Global Warming, No Shit!

Hot! Fuck me! What month is it? No global warming? I'd like to see that. I wanted to put my arm over my face, as soon as I left the house, shielding my eyes from the burning morning sun, until I got under the verandas of Gertrude Street.

I always was a little precious with the heat. I mean, I'm fine if I'm in a singlet and shorts and have a beach in front of me. No problem, it can be as hot as it likes.

I caught a tram, I'm not walking in that heat.

There was a mighty fine stock broker jogging to work this morning, in short black running shorts. Great legs. He hardly broke a sweat.

A stocky Jewish Lawyer, with a black skull cap, hair-pinned into place, from one of the law firms below us, got in the lift and said, "Ah, I see you are very wise and have dressed appropriately for this kind of day."

I wasn't quite sure what he meant, as I was dressed in the same way I dressed every day.

He must have read my reaction across my face.

"It is too hot for a tie on a day like this."

But I never wear a tie to work. It's medieval. The company has got me shackled without, actually, putting a noose around my neck. It's always been my attitude to office wear. Suit, crisp shirt, good shoes. But nothing around my neck to prove it.

I don't know how they do it on a thirty eight degree day?

Bolago

Stinky Old City

As I was leaving the country, on dusk, I felt cold and put a shirt on over the singlet I had been wearing all day. It was glorious up there; sunny all day, hot actually, cooling just as it blushed into dusk. Lovely. Always cool enough at night to sleep under the doona.

I had the air conditioning going all the way home, as Chaka Khan entertained me with her new cd, Funk This. I pulled into my car space, at the rear of the house and swung the door open to be met by a close, sweaty, sticky, hot old city. I wondered why I even come back.

The shirt, I had put on before I left, stuck to my skin.

We've got it all wrong in the city - all that concrete that takes forever to cool down. The country is always glorious at night, no matter how hot it has been during the day.

By the way, whose giving up their air conditioner because of global warming?

 

The New Guy

There is a cute, new, guy at work, Charlie, who I reckon is gay. He's an analyst in our department. He has a pert little arse that looks like a gay arse. It's been a while since I've, um, heard a bottom boy really enjoying it. Too much information? I love that look in a boy's eyes when he really wants it.

Neither, Manny or I were naturally inclined and we used to jostled for position; even if Manny used to offer up his Greek arse, once in a while, after being wrestled to the mat. That was hot. Sometimes he does, sometimes.

Do two tops ever really make a good couple? I say they do. Shane says it is a waste of a good top. He says a good one is hard enough to find (excuse the pun) @ the best of times, without them paring up.

I'm guessing he is gay. It is nice to have another gay guy in the office. 

Stupid World

You know, I used to think that political correctness was a good idea. If people couldn't work out on their own (read, too stupid) that they shouldn't call a black guy a dirty nigger, or a gay guy a filthy faggot, or a woman a 2nd class bitch, then there was a set of rules for the idiots to go by. A lowest common denominator benchmark, if you like.

But what it has done in reality, is stop people talking their mind in case they might offend someone. The prudes can use it to stop anything that is not to their taste.

On Letterman the other night, they had a dog who barked when his owner stuck his middle finger up in the air at him. But you know what they did? They pixelated out the "bird," as the dog barked. Have we really got to that level? Have the, ever more present, conservative forces really taken us back that far? People are stupid.

Here Are Some Great Ways of Dealing with the Burdens of Life

* Nobody cares if you can't dance well, just get up and dance

* Since it's the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.

* The second mouse gets the cheese.

* When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.

* Birthdays are good for you - the more you have, the longer you live.

* You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.

* Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.

I Couldn't Have Imagined How Bad

My house mate, David, came home with a record shop bag in his hand, saying, "Look what I've bought."

"What?" I asked suspiciously. David has the second worst taste in music of all my housemates. Only Tim's taste in music is worse. Bubblegum pop. Spare us! David is not far behind.

"The new Celine Dion cd."

I reeled in horror. "You know you can't play it." I had only informed David last night that Celine Dion is the only banned artist in the house.

"I can play it in my car," said David. "And look what I bought you?"

"What?" I asked in fear.

"Can you guess?"

"No."

"Guess!"

"Oh, Kelly Clarkson?" Going on David's usual taste.

"No. Open it."

I pulled the paper bag apart and was stunned. "The Spice Girls Greatest hits?" I said incredulously.

He didn't know what party the Prime Minister belonged to. Or, which party was, at present, running the country. But I guess I'm just being a bitch, now. Or am I jealous? Sounds like bliss, now I come to think of it.

His two, very left leaning, house mates have instructed him how to vote in the next election, don't you worry about that. Not that it really matters in Fitzroy, lets be real.

Mr Sheen has to Go

I can't talk about the election. I don't want to have to go and live in New Zealand, if that revolting little man gets back in, as I said I would.

Not only do I want Howard to lose the election, it would be poetic justice if he lost his seat too.

But, I'm not saying a word, I'm too nervous.

But remember, not only did Howard give big business the power to cut to lowest paid workers pay, at the same time he gave the bosses, who would be razoring the lowest paid workers hourly rate, a tax break, by moving the top most tax threshold from ninety thousand to one hundred and fifty thousand.

I always thought that one of the main functions of government was to promote the narrowing of the wealth gap, not to actively encourage it. Even if you are one of the highest paid workers, you must be able to see that what has happened is inequitable and will lead to disharmony in the population. On that fact alone, and there are many more to draw a kick-John-Howard-out-of-office sentiment, I say kick the fifties throw back out on his fat little arse.

But what do I care, I bought new porn.

I Wanted to a) Marry him b) Lick him

8.30am. 86 tram. I buy a ticket and sit straight down. I'm puffed because I had to run to get on. I looked diagonally down the middle of the car. Dark, curly hair, still wet from the shower. 5 o'clock shadow @ 9am, dark against his olive skin. Big dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. White shirt checked with fine black lines. Brown tie, Windsor knot, not quite pushed to his whiskery throat. Brown waist coat, three buttons. V shaped shoulders, strong chest, chunky arms. Solid, strong, gazing down reading a novel. Gorgeous.

He looks up, in my direction, probably @ me gazing @ him. Nice square jaw.

I look away, gaze out the window.

Beautiful Day

It is a beautiful day, in the country, just gorgeous. It’s a day to be out in the garden. The yellow irises have formed a yellow raft right next to the lake. The blue pacific and some bright mauve bush next to it, reflect as a ball of colour on the other side.

Mark is out in the veggie patch, his white t-shirt splattered with mud. Sebastian is weeding, shirtless in a big straw hat. Luke is in the kitchen cooking.

I sit on the front steps and smoke a cigarette. Yes, yes, I don't want to talk about it.

Sebastian is wearing long shorts which have slid down his hips to such an extent I can see the tops of his pubes and, practically, down the crack in his arse.

I decide that I want to head home do washing and smoke pot. Some days Bolago just seems too idyllic and I get restless. Everybody floating about doing their jobs, sometimes makes me feel like I don’t have a job up there and I’m just biding my time.

So, I headed down the Caulder around 1pm, under the clear blue sky and the bright sun, which washes the country side into a strong sense of security. You know, beauty for as far as the eye can see, bathed in gold.

Bolago

Saturday Night Out in the Country

Got to mums about 3pm to have a cup of tea with her, on my way to Bolago, after spending the morning, well, in bed smoking pot, watching porn and masturbating.

I got to Bolago around 6pm, to see Sebastian. He’s still adorable. We went out for dinner. We sat outside in the main street of Woodend, as the sun faded and set. There really is such a gentle ambiance in a country town on a warm summer night that you just don't get in the city any more. I guess it's reminiscent of long evenings as a kid. We were graced with the presence of the beautiful John, one of our waiters, who is handsome, with dark curly hair and dimples and cheeky and so clued up for a nineteen year old. He came out for cigarettes, he was eating inside.

The still very beautiful Sebastian is funny. He said he is most upset that none of us find him sexually attractive any more. "Nah," we all said at once. We explained to him that we think of him as a friend - we've known him for five years now - and we don't usually fancy our friends, gay or straight. He said he was disappointed, in his thick Italian accent, as he looked dejected into his pie. He made us laugh.

Sebastian has to be back in Italy in five years time. Plenty of time to find an Australian wife, he says.

I felt a bit spaced because of all the dope I’d smoked. I don’t know if I’m changing but the effect of the dope is different. It makes me a bit dizzy, I guess is the best way to describe it. I wonder if it has anything to do with abstaining for weeks and then hitting it as hard again?

We smoked pot and watched Weeds on DVD. I fell asleep and ended up sleeping in my clothes, as I couldn't be woken. But I sleep in the bed in front of the open fire, so it made no difference.

Plan A

The sun is shinning, the sky is blue. Go get your bike, pump up the tyres, ride over to your mums. Go to Bolago. See Sebastian.

Don't smoke any more dope. Don't watch any more porn.

Buy coffee beans.

Do not buy Italian donuts.

70's porn

I tried watching some old porn, recently. I kind of liked the idea of all those guys bare backing with impunity. Like it was a right. A political statement - we practice sodomy and we're proud of it. They suck each other off to songs by the Stones.

Now, a part from the poor quality of old videos - quite frankly, who'd be bothered just on that level - I can't get used to all the hair the blokes had back then. And I like hairy boys; stomach, chest, arse, give it to me baby! But these guys seem to have it in plague proportions. Just every where and long. Masses of it. Yuk! I had to stop watching.

Whinge Whinge

I've got to get to being good. Get my act together; quit smoking, quit dope, quit cakes @ lunch time, do more exercise, get writing, maintain my friendships more actively. Why is it that other people achieve so much and I seem to consistently achieve so little?

(I do work full time. I do help run a retreat on the weekends. I am spending more time looking after my mother, since my father died. I do do those things)

Speaking of writing, how long ago did I finish my writing degree? 2004. (Oh yes, I did do a degree at night, up until recently) Not that that is a benchmark, but it is a guide to how many years it's been since I've produced a finished piece. (I've got many things 1/2 done)

I danced with my shirt off at Woof Club, and while there was every size and shape there, I'm not used to seeing myself, in the mirror, with a flabby stomach. And yet, I had another slice of Rocky Road with my coffee at lunch again today.

I do walk a kilometre, or so, to and back from work every day. Who am I kidding, I rarely make the walk into work, now a days. I do always walk home, though. But, clearly, it is not enough. I wish I could get inspired to go back to the gym?

I want to be a non-smoking, fit, writer. I wonder how I go about that? I'm hopeless.

I decided that, during my exercise non-decision, I could go walking. It's a no brainer. Easy to do. Don't have to think about it. I went and bought a new pair of runners to inspire me. An hour a night, three times a week. How hard can it be? Do you think I've been. About 3 times. Hopeless!

How do I get inspired to do more exercise?