Laugh and the World Laughs

I was keeping an eye on my boss, as I had to get some payments to clients authorised. He was talking to someone. I looked away momentarily and he was gone.

I came out and said to the girls, who sit outside his office, He was there a minute ago? I looked incredulous.

Clare replied, Just like a 3 year old... near water, she laughed.

If only, I replied.

They howled me down, saying I was awful.

I wanted to tell them about the hyper-active three year old who lived under me, when I lived in that small, sea-side village, in Italy. (His parents were cousins, which was no great surprise to me) I used to call him hell-child; it used to spit, scream and bite. He was some Tasmania Devil piece of work. One of my duties, in exchange for my board, was to take him for an afternoon walk. I used to walk him down to the sea-shore, where the crystal blue Mediterranean water lapped at the sand and leave him there.

The little bastard used to always follow me home.

My better judgment told me the girls from work weren't ready for that story. 

The Nuffy on the Tram

The no 86 tram; it's the tourists and the passes-through who give the 86 a bad name. Yeah? There's nothing quite like it for, shall we say, a cross section? Shall we say a multitude? Shall we say flotsam and jetsam. The 86 tram is the reason why I walk, most mornings. You never know who you are going to meet and I don't mean that in a god way... er, good way. I don't like people that much, to want to be amongst them no matter what, so I walk, as I explained to a rather, incredulous, girl at work. She said, you're kidding, aren't you? I'm not sure if she believed me when I said I wasn't. He, he, he.

The nuffies on the tram, you gotta love them, gotta write about them, I couldn't make characters up like them. This mornings choice pick - she had eyes like a snake's, although sunken, because of her high cheek bones. She had a desperate need to connect.

"Hon, hon," she said pointing to the vacant seat next to her, with everyone woman who got on, (A demented lesbian? Aren't they all) who stood. All the "nice" girls declined.

"I'm getting off at the next stop," said the nice lady in the Chanel power suit. (Which I noted, was more like 6 stops later)

"Hon, hon," she said again, when the stylish lady lawyer, with short, cropped black as coal, hair came into her orbit.

"No, I'm fine, thanks." Wide eyes, look of disbelief, horror even. The lady lawyer clung to the pole by the door, as though she may be made to do something against her will, at any minute.

Nuffy Girl looked like one of those stereotypical alien beings; big eyes, small mouth - because she had no teeth - triangular face, with skin pulled so tightly across her it that her skin looked shiny and unnatural. She looked like she had been the victim of a scurrilous plastic surgeon. She had a large skin disfigurement running up the side of her neck, across the bottom of her chin. An over-sized beanie, which made her pixie features look even more pixieish, completed the picture.

It's funny, and I mean that in the ironic sense, that she was full of contentment, she only wanted the best for people, in her vicinity and all of the "normal" people visibly recoiled.

Her spindly fingers wrapped around her over-sized coffee cup like tentacles, when her concern was not taken with someone else's wellbeing, as she sipped contentedly, nodding her head, as if she was listening to some imaginary music. There was nothing in those eyes. She seemed to be smiling, she looked happy, but there was no connection to anything to make it so.

Insanity, sitting two seats away from me.

"It's rain'n." She gazed mindlessly out of the tram window again. She patted the vacant seat next to her, as another gal worked on by. She was failure contained; systemic failure, just looking. I wondered how many people in her life had failed her. I suspected I knew.

"It's really raining," she said, as her gaze returned to her seating companions.

They all looked else where, suddenly fascinated with some minute detail of the day, in the opposite direction.

I looked out the window at the clear, blue sky.

Christian

The Smoking Thing

Tom asked me if I wanted him to come over and cook me dinner tonight. I said no, I wanted to lie low and struggle - without other smokers around me - with my quitting smoking. This week it has been really hard, not sure why. I think the toxins are letting go on my lungs and they are starting to bubble to the surface.

Tom said he'd leave me alone.

I replied, Oh, ya know, it's not that I want to be left alone - just for a stunning piece of contradiction - it's just that I feel really awful. I feel like I am in a fog. I feel like there is a cloud over my eye sight. I feel like my nervous system is packing it in. I feel like I am getting the flu. I feel like I am immanently about to cough up some dead carcass. I feel like I could snap and kill the bitch at any moment. I feel like my fuse has been reduced to 2 millimetres, nay, 1 millimetre. I feel like screaming, crying, puking, running out into the traffic, all at the same time, while remaining steely calm like the best serial killer. I just don't feel like I am much fun, feel like being much fun, at the moment and I don't want to bore the pants off any body.

I'm just in a fog and focused on myself for a minute. If I just stay calm and concentrate, all of the above can't effect me, just like Batfink, my tattered wings are still made from steal.

This addiction withdrawal FUCKEN sucks. But I'm going to get through it, because otherwise I'm only going to have to go back to the beginning and start again.

... as Missy licks my foot, bless her.

 

American Dream

Stupid Americans,

think we want to lick their collective arse,

think, that en mass, we want to be them,

ache to be like them.

Dream the American dream,

whatever that is,

look at Katrina,

God blesses them all.

I don't think they understand

that collectively they are despised

for sucking the life out of other nations

for their own ends,

for creating the third world,

so they could come first.

Useful Italian Phrases [2]

“Don't follow me,” Adam said. He meant it to be funny, but it had come out wrong. You know... Don't. Stop. Don't stop. That kind of idea. Adam wasn’t sure if he’d understood.

The guy laughed, nervously, like he didn’t understand, didn't have a clue. “My name is Luca,” he said.

“I’m Adam.” He suddenly felt shy, because he’d given away a part of himself by telling Luca his name, he wasn’t sure.

“We should find a cafe,” Luca said looking around. “It is not very busy.”

“I shouldn’t?” said Adam.

Luca shrugged, waved his hands in the air and looked confused. “We could sit outside, at the table over at that café and drink coffee...in full view... of everyone. What harm could there be?”

Of course, Adam knew damn well what harm there could be, as Luca put it. Those beautiful green eyes just had to be addressed, watched out for, taken notice of.

The day that he’d had enough of Stephen, the day he’d decided to act and not continue to merely take Stephen’s meanness and lies, the day he’d pretty much – it may not happen over night, but it will happen – decided to leave Stephen, finally, here was a handsome stranger asking Adam to accompany him, even if it was only for coffee.

“We could get to know each other a little better?” said Luca. “No?”

Adam’s asked the universe, that morning, when he’d made up his mind about Stephen, to give him a sign and here it was, in all it’s obvious glory. It couldn’t be more clear and he didn’t have the faintest idea what to do.

“What do you say?” said Luca.

Adam’s sister, Jamie’s, last words to him, before she left Australia were, Forget Stephen and come to Italy with me and I’ll find you a charming Italian boy. Jamie had been gone a week, back to Italy to forget or replace, Pascal, who she’d just broken up with, Adam wasn’t sure. All Adam could think of was the fun the two of them had had learning phrases from Jamie’s Italian phrase book.

Where is the closest Catholic church? Point in any direction and say Pope? Jamie added that all Italian boys got religious stiffies inside cathedrals, in the motherland, so churches were a good hunting ground.

Please stop humping my leg – Italian boys being Italian boys, Adam and Jamie’s mother, Eve, had said that Jamie should memorise that one. God bless them, Eve had added quietly. Jamie added that had she used that particular phrase, she would never have discovered Pascal and hash in Naples, after which her eyes filled with tears and she didn’t want to play the phrase game any longer.

“I'll tell your mother if you don't stop it,” said Adam. It was the first thing that came to mind. He laughed nervously.

"My mama?" Luca said, with a curious smile.

“Oh!” Adam returned from his day-dream. He covered his mouth with his hand, as if to stop any thing else from slipping out. “I’m sorry. My sister... a phrase book.” Adam shrugged.

“What harm could coffee do, I ask you?” said Luca.

“What harm indeed,” said Adam. Stephen’s angry face, despite everything, came into his mind. He’d been angry, pissed off, hurt, cross, shitty, all of those things for such a long time and Adam really had no idea why.

Jamie said it was because he had some kind of secret that was eating at him.

"How far do you have to walk?" he said. "I have a car. I could take you, wherever...”

Adam shrugged. “No, I think coffee would be just...” He laughed, involuntarily. “Lovely. Why not.”

“Wonderful,” Luca said. He took Adam's hand, just naturally, as they crossed the street. Luca's hand felt warm, big, amazing, in Adam’s. He knew that this wasn’t a chance meeting. He knew, some how, that this was what he’d been waiting for. He couldn’t get the smile off his face. He couldn’t calm the butterflies in his stomach. 

Useful Italian Phrases

Adam had to say something, he knew that. He'd have to step up and say his piece, not that he was good at such things, he knew that too. But, it was more about standing up for himself, speaking out, than any out come that may occur.

He stepped around the car that was parked across the footpath, a new Punto, he knew because he'd been looking at one himself. Bright orange wasn't exactly the colour he would have chosen. He liked the white, or the dark blue, at a pinch, simply because the other colours seemed to be garish, bright red, lime green and yellow, none of which he liked. Three wheels on the footpath and one hanging off, he knew that wasn't good for the suspension. His, mechanic, brother would have something to say about that, if he'd, when he'd, parked his car that way.

The car probably belonged to a girl, he thought, and then he beat himself up straight away for being sexist.

He just needed to walk. What was it that he wanted to say? How would he say it? He wasn't sure. Maybe he should just keep walking and the words would come to him.

He was aware that someone was following him. He'd followed him from the main Street. He'd made no apology for following him, didn't try to hide, didn't try to stop him from seeing him, with his long, dark hair and good looks; lime green track top, white t-shirt, jeans and converse runners. He just kind of sauntered after him, unhurried, not a care.

Adam rattled the pedestrian lights button vigorously. He stood next to Adam, with his hands slid deep into his pockets. Adam kept looking at him, Adam couldn't help himself. He smiled. He kept looking at Adam. Adam smiled. He had a beautiful smile.

"Have we met before?" he asked, with a thick Italian accent.

"I don't think so," said Adam. What a gorgeous accent, Adam thought.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Not that I recall." I'd remember you, Adam thought.

"We seem to be going in the same direction," he said. He laughed. He had a kind laugh.

"Yes," said Adam, not really knowing what else to say. "I thought you were following me."

He laughed. "Do you have some where that you have to be?"

"No," said Adam. "Just inside my head."

"Inside your head?" He looked confused.

"Oh." Adam laughed, what must he have thought? "I just need to work some things out..."

"Ah, time to think?" he said.

"Yes," said Adam. "Some time to think."

"Can I get a small coffee... er... with you?" he said. Why it would be a small coffee, Adam didn't know? Did he mean a small amount of time, as though that would help Adam make up his mind, favourably toward him? "Maybe, I could help." He hesitated. "I'm good with matters of the heart."

Adam smiled, he felt the grin spread across his face, almost involuntarily. His accent was so beautiful.

He seemed so charming.

"I won't follow you, any longer," he said. "If we have coffee... together"

They both laughed. 

Clueless and Carless

Okay. Reality check. I actually have to go out and buy a car. Fuck me! As my mate Josh would say, no sweetie, you do it! You! You sweetie!

I have no car, now who'd have thought that was a possibility, oh, even a month ago? I have to go through the process... that damn process. Looking, looking... yes, it looks nice. Can I take it to a mechanic? No, I won't buy it without a mechanical check. Oh, what Mr Mechanic, it amounts to fraud?

Back to the beginning. Er! I'm bored already. (Check out his arse in those overalls, will ya.)

I rode my bike over to Lottie's yesterday, by the Yarra, it was picturesque. Blue sky. A cool breaze. A gorgeous sun. I haven't ridden for a couple of months and it nearly killed me, but that is another story.
Which leads me onto two things -

1 - I'm actually enjoying not having a car. It's really kind of cool to catch trams and trains and ox-carts to get to wherever I'm going. There is something primitive, certainly unhurried and relaxing about it; like growing your own vegetables, instead of going to the supermarket, making your own cakes instead of going to Mrs Cho's. I mean, there is less instant gratification, more of the slow food feel, as opposed to the fast food don't-even-touch-the-sides experience, only wanting more an hour later. It is some how more satisfying, relying on one's own means.

2 - I do, actually, still own a car, an A1 1967 BRG Mini Cooper S, but it's tucked away in storage. I guess I should just drive that. But he might get scratched! Pathetic, I know.

Traditionally, I'm a car nut. I know all there is to know about them. My first words on the back seat of Lottie's old Holden, all those years ago, were... Same model different colour, for the universes sake! So, why can I raise about as much interest in buying a car as swallowing gold fish alive? I don't get it.
I looked at a $30,000 Subaru WRX, black on black. Very cool. I looked at a $1000 classic turbo charged Saab, silver with burgundy leather interior. Nice style. I ran my fingers over a gorgeous, white Triumph TR7 sports car. 5 grand and it would have been mine - although, there is something to be said for not buying British cars from the 1970's, the height of their shitful quality control. I found exactly the car I was going to trade my (now burnt) Peugeot in on, a demo 206 GTI 180, also black. Lovely. 1000 k's on the clock. I even found a beautiful Rover P6B, just like the one I sold, not long before the Peugeot went poof!... to the beautiful... er... poof... Stuart.

I even entertained, for a milli second, one of those hybrid Toyota things - but I just don't care that much about the environment, to be truthful, to compromise my driving experience - even if I have chosen, for the past five years, to only take jobs which I could walk to, so I'm not contributing to the denigration of the planet.

Nothing! Not a sausage of interest. Bored already. Lets eat cake. Have Tom and Katie shown Suri to the world yet?

It's denial, I know.

I even had a dream where my best mate, Tom, just kept saying to everyone, Actually no, Christian never did buy another car.

Truthfully, I don't need a car - the fact that, up until recently, I owned four, none of which I drove on a regular basis, always seemed to tickle people - and as Jeff and Raymond suggested the other day, I could really join the Fitzroy car co-op, which was set-up for people just like me and I could drive one of those Smart cars when the driving need so arose.

I could I live without a car?

"We need a car," said Lottie yesterday, when were talking about petrol for the mower. "If you don't get one soon, I'll have to buy one myself."

And that, my friends, was the most sensible suggestion of the week.

But, you know, there are those times where a car is convenient. So, I've decided that, maybe, I'm going to look at Alfa Romeo GTV's. A V6 would be nice. The sound of a classic 20 year old Alfa spurting into life, is akin to the sound of a 20 year old Italian boy spurting into life; watch that gorgeous exhaust pipe waggle as the drops of fluid drip out the end. Now, with that thought in mind, maybe I could muster just a little interest.

The Census

Picture this, Sicily 1960... um... er... you know where I'd rather be... Fitzroy, 2006... last Tuesday. (Have you ever looked down a Sicilian guys pants? Evil laugh.) I'm lying on the couch, drifting off, maybe I can just see the first dim of the hard edge of the day, as twin Italian brothers come into my dreams.

The door bells rings. I shake my head. I go to the front door, at the last few feet I decide to tip-toe and peak through the eye-hole. You know, once you've committed to the big open, as your eyes come to focus on a Jehovah Witness, in a twin-set complete with idiot grin, or some over-enthusiastic university girl selling time share for all her 5 d's last term are worth, it's too late, no auto rewind at that stage, buddy. (sorry Earl) And bugger me, if it wasn't the census woman @ 16.30 in the afternoon @ 16.30 in Fitzroy, who the hell did she think she was going to find home? I ask you?

I decided not to open the door on principal. Get with the program! Are you collecting this wretched census for our own convenience or for ours, luv?

She sneakily left an envelope in which I am now supposed to post it.

It's not going to happen. I want a little specialised service for all of my most intimate details to be revealed.

No officer, I never saw anyone from the department again.

No. I was never left an envelope.

No, never!

I head back to the couch in search of Alex and Nick.

Well, she has just dropped by, giving it her last shot @ collecting it, so, of course, I handed it over.

"I just couldn't catch you at night to collect it," she said.

Funny about that, I thought. If you came @ some time after... er... um 16.30, you may have had more luck, I wanted to say, but, of course, I didn't. I just smiled sweetly, instead.

So there, I've done my bit. There you go Little Johnny! The evil Prime ministerial munchkin can do his worst with the stats, as I'm sure he will. It will be the basis for a whole new set of lies with which to keep power... no doubt. 

Spin

Say what you like,

the truth matters little

in the 21st Century.

Money is good, and

we're all going to hell anyway

the religion of wealth will see to that.

Make hay while the sun shines,

while the seasons still spin,

while the rain still falls,

it's all that is left, we think.

At whoever's expense,

as long as it’s not mine

and as long as it looks good,

who really cares?

The deckchairs on the Titanic are sliding,

Nero is choking on the fumes.

One more minute to midnight 

on the doomsday clock,

and we’re all shocked.

What Do You Call This?

Manny came into work, to visit? To see me? To get tattslotto money. He's funny, he calls hours before he's going to arrive. He schedules me, that's what I call it. He laughs when I tell him, but he can't help it. I'm not sure if he gets it? I'm not sure if he realises what he does.

"We have to win soon," he says. "Then we can go on that cruise."

"Greek Islands," I say.

"No, I want to be on a boat, with the endless view of the ocean... and you." He smiles. I love the way his brown eyes sparkle when he looks at me.

"No Man, the beach at sunset on Mykonos, looking out over the Mediterranean. When everyone one else has headed home. I want to see your handsome face reflected in that light. It's just beautiful."

He pulls me back, as the lift doors open to reveal someone already inside. "Hang on a second." He smiles. I'm sure we all look awkward until the doors close again.

The next lift comes. He pushes me against the mirrored wall and we kiss as soon as the doors slide shut again. We are reflected to eternity in the mirrors, like we are kissing forever - a thousand Manny lips kiss a thousand Christian's. I always want to push the emergency stop button, at those moments, like they do in the movies.

"I miss you, you know," says Manny.

I know I should say that I miss him in return. But, the only time I get to see him, lately, is when he comes in to get the tattslotto money. He says we haven't had sex for a month? (My how time flies) He says he misses it, he says he misses me.

I can't decide what to do about the problem that is Manny? By any previous boyfriend standards, I wouldn't even call this a relationship. But then his handsome face smiles at me and his gorgeous eyes sparkle and that part of me, that special Manny part, melts... all over again. 

Homeless

"Buy a Big Issue to help the homeless," he said.

He didn't look homeless, I thought. Good looking, nicely dressed, well spoken.

Like the homeless couldn't be good looking, nicely dressed or well spoken.

He could have been me, easily, without my luck... I guess. He even looked a bit like me.

"Get your Big Issue here."

It made me think. Me, without the good fortune of having been born into a good family, with means and connections. I wondered if I had ever done anything to deserve it? To deserve my lot? To deserve my good fortune, which, of course, I take for granted.

I'm guessing he wouldn't take it for granted?

He'd be better off growing dope and flogging it, I thought.

Big Issue, I said silently to myself. Get your Big Issue here. 

Still Cold

My farts smell like spoilt milk, I'm sure that can't be good. One wafted out from under the doona, this morning and damn well woke me up. I'm off to work despite it; blocked nose, runny throat, dry cough nearly impossible to clear.

See how late I make it to today?

Wish me luck.

I've bought new vitamin C, though, the kind you swallow and don't chew, as I don't want to end up toothless once the snot has dried up. I popped 5000 milligrams, this morning, as the nice chemist lady said I should. I wanted to ask her if she was the one with the degree, or just the shop assistant, but I assumed the later as she wasn't the one wearing the high-collared white number. I wanted to ask her if she, actually, knew what she was talking about when it came to vitamins, but, of course, I didn't. She spoke so authoritatively.

I just wish the whole body tingle/hum thing would stop now, it's disconcerting. It's just a cold, after all.

Everyone at work has it, well, nearly everyone.

Gorgeous Luke came in and asked if I was feeling better. I breathed all over him with my reply and he jumped backwards and I laughed.

"I could give it to you," I said jokingly. I assumed that he assumed that I meant the cold, which I didn't... of course. (He's the cutest Eddie Munster in town)

"No thanks," he said, as he recoiled, smiling. "I've only just got over the last one." I assumed he meant boyfriend, which, of course, he didn't. Oh well.

"We'd have to exchange bodily fluids," I said. "For you to be in any real danger."

He tilted his head sideways and looked perplexed - you just gotta love straight boys.

"You catch it through saliva," I said, pointing to my mouth.