Random ramblings #5

This morning my suspicions that the world is indeed going to hell in a handbasket were confirmed.

Tom "Couches Are At My Mercy" Cruise, in a feat of peculiarity that outdoes even him, has had a bronze cast made of baby Suri's first poo.

I just don't know where to start on this one.

The SMH article describes it as a scatological sculpture. Its going to be auctioned for charity, hopefully (according to the gallery director) for a sum of between $US25,000 and $Us30,000. At present the highest bid is $US41.

I wonder who's bright idea this was? And more importantly, did they scoop the poo out of Suri's nappy? Did they keep it in a plastic container in the fridge?

And who is going to buy this shit? Not some discerning art lover. It will be some psycho stalker.

Thanks to Superdrewby for alerting me to this, um, different piece of "art."

In other news, the latest DNA magazine arrived in my mailbox this morning. This month I decided against the making the nerve-wracking expedition to the newsagent to buy it in person and bought it online. Not because of any embarrassment on my part, but simply because I am just not feeling well enough to go out and buy it in person. This issue is the 20 Hottest Men Alive issue. I was a little amused to see that Brad Pitt garnered the number one spot (again). To be honest I just don't see the attraction. It seems that just about every other gay guy and straight woman on earth would disagree with me, but I just don't think he's the hottest man alive. I mean he's attractive, yes, but the hottest? No.

Jake Gyllenhaal took out second position, followed by Jake Wall. Neither of these guys had made a place last year, despite being, in my humble opinion, much hotter than Brad.

Does anyone else have anything to say on this? I'm curious to know if I'm the only freak who isn't drooling over Brad Pitt.

An ode to ineptitude

I am in so much pain today. I feel like one giant muscle cramp. This is due, in no small part, to the pharmacy that dispenses my medication. I have two prescribed medications: one is a standard PBS drug that is available in any pharmacy in Australia; the other is a little-known drug that is not available on the general market.

It's the second one that I've had no end of trouble with since I started taking it in September 2004. I have to order it from a compounding pharmacy in another country (which I won't name, since I really don't want them to hate me any more than they already do). I ordered this latest batch on the 4th of August, and by the 31st it still hasn't arrived. When I queried this I was told that my order had been mislaid and wasn't processed until the 28th.

I'm a reasonable guy, one who mislays things with an embarrassing regularity in fact. So I can understand the odd mislaiage of an order. Except that this is the fourth order I have put in with this company, and it's the fourth that they've fucked up in some way.

On the first order I was charged the GST (VAT) of their country, which obviously as an Australian citizen I shouldn't have to pay. That was fairly quickly remedied and the extra amount refunded.

The second order was dispensed promptly, 200 tablets short, due to a problem with the prescription provided by the doctor. When I pointed out that all they had to do was to email me and I would supply a new one they answered that they wanted to dispense it as quickly as possible so that I wouldn't be without the drug if there was any delay. I have to admit that this sentiment was nice and demonstrated some level of consideration (although in light of more recent events it seems they aren't consistently considerate).

The third order I wasn't charged at all and sent someone else's credit card receipt. Being the honest and upstanding guy that I am I told them about it, although I was met with not a little resistance in sorting it out. Really it was more a case of not wanting my card charged in future when they finally figured it out themselves.

And now here I am, nearly a month after submitting my fourth order and nothing to show for it except aching legs, back, arms and neck.

The word "inept" seems a tad understated at this juncture.

Fairies

I just saw an ad on channel 9 for this week's 60 minutes. Their catch-line is 'How to tell if your little bloke is gay.' It had two boys in their mid twenties. They are twins, one gay and one not. They showed flashbacks (which are more than likely just staged using daggy 70s style furniture in a sound-stage) of one kid sitting on a bed playing with transformers and the other kid on his bed with a pink gauze mosquito net hanging over it.

I wonder if 60 Minutes can say the word stereotype? I've seen plenty of straight boys wearing pink. I don't condone it, but it certainly doesn't mean they're homosexual.

I wonder if 60 Minutes has really thought this through.

These kinds of special reports worry me. And I use the word 'report' very loosely and I'm waving a giant sarcasm-flag when I use the word 'special.' They can have some nasty results when in the wrong hands. My initial reaction at seeing the as was "so what?" I mean, what is the motivation behind knowing such a thing? But then I thought about it a little bit and realised that this kind of information could be used for good or for evil. Kind of. It depends on the environment the child lives in.

If the child in question has relatively reasonable, tolerant parents then this kind of story would probably be quite useful. The parent could, in time, help them with the confusing task of figuring out where they fit into the spectrum of human sexuality. Maybe not in a direct way, I know I would have died if my mum or dad sat me down at 15 and asked me if I'd like cock or cunt better, but perhaps in creating a positive environment for them to grow into. They would be able to help them combat any homophobia that came their way and advocate on their behalf with school, jobs etc. What a truly wonderful outcome this story could have.

On the other hand, if the child in question has relatively unreasonable, intolerant parents, then this kind of story could be very distressing. The parent might, upon suspecting that their son or daughter is gay, send them to one of the ex-gay camps where they are preached at, prayed over and fix their 'unnatural affliction'. Maybe they would rush out and buy Dr James Dobson's latest book on how to 'prevent' homosexuality. That course of action implies that the parent is concerned for the child. What if the child lives in a home where the parents are abusive and simply beat the crap out of them? What a truly disastrous outcome this story could have.

Except of course, to those who run ex-gay camps and write the preventative manuals. It's great for those who make buckets of money out of it all.

But imagine a perfect world. One in which there is no homophobic violence or homophobia of any kind. One in which all the gay, lesbian and straight children get along and play together without any issues, while their gay, lesbian or straight parents watch adoringly from the side of the sand-pit. One in which prosecution is non-existent, where Rev Phelps and Dr James Dobson hadn't been born. One in which Tom Welling and I are happily married because Howard isn't a bigoted conservative leader but a fair and just man (ok maybe that is unimaginable, but you get the idea). In this utopia, a story like this wouldn't mean much. It would be fairly useless because no one would actually give a shit. It might be mildly interesting for doting parents to know the sexuality of their children at an early age, but it wouldn't really affect the way things happen in daily life, at least not beyond the obvious lack of "coming out" experiences.

P.S. I was going to get a photo of James Dobson and put devil's horns on him but in the end I couldn't do it. I just couldn't bear to have his face on my blog. So I opted for a fairy. Has anyone ever tried to do a google search for a fairy? Interesting stuff to be found lol.

Change is in the water

I've never been a fan of change. In fact, I hate it.
This could explain my Peter Pan Complex.

In my short life, however, any change has always only been on a very small-scale. The problem about "scale" is that it is entirely relative. What is very large-scale to a two year old is likely to be fairly unimportant to a twenty-two year old. Further, some changes affect just one person, some a whole country and some the entire world. Although some of the changes in my life have been quite large-scale, relatively speaking, they are, in a more global sense, quite piddly.

It's from this twenty-two year old standpoint that I look back on the past and conclude that all the changes in my life thus far, the ones I didn't like, are all small-scale.

We moved house when I was 9. My mum discovered a new way to prepare spaghetti. I had to adjust to life with a chronic illness. I had to come to terms with my sexuality. I moved from primary school to high school, and then high school to university.

I'm growing up now. And I'm itching for change. I'm starting to see that "things" have to change. I just think that its worth looking at the world to decide if we should continue on, doing what we have done for ages "just because", or if perhaps a change is in the water.

The next new olympic sport?

From the comedic minds of Lano and Woodley.
If you have a squeemish stomache, skip this one.

Col: For a million bucks, would you swim through a pool full of spew?
Frank: For a million bucks?
Col: For a million bucks.
Frank: Yeh, yeh I'd do it for a million bucks.
Col: Would you do it for a million.
Frank: Yeh I reckon.
Col: Alright, for a hundred thousand? Would you swim through a pool of spew for a hundred thousand?
Frank: Is it a 50 metre or a kiddy pool?
Col: Nah, it's 50 metre. And outdoors. Not heated.
Frank: I think I'd prefer it cold than hot to be honest with you.
Col: Yes, same here actually. But no, it's heated. One hundred thousand.
Frank: A hundred thousand, yeh I'd do it.
Col: Ok, ten thousand? Would you do it for ten thousand?
Frank: Can I do breast-stroke?
Col: Well you can do whatever you want.
Frank: Oh yeh, ok.
Col: Ten thousand.
Frank: Yeh, so I can do breast-stroke, so I don't have to put my head under the water.
Col: No no no, you have to swim underwater. Not underwater, underspew. No goggles. Eyes open.
Frank: How much?
Col: Ten thousand.
Frank: Yeh, I'd do that, yeh.
Col: Alright, for a thousand, would you swim through a 50 metre pool of spew, underwater, underspew, no goggles, eyes open?
Frank: A thousand?
Col: A thousand bucks
Frank: Is it my spew? Oh no, that couldn't work, cos if I'd done enough spew to fill a 50 metre pool, I don't think I'd be in any condition to make the swim.
Col: No, we'd freeze it. Freeze it over a number of weeks.
Frank: I don't care what everyone says about you, you're a fucking genious!

Random ramblings #4

Well wouldn't you know it? I was all geared up to write something down about my comings and goings this weekend... and I've completely run out of steam.

I need a smoke. But my family are home. Fuck.

Anyway, steamy or steamless, let's press on shall we? On Friday afternoon I was picked up by Liz & Carbi and we headed to the local shops. Our mission was to buy a slab of softdrink for James (for when he has low blood sugar, to bring it back up again). We left the supermarket with 1 slab of softdrink, 3 bottles of coke, 1 bottle of diet coke (disgusting stuff, for James), 1 bag of salt and vinegar chips, 1 bag of corn chips, 1 jar of tomato salsa, 2 frozen cokes (one each) and 3 noodle boxes for lunch.

That's just how we tend to do things.

We arrived home to a very hungry James. Our next mission was to update a website Liz has been asked to take care of. So I was enlisted, CDs with various programs under my arm, to help her out and show her the proverbial ropes. So we bunkered down in the lounge room: fire alight, chips in bowls, coke in cups, bums on lounges, Gilmore Girls on the telle, coke in cups, laptop on laps. Carbi on the floor, chewing my socks. This may conjure a cute image in your collective mind's eye, and I don't deny it was incredibly cute, but it was really kinda annoying. Especially since the said socks were on my feet at the time. We were pleased he was in a playful mood considering how sick he's been lately, but really, there's a time and a place... sheesh... So anyway he continued trying to eat my toes, through my socks, despite a barrage of "NO!"s and stamping of feet. Mostly Liz's stompy-footing because my reaction time is pretty pitiful. So pitiful that she realised my toes were being nibbled on before I did.

We worked into the night. I knew it was time for bed when, at 3 am, I pissed myself laughing at a story that while funny, isn't that funny. To make matters worse, I was the one telling the story. It was inspired by an episode of the Gilmore Girls, where Lorelei pretends she likes fishing to go on a date with this guy. "Hey this reminds reminds me of my uncle. He has those waders that Lorelei's wearing, kinda like a set of overalls with gumboots attached. Anyway he was wading in them and he went too far out and they filled completely with water." Yes, my friends, that is it. I laughed uncontrollably and very loudly for quite some time. I believe I even snorted a few times.

I was woken at approximately 10,55 am by my stomach. It was angry at me for the cheese I had eaten the night before. In fact, we often have these stand-offs in the morning. They often go a little something like this:

Stomach: Wake up!
Me: Piss off
Stomach: Nup, you can't get me to go away that easily. WAKE UP!
Me: What!?
Stomach: I need to go to the potty. I need to go a number two.
Me: No you don't. Hold it. I'm trying to sleep here.
Stomach: Mate it's your own fault for eating the {insert bad food here, usually Nutella from the jar right before bed} last night.
Me: But the floors fucking freezing.
Stomach: Put some socks on, idiot.
Me: Look just hold it will you? I want to sleep. I'll go later.
Stomach: Dude, don't make me force you.
Me: Go on then.
(cramps)
Me: They'll pass, they'll pass.
(pressure)
Me: Ok ok, I'll go.
Stomach: You realise you could have gone twice now in the time it took you to fight me?
Me: Yeh yeh, who asked you?

I spent the rest of the day with Liz, James & Carbi working on small changes on the website and helping tidy up the house since Liz's parents were to return that afternoon from a week's holiday. I'm now lying in bed listening to two of the most talented comic-geniuses (or is that genii), Lano and Woodley.

Here's deep thoughts for you:

What does a snake do when it needs to lie down?

I might contradict myself, but at least I don't contradict myself.

How do you take it?

I found this song quite amusing, although I'm sure that not everyone will appreciate it's inherant charms. It occured to me today that the two main demographics who read this are gay men and straight women; so I figured that one group is, on the whole, not going to mind, while the other will, on the whole, be open minded enough to not let it get to them.

If after reading the words you are not impressed, I don't recommend watching the video.

Do you take it? by The Wetspots

Well my father says you're nifty
And you've heard of baudelaire
And we both agree that human rights abuses are unfair
You understand your feelings
And you're not afraid to share
And i think i could do something with your hair

You smell nice and you're groovy
And we both like foreign movies
And mother says you have that touch of class
Well i can see a shiny future
Where we'll dialogue and nuture
But there's one last thing i feel i need to ask

Do you take it in the ass
Do you take it in the ass
'Cause you're beautiful and curvy
But unless you're kinda pervy
There's no way you and me are gonna last

Do you take it in the ass
Do you take it in the ass
When it comes to brains you've got 'em
But unless you'll play the bottom
I'm afraid i'm going to have to take a pass

Well you're adorable, reliable,
But is your anus is pliable
That's the information that i need
Well, you would do it if you love me
If you're nervous, squat above me
You'll be able to control the depth and speed

Do you take it in the ass
Do you take it in the ass
'Cause i've ordered in a shipment
Of the relevant equipment
I've got lubricant, and poppers, and some grass

Do you take it in the ass
Do you take it in the ass
If you need more information
On this type of penetration
We can always take a correspondence class

You see i'm not the kind of fella
Who can get off on vanilla
No, i need a little color in my sex
Well, honey pie, it just so happens
That i brought my day-glo strap-on
And some mescaline to heighten the effect

Do you take it in the ass
Do you take it in the ass
oooooooooo
Do you take it in the aaaaaaaassss

Music worm

In what can only be described as an astounding feat of procrastination, even by my high standards, I'm going to adapt the previous "Book worm" thing to be about music. I have so much work to do today I don't even know where to begin, so rather than making that rather difficult decision, I'm going to waste some time on this instead. I've changed some of the questions, because there are just some things that apply to books that don't apply to music.

1. One Song That Changed Your Life
Again not sure if any one song has changed my life, but I think that "Dare You to Move" by Switchfoot is pretty powerful. It's a real "forget the shit of the past" kinda song.

Welcome to the planet, welcome to existence
Everyone's here, everyone's here
Everybody's watching you now, everybody waits for you now
What happens next?

I dare you to move
I dare you to lift yourself up of the floor
I dare you to move
Like today never happened, today never happened before.

2. One Song You Could Listen to Over and Over A song by the Argentine band Los Enanitos Verdes called "Luz de Dí­a" (in English, the band name means "The Green Little Dwarfs" and the song is "Light of Day") it has a killer guitar riff and some really interesting (and very romantic) lyrics.

Y porque puedo mirar el cielo
besar tus manos
sentir tu cuerpo
decir tu nombre
y las caricias serán la brisa
que aviva el fuego de nuestro amor

And because I can see heaven
kiss your hands
feel your body
speak your name
and the carresses will be the breese
that stokes the fire of our love.

3. One Song That Always Makes You Sad When You Hear It
"Old Pictures" by Something for Kate.

I remembered you on trains,

Now you're on every train I hear.

4. One Song That Always Makes You Happy When You Hear It
"You Sound Like Louis Burdett" by The Whitlams.

And we roll on to my back shed
Play some poker, scratch my head
Look at the sky and spot the planes
Where would I go on holidays?
Roll with the punches down the aisles
and down the streets the weeks roll by.

All my friends are fuckups but they're fun to have around
Banana chairs out on the concrete
Telling stories to the stars
How Geminis love wooden dragons, yeah
How down the street the weeks roll by.

5. One Song That You Wish You Had Written
Just about anything by The Indigo Girls. Read into that what you will.

6. One Song That Wracked You With Sobs
Ok this is also kindembarrassingng. I was young and messed up, but I distinctly remember crying when I heard "Full of Grace" by Sarah McLachlan for the first time.

I'm pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
Oh darkness I feel like letting go

If all of the strength
And all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
Full of grace

7. One Song You Wish Had Never Been Written
"Diggin on You" by TLC. My Dad had just discovered the "repeat" function on the CD player when this song came out, and consequently I've heard it more than is reasonable for any one lifetime.

8. Album You A’re Currently Listening To
"Nothing is Sound" by Switchfoot.

9. Top 10 Artists/Bands
Switchfoot
Eskimo Joe
Motor Ace
Something for Kate
John Mayer
Five for Fighting
Indigo Girls
Sarah McLachlan
Los Enanitos Verdes
Sin Bandera

So that's about it. I'm going to have some lunch and then get stuck into some of this work I have to do. Unless, of course, I find something else to do. Like add images to this post.

Book worm

My friend Calla tagged me to complete this little "getting to know you" exercise. Always up for a challenge I figured what the hell. That little guy on the right is apparently a bookworm. Gotta love that Google image search.

1. One Book That Changed Your Life

Gotta say, I'm with Call on this one. She said in her post "Do books like this really exist?" I'd say "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" not because it taught me any deep and eternal truth, but because when I was 16 and literally bed-bound for 2 weeks, it was the only thing that got me through the boredom and depression of being stuck in bed for 2 whole weeks.

2. One Book You Have Read More Than Once

"Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams. I've since leant it to my brother in law, who to my knowledge hasn't read it yet, although I know if I mention this it to him he will go slightly red and appologise profusely. He's cute like that.

3. One Book You'’d Want On A Desert Island

"Raft-making for Dummies."

4. One Book That Made You Giddy

Depends on the meaning of "giddy"...Iff you take it to mean "giddy with confusion" then any number of text books I've read recently for uni. If, on the other hand, you take it to mean "giddy with excitement" then I'd say "Rainbow Boys" by Alex Sanchez. If, on the third hand, you mean "giddy with expectation" then I'd say "Dear Miffy" by John Marsden.

5. One Book That You Wish Had Been Written

"Coping with Chronic Illness, a Gay Boy's Guide."

6. One Book That Wracked You With Sobs

This is a littleembarrassingg, but I completely LOST IT when I read "Tomorrow When the War Began" by John Marsden, on the train, at a bit where one of the characters was killed. I remember exactly where I was on the train journey too. I just started tearing up, then sobbing, then I had to close the book, shove it in my bag and leave the carriage withembarrassmentt.

7. One Book You Wish Had Never Been Written

Anything by Christian Fundamentalists who think that homosexuality is a sin, a choice, something to be condemned or something to be ashamed of. And I've seen quite a few.

8. One Book You'’re Currently Reading

I just finished "Metro" by Alasdair Duncan.

9. One Book You'’ve Been Meaning To Read

Umm, I actually can't think of any. Although I know there are probably a lot. One of the (few) blessing of "brain fog" is that these things don't plague me constantly.

10. Now Tag Five Bloggers

Carbi, Lou, Steven, Dan and Downunderpants.

Captain obvious

ATTENTION PASSENGERS
WITH CHILDREN
PLEASE WATCH YOUR
CHILD AND NEVER TURN
YOUR BACK WHILST YOUR
CHILD IS ON THE CHANGE TABLE

THANKYOU STATION MANAGER: STRATHFIELD

It was with a certain amount of quiet amusement that I read this sign in the disabled toilet at Strathfield Station. I was so impressed with it that I pulled out my trusty mobile phone, who incidentally has been named The Little Dude, and took a quick snapshot. I actually took two photos of it, owing to the fact that the cl-click sound my phone makes when taking a photo, considerably louder than I am comfortable with in a small tiled underground room, startled me and made me jump as the first photo was being taken. As I braced myself for the second cl-click sound to invade the small room, I hoped that nobody walking past heard it. The disabled toilet opens onto the main concourse, so any number of unknown commuters may have been walking past at that time. And lets face it, there are few acceptable explanations for a twenty-something man to be taking photos, alone, in a disabled bathroom.

This sign is wrong on so many levels, not the least of which is its DUH!!! factor. It could only be eclipsed in the DUH!!! factor stakes if it had was worded:

NEVER TURN YOUR BACK WHILST YOUR
CHILD IS ON THE CHANGE TABLE
THEY MAY FALL ONTO THE FLOOR
WHICH IS NOT GOOD FOR YOUR CHILD

I've changed plenty of nappies in my time, both at home and in shopping centres, and it has honestly never occurred to me to leave the child alone on the bench while I turned my back. I mean it's just not a possibility. The nappy, talcum powder, "wet-ones" (or wet wipes if you are not in Australia), tissues, nappy-rash cream, some kind of toy for distraction and a plastic bag for the dirty nappy are all laid out ready to go like a surgeon's tools. This is especially true when out in public. As some of you may know, going anywhere with a child still young enough to be in nappies is quite a production. It isn't uncommon to see strollers (or prams for our non-Aussie cousins) laden like little wheeled pack-mules with all manner of baby paraphenalia. Surely someone organised enough to load up a stroller, in such a way that it doesn't become unbalanced and tip over, is organised enough to change a child without dropping it.

It really, really, worries me that the station manager at Strathfield feels the need to point this out. I was left wondering what his/her motivation was. Was it that a child had in fact fallen from the bench and they didn't want it to happen again? Perhaps they feel that the people of Sydney are dim enough to think it harmless to leave a child on a bench and decided to warn against it? Or maybe they are just generally caring and good-natured, saw the possibility of a horrible accident and decided to warn against it?

It's kinda cute in a way, but very, very, scary in another.

Best day ever

August 21st, 9am, Eastern Standard Time.
I awoke to the melodious sounds of some shitty song on the radio, rolled over, cursed whoever it was who suggested I get the 10am train, turned, realised it was me who had suggested this, tried to bury my head under the pillow, groaned, and then remembered why I was getting to uni so uncharacteristically early. The air of gloom sitting over my bed dissipated almost instantly. I quickly got out of bed, got dressed, spent ages doing my hair, grabbed my bag and got going. What was the reason for this sudden change of heart? I was having lunch with John, this guy I had a crush on from like the minute I met him. It took ages to get his number but I finally got it and he was meeting me at one of the (nicer) cafes on campus at 1pm.

I met John a month ago at the queer group. He sauntered in, sat down next to me and introduced himself: "Hey, I'm John. Nice to meet you." I think I managed to stammer back "Hi. Dan. Thanks." But to be honest it may not have happened that way at all since I was kinda not paying attention to little things like speech. We got talking. Again, I don't remember specifically what was said, but I do remember that when I was talking to him he looked at me intently with his sexy blue eyes and said "right" a lot. He is one of those rare people who make you feel like you are the most important person in the world while you are speaking. He's 23, taller than me, maybe 5'10", thin but not scary-thin, dirty blonde hair, really cute, amazing smile. Actually, he looks kinda like Jon Foreman, the guy up top, lead singer of my favourite band, Switchfoot. Go figure.

10am, Eastern Standard Time
As I was getting onto the train I saw a guy I hadn't seen in ages. I went to school with him back in 2002. We were never close or anything but since graduation we catch up if we're ever on the same train. So the trip down to Sydney was spent catching up and joking around about nothing in particular. It was nice to see him again. But then it always is, he's a great guy.

12pm, Eastern Standard Time
I received a phone call, while sitting in the dead silent library, from a lady I work with. Basically she told me how wonderful I am and how my presence is going to be missed when I am gone. On the weekend I tendered my resignation from the committee of a small charity group that I am a part of, effective from the middle of November. Although it was a little embarrassing to be told how wonderful I am, it really did set the mood for the rest of the day.

1pm, Eastern Standard Time
I got to the cafe a little before 1. I sat down on a bench outside and lit up a cigarette to try to steady my nerves a little. I was calming down slowly when he appeared from behind me and sat down next to me. We exchanged the usual "Hi, how are you"s and headed inside. We ordered our lunch and carried it over to a table. He even carried my drink since I only have one free hand because of the walking stick. We talked and ate for a little over an hour. He did his intent listening-like-you're-the-most-in-person-in-the-room thing while we talked about school and coming out and uni and religion and sociology. I was impressed to discover that he's not just a pretty face but actually pretty clever too. I was slightly less impressed when I discovered that he's leaving full-time study next week to work full-time. But I tried not to let it spoil a great lunch with brilliant company. So who knows what will happen with him but for that hour I pretty much forgot all my stresses. We headed off to the queer group at around 2,15 and hung out there for a while, before heading our separate ways.

5pm, Eastern Standard Time
I did my presentation in front of the class with all the flair and pizaz that you would expect of someone as wonderful as me (I can say that in light of the phone call from the lady from work that I'd received earlier). I think I did pretty well, at least on the actual presenting part. Whether what I said was any good remains to be seen. But I was pretty happy with it.

So all in all, I had an amazing day. As I was walking down the street on the way to my Pop's that night it was like I was walking on a cloud. It didn't last long, by 9,30 I was ready to fall apart from tiredness, but it was well worth it for the best day ever.

This cartoon reflects the feeling in Australia at the moment.

Sorry

John Howard: I often wonder what goes through that shiny little head of his.

I feel a genuine sadness when I look at the person running our country--a homophobic, conservative, racist, smug little gnome--and I feel deeply ashamed. I feel a deep sadness at the state of affairs we are in. I often wonder if he realises that there are so many jaded citizens (his voters) in his country, ashamed and embarrassed by their elected leader? If he does realise this, I wonder if he cares? And if he cares, I wonder if does anything about it? I would wager than a good deal of my fellow jaded citizens actually voted for him, as I did, in the last election and now regret such a decision with their very souls.

I was lying in bed, half asleep, half watching the late news, when a story caught my attention. Today (17/8/06) marks the fortieth anniversary of the Battle of Long Tan, an important battle in the Vietnam War. I don't pretend to know the historical significance, but I do know it's a big deal. It caught my attention because my grandfather, who I've been becoming much closer with this year, is a WW2 veteran. I saw some footage of truly courageous men fighting in the battle and of various veterans making statements. I had barely finished thinking "now these are REAL Australian heroes" when Mr Howard invaded my television screen making a public address. What happened next took me by surprise and left me completely floored. He apologised to the veterans for the way the Australians of 40 years ago treated them when they returned home to Australia from the Vietnam War. I have to admit a wry smile and a small chuckle escaped my lips.

International visitors may not realise the significance of this statement, in my opinion one that is going to come back to haunt him in the not too distant future, but I hope Australian readers get the joke. Indigenous Australians, the original inhabitants of our great country, had their land taken from them by European settlers (along with their dignity, culture, customs, languages, and in many cases, their children) from the time of invasion in 1788. Yet our PM, John Howard, refuses point-blank to apologise for the way that they were treated at the collective hand of Australians at that time.

Does anyone spot a double standard here?

His argument against apologising to Indigenous Australians is that neither he, nor the present government, are (or were) responsible for the rape and pillage of Indigenous communities, and therefore he owed no apology. However the problem with such an argument is that the collective "Australian people" is not a person. It does not die; it carries on. Each year it gains a new leader in the election, but it is still essentially the same thing. It was the Australian people and their government who denied citizenship rights, voting rights, took their children, discriminated against them and took their lands. Similarly, it was the Australian people and their government of the 1960s who refused pensions, compensations, bravery awards and a whole host of benefits from our Vietnam Veterans. It was the Australian people who spat on them in the streets. The rightly deserve an unreserved apology.

If Howard can apologise for the sins of the Australian people in 1960, he can apologise for the sins of the Australian people from 1788 or any other year.

And don't even start me on the gay rights issues.

It really is sad. This isn't what being an Australian (whatever that means) is all about. We are a great nation, we are not a nation that should be ashamed of its leader. This isn't what the Australian Spirit is all about, something we hear about so often in our classrooms as children. The teachers don't explain the Australian spirit and the twin principles of mateship and hard yakka, only to conclude by saying "although these are the ideals we as a people strive for, when you reach voting age you will probably have a hand in electing a short bigot who will make you doubt your country's democratic system and ultimately cause you to feel extremely embarrassed to be Australian."

You are a tiny, tiny man Mr Howard. And I'm not talking about your stature.

The right thing

This morning a girl was driving down the train-tracks in her beat-up maroon car. Suddenly she turned the wheel sharply to the right and the car became stuck on the tracks. She looked panic stricken as she realised a train was on its way, at some undetermined distance and speed from the scene. She was running down the tracks when her two dogs materialised. I knew she was more worried about her dogs' safety than her own. They were following her and I was wondering why she didn't run sideways to the fence to save herself and the dogs rather than run down the tracks.
----As if from nowhere, my mother appeared on the other side of the 6 foot fence brandishing a packet of schmackos. The dogs and the girl came towards her, the girl with a look of relief on her face, the dogs with the look of gleeful hunger. She threw a schmackos at one of the dogs, he jumped up, leaping towards the fence. I thought he would go over the fence (presumably this was the plan), he opened his mouth as the schmackos sailed --
----"Daniel. Your Dad's on the phone..." whispered my aunt. "He's just here, I just woke him up" she explained to the handset.
----"Huh. What?" I said sleepily, wondering if the dog had caught the schmackos successfully or crashed head-long into the cyclone fence. I glanced at the clock radio on my bedside table: 8:20 AM.
----"Your Dad. He's on the phone..." she said, touching my right foot, shaking it slightly.
----"Yeah, I'm up." I said, swinging my body onto its back. My aunt handed my the phone.
----"Huh? Yeah? What?" I croaked.
----"Have you got your computer with you?" Dad asked.
----"What? No--"
----"Why not?"
----"What is this about?"
----"There's a thing I want to buy on eBay and there's some server error here so the internet isn't working and I need you to bid on it for me. Could you use your uncle's computer?"
----To say I was dumbstruck would be understating the situation.
----"Wait wait wait..." My mind attempted to process this information. I stumbled to form a coherent sentence. "You woke me up to buy you something on eBay."
----"Yes, hurry up it ends in ten minutes."
----"Right."

Even when I'm in a completely different house he can still ruin my morning. He's been known to wake himself up early to catch an eBay deadline, but I never thought he'd stoop so low as to wake me up to catch one, least of all when I'm staying at another house!

Who am I? Revisited

In my quest to discover myself, I stopped by www.blogthings.com hoping for answers. Here's what I found:

I am Big Bird:

Talented, smart, and friendly... you're also one of the sanest people around.
You are usually feeling: Happy. From riding a unicycle to writing poetry, you have plenty of hobbies to keep you busy.
You are famous for: Being a friend to everyone. Even the grumpiest person gets along with you.
How you life your life: Joyfully. "Super. Duper. Flooper."

I am Lisa Simpson:

A total child prodigy and super genius, you have the mind for world domination.
But you prefer world peace, Buddhism, and tofu dogs.
You will be remembered for: all your academic accomplishments
Your life philosophy: "I refuse to believe that everybody refuses to believe the truth"

I am Strawberry Icecream

A bit shy and sensitive, you are sweet to the core.
You often find yourself on the outside looking in.
Insightful and pensive, you really understand how the world works.
You are most compatible with chocolate chip ice cream.


I am a Depressed Drunk:

You know that distinct taste of tears and vodka real well.




In conclusion, I'm a shy yet friendly genious who tends to get a bit teary when he's sloshed.
That's suprisingly accurate.

Quotes

Eryn: Bangkok?
Me: Hehe that has the word "cock" in it.
Eryn & Me: (giggle)
Me: You know, we're the perfect couple really... we both love cock... I mean if we ever were to have a threesome there'd be no arguments about if the third person was a man or a woman.
Eryn: Oy! I want some cock too!
Me: Yeh... you'd get some.
Eryn: Oh ok, I always picked you as the bitch.

James: I'm going to build a shed when we move.
Me: A shed for your big manly tools?
Liz: He has big manly tools.
Me: I know, I've seen them.
James: I don't like where this is going.

Me: I really want to get a pink t-shirt with the word "FAG" on it, and then two pink shirts for you two with the word "HAG" on them.
Eryn: That makes it sound like you own us.
Me: So what? I belong to you?
Eryn: Yeh, you're a hag's fag.

James's Fortune: "If you express your desires you will become popular."
Me: Haha, walk into the main street and say "I want a fuck!" and then you'll be popular.
James: (who only heard the end of it) What did you say!?

Eryn: You're slow.
(long pause)
Me: Huh?

The future

I've been thinking a lot of "the future" lately. It's not something I have done often in the past because I have a serious Peter Pan Complex. If I had my way, I'd never grow up. I'd stay 22 forever. But I would be independent, just like my role model Pete is.

There's two version of "the future" in my head at the moment. The idealistic one and the realistic one. They are similar with one major defining difference: in the idealistic version I move out of my parent's place and get my own little place somewhere in Sydney: Surry Hills or Darlinghurst or something quaint like that while I study part-time at university. Living in Sydney means that I am closer to the university, which in turn means that I can cope much better because there won't be as much tiring traveling involved.

However it's becoming increasingly apparent that if I ever want to move out of my parent's home, I'm going to need one or more of the following:

• A job
• A big lottery win
• A pension
  
• A scholarship
• A sugar-daddy.

Each has its own list of pros and cons...

A job
Pros: Steady money every week; I'd be independent.
Cons: to earn any significant amount, I'd have to work like 2-3 days a week minimum. This would leave little energy for study or anything else. If I get any sicker and can't continue working then the bills would still need to be paid and I would be, in a word, fucked.

A big lottery win
Pros: No effort whatsoever, except buying the actual ticket and cashing the cheque.
Cons: Have to resist the urge to spend it all at once. Buying the winning ticket is never as easy as they make it out on the ads. According to this website I have a 1 in 8,145,000 chance of winning the lottery (as compared to 1 in 2,000,000 chance of being struck by lightening). Can't hurt to buy the odd ticket, but I'm not holding my breath.

A pension
Pros: Steady money with no job attached; with pension card comes discounts on transport etc.
Cons: I will have to continue proving myself to keep getting the payments. To get a disability support pension (DSP), at my age, with my medical background and with my parents income (we definitely aren't "poor" but we're not in a position to support two households either) is difficult to say the least. Many of the "activity assessors" employed by Centrelink, the government's social security office, either don't see ME/CFS as a valid illness, or they think you can do much more than you actually can. My best shot at qualifying for the DSP is to actually be moved out when I apply... go figure.

A scholarship
Pros: Depending on the scholarship, either a lump sum or recurring payments with no job attached.
Cons: Out of 1200 odd scholarships offered by my university, I only qualify for one. It appears they only offer financial assistance to first-year applicants if they are really brainy (with a UAI of over 99.9) or from a disadvantaged background. The one I do qualify for is for students with disabilities. So I'm going to apply but its possible I won't qualify for the same reasons as the pension: in their estimation I'm not sick enough, or my parents earn too much.

A sugar-daddy
Pros: It'd be just like Justin and Brian from Queer as Folk.
Cons:



Conclusion: If anyone knows of a good sugar-daddy... give me his number.

Proud uncle post

There he is ladies and gents, my new nephew, Carbi, aged 8 weeks. He arrived home to his proud parents, my friends Liz and James yesterday.

You can probably tell from the photo that Carbi is a super-dog. His mission is to hang around with James and alert him if his blood glucose level (BGL) is becoming low. They are incredibly perceptive little guys, they can tell if the BGL is dropping and alert the owner before anything unpleasant happens. This is particularly important for James after he passed out behind the wheel in 2004 and ended up on the wrong side of the road, despite doing everything right.

You can read more about Hypo-Dog at his blog "The Adventures of Hypo Dog".

Random ramblings #3

On Monday I was sitting on the disabled toilet at uni (one of the perks of having a disability is being able to use the disabled toilets, which are light years cleaner than the gents), staring at the baby change table in front of me. It's one of those ones that drops down from the wall to make a small table.

The instructions were in a series of seven little drawings. The were something like 1, Pull the change table down; 2, Place baby on table; 3, Use straps provided to fasten baby to table; 4, Change nappy; 5, Replace table in the upright position; 6, dispose of the nappy in the bin provided; 7, Don't put the table in the upright position while the baby is still on it. I was so amused that I took a photo of the 7th pictogram. Check out the baby's face!

After I'd finished my business, still chuckling, I washed my hands and saw this written on the hand-dryer:

"I'M GAY AND I LOVE IT"
"THAT IS FABULOUS DARLING"
"But who gives a shit about your sex-life"

admittedly it isn't as funny now that I retell it here, but it was funny at the time. I had to wipe the smile off my face as I left the bathroom, because there is only one type of person who leaves the disabled toilet with a smile on his face...

The next photo was taken at Bondi Junction station. It's a poster that was on the platform which caught my eye. The text is:

There's no excuse for abuse

Some days don't go to plan, but we all have the right to do our jobs without being

• verbally abused
• physically assaulted
• spat on

If you have a complaint about our staff, please don't take it into your own hands, phone 131500 and register your complaint. The law provides for heavy penalties for those who assault our employees and RailCorp will actively prosecute offenders. Thankyou.

This struck me as a rather sad indictment on society. Where a sign is needed to tell commuters that that kind of behaviour is unacceptable. Admittedly this probably wouldn't happen if there was a better rail system, but its not the guard's fault that the higher-ups are wankers.

Intrepid travelling

I'm writing this on the maddening small laptop that belongs to my uncle. The writing on the screen is miniscule and the keys are tiny. It seems that as technology gets better, the devices get smaller. For someone with eyes as "reluctant" as mine, they're downright annoying.

Yesterday I travelled from one side of Sydney to the other. Litterally. All with public transport no less. I set off at 10,45am in a taxi to the local train station. I hopped on a train and sped down the mountain to Sydney. I got to uni at around 12, went to the library, up to the queerspace, back to the library and eventually to class. All week I've been trying to put my finger on who my proffessor reminds me of. Today it hit me. The shopkeeper in Little Brittain that shouts out to his unseen wife Margaret. (I tried to find a photo of him but no luck... I'll keep looking when I get home and can use my own laptop, not this backwards contraption).

After class J and I headed up to the library to find some books for an assignment. We were on level 3 using the catalogue and she had to go up to level 4, while I had to go to the toilet (level 2) and see the IT desk (also level 2). So I told her to go up to four and I'd meet her where the book is. I went downstairs, did my thing and then returned to level 4. No J. I went back to the catalogues on 3. No J. I went to the christian history books on 3 (the next likely place). No J. I went back to level 4. No J. At this point I realised the chances of finding her were slim to none, since neither of us had our phones (mine was in my locker, her's was at home, uncharged). So I went outside for a cigarette, to see if she'd come out while I was waiting. She didn't, so I figured she must have gone home, realising the same thing, so I headed off to level 4 to get my books, ducked in level 3 in a vain hope she would be there, went back down to level 2 to borrow the books. I was just placing my books on the scanner when she came up behind me. "There you are!" She explained that she had gone to SQ 322 instead of S 322, which was why I couldn't find her, since they are on opposite ends of the floor.

We soon headed off and I was walking along chatting with her when I felt a sudden feeling of unease. I felt strangely naked. I realised I had left my walking stick in the library. I went back and found it pretty quickly next to the loans desk, and scurried out as quickly as my three legs could carry me. I made my way out to the bus stop and watched in disbelief as I missed the last bus to central. Or rather, it missed me, since it was 7,08pm, and it was timetabled to arrive at 7,10pm. I sat down and had a cigarette. To calm my nerves of course.

I had three options: a) walk to the other end of campus and catch a bus to Central; b) catch a bus to Bondi Junction and then get the train to Burwood or c) catch a bus to Burwood. The added complication was that the connecting bus from Central ran every 30 minutes so I was looking at a long journey no matter what I did. I definately was not, under any circumstances, walking to the other end of campus. It just wasn't a possibility. It is possible to walk from one end of campus to the other without using any stairs but its such a long way. The bus to Burwood was not such a great prospect because it took a real long way around getting there, and I wasn't willing to bet that there was one at this hour of the night. So that left a bus to Bondi Junction.

Fifteen minutes later I was on the bus going to Bondi (7,25). I was acutely aware that the lady behind me was coughing. Didn't she read the signs that say to cover your mouth on the bus!? I got to Bondi, the eastern-most point of my journey and hopped on a train (7,45) to Town Hall, where I changed to a western train to Burwood. At Burwood (8,20) I realised there were no busses to my Pop's place until 9pm. I called my aunt to ask if she would mind swinging by and picking me up. She said she wouldn't mind at all, if only she had the car. I wandered over and got a taxi, finally schlepping through the door at 8,40. Interesting this is only 10 minutes more than if I had have actually caught the bus at 7,10.

Not only is it cheaper to do things the way I usually do, but it is actually better on a more existential level. There's nothing like being in a ricketty bus full of uni students that is hurtling down Foveaux St at the speed of light to instil a real fear for God, a real sense of mortality and a feeling of total insignificance in the grand scheme of things.

Marry me?

I've had a few comments about point 5 from yesterday. So it seems high time to do a bit of advertising for the National Day of Action, August 13th.

August 13th 2004 was an important (and very sad) day in Australian history. It is the day that the Liberal and Labour parties supported the ban on same-sex unions. As I understand it, the Fe