well, I had a migraine, so not so sick. Since Beck was treated like crap and left, I've had no help from anyone and, I think, it was beginning to take its toll. The corporate world, you are on your own, bud!

Not long into the morning, I needed to take a shit. Suddenly, it felt kind of weird too. Oh, gotta go now, I thought. Yikes. Run, run, run!

You know, I never had "the burning ring of fire" until a few years ago. It was a revelation. Oh, that's what they've been talking about. Now I get it.

Oh! Burning ring of fire. Those chilli’s, my god.

I text Sam and he said not to be a baby.

Not long after, he text me with, OMG! Me too! Those chilli's were fierce, hey?