Watching the old American movies set in Europe over the last few days inspired me to look at gorgeous old fifties cars. Can you see Elizabeth Taylor inside that Peugeot? Then Sam tells me that he doesn't like old movies. And I say what? And I wonder if I have to rethink this relationship? What do you mean you don't like old movies?

Our Very Own Genius Bar

We became or own Genius Bar. Well, it was getting to that time when I had to start backing up specific files and copying others to USBs, so I could give up my lappy to those men in blue shirts behind their Scandinavian wood benches for an unspecified period of time.

"NO!" I moaned as I clutched its silver casing to my breast. "No!" I can't do it, I thought I could, but I can't! No, I can't! And you can't make me!"

"Okay," said Sam. "There is another way..."

"What? Yes! Tell me! Tell me! Anything. I'll do anything! I'm desperate! Please, what?"

"We can try to fix it ourselves," said Sam. Then he logged onto the internet and looked up problems with Apple MacBooks. You know, when idiots pour red wine into them, or drop a coffee cup on them, or pour gravy over them. There was plenty of info, pages of it. Then, after gleaning all the answers, he logged onto YouTube and found instructional videos on cleaning keys.

"Lucky you have a name product, I'd hate to be trying to find answers about a cheap knockoff laptop nobody has heard of."

Then it was miniature screw drivers and tweezers and monocles and pin spot lights and cotton wool buds and swabbing alcohol. Actually, we didn't have any swabbing alcohol, so we used hot water and lots of paper towel.

We were clipping off keys and detaching scissor mechanisms and separating and cleaning away the traces of oil.

When I say we, it was Sam, you understand with me helping as the trusty assistant. Well, you know, kind of looking on.

We cleaned all the parts and then reassembled it all.

And now it is better, not completely fixed, but better. The u, the i and the n, all working better. Well, they are working, where before they weren't. We may still have to take it to the Genius Bar yet, or we may have to perform surgery again, yet. We'll see. I'm hoping they may come good with use. I may be kidding myself, but I hope not.

Sexy Black Boys

I reckon if I'd been a gay boy growing up in America, rather than Australia, I reckon I could have had a "thing" for pretty black boys. I always liked 'em dark, dark hair, olive skin, blondies never really did it for me normally.

I went to the periodontist first up this morning and had that sharp, spikey pokey thing shoved down my gums. The nerve/pain is beyond feeling, beyond hurting. How it feels s quite beyond description, but, fortunately, it doesn't last long. You just have to grip the chair and think of England, as I have it done every 4 months and I have no real choice.
I've got one really deep pocket. He asked me if I wanted an injection for that one before he cleaned it? Or was I the stoic type?
I said, "Yes."
"Is that yes to the injection, or yes to the stoic type?" he asked.
I laughed and said, "I'll take all the drugs you can give me, don't be mistaken."
He laughed. "I see."
He said I'd been smoking.
I said only pot.
He shrugged. "I see," he said again.

I had lunch with Sam afterwards. It was, of course, hard to eat, my mouth felt like someone else's, it felt like my brain was sending the signals but somehow someone else's brain was in control, like the marionette was being controlled by another puppeteer.

Then I went to the cd/dvd shop at Collins Place and bought some dvd's, one of which is Mandingo. When I was a kid I remember seeing a photo of the old woman with her hand down Ken Norton's shorts which stayed in my head to this day. It turned me on way back then something hugely. Maybe, I've always been a bit of a perve. I'd forgotten about it until  saw the dvd cover in the shop and it all came back to me.

Now I'm sitting up in bed watching it for the first time. Yeah, I reckon pretty black boys would have been on my list of boys I liked, sexy wog boys, hot Asian boys, dark hair, dark complexions, if I'd grown up with more of those black boys around me. Pity really.

Hard Like a Chocolate Bar

I gazed at Sam's sweet face asleep on the pillow this morning for the loveliest time, before he got up and headed for the shower. It's my favourite thing to do.
He's handsome... have I told yo that lately? And lovely too.

Wow, I know it is cold and I know the weather bureau told us that is was the coldest morning since oh, I don't know, Julia Gillard was liked, however, when I made myself some coffee and toast, the Nutella had gone solid in the jar like a chocolate bar. I have to chip at it with the knife, like I was chipping at ice with an ice pick, or the salt from the walls of the corporate office. It was hard to believe.

I stayed in bed all day and watched movies. A sexy European. A moody New Yorker. I had no work on today, actually, I have no work for the rest of the week.  I spent the day wrapped in my doona. Lovely it was too.

Stupid, Stupid Me

Stupid me! I was trying to be just too clever, showing Mark, on skype, in Hanoi, the gravy we had made. As I tilted the far too shallow bowl towards my laptop's camera, it dribbled over the side and hit my keyboard. Kerplop! Now the u, I and n don't work so good – not at all when I first turn it on in the morning, even if they do warm up to working, kind of, after some use. I can't believe it, my best friend, how could I be so careless? Is that pathetic?

I've made an appointment at the Genius Bar for Saturday. Sam says he doesn't think they'll have it longer than a month.

A MONTH? I was wondering if they'd have it longer than a week?  I get nervous at the prospect of not having it for a day. I have separation issues, at the best of times. Although, I still have my PC, of course.

My first night without Sam and just when I felt like I was missing him too much, he bought food over after work, rice with duck, and we had a picnic in my bed. Not that he thought that the picnic in the bed was such a great idea, but I loved it.

I was in bed avoiding Shane because, quite frankly, he gives me the shits at the moment, which Sam thinks is stupid, especially when he wanted me to head down stairs to make him a green tea. Head tilt. Well, he bought the food.

Lovely Autumn colours. Gorgeous, even if it is now, actually, winter. Lovely green giving way to lovely yellow, soon giving away completely.

Don't you just love long afternoon shadows, I know I do. They are elegant and magical all at the same time. Make a wish. Dare to dream.

21st Century Happiness

The secret to life in the 21st Century is, of course, shopping. GDP, expected growth, productivity, the financial crisis, consumer confidence, retail slump, it is all about buying things.

So, to be truly happy in the 21st Century you have to like buying stuff. It is that simple.

Before We Both Head Back to Work

The last few days we have been misbehaving. Smoking the peace pipe of fun, ha ha, if you know what I mean. The last time for the year before we both have to think about serious work. It is the last time, really, yo know, that's what we always say. Back to the salt mines. Yay! Back to work. Hooray! Back to boredom. Boo hoo.

Now I have to find a proper job. That's the next thing on the list. Yay!

Oops, Bad Me

Did I tell you that Sam got a job, this week. He starts Tuesday, after Queen's Birthday. We'll both be walking out the front door together, come Tuesday, briefcases in hand, at the ready. 

At the gate. "After you."

"After you."

I've been a bad influence on him though. The sweet boy that I met, who was happy to head off to work and put in a full day, now doesn't want to go anywhere the Salt Mines. 

"It is a waste of time, I want to retire."

Oops. (Who does that sound like?)

It was supposed to work the other way. He was supposed to make me sweeter. 

It reminds me of the Friends episode with the world's happiest dog. It wasn't supposed to be like that.

Neither of us want to work. Although, working one day a week like I have been these last few weeks, I guess, I have little to complain about. 

My money seems to be holding out. I'm covering my expenses and my bank balance isn't going backwards anymore, so shrug. I'm guessing static isn't exactly the benchmark to aim for though.

Maybe we should move to the country and breed goats.

The Day Can Begin

It's cold, brrrr! Should I light a fire as soon as I get up? That is the question? The problem being that we go through a shit load of wood, if I start lighting fires with breakfast. The pile just disappears. Poof! But, of course, poofs like to be warm.

2 hours later…

Fire lit, the coals are now glowing golden.

Breakfast eaten. Muesli, toast, coffee.

The day can begin. Lovely. Of course, that means lunch, in all reality. Ha ha. (Lunch was Nasi Lemak in Lygon Street)

I don't have to work until next Tuesday. Next Tuesday. Yes, next Tuesday. Sam got a job, he starts Tuesday, too.

Oh, what to do until then?

I might go and throw sticks in the direction of the wood Nazis’ house. I wonder how long it would take him to dribble and shake?

I Took Myself in Hand

 

8 hours later...

Ah, piece of cake. I must have been a bit angsty this morning? No, I was. I could feel it in me when I left the house heading for the tram. It must be a new moon, or an old moon, or a full moon, a blue moon, whatever. It must be the cold winter weather.

I took myself in hand when I got to the office. I, actually, had a shake-my-head moment, as I started at the computer monitor coming to life. It's the easiest work, a junior could do it, pull yourself together man. Just do it, stop worrying about it. And then I just plowed through it.

Easy. I was finished by 4pm. A bit too easy, I should have stretched it out to 5pm. Oh well, I just can't sit there and twiddle my thumbs. I should have been a little slower through the day, next time I'll have to pace myself a little more. I might as well screw a full day out of them, they expect the work to take a whole day.

How are those people who claim to have held down a job for thirty years and who claim to have done nothing in all that time? There was one just recently. I can't imagine it, I'd go insane.

You Can't Make Me

Today it is the not-for-profit nightmare in (the inner suburbs). What a fucking disaster! Hands in the air. I don't want to go. Big eyes, scared expression. I hate it when near enough is good enough, how can you possibly, ever, do your job smoothly if that is the basis of your work? I ask you? They clearly have no idea what they are doing.

I shouldn't worry about it so much, I shouldn't take it on. I just hate it when something I do isn't completely right, but you know, it's just a fucking job. What do I care if it is all over the place like a mad woman's shit. Just take the money and run, Christian. Who cares? They don't really care, no they don't, not really.

No, but that' not the explanation you gave me last time I asked?

Anyway, wish me luck.

Cold and Wet

Open fires and thick socks and woollen jumpers, that's what I did all day.

We walked to get Pho for lunch. I hear that walking to get your lunch is nearly as healthy as sharpening the spear and killing it yourself. It was a good walk, half an hour there and back, so that must count for something.

Other than that, the only walking I did was out to the wood stack. I collected sticks and didn't chop kindling, I didn't want to upset the nutter, however many doors away he is/lives.

I've written about him before. The guy in the distance of the patchwork of houses that surround my backyard, who yells out when I chop wood. I've never seen him, I don't even know where he lives, but he sounds like a disturbed adult. It started a few years ago with environmental messages and has escalated this year into something more threatening.

"I hope you chop your leg off," was one of the things he has said this year. "I hope your house burns down, was another. Gone are the simple environment caring words he expressed in previous years. I have moved the area where I chop wood to the very back of my place.

This is ridiculous I thought at 8am yesterday morning, as I fossicked about in the cold morning on tip toes trying not to make a noise, collecting sticks.

Why was I awake so early on a Sunday? I don't know, just lucky, I guess. 

A lovely Winter's Day, Saturday Morning

Well, there you go. The fire is burning, it is a cold day in Melbourne. Those of us who were not born in Melbourne, may have described Melbourne’s first day of winter as brutal, as I saw Amy Thompson describe it on Facebook.

Pussies!

It’s 8.30am, awake and feeling good.

I'm rolling joints, much to Sam’s displeasure. Well, not so much at the thought, more at the regularity. He thinks I should make it last, like Shane does.

“No, that just drip feeds the addiction, it is much better that it is a short, sharp burst. Then its over.”

“Don’t be such a piggy.”

Well, what’s a boy to do on the first of winter? Okay, the 2nd?

It is cold, winter cold. Jumpers… and scarves, in the case of David. And probably gloves, in his case. He’s in Bali right now, so we’ll hear all about it when he get’s home.

I suggest to Sam that we turn the pot into dope cookies.

He agrees. It’s kind of like being a vegan pot head.

He doesn’t say no to the joint, though.

We drink Up and Go.


I read about The Dark Net, the place of encryption and drug dealers and murderers. Gangsters, racketeers, hookers, pimps, drug dealers, pornography of every description. Any body part you want. I want to see a preppy boy get rape for making snot-nosed, redneck, unremorseful homophobic remarks. For real. You know, the ultimate payback. By a trio of drug fucked and angry bears. I’d put a down payment on a set of lungs too. It sounds likes the last frontier. I think of Beta Station Z on Gamatrone, no one goes there unless they have to. Metal bars and scrap metal and debris, doors hanging from hinges and paneless windows, all tell tale signs of something that was once great. The burning sun, tumble weeds of indescribable scrap, burnt soil and blood red skies, where the sun doesn’t set for six months of the year. The air is inhaled through special filtering nose clips, otherwise you can choke to death really fast on your own breath. There is desolation as far as the eye can see.


I wonder how hard it would be to go there, The Darknet, you know, just to have a look around? Now that would be the ultimate Virtual Life. Like a guided bus tour through North Korea or a day trip to Afghanistan.

Now, thinking about the Dark Net, one would think that I could Google a dope cookie recipe relatively easily on the normal net, don’t you think?

Sometime later...

How many dope cookie recipes do you want. And everybody is a fucking expert, as per usual.


Sometime much later…

I made the best brownies. They are absolute rubbish in getting you stoned, just crap, but as brownies, they are great.

Out of it for the Weekend, Starting Early Friday

The sun is shining brightly into the back yard through the trees and we are gazing at its rays, they are like crystal. Shards of light coming into land sideways. The yellow begonia and the pink impatience are bright against green of the trees and the blue of the sky and the brown of the earth.

Shane has headed to Sydney for the weekend to see his boyfriend and we have the house to ourselves. Did I mention that, he has an interstate relationship going on. He's a nice guy, though, a gym head.

Shane’s been going back to the gym diligently, ever since he met him. The wine is out, the fags are out, the macrobiotic diet is in.

The sun is shining, it is a beautiful winter's day. Sure, there is a chill in the air to tell us exactly what month of the year we are in, but it is quite lovely despite that. Clean and fresh.

The open fire is burning. I'm home with my baby.

We called up Guido, you know, just to brighten the colours, turning the fire orange and the sunlight golden. I'm just waiting for him to call back to tell me where, you know, (New York accent) "it's goen down."

I’m sure I was a criminal in a past life, I’m so drawn to all the cloak and dagger stuff. Well, I guess I’m leaning more on the side of Cluedo and not so much on the side of Underbelly, you understand.