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| Mum, he touched us! |
Friday, February 17, 2012
Flesh is the Sweet
Flesh is the sweet, contours of meat,
breath is the scent, touch is heaven sent.
Your... skin, soft and smooth like satin, like chamois,
buzzing my senses, delight, height, quite nice.
I kiss you, you kiss me
a joy, a treat, a hunger complete.
I lick you, touch, squeeze you, penetrate... dessert.
You, wiggle, squirm, reconfirm, your love for me.
Love is you in my arms, the smell of your hair in my nose,
the way you curl your toes, the way your eyes glow.
The soft wetness of your lips, the way you move your hips,
the way you rest, on my chest, out of breath.
I hold you, caress.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Pissed Around All Day
Sam tickled my foot to wake me up after his shower, it felt good and I immediately pushed both my feet out together for more strokes of his fingertips. When that wasn’t forthcoming in the amount that I had wished for I rolled over, pushed the doona out of my face and stared up at him.
“Good morning,” I croaked.
He was moisturising and he wiped the excess fluid from his hands onto my face, it was cool, nice really.
“The salt mines are beckoning.”
Then he kissed me good-bye.
I was awake by then. I rolled sideways and looked at the time, it was 7.43. Goodness, that is early. Well, I was asleep by 11pm last night, this was not an unreasonable hour to get up in the real world, I suppose. That’s nearly the requisite eight hours and I always say I can get by on six.
“Ah, the real world.” I laughed.
I turned on my lap top and puffed up my pillows. After a short time pissing around on the internet, I decided to go and make some morning coffee. Mmmm, I could taste the flavour of Columbia on my tongue. I didn’t always have to wait for Shane to leave the house, I could head down before he got up. And… smile… at this time, it was still possible I could get the coffee made and escape back upstairs unseen.
Oh, it’s just my morning thing, no offence meant to anyone. I just like to have a bit of alone time before I officially meet the day.
Who wants to talk first thing? I mean to say.
The kitchen was a mess, still with coconut fragments nearly spread across its entirety. The many white flakes contrasting against the green granite. The rich red sauce encrusted bowls still lay haphazardly around the sink. So, I put on the coffee and washed everything up.
Have I told you how, strangely, I have got into old fashioned dish washing in the kitchen sink. Dish mop, rubber gloves, soap suds, up to the elbows. It suddenly just seems so quick and simple and hey presto the dishes are clean. All done, five minutes. To think how much I loathed it as a “waste of time” as a kid. I don’t know why, maybe I am going nuts being at home all day?
The time it takes for the coffee pot to brew, I can clean the kitchen, empty the dishwasher, prepare breakfast, it almost seems like… oh?... what is it that chicks think they are good at, have the patent on? Oh yes, multi tasking. The time it takes the coffee pot to brew, is my window into multi tasking. I can get everything in the kitchen done in that time. Viola! Hey presto! And a lovely hot cup of coffee too. Gorgeous.
It is amazing what you can get done, if you just do it. No excuses, no thinking about it, just do it.
I headed back to bed and tried to write a piece on 1981… the year that being gay peaked as a sexual, psycho way of life, where, I am sure, gay people felt invincible, able to do anything and every thing, or on the precipice of it. Of course, in my home state it was decriminalized the previous years, as it was in the process of being in most western societies. Canada had a law that sodomy was legal as long as no more then two were present. Who thinks these things up?
“The gays” had money, time and in their own ghettos from which to fight from, ever increasing power, or the notion of power, right before it all came crashing down in the most spectacular, unthinkable way, a plague on your house.
That was when my ears tuned into something else, something beyond the walls of my room, something beyond my control.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Scrape, scrape, scrape. (No, Doc Strangelove was performing an abortion in Shane’s room… although, it would have been preferable)
What day is it? Quick, think.
“Nooooooooooooooo!”
It was Wednesday and that, I am sure, was the vacuum that I could hear.
“GUADALUPE!”
Noooooooooooo! Maybe I was hearing things, imagining things. I was delirious, from? From? From? I don’t know. It was my imagination, yes it was. I leaped out of bed, found my comfy black track-pants-material shorts and crept to the bedroom door and opened it a crack.
Veeeeerrrrrrr.
Bugger! I closed the door.
I opened it again. Veeeeerrrrrrr.
I closed it again.
What to do? Get in the shower. Then, grab your polo shirt with its horizontal stripes, which, rather unfathomably, looks good on you and your book and head to the park. Fuck the shower, have it when you come back, just grab your book and your thongs and go… oh, take your laptop, you never know. Grab your camera, well? Get your backpack, USB stick, memory card reader, glasses, wallet. What else? Towel! Towel?
Where’s my camera case? Down stairs on the coffee table.
Take you breakfast bowl, no use giving her extra work to do, you lazy arse. Take it, put it in the dishwasher and get the hell out.
She was sitting down having a snack when I arrived in the lounge room.
“Ullo.”
“Good morning.”
My camera case was on the coffee table, I grabbed it. She disappeared out of the room immediately.
Get your thongs.
But, I don’t want to feel like a refugee and I can’t get internet in the park. And I don’t want to hang around for two hours, an hour and a half. Just sit out the back, out of her way, and play on the internet. Yes. Easy. Surely she’d been here for over an hour, she doesn’t have the lounge to go, just upstairs. And I feel apposed to being driven out of my house.
Fuck her!
Besides, either of the plumbers might call. Fat chance of that, I thought. Plumber number one was rung last Monday and still nothing. Plumber number two yesterday, and he promised to get the girl in the office – I think that means his wife – to call back with a time. And nothing from him either. What is it with plumbers?
It is hot today, in the early thirties is what we are expecting, so my phone tells me.
I sat out on the back veranda with a coffee and tried to research the names of the five AIDS patients to present to the LA hospital in June 1981. I wanted to do this just to put a face, a person to what is always referred to as the 5 victims. It didn’t really mean anything now, as such, 31 years later. I just wanted to personalise the story just a bit. Just for me. I could find out their names.
The first man to die in New York was named Nick Rock. He was a housemate of the writer Felice Picano’s on Fire Island. I think he was a member of the Radical Faeries. He died on January 15th.
Anyway… I just wondered what these people were like, what their stories were? But, I didn’t get very far. Although, it took me up until the moment that Guadalupe opened the back door and said she was finished.
“Shane didn’t leave the money?”
Bad luck sister.
“Nexta time?”
“I’ll tell him.”
I spent the rest of the morning reading about the history of AIDS and then the history of Larry Kramer.
Anthony called to see if I had made it up to Sam for my indifference to Valentines Day?
“Oh sure, he doesn’t buy into all of that.”
No, he doesn’t. You see, I told you he was perfect.
Mark called to report in about the hotel renovations in Hanoi. It is all coming together. He’s in the foyer. He walks me around showing me the changes. I say hello to L, he looks as cute as ever. He shows me the new décor. He introduces me to the other staff, as they one by one walk into my line of vision, er, camera. It’s cute. No, it is. I feel like Raj’s parents off The Big Bang Theory.
I went to the coffee shop to see if they still sold seals for my coffee pot. They didn’t. They were giving away the remaining stock of coffee pot seals that they had and I could take one if there was one the right size. There wasn’t. Naturally.
I ate toast with Vegemite and cheese, for lunch, (hang the cholesterol) followed by toast with Apricot jam. (hang the fat)
I went to the second hand bookshop to look for a copy of Larry Kramer’s Faggots, despite all those promises made to myself about buying any more books before I have read the ones I have already bought. But, I question whether second hand books count. They didn’t have it.
I think second hand books do count.
This is shaping up to be the second week that I haven’t done any exercise. All that toast and all the jam. Bad Christian! Luke says I eat too many carbohydrates, but I deny it. I think six pieces of toast would count as too many though.
I wrote my journal finally in the afternoon. I closed down the internet and stopped wasting my day. I’ve got to put more time into writing and far less into wasting my life on the internet. Just write.
I still wonder if one of those portable modem things would be a good idea. You know, just enough credits to publish some blog pieces, but not enough to waste all that time surfing the net. You know, I really wonder.
I called the plumber and, no, the boss hadn’t passed on my message and, no, there hadn’t been a time allocated to me. Grrr!
WTF? Do I have anti plumber energy, or something?
Anyway, tomorrow at midday.
Shane came home with Chicken and salad.
I’m out of cat food, Missy isn’t happy, she skulks around the table, sliding her paw up every now and again, as if in a desperate plea for food. Cats can be such drama queens.
David arrives to collect his dvd. He eats our food and leaves as soon as Shane hands over the dvd. He’s bought us GaGa tickets, despite none of us really wanting to go, but he needed someone to go with and he has a way of demanding what he wants. We all now owe him $130.
Missy’s into the bin after chicken bones. Poor hungry cat, I swear I am a bad father. We hear the scratching from the lounge.
I’m still swatting moths, as though a plague has been sent to me, undoubtedly, for cat abuse.
We watched Absolutely Fabulous, more of the same, but good more of the same. Gordon Street with Adam Ant, who seems quite humble and unaffected. And a doco on the American Tea party, who have a lot of rhetoric and talk a lot about fixing America and reducing govt, but with surprisingly few details on how they are actually going to do it.
They are OneNation on steroids, or at least, the bigger and better, more nutters per capita, American version.
Interesting note – despite them having no leader, the closest they do have to one, apparently, is Grant Beck, who has no political mandate, but who has made something like 35 million. And Sarah Palin is now a multi millionaire and is again someone who has no political mandate.
I head to the supermarket to get Missy food. It is a hot, balmy night. It is nice walking down the street in shorts and thongs. I bought passion fruit yogurt and bananas.
Note, on the way back, the blue bike has gone. I’m going to put all my rubbish on the footpath, from now on.
“Good morning,” I croaked.
He was moisturising and he wiped the excess fluid from his hands onto my face, it was cool, nice really.
“The salt mines are beckoning.”
Then he kissed me good-bye.
I was awake by then. I rolled sideways and looked at the time, it was 7.43. Goodness, that is early. Well, I was asleep by 11pm last night, this was not an unreasonable hour to get up in the real world, I suppose. That’s nearly the requisite eight hours and I always say I can get by on six.
“Ah, the real world.” I laughed.
I turned on my lap top and puffed up my pillows. After a short time pissing around on the internet, I decided to go and make some morning coffee. Mmmm, I could taste the flavour of Columbia on my tongue. I didn’t always have to wait for Shane to leave the house, I could head down before he got up. And… smile… at this time, it was still possible I could get the coffee made and escape back upstairs unseen.
Oh, it’s just my morning thing, no offence meant to anyone. I just like to have a bit of alone time before I officially meet the day.
Who wants to talk first thing? I mean to say.
The kitchen was a mess, still with coconut fragments nearly spread across its entirety. The many white flakes contrasting against the green granite. The rich red sauce encrusted bowls still lay haphazardly around the sink. So, I put on the coffee and washed everything up.
Have I told you how, strangely, I have got into old fashioned dish washing in the kitchen sink. Dish mop, rubber gloves, soap suds, up to the elbows. It suddenly just seems so quick and simple and hey presto the dishes are clean. All done, five minutes. To think how much I loathed it as a “waste of time” as a kid. I don’t know why, maybe I am going nuts being at home all day?
The time it takes for the coffee pot to brew, I can clean the kitchen, empty the dishwasher, prepare breakfast, it almost seems like… oh?... what is it that chicks think they are good at, have the patent on? Oh yes, multi tasking. The time it takes the coffee pot to brew, is my window into multi tasking. I can get everything in the kitchen done in that time. Viola! Hey presto! And a lovely hot cup of coffee too. Gorgeous.
It is amazing what you can get done, if you just do it. No excuses, no thinking about it, just do it.
I headed back to bed and tried to write a piece on 1981… the year that being gay peaked as a sexual, psycho way of life, where, I am sure, gay people felt invincible, able to do anything and every thing, or on the precipice of it. Of course, in my home state it was decriminalized the previous years, as it was in the process of being in most western societies. Canada had a law that sodomy was legal as long as no more then two were present. Who thinks these things up?
“The gays” had money, time and in their own ghettos from which to fight from, ever increasing power, or the notion of power, right before it all came crashing down in the most spectacular, unthinkable way, a plague on your house.
That was when my ears tuned into something else, something beyond the walls of my room, something beyond my control.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. Scrape, scrape, scrape. (No, Doc Strangelove was performing an abortion in Shane’s room… although, it would have been preferable)
What day is it? Quick, think.
“Nooooooooooooooo!”
It was Wednesday and that, I am sure, was the vacuum that I could hear.
“GUADALUPE!”
Noooooooooooo! Maybe I was hearing things, imagining things. I was delirious, from? From? From? I don’t know. It was my imagination, yes it was. I leaped out of bed, found my comfy black track-pants-material shorts and crept to the bedroom door and opened it a crack.
Veeeeerrrrrrr.
Bugger! I closed the door.
I opened it again. Veeeeerrrrrrr.
I closed it again.
What to do? Get in the shower. Then, grab your polo shirt with its horizontal stripes, which, rather unfathomably, looks good on you and your book and head to the park. Fuck the shower, have it when you come back, just grab your book and your thongs and go… oh, take your laptop, you never know. Grab your camera, well? Get your backpack, USB stick, memory card reader, glasses, wallet. What else? Towel! Towel?
Where’s my camera case? Down stairs on the coffee table.
Take you breakfast bowl, no use giving her extra work to do, you lazy arse. Take it, put it in the dishwasher and get the hell out.
She was sitting down having a snack when I arrived in the lounge room.
“Ullo.”
“Good morning.”
My camera case was on the coffee table, I grabbed it. She disappeared out of the room immediately.
Get your thongs.
But, I don’t want to feel like a refugee and I can’t get internet in the park. And I don’t want to hang around for two hours, an hour and a half. Just sit out the back, out of her way, and play on the internet. Yes. Easy. Surely she’d been here for over an hour, she doesn’t have the lounge to go, just upstairs. And I feel apposed to being driven out of my house.
Fuck her!
Besides, either of the plumbers might call. Fat chance of that, I thought. Plumber number one was rung last Monday and still nothing. Plumber number two yesterday, and he promised to get the girl in the office – I think that means his wife – to call back with a time. And nothing from him either. What is it with plumbers?
It is hot today, in the early thirties is what we are expecting, so my phone tells me.
I sat out on the back veranda with a coffee and tried to research the names of the five AIDS patients to present to the LA hospital in June 1981. I wanted to do this just to put a face, a person to what is always referred to as the 5 victims. It didn’t really mean anything now, as such, 31 years later. I just wanted to personalise the story just a bit. Just for me. I could find out their names.
The first man to die in New York was named Nick Rock. He was a housemate of the writer Felice Picano’s on Fire Island. I think he was a member of the Radical Faeries. He died on January 15th.
Anyway… I just wondered what these people were like, what their stories were? But, I didn’t get very far. Although, it took me up until the moment that Guadalupe opened the back door and said she was finished.
“Shane didn’t leave the money?”
Bad luck sister.
“Nexta time?”
“I’ll tell him.”
I spent the rest of the morning reading about the history of AIDS and then the history of Larry Kramer.
Anthony called to see if I had made it up to Sam for my indifference to Valentines Day?
“Oh sure, he doesn’t buy into all of that.”
No, he doesn’t. You see, I told you he was perfect.
Mark called to report in about the hotel renovations in Hanoi. It is all coming together. He’s in the foyer. He walks me around showing me the changes. I say hello to L, he looks as cute as ever. He shows me the new décor. He introduces me to the other staff, as they one by one walk into my line of vision, er, camera. It’s cute. No, it is. I feel like Raj’s parents off The Big Bang Theory.
I went to the coffee shop to see if they still sold seals for my coffee pot. They didn’t. They were giving away the remaining stock of coffee pot seals that they had and I could take one if there was one the right size. There wasn’t. Naturally.
I ate toast with Vegemite and cheese, for lunch, (hang the cholesterol) followed by toast with Apricot jam. (hang the fat)
I went to the second hand bookshop to look for a copy of Larry Kramer’s Faggots, despite all those promises made to myself about buying any more books before I have read the ones I have already bought. But, I question whether second hand books count. They didn’t have it.
I think second hand books do count.
This is shaping up to be the second week that I haven’t done any exercise. All that toast and all the jam. Bad Christian! Luke says I eat too many carbohydrates, but I deny it. I think six pieces of toast would count as too many though.
I wrote my journal finally in the afternoon. I closed down the internet and stopped wasting my day. I’ve got to put more time into writing and far less into wasting my life on the internet. Just write.
I still wonder if one of those portable modem things would be a good idea. You know, just enough credits to publish some blog pieces, but not enough to waste all that time surfing the net. You know, I really wonder.
I called the plumber and, no, the boss hadn’t passed on my message and, no, there hadn’t been a time allocated to me. Grrr!
WTF? Do I have anti plumber energy, or something?
Anyway, tomorrow at midday.
Shane came home with Chicken and salad.
I’m out of cat food, Missy isn’t happy, she skulks around the table, sliding her paw up every now and again, as if in a desperate plea for food. Cats can be such drama queens.
David arrives to collect his dvd. He eats our food and leaves as soon as Shane hands over the dvd. He’s bought us GaGa tickets, despite none of us really wanting to go, but he needed someone to go with and he has a way of demanding what he wants. We all now owe him $130.
Missy’s into the bin after chicken bones. Poor hungry cat, I swear I am a bad father. We hear the scratching from the lounge.
I’m still swatting moths, as though a plague has been sent to me, undoubtedly, for cat abuse.
We watched Absolutely Fabulous, more of the same, but good more of the same. Gordon Street with Adam Ant, who seems quite humble and unaffected. And a doco on the American Tea party, who have a lot of rhetoric and talk a lot about fixing America and reducing govt, but with surprisingly few details on how they are actually going to do it.
They are OneNation on steroids, or at least, the bigger and better, more nutters per capita, American version.
Interesting note – despite them having no leader, the closest they do have to one, apparently, is Grant Beck, who has no political mandate, but who has made something like 35 million. And Sarah Palin is now a multi millionaire and is again someone who has no political mandate.
I head to the supermarket to get Missy food. It is a hot, balmy night. It is nice walking down the street in shorts and thongs. I bought passion fruit yogurt and bananas.
Note, on the way back, the blue bike has gone. I’m going to put all my rubbish on the footpath, from now on.
1981 - I Find This Fascinating
I've been scanning Mark's old photos, included are his photos from his trip to America in 1981.
1981?
I was but a wee pup with a girlfriend and all. Leah. (Who'd have thought we’d stop talking, just lately, we were the loves of each other’s lives once, but that is a story for another time) We were tentatively experimenting with each other in 1981.
It was the year of the first DeLorean
Ronald Regan is shot in the chest
Pope John Paul is shot entering St Peter's Square
The Pace Shuttle Columbia returns to earth as the first reusable space ship
Bucks Fizz wins the European song contest with Making your mind up
Tohui The Panda is born in Chapultepec Zoo in Mexico City
Of course, the vigil mary appears, this time in Yugoslavia
Prince Charles married Diana Spencer
Mark David Chapman is sentenced to life in prison for murdering John Lennon
France abolishes capital punishment
The Rolling Stones begin their Tattoo You concert in New York
The Boeing 767 makes its first flight
The Church of England General Synod votes to admit women to holy orders
Muhammad Ali loses to Trevor Berbick; this proved to be Ali's last-ever fight.
Wojciech Jaruzelski declares martial law in Poland, to prevent the dismantling of the communist system by Solidarity.
The first American test-tube baby, Elizabeth Jordan Carr, is born in Norfolk, Virginia.
Raiders of the lost ark
Nick Rock
Rick Wellikoff 1980: Rick Wellikoff, Brooklyn school-teacher.
Jack Nau
Donald Krintzman
Jerry Green
Michael Maletta
Paul Graham
Harry Blumenthal
Stephen Sperry
Brian O'Hara
Jeffrey Croland
David Jackson
Tony Rappa
Robert Christian
Ron Doud
1981?
I was but a wee pup with a girlfriend and all. Leah. (Who'd have thought we’d stop talking, just lately, we were the loves of each other’s lives once, but that is a story for another time) We were tentatively experimenting with each other in 1981.
It was the year of the first DeLorean
Ronald Regan is shot in the chest
Pope John Paul is shot entering St Peter's Square
The Pace Shuttle Columbia returns to earth as the first reusable space ship
Bucks Fizz wins the European song contest with Making your mind up
Tohui The Panda is born in Chapultepec Zoo in Mexico City
Of course, the vigil mary appears, this time in Yugoslavia
Prince Charles married Diana Spencer
Mark David Chapman is sentenced to life in prison for murdering John Lennon
France abolishes capital punishment
The Rolling Stones begin their Tattoo You concert in New York
The Boeing 767 makes its first flight
The Church of England General Synod votes to admit women to holy orders
Muhammad Ali loses to Trevor Berbick; this proved to be Ali's last-ever fight.
Wojciech Jaruzelski declares martial law in Poland, to prevent the dismantling of the communist system by Solidarity.
The first American test-tube baby, Elizabeth Jordan Carr, is born in Norfolk, Virginia.
Raiders of the lost ark
In January, Nick Rock becomes the first AIDS death in New York
In June, 5 otherwise Healthy gay men start presenting in hospitals with carinii pneumonia.
Rick Wellikoff 1980: Rick Wellikoff, Brooklyn school-teacher.
Jack Nau
Donald Krintzman
Jerry Green
Michael Maletta
Paul Graham
Harry Blumenthal
Stephen Sperry
Brian O'Hara
Jeffrey Croland
David Jackson
Tony Rappa
Robert Christian
Ron Doud
First Report of AIDS
First Report of AIDS
On June 5, 1981, MMWR published a report of five cases of Pneumocystiscarinii pneumonia(PCP)amongpreviouslyhealthyyoungmeninLos Angeles (1 ). All of the men were described as “homosexuals”; two had died. Local clinicians and the Epidemic Intelligence Service (EIS) Officer stationed at the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health, prepared the report and submitted it forMMWR publicationinearlyMay1981.Beforepublication,MMWR editorialstaff sent the submission to CDC experts in parasitic and sexually transmitted diseases. The editorial note that accompanied the published report stated that the case histo- ries suggested a “cellular-immune dysfunction related to a common exposure” and a “disease acquired through sexual contact.” The report prompted additional case reports from New York City, San Francisco, and other cities. At about the same time, CDC’s investigation drug unit, the sole distributor of pentamidine, the therapy for PCP, began to receive requests for the drug from physicians also to treat young men. In June 1981, CDC developed an investigative team to identify risk factors and to develop a case definition for national surveillance. Within 18 months, epidemiolo- gistsconductedstudiesandpreparedMMWR reportsthatidentifiedallofthemajor risks factors for acquired immnodeficiency syndrome (AIDS). In March 1983, CDC issued recommendations for prevention of sexual, drug-related, and occupational transmission based on these early epidemiologic studies and before the cause of the new, unexplained illness was known.
MMWR has published more than 400 reports about human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) and AIDS and remains a primary source of information about the epide- miology, surveillance, prevention, care, and treatment of HIV and AIDS. This anniver- sary issue provides new reports on the epidemiologic features and impact of HIV/ AIDS on communities in the United States and in other countries. A compilation of notableMMWR reportsonHIVandAIDSisavailableathttp://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/ hiv_aids20.html. A video that includes interviews with participants in these first AIDS investigations and reports and a video summary of each report in this issue is avail- able at http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr.
Reference
1. CDC. Pneumocystis pneumonia — Los Angeles. MMWR 1981;30:250–2.
On June 5, 1981, MMWR published a report of five cases of Pneumocystiscarinii pneumonia(PCP)amongpreviouslyhealthyyoungmeninLos Angeles (1 ). All of the men were described as “homosexuals”; two had died. Local clinicians and the Epidemic Intelligence Service (EIS) Officer stationed at the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health, prepared the report and submitted it forMMWR publicationinearlyMay1981.Beforepublication,MMWR editorialstaff sent the submission to CDC experts in parasitic and sexually transmitted diseases. The editorial note that accompanied the published report stated that the case histo- ries suggested a “cellular-immune dysfunction related to a common exposure” and a “disease acquired through sexual contact.” The report prompted additional case reports from New York City, San Francisco, and other cities. At about the same time, CDC’s investigation drug unit, the sole distributor of pentamidine, the therapy for PCP, began to receive requests for the drug from physicians also to treat young men. In June 1981, CDC developed an investigative team to identify risk factors and to develop a case definition for national surveillance. Within 18 months, epidemiolo- gistsconductedstudiesandpreparedMMWR reportsthatidentifiedallofthemajor risks factors for acquired immnodeficiency syndrome (AIDS). In March 1983, CDC issued recommendations for prevention of sexual, drug-related, and occupational transmission based on these early epidemiologic studies and before the cause of the new, unexplained illness was known.
MMWR has published more than 400 reports about human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) and AIDS and remains a primary source of information about the epide- miology, surveillance, prevention, care, and treatment of HIV and AIDS. This anniver- sary issue provides new reports on the epidemiologic features and impact of HIV/ AIDS on communities in the United States and in other countries. A compilation of notableMMWR reportsonHIVandAIDSisavailableathttp://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/ hiv_aids20.html. A video that includes interviews with participants in these first AIDS investigations and reports and a video summary of each report in this issue is avail- able at http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr.
Reference
1. CDC. Pneumocystis pneumonia — Los Angeles. MMWR 1981;30:250–2.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Valentine's Day
I decided that I didn’t really have to do anything. I mean, I now have a job due to start March 01st. Yay! Back to work. Yay! Back to the office. Yay! Lucky me. Yay! Never can be pleased? Oh, I don’t know? I don’t want to do anything? I don’t know? I’d do something interesting, I would.
I don’t have to look for a job though.
Sure, I have to finish the two walls in the front bedroom, but that can be done at any time, on the weekends. I want the water leak fixed first.
The plumber didn’t call.
I called the other plumbers and tried to make a time for them to come out. He said he would give the message to the woman in the office and she will call with the time. By the end of the day she still hadn’t called. What is it with fucking plumbers?
Sam called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him. I said I had left over curry to eat, from Sunday night. I hadn’t quite finished cleaning up my bedroom and I wanted to surprise him. I hadn’t taken the clothes to The Brotherhood last night either as I intended. Well, it is rubbish night tonight and I figured I’d get it all cleaned up at the same time. If I’d known he was going to come over I would have, of course.
Anthony called and asked if I had bought Sam flowers?
“What?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh… yes… that’s why he wanted to have dinner. Well, what put it into his head anyway? I told him I had leftover curry.”
Anthony Laughed.
“I guess that’s why I didn’t hear back from him.”
Anthony laughed again. “You wouldn’t hear from me… again.”
I felt bad, even though I knew Sam wasn’t the type to take Valentine’s Day seriously, but he does like coming over during the week sometimes. The hype would have made him think about it. I text him as soon as I got off the phone to Anthony and asked him what he wanted for dinner?
He said he was coming over after work. There was a “no questions asked” kind of tone to it.
I worked on Mark’s photos all day. I stopped at 3pm deciding I could clean all the crap out of my room at least for when Sam got here. You know, make some effort to make it look as good as it could, even if I just moved it out of my room, put it in supermarket bags and hid it under the stairs. Of course, move it out, give it some spin, visual spin, that’s the spirit, be human sometimes… as pointless and stupid as it might be, it seems to make people happy.
I put my old bike out the front on the footpath. I’m sure it is an anti council reaction to Yarra Council getting rid of hard rubbish collections.
At 4.30, I went to do more pointing. It was warm and sunny and nice to be outside. I made up several pots of mortar. The final one I made too wet so I attempted to add more dry mortar mix, but when I tipped the bag over to pour the powder into the wet mix a huge boulder of it fell out and got wet, so I had to add more water and ended up with a huge amount of mortar mixed up, more than I had ever mixed up previously.
Sam arrived some time after 6pm and I was still doing the pointing. He took over, like he does, always seems to like to, computers, cooking, pointing and he pointed a couple of places in the front fence, to get rid of the excess mortar, in his business shirt and pants. He looked like the best dress, and cutest, “brickie” in town.
I was sweaty and hot and had to have a shower. We sat on the couch saying we were both hungry trying to work out if the other really wanted to go out for dinner for Valentine’s Day, or if each of us was happy not to participate in the marketing exercise?
“I can cook my tuna and tomato pasta, if you want?”
“Sure.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out for dinner?”
“Why, do you?”
It’s funny when you are both hedging around something to get your way, or what you want, but this was a kind of negative hedge, as neither of us really did care about the consumerism of Valentine’s Day.
I just had to go to the supermarket to get pasta. We’ve had an outbreak of moths in our pantry and Shane cleaned it out on Monday night throwing out the pasta I am sure I had. However with my quick glance into the pantry, I noticed a bag of bran and a bag of oats, which he left, both of which were infested with weevils. So, I can only conclude Shane threw away all the items which didn’t attract weevils and left all the items which did.
Shane came home in the middle of it announcing he was going to, what I like to call, slut yoga, holding up his red jock strap that he was going to wear, which needed a thread cut off it, or a strap removed, or something.
I headed to the shower, much, as it turned out, to Shane’s anxiety.
“Oh… um… how long are you going to be, I need to have a shower?”
“You are going to have a shower before yoga?”
“I feel hot and sweaty.”
Slut yoga, I swear, is more about boyfriend hunting that exercise. I haven’t asked, but I reckon Shane’s regular attendance at slut yoga probably has something about an attendee he has his eye on that the health gains it is giving… hence the shave, shower and shit and I’m sure, if he was actually the kind, which he isn’t, there would have been aftershave applied.
Sam and I walked to the supermarket and before we got there, of course, Sam had changed my pasta significantly. We only needed pasta, but we were now getting chorizo sausage, olives, spinach and pasta and I was to cook according to Sam’s recipe and not mine. I mock protested, but quietly I’m just as happy for him to take over if he wants. I am capable of doing it myself and I am equally capable of letting him.
The moths are still circling. “Ahhh!!!” The spray doesn’t even seem to kill them, they just seem to fly right through it.
The dinner was scrumptious, quite lovely, even if Sam turned the sauce off and mixed it with the pasta before the spinach had been wilted into the sauce, as it should have been. I’m sure a recipe Nazi and Sam is so “let it loose,” which, strangely, is quite opposite to how we usually operate.
Sam bought two of those fresh coconut packaged thingies from the supermarket to drink with out dinner, that look like igloos, or beige marble blocks, or art deco purses, or… but, he had trouble opening them, the outer layer was pretty tough. He was in the kitchen hacking into them with more and more determination, while I assembled the pasta and retreated to the lounge to watch him hacking away furiously, like a madman possessed, with more and more coconut shards flying through the air... like Edward Scissorhands.
Once the coconut juice was in the tall glasses and I stopped being scared of him, we watched the Hangover, which I kind of like, strangely enough. You know, I only ever gravitate towards art house movies, which I’m sure is a form a stupid snobbery, but where I picked that up from, I don’t know.
We still went to bed before 10pm, as is Nana Sam’s want on a school night, but he did allow us to see the end of the movie before he ordered everything turned off and shut down and sleep.
Goodnight. Shhh.
I don’t have to look for a job though.
Sure, I have to finish the two walls in the front bedroom, but that can be done at any time, on the weekends. I want the water leak fixed first.
The plumber didn’t call.
I called the other plumbers and tried to make a time for them to come out. He said he would give the message to the woman in the office and she will call with the time. By the end of the day she still hadn’t called. What is it with fucking plumbers?
Sam called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him. I said I had left over curry to eat, from Sunday night. I hadn’t quite finished cleaning up my bedroom and I wanted to surprise him. I hadn’t taken the clothes to The Brotherhood last night either as I intended. Well, it is rubbish night tonight and I figured I’d get it all cleaned up at the same time. If I’d known he was going to come over I would have, of course.
Anthony called and asked if I had bought Sam flowers?
“What?”
“Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh… yes… that’s why he wanted to have dinner. Well, what put it into his head anyway? I told him I had leftover curry.”
Anthony Laughed.
“I guess that’s why I didn’t hear back from him.”
Anthony laughed again. “You wouldn’t hear from me… again.”
I felt bad, even though I knew Sam wasn’t the type to take Valentine’s Day seriously, but he does like coming over during the week sometimes. The hype would have made him think about it. I text him as soon as I got off the phone to Anthony and asked him what he wanted for dinner?
He said he was coming over after work. There was a “no questions asked” kind of tone to it.
I worked on Mark’s photos all day. I stopped at 3pm deciding I could clean all the crap out of my room at least for when Sam got here. You know, make some effort to make it look as good as it could, even if I just moved it out of my room, put it in supermarket bags and hid it under the stairs. Of course, move it out, give it some spin, visual spin, that’s the spirit, be human sometimes… as pointless and stupid as it might be, it seems to make people happy.
I put my old bike out the front on the footpath. I’m sure it is an anti council reaction to Yarra Council getting rid of hard rubbish collections.
At 4.30, I went to do more pointing. It was warm and sunny and nice to be outside. I made up several pots of mortar. The final one I made too wet so I attempted to add more dry mortar mix, but when I tipped the bag over to pour the powder into the wet mix a huge boulder of it fell out and got wet, so I had to add more water and ended up with a huge amount of mortar mixed up, more than I had ever mixed up previously.
Sam arrived some time after 6pm and I was still doing the pointing. He took over, like he does, always seems to like to, computers, cooking, pointing and he pointed a couple of places in the front fence, to get rid of the excess mortar, in his business shirt and pants. He looked like the best dress, and cutest, “brickie” in town.
I was sweaty and hot and had to have a shower. We sat on the couch saying we were both hungry trying to work out if the other really wanted to go out for dinner for Valentine’s Day, or if each of us was happy not to participate in the marketing exercise?
“I can cook my tuna and tomato pasta, if you want?”
“Sure.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out for dinner?”
“Why, do you?”
It’s funny when you are both hedging around something to get your way, or what you want, but this was a kind of negative hedge, as neither of us really did care about the consumerism of Valentine’s Day.
I just had to go to the supermarket to get pasta. We’ve had an outbreak of moths in our pantry and Shane cleaned it out on Monday night throwing out the pasta I am sure I had. However with my quick glance into the pantry, I noticed a bag of bran and a bag of oats, which he left, both of which were infested with weevils. So, I can only conclude Shane threw away all the items which didn’t attract weevils and left all the items which did.
Shane came home in the middle of it announcing he was going to, what I like to call, slut yoga, holding up his red jock strap that he was going to wear, which needed a thread cut off it, or a strap removed, or something.
I headed to the shower, much, as it turned out, to Shane’s anxiety.
“Oh… um… how long are you going to be, I need to have a shower?”
“You are going to have a shower before yoga?”
“I feel hot and sweaty.”
Slut yoga, I swear, is more about boyfriend hunting that exercise. I haven’t asked, but I reckon Shane’s regular attendance at slut yoga probably has something about an attendee he has his eye on that the health gains it is giving… hence the shave, shower and shit and I’m sure, if he was actually the kind, which he isn’t, there would have been aftershave applied.
Sam and I walked to the supermarket and before we got there, of course, Sam had changed my pasta significantly. We only needed pasta, but we were now getting chorizo sausage, olives, spinach and pasta and I was to cook according to Sam’s recipe and not mine. I mock protested, but quietly I’m just as happy for him to take over if he wants. I am capable of doing it myself and I am equally capable of letting him.
The moths are still circling. “Ahhh!!!” The spray doesn’t even seem to kill them, they just seem to fly right through it.
The dinner was scrumptious, quite lovely, even if Sam turned the sauce off and mixed it with the pasta before the spinach had been wilted into the sauce, as it should have been. I’m sure a recipe Nazi and Sam is so “let it loose,” which, strangely, is quite opposite to how we usually operate.
Sam bought two of those fresh coconut packaged thingies from the supermarket to drink with out dinner, that look like igloos, or beige marble blocks, or art deco purses, or… but, he had trouble opening them, the outer layer was pretty tough. He was in the kitchen hacking into them with more and more determination, while I assembled the pasta and retreated to the lounge to watch him hacking away furiously, like a madman possessed, with more and more coconut shards flying through the air... like Edward Scissorhands.
Once the coconut juice was in the tall glasses and I stopped being scared of him, we watched the Hangover, which I kind of like, strangely enough. You know, I only ever gravitate towards art house movies, which I’m sure is a form a stupid snobbery, but where I picked that up from, I don’t know.
We still went to bed before 10pm, as is Nana Sam’s want on a school night, but he did allow us to see the end of the movie before he ordered everything turned off and shut down and sleep.
Goodnight. Shhh.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Cleaning
I lay in bed unable to sleep from 3am to 4am, worrying about the mistake I think we have made regarding Yarrbat Avenue and worrying about the future.
I woke Sam up and asked him if he wanted to talk. He didn’t think it was funny.
The next thing I knew Sam was kissing me good-bye as he headed off to work. And my doona felt lovely, comfy, but I had things to do.
Monday morning.
I called Nick the plumber first thing to see where he’d got to on Friday. He got caught up, he said, with one thing and another. Sorry. Now in Mornington, of course. He said he will call tomorrow.
Shall I hold my breath? I’d already wasted a week on this guy.
I decided to blog a couple of things I’d already written, I didn’t have any thoughts about something new. You know, something I’d prepared earlier, kind of idea, about politics in the current period. How they used spin and fear and the media to control the masses. The great political tool, especially of the right and now increasingly of the left, is fear. Fear removes radicalisation and encourages compliance.
It’s not politically correct to be in favour of legalising drugs, or supporting unions, or cheating on welfare, for instance, as they are essentially non compliant with the status quo. We’ve all become so politically beige, the equivalent of school children. “Yes sir, no sir.” The threat of terrorists has given us permission to be dobbers and the notion that we are all “time poor” greases the whole sad and sorry story.
Luke gave me a box of videos from Bolago, now lying on my study. I regretted ever taking them, why didn’t I just say, “toss them.” I glanced through it – old floppy disks, videos, just rubbish really. All except my old Bette Davis collection. I tossed the videos which I now have on dvd. The other rare ones I kept, I am glad I didn’t say toss them. Connecting Rooms. Dead Ringer. Front Page Woman. The Great Lie.
I taped them as a kid. What straight teenage boy has a Bette Davis collection?
There seemed to be debris everywhere I looked, in every room. All these months off and my house is still a mess. “What a dump.”
I decided it was a day to do things, so I got to cleaning my room. I took “Beyond the Forest” with me to watch upstairs as I cleaned. Let’s see how Rosa Moline holds up. Her worst movie, so “they” say.
I finally threw out all of my precious jeans, I finally broke down and did it. But, when it is getting to ten years that you haven’t worn most of them, I ask you, it is borderline ridiculous, read psycho. It’s even more ridiculous when all of my “current” clothes live in two washing baskets in front of my wardrobe, as they won’t, actually, fit in my wardrobe. My clothes in the wardrobe never move out of it.
Shrug. All my favourite 501s, none of which fit me any more, all gone. Of course, I played dress ups, slipping into things, quickly and efficiently, as the decider to toss or to keep.
I ate the remains of the pumpkin soup. It was lovely too, a good batch. I laughed as I caught sight of myself in a pair of grey jersey shorts and an orange polo with black and white horizontal stripes in the mirror as I headed into the lounge.
Then I headed back and I cleaned up my video porn collection, with the intention of throwing them all out, all of them, get rid of them, videos are so yesterday. But, I couldn’t bring myself, there are classics amongst them, so I just threw out all the empty covers and the ones I recognised that I didn’t like. I mean, what do you do with a large collection of gay pornographic videos? You can hardly just dump them in any old rubbish bin, now can you?
Then I went out and repointed the garden wall in the lane. I was amazed to see that a whole bunch of bricks had no mortar left around them, or mortar that was crumbling so badly it only took a few rubs of the trowel for it all to fall away.
I made scrambled eggs in the middle of it all when I got hungry, late in the afternoon. Well, one bowl of soup is hardly substantial, now is it?
I was still remortaring when Shane got home. I’d ventured out to the sidewall and was really feeling the pain in my arms and back, but was still determined to get it finished, which I did.
Shane made pumpkin salad and green salad and sausages, as I collapsed on the couch.
David came over because he still wants Shane to make him that dvd, like a dog with a bone. Apparently, it didn’t get done last Saturday, it was going to take hours and was then impinging on other things David had to do. Me, me, me baby. Me, me, me. He never let’s go of something that he wants, which I know sounds like a criticism, but really, I guess, it is a virtue.
We watched the bodyguard in honour of Whitney dying. David couldn’t have really cared less about her, but really he’d got what he wanted so he was off.
I got to scanning Mark old slides. I found them at the back of my hall cupboard that I cleaned out last week. I stayed up until 5 am scanning. I don’t know why, well, I do, nothing to get up for. I love old photos, I find them thrilling, a record of time passed. It must have been something important to me in a previous life. History coming back to life. I love cleaning them, taking out the imperfections, turning them into a work of art.
Mark and Luke called at 2.30am asking why I was still up? We chatted for quite a while, they are all go go go in Hanoi.
I woke Sam up and asked him if he wanted to talk. He didn’t think it was funny.
The next thing I knew Sam was kissing me good-bye as he headed off to work. And my doona felt lovely, comfy, but I had things to do.
Monday morning.
I called Nick the plumber first thing to see where he’d got to on Friday. He got caught up, he said, with one thing and another. Sorry. Now in Mornington, of course. He said he will call tomorrow.
Shall I hold my breath? I’d already wasted a week on this guy.
I decided to blog a couple of things I’d already written, I didn’t have any thoughts about something new. You know, something I’d prepared earlier, kind of idea, about politics in the current period. How they used spin and fear and the media to control the masses. The great political tool, especially of the right and now increasingly of the left, is fear. Fear removes radicalisation and encourages compliance.
It’s not politically correct to be in favour of legalising drugs, or supporting unions, or cheating on welfare, for instance, as they are essentially non compliant with the status quo. We’ve all become so politically beige, the equivalent of school children. “Yes sir, no sir.” The threat of terrorists has given us permission to be dobbers and the notion that we are all “time poor” greases the whole sad and sorry story.
Luke gave me a box of videos from Bolago, now lying on my study. I regretted ever taking them, why didn’t I just say, “toss them.” I glanced through it – old floppy disks, videos, just rubbish really. All except my old Bette Davis collection. I tossed the videos which I now have on dvd. The other rare ones I kept, I am glad I didn’t say toss them. Connecting Rooms. Dead Ringer. Front Page Woman. The Great Lie.
I taped them as a kid. What straight teenage boy has a Bette Davis collection?
There seemed to be debris everywhere I looked, in every room. All these months off and my house is still a mess. “What a dump.”
I decided it was a day to do things, so I got to cleaning my room. I took “Beyond the Forest” with me to watch upstairs as I cleaned. Let’s see how Rosa Moline holds up. Her worst movie, so “they” say.
I finally threw out all of my precious jeans, I finally broke down and did it. But, when it is getting to ten years that you haven’t worn most of them, I ask you, it is borderline ridiculous, read psycho. It’s even more ridiculous when all of my “current” clothes live in two washing baskets in front of my wardrobe, as they won’t, actually, fit in my wardrobe. My clothes in the wardrobe never move out of it.
Shrug. All my favourite 501s, none of which fit me any more, all gone. Of course, I played dress ups, slipping into things, quickly and efficiently, as the decider to toss or to keep.
I ate the remains of the pumpkin soup. It was lovely too, a good batch. I laughed as I caught sight of myself in a pair of grey jersey shorts and an orange polo with black and white horizontal stripes in the mirror as I headed into the lounge.
Then I headed back and I cleaned up my video porn collection, with the intention of throwing them all out, all of them, get rid of them, videos are so yesterday. But, I couldn’t bring myself, there are classics amongst them, so I just threw out all the empty covers and the ones I recognised that I didn’t like. I mean, what do you do with a large collection of gay pornographic videos? You can hardly just dump them in any old rubbish bin, now can you?
Then I went out and repointed the garden wall in the lane. I was amazed to see that a whole bunch of bricks had no mortar left around them, or mortar that was crumbling so badly it only took a few rubs of the trowel for it all to fall away.
I made scrambled eggs in the middle of it all when I got hungry, late in the afternoon. Well, one bowl of soup is hardly substantial, now is it?
I was still remortaring when Shane got home. I’d ventured out to the sidewall and was really feeling the pain in my arms and back, but was still determined to get it finished, which I did.
Shane made pumpkin salad and green salad and sausages, as I collapsed on the couch.
David came over because he still wants Shane to make him that dvd, like a dog with a bone. Apparently, it didn’t get done last Saturday, it was going to take hours and was then impinging on other things David had to do. Me, me, me baby. Me, me, me. He never let’s go of something that he wants, which I know sounds like a criticism, but really, I guess, it is a virtue.
We watched the bodyguard in honour of Whitney dying. David couldn’t have really cared less about her, but really he’d got what he wanted so he was off.
I got to scanning Mark old slides. I found them at the back of my hall cupboard that I cleaned out last week. I stayed up until 5 am scanning. I don’t know why, well, I do, nothing to get up for. I love old photos, I find them thrilling, a record of time passed. It must have been something important to me in a previous life. History coming back to life. I love cleaning them, taking out the imperfections, turning them into a work of art.
Mark and Luke called at 2.30am asking why I was still up? We chatted for quite a while, they are all go go go in Hanoi.
The time slipped away so easily, but I didn’t care, about staying up until morning, I like vampire hours, after all. All I had to do was take the call from the plumber in the morning. When he calls? If he calls? I can wake up and answer the phone and then fall back to sleep.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
The Realities, Thus Far...
Keep them fearful
Tell them there is a war on drugs, a war on refugees, a war on binge drinking, a war on the road toll, a war on the internet, a war on fat, a war on crime, a war on lenient sentences, a war on welfare, there are several wars raging on the internet... a war on whatever you can think up.
And the latest tool to attempt to control the masses, a war on porn. (does anyone even know what "gonzo" porn is?)
and, by the way, the sun will kill you.
Keep them fearful and you'll keep them compliant and obedient... stops them thinking about other things, you know, like thinking for themselves.
And the gullible general public has bought it hook line and sinker. Just for example, it’s not politically correct to be in favour of legalising drugs, or supporting unions, or cheating welfare, or taxes. And it is okay to dob those people in. Australian's as dobbers? When did that become a thing?
If you tell them the truth, that most people who take drugs lead normal, productive lives, that the number of refugees coming to this country by boat is insignificant, that young people don't drink any more today than they have in any other generation, that the road toll is the lowest it has ever been, that the internet can easily be monitored by parents, actually, putting in some simple effort, that sexting probably won't lead to a lifetime of internet infamy, that most women get over abortions completely, there is less crime now a days than there ever has been... those in power will find their power bases diminishing.
The relationship between the sexes is healthier than it has ever been that at any other time in history.
In fact, we are now safer, happier and healthier than we have ever been… however.
Sadly, just as we are on the brink of finding cures to everything… the planet is dying underneath us.
We are quite simply members of a species that is in plague proportions on this planet, and we are actually choking the planet to death. And we are not willing to change our way of life to save the planet because it will interfere with our joy of life… and with capitalism.
The sad fact is, that we are not short of human beings, in fact, if we culled a billion, the world would be a healthier place. We are not special, we are not unique, we are not irreplaceable, life is not sacred and there is no god, no matter how much we all may want to believe in it.
This is the big issue that faces us today… not trumped up social issues exaggerated for political reasons…
They are the realities.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
What is with American English?
Why do Word documents continually revert to American English, even after I have change the document's spelling to UK English.
Personally, I think it is deliberate, Microsoft is in collusion, it is a conspiracy to make American spelt English dominant.
Oh, those Americans
Friday, February 10, 2012
Thursday, February 09, 2012
I've Been For Another Agency Interview, Can You Tell?
Who’s idea was this work thing? Come on, whose was it? I mean to say, really? Couldn’t they have put more thought into it, what 1000 years ago, or whatever? It just can’t be the best method, surely.
What is it? Work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, work, die.
That’s it, really? That’s how it goes.
Well, I for one want to lodge a protest? Where is the complaints department? Of course, that would only go to bolstering my side of the story. Push 1. Push 3. Push 1. Push 4. Push 5. Push 1. Push 3. Push 1. Push 2. Push 1.
And then, more than likely, you get cut off.
Oh yes, this was a brilliant system.
I want to know who there is to blame?
It is certainly someone’s fault, let me tell you.
And a few get rich off the back of the work of the majority. Then a hand full of the super rick commit the biggest financial fraud in history and break the world and destroy what wealth millions of people have managed to accumulate to makes a squillion for themselves. All the time nations starve and millions die of thirst, as the filthy obscenely fat western civilisation looks the other way as they stuff more and more of their just-for-fun purchases into the backs of their every expanding four wheel drives to ferry it all home to their ridiculously huge polystyrene houses.
The lovely K said she was going to get together a list of positions for me and then she'd get back to me.
“Super! We’ll talk.” Big eyes.
(Actually, K wasn’t like that really, she was nice and down to earth. I can’t help myself with clichés of employment agents.)
But, I don't want a list of employers to choose from. I just want one job. A list of employers means a list of job interviews. Oh bored already. I just want one job interview. Actually, Just tell me where to turn up and what time.
I guess you just take the one that pays the most, ditch the rest.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
Post Interview
(My former Temp Agency) wants to employ me, but all the training sessions for (new system) are fully booked for February… and I can't commence with them until I have been trained on the new product. I can't go out to client's offices until I know how the updated system works. C will put me into the first available training session, but she can’t tell me when that will be.
C said that she hoped that I didn’t get a job before she was able to give me a job. She's short staffed and she really wants me, but...
That was nice, you know. I can’t tell you how long it has been since a work place told/said/implied that I was a valued employee.
Do companies actually tell their employees that they are worthwhile? Really?
Actually, that is just my last work place, it just seems like “a long time” because I worked for them for a long time.
But, you see, I want to get going now, it is time. I’m back in work mode, which is in direct proportion to how concerned I am about my bank balance running dry. If I have to work, bring it on.
I want to start earning.
Afterward the interview, I messaged Barb to see if she wanted a coffee, but she didn’t answer. She is the last soldier left standing in the old black salt mines, the one left behind. She is always the one with the gossip, but she will only tell in person, face to face. There is too much fear of "big brother" otherwise for her. She has asked me many times to catch up and I have meant to, just today she didn’t answer. Isn’t that always the way? Or are they simply the times we remember?
While I was waiting for her not to answer, as it turned out, I realised I wanted a piss, so I headed down to 600 Bourke and used the toilet. I bought my favourite roll, chicken, avocado and bacon afterwards at Nashi and then I hung out a bit out the front as I ate it, as I messaged Sam over the road in his building. How convenient that would be now.
Yes, I hung out at the gates to hades? Back to the scene of the massacre, back to the place of nightmares. What is that? It is sick! It is all a part of the illness, of the malaise that is the black law firm; the hoard of horrors, the bunch of bastards, the puffed up narcissistic hollow men.
I was drawn to it, I was. Return to the scene of the crime... to the bosom, the snatch of evil. I stood out the front like I was looking for them, waiting for them, hoping to bump into one of them.
What is that? Look at me! I’m still here! Still standing. Yes, I’m fine thanks, doing well, actually.
Apparently, the dire attrition continues. The new HR director has left, as has the senior HR manager. Both left without jobs to go to. Just had enough, apparently. Too much poison and bile. Too much show and not enough style.
I guess the old war horse Lexie Lou will come trotting her fat arse back from oblivion, like she has before.
“No wucken furries, I’ll look after yous until ya foind someone else.”
The irony is that she has always been apart of the problem, an instigator of much pain for the punters. Teflon Lexie, nothing was ever her fault.
BUT, THEY ARE ALL TEFLON COATED, all except me and you. But the execs… yup! That’s how the world works, haven’t you worked that out by now. Those in charge will always go on. And those who are not, will be sacrificed so the execs can continue for another day. It is the privilege of position. Don’t you know that?
“Why wasn’t I told,” was always her war cry! “Why didn’t someone tell me.” Which, amazingly work for her. WTF?
I still reckon she must have been licking the ice queen CEO’s snatch. Apparently, whatever it took, was our Lexie Lou’s work ethic. How else would an incompetent get to director status?
C said that she hoped that I didn’t get a job before she was able to give me a job. She's short staffed and she really wants me, but...
That was nice, you know. I can’t tell you how long it has been since a work place told/said/implied that I was a valued employee.
Do companies actually tell their employees that they are worthwhile? Really?
Actually, that is just my last work place, it just seems like “a long time” because I worked for them for a long time.
But, you see, I want to get going now, it is time. I’m back in work mode, which is in direct proportion to how concerned I am about my bank balance running dry. If I have to work, bring it on.
I want to start earning.
Afterward the interview, I messaged Barb to see if she wanted a coffee, but she didn’t answer. She is the last soldier left standing in the old black salt mines, the one left behind. She is always the one with the gossip, but she will only tell in person, face to face. There is too much fear of "big brother" otherwise for her. She has asked me many times to catch up and I have meant to, just today she didn’t answer. Isn’t that always the way? Or are they simply the times we remember?
While I was waiting for her not to answer, as it turned out, I realised I wanted a piss, so I headed down to 600 Bourke and used the toilet. I bought my favourite roll, chicken, avocado and bacon afterwards at Nashi and then I hung out a bit out the front as I ate it, as I messaged Sam over the road in his building. How convenient that would be now.
Yes, I hung out at the gates to hades? Back to the scene of the massacre, back to the place of nightmares. What is that? It is sick! It is all a part of the illness, of the malaise that is the black law firm; the hoard of horrors, the bunch of bastards, the puffed up narcissistic hollow men.
I was drawn to it, I was. Return to the scene of the crime... to the bosom, the snatch of evil. I stood out the front like I was looking for them, waiting for them, hoping to bump into one of them.
What is that? Look at me! I’m still here! Still standing. Yes, I’m fine thanks, doing well, actually.
Apparently, the dire attrition continues. The new HR director has left, as has the senior HR manager. Both left without jobs to go to. Just had enough, apparently. Too much poison and bile. Too much show and not enough style.
I guess the old war horse Lexie Lou will come trotting her fat arse back from oblivion, like she has before.
“No wucken furries, I’ll look after yous until ya foind someone else.”
The irony is that she has always been apart of the problem, an instigator of much pain for the punters. Teflon Lexie, nothing was ever her fault.
BUT, THEY ARE ALL TEFLON COATED, all except me and you. But the execs… yup! That’s how the world works, haven’t you worked that out by now. Those in charge will always go on. And those who are not, will be sacrificed so the execs can continue for another day. It is the privilege of position. Don’t you know that?
“Why wasn’t I told,” was always her war cry! “Why didn’t someone tell me.” Which, amazingly work for her. WTF?
I still reckon she must have been licking the ice queen CEO’s snatch. Apparently, whatever it took, was our Lexie Lou’s work ethic. How else would an incompetent get to director status?
I saw a retard walking down Bourke Street as I was walking up, who looked like the fat boy finance director, I kid you not. Same round plain face, same sparse ginger hair, same Humpty Dumpty body shape, same dishevelled dress style.
What between him and the department manager, and my nemesis, skinny bitch… pinch faced, uptight cadaver, with a face and hair resembling Norman Bates mother... they give finance executives a bad name. At least the Skinny Bitch isn’t breeding like the fat boy is with his plain Dough-Faced wife. I think we are up to number three? Of course, what with the anorexia and the poisonous bile, the Skinny Bitch doesn't have anything fertile inside her… anywhere. He cunt would resemble a barren, cobweb infest cave that no man (or woman, let’s not be sexist) has wanted to go near in years. Talk about an inhospitable environment. Talk about vagina dentata.
I shook and took myself in hand. What am I doing, I though. It was like being at the scene of a car crash, I just couldn’t look… er walk away.
What am I doing? What was I doing?
I walked home in the lovely afternoon, with the cool breeze and the gentle sunshine, somehow feeling better and lighter for having left it all behind. I chuckled a bit at my thoughts of my old place of employment. I shouldn't even think about them, but I was drawn, drawn back to the building. As one of the other black law firms old employees said recently, Unless you worked there you wouldn't understand. And yes, we probably all need group therapy.
I was heading to Bread Top to buy a couple of buns to cheer me up. I had decided, the decision had been made. I’d even told Sam. I had a certain sense of hang-the-fat anticipation. Yum! Yum! Bring it on. I was having a milk crunch and cream and red bean. My mouth was salivating. I'd been a good boy, I deserved it. But BT was closed for renovations. WHAT? Bloody, buggery, bum! bum! bum! I stood out the front open mouth for a while, like a clown at the carnival... not knowing what to do.
Sam lol’d me three times when I told him.
I headed home. It was nice to walk and smell the air, even though I had a tram ticket. The afternoon was quite lovely, crisp and clear and bright. Fresh. Sparkling. Clean. Blue. There was a certain iridescence to it. No, there was. You know when the sun is so crisp it almost reflects on the air. Bright and shiny.
I wandered up my street to my front door trying to think of the things that I keep forgetting to do. Buy fly spray, to deal with the colony of moths in residence in the pantry, silicone the roof, to stop it dripping every time is rains, buy the cat good cat food, to stem the dramatic weight loss.
Oh, I’ve done those. Well two out of three ain’t bad, as they say. The cat food I used to buy her is $29.50 for a kilo and the cat food she gets now, will continue to get, is $4.50. Enjoy Missy.
However…
My house insurance lapsed on 5th February, and, I guess, it being the 07th already I needed to do something about it. It came in at some astronomical price this year, it had increased significantly. It’s funny when you work you just accept bills creeping up and up and up and up. But, when you can’t, as easily, afford to pay them “just like that” any longer, it is amazing what reductions you can achieve.
I just reduced my insurance premium from $2, 685 to $1,052.60 and if I deleted contents insurance I could reduce it further to $776.58
Do you think I need contents insurance?
I've had contents insurance for twenty five years and have never claimed. I would have paid for all of my stuff by now, I think. I've got to wonder with all of these things, If I'd invested the money from the very beginning?
Rough calculations, based on very rough figures, I have paid 50k in contents insurance, enough to replace a good number of my items should anything have had happened?
What does everyone else have?
16.30 – I miss Mark and Luke for questions like all of these…
Skype message to Mark and Luke
Hello, how are you?
Hello hello wave smile little dance tip my hat and courtesy.
What between him and the department manager, and my nemesis, skinny bitch… pinch faced, uptight cadaver, with a face and hair resembling Norman Bates mother... they give finance executives a bad name. At least the Skinny Bitch isn’t breeding like the fat boy is with his plain Dough-Faced wife. I think we are up to number three? Of course, what with the anorexia and the poisonous bile, the Skinny Bitch doesn't have anything fertile inside her… anywhere. He cunt would resemble a barren, cobweb infest cave that no man (or woman, let’s not be sexist) has wanted to go near in years. Talk about an inhospitable environment. Talk about vagina dentata.
I shook and took myself in hand. What am I doing, I though. It was like being at the scene of a car crash, I just couldn’t look… er walk away.
What am I doing? What was I doing?
I walked home in the lovely afternoon, with the cool breeze and the gentle sunshine, somehow feeling better and lighter for having left it all behind. I chuckled a bit at my thoughts of my old place of employment. I shouldn't even think about them, but I was drawn, drawn back to the building. As one of the other black law firms old employees said recently, Unless you worked there you wouldn't understand. And yes, we probably all need group therapy.
I was heading to Bread Top to buy a couple of buns to cheer me up. I had decided, the decision had been made. I’d even told Sam. I had a certain sense of hang-the-fat anticipation. Yum! Yum! Bring it on. I was having a milk crunch and cream and red bean. My mouth was salivating. I'd been a good boy, I deserved it. But BT was closed for renovations. WHAT? Bloody, buggery, bum! bum! bum! I stood out the front open mouth for a while, like a clown at the carnival... not knowing what to do.
Sam lol’d me three times when I told him.
I headed home. It was nice to walk and smell the air, even though I had a tram ticket. The afternoon was quite lovely, crisp and clear and bright. Fresh. Sparkling. Clean. Blue. There was a certain iridescence to it. No, there was. You know when the sun is so crisp it almost reflects on the air. Bright and shiny.
I wandered up my street to my front door trying to think of the things that I keep forgetting to do. Buy fly spray, to deal with the colony of moths in residence in the pantry, silicone the roof, to stop it dripping every time is rains, buy the cat good cat food, to stem the dramatic weight loss.
Oh, I’ve done those. Well two out of three ain’t bad, as they say. The cat food I used to buy her is $29.50 for a kilo and the cat food she gets now, will continue to get, is $4.50. Enjoy Missy.
However…
My house insurance lapsed on 5th February, and, I guess, it being the 07th already I needed to do something about it. It came in at some astronomical price this year, it had increased significantly. It’s funny when you work you just accept bills creeping up and up and up and up. But, when you can’t, as easily, afford to pay them “just like that” any longer, it is amazing what reductions you can achieve.
I just reduced my insurance premium from $2, 685 to $1,052.60 and if I deleted contents insurance I could reduce it further to $776.58
Do you think I need contents insurance?
I've had contents insurance for twenty five years and have never claimed. I would have paid for all of my stuff by now, I think. I've got to wonder with all of these things, If I'd invested the money from the very beginning?
Rough calculations, based on very rough figures, I have paid 50k in contents insurance, enough to replace a good number of my items should anything have had happened?
What does everyone else have?
16.30 – I miss Mark and Luke for questions like all of these…
Skype message to Mark and Luke
Hello, how are you?
Hello hello wave smile little dance tip my hat and courtesy.
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Getting Back in the Saddle
I
was awake just before 8am. I tossed and turned a bit. The sun shone in through
the glass. It was a day to meet my future. It was a day to switch on the “work
light” and veer back into that mode, professional, business, say the right
thing, project the right image. All that stuff, don’t be nervous, I know how to
do it, here I go.
I
head to the supermarket to get milk for my muesli… and a splash for my coffee.
I’ve got to eat right, that much I know. I can’t go in hungry, that would never
do. There can’t be any distractions – illuminate any potential problems before
they become such
I stopped in to see my neighbour –
one further than the yucca tree – Gordon on the way, to ask him how long it
takes to drive to Bacchus Marsh.
You
see, I have a job interview with my old temp agency at 2pm. Yes, I know, back
to work. I organised it yesterday. Oh god, I have to iron a shirt… oh how I
have not missed that. Anyway, I’ve been using an obscure system, which I find
nobody out in the real world uses and my old temp agency specialises in another
system, an updated version of the one I used to use, so I am trying to work out
what is the best way to… um… er… I guess it is called retrain? It makes me
sound like a hundred. Anyway, the lovey employment consultant – is that what
they call themselves now a days, I can never keep up? – said she only had one
roll that didn’t insist on prior expertise, however it is in Bacchus Marsh.
So,
I thought, just to be a suck, a star, a kiss arse, I could go and do the
country job, if it wasn’t too far way. As Gordon’s brother Keith lives in
Bacchus Marsh, I figured he’d know how far it was.
About
an hour, apparently, and an easy hour at that. Lovely. I’m going to say I’ll do
it for the eight weeks.
“I’d
do anything for 8 weeks,” said Gordon. “It’s doing something for 20 years that
kills you.”
When
I used to work for the entertainment company previously, I used to go and
service their offices in Geelong and Morwell when those managers used to go on
leave because I was the only “single” manager they had on the team. Of course,
I wasn’t single for the entire time I worked for them, but they were the most
homophobic company I ever worked for. An entertainment company, go figure?
However,
I liked it. It was cool working in the
country especially when you knew it was only for a short time. It’s nice, it’s
change, and it’s enjoyable. You kind of get to experience all the good things
that a country town has to offer, when you know you don’t, actually, have to
stay there.
And
it will give me brownie points, I assume.
So,
how is that? Going from nil to an hours drive into the country for work. My,
how things change, hey? Ain’t life grand.
Then
suddenly it was 1pm and I had to hustle to get ready and get myself out the
door. I had ironed a nice pale blue shirt. I got dressed and was about to
leave. One of the, slight, problems I have is that I sweat when I am nervous. I
don’t find it a problem, except when I am in an interview situation, quite
possibly in a pale blue shirt, quite possibly the worst colour to sweat in. It
turns dark blue and is obvious. I don’t want to look like that, wet patch boy.
So, at the very last minute I hurriedly ironed a white shirt. Sweating in a
white shirt isn’t noticeable at all.
Then
all the way in, I was nervous about sweating, rather than being nervous about
the interview. Not such a bad thing.
Monday, February 06, 2012
Jobs, Movies and Coffee
Sam
was rubbing my face and staring down at me and kissing me. He looked handsome
in his dark blue striped shirt with his dark complexion.
He
said he didn’t sleep very well, not until about 2am. He lay awake. He had been
chatty where I’d drifted off. Twice he woke me as I entered nod, which was
unusual and usually the other way around. I was the one who usually wanted to
chat and it was he telling me to shut up.
It
was before 8am when he kissed me good bye.
I
woke again at 9.30.
I
wanted to finish my journal and catch up my blog, as it was lagging behind by
about four days.
I
made coffee and muesli and got distracted by news on line, of course.
I
caught up on my blogs, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I rewrote Thursday too. It,
pretty much, took all day.
There
seemed to be the sound of a bobcat somewhere outside. I headed up to the third
floors to see if it was work they were doing in the beer garden next door. They
weren’t.
I
looked down at the atrium roof and saw the gutters were quite blocked. I could
see damn Yucca fronds blocking it all. It was from yesterday and that storm we
had. It deluged with rain.
I
headed down and unblocked the gutters. Then I thought, fuck it! This thing has
to go. It had grown huge too, why hadn’t I noticed that? It now towered over
the houses.
I
could see inside next door and there was nobody there. So, I went and got my
poison and stood on my atrium roof and sprayed the fucker. I sprayed and spray,
using a whole bottle of poison on it.
When
I came back inside, I looked up killing Yuccas on the internet. Sadly, to my
dismay, killing the fucking things is, apparently, quite an issue. They are
near impossible to kill. Poison, chopping them down, ring barking them, nothing
seems to work.
The
only glimmer of hope was rock salt watered in at the base. I laughed to myself.
Would I be game to pour rock salt at the base? And if I was how would I water
it in?
Just
before 5pm (old temp company) called. The lovely C – truthfully she sounds like
a 20 year old straight out of uni – had been on annual leave and she had only
just got my phone message.
The
upshot is that they have started to train people on (the new system) in
exchange for a commitment to work for three months after that for them.
I
don’t think it is well paid, but, at least, it is an option and movement
forward.
Is
it possible that I could still be pissing around in 3 months without a job?
Adi
arrived sometime around 5.30. We headed to the Nova. As we looked for a
carpark, in the streets of Carlton, Adriana repeated a chant that Loli,
apparently, says when she is looking for a car space. Loli’s mother said it
before her.
“Mother
Mary full of grace thank you for my parking space.”
I
didn’t have time to respond really at all, when a car put on it’s indicator and
pulled out of a centre of the road car space.
We
were going to see The Decendants, we’d get the tickets first and then head off
for something to eat. As we walked up to the box office, The Decendants was on
at 6.45 and Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy was on at 7pm, but The Girl With The
Dragon Tattoo was on at 6.30. Adriana said she wouldn’t mind see that one day
and I’d heard so much about it that I wouldn’t have minded seeing it too. So,
right at the box office counter we changed movies.
We
ate hamburgers at Grilled. We sat outside and drank Agrum while we ate. It was
nice.
It
was good, I liked it. At first I found it hard to follow, but I soon forgot
that. The cinematography was wonderful, as was the style of the film, very
chic, very modern urban, which is funny as most of it is set on a remote
island. It kind of got wrapped up too quickly in the end, and I think I can see
from that perspective how the book would be superior.
We
ate tiramisu ice creams, laughing at the fact that we both had white shirts on
and how it was most likely that we’d be leaving the cinema with chocolate all
down our fronts. We didn’t.
We
had coffee at Brunettis in the balmy night air afterwards. Adriana got us a
seat in the two deep and twenty across tables of punters outside, which we
marvelled at being a Monday night. There was a fine sprinkling of cute wog
boys, it has to be noted. I headed in to get the drinks. My, my, my, I’ve
walked past Brunettis many times recently but I haven’t been in and I haven’t
noticed how big the place has got. Both Adriana and I said we remembered it as
a shop front at one end. I even said that to the nice girl working behind one
of the many counters and she looked left and then she looked right and said,
“Oh that must have been years ago.”
“It
probably was,” I said. More than I care to remember, as they say.
Now
Brunettis is very chic and very slick and very big, it seemed to extend in
every direction I looked.
Adriana
are old friends who never see enough of each other. Old friends of twenty
years, who need to have a present so we don’t keep reminiscing about the past
when we see each other.
We
had such a nice time we should do it again. “What do you think? Once a month?”
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