First Day of Summer

First day of summer. Yay! (global warming withstanding) I'm off to Bolago. I wonder how hot this summer will prove to be, as I flick on the aircon and close the sun roof in the car? I laugh to myself when I think that if the summers are going to get hotter and hotter, I'm going to go live in the country. Who'd have thought, that global warming would drive this city boy to live a rural lifestyle - not this year, obviously, or probably next year, but I can see it happening.

It's always cool in the country at night, the earth sucks the heat away, no matter how hot it has been during the day.

Too Rich?

The electrician turned up and even he was supposed to be here on Tuesday.

So that's the heating man hasn't come after two calls. The plumber promised, admittedly the agreement was no hurry, but he's never been seen again. The possum man came and said get some one else. The mechanic said he'd send a quote for car repairs and two weeks later it still hasn't turned up. And I've called him three times thus far.

I find it hard enough to organise these things and tee up times in the first place. But then, when they don't come? Grrrr!

What do you have to do to get a tradesman?

I Love This Picture, It Makes Me Laugh

Modern Day Politics

We've got the Labour party moving further to the right, with Kevin Rudd and we have the Liberal party saying, Oops, we went too far right, let’s crank it back a touch.

And we end up with Laberal.

And why are they all Christians? Surely, being a Christian isn't good marketing, with what religion is doing to the world? So why? Shouldn't that exclude them automatically. Isn't it a conflict of interests when members of the lobby groups gain company positions?

I love this too

My Motto for the 21st Century

Just care less.

Otherwise, before you know it, what with the world media and all, you are sucked into the world's psycho drama, where, not unlike a casino, it is all geared for you to spend to cheer yourself up.

Get involved in your local community, if you need to position yourself on the planet.

Howard, The Arrogant Twat

The Ego Has Left The Building

You know, it was just fucking Howard. Ego gone mad. His own particular brand of personal mania, spread thickly over all of Australia.

Nelson and Turnbull are both left Liberals, or what they call small L Liberal. So even the Liberals are saying, Too far right.

Perhaps, we should call Howard Margaret from now on. Margaret Howard, it has a certain ring to it.

An Exhibition?

Christopher saw Anna, in Gertrude Street. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. Bikes flashed by. People drank coffee and beer, in seats under the trees. She's back from Europe, apparently? He knew that she was going. It seemed to have gone really fast.

"I've been travelling and painting. Drawing. Looking for good light and experimenting with photography." She looked hot. Wild hair. Mini skirt. "What have you been doing?"

"You know, the usual."

"No, I don't, actually." Anna laughed, like chiming bells. He'd never seen her so relaxed. "What is the usual? I don't know."

"You look great." She did.

"Thanks." she said.

"How's Ethan?"

"He's good, on a very short leash, at the moment." She laughed, as if recalling some distant memory. "He's been busking with his sax. You know how he looks?"

Indeed, Christopher did.

"They love him. The girls, go nuts for him." Anna laughed. "I got him to wear less and his takings went up." She looked away. "I mean, I was just amazed I got him working. But then I discovered so was something else... um, working." She looked away. She looked back.

What could Christopher say? He raised his eye brows, instead.

"I found him in a jacuzzi with a cocktail waitress. He freaked out when I got my camera out and started taking photos." She laughed. "They were great shots." She laughed again. "The cocktail waitress went spare.

Suitably horrified look on his face. "Is he with you?" Trying not to laugh, but then laughing anyway.

"No, fuck him." She looked away. "I left him in Europe." She looked back, her eyes flashed. "That wasn't to say I wasn't cross." She grabbed Christopher by the shirt front and whispered, broken hearted. She pulled away. "So, Sorry!" Big eyes, shallow breaths. "Would be a good word to describe Ethan's current state of health." She fanned her face with her fingers

"You all right?"

"Yeah." She smiled. "I'm fine, really."

"That's good to hear," Christopher said.

"You promised to marry me, if he ever dumped me?"

"Sure," said Christopher, more quickly than he cared to, really. She did still remember it was a joke?

"You and me?" She stopped fanning. "Don't make me laugh."

He'd never seen her look more beautiful.

"So, what have you been doing?"

She's been doing a series of paintings called, Bob's Your Uncle.

"I saw him, Uncle Bob, at my grandma's funeral. He looked nervous when he saw me." She smiled. "That's what prompted me to exorcise my Bob demons through paint. Oils. Thick. Just like him." She laughed nervously. "So I did. I've got an exhibition in Berlin. It's rabid revenge. All dark and full of murder. Lot's of blood and figures with big hands." She laughed. "There's a drowning."

Apparently, that's what he used to do, take her out into really deep water where she'd have to cling onto him. Her mother would be waving from the beach, marveling at how good her unmarried brother was with her little girl.

Anna took a cigarette out of her bag and lit it, blowing smoke luxuriously into the air.

"And as far as Mr Ethan is concerned, we left it that if he met up with me in Berlin, then fine, but it is by my rules." She held his gaze and kind of clicked her jaw and blew a smoke ring. "If he doesn't show, I'll understand why." She looked away.

Silence.

Then she smiled and did that little head wiggle that always meant every thing will work out fine. "So, I'll catch up with him there," said Anna. "I'm heading back via Russia."

A Visual Representation of John Howard’s Political Career Right About Now

Welcome to the Revolution

We're eating Krispy Kreme donuts, to celebrate the fabulous win by Labour, @ our breakfast of champions.

Labelle sing - The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.

All Over Now...

I voted. It was a glorious day. You can feel the migration of people in Fitzroy on polling day, all walking in the same direction.

There was a hot wog boy, electoral official inside St Mark's Church Hall. Grey t-shirt, black, faded jeans. What did he have down those pants? I could see his shaft pointing down, slightly curved, dressed to the right. I, of course, had partaken of a little voting day herb, so I couldn't help but look. It moved around as he took steps. Big. Gorgeous. Banana. Some how, waiting in line didn't seem quite so hard, after that.

I hope his name is Nick.

Now I'm off to Tim and Nicholas' for Tim's birthday.

many hours later...

I got shit-faced on vodka & Agrum and pot. Trish was mixing, she and I, drinks, all afternoon. Eventually, she admitted that she'd been mixing the drinks with a 50/50 ratio (in tall glasses) and that she and I had polished off the whole bottle of vodka.

It was glorious sitting in Tim and Nicholas' palm filled court yard chatting, but eventually, I started to get itchy to know what had happened in the election, not to mention my advanced state of inebriation. None of them cared, (about the election and not me being drunk) two of them voted Liberal, for fucks sake! (The only people I know, a part from my mother, who voted Liberal) They know not what they do, I comforted myself. Glorious democracy, I thought, with a shudder.

I had to stagger home late in the afternoon, with a platter of food that Tim gave me. "Don't ditch that on the way," were Tim's last words, which kept ringing in my ears, as my arms got tired and I really wanted to ditch it, but I didn't, dutifully. I don't think it would have occurred to me to ditch a plate of food in the street, if Tim hadn't mentioned it, so it was just cruel.

It's a long walk up George Street when you are staggering.

I made it to Howard's defeat speech, before I had to drag my sorry arse off to bed, to rest my aching head. Alcohol is bad!

Yay, for Australia, I thought, as I stumbled off up stairs. Finally seen fit to throw that racist, elitist poison, that was the Howard Government, out of office. My head pounded, I just couldn't get too excited, I was having trouble walking. I did my happy dance on the inside.

Today's the Day

So today is the day that Howard loses the election and his seat. I can hardly wait. Keep your fingers crossed!

An oldy but a goldie
Howard didn't care what it cost the tax payer for him to live @ Kirribilli
How much of a spineless mediocrity has Peter Costello proved himself to be? Howard knifed him better than any other person, or group, but Pete has stuck by the little worms side steadfastly.
I think Mal might be poised to take over the whole Liberal box and dice.
Has there ever been a dumber, fatter, more revolting Queensland Senator? I know, a big call.

Oh! No!

I broke three finger nails, today. Three? Unheard of!

One of them, I was in a meeting and I could feel it was split. So, I slid my hand out of sight and ripped it off. Unfortunately, it ripped down too low and hurt like hell and I had to just keep a calm face and continue listening pretending nothing had happened, when I really wanted to cry out in pain.

Morning Fun

I love it when the lift doors close on people. I love it more so that they didn't get in and hold everyone up, rather than any damage they may sustain. Of course, if they are stupid enough to get hurt by a lift door, well, then, boo hoo!

I was @ the back of the lift and quietly cursing the plebeians, in front of me, for not hitting the door closed button. It can seem like an age until those doors finally slide shut, when nobody is hitting the close button.

Come on, come on, lets go, I nervously said to myself. Before they all pile in like Lemmings, holding us up. (There are 6 lifts, there is always another lift)

Then they started to slide, just as a woman with folders in her arms appeared, trying to barge through with her shoulder. Now, if you are going to try to catch a lift @ the last minute, you need a body part that protrudes out, an arm or a leg, something that can slide right in there perpendicularly to the doors. A shoulder is a rather blunt object. You are going to have to tackle the lift like a Rugby player, if you are going to pull it up with a shoulder. So, the lift doors slammed shut in her face, as she recoiled @ the very last minute, like a girl, folders threatening to topple, startled look on her face. I stifled a laugh and did my little, inner happy dance and we were off.

It always brightens up my morning, a near lift miss.

Ben's Stash Tin

Never mind. Forget it.

"Hey," said Rob, as he entered the kitchen bleary-eyed. He rubbed his face and scratched his arse, through the back of his Y-fronts.

"Hey," said Andre, drinking coffee. There was the smell of coffee in the air.

Rob breathed the aroma in. "Did you sleep well?"

"Um? Er? I guess, I did. You?" said Andre, hesitantly.

"Sure," said Rob. "Like the dead."

"That's great, just great," said Andre, staring into his coffee cup, which he held under his chin.

"You okay?" asked Rob. "Is something wrong?" He touched Andre on the shoulder, reassuringly. Andre pulled away.

"Okay?" said Andre. "Me? Something wrong?"

"You just seem a bit stressed," said Rob. He flicked on the kettle and reached out for the cupboard for a cup.

"About last night?" said Andre, more as a question than a statement, his voice raising in pitch.

Rob turned around. "Something happened last night?"

"Don’t you remember?"

"I’m a bit hazy, really," said Rob. He grimaced. "I remember everything until we left the restaurant." He smiled broadly. Cheekily. "I must have had a shit load to drink. How many shots did we have? "

"I don’t know what we did last night… " Andre was shaking his head.

"Ah, fuck, we didn't get caught doing something… "

"No," said Andre. "Not caught… "

Rob shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in front of him, as if as a question mark. He grimaced and shook his head, questioningly.

"You don’t remember anything?" said Andre.

"Why? Rob scratched his head. He suddenly itched down the back of his neck.

"You and me."

"What?"

Andre stopped talking. He looked at Rob quizzically. A smile peeled across his lips. "We had a shit load to drink, mate." He punch Rob on the arm. "Just checking to see if you remembered any more than me."

The kettle boiled. "I just want coffee," said Rob.

I Need to Get Some Loving

There was a Lebanese boy on the tram this morning in skin tight work trousers that just fitted him like skin. He had a green and white checked shirt open to his cleavage. Hairy chest. Stubble. Buzz cut. Sunglasses.

The chunky arse on him had to be seen to be appreciated. Two melons slashed down the middle, quivering to get out.

There is something so hot about tight clothes on a toned body. It has energy even standing still; every curve in the right place, vibrating in harmony.

I think I'm turning into a perve.

I need to get out for some loving.