Buddy Liked To Be Shirtless All The Time, Good Thing He Lived Somewhere Warm

Buddy

Buddy looked good in his running shorts. He had thick thighs and calves and a solid arse from all his training.  The red shorts had a split up each side of each leg allowing the material to flap open and his toned hips to be seen. He was always running, he had an inexhaustible amount of energy to burn.

Buddy's mum, Ange, could see her boy was all grown up. She wondered if the shorts were a little small for him and wondered about the politics of buying your 18 year old son new clothes? She was proud of her strapping boy and she knew he had got to that age when others would be finding him attractive.

So, she wanted him to look good.

They already did, of course. Zeak, Buddy's training partner, was always joining Buddy in the showers after cross country running; talking, assessing, horsing around, skylarking, washing Buddy's back, as Buddy claimed.

"Is that all that Zeak's wanting to do?" Ange asked.

"Oh mum!" Buddy blushed furiously and Ange knew that Zeak was probably not only wanting to do, but was probably actually doing more than washing Buddy's back, by the intense glow of colour in her son's cheeks.

"I mean," Ange started to retracted, she knew it, she could hear it in her own voice. "It's good to have a mate, a friend... um... er, someone like Zeak in your life."

"I know mum, he's my best friend."

"It's good to have a best friend."

"He's good with a loofha." Buddy smiled.

"I thought you were going with Rachel? I think that's what she thinks, anyway."

"Sure mum, I'm going with Rachel." Buddy tried to smile but it didn't materialise. "But mama, ah, mama, Zeako's bigger and stronger and he's got a much much more stamina." Buddy shrugged. "He can last the distance way better than a girl... with my needs."

"Well, don't you go breaking that girl's heart. If you'd rather play quoits with Zeak, that's okay, but you go tellin' Rachel first."

"Yes mama, I'll tell her the first thing I do."

"You make sure ya do!"

"I'll tell her that I'd prefer Zeak's quoit to hers."

"That's my boy."

Big Bum For a Boy

"Jees, you've got a big bum for a boy!"

Mike did that swivel at the hips, trying to look at his own arse, look around. He did it to the left and then he did it to the right, as if to the right may be more successful than to the left. Then he did it to the left again.

He looked back and shrugged. “Well, I can’t see it anyway.”

“No! But everyone else can.”

“How big?”

Chris held his hands out in front of him about 40 centimetres apart.

Mike’s eyes widened considerably as he gazed at Chris’ hands. “What?”

Chris thought for a second and then moved his hands further apart again. He raised his eyebrows and smiled.

Mike looked up from Chris’ hands. “Come on!”

Mike grabbed his arse with both his hands and swivelled his head around attempting to look at it again.

Chris laughed.

From Ravi

We Indians have been around for thousands of years, watching empires rise, fall, clash, die change. Through it all, we have kept adapting to new realities, dramatically different circumstances, craziness of every shape, size, colour, density. We have chewed the cud for aeon's on millions of ideas and ideologies, indigenous, imported and imposed and survived, often thrived. And now we seem poised to take a giant step forward to a place in the world that we perhaps never inhabited before, or vacated many centuries ago. And clearly, it's because of the way we are.

First, Indians are patient, infinitely patient. We can out wait any other race on the planet, with the possible exception of the Chinese. We seem to be genetically programmed with an alarming amount of patience. From the hermits of legend whose tapasya (meditation) went on for so long that ants made built hills over them, to hundreds making themselves at home on a railway platform with improvised mats, snacks and cards as they wait for the train to arrive eight hours behind schedule, it's almost as we can calmly outlast time itself. It is impossible to decide whether this is good or bad, but in the world as we know it , it's perhaps a useful trait .it has helped us outlast foreign invasion, pogroms, hundreds of varied and strange regimes and every sort of catastrophe. We have defeated them with patience and equanimity.

And since we have lived every day of our history with so many different ideas and opinions swirling around us, we can deal with and accept contradictions and fuzziness better than any other people on this planet. We are a collection of such varied ethnic and social groups that if we didn't develop this ability, we all would have certainly gone barking mad (a billion barking mad people!). Some of us find it sacrilege to eat anything extradite from animal, the rest of us eat anything that moves, swim or flies. Some of us go completely naked, some of us cover ourselves from head to toe with only our eyes n hands visible to the world. Religious fundamentalism, secularism (of which, again, there are many varieties) and atheism live side by side. Naturally, then, we understand that there can be infinite number of belief systems, of different levels of validity and truth, and we can understand those belief systems better than most people. This is surely one if the key reasons why, after globalization was thrust on to us, we have been able to navigate the new world with confidence, and with success.

Which, of course, doesn't mean we don't argue. We are one of the most argumentative nations of the world, from street corners to corporate boardrooms and the corridors of the highest political power. But this argumentativeness also co-exists-at worst, in uneasy peace – with our acceptance of the innumerably of ideologies. No wonder currently India is destined to have coalition governments at the centre for more than a foreseeable future.

Add to that our natural ingenuity, the ability to find nifty solution or a short cut through everything in life. The common man uses it every day to make life easier, get things done. Businessmen have used and still do to cut deals, give their way, whether it was license raj that ruled, or blow hot blow cold liberalization. And our politicians can't do without it.

This natural ingenuity, combined with innate cunning (remember, Chanakya was around 1800 years before Machiavelli) is perhaps westerners often seem naive to us. They appear to take too many things at face value, they think that when we say "Yes," it means yes, and not the beginning of CONVOLUTED NEGOTIATIONS:" Yes, perhaps we can consider that, but we think we deserve to get a better price." Our minds have been born complex and devious. We think simultaneously at several levels, and we can hold several thoughts in our mind at the same time – thought streams that can be parallel, converging or even clashing. We can shift between Uriah Heep, Micawber and David Copperfield without missing a beat.

All of this doesn't mean we are BAD people; we are just, well, COMPLICATED, and possibly think more than most other people do. Which could be a competitive edge. Since independence we have steadily gained what we had lost: confidence. Indeed as seeing ourselves as inferiors too much of the rest if the world, we have progressed in much of the last 15 years, to gain enormous self-confidence, perhaps even overconfidence. We are ambitious without the baggage of the past.

But surely this overconfidence can be forgiven. India and Indians have come an enormous distance since dawn of time, without forsaking democracy or secularism, despite unfortunate deviations. We will surely be able to figure out whether it is overconfidence or not. We may be complicated, contrary, argumentative, infuriating, but we are also hard-nosed and realistic people. As a race, WE ARE EXPERIENCED !!!

Oliver Took His Clothes Off And Lay On The Massage Bed Waiting For Noah To Perform His Magic

Say Onion

"Say Onion."

"Ornion."

He, he, he, I love the way Sam says it.

"What month is between yours and mine?

"Ourgust."

I love the way he says that too. Gorgeous. It warms my heart. It makes me adore him just a little bit more every time he speaks.

I made him say onion every day last week, surreptitiously, he didn't catch on. It was my own, private joy. It was only when we were waiting for Mark and Luke outside the Grill'd healthy burger bar in Lygon Street on Saturday night, before heading in to see Catfish, that I fessed up to my little ruse.

He sees it as me making fun of him... which I'm not. Not at all! I adore his accent.

He sees it as being made fun of because he pronounces things differently to others, to Aussies.

Now, of course, he says onion and August and bewdy mate, thumb in the air, like anyone else.

I only had to point it out to him once and he's Aussied up.

And I'm horrified. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? What was I thinking?

 

Michael, Was Always The Boy With The Most Beautiful Face

I Can't Work On My Days Off

I'm expecting grief from the control freak, anorexic, bitch department manager today, because I told my manager I can't, actually, work on my days off. Fancy that, I can't work on my days off. Who'd have thought?

But the anorexic bitch department manager is going to shit! She's told me I have to be available. 

"You know, your flexible work hours." She swung her rat face around fully in my direction for full effect.

It took my breath away - skeletal comes to mind.

The trouble is, my contract doesn't, actually, say that. First thing you do, go back and check the contract. Hands in the air. What the anorexic bitch thinks is written there and what is, actually, written there are two different things.

Does anyone else see the problem here? Her biggest gripe with me is about days I don't actually work.

So, I decided to bring it to ahead and I told my manager last week that I can't work Mondays or Fridays because of my sick mother. I'm involved in her therapy and her care. I don't know how long she will know me. It is very sad, quite heart breaking really.

"So, are you saying that you can never work Mondays or Fridays?" says my manager. No commiserations, no wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, no reaching out to pat my hand. That was the only response I got. That was the empathy. The full sick mother story and all.

It's awful, really... working under these circumstances. But not long now, I'm resigning May 30th. Count them down.

Performance Review

I made a list, yesterday, of what I should do today. You know, get organised, have a schedule. There's only one way not to piss away the day... make a list. Have a plan. Set your course.

I'd crossed everything off that list before my first coffee was brewed, this morning. Funny, hey. I was so earnest about it last night. Get organised. Ha, ha!

Everything but my performance review, I have to complete that, I've just got to, as my name is pretty much mudola around the office, round about now. All day today, that's what I'm going to be doin... oh, I so hate it.

I know they are not used in our gradings and pay rises. There has to be a certain number, or percentage, along the J curve... that's how it works. This just keeps HR in work and gives the company the appearance of doing something for the staff. So, it's hard completing this nonsense, when I know that's exactly what it is.

Still... I made notes on Friday, so it shouldn't be too hard. Bang it out, get it done, don't think any more about it. I know how to talk the talk and walk the walk. Let's face it, that's what it's about.

If only I could stop procrastinating?

Oh look, the kitchen floor really does look a fright, I should just give it a quick once over.

Eat, Eat, Eat

We get up late, 11am and are both hungry, so we head to Victoria Street to eat my favourite Thai pink soup at I Spicy for brunch.

We come home and finish the trimming of the creeper growing on the side wall of the house. That's excellent, the creeper is a monster. I'm up the ladder hanging on for grim death, but I'm going to get it done.

We go and eat crepes at Breizoz, the French Crepe house in Gertrude Street. I love them, it's Sam's first time. One with the lot, egg, ham, cheese, tomato and banana & chocolate, both to share.

We buy a savoury muffin at Arcadia on the way back, Sam suggests. Then he buys egg tarts and a passion fruit yoyo, he’s like a man possessed, pointing at every thing.

"I'll have that and that and that!"

We go bike riding. The tennis is over, yay, so we can head around our full route. The Yarra looks full, more so than I feel that I have ever seen it before. Further down the bike path, there is a small section under water from all the rain. Then, nearly to the end, there is a large section completely submerged. It’s amazing.

We come home and lay on the couch entwined in each other’s arms.

We eat pork spare ribs in Victoria Street. The serve is huge, but, of course, like all spare ribs there is a lot of bone.

I drive Sam home are 21.30. It's a lovely night.

Catfish

I went to see Catfish, I liked it. I thought it was interesting and sensitively done.

Yesterday, I Bought Betadine

Yesterday, I bought Betadine on a whim just because I saw it out of the corner of my eye in the supermarket as I was looking for something else. My last bottle ran out eons ago.

Today, I sliced my finger open cutting up an avocado. I love avocados, it's my staple lunch, I've cut open hundreds of them.

You should never make a will, it's just tempting fate. Same principle?

Ha, ha.

Funny how things like that happen. Coincidences, they are what make life go around, so often. If you think about all the coincidences that happen in life, there are lots of them. It makes you realise what the great plan really is, random events, nothing else. As they say, such things would never be believed in stories, novels or movies, not really. And yet they happen in life all the time.

Tap washers

I went to buy tap washers at Thrifty link in Bourke Street, so I could fix my friend Jill's dripping taps. Now, maybe I haven't bought tap washers for a while but, you know, I think I have. $5.95 for two tap washers. Two tap washers? Nice and neatly packed into their own cryogenically sealed packet, with all the colour and movement you'd expect from such 21st Century packaging. But? 

Tap washers used to be 30 cents? Didn't they? Not so long ago.

So, either I'm losing my memory (mind) (interesting life, if this is what I've got to write about) or Thrifty Link ain't living up to its name.

I guess, I should check my facts before I pass judgement?

How cheap am I? Monetarily and good dead wise?

Poolside Motel

It was hot, blisteringly. The unrelenting beat of the burning sun was tiring. There was a haze that seemed to be burning off just above the ground, shimmering skywards. The concrete, the buildings, the potted plants, the earth seemed to be melting.

Old Jim fanned himself, on his hot pink plastic lounge, with a dog-eared magazine. The sweat beaded on his lined, leathery, forehead and then rolled all the way down his pointed nose.

The neon sign over head flashed vacancy, languorously.

Brad pulled himself out of the crisp, cold water, with a hand on each of the chrome uprights of the pool ladder. One tug from his broad shoulders and he’d pulled his torso and hips out of the lapping, chlorinated water, which dripped from his tanned skin. His trunks slid from his curved buttocks as he heaved himself up, exposing the colour difference between his skin for public and private viewing.

Old Jim sat upright on his iridescent banana lounge, trying not to miss any part of the show. He looked like he hoped for more.

Brad didn’t care, he hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. He caught the glint in Jim’s eye and knew instantly what he’d be doing so as to avoid having to do a runner. Just close your eyes.

All he felt was relief, from an impossible position. Jim was nice enough, even if he did smell kind of odd.

Brad ran his hand over his curved arse and stared hard at Jim. Jim licked his lips slowly as he adjusted his seating position.

Collin Thought He Was In Doctor Who, He’d Spend Hours Floating Around In Space Waiting For The Doctor To Arrive

Oh Really?

I don't know if I'm liking this 30 degrees at 8am! Jesus, fuck! The sun's rays nearly bowled me over as I staggered to my open balcony doors in my jocks, scratching my arse and my eye at the same time, to close the double doors.

The sun was sharp and bright shining across the floorboards, long and stretched out... they were warm underneath my feet, like flesh.

"Bloody hell, that fucken sun's got some 'eat init!" One hand on each of the three-paned glass doors. "We're all gunna melt before this day is over, Missy. Mark me words."

The air is already hot, like warming the oven for baking.

I swung the doors in on each other and slid the latches closed, at the top and at the bottom. Click, click.

Missy glanced at me from the bed, licked at one of her out-stretched paws and then her eyes slid gently shut.

I gaze at her... envy would be too stronger word. Briefly, I contemplate a sick day, like for a millisecond. The bitches at the salt mines could do without me. It amuses me for the minutes it takes me to head to the shower.