The Big Race

It hasn't stopped pouring with rain in Melbourne all morning, perhaps we could have a duck race?

Wouldn't you like to see floaties on those horses?

The rain fell hard, like a train pounding across the landscape. The courtyard filled with water, like a big pond, Lake Eyre'ish. (I was secretly hoping for pink flamingos) The air was heavy with moisture, you could taste it on your lips. You could feel the depth of the wet in the air, there was a dead echo. The sky was grey hanging low all day.

If it was winter we would have lit the fire, and made tea and eaten cake, but as it was not, we didn’t. We ate red bean with coconut milk and drank coffee.

We took Buddy to the dog park when the sun came out, but the grey clouds soon formed again and we had a big race of our own running home in the rain. Sam leading the way. Sam hates to get wet in the rain, I always joke that he must think his dead straight black hair is going to frizz, or something. I always think of Monica from Friends. Bud, the red head, is up the back. Buddy doesn't care how wet he gets, couldn't care less, so he brings up the rear. And me, with my salt and pepper hair, somewhere between the two, I'm in the middle trying to pretend that I don't care, all the while trying to hurry Buddy up so I don't get saturated. I see a few blocked drains out the corner of my eye, and I want to stop and find a big stick and unblock them, but I don't, I keep running, heading for home.

25 Years

It was my day off and I was getting anxious. I was waiting for Jill to send me the details of how to pick Bear up who [you are only supposed to use who for people, but what do you actually use here?] was arriving on the 3pm flight. Jill had sent me the details already, (twice, actually) a link, (the second time) which, when I opened it, it said error document not found. I sent Jill back a screen shot of the message. She clearly didn’t look at her messages, as she didn’t respond and it was right on the time I had to leave. Grrrr!

Did she want her dog picked up, or what?

I had to call her. “Oh really,” she casually replied. She finally sent me the details.

I left at 3pm, to be there at 3.30pm, 3.45pm.

I listened to music on my headphones until I got to the on-ramp of the freeway, when I pulled my head phones off and hit go on my GPS.

The traffic was pretty busy, I had no idea where I had to go, not really. And my GPS was silent. Although I knew it was somewhere near Keilor Park Drive. Damn thing! Where is that annoying woman giving me directions? Why wasn’t she speaking? If I knew my GPS was going to fuck up on me, I would have taken more notice of the map I checked before I left home. I have a good memory, if I’d looked at the map more closely, I could have done directions old school.

There I was fiddling around with my phone trying to get it to work as I drove at 100 k’s in heavy traffic on the freeway. I never use my phone when I am driving, never ever. I could see why now. I was trying to look at the screen, which was just stupid. Fuck it! I couldn’t get it to speak. Damn it I didn’t know where I was going. WTF!

None of this had gone smoothly, thus far.

The phone rang, (I could see it on the screen) I hit answer as it lay on the passenger seat of my car. I do that with calls I don’t know now, I just push answer and leave it on my desk, leave it on the coffee table, hold it in my hand. The phone rang again, so they were keen, and I raised it to my ear and said hello. (I was getting close to Keilor Park Drive)

“Hi, it is blah, blah, from blah blah, the plane is delayed, Bear won’t be here until closer to 5pm.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry but I am not,” he said. “So, you shouldn’t get here until around 5pm.”

Grrrrrr. Bulla Road was coming up, I could turn off and sort the GPS problem. “Well, I am going to be there in a few minutes I’m already on my way, so…”

“Okay,” he said. Or something like it. “See you soon.”

Okay, I thought. You are calling me when I am due there? Really?

I turned off at Bulla Road. I pulled up in Dan Murphy’s car park. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought.

I threw the phone down next to me, next to my headphones on the passenger seat. My head phones? On the passenger seat. Oh? You idiot! Oh fuck it! They were still switched on, of course, the GPS was talking into my headphones.

I called Sam and whinged down the phone at him.

“Switch your headphones off,” he said. “Really?”

I set off again.

Turn off at Keilor Park Drive. Take the second exit at the round a bout, take the second exit at the round a bout, take the second exit at the round a bout, take the first exit at the round a bout, your destination is on the left.

I was already to be shitty with the pet pack people. “What do you mean you are calling me to tell me the plane is late when I am supposed to be here! Fuck you!” But they were too nice and it wasn’t their fault.

“You can wait in our waiting room,” said the nice pet pack person. “You can come and go as you please. Feel free to watch TV.”

So, the next thing is that I am watching Murder Mysteries with Dick van Dyke, until I think to myself, Anything would be better than this! I’ve got a script to get filled and my TattsLotto to lodge and at this rate I won’t be home in time to do either. So, I get up and head to the desk.

“I’m just heading down to the shops to waste time in a newsagent and a chemist,” I say. “There were shops just down the road?”

“If you want a newsagent and a chemist you will have to head around to the shopping centre…”

“The shopping centre?” I question.

“[Name of shopping centre], that is where you’ll find the shops you are looking for.”

“I used to work at the cinema there,” I said. “In another life time.” I laughed, to myself mostly.

When I left uni and I didn’t want to work on, let’s say the 25th floor, in a corporate office, as I do now, I managed cinemas for a few years. It was fun. It was something I never thought I’d do. I worked in the cinema bar as a uni job, just after I graduated they offered me the trainee managers job, and I took it. There was 5 of us, we were like the new breed of managers, or some such thing. All I knew was I didn’t want to work 9 to 5 corporate. I did that until I wanted to take 6 months off to travel to Europe and they wouldn’t give me 6 months leave of absence. They wanted to break the unions so they wanted everyone on board. (Am I remembering that right?)

“Yeah, well, the cinemas are still there.” Both the boys laughed, as if that was meant to mean something, what I didn’t know.

“Where is that?”

“Go down to Keilor Park Drive and turn left. Then turn right into Sharps Road and then turn right at the first set of traffic lights.”

“Go down here, turn left, turn right into Sharps Road and then take the first right?”

“Turn right at the first set of traffic lights.”

“Okay, got it. Left, right, right at the first lights?”

“Yes.”

Back to the dreaded Keilor Park Drive, I thought, as I got in the car. Right. Right at the lights. And that road just seemed to head off into the wilderness. Ah? Um? I guess I just keep going. Not in Kansas now. A round a bout. Another round a bout. A shopping centre sign, follow that, go that way. Up and around and another round a bout, another shopping centre sign, over a bridge and voila! The arsehole of the world, welcome. I parked right outside a door.

So, TattsLotto, get a script filled, waste an hour.

I headed around to the cinema. I couldn’t remember the place, not really. It all seemed so much smaller. I opened that cinema, with other managers.

I didn’t remember the stairs at the entrance.

I stood in the foyer taking it in, trying to remember it. Hiding in full sight, if you like. I’m sure it was bigger. The open space to the manager’s office longer.

I used to park on the upper level, I remembered that. Maybe, that was why I didn’t remember the stairs at the front?

Then I saw something familiar. I was kind of surprised, not something I expected.

There was [name of person] still working in the candy bar, twenty five years later, she was still there. Well, how about that, I thought. She looked the same, as if time hadn’t moved much, a bit older, a little stooped. I thought of all the things I’d done in 25 years. So many things.

We used to get on really well. She liked my black sense of humour and I used to say things that would make her mouth drop open and then laugh. She had a cackle. She was genuinely funny.

I didn’t say hello, she didn’t look over at me. Truth is I couldn’t remember her name, as I stood there.

Just as I thought that I should just say hello, [name of person] as I felt somewhat ashamed of deciding not to say hello, my phone rang. “Hello, just letting you know Bear has arrived and is ready to be picked up.”

I took one last look, it was one of the saddest things I have ever seen, and turned and headed down the stairs.

 

 

Go! This Is It!

You get to play croquet on holidays for a couple of Christmas', you have a couple of kids, (a succession of bulldogs, for the gays) they grow up, and then you are dead. Life is short. (no, it really is, it isn't just something to say)

There is that grease patch at 25 and after that it is a clear skid to death. Done. And time rolls right on as if you never existed. 

You want to leave a mark on this world, good luck with that, as 12 billion people are skidding to their end around you in a tsunami of death, every day. 

You think you are a special, unique human being? Yeah, no. You're not. (You can still have the certificate for participation, if you want) Sorry. But, isn't it better to know the truth? None of us are all that special. Like, he's-just-not-that-into-you, isn't it better to know? (No matter what your parents told you, Millennials, it isn't true?) Get in line, take your turn, like everybody else.

Go! There is no test run, this is it. We're live. And watch out for 25. You had better have your shit together by then.

Eating Lunch

1pm. I’m eating opposite my office in Collins Street, the other corner of Collins and King Streets. A big salad in a square white bowl.

I read Sylvia Plath in my lunch time, I printed her poems out during the morning. It is an odd thing to do, I agree, as would most of those occupying the seats around me – they wouldn’t know who she was, let’s be honest. Some 55 year dead tragic – desperate to go – they wouldn’t understand at all, the great unwashed, the feat-foot ninnies.

This cathedral to commerce echoes with empty sound, the way business does, so many people achieving what? Poisoned air, and denial, politicians pull their pants up high and smile, as they make policy deals with their benefactors. (It would have once been corruption before the whole world, seemingly, swung to the right, allowing corruption to flourish)

My salad is lettuce upon lettuce upon lettuce, it would seem, not enough noodles from dinner last night for me to bring lunch today. I watch a handsome lawyer discuss divorce with his client. The sun comes in the high up windows next to us. I can see the light shine across the creases in his crotch. His eyes flicker momentarily in my direction. He pushes at the blue fabric on his thigh and I amuse myself to think that I caused that. His double Windsor knot holds him together, huge on his neck, like a badge, or, fucked if I know. He seems too young to know about ending marriages and she looks too old to bother, really, get a Winnebago and take your husband holidaying, a change may do the both of you good.

Sam messages me with a “how are you, busy?” message, and I feel settled in my love.

The Golden Rule

It is interesting, when you think about it, that the entire Christian doctrine can be replaced with one simple sentence, what they call The Golden Rule. 

Do to others as you would want them to do to you. 

(Sunshine and green fields and blue skies and bright eyes and hay coloured smiles)

What's all the other fuss? The big book, the literal word of god? Crusty and old interpretation of an interpretation of 2000 year old men who were on the whole mostly illiterate. God, smod when his entire manifesto can be supplanted by one sentence.

Treat others as you would like to be treated.

Its simplicity is breath taking. Think about it? There is no escape clause in those words.

All that Gothic architecture and devotion, flowing frocks and piety, for what? (That's all just for power, nothing to do with your spiritual health, or whatever)

Performance Reviews

Performance reviews, it is that time of year again. Kill me now! I have had the email in my inbox for a month. Performance reviews, here is the timeline for completing them. I had ignored it successfully until this week when I got a reminder. Grrr. So, I looked at the time line today and they are due tomorrow. Oh, the pain.

There are three sections. Your strengths. Your weaknesses. Your goals.

So, I typed something about strengths, I had to start somewhere. It was the usual palaver. I know my stuff. I don't make mistakes. Try and get someone as good as me.

Then weaknesses, I am new and still learning the finer details of this particular job. It’s been 4 months, it is a stretch, but that doesn’t make it not true?

Goals? I’m guessing none is not an acceptable answer? Goals? My immediate goal is to write enough to get a pay rise. Can I put that? I’ve been here 4 months so it is unlikely I’ll get a pay rise. To be happy, would be my fall back goal, it is kind of the golden goal, but not so useful in a work sense. I reckon I could argue that it is more important, but, I’m guessing, they wouldn’t see it that way. I had nothing until the afternoon. We work at a fairly high standard, my goal is to maintain that high standard. Lovely.

I came up with nothing else, so at 4.25pm, I hit finalise and it was done. At most, six sentences. Do you think that is enough, Christian? Not really. Oh, but it should be. All of our goals are to keep working, not get the sack, and hopefully, get a pay rise. That is the universal goal. 

I know that performance reviews are just a way for HR to justify their existence. In my last job, the wage reviews were all completed before the performance reviews were. Go figure.

Performance reviews are bullshit, did you get that?

I left work at 4.30pm. I left work for the week. And I don't really care if I wrote enough, or not. At least they can't complain that I haven't done it. And isn't that what counts. What are they going to do, sack me. Yeah, not likely. (shrug? If they did I could stay home and write poems)

Save the World

We need to end political donations, they just effectively amount to corruption, for good to save our political system and democracy.

If you think that sounds a little dramatic, it is not. Political donations are already destroying the (political) world as we know it.

Allowing wealthy people to get what they want which can only effectively be at the expense of people who can't afford to pay politicians to do what they want them to do.

We need a level playing field for everyone to be treated equally for democracy to be fairly applied for everyone involved.

You can't have, you know, billionaires paying off politicians to get stuff enacted that favour billionaires, because what benefits billionaires isn't exactly going to be what benefits working class people.

We need politicians favour to be applied equally.

PTELLO

Now after the Wentworth bloodbath bi-election, (chuckle)

Here’s a thought, now that the Liberal leadership requirements are at an all time low – who have they got, SCUMO that singing god botherer and Hateful Lurch – Peter Costello should throw his hat back in the ring, he’d be a shoe in, I reckon. Especially now that the lying little, (don’t say the word they don’t like it), John Howard (see what I did there, I didn’t have to say the word for you all now to be saying it in your heads) isn’t there to promise him one thing and then stab him in the back, like the true liberal mate that he is.

So, then Pete could go to his grave not being the mortally wounded, not being the eternally disappointed, that he is now. And the Liberal Party gets themselves a true leader. Chuckle. (Oh, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say that with a straight face)

And in some ways, it would be like getting the band back together, Abbott and Costello. Then we’d know it was deliberate, the comedy show that is the Liberal Party.

We could have PTELLO. It sounds a bit like a chocolate biscuit, now doesn’t it. Well, it would have to be shaped like a jelly fish, remembering Howard pissed all over him for years. (Now there’s an image to rival Trump in Russia)

Wentworth Bi-Election

If you want better government, send our current incompetent government a message with a vote for Labor.

It is the only way Australia is going to get better government.

SCUMO's Website

Too funny. Our Prime Minister, SCUMO, forgot to renew his website - and you trust this guy to run the country? Shake of the head - and some guy bought it and took it over and did this. Hit the link.

http://www.scottmorrison.com.au/

Funny First Thing

8am. Sam is sitting on the ottoman putting on his shoes just about to leave for work. "What is on your to-do list?"

My to-do list? I'll give you to-do list, I thought. "Be fabulous, I believe. Just be fabulous, that is all I have to achieve today, be fabulous," I said. "Being fabulous, as, I, speak."

Sam was just looking at me with "that" look, so I assumed he wanted more. (There seems to be an on-going dialogue about the, how shall we put it, the disparity of my 3 days and his 5 days)

"Oh, yes, and relax. Put your feet up. You have worked very hard over the last three days and you really deserve the next three days off. Relax, you deserve it. Enjoy."

Sam was still just looking at me, with no expression, he hadn't said a word. (Tough nut to crack, some mornings, my boyfriend)

More, I thought?

"And of course, the standard instruction, drink more coffee." I smiled. "Coffee is good for you." I sipped my coffee.

"I put some things on your schedule to ask the vet when you take Buddy to the vet this morning," said Sam. "I just wanted to make sure you had read them?"

"Oh," I said. "My schedule?" (Damn! I thought. I miscalculated that one)

Sam looked at me with lips of string.

"A hint?" I could feel my eyebrows rise.

"Your reminder list."

"And I would find that... (I knew where to find it, but I was beginning to enjoy the game) where?"

"Your phone." Exasperated look, mate.

"My phone," I said (like it was some great god damn revelation) "Of course."

I looked at Sam. Not even a scintilla of a smile. "My... phone." Big smile. "Good... to... know."

He kissed me and headed to the front door.

Boys in Shorts

With the weather warming up, you've got to love the clothes coming off.

Walking into the city this morning there were lots of guys in small black shorts; the guy crossing Spring Street with thighs like tree trunks with which you could crack nuts, with those tight shorts that appeared to be painted on; the tradies in Collins Street, the young spike-haired blondie with a gorgeous smile and the (only one with) long shorts, and a fresh face, the strapping boss wog guy with such tiny shorts that were so small I could nearly see what he had for breakfast, and the fine curve of his butt cheek, as I gazed back, and his side kick, 2IC, with his handsome face and his puppy dog eyes, and an arse like an Italian peach.

A whistle on my lips in the canyons of the CBD. Tra la la, I thought, as I looked from one to the other, with Mick Jagger singing in my ears.

I don't think there is a bad Rolling Stones album, just by the way.

To say it made me happy, is overstating it a bit, but you know...

Abortion Laws

It was one of those glorious sunny Melbourne spring days.

At the top of Little Bourke Street there were police and police cars everywhere. I mean everywhere. There was clearly a protest on. It seemed as though every policeman in Melbourne was in Spring Street.

We wandered over for a look.

There was a small group closest to us with two rows of police and many more police on the side lines separating them from the second group who were in the Spring Street, Bourke Street intersection.

It was about abortion.

The smaller group closest to us were the prochoice and the larger group further away were the anti-abortionists.

We listened to the pro-abortion group, they said that the other group were trying to take away women’s choice. They also said there needed to be separation between church and state.

We headed through the police lines and listened to the other group, who said they needed to get the law changed to save the babies. It is all about the children. Apparently, they have only until November to influence the vote to facilitate a change in the law.

Two things. They seemed to be confident that the Liberal Party would change the abortion laws.

The second thing is a question. What exactly do the Christians think they are going to get the abortion laws changed to? What? That it would become illegal for women to have an abortion? Really? Seriously, does anybody think that law would get passed?

Or do they think that the current law would be repealed? Would that mean we’d go back to the old system that abortion is illegal unless a doctor says it is in the best mental, or physical, interests of the mother to have an abortion. In effect, no change at all? Really? Would parliament go through the process to end back at that? Seriously, does anybody think that is likely?

So, really, the Christian rally against abortion laws really just amounts to the same slow speed dummy spit the Christians have been having since the laws were changed.

Give it up people, you lost. (And stop whining about the fact that most of the population doesn't believe what you believe.)

Change Your name

A girl in the office who recently got married said she is about to change her name. "I am just finalising the paperwork," she said. The girls gathered sighed in collective joy.

"I never understand why women change their names today," I said. "It is kind of outdated, isn't it?"

"Because that is what you do," said the just married girl. "Why would that be a problem, anyway?" Her well manicured eyebrows (I imagine she had them done for the wedding) lifted pointedly.

"Well, it is always a problem when they get divorced." Oh yes, I heard the collective inhale of breath from the gathered, I'm not deaf.

She twitched noticeably. "I don't plan to get divorced."

Was I going to go there, for a split second I wondered? "I'm sure that is what they all say," I said. Gay humour? You with your good bag and your cheap shoes. I'd like to call it gay realism, personally.

Well, apparently you can't say such things. There were audible tutt-tutts from the crowd. You could almost hear the thoughts forming into words, she has only just got married, for goodness sake.

Sheesh! I am only being honest, I thought. It's not like 50% of marriages in divorce, or anything.

I headed back to my office. Oh yes, I know, but sometimes I can't help myself. It is as if I just always have to tell my truth.

Where angels feared to tread, will be on my tombstone. Oh, no, it is just nice lying here, that will be on my tombstone.

It's true though, I've known quite a few female friends who have ended up not knowing what to call themselves. Some don't want to keep their ex-husbands name, but haven't wanted to go back to their maiden name. I've known two who didn't want their ex-husbands name any longer, but didn't want their father's name who they hated. If women just kept their names, like men do, this would not be an issue. 

I see women changing their names as something really out dated, like women still calling themselves miss, or who say they aren't feminists.

Of course, you may say that this is none of my business and, you know, you'd probably be right.

Schools Discriminating Against Gay Children

So our Prime Minister Scummo says schools being able to discriminate against gay students is already the law, so tell me why is it included in Ruddock's Religious Freedom report then?

#TouchAStraightBoyToday

So, the controversy swirling around now a days is that consent is a grey area, something really tricky for straight guys to grasp. It is a problem for straight boys, so say the #MeToo movement.

So here is how us gay boys can help. #TouchAStraightBoyToday. They'll soon get the hang of consent, I am really sure about that.

Sparkling Spring Days

Sparkling spring days

no complaints, 

who would?

Would you?

But, of course,

it means crazy hot

summer days

are on their way

Yay! 

Which sound okay,

until they are here.

Drink your beer.

Slip, slop and slap.

Wear a hat.

But we’ll get to that.

Sometimes An Apology Just won't Cut It.

If the straight world apologised for the rest of time - or until global warming gets us all, whichever comes first - it will never make up for what the straight world has done to the gay community in the past. Never.

Even today, we are still discriminated against by some.