Notes from the jGeneration

Moment of Pure Gay #2

2010-01-10T21:37:00.002+11:00

I lead an undebiably gay life. There's the liking men bit. The not caring for breasts and enjoying that women find me non-confronting. My desire to smell nice by using expensive fragrances, and knowing that Tiffany's requires shrieks out loud when given to me.

However there are moments I call "pure gay". Moments where you stop, have an outer-body experience, and realise just how raging homo your life has become.

My first moment I outlined in a facebook status update one day, it was a steamy night at the Peel, people unbuttoning my shirt (I now think that's why I wear shirts) while This is It by Dannii Minogue played, all the while watching the hunky Juilan McMahon.

The second moment happened to me yesterday.

I:

after flicking radio stations, wound down the windows and cranked up In Your Eyes by Kylie (after a loud OH MY GOD!);

driving in my small, sensible, fuel-efficient 3-door car;

with personalised number plates;

slutting it up to cars driving past, with an occasional flirtatious smile;

wearing a white singlet;

with my newly blond-ed hair;

on my way to the gym to get buff so people will complement me on it;

via a newsagent to buy a copy of Australian Iron Man;

all the while checking out hotties, wondering what hotties would be at the gym;

knowing that my night would eventually end up at Commercial Road, or the Peel.

It was, in my own words, a moment of "pure gay".

Thank you Kylie :)

10 Things I Hate (and Like) About You (...me)

2009-12-16T12:33:00.006+11:00

Forgive me Father, for it has been over 12 months since my last blog. Why I stopped is almost as vague as why I decided to start this one. Every day I am reminded I still have one -- I receive spam comments akin to: "I am a hot Japanese woman looking to enslave myself to you..."

Great. Cyber Japanese women throwing their cyber-boobs and vaginas at me. Vagina.

As I have little, yet far too many, things to write about, I have decided to sum it all up in a nice movie title. 10 things that have captivated me recently.

1. Hate: Tony Abbot
Are you guys serious? I leave the country for two weeks and the Liberals elect Mr Personality himself? I had to check several times, while chilling on the island paradise of Bohol, that I had read this news correctly. The most shocking part was the giant step to the Right by the Liberals -- it had been touted for years, but I never thought it possible especially after the demise of Howard. Turnbull and Nelson represented a new, more (small 'l') liberal approach to things -- clearly something the party wasn't ready for. Abbot will never be Prime Minister. He can't be. It will damage the country, and he'll be our Bush.

2. Hate: Barnaby Joyce
Oh deary me. Not only did I choke on my pancakes made by gandang Ricky Reyes after learning of his appointment to Shadow Minster for Finance, I proceeded to lose control when he tried to lecture me on finance, China and the precarious state of the US economy. How simple it is Barnaby! China will fail because the US doesn't buy anything from it because the US defaults on a loan. Simultaneously the US will fall into a black hole, and everybody will follow. Simple? If only economics, trade and finance were like that Barnaby, RBS wouldn't have to pay bonuses.

3. Hate: Climate Change
If press reports are to be believed, Copenhagen is not going well. Obama has already said there will be no binding agreement, and had pledged no support beyond 4% reductions. Yes greenies, this is better than nothing, don't shoot it down. But alas it won't save the world, or Tuvalu from sinking into the ocean. (will the come here as environmental refugees? And what will our moral responsibility be to them?) Countries clearly hate Australia (it's because Senator Wong is a lesbian I assure you) and China refuses to accept ANY burden of responsibility despite opening a new coal plant every week.

There is an agreement to be had. All 100+ countries need to realise this: they need to do SOMETHING, no matter what their circumstances are, no matter what the cost.

4. Like: Christmas
And I never like Christmas.

5. Hate: Internet Censorship
I understand, appreciate and applaud that Australia and China are good mates... sort of. We dig up shit and send it there, they put things together using child and cheap labour and we buy it. Beautiful. Capitalism in its purest form. Yet we will share another fun similarity before next year's election -- internet censorship. Obviously, child pornography, violence, instructions on crime should not be on the internet. There's little debate there. But the risk of internet censorship is where does it stop? A wikipedia page on penises? My precious pictures of men in underwear? News reports unfavourable to the Government? It's a Pandora's box, open to grave manipulation by the changing tides of politics.

6. Like: 30Rock
I have put Boston Legal on hiatus to watch this show. Alec Baldwin is fantastic, which doesn't explain why he's retiring from acting.

7. Like: The law
It's a beautiful thing. Sometimes we hate it -- i.e. a parking fine you get after being at the doctors for too long. But as far as human creations go, the law is so fundamental to a civil society, it is something we could not live without unless we want anarchy. I may have a different opinion in a year or two but it is now a very important part of my life.

8. Like: The Philippines
I have just returned from 16 days in the second most beautiful country on Earth (the most beautiful is Australia). The people are friendly and the happiest in Asia, the food is mouthwatering, the scenery magnificent and the culture and history wonderfully intriguing. A country which has had several foreign influences over it, yet forges ahead with the creation of an individual identity. A place with many wonders and secrets it is not ready for people to know of.

Arriving at 5:30am aboard "Asia's first, Philippine Airlines... Mabuhay", the air smelt like exhaust, success, poverty and pork, we left very slowly for Tagaytay. Volcano climbing, horse riding, Jolibee, zipline, wedding proposals, palace in the sky... it was among the most beautiful places I've been.

Leaving the cool for Cebu, I bitched for a while about the Hilton then learned quickly to learn that Philippines' second city is truly a jewel of the Visayas. It was my introduction to the mega mall, where I was simultaneously offered Viagra (for PHP1,000) and a puppy. Magellan's Cross, the Mactan Shrine where Lapu Lapu kicked Spanish arse, cathedrals, markets, jeeps, dodgy taxi drivers and the Church of Santo Nino. From here to Bohol, and the most secluded resort on the island (had awesome food though), and finally back to Manila (which words do not describe).

I will expand on the Philippines in time.

9. Like: Filipino Men
Dark skin, soft features, mysteriously dark eyes, not too tall but not too short, like eating, look good on a giant poster above Guadalupe advertising Bench/ undies.

10. Like: Gulaman
I don't need to describe it. It is your friend on a hot day.

Long winded and unnecessary. True to form...... I'm off to watch 30Rock.

Blogging..........

2008-11-22T17:06:00.004+11:00

I think it's fair to say that I haven't blogged in some time now.

"Why!?" I hear the masses scream. "James we love you!"

It's because a) my life is not all that exciting; and b) not much has really changed since my last significant post (before my series on wondering gay in Malaysia). Let's take a look in to the jGeneration just to make sure:

University

I have since completed my university degree -- Bachelor of Arts (Political Science/Sociology). I'm now overqualified for retail jobs, underqualified for government jobs, and should grow my hair to dangerously long levels (preferably in white) while wearing dark green suits.

I must admit, finishing uni was slightly underwhelming on the day, but I look back at it with great snobbishness. Not a day goes by where I don't think "move it punk, or I will explain the current nature of your social situation using the functionalist perspective of Emile Durkheim".

Just like condoms on a gay cruise, however, one is never enough. I feel a need to add to my collection, hopefully one day having enough to play "snap" with.

Business

Along with being an elitist bastard, I have also started my own business. No, not as a finance consultant (not exactly in much demand these days) or an airline (soon TBA though), but as a personal trainer. A classic small business, doing the hard yards to generate income, spending arduous hours bookkeeping and doing admin (that's the version the Tax Department receives upon audit), engaging in bitter competition with others and hoping for that one day where we can go on holiday.

I do love it though. It's tough competing with 10 business in the space of a few hundred square metres. There are hugely long hours. No guaranteed income. Poor management and so forth. But I will look back and say, "you know what, I gave it a bloody good shot". A source of achievement.

So of course it you do want personal training, please call me.

Wondering Gay Mk IV

My fourth foray overseas has been in planning for a few months now, and involves Singapore, Malaysia and China. Food, shopping, shopping, shopping, food, drinking, shopping, drinking, food, tourist things, photos, photos, beer, aeroplanes, is the planed itinerary.

Driving Around, Yaris style

At risk of provoking GetUp! into a frenzy of green-bashing, negative, life-threatening comments, I am now a car owner. Yes, I contribute my 4 million tonnes of CO2 into the atmosphere with the best of them now. While I do love my new car, and love paying next to nothing in petrol, no rev-head man (such as myself) is particularly ecstatic at a l.3L engine. Yeah it builds its way to 100km/h (over 14 seconds) and fills the cabin with enraged tire noise, but there is just no kick. Still, better to have a car like that than one that speeds when you so much as look at the accelerator..............................

Misc.

My cousin has married, I love Filipino food, resigned my job with MONSU Caulfield (causing the need for elections) and turned down another, no longer have a phobia of singlets, save money again, eat like a horse (not the last parallel between myself and equine creatures), have multiplied my undies levels by dangerous proportions, and have moved on from my "rice queen" phase (for want of a better term) barring the notable exception of Filipinos.

Following this self-indulgent blog, allow me to assess something more topical in my next post. Until then, smile, spend money like the Government suggests and enjoy the credit-squeezed world.

I Don't Speak Malay, So I'll Let the Funky Music Do the Talking

2008-07-04T21:09:00.022+10:00

Kuala Lumpur 28-29 June 2008

I had no idea that A$90 per night, between the two of us, could buy such opulence. Though we had the wrong side of the building, the view from the 29th floor was pretty outstanding. Overlooking Jalan Tun Razak (a major expressway in KL) presented an interesting opportunity for me -- I have always wanted to stand naked in front of a window high up. (Don't ask why -- I don't know the answer.) I decided one night as I walked out of the shower, in my towel, to just drop it, and casually turn around to get dressed. I don't think that crane operator saw anything, but we can't be sure. There was no loud smash anyway...

For this blog let me present KL by theme.

Eating

Actually there was nothing too spectacular here, we stuck to our local's approach, eating cheap nasi lemak and chicken rice, but it was more the stories behind them. The first night was actually quite hilarious. Our waiter was... questionable. Dave and I were sure he was a "friend", but who can say. He was as slim as anything, probably fitting into a size 20 pair of pants, and had some queer gesturing going on. It's always fun in these situations to bring on the politeness, deep appreciation for their services, and a smile.

Dave's boyfriend had requested a Malaysian flag for his collection; having seen another guy in the restaurant receive a burger/foccacia thing with one of those toothpick flags, I said that he should just take the boy one of those. We decided that it was a great (strangely hysterical) idea, and requested some from the slim waiter. It took some time. He didn't speak English:

"can we have one of those flags?"
"pepper?"
"no, flag"
"knife"
"no no, that guy there? he has a Malaysia flag in a toothpick"
"oh toothpick!"
"no! Malaysia flag! like that guy has"
There was a curious look at both of us, then he walked off and brought back three. I was very happy.

The staff loved us. I think because we were two well dressed westerners (Dave like Kylie in his new top), and me with my thoughtful manners and politeness. We did exploit their reciprocation of niceness when we went to buy pre-drinks from 7-11. Not realising that the Tigers were not twisties, we went back to borrow a bottle opener from the restaurant staff. They happily obliged and Dave and I strolled through Jalan Bukit Bintang with our beer. It was time for a spot of gay clubbing. Finally.

The other eating experience involved chicken rice at, of all places, KFC. Chicken rice is a big dish in Malaysia. Easy in its ingredients, but incredibly tasty. It was an interesting adventure, though I wouldn't recommend it. Go elsewhere for it. Too manufactured. I spent most of my time trying not to smash my phone, considering whether the hotties I spoke to regarding WiFi were Israeli (they couldn't have been... Israelis are not allowed in Malaysia and vice-versa), and trying to figure out which of the "boys" near us was a woman.

Shopping

For me, KL was the ultimate shopping experience. Fashion is more or less on par with Australia, little interesting clothes shops are plentiful and the currency makes the whole thing extra fun.

Jalan Bukit Bintang

Just an awesome part of the city. Heaps of food, heaps of shops, heaps of bars and clubs and well serviced by public transport. We kicked off with Dave buying gold shoes and me offering a lingering smile to some dude as we passed each other by (...slut). Stopping of at Lot 10, which has definitely seen its day, it was on to Lau Yat -- an electronics heaven. If you can't find a camera or mobile phone here you are clearly drunk. Haggle, price the same item at 900 different shops, ask for add-ons -- it's all part of a game. Just don't try buying an out of date phone though, as was discovered looking for the LG Prada phone. It's all great fun -- unfortunately I wasn't out for a new camera (mine is new) and at that stage was just going to have my stupid phone repaired.

Pavilion is also worth mentioning. It's full of upmarket, designer shops but all purchasable with the wonderful Ringitt. It was there I fulfilled my huge desire to own a Fossil watch with a thick leather band. All for a much lower price than I could ever have bought it here. Mmmm, watch. It's very hot if I may say so myself. Philosophy was a great little shop where everything has a Chinese twist to it. The guy who served us initially wore glasses... until Dave and I walked in. I'm not sure what possessed him to take them off, but he did it very quickly. As Dave was trying on a shirt (a few times over) I considered asking where the best gay venues were in KL. He was gay I'm sure, but I thought better of my question. I later tried on a pair of ladies jeans for the first time ever at cK. They were a nice cut, and I had an arse for once, but my awesome belt wouldn't have fit. Oh well. I'm a man anyway. Pavilion is a fantastic shopping centre -- well worth visiting when in KL for its shops, clothes and really cool items.

KLCC -- Suria

Suria was part of a massive day of shopping. It's funny because we went in here while I made a quick phone call (we were completely lost, having gotten off at the wrong LRT station), and I opposed it so much. I was all "no no no, I don't want to shop here, it's all designer labels I can buy at home". That was until I hit shopping mode and decided that designer labels were just what I wanted (and at a cheaper price). Mmmmmm A|X. I didn't buy anything , except an Ice Coffee sipped through the interestingly titled "straight straws" (for straight people to suck on), but all fun.

Midvalley

Midvalley Megamall is exactly what the name suggests. It has its own train station and is like a number of our centres put together in one consumption frenzy. Just one stop from KL Sentral, but a massive stampede to get on the train. Midvalley is worth checking out, though I didn't have much luck here, apart from Malaysian Men's Health. There's a sexy Asian man on the front cover, minus shirt. Yum. The foodcourt is very good (have the claypot Butter Chicken), there's a Starbucks for those, like me, who need coffee when shopping, and more shops than you can possibly visit.

I love the night life, I love to boogie

We only had two nights in KL, the second of which was a pretty lazy one, just people watching in a bar off Jln Bukit Bintang. Our first night, however, was pretty memorable. Even before leaving Australia, we had this club down as a Peel but grungier. I didn't think that could happen.

Tentative and nervous summed up our approach to Blue Boy. Beer in hand, we walked up to the door knowing in our minds it was a gay club, unsure of what to expect. Lonely Planet has proven itself USELESS in mapping out the night scene, not least because our "free" cover was actually RM20 (it did include a drink though).

Entering the club it instantly reminded me of the Peel. It was after 11:30pm and still dead. There were three other white men, then me. I was the youngest by at least 20 years. Thus it was a sea of young Asian men... sweaty and wearing little up top to combat the intense midnight heat, all niced up for a night out, all dancing sexily. I may have had a dream about such a scene.

Curiously, everyone seemed to be with their boyfriends. I was a bit annoyed at this for some reason; perhaps I wanted attention?:
"ahem... I'm white, Australian, train six days per week... somebody look at me now and ditch your boyfriends..." Something to that effect. Every person clung to their boyfriend, didn't dance with or look at anyone else, yet amazingly there was no dirty dancing or even touching. Forget kissing. (I later found out that some are so shy that they cling to their friends like tissues to a cum-stained torso. Further to this, despite their shyness, or being out on a date, I had my crotch squeezed a few times by a Malay guy... and then my arse on his way through. Thank you.)

Along with this curious idiosyncrasy of gay clubbing Southeast Asian Style, many danced like whores in front of the mirror (not unusual) and the drag show was the best ever.

Literally, best ever.

It was a piss take of Malaysian society -- there were women (men, remember) in full Muslim garb and a Bollywood/Hindi dancer for instance. Had my phone been working at that stage I would have had some great photos and videos. Alas, it is all in my memory, and for me to await again, and recommend to all.

My experience of gay clubbing in Malaysia was as much fun as it was delving into the cultural differences of our Asian neighbour. It was an experience I cannot wait to relive, and do so to an even greater extent.

*

My stop in Kuala Lumpur came to an end on a drizzly morning, destined for Pulau Penang. I was sad to leave, having had the time of my life in this city. Nothing describes how much I adore KL. Beautiful, tropical, laid back but cutting edge. I am counting down the days until I see it again -- the magical place that is.

Sunning by the Melaka "River"

2008-07-04T20:10:00.009+10:00

Melaka
26-27 June 2008

I'm cheap. Very cheap. Instead of catching a taxi to the bus station I suggested we take the train, which meant carrying all of my bags. I don't regret taking the luggage I did, though it is a bitch in searing heat and humidity. We FINALLY got there (after stopping at another bus station -- the wrong one) and were told that the nearest money changer was just around the corner..... It was some time away in India. Little India, but it felt like a whole trip to New Delhi.

Clearing customs twice, you definitely know you're in Malaysia when (a) every second and third car on the road is a Proton or a Perodua; and (b) trucks unflinchingly try to overtake three other trucks with oncoming traffic tearing their way. The ultimate game of chicken. The palm trees abounded as we made our way to Melaka -- a town with a rich colonial history (ruled at one stage or another by the British, Dutch or Portugese). Funny how I'd never seen a Tesco's until getting off the bus at Sentral. Fucking huge. (Turns out Japan's version is called Jesco... trivial knowledge you may need one day.)

The streets in Melaka are small, all one way, fairly busy and all together dangerous for pedestrians. However the buildings that align the streets are amazingly pretty. All are influenced by Chinese architectural tradition thus they are very distinctive, ornamental, and many are a beautiful maroon/red colour. The hotels are mostly Chinese guest houses, and have a small frontage but go back for miles. I think we picked the most mozzie-ridden one in town, though it was one night and RM80. Can't really complain.

Shame about no window though... nothing like being caged in with nothing to do but watch Chinese and Malay drama (though it must be said, that is awesome fun for passing time... pretty guys and endless over-dramatisation).

Though I did enjoy my time there, and the food, the town was altogether quite boring really. There were some nice photo op's, some nice restaurants here and there, but not much for two 21 year olds to do. We enjoyed the night at a restaurant with live music and the arrogant Englishman, speaking of whether the blond guy we saw while I was buying t-shirts was actually real, or whether we imagined him in a flashback to gay porn, and discussing how much fun KL was going to be.

Melaka is great for arts and crafts, traditional Nonya foods and the middle class traveller who wants to chill a bit. Take in a museum or two, enjoy the cultural surrounds... Put it this way, it's pretty, glad we saw it, but it's not a thrill-a-minute kind of place. Stop for a night, then head for KL.

Which we did.

My title for this blog refers to the Melaka River which, you may be surprised to know, runs straight through the heart of the town. Now, there is something deeply wrong about river... what was it again...oh yeah, it doesn't flow. Which means the Yarra looks healthy in comparison to the light brown colour, and there are more mosquitoes than the tropics in monsoon season. My belief is that the construction work downstream, closer to the mouth, has blocked up the flow. Makes the river front properties a little cheaper I'd say, as the photo attests.

It's Just a Fling Baby, Fling Baby

2008-07-03T20:13:00.006+10:00

Singapore
25-26 June 2008

It seemed like days. Flying a discount carrier 8,000 kilometres; transiting in the world's smallest (arguably lest equipped) airport; "sleeping" at such a horrendous angle; reading over Lonely Planet a million times over... Ten hours later it was over: Dave and I arrived in Singapore.

A curious look over the new Budget Terminal, a curious look from Immigration, and a (curious) pick up of what became known as the esky, we jumped on the first MRT to the hotel to ditch the bags. Edwin, the night reception bitch, was terribly helpful and seemed incredibly proud of himself that he remembered my name (though, with a Chinese spin). I mention Edwin because I found it terribly funny to put on my "charm" to see what happened.... As to when I became confident enough to do that I'll never know.

We caught Singapore at the beginning of the work day. People were freshly showered, sitting quietly on the trains, shuffling off to work. Stepping off at Raffles Place, the beauty of the concrete jungle confronted us. To me, the city state is a magical place. So orderly, trim and proper. Seems like there is so little rebellion from the 9am-5pm working, 6-10pm shopping daily routine. Seems like everyone is programmed like robots. But I love every bit of its social and cultural fabric (bar the crippling conservatism). So it was an amazing experience to catch my favourite city at my favourite time of day.

After checking out the Merlion, taking an imitation shot of the Singaporean founders and complaining about the heat, we staggered our tired bodies to Lau Pa Sat for a S$4 char siu pork dish. Tasty, cheap and fresh. At that point you know you're tired when you fall asleep at the table, as Dave had. We hoped Edwin had pulled some strings for the sexy Australians and that our room was ready before check out. Thankfully it was, and it was nanna nap time.

Three hours sleep in over 2 days is not what the human body was designed for. Still, I pushed it to the limits. We got up and went for a walk through the markets we'd seen being set up earlier in the day, and checked out the local equivalent of Target (god knows why... it was airconditioned, which was definitely working in its favour). Later on in the night there was some freshening up, some dinner and a spot of gay hunting. In an effort to save on covers we settled on Backstage Bar in Chinatown... and it was a pretty damn good choice.

Dave virtually took over the music rendering it a night of Girls Aloud, Sophie, Kylie and amazingly Young Divas(!). Kinda weird singing along to This Time I Know it's for Real, at a gay bar, in notoriously homophobic Singapore. Good times.

I will save my gushiness for this country to my last piece. Suffice to say I adore Singapore so much. It's streets ahead of Australia in every way (apart from minority bashing) and it lures me more and more every time. If there weren't the strong ties to Australia, I'd move there in a heartbeat.

Gayest photo ever?

jGeneration Goes Global Again

2008-06-23T23:49:00.002+10:00

Days to go: 19 hours

Melbourne.

Six months ago I executed my travel plans to Southeast Asia once again. Now, I sit anxious that the airline I have booked with (the rather cheap Tiger Airways) does not shaft me with its anal-ness, and by this time tomorrow, I am to be in Darwin en route to Singapore.

Malaysia represents the last place in SE Asia I have a strong desire to travel to (barring the Philippines). Singapore is a country that I loved the first time, and will visit twice in the next week or so. These countries together are everything I want from a holiday -- beautiful culture, wonderful food and a world completely different to the country I call home.

There will be lots of flying -- not my preferred mode of domestic travel. I intend there will be lots of photos taken (I am, to all intents and purposes, a Japanese tourist). I hope to meet lots of awesome people, both local and tourist. I wish to spend money on cool new clothes, gifts and silly things, for myself and those I love. Most of all, I plan for a memorable though whirlwind trip through the Peninsular and its island cousin.

I will try desperately to keep up a travel blog (hard due to the short time span), for it is something to entertain all, and for me as a record of my trip.

Melbourne -- Darwin -- Singapore -- Melaka -- Kuala Lumpur -- Penang -- Kuala Lumpur -- Singapore -- Darwin -- Melbourne.

The jGeneration hits Southeast Asia again... this time gayer, independent and out for a good time.

Reasons not to Drink (Mk II)

2008-04-20T15:14:00.005+10:00

I have plotted a parallel between my not blogging in a while and not drinking in a while. You see, I haven't had a drink in many months -- for no other reason than the last time I did I felt guilty at what I was doing to my body. Last night I thought I'd let go a bit, however, and let the intoxicating effect of alcohol take over.

It was a decision I now regret. Why?

Dirty dancing with the best friend

Can be fine to an extent. I walked to the line and crossed it, with some arse grabbing and Kath and Kim style kissing (which is not real kissing, for those who have not seen the great show). It was not the best idea I've ever had to grind up against (while drunk) the man whose blog is now linked with the jGeneration (hyperdingo.blogspot.com)...drunkenness exacerbates all.

Dirty dancing with the ex-

And if the above situation raised eyebrows from the onlooking and increasingly disapproving boyfriend, dancing with his ex- was about the worst thing I could have done. Yes, they dated when I was 14 (Year 9 for the record), and for a month, but still, ex- status is something different. Something you don't play with.

Turns out I touched the man's penis. Now, in my defence, I obviously did this by accident. I had no desire to touch his penis in any way, shape or form. But nevertheless that is what happened, and yet another reason why I was probably suited to the DD role much better.

Actually seriously thinking eating a kebab is a good idea

It isn't people. It just isn't.

Having a desire to go to the Market

Where in comparison I would have been sober, and in remarkably good mental health? I didn't even have my wallet on me, so how I intended to get in I have no idea. I should mention in complaint, however, why the hell did Heaven's Door close at 3am? What the hell kind of place closes at 3am.

Hitting

It is very hard to conceptualise and gauge strength when one is drunk. I managed to hit a few times, causing a degree of enragement as a consequence. (I'm not talking about a Barry Hall king hit... I'd be typing this from jail... rather a hardish open palmed hit... and before you all say that's a slap, it's much better than the boxing techniques I know and love.)

Pissing in a carpark somewhere

All class that is. I seem to recall a Mercedes parked nearby. I didn't piss on it. I do recall seeing how far I could go in either direction though. But let's be honest, who hasn't done this.

Becoming too helpless to function on my own

Completely helpless. I didn't want to be left alone, fell into bed shivering, spilt Kebab shite on me and looked like a complete twat.

Lost assignment time

For which I feel so remotely guilty it's not funny. I have two assignments due in the next four weeks, and my research is not progressing terribly quickly. Hell.

All of this happened on not many drinks, and a stomach lined with Starbucks, lots of water and lots of exercise prior. Clearly I'm out of practice with this sort of stuff, or my grand old age of 21 is catching up with me.

The person I became last night was not the image the jGeneration should be exuding. I was a complete nightmare, I feel guilty for doing it and believe it or not, my assignments got no closer to finishing. I danced slutilly with the bestie, touched the ex where only Catholic priests dare, and ate a god damn Kebab. Eek.

Until next time, gay in forward in a sober, designated-driver world.

Barometer of Sadness

2008-04-13T22:33:00.004+10:00

I found myself in a particularly sad mood today. There are a number of reasons behind it which I will not delve into at this point in time. Suffice to say that when I hopped on the train today, I did not feel like pulling myself out of the sadness, rather supplement it with sad music.

I realised as I was flicking through the 5000 songs on my iPod, 4900 of which I don't listen too, that certain songs measure my mood, and act as a mood barometer.

Today's emotion: I was upset.
Level: very (there were tears involved).
Music I went straight to: "Back to Bedlam" -- James Blunt.

Now, I know what you're thinking... 'James! How could you listen to him!' And so forth with the anti-James Blunt ramblings. Let me respond in an eloquent and dignified manner: fuck off.

Within the album there is a hierarchy of sadness also -- at the top is "Goodbye My Lover". DANGEROUS dangerous song. Steer clear at all costs. But there is more than enough to keep me in that melancholy mood. "Cry", "You're Beautiful", they're all good.

Above all, however, the pièce de résistance -- the song that inherently brings tears to a sad jGeneration stems from one of my favourite artists; a gay (very camp) man whom I wish to see one day -- "Hallelujah", sung by Rufus Wainwright.

Rufus you make me sad sometimes.

So the barometer level reached today was "James Blunt" with a shade of "Hallelujah".

I'm mostly fine now.

Gay it forward peeps.

What We Learn From "Hairspray"

2008-04-13T22:17:00.004+10:00

Hairspray.

What can be said of this movie. So many wonderful moments.

Having just passively listened to half, watching the remaining half, there are a number of take-home lessons we can draw from the movie.

Black people are cool

Yes, a broad and gross over-generalisation. But if Hairspray teaches us anything, black people can dance better, move better, and are just cooler than us white people.

John Travolta CAN pull of a fat suit

My apprehension towards seeing the movie was based on not only Travolta being in the movie, but him in drag and a fat suit. Gotta hand it to them, it does work. The casting director deserves either sectioning or an Oscar.

You can't get tired of Queen Latifah in "Big, Blond and Beautiful"

The best song in the whole movie. I love it.

Zac Efron is an absolute heart throb

No explanation needed. Teenage girls and gay men all have one thing in common in this context -- you figure it out.

Corney Collins (James Marsden) is hot too!

He reminds me of John Barrowman (from 'let's have a gay off' in Nevermind the Buzzcocks and other assorted roles, including "Captain Jack" in Dr Who).

You can never underestimate the power of a good Cold War joke

See the scene where Amanda Bynes and Nikki Blonski walk into the nuclear shelter.

And so it goes.

Let us celebrate Hairspray, and all its colour and fun.

...

I'm over it already...

I Just Love a bit of Cake

2008-04-11T21:29:00.004+10:00

There are a number of truly satisfying things in life. Sex is, of course, at the top of the list. I could go for some now, but none is currently on hand. Then there is that feeling I get when a client smiles and thanks me for my help, or they walk out of the studio sweating and screaming they hate me (from the hard work I put them through, of course). There is the feeling of curling into bed with a loved one, and the feeling of a smooth latte on a bitterly cold day.

Today I combined two satisfying things at the same time -- a jam-filled lamington, and a mocha from Mama Dukes at Monash.

It was truly a heavenly experience. I felt enormously fat afterwards, and felt that I deserved the wildly wind-swept cycle to work, but it was totally worth it.

Ladies and gentlemen, let me recommend you try my satisfying experience.

(and yes, this blog had NO point at all.)

Odds and Ends

2008-04-08T00:41:00.012+10:00

Yes, it has been a long time since I last blogged. At this rate, I will have six by year's end. I've been taking a bit of a break -- that is to say, I've been lazy in my webcasting of things that happen in my big gay life.

Let me theme this blog with all the things I am not:

A Sydney-basher without having visited

In the true spirit of my subheading, let me start with Mardi Gras. This is one kick arse event people. It's like a gay pilgrimage, one I made for the first time this year back in March. I certainly had my reservations about going -- I'm having an awkward moment with alcohol, and I wasn't terribly close to the people we were going with. However it was very awesome. The colour, glitz and short shorts were in abundance and there was no shortage of open gayness around the city. To all who haven't been, whether straight or gay, book your hotels now (www.roamfree.com.au) -- you won't regret it.

While I was in Sydney for the first time, I also managed to fall in love with the place. We Melbournians make fun of it, loathe it, and gloat when we get something over the bastards (see!). Yet it's such a beautiful city. The harbour is stunning, Opera House amazing, and the Bridge a breath taking walk on a leisurely afternoon. Though I have been back since -- the most overwhelming day I can remember -- I look forward to having a touristy weekend once more, doing all those things the Japanese do with vigour and proficiency.

Unemployed

I have three jobs now. Count it. Three! Something's bound to go wrong at some stage, and already on minimal hours in all of them (they're for building and development), there are a number of clashes. Along with MONSU, I work as a Gym Instructor at Bayfit Leisure Centre, and a Personal Trainer at FitSmart Personal Training, in South Melbourne.

Cool huh?

Keeps me busy and in some money (though, it could be more). I will have to start building up a client base very shortly. Who's for some PT?

Anyone who has a great name for a PT business too, I need suggestions.

As lacking in confidence as I once was

It's true -- dealing with people in a number of different capacities has changed my confidence levels. Also, in my personal training I believe in myself to a great extent; so this helps my levels of self esteem. Weird for a dosage of confidence to be injected into the jGeneration...

Virginal to the Mocha

A latte was my staple drink. I've had so many over the years, full fat, "skinny", soy and lite soy, however I have since been introduced to the Mocha. Now, don't get me wrong, I've always known it was there, known what it was, and what it tastes like. Yet the time has come to accept the Mocha as a fantastically orgasmic drink. Today I nearly missed my train (the last for over 30 mins) just to have one. Totally worth it. I made that train anyway.

Clueless about Filipino food

So very tasty and hearty. I crave the food I don't know the name of, let alone what's in it. But oh my god it's amazing. Yes, everything has hot dogs in it, including Filo pasta sauce, and the desserts are so suggary one serving induces diabetes, but it's unique among South East Asian foods, and it's just brillliant. Go have some.... I'll be here when you get back.

So this has been a thoroughly boring blog about absolutely nothing. But let's call it lubing up before the sex. The next blog will be out of this world. I promise. Until then, enjoy the rest of Kevin Rudd's overseas trip. In fact, enjoy the rest of Brendan Nelson being the most hapless opposition leader since ALexander Downer too. Give it 12 more months people. You heard it here first.

Gay it forward peeps.

A New Reflection of a Gentleman to be

2008-02-22T16:19:00.011+11:00

It has been some time since I ripped off (and slightly modified) a Christina lyric, got my typing shoes on and posted a blog. To the 3.5 individuals who read this (33% above the crude birth rate -- score), your patience will be well rewarded with this new set of knives, an additional set of knives if you leave a comment, and my thanks.

Alas there are a number of reasons why I have been on hold for more than a month -- two reasons in fact. And on what better occasion than the week of my 21st birthday to reflect on them. They are, in their own ways, life changing. They have put me on a new course. All make me happy, drive my confidence levels sky high, and give me good feelings all round.

Personal Training
A while back the holidays were looming. "Get a job, you arse" were the lines I kept hearing. I was thinking to myself just how much I did not want a job selling shit, or mopping up in hospitality. Putting my thinking cap on (actually, it sadly never leaves my head), I thought, "no, fuck it, I'm not gonna follow the grain and do what everyone else does" (i.e. selling burgers or mopping aforesaid floors). Then I thought, "how cool would being a Personal Trainer be!" I could do that not only through the long summer, but also while at uni. I love the human body, I love helping people, I like the gym and personal fitness. What a match!

My casualness in such a decision, however, became much more than that. Starting Certificate III in Fitness at RMIT, I realised that I had unearthed a passion. A passion and thirst for knowledge surrounding the human body and its marvels; a passion for doing some good and helping people get healthy (or huge biceps, whatever their cup of tea). Advancing and building on this was Certificate IV, also at RMIT, where this passion has grown immensely.

In my life I've never felt confident about something like I do Personal Training. Sure, I think that my ideas and conceptions may fail. Yes, it's a dog-eat-dog world. But it excites me. It is fulfilling. I feel confident in what I do, and what I want to do. I am more ambitious now than I ever have been. I say with huge pride what I do (or will do, when someone hires me).

What started as a relatively casual decision has wound up uncovering the passion I never knew I really had. Sure I love sports, but didn't know I wanted to help people in it. Having handed in my final workbooks today, I type with huge goals about my career. I do not care that some people undervalue it. That some may think I'm too smart, or that this wasn't meant to be of the politics student. A huge smile comes across my face, and I say "watch me".

Office Politics
As of 1 January 2008, I became a Sexuality Officer at Monash University (Caulfield). I was "elected" by my peers, and take great responsibility from this. In essence, my job is to work with the most wonderful Kate Mooney to represent non-heterosexual identifying students on campus. Organise ways of mingling and socialising, offer advice and referral, maintain the Free Lounge and Monash Queer Network, and be a friendly ear to listen.

Already O-Fest is well under organisational way, and I'm really looking forward to signing up some young gaylings and for a big year on/off campus. My good, dear and close friend did a very good job in this capacity last year, I hope to make it even bigger and better this year.

monashQnetwork.blogspot.com

At 21 there are a number of exciting developments unfolding in my life. All of them with great potential, all of them making me hurry along the future, all of them greatly uplifting me. 2007 was my favourite year on record -- a time of self-exploration and wonderful people. Can 2008 be bigger, gayer and better? I like to think it will be. I also see professional development as a distinct part of this year. I'm moving it on up in the jGeneration.

Gaying it forward peeps.

2007 jAwards

2007-12-27T09:10:00.000+11:00

*Updated*

It's the world's most (un-)coverted awards time. A celebration of all things (that fit into these categories) deserving of recognition within the jGeneration worldwide. There's been thrills, spills, laughs, smiles and tears. Do enjoy the 2007 jAwards.

Pop Culture

People who know me also know that when it comes to pop-culture, I'm not exactly up-to-date. In fact it may take over a year for a movie, artist or album to resonate or even hit my radar. I have become much better lately; I even had the Britney Spears CD before it came out. I am, however, but a very passive consumer of pop-culture. Enjoy the 2007 jAwards in Pop Culture (and yes, I know I'm the last person who should be talking about pop-music).

Best Album

Back to Black -- Amy Winehouse.
I adore Ms Winehouse very much, and Back to Black represents so much of what I love about music. A collection of modern soul songs, this album brings together simply fantastic (often humorous) lyrics with beautifully orchestration and musical arrangement. Every time I listen to this CD I feel good, I smile, I think what a treasure this lady is. Her personal life is a dear shame, as is the ruthless and unforgiving media attention, yet her music is how we should be judging her. And on that basis, Amy's quite a wonder.

You Know That I'm No Good (my favourite song of hers for so many reasons):
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=HFVM5pVTwkM

Tears Dry on Their Own:
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=I6LVGcIC1Tc

Best Debut Album

These Streets -- Paolo Nutini
Nutini's debut release has been a darkhorse of this year. Until my brother sent me a youtube link I'd never heard of this Scottish singer/songwriter. Within seconds I was in love however. Not only is he dreamy with his Scottish voice and Italian-descendant looks and name, his music is sublime. Sure most is that formulaic boy-meets-girl heterosexual stuff, yet it's very feel good. Makes me smile anyway.

I'm off to Scotland to have his babies. Back soon.

New Shoes:
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=0kg_KCsi6aw

These Streets (acoustic performance):
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=swIKGLqIitI

Jenny Don't Be Hasty:
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=ogepRpymMT4

Best Movie

La Vie en Rose
And who would disagree. This movie is simply a masterpiece, recounting the life of arguably France's best known musical exports. Everything about La Vie en Rose is magnificent -- the cinematography, the wonderful sets and costumes, the hair and make up, the locations. Even the very broad idea that is the narrative (and how the story is told) is extraordinarily complied, jumping from era to era, moment to moment, none of which is slightly random. Saving the best for last, however, the acting by Marion Cotillard I feel should go down in cinematic history. She was charged with playing the great 'Little Sparraow', a women whose life was anything but ordinary; and the end result was memorising.

I cried at many points during this movie, and the show stopper in the final minutes of the movie blew me away with emotion. Not just this year's movie, but one of the great cinematic feats.

La Marseilles (a young Edith Piaf sings the French national anthem):
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=X9neCCMsscw
Hymne A L'amour (an example of the sheer power this movie has in every aspect)
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=fvY3dHRn1IQ

Sports

There is always much ado in the world of sports. After all, it never stops. Below are the jAwards for Sporting Achievement. There were so many possibilities for every category some executive decisions had to be made. Disagreements are bound to be numerous (that is, assuming anyone reads this, and anyone that does has an opinion on sport). So make them in your comments.

Sports Person of the Year

Louis Hamilton
Obviously, there are many men and women who could have been labelled this. In fact I don't even watch Formula 1 racing yet so astonishing is this man's achievement in 2007 I fail to believe he could not be every sports magazine's top person.

Hamilton started the year as a rookie at McLaren Mercedes Racing, alongside reigning world champion Fernando Alonso. Clearly, he wasn't to follow the script -- that is, be Alonso's team bitch and let him win everything. Defying even the wildest of predictions Hamilton went on to become the F1 world champion in his first season. For that, you can only sit back and admire the young lad (though, he did beat the very good looking Spaniard, his team mate. Unforgivable).

Team of the Year

The Australian Cricket team. No need for explanation. Can anyone actually beat our boys?

Footballer of the Year

Kaka. Once again, no need for explanation. FIFA World Player of the Year.

Hottest Sportsman of the Year

Juan Martin Hernandez
Born in Buenos Airies in 1982, Hernandez is a rugby player for Stade Francais in Paris. I of course may be bias here. More than blonde hair/blue eye/defined-but-not-overly-masculine types I find attractive, there is something that makes me faint about Spanish/South American types with olive-shaded skin and longish hair. This Argentinean rugby player fits the mould nicely. Oh, and, apart from objectifying him, he was also part of the Argentinean team that made the semi-finals at the 2007 World Cup. Well done spunky.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/bd/Juanhernandez.JPG
http://www.dnamagazine.com.au/articles/news.asp?news_id=3974

Erection Causing Sports Car of 2007

Aston Martin DBS (V12)(*)
It was always going to be an Aston Martin. I must admit, I had to search around for a model which began production in 2007, however this does not detract from the DBS one bit.

In my opinion Aston Martin make the most beautiful sports cars in the world. And there are many contenders for this title (indeed this very award). I considered very carefully the Jaguar XKR (1), the flagship of BMW's M divison, the M6 (2) and Ferrari's 612 Scaglietti (3). Yet nothing beats the DBS.

Inherently, it's a sexy car. In fact, the award was based a lot on sex appeal. However there are other things that makes this English monarch the pick of the year. Under the hood, a 6L, V12 engine will produce some 600+ brake horse power. AM stipulate that its top speed is a mammoth 307 km/h, with an acceleration of 0-100km/h in 4.3 seconds. A six-speed manual gearbox and wheels which are worth more than my house, the DBS will set you back a cool A$312,000.

That's expensive! I hear you all shout. And who am I to argue. All I know is, I want one.

(*) http://www.allsportauto.com/photoautre/astonmartin/dbs/v12/2007_aston_martin_dbs_01_m.jpg
(1) http://img.netcarshow.com/Jaguar-XKR_2007_800x600_wallpaper_01.jpg
(2) http://www.tuningblogger.de/uploaded_images/AC_Schnitzer_ACS6_M6_2.jpg
(3) http://www.royal-auto.info/wp-content/uploads/2007/07/ferrari-612-scaglietti-sess.jpg

Politics

It has been a momentous year in Australian and global politics. 2007 saw the election of the Rudd Labor government, a boot being put straight into the Liberal Party machine, the Middle East hotting up (again) and some crazy crazy decisions. Gaffes have been a-plenty as have sound bites and pictures to make you laugh. Behold the jAwards in Politics.

Moment of the Year

The rise of St Maxine
Election 2007 will be remembered for a number of things: a return to power of the Australian Labor Party (ALP), a landslide victory for an opposition (5.8%), that raft of union officials jettisoned into parliament (Shorten, Combet... the list is too long), the election of a woman Deputy Prime Minister. Yet it will also be remembered for this: booting out a politician who had held his seat for 30 years (30 too many), and the Prime Ministership for 11 of these.

Some may think this bad winning. But here's what I say to you. Think back over the last 11 years, and how many times you've complained about John Howard. Just think. It's a lot isn't it. 2007 saw the end to this man's incumbency. And who do we have to thank for this? Saint Maxine McKew, one of Australia's leading journalists and now Parliamentary Secretary.

Good Riddance Howard. Enjoy the taxpayer-funded retirement.

Comical Moment of the Year

Family First? Or Sinful Acts First? You decide.
I hate Family First. They are the most horrible, evil, disgusting and discriminatory political organisation since One Nation. And even then, at least Pauline Hanson made no bones about it. Even that lot look like a bunch of harmless kitten-loving innocents (which they clearly weren't). So for the party that would happily burn lesbians on the street corners, it was to my great great joy that they were embarrassed on numerous occasions during the 2007 election campaign.

Embarrassment #1 was much to my annoyance initially, until the reaction filtered through. The candidate for Leichardt in North Queensland (my old electorate once upon a time) demanded that candidates nationwide declare their sexual identification before they stand. Silly woman. She received a slap on the wrist (but not before Family First showing their true colours) and Labor went on to smash all opponents in this seat, held by the Liberals by a margin of over 14%. Landslide I think is the word.

Embarrassment #2 I only learnt of as I was researching for this blog (yes, I actually did work to compile this, so comment at least!), and involved a debaucherous night out by candidate for the Sydney-based seat Prospect, Renee Shiberras. Renee was caught in very risqué poses, completely blind consuming some very alcoholic looking, brightly coloured drinks. Now, this isn't very Christian is it? Not after you've seen the photos anyway. I'd say this woman's been putting out before marriage. Thank God she wasn't elected (not for her acts, for her "views").

See also: http://andrewlanderyou.blogspot.com/2007/10/family-first-funsters-political.html

Embarrassment #3 is saving the best for last. "The Quah" (FFP candidate Andrew Quah) took three photos (two confirmed) of his penis, and emailed them around the country. For what reason? Only he knows. This became a national scandal and a serious(ly funny) irony for Family First. Quah also admitted to downloading pornography off the internet, something FFP is staunchly against.

So to Andrew Quah, with possible the world's smallest penis (see link below, small penis!) and the greatest embarrassment for the party I so loathe.

See also: http://andrewlanderyou.blogspot.com/2007/10/sunday-smackdown-foolish-family-first.html

The Malcolm Turbull Electoral Campaign Gaffe Award

To be shared in 2007: Malcolm Turnbull and Peter Garrett
Malcolm Turnbull -- resentfully, I like this guy. Yes, he's a rich bastard, yes he's a Tory, but he's also quite progressive. Turnbull has campaigned for things like gay rights for instance. He wanted to ratify Kyoto and I'm dubious as to whether he wanted that damn pulp mill. In any case, I laughed so hard at his election gaffe. Children are part of any campaign, yet if you hurt them, well, not even Bonito Mussolini himself would have done that.

Arise Malcolm -- presented the award for spinning a child out of a chair, making him cry and cry and making the Environment Minister go as white as paper (made from old growth forest in Tasmania). Congratulations now-Shadow Treasurer.

("do it again! do it again!")
http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=xPcfraD54dA

Lastly, Peter Garrett. Now, nobody should even consider sitting in the same room as Steve Price so much of a wanker is he. Not only did Garret think this was OK (to sit in the same room), he had a "brief and jocular conversation" with him. Those words I now find hysterical and quote them at will; though you DO NOT do this with a radio jock like Price. He's only out to get you (doesn't help when you aren't a member of some Right wing organisation). Well done Environment Minister Garrett (how weird) -- bravo.

International Basket Cases

Pakistan -- reason: Musharraf.
Iraq -- reason: duh.
Iran -- reason: they are potentially very dangerous and regional destabilisers.
North Korea -- reason: just really really silly.
Palestine -- reason: so, who's in charge here? Abbas? Haneer? Where is Palestine in fact?
Syria -- for blowing up Lebanon repeatedly. And shooting their politicians. Leave them alone!
Lebanon -- reason: see above. Syria keeps bullying them; but still a basket case.

Slowly getting on my nerves:

Hugo Chavez
Now, I'm supposed to love Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. He's a socialist, does things for the people, takes the fight to the Americans and won't lie down. He's a nation builder and believes in the good of big government. Yet why does he get to me? Because for all it's faults, I don't believe in winding back democracy. Wind back democracy, wind back accountability. All of which Chavez is embarking on. All I can say is the Venezuelans did a very good thing voting "no" in the recent referendum.

The Silly Silly Decision Award:

Former Pakistan Prime Minister Benizir Bhutto
Now, Benizir. Here's the deal. You're highly controversial in Pakistan. You decided to return to a country in turmoil and relative lawlessness. Should you hold a street parade in Karachi? No, you shouldn't. But you did it anyway didn't you.

Hundreds of people were killed as two bombs were let off following a street parade celebrating the long-awaited return of the exiled former PM. Despite her polarising nature, she thought "great! Let's hold a parade in the country's biggest city! What could possible go wrong!" Whatever it was, it did. Congratulations Benizir. Next time, just have a quiet one in. OK?

*
Benizir Bhutto was assassinated on 27 December 2007 in Rawalpindi, Pakistan. This is a huge tragedy for democracy and the nation at large. I wish to express my profound sympathies and deep regret at such events; it's a very sad act and one which may push the nation towards further volatility. Her legacy is a fearless campaign to bring a better life to her beloved compatriots. For this, she will be remembered.

Benizir Bhutto 1953-2007.
*

Man of the Year

Kevin Rudd
Rudd assumed the helm of an ALP machine in trouble. 12 months from an election, Howard and Costello as strong as ever, and Beazley just bumbling along aimlessly. Australian Labor had no leadership, had no purpose, had no prospect.

I was in Vietnam at the time, when I received a text message informing me that Kevin Rudd, and his running mate Julia Gillard, had successfully challenged for the top posts. Brilliant! I thought. And what a year this man made 2007.

Consistently up in the polls, Rudd breathed life into the ALP. He gave it a direction and made it palatable as a governing force. Some call it "me-tooism" -- I call it centrist/populist politics. Sure you may not like it (I'm not particularly fond of it myself), but that's the way of the world unfortunately. It was pioneered by Tony Blair and "New Labour" for those interested. And if they are, as cynics may put it, "exactly the same", you're much better off with a left-of-centre party in charge. That is, if you care about the welfare of the state and people.

Kevin07 led the agenda for the entire year, not even put onto the defensive by a BIG spending budget. It was a year too perfect for Rudd, but one created largely by himself. He won an election from opposition (with a landslide swing), ousted the sitting Prime Minister, and becomes the first PM from Queensland in some years.

Now the pressure's on. He must deliver. There are high hopes of this government, and I feel that anything less than solid results and movement will be punished by the electorate.

Kevin Rudd -- the jGeneration's Man of the Year.

2007: jGeneration Rising

2007-12-22T14:39:00.000+11:00

It has indeed been a most fantastic, wondrous, amazing year. Not all things have been good, certainly. There are many occasions I think back on where I've lay on my bed with a modern form of Leonard Cohen in tears over something. Yet at the same time I've transformed (not fundamentally, but parts of me have drastically changed -- for the better I think). From the moment I sucked up all the courage and walked into the MQN lunch (later becoming the Sexuality Officer myself), to finding a person whom I sincerely adored but with who it wasn't meant to be (yet still having that altogether fulfilling experience and learning curve), to nights at the Peel, to my first concert (yes, like virginity-shedding it took for ever) and to making great friends.

2007 has been a kind year for me. The year where I progressed so much, and absorbed so many new experiences I never saw coming. The great thing about life is, I believe, those little things that were just unforeseen if you trace history.

I started this year with a resolution. Tacky I know. But have I fulfilled these? Three hundred and sixty-five days later, I think I can safely say I have. God knows what 2008 will bring to the jGeneration (or rather, what the jGeneration will bring to 2008). But whatever it is, I'm sure it won't be uninteresting.

Arise Mr Leckie, the Jury Have a Judgement

2007-12-05T22:30:00.000+11:00

I should be studying. Course content will not, no matter how many times I've tried, instill itself in my brain. However there is little really to revise -- exam today and new content barely touched on. So enjoy a blog, a philosophical one which makes no sense and goes round in circles.

The last week or so I've undergone a transformation. My eyes opened wider, horizons broadened; my knowledge base has expanded and I see so many potential opportunities that may open up. I've met new wonderful and interesting people, encountered unusual experiences with established friends and extremely importantly, have come to embrace myself.

For those who know me, they know the chronic lack of confidence. The low self-esteem. The lack of self-belief. In but eight days I've changed this. I've started to feel very good about myself, and am holding my head up higher than ever before. A good deal of this I credit to a wonderful person I have become friends with, and who has opened my eyes to just how different we all are. She has made me appreciate not only that absolutely no one is better than the next person, but make me realise that I too am pretty special. I should stop and pause, think for a minute. Look at myself in a mirror -- embrace that. It's a pretty special being, despite what others think and say.

There seemingly is a paradox however. The people who are not to judge me under any circumstances are my friends. I certainly would never contemplate judging one of mine -- by its very nature, this would not be a conciliatory act. Yet this is happening to me.

Why, I ask myself. What gives them the right? Why are they allowed to latch on to a choice of mine, to something I've done, to a preference or position, and use that directly against me? "Friend" would in this context perhaps prove a contradiction in terms. Only today, someone I've known for quite a while hurled critical and very hurtful judgements at me. In my good nature I tell people things -- I'm a very honest person and trust others. Yet things I've disclosed have been covered in cement and thrown directly at my head.

It hits me, and it hurts.

But it also makes me stop, and think. What sort of person does this. I'm not sure. But one thing is for certain, it's not what I'd call a friendly act.

I feel good, however there is something lurking in the shadows. That is the interesting issue of judgement being hurled at me. For the way I choose to live no less. Grossly and hugely unfair in my opinion.

There were two other things I wanted to blog about, namely approval and jealousy. But until next time, here's to getting along peeps.

And Then There was Rudd -- Kevin07

2007-11-25T16:44:00.000+11:00

Quite literally, for as long as I can remember John Howard has been Prime Minister, Peter Costello Treasurer, the Liberals on the Government benches. Yet here we are in 2007, a magnificent Labor victory, a new direction for the future, and a wonderful chance for this country to amend the ills that 11 long years of conservative rule have brought.

I should be gracious in defeat. However I won't. Finally, we rid ourselves of a Prime Minster who has given this country a bad name. Who has tarnished our image world wide, crippled education and workers' rights and who, ironically, has seen 5 interest rate rises in 3 years. And don't get me started on the arrogant bastard that is Costello. Good bye Prime Minster that never was. I was marginally ashamed of being Australian at times under Howard. I stopped singing the national anthem for example. You may think I'm being harsh in this assessment, but take a good long look at some of the issues Howard has delivered a monumental cock-up.

For the Libs, this will be an interesting period. I'm hoping for crippling infighting and factionalism. Perhaps Alexander Downer as Opposition Leader... again. Imagine that. Though if I were a Liberal myself, I'd want to see Turnbull elected leader. The outgoing Environment Minister would provide a moderate, progressive angle to the Liberal Party and one which would provide them with their best electoral chances. The other option is to elect Tony Abbot and swing to the Right. A viable option, but unlikely. Not given that Rudd brought Labor to the Centre and successfully won the election. Whatever the case, the Liberals must wake up to holding around 25% of the nations 600 state and federal electorates. They have no power base, they have dwindling membership, they have no agenda and when you think about it, what actually does the Liberal Party of Australia stand for anymore.

For the ALP, this is a historic chance. Rudd has earned the votes of many people who might not vote Labor again. He must work to keep the nation powering forward, but also to help those he said he would, and implement the policies he took to the election. In the gap between starting this blog and now finishing it, I'm becoming increasingly worried and nervous about Rudd's agenda set against my hopes and own ideology. Will he reform gay rights? Chances are he won't. Will he say "sorry" to the Indigenous population? I'm not so sure now. Those in the media are saying the Left (which I clearly belong) will be disappointed (especially on social/moral matters). Here's to hoping they're wide of the mark. In any case, and a highly unlikely position from a politically astute individual such as myself, better the ALP devil than that of the Tories.

Kevin07. Let it begin.

--

Election by numbers:

13,645,073 -- number of eligible citizens
150 -- federal seats in the House of Representatives
76 -- seats in the Senate
43.5% -- primary vote to Labor
83 -- seats won by the ALP (and a predicted 86)
5.8% -- swing towards Labor
20+ -- seats falling to the new Government
1 -- very happy man who voted for the first time to see his party win
68 -- the number of individual boxes this happy man numbered in voting below the line in the Senate.

Gay: 24x7, 365 days per year: Thinkin' Bout Soul in a Whole New Way

2007-11-11T16:21:00.000+11:00

Today marks 12 months, 365 days, since I announced to the world that I am, in fact, largely (wholly) a flaming homosexual. Of course it has been almost exactly one-and-a-half years since I came out to myself. Which ever way you look at it, the journey from "uh oh..." to debaucherous scenes at assorted gay clubs across Melbourne has been swift and eventful. It has been a most interesting, and mostly wonderful year for me -- in so many ways. In just 12 months I feel like I've become a completely different person, while remaining fundamentally the same. I've learnt a lot about myself, about others, about how to behave and act, and how to have more confidence in myself and self-belief .

In this blog I want to mention some of the most important things, learning curves and people that 2007 (the UN's Year of the Mo) has thrown at me. I will desperately try to keep it short and to the point. Though I should mention, writing anything less than 2,500 words for me seems pointless.

One year ago I sat on the veranda, under a hot blue sky on the picturesque Sunshine Coast, and announced that I was gay. This was the culmination of months of planning and thinking -- the idea of not coming out though not even crossing my mind. I knew this would not be easy, but I knew my family were an accepting bunch. Nothing prepared me for the reactions I was met with however. These are documented elsewhere in NjG; suffice to say I feel I have the best family a boy who kisses boys could ask for. Fear, apprehension, anger did not eventuate, rather I was met with smiles, hugs perhaps bemusement it took me so long to figure it out; overall, nothing but love.

I can't help but feel if everyone's family had the same accepting and free-minded nature mine do, there'd be no need to come out. There'd be no need to differentiate. There'd be no horror stories. After all, we are all humans, we all bleed, and we all cry. My family -- the most wonderful bunch of individuals.

Relationships have provided a major learning curve in the jGeneration. Of course I had never had a real relationship until this year, when two greeted me. Both were indeed short; both with very different people. Yet I took away important lessons from each, about myself and about human nature. Perhaps the greatest realisation is that I'm crazy -- I run high with emotions, am very intense, and can get carried away. Perhaps I could tone down the unnecessary parts? Not a case of not being myself by any measure, just a case of resisting temptation for a bit.

In davidlim style, music lyrics are appropriate here to augment my waxing. My favourite artist James Morrison perhaps sums up what I've learnt about myself:

Sometimes I feel so full of love,
It just comes spilling out,
It's uncomfortable to see,
I give it away so easily.

Lastly, it has definitely been a year of good friendships for me. A year of building on past friendships, and notably here with a most wonderful person Amanda. We went to school together, and she is one of the kindest persons in the world. I've never told you, but I do love the times we've spent whether at Q&A, fabrik, drinking lattes or sitting out the back drinking. Hopefully there are many more in the future. There are many other people I've known for many years with whom I feel our friendships have also grown. I have also remembered you.

It has also been a year of friendship-making. And I think of two very special people. At the start of the year I decided that it was important to go and meet some other queers. Being the jAmes I am, this meant summoning up all my confidence to march myself to the queer room for an MQN get together. I did, and I haven't looked back (in fact becoming the Queer Officer for 2008). There I met, and became friends with Dave -- a kind individual who I spend many happy hours dancing away with at the Peel. Your friendship is so immensely important to me, and I treasure it. From bitching sessions to grabbing arses and blaming the other.

And then there was Dan. A guy I thought was an emo when I first met him, to finding he was a hugely sweet, kind and caring person, I value Dan's friendship for a number of reasons. There are lots and I'm not going to itemise. Though I always love whatever we do together. Smashing glasses. Judging. Going to hell very very quickly. Playing games at the Peel. You have so many of the best qualities you could ever ask for in a mate.

"Is this a gay blog?
I believe it is. So we'd better leave quickly... don't make eye contact or go upstairs."

One year. Lessons learnt, people met, relationships had, sex(uality) explored (I now think too many times), confidence boosted and friendships made and built upon. 2007 has shaped up to be my favourite year of the 20 so far. I look forward to 2008 with much enthusiasm.

Keep on gaying it forward people.

From London with Booze

2007-11-06T20:02:00.000+11:00

Once again it was a weekend of lessons learnt. Though it is now Tuesday, for many it is just the end of a 4 day Melbourne Cup looong weekend. We learnt some key lessons out dancing away to a changed, but perfectly acceptable Peel. (Just when I intend to stop writing out lessons is unclear, please accept this as a form of blog until I get sick of it.)

They may be good looking, they may have given glances on numerous occasions, but never discount drunkenness

After the previous weekend's lesson in bad sex, I'd gone off the idea of man-on-man relations in general. Having been all cleared of sexually transmitted nasties, it was only a responsible move in any case. Stepping out onto the dance floor of the Peel, however, I was met with what I translated as a rather inviting glare. Cutting a long story short, I FINALLY built up the courage to go and talk to the guy. Stuart was, in generous terms, completely pissed. Unable to hold a conversation... no, unable to construct a sentence. Bad luck jAmes. Move away, quickly (he won't know any different), and resume your night.

Good looking - yes. Drunk - heavily. But at least I went and spoke to him.

jAmes vs. alcohol = 1-1.

Never discount how chasing the (unknown at the time) drunk will make for a weird situation

It just can.

Coke and raspberry really translates to sugar mixed with red sugar in syrup form

I have two of the best friends a guy could ever ask for

This needs no explanation. You know who you are, your names start with D (except Dave's Asian name, which starts with an S, then a J). I love and treasure you both, your company, your words, the time spend judging/bitching and progressing ever quicker towards hell, and your friendship. But I swear to god if any of you pulls the 'we both work full time why don't you' trick on me heads will roll. To cock suckers and quick fucks in the future.

Might I add one lesson learnt from only yesterday: never be lazy with seen exam questions. It will end in embarrassment. To three years down, to two weeks holiday, to another course fast approaching (perhaps two). And congratulations to Dave for completing the wonder that is an Arts degree. You can now analyse, construct arguments and evaluate. Not to mention the skills to bullshit for 2,500 words about something so vague and disconnected with the world it bears absolutely no relevance at all. I know this. I'm still studying it.

Peace out gay lovers.

The Education Process

2007-10-28T22:00:00.000+11:00

I'm wiped. It has been a long weekend and I need to sleep for many weeks. Unfortunately I can't due to pressing matters that must be attended to, though it would be welcome.

What began on Thursday with getting plastered at Fabrik ended with falling asleep on my bus home on Sunday morning. All together, quite fun really. But I learnt some valuable lessons this weekend (I learn lessons every day, but I'm blogging this collection... just for fun). So enjoy the education process of a 20 year old gay man, whose emotions go crazy when he's tired and who can be quite flirtatious when it probably isn't wise.

Sometimes, sex just isn't all its cracked up to be

Indeed, sex is fun. I have no issues with it at all and I like it. But some people are atrociously bad at it. Not just unsure, maybe a bit clumsy -- these things can be lived with. But innately bad. Really these people should be told that they're horrible. Perhaps an assessment card or evaluation form. Anything. A shame we have to experience these things first hand. The rubbish shag was the person who inspires the lesson below also.

Bad kissers must be sent to correctional facilities

Simple as that. Bad kissing should be punished. It can be such a wonderful activity to engage in, but some just don't get the basic fundamentals. The best kisser I've met is a lad named Matt. Very attractive person -- he became a bit of a sexual fantasy recently (why I have no idea... I haven't seen him in months). Must catch up with him again... where's his number...

Tight grey jeans are awesome

Again, another simple lesson. Tight is good. Grey is good. I like on me, I like on others.

The renewal at the Peel is making it suck arse

Which is still what happens upstairs (soon to be moved... as of next week), but the new direction of music is shite. I hate it. The Peel had a niche -- it wasn't X-Change. And while I'm not complaining about the new abundance of blonde haired young men, a 4 min pop song doesn't go for 12 mins! And too many straight people shouldn't be allowed. Go play at Billboards, OR you have to go play upstairs. Incidentally, however, I was loving the free samples of... whatever that alcohol was. Mmmm, sweet and intoxicating.

Spin the bottle will attract funny looks when you're standing in a corner upstairs at the Peel

Though Dan was the best performer with his dare, I managed to embarrass a gentleman so badly when I asked him whether this was a gay club. (That was my dare.) He was zipping his pants up after receiving oral sex in public. I bet he just died when I confronted him to ask him whether everyone here was, in fact, gay.

Drinking too much beer will make you drunk

Not rocket science, but invaluable. After god knows how many beers (and, when did I start drinking beer by my own accord?) on Thursday night, I was so trashed. I think I'm probably still drunk from it. Good fun though. Nothing like a bit of drinking.

Despite being really really drunk, I still don't have balls

I'm referring to "Kevin07", from a previous blog. Really it was a cute guy at Fabrik I wanted wearing a gayed up Kevin07 t-shirt. I'm thinking more belief in myself is the cure to this one. Bastard. He was highly cute too. I bet he wouldn't have fit into lesson #1 and I never would had to have written it.

I accept that my sexual taste in men starts at blonde hair

I once never really accepted this as true. But, oh well, everyone likes something in someone else. A fetish really.

No matter how old you get, you will always form silly little things for people

There are little crushes, then there are irrational little crushes you probably shouldn't have. The latter is one I've had for quite some time for a quick, intelligent funny guy. So harmless. I enjoy it. I enjoy it because it exists in a state of impossibility. Always the things we can't have.

(*If you're reading, and think this may be you, why not leave a comment. It's not someone I've dated and they're male. If you guess right, you get your pick between briefcase A and briefcase B for your grand prize.)

And so there it is. A weekend that interrupted exams and assignments, was time to complete an application form requiring so much evidence a Magistrate would be pleased, and trying do desperately (though in vein) not to spend money.

Until the next lesson arises, gay it forward fellow gays, confused individuals and gay-friendly straighties.

An Email to the Peel

2007-10-28T21:58:00.001+11:00

This was an email I sent to the Peel. I'm unhappy at many of the changes that are going in, particularly the shite music they are now playing. Don't mess with pop. A song goes for 4 mins, not 12.

This may seem slightly unusual, however I wish to express my views on recent changes at the Peel. The new renovations are certainly a welcome addition, and the Peel will always have a special something about it. However the reason my friends and I love coming on the weekends was simple: it was completely different to the Commercial Road clubs. Increasingly the Peel is going that way. It once had a niche with its pop music and carefree attitude, and this seems to have gone. DJs better suited to Commercial Road have taken away the Peel’s niche and it’s becoming just another gay club. There is little to distinguish it. You can get dance music anywhere, but you can’t get cheesy pop music in many places.

I understand that renewal is the essence to business. But to take away a business’s heart is not always the best thing to do. I realise that this email will amount to nothing, especially seeing as how busy the Peel is and how much money must be generated.

Pop/retro music made the Peel about the most fun gay club in Melbourne. We used to leave Commercial Road to go to the Peel specifically for the music and less pretentious nature. I hope that the last few times have just been anomalies. Dance music is generic; keep the Peel’s pop music and demographic core and make it distinct.

Thank you.

10 Reasons Why I Should Never Drink Again

2007-10-26T12:27:00.001+10:00

1. The morning sunshine I like so much becomes so evil.

2. Noises are everywhere you look, and everyone seems to start mowing the lawn. In synchronisation.

3. Drunken SMS messaging. Sincere apologies in advance.

4. I'm terribly vague the day after and can't concentrate.

5. Alcohol is so bad for your body; which contradicts all the good things I do to it.

6. People don't become more attractive.

7. I may dance more, but I still have no confidence (damn "Kevin07"... I'll get him next time --he was cuuuuute)

8. I come very close to doing things I really really shouldn't with people I really really shouldn't (I'm talking close friends).

9. I'm drunk for ages after (like now, I'm still a bit tipsy, 12 hours later), and can't go to the gym, walk straight, study and so forth.

10. (Blatant) Whore.*

---
*Let me attribute Blatant Whore to Dave, whose term it is.

Move it on up

2007-10-23T23:22:00.000+10:00

Today's blog is merely a graphical montage of some of the thoughts that have passed through my mind in the past 24 hours. Enjoy.

Today's song has been "Move it on" by M People. Why? Because I'm moving on up, you're moving on out, time to break free, love aint gonna stop me.

That's exactly what's going on.

The election was also on my mind today. As my radio wakes me up in the morning, I'm confronted with politics even from bleary-eyedness that is me in the early hours.

I'm hoping for a Rudd victory to make this a fantastic Kevin07. But it's going to be really close, and Howard is an extremely good politician. Has anyone noticed how negative the Liberals have been?

Zac Efron. Does this need explaining? He's up near the top on my christmas wish list.

I've also been singing songs from "Hairspray" non-stop for about a month.

He's got something I won't return.

The nuclear family. This is something I never grew up with, and which has become largely fragmented in recent decades. I think about this most days now as my last assignment is on the formation of families in late-modernity. My central argument is that this hegemonic model is no longer in the position it once was, and families are characterised by much diversity.

This is meant to be a personal trainer, which has been occupying some of my hours. Long story. Not for here.

The "journalism" in DNA is so so bad. But I like the pictures.

The law. More specifically, an LLB. Something I need? A reality I face?

I love Rufus. There's no need to explain why I might be thinking of him throughout my day.

Jason Mraz -- there hasn't been a time yet when "Bella Luna" hasn't made me weak with its beautiful musicality and lyrics.

One needs a jPod to play these wonderful artists on. I may have spend $500 I don't really have on mine, but it was worth it.

Nothing makes me laugh like the Chaser

There are of course countless more things that pass my mind every day. I'm more complicated than my exterior paints out. This graphical collection also leaves out all the individual people I think about every day. Friends, family, I love you all.

A Sunny Moon Rising Again

2007-10-15T00:31:00.000+10:00

With every passing day I feel a new found strength. A new found desire to grab life by the throat, to turn new corners, to meet new people, to try new things and to breathe in the fresh air of my home city. It's the time to stop worrying about the past, stop dwelling on it, stop thinking that what has been is where I need to be. It's time to look forward, time to look upward, time to look to the big scary future. Sure, sometimes this is easier said than done, but it's my personal truth, and one I intend to uphold.

As to now I've discovered that I can move past things pretty quickly. Indeed even after a two month relationship has collapsed, at just two weeks I feel like easily the worst is behind me. My gym is once again full of eye-candy, people in couples are a more tolerable, sad music is not so bad and I've found myself being far too flirty for my own good. Perhaps this is strength of character? Who knows. All I know is that from the melodrama-mania of the second post down (below) I'm now sorting though the good and bad and filing it all away in to the confines of memory.

A new hair colour, a new hair style, nice sexy new eyebrows, a new blog, potentially a new government, a new direction with study and job prospects -- why sit and feel sorry for myself? I've got nothing to feel sorry for. I've got nothing to sit around thinking about. I've got nothing that should be weighing me down.

It is time for the jGeneration to go back to the old school groove (that is, my normal state of mind and personality), and take this forward. This is not to say that I'm forgetting, that I'm repressing or side lining things in the corner of my mind. This is also not to say that I'm about to forget my past relationship -- I learnt a lot about myself, I have a lot of good memories I even fell in love for the first time. But it's time to hold my head high and be proud (and this blog is certainly not the beginning of it).

I've said it before and I will say it once more for good measure: I am jAmes, love me for who I am. Because I won't change for you or anyone.

Gay it forward my friends.

So Long, hey hey hey

2007-10-09T14:53:00.000+10:00

Day of insanity #8

I am, quite simply, going mad. I have not slept well for two weeks, my eating habits have been thrown out, I haven't been to the gym in a few days, I considered eating a burger today and I'm starting to get stress-related acne. Why mad? Because I have a thing called a work ethic... it means I spend a LOT of hours trying desperately to secure a degree that will never land me a job. Sometimes I think I put too much work in, other times I feel guilty for mish-mashing something together (today's politics presentation as an example).

Lack of sleep makes me a number of things, primarily it enhances my womanly qualities. For instance, it makes me extremely moody which is liable to swing at any moment. I'd watch out if I were you. It also kills my concentration. So you can imagine what I'm like when I need to finish a paper, and I can't concentrate, but can't go to bed, but can't write anything, but will feel guilty for sleeping.

Madness. Utter madness. And when I think it's all over at the end of next week? One more essay, two more exams. One word describes it: shite. Leave me alone! I want to dance somewhere in a raspberry-lemonade induced fit of hyperactivity.

I haven't been this tired since I flew to India and didn't sleep for many thousands of hours. It was made worse by the fact that (seriously) I didn't put my window-visor down as we were over Thailand because I thought the plane would crash. I was 18 at the time.

All this sleepiness, however, has made men seem more attractive. That or there were just some good looking people around me all day. Let's go with the latter. In fact, sleepy makes me more apathetic, so they must have been good looking. I'm thinking man near our table for lunch, two gay guys at Flinders Street, man on train from uni (sort of a bad-boy vibe about him) and blondie on (of all trains) the Werribee train home. Not to mention gay man at Clayton, guy in my tute with awesome white Converse (who also did the presentation today... I'd new media him), the exchange student who sat next to me on the bus and the various assortment of blonde hair/blue eyed people I tend to find attractive. (Not forgetting Dave either. I quite like good looking people -- I want to be one myself, but we can all hope.

Further to my tired, crazy, insane man-noticing mindset, I realised today two things. One: a guy I never went out with, but had slightly more than casual sex has been persisting in my head. Why is a legitimate question. He has a new phase every 50 seconds, usually polar opposites like drugs-detox, alcohol-tea, wreck body-go to hippy commune. It's so wrong on so many levels, so bad in so many ways. But it's a harmless case of sexual desire and nothing more -- from his V-body to strong shoulders to eyes that just look through you and make you slur words. A case of, to quote Dave, tapping that. I mean I already have a number of times, but it was fun. Seems we all have interesting experiences with people who share this name.

Second: I've just become aware of my flirting. I don't normally do it, but now I know when I am. Uh-oh.

Two completely nonsensical observations for the day.

Let me finish by saying that if it weren't for So Many Nights by the Cat Empire, I'd be clinically crazy by now. Favourite song: No Mountain (and I don't normally pick sad songs). Buy this album and I promise, you will not regret it.

Enjoy my craziness in blog form. Why stop? It's amusing if nothing else.

Gay it forward peeps,

jL.

The Hollow Encasing that is my Body

2007-10-02T11:06:00.000+10:00

They often say 'it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all'. I tend to agree with this saying, however it glosses over the key part: 'and lost'.

I'm sitting at my computer desperately trying not to cry. It's not working very well. Not so long ago I started liking a special boy, one who became increasingly important to me, one I started going out with and proudly calling my boyfriend. In my life I don't think I've had such a time with somebody before. Getting physically and emotionally close to him was among the best things ever. Where everything seems to be mundane, monotonous, where days fold into the next with seamless transition, Michael was there to break this, and make life simply worth living. He made me happy, made me feel wanted, made me feel cared for.

Michael is the first man I've ever loved. For me, love is not a throw away term or expression, not something everyone can have for everyone else. However I genuinely felt it -- I felt for him in a way I haven't felt before. Which is why being let go has been the hardest thing I've had to hear. Being told that my love cannot be returned has torn my heart to pieces. I know I don't deserve someone who doesn't feel the same way, but that doesn't make this easier, because I hoped that if anyone was to love me for who I am it would be Michael.

Sometimes I wish I could turn the emotion down a notch. Sometimes I wish I could swap emotional pain for physical pain or just become numb. Because right now I'm hurting so incredibly much. I haven't stopped the tears since starting this blog, I haven't stopped the tears since I left Dan this morning. And I know it's going to take long time to move away from this. It's not everyday a freshly-outed 20 year old loses someone so important. That's a good thing, but it doesn't make the times it happens easy.

I have no choice but to pull myself together and carry on with life. But for now I want to listen to desperately sad music on my iPod and cry till there's nothing left. Given my time over again I still would have kissed him that night and still would have gone through an amazing 2 months. My only regret is not telling him how I truly felt, for reasons of fear I'm sure. I never told him over the normal course that I loved him. And that I truly regret.

I'm off to drain myself... or certainly what's left. There isn't a need for any other emotion and little else matters at this time. My poor heart is broken, and there isn't much in this world I wouldn't do to change that.

---
And to Dan, whom the next blog was supposed to be about instead, you always give me strength to be myself. You always make me proud of who I am. For that, you're the best friend a guy could ever ask for.

"On a Night Like This...

2007-09-15T05:29:00.000+10:00

This morning's blog has no Earth shattering predictions, political commentary or opinion. It very much lives up to the new title of the blog -- this is a Note from the jGeneration, an insight into the workings of an often crazy mind. Moreover, it lives up to the new subtitle: How Gay Can One Man Be?

I have just returned from Dave's 20th birthday bash, which was a very nice affair. I can't say classy, but that's what happens when you end up at the Peel. It was nice catching up with Linh (with whom I spend Monday's complaining about the boringness of classes) and Paul (who shares my love for the Indian Subcontinent, its food, culture and spirituality). I can't thank Joe enough for giving me two lifts in one night (and seriously, he has to be a contender for Most Adorable Person). It was especially nice to catch up (albeit it briefly) with Dan, who it seems like I never see anymore. I knew I liked ChoBu, and recommended it, for a reason -- the food was nice, and atmosphere particularly friendly for a special man's departing of the teenage years.

The continuation of the night saw Michael and I spilt ways... almost literally. He went to Witness Protection, I went to Commercial Road (for the geographers among you, they're in opposite directions). I remember having one very pleasant experience in that part of the world, yet subsequent times have often left me no desire to return. Tonight's was a very different experience, an 'uncharted water' if you like. It was a feeling deep within that I've not previously come across -- unprecedented, and utterly draining.

Every moment I danced to the same song played over and over and over, my mind was firmly stuck on one man. That man is Michael -- a person I incessantly thought of so affectionately, which progressed to a very strong desire to simply hold him. Not so much kiss, not so much dance, but hold, and seek comfort in. In short, more than anything in the world, I wanted Michael there to hold me tight.

This want, however, was an impossibility. It was not going to happen no matter how much I wanted it to. And this made me genuinely sad. I don't get a genuine sadness often -- usually it's anger, frustration, panic, or just feeling down about something. But I was sad. There was nothing Michael could have done, I could have, or anyone else for that matter. I eventually succumbed to this, stopped pretending to dance, and sat on top of a disused speaker. I was done. No more dancing -- I didn't feel like it.

Moving to the Peel cheered me up a little. There's nothing like a little 80s/90s pop music to make you feel good. But I still had that empty feeling inside me. Something was missing from my night, someone more specifically. I felt quite hollow, and wanted one thing.

FREAK! You may scream. And indeed it may seem weird to the jReader that I should feel this way. So sappy! Smile!

This is the first time such feelings have shrouded me, so it is not a common occurrence. And I'm sure it won't become one -- after all, it's not like I carry Michael everywhere I go. It shows something though: there is a man who I find to be the most special thing ever created. A person who makes me feel good no matter what, and a person whose presence I cherish (whether buying clothes, watching movies, dancing to crazy music, or just in peace and quiet).

Uncharted water? Most certainly. I've never experienced those longing feelings like this morning before, and more broadly, have never felt this way about a soul. Six weeks down and it's still as exciting and new and fresh as that wonderful moment in August. Remembering this makes me smile, and is my que to go to sleep.

... just want to be together, on a night like this"

Franz! Bring Me My Powdered Wig, I'm Off to the Concert

2007-09-11T23:08:00.000+10:00

Much of my day showed promise. I actually woke up early, was saved from being literally the only person in my lecture, had a positive consultation with my politics tutor, and discussed saving red heads, and how the ginger Jewish boy in my tute was probably not open to the idea. I like this tutor in a different way to other university tutors. She isn't threatening, hates reading, swears, and is generally a very likable person.

From this point on, however, the stress kicked in and my day progressively sunk very low. I am very stressed about uni work at the moment, which makes me very tired and leads me to long hours in front of my computer screen. In turn, this makes me more tired and grumpy (something I do with distinction), more stressed and so the cycle goes. This, incidentally, is horrible for my skin. I ate too much cake and began to feel sick; and on top of this, I had a spillage in my room which was nothing short of spectacular. Lifting my drink bottle up, at about waist height, it fell (the lid coming off) spilling on my carpet and splashing an astonishing distance.

On top of all of this (noting that the above has me hating everything), I was soundly embarrassed after I attempted a romantic gesture on Facebook. It has occurred to me (now) that Spanish words are not meant in a literal sense, and are contextualised. Where I attempted to say I liked my boyfriend very much, this is not how it read -- the words in bold were, shall we say, emphasised. Red-faced (not so good with blonde hair), I panicked and hoped the evidence could be covered. Three people (all Spanish speakers... just to further the embarrassment), however, began the fallout. I feel the greatest twat there ever was, and it left me vowing never to write Spanish ever again.

Left feeling throughouly awful, I needed a release or something to calm me. My choices were: go out and stand in the middle of the street and scream; or listen to my iPod. I chose the latter. Utterly sick of pop music, however, I sought salvation in classical music.

Classical music is a love of my life, a passion in fact. I don't indulge in it everyday; nevertheless, I cannot help but love the rich and colourful sounds. It transports me to a world I'd love to have been an aristocrat in -- with wigs, tight pants, lovely (and highly unique) clothes, beautiful buildings and, of course, beautiful music. I think Vienna, Berlin, and giant houses with my servants tending to my every desire. I take my, erm, male "assistant" to pop music concerts (composed by chart toppers such as Haydn and Mozart) and return to my chateau for a feast (where I can get fat because that's the norm of health), and take my "assistant" to bed where there are no nasty STI's.

But in my ordinary life of uni work and peasant lifestyle, where I wear $60 Converse shoes and $90 jeans from Just Jeans, classical music makes me happy. It relaxes me. It is not a mindless exercise of listening to the same beats, with similar lyrics, and the height of musicality being a key change. I could listen to classical music forever and could chat endlessly about its works, sounds and composers. I can't sustain a conversation about anyone in the Top 10, but start me on the polyphonic melodies of the Baroque period, or rampant nationalism in Romanticism (Wagner anyone?), and I may not stop.

I don't feel elitist in saying that music from the 17th-20th century is, quite simply, infinitely superior to anything proffered since. Yes, I like Christina, indeed I have a degree of respect; but I could never share that same degree with her as, say, Tchaikovsky -- my favourite composer. It's not elitist as everyone can appreciate, listen and consume classical music: CDs are cheap, literature is plentiful and obtainable, and concerts are cheaper than any pop music artist.

Alas, at 11pm, I feel reinvigorated. The leading men of 300 years of popular music have pulled me from my rut. My ears are sore from my headphones, and I've single-handedly conducted my very own Berlin Philharmonic from my room (anyone can conduct, and it's great fun... but highly embarrassing if you're caught). There is nothing like a fine composition from a fine composer, and I think everyone should take even just a few minutes to appreciate the rich musical legacy we have in our culture.

Franz!... Part II: A Crash Course In Baroque, Classical and Romantic Music

2007-09-11T23:00:00.000+10:00

The term "classical music" is a generic phrase, which often refers to music composed from the 1600s to the late 1800s. In fact, there were three distinct musical periods within this time frame: Baroque, Classical and Romantic. The composers and famous works that are noted below are personal favourites, and I'm sure you will like them too.

Baroque
Flourishing from the 1600 to 1750, Baroque music developed as distinctly and characteristically passionate, based on major and minor scales (over modes), and rich in instrumentation and chordal grounding. Listening to Baroque music can be a task, as it is highly polyphonic in texture -- that is to say, there are melodies, counter-melodies, chord progressions, bass lines and so forth -- with many layers to the final composition. The unique sound from this period is the harpsichord, though the violin also became an important expressive instrument.

Favourite Composers
* Johann Pachelbel
* Johann Sebastian Bach
* Antonio Vivaldi

Famous Works
* Canon & Gigue (Pachelbel)
* Four Seasons (Vivaldi)
* Canon & Fugue in C minor (Bach)
* Bandinerie (Bach)

Classical
Music composed from 1750-1820. This era centred on the capital city of the Austrian-Hapsburg Empire, Vienna, and has produced some of the most famous and notable compositions ever. Orchestras expanded, music adopted a certain grandeur and melodies became more refined. The piano is among the most important innovations of the classical era and in general, classical sounds are 'bigger' and more 'expansive' than their Baroque counterparts.

Famous Composers
* Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
* Franz Joseph Haydn
* Ludwig van Beethoven
* Jules Massenet

Famous Works
* Symphony #40 in G minor (Mozart)
* Trumpet Concerto in E flat (Haydn)
* Piano Sonata #8 -- Pathetique (Beethoven)
* Bacarolle (from "La Gaiete Parissiene") (Jacques Offenbach)
* Meditation (from "Thais") (Massenet)

Romantic
Romantic music is part of a cultural movement stressing emotion, individualism and imagination. it was a rebellion against the neoclassicalism of the 18 century and is defined by its virtuosity. Composers became artists serving to please public audiences, and rapid urbanisation increased the demands on romantic music performance. This era is marked from classic symphonies to piano sonatas to the interesting (if nothing else) era of impressionism (not one of my favourites). Indeed, my favourite composer, Peter Illich Tchaikovsky derives from this very era.

Famous Composers
* P. I. Tchaikovsky
* Richard Wagner
* Sergey Prokofiev

Famous Works
* Swan Lake
* The Nutcracker
* Piano Concerto in B flat minor
* Sleeping Beauty

These works and composers are treasures, and I hope that at least one reader digs through their music collection, sifts through their iPod, or downloads one or more of these compositions. Listen for the sounds, the layers, the instruments. Listen for the passion, note the imagery. Close your eyes and appreciate what has been left to us by the great men who founded modern music.

jAmes and the Chamber of Secrets

2007-09-05T12:41:00.000+10:00

We all know it, it just took me to write it. We live in a world of unspoken words, untold secrets, concealed feelings and hidden sentiments. At every minute of every day, every person is hiding something they want to let free, yet they cannot. This may be anything from "I don't like this song" to "I think your boyfriend (or girlfriend) is a twat". Then there's the Queen of all secrets: "I'm gay". If you're my family, a swift "I know" will ensue, and dinner will be tended to rather quickly, yet my point is the same: everyone is hiding something.

In truthfulness, this blog has no point. It's a mere social observation. But it is often these things that drive me crazy. There are countless things I want to say, yet cannot, for whatever reason. Is this a pathology of society? Or a problem within? Something telling me that disaster will ensue, only bad can come of it and you will destroy what has been built?

I pride myself on being compulsively honest, yet this is contradicted by inhibitions. I once read on a poster:

"Imagine what you could do if you knew you couldn't fail"

In a philosophical blog, it is ultimately my fear of failure (and my classic fear of rejection) that leads me to conceal those things just waiting to burst free. In other words, I'm so afraid of failing, or failure ensuing my outpouring of secret words, sentiments or feelings that I keep them hidden. I'm not letting society off that easy; I'm a sociologist, and we blame society for everything. However these inhibitions, these fears, keep things bottled up.

Life can be funny that way. I guess it adds to social cohesion. Just imagine, for a second, if we all thought of what we could do if we knew we couldn't fail, and did it.

My Homonormative Problem(ative)

2007-09-03T16:49:00.000+10:00

As a human being I feel inadequate. As a gay man I feel especially inadequate. Coming up to 16 months since my homosexual epiphany, an issue which I have tried to deal with rears its head with some vengeance. My issue is homonormativity -- the idea that there are normative structures and models which must be upheld by gay men to gain recognition and avoid ostracising. Once this was a particularly salient, daily negotiation (often battle) for me, though over time it has tempered. (This has been due to increased self-acceptance; for instance, I now read GQ without the intense inadequate feelings.) Yet sometimes I am forced to revisit this concept -- forced to examine myself: what I think society wants me to be, what I think I should be, and in reality what I am. Mentally and psychologically, it's a taxing phase, and something I don't seek to engage in very often (and indeed, don't have to).

My inadequate feelings arose from my trip home this afternoon. As I sat conducting a social experiment on the lad next to me (testing his homoerotic leanings by openly reading a book containing pictures of half-naked men in popular advertisements), two sequential events occurred. A representative from MONSU Caulfield rang to say that my chosen head-shot was not appropriate. The photo was fine, I look good in it, however it just wasn't what they want. Fair enough.

The second event was sighting a man I regularly see on my train (let's call him Toby). Toby is a young, attractive gay man. I know this for two reasons: my gaydar is quite finely tuned these days, and I saw him in the Peel. The latter doesn't help any heterosexual cause he may be pushing. Though attractiveness is undeniably subjective, I can safely say that Toby is just that. This attractiveness is enhanced from 'manufacturing': facial products, hair products, attention to detail, good fashion sense.

These events together caused this surge within me of hugely substandard feelings about myself. To be gay, to be more attractive, I think, I need to do more -- I need to dress this way, have my hair like that, and use facial products that do this. In turn, I reject myself. I look at myself and say: "you aren't gay, look at you, with your bad skin, horrible sense of fashion and hair that should just be cut off." It's feelings of ugliness coupled with not fulfilling the requirements of a model I feel I should uphold. Someone that is more attractive, more desirable, gayer -- in short, everything I'm not.

I guess to sum the lenghty text above, I constantly feel ugly (no matter the "protestations" from whomever), and that who I am, quite simply, makes me an inadequate human (not to mention gay man).

I don't have nice clothes. Often I don't wear colours outside of grey. Overall I have NO fashion sense. I don't have nice skin. I have hair that should be given the death sentence. I have dimples. My teeth aren't white. I have scarring. I have rampant acne on my shoulders and back. I think I'm fat. I'm not happy with my body shape. I have eyebrows and eyelashes that need taming and (I feel) artificially enhancing.

Sure I try to fix these things; at 7:30 this morning you would have found me doing squats, bench presses, hamstring curls and EZ bar pull-ups. My body, I feel, is inadequate and must be bettered as a project. To fix my skin, I spend exorbitant amounts on moisturisers and cleansers, not to mention the foundation I now wear.

Yet despite all of this, I don't look at my body with pride, but feel let down. I look at my face and see redness, dry skin and acne. I sigh. I look at my hair, and shudder (as my subconscious threatens to guide my body to the hair clippers). I'm not, in the end, a good looking person. Thusly, I feel an inadequate specimen as a man and especially a gay man.

My feelings are a construction of society. Yet this is a society I must live in, and must negotiate with. In the end it's about accepting who I am on the inside and out. At the moment, however, this is a requirement I cannot fulfil.

---
Let me finish by saying that Toby, a real person with a fictitious name, pales in comparison to my wonderful boyfriend Michael -- a man whom I adore, and who I think is incredibly cute. Among my curious face in writing this blog, even thinking about him makes me smile.

The Springtime that Adorns a Beautiful Melbourne City

2007-08-24T16:29:00.000+10:00

Dan's recent blog got me thinking about weather lately. I've lived in the tropics (where it ranges from 26 degrees in winter, to 32 in summer (plus 80% humidity)), the sub-tropics (mild winters, scorching summers), and in my hometown of Melbourne (schizophrenic weather all round). I love winter -- the idea of wearing clothes, or snuggling up under the doona is comforting. I also like summer -- swimming and topless men. But it's spring that makes me happy. Accompanied, of course, to Vivaldi's classic Baroque suite, the flowers start blooming and birds start having sex with bees.

I have just returned from the gym, which is a 15 min. walk either direction. It's 18 degrees, the sun is shining, and there is a light breeze. My legs got the sun on them for the first time in months, I wasn't cold, and the wind was lightly messing with my hair.

Today, quite simply, is perfect. In no way could the weather be any better, which is something that just makes me happy. And I know that tonight it will be cold, so I can do the wintery things I like as well.

If I had been walking with Michael, side by side, hand in hand, I am quite sure I'd have thought I had died, that there was a heaven after all (after all that non-believing), it was piss easy to get into (I am gay) and that Jason Mraz and Rufus Wainwright played the soundtrack to this bliss.

The sunshine has made me happy. Life, as they say, is beautiful.

The Fairly Unimaginable

2007-08-20T03:23:00.000+10:00

It seemed so unlikely that when I met Michael for the first time (and remembered him taller... he remembered me shorter), and later spent a number of days with him and people who could have just left us (where Michael got pretty wet on the beach and I was clever enough to wear boardies), that I would end up having the privilege of going out with such a fine gentleman. It never ceases to amaze me how funny life can be, and the mysterious ways in which it can work.

I wanted to share this photo with anyone who will read. I don't look particularly good in it, but I do feel incredible. Like a five year old being told he can have that Yorkie bar after all, I smile like such a child when I realise how fantastic it is, how awesome life can be, and how truly wonderful the people and moments in it can be.

The fact I'm sharing a photo I look ugly in is testament to how good I feel in it. It's not something you can see on the lightly make up ridden skin, but it's there. If not in my smile, then deep inside. This is not a blog for words, and I'm not trying to be a better writer than I am (clearly from this performance, I'm no better an author than I ever was). So enjoy my humble picture, at the same time as thinking of those who make you feel good, philosophical, comfortable, amazing, and make you want to live every moment.

---
Please note that I may be under the influence of (a) extreme tiredness (it's nearly 4am and I'm working on an assignment); and (b) euphoria at my football team fucking over United, and heading the English Premier League.

I Aint Going No Place, No, I'm Hear to Stay

2007-08-09T22:26:00.000+10:00

It has been a long time since my last blog. My take on postmodernism, and how I feel like a grainy black and white TV image sometimes seems distant. In fact, almost a world away. So many things have happened and I wish I'd taken notes along the way. Alas I haven't, and omissions are not a sign of unimportance, simply the inability to spontaneously recall the last few weeks.

I think it appropriate to start with a person who walked into my life while I was feeling down and out. It is rare to make friends with, and meet people with the qualities Dan has. Indeed if we all did, I'm quite sure there would be less crazy people trying to start wars. In a society where people judge popularity on the number of myspace friends they have, it's an invigorating experience meeting someone so genuine, so pleasant, so generous and so very fun. Many weeks ago he invited me out one night (one week after a break up), and from that moment, I re-entered life again. I found myself once more and so the advent of crazy adventures I like to call the process of living.

I'm adamant he's completely sick of me; after all, at the best of times I can be a quiet person, and am Miranda to his Charlotte. However, I look back at drunken dancing, a 5am McDonald's binge, Quick Fucks and Cock Sucking Cowboys (drinks, people, drinks) and the Christina concert with very good memories. I feel I've really gained a great friend, and also someone to take my musical taste in a new direction (I'm so addicted to Christina Aguilera it's not funny. I'd go so far as to say most days I live in a Christina-induced coma).

From people to my favourite subject in vanity, my hair. It has been a fun ride, and I've drawn so much confidence from looking slightly less ugly. So fragile is my self-confidence that how I, personally, feel about my hair will make or break me. Red to brown, curly to straight, scruffy to anime, I've never actually felt so good about myself. A lethal combination of youthful enthusiasm, ignorance and liberal spending habits have terminally damaged my hair though. It is already dead, but now it's decomposing. For some, you may have seen my hair for the last time. At this stage, I am planning a David Beckham/Wallace & Grommit close shave. Many have not seen my red hair, so you will have that novelty. While I will also be embracing Beckham's beannie, I beg, don't make fun.

In the student life I share an interesting relationship with, I'm expecting my name to be put forward for Sexuality Officer at Australia's largest university very shortly. Currently filled by the most wonderful David Lim, it's a position I must admit to coveting once or twice before. The thought of doing something positive in the domain of sexuality at uni is exciting. Not only do I enjoy other people (especially interesting individuals), I've been through the discovering one's sexuality phase, and to talk to (even help) others with this seems very fulfilling. Of course, I need the position first. Nepotism can be fun sometimes.

Musically, I've become completely obsessed with Christina. It's a good thing I have an iPod, otherwise her Back to Basics album would be worn to nothing. I'm in over my head however, and may or may not have promised a performance of "Candyman" in a sailor's outfit.

In other random news, I realise that I'm officially Danni's barbie doll. I have not gushed previously over Danni in a blog at all, and I have little intention to anytime soon. I can't imagine she would want this, and I'm sure we have a mutual understanding of how important she is to me. Needless to say, Danni is the best friend a gay man could ask for. We have open and frank conversations, go through bouts of loneliness, bitch/complain/judge till we can't any more, and spend considerable time wondering what next to do to my body (from hair dying to eyebrown waxing). Our latest addition is an interesting one... see if you can notice just what it is.

Lastly, let me say that life can, quite simply, be wonderfully funny and beautiful. After some SMS flirting (always good fun... better if I could actually do it), I finally got my chance to out feelings I've had for some time now. It's something severe lack of confidence would otherwise have precluded me from. Clearly, i think so little of myself, the thought that someone would like me back (yes, I'm still in year 4) is far from real in my estimations. Yet liberate my sentiments I did, and how happy it has made me. Good looking, cute smile and a personality I adore -- all traits of a boy I told I liked. Smitten? Me?.......... well, I'm sure he's reading this, and if he could see the silly grin I have, the answer would be most obvious. *I like you*

Now go, and listen to Christina in solidarity.

Gaying it forward.

D.S. al Coda

2007-07-29T21:20:00.000+10:00

Enjoying the freedoms of singledom (well, most of them), in what was an unusually large weekend, I believe I've found the perfect boy.

At last count I've met him three times, and every time more of his endearing qualities surface. He's fun and playful. Rebellious, and rarely listens to orders. Agile, a good runner, quick and a very high jumper (let's go with athletic). But he also has a softer side. He's cuddly and likes soft affectionate attention. I get the impression I could sit for hours just watching the day go by, listening to his happiness at my attention, while myself quietly enjoying the company and delicacy of his presence.

His name is Coda. He's a cat.

Nothing's Gonna Change My World

2007-07-19T23:45:00.000+10:00

I'm in a contemplative mood. About love, life, the universe and everything. In thinking extensively about this blog, I would like to note two things. Firstly is the idea that I feel like queer trapped in a time warp. When I think about love; when I think about relationships with fellow humans; when I think about what I expect from closeness and interaction -- often these seem to fly in the face of the reality I confront. Am I not right for this era? Do my ideas and conceptions belong in yesteryear? Am I ahead of my time? Or am I right chronologically, but my ideas pertain to a small social niche?

The second thing is quite profound for me, and an overall position on the first section of this blog. Irrespective of whether I'm a fish out of water, I'm happy with who I am in this respect. I won't change to meet the demands of a 'mass market'. Where I change the colour of my hair, where I'm insecure in my physical appearance (to say the least), I embrace this aspect of myself. I'm happy with it. For one in my life something about jAmes I feel happy with. So what if the 'mass market' don't care for me and my ideals; someone will, and that will make them special.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

I have drawn a line underneath my previous relationship. I'm happy that's done, for now there is no more baggage attached. Yet in having my craved post-break-up moment, I suddenly realised a lot of things about who I am. (I also realised that, while I have no regrets, it was a relationship that would never have worked, and that being out of it is definitely for the best.) In that moment, I also suddenly felt like I was stuck in a time warp.

Confronted, at long last, with the other half's perspective on relationships, I felt naive. But more importantly, if this is what I confront in the coupling mass market, I don't belong in this era. To me a relationship is a site of warmth and passion. It's an emotional base for individuals involved. They come, over time, to share their inner-most thoughts, feelings and emotions. Together, they work at issues and attempt to better each other as human beings. My interpretation extends to notions of longevity, the desire to stick it out where it is still viable (but definitely end it when it becomes a defunct proposition). Love comes to underpin the relationship, based initially on attraction (physically/sexually/emotionally). It is not necessary for too many commonalities -- after all, who wants to date their sibling, or best friend -- but enough so as to keep it interesting.

Couples indeed have lives beyond their relationship, and this is important. Hopelessly devoted to you possibly, but enjoy having a life while it lasts. It's important to have differing spheres. Otherwise, you'd kill each other. Yet committment is unwavering. It's obvious. There is a deep-rooted care for each other and you would trust them with not only deep matters (no matter how unsavoury), in time you would trust them with your life.

But most of all, you'd give them everything, especially your heart. They, of course, would do the same.

Clearly, I have a warped sense of love, intimacy and relationships. Sappy. Idealistic. Dare I say, quixotic (like Charlotte from Sex and the City). I almost don't belong, with my 'commitments', and 'trust', and 'sharing emotions'. It's either something from the 1950s, a minority postmodern conception, or I'm setting trends that won't come to realisation for decades. In any case, what would I know. I'm not a relationship expert, and certainly don't have the experience. But here's the thing...

Nothing's Gonna Change My World

As Rufus Wainwright sings, eloquently summing up my attitude towards this. My crazy ideas are something I can, and will embrace. Sure they seem silly and hardly relevant in the fast-paced consumer society; but there is someone who will click. This won't be perfect like the union between two Lego blocks, but what is? I think this is something about myself that, despite its unpopularity, I can hold up and say "I am jAmes. These are my time warp ideas. Like me, love me, take me for who I am. Because I'm not going to be anyone else."

Someone's bound to listen........ right? RIGHT?

Let's do the time warp again!

---
Please note: I'm not that full on. I don't carry a criteria sheet around and assess diligently. Think for yourself what you want. I dare you. Things are never perfect anyway. But what can I say; I'm me. Love me; I'm a pretty good catch you know.

Do Your Thing, Make My Body Sing

2007-07-16T20:00:00.000+10:00

The superstition is that Friday 13th is unlucky. Where all horrors will come to people who don't deserve it merely because of a coincidence. For me, this represents a major problem; on the one hand, superstition is something I casually adhere to. I have lucky underwear, which I wear for certain events. To continue the madness, and it really is, I never shave on the day of something important -- a date, receiving marks back, flying, and so forth. Yet on the other hand, I'm rational, atheist and intelligent; therefore, from that perspective, believing in superstition is fairly silly.

Nevertheless I was expecting bad things this Friday 13th. None of which came.

To kick off the day, my results came in from the previous semester. Not only did I blow previous records to pieces (with one Distinction and three High Distinctions), I qualified for Honours in Political Science. It was a bitter sweet moment, as, just earlier, I had a very weak moment. In attempting to contact a certain ex-boyfriend to arrange a friendly chat, being shunned brought mental imagery of him frolicking on the beach, laughing and cheering. I 'accidentally' found James Blunt on my iPod and promptly became very sad.

Friday 13th got better than good academic results however. I wandered to the National Gallery of Victoria (NGV) to see the Guggenheim Collection. Finally, I've seen works by Andy Warhol and Jackson Pollock. 'Mother' by Nigel Cooke, and 'Vibrations' by Jesus Rafael Soto were my favourites, the former a magnificent painting, the latter a 3D optical illusion. For me and art, I love minimalism. The simpler, the better. I like to let my imagine free, and wild, to interpret the work in any way I choose. The rest of the afternoon I spent with Danni, annoying her at work, rationalising spending $40 on Clinique Pore Minimiser (I did buy it, it rocks).

So a good day. I was happy for all of it (the sadness was late on Thursday) and I went home to watch Sex and the City.

Then, as I finished my episode, loving Charlotte even more, a wonderful lad named Dan invited me out for a spot of gay clubbing. Hmm, 10pm, in PJs, sober... was it worth it?

Of course it fucking was!

Off I went to Collingwood, looking moderately appealing. Clearly, this was exactly what I needed. A turning point in fact. Forget boyfriends and break ups -- look forward; find that old jAmes, get drunk and dance. And that I did. While I feel slightly bad for abandoning the peeps who had me out (why does this always happen with Dave?), I left with more confidence, more happiness and a degree of intoxication that had me feeling normal again.

While I haven't had my post-break up, awkward moment with Will (and that will come, whether he likes it nor NOT), I feel optimistic. I'm optimistic about returning to that old self -- gay clubbing, dancing very badly, feeling insecure in my unattractiveness, always in search of somewhere to 'sleep', wondering if I've taken enough money out for drinking, wondering if someone else will buy me alcohol. Mostly, I'm optimistic that the sadness that has consumed me for a few weeks has finally subsided.

Indeed I still await for my next bout of loneliness. I feel it's inevitable. But it's not like a relationship changed that; and, seriously, who doesn't feel lonely at some point. Till then, it seems Friday 13th for 2007 was pretty luck for me. Good marks, good times, Pore Minimiser (and the confidence to confront the skin care people in Myer), good alcohol, bad dancing, awe-inspiring art, but mostly, I think I've left the pain behind.

Hello sunshine!

--
To the awesome guys who had me out, I know you don't want thanks. But exactly what I needed came from it. So thanks anyway!

Fortunately, Straight Acting

2007-07-16T19:50:00.001+10:00

Clearly, however, not straight thinking.

(click to enlarge)

Taken at Flinders Street Station, Melbourne.

... I'm easily amused.

Just 'the Doctor'?

2007-07-12T18:14:00.001+10:00

*Notice some minor alterations to the blog, and check out the links to other fantastic blogs I read*

Feeling less sorry for myself, it's time to tick the Notes over once again.

Normally, I don't idol worship. And if I did, the chances of it being someone from popular culture are slim. Yet I have a die-hard, school-girl infatuation with Dr Who; more specifically, David Tennant as Dr Who.

Doctor Who was reborn a few years ago, casting the ever-popular Christopher Eccleston as the leading man himself. Fortunately he only saw out one season, and the charismatic Scotsman Tennant assumed the reigns to the TARDIS. There is just something about the way he performs; with a certain class, yet always with a sense of humour and a touch of non-conformity. He wears a suit with Converse shoes, very cool glasses (what is it with me and glasses?), and has a smile that makes you wish it were directed only in your direction.

So he might be in his thirties, which seems so old when you're twenty. He might be Scottish (as is my herriatge). He might be the star in the ultimate geek show. But I think he's awesome (both Tennant and the Doctor character). In the week where I lost my boyfriend, I'm wondering if Tennant is single... and gay of course.

Indulge with me in the wonders of David Tennant (just 'the Doctor')

Tennant with British comedian Catherine Tate

Tennant in drag...

Tennant on Graham Norton...

Part II: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_POhCSqO5k
Part III: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZte73npgSU
Part IV: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX-oVR1qiKA

See also Tennant hosting The Friday Night Project, starting from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25Bs1vfr1fk
(I love Alan Carr, among the most camp men on the face of the earth, and the inspiration for my myspace headline.)

If you're bored, have some free time, share my fantasy man by watching the videos above. I hear gays can marry in Spain... that's not far from Scotland!

--
This blog does not indicate a movement towards complete happiness. Alas, I'm still sad. I'm trying to move on, so Dr Who, watch out. Clearly, I need an energy drink designed for picking yourself up. I hate vulnerability.

Thanks jBloggers, you're a great bunch. I look forward to posting classic, embarrassing blogs about gay escapades soon :-)

A Broken Man

2007-07-06T18:30:00.000+10:00

**Updated**

Finally, I pull myself together to express what I feel to all avid jBlogers. Today I truly learnt the meaning of shock and sadness, for today, my two month relationship was brought painfully to a close.

What seems like so long ago, yet only like yesterday, Will (my... ex-boyfriend) and I sat on the couch watching Arrested Development, laughing hysterically. It was like something from high school, inching closer together. Hearts racing, hands moving in, arses shifting closer. Then the magic of contact; there is nothing like it. The thrills, the emotion, the happiness. The chase is over -- prize won. From that moment came a phenomenal time in my life; one I wouldn't change for the world even if it meant an absence of this pain in my chest.

It was almost too good to be true (and as the saying goes, it certainly was). I had only recently finished a weird patch in my life: coming much more from my shell, actually liking another man and having a "date" with this guy. While that ended weirdly, a 6'5 gentleman with blonde hair walked into my life. As I got to know him, his ins and outs, it was like there was no faulting this person, Will. Kind and sweet, generous and altruistic, warm and affectionate. Of course, no one is perfect, and it was often hard to extract just how he felt about things, to get him to talk. He worked on weekends and I was still prone to bouts of loneliness. But I too was far from perfect, often displaying mood swings and at times seeming unappreciative. For all of that, however, I worked at this relationship harder than I could possibly have imagined. Exponentially harder, it often seemed, than the other half.

You may wonder how, why, I would sit and type a blog so early after a breakup. Indeed, I'm wondering that too. But were it not for this digital method of madness, I would have no where to document my thoughts. After all, words are what I do, where I try to excel (despite the rough and ready nature of the blog entries). At 2:30 on a cold and rainy Melbourne day, in my favourite Starbucks (on Collins Street), I was thrown on top of the relationship trash pile. "I'm sorry" were the parting words. I held my scarf over my mouth wondering if I would cry, but I didn't. I was too shocked. Too shocked to speak, to move, to respond in any way. I went looking for my friend at work, not for any other reason other than to tell her what had happened, and to have a friend near me. She wasn't there, my subsequent phone conversation lasted all of three minuets.

Finally, as I was walking home from the station, the tears began to flow. As I got home and flopped on my bed, they were released uncontrollably. I even broke character by supplementing sadness with sad music. Now I understand the concept of "breakup music". If Hallelujah (by Rufus Wainwright) didn't make me cry before, it certainly does now. And James Blunt has a niche in my life at last. I haven't cried since starting this blog, but I will spend this weekend in intense sadness.

I just don't think it's fair -- for me to work so hard at keeping a relationship alive, only to be the one thrown down into the gutter. Perhaps it would have been easier if everything was my fault. But it wasn't. It's times like these that you realise life can really suck. The storm clouds have gathered, but there is a way out. A new and better man, no more sadness, a new chase, drunkenness at the new Q&A (IQ) and randoms; all this, my sanity and happiness seem distant, though I know they will come to me soon.

Did I love him? I didn't not love him, but ultimately love scares me. It seems almost unobtainable, and not something I've felt for another person outside of my family and friends before. Even if in the end I did feel love, I get the impression the Nancy Sinatra song would never have been more appropriate: "and then I go and spoil it all, but saying something stupid like I love you..."

I've never felt more lonely in my life and I know this will get worse before it gets better. I'm intensely sad and feel hard done by. I have that feeling of physically fighting back tears and all I want is a hug from somebody. Ultimately, I have that feeling you get when something you like and are very used to (so much so it has become an integral part of your life) has been ripped away from you. You want it back, but you can't have it. That knowingness you have to accept it's gone, never to return.

The jGeneration will bounce back. But please, understand that two months of having a boyfriend, a relationship, have just ended. I wouldn't change what happened so as I can feel better, but I'm hurting inside. I hope no one feels the way I do any time soon.

--
To criticisms that this blog is too dramatic, is blowing things out of proportion, makes me seem pathetic, I say this: back off. No one will tell me how I feel but me. If I'm sad after a breakup, so be it. Think about how you felt when things went sour with your girlfriend/boyfriend. If you cringe when you read these words, read a blog by a Right-wing commentator. This is my blog, my life, my feelings, my emotions. No apologies. I'm good at words, and maybe they can exacerbate certain things; what's above, nevertheless, is truthful and emotional. Once again, no apologies.

Superpowers of a Gay II

2007-06-29T21:43:00.000+10:00

Continuing the 'Superpowers' theme, I have one last relatively solid idea before it all turns to weird fantasy. This particular superpower is something I have exercised personally; though it is questionable as to whether I actually realised this power, or whether people were just feeling sorry for me. Or whether I was looking scary and they thought I would mug them otherwise. Irrespective of these caveats, this superpower has altruism at its heart, and should be used by all gays everywhere. After all, it is up to the gays to make the world a better place; who else could do it? Straight people?

Superpower II: gaying oneself up to a state of overt and obvious queerness, then harnessing these good looks to collect for charity (simultaneously attracting potential dates, and the most generous demographic known to man).

Allow me to elaborate slightly. 'Gaying oneself up' simply means dressing in a manner currently popular in gay community, wearing expensive facial products, and styling one's hair in an unmistakeably gay way. Only true gay men can do this -- straighties fall down on certain things: supermarket moisturiser or cheap, sticky gel in unhealthy (unmoisturised... AAAHHH!!!) hair. Thus only we 'mo's can do it properly.

Step two in realising the superpower is to use this wonderful sense of homosexuality to make the world a better place. All good people are members of a charity, or NGO, or not-for-profit advocacy organisation. (For those who aren't, you are pardoned, but go now and join.) These bodies are always in need of funds and street collecting is an effective way of achieving this. When called to arms, to stand on the street shaking the tin, it is the gays who must step forward, for it is only us who can truly make the difference. Using the homo powers of looking good, it is hard for others not to give to your cause. In fact, it is a good way to pick up too, as young gay men are, in my experience, the most charitable (that is to say, most responsive to a good-looking young man with a pick-up line already written).

So queers, utilise this superpower. Gay youself up, and get collecting. We are the ones who draw the crowds and especially those most charitable (young gay men). Not only that, you might get a date out of it.

The idea came from my experience collecting for Amnesty International in Melbourne recently. Looking pretty obviously gay, it was I who used my superpowers to draw money in for the prevention of human rights abuses. I also met a lot of hotties too.

Gays everywhere, it's time to make the world a better place. Start collecting for your charity/NGO/N.F.P organisation and realise your superpower potential. This is something far too important to entrust to our straight... people.

The Superpowers of a Gay

2007-06-17T15:27:00.000+10:00

I was walking home the other day from uni when I realised something. (Indeed this was in an episode of Will & Grace, though I was not thinking of it at the time.) As a gay man, one increases the risk of social denigration and marginalisation -- for some, this can be extremely hard to cope with. However I feel that gay men have a number of superpowers that are just waiting to be unleashed or realised by the individual. The first of a series I would like to blog regards something close to every middle class person's heart: land prices and the economy.

Small country towns are awful places. I have driven many thousands of kilometres in this huge brown land through small towns hoping to get through them alive. Stopping for fuel means running the risk of the country-folk smelling your sophistication, or hearing your iPod. This, of course, is certain death. You know things are bad also when you need to stop for essentials. Food is a huge problem, and a few options face the traveller. Most notable is the bakery, where someone will inevitably call you "darl", and serve you a meat ("meat") pie with tomato sauce and huge bits of gristle. And for the love of god, don't buy the coffee which will either be percolated, dripped, a pseudo-cappuccino, or at very worst, instant.

So maybe you will make your own food, and have a picnic. Just try buying soy milk, or low fat soy milk. "What milk... darl?" will be the response. "Never mind that, I'll have some baguettes, some extra virgin olive oil-based butter, and eight slices of prosciutto." This request will not even be met with words, just a blank stare that says, "where the fuck do you think you are? Wanker."

Back to prepared lunch then. Your last alternative, after the bakery, is the pub. Now, there should be about four per-capita. Where the population is 1,000 for instance, there will be 4,000 pubs. But, my fellow urbanite, you are stuck here once again; because everything comes with fried chips, too much salt, and the biggest piece of meat you've ever seen. Mention the word "vegetarian", or worse, "vegan", and you will be shot by a rather large man with tattoos who could drink more beers in a sitting than I could in my life.

Need a place to stay? Expect the unexpected. Used frangas on the bed, torn linen, peeling paint work, broken televisions (or worse still, small non-digital/plasma televisions). Houses? Fibro shacks, classless farms, all dilapidated. Fashion? I don't even need to go here.

So what I have done is establish what a country town in Australia resembles. It's truly awful. And for those living there who want upward mobility, you'd better think again. Because no one will pay for your house. But this is the perfect niche for a gay man to unleash his superpowers, because NO ONE can lift a country town in dire straits like a raging homosexual. "How jAmes?" I hear you ask. Here's how.

Gays are truly lovely people..... well, most of us are. And we have a certain level of urban sophistication -- certain ideas about how things are done, tertiary education, liberal perspectives, certain wants and needs and certain lifestyle choices (once again, most of us do). When a gay man and his partner move in to a country town (for whatEVER reason), they begin systematically re-orientating the local economy. Immediately the bakery is transformed into a cafe (and eventually, a coffee bar), with minimalist decor, an extremely expensive coffee machine, and lovely pastries to accompany the new-fangled latte with a hint of almond. Thus more gays are enticed to the area, straighties also, because they too enjoy the gifts of gays. The local economy begins its boom.

Next, the supermarket's stock begins to change with the slight resurgence. Smoked salmon, bagels, baguettes, pesto, prosciutto, Camembert, Brie, Perrier, GQ, Vogue Living, mountains of condoms and gallons of lube all find their way on to the shelf. Increasingly, more people move to the town, including (and especially) more gay people. Once there is a minimum number of queers, then the place really takes off. Fashion changes -- good bye Caterpillar/Hard Yakka work clothes, hello Lacoste, Boss or Ralph Lauren. New houses are built, following the finest and most contemporary designs from European architects; or alternatively, eco-friendly structures from Australian eco-architectural warriors. The middle-aged, middle class gay couples by this stage are fundamentally transforming the fortunes of the country town. It is now becoming one of those "getaway" towns, where urbanites travel for the weekend, even buying houses because it's so "lovely" and "fabulous".

Arguably the most important transformation will be the establishment of new restaurants by our middle gays. Nowhere near fine dining, this isn't why people go to country towns. A nice restaurant serving contemporary Australian fare, an Italian restaurant (cliche, but brings in money), a rustic place, a place that serves beans-on-toast for $15. Good food = tourism = holidays homes = roaring local economy = higher land prices. Remembering, all this is premised on gay men, with their sophistication and lifestyle choices everyone from the city desires. Bed and breakfasts start up, as do boutique hotels which cost an absolute fortune to stay in. Spas also open for that de-stressing weekend away.

A gay man's superpower works in countless situations. This one is very profound, and on a large scale, fundamentally transforming a country town into a middle class escape. But it can even work in neighbourhoods; just a spoonful of gayness makes the poverty go down... Think of the good you would be doing, gay contemporaries, in revolutionising the fortunes of these people! They can now destroy their houses and sell their John Deer tractors, to build new town houses, keeping one, selling the rest, and buying a new BMW 5 series. They might establish their own businesses selling bed sheets that cost a kidney, gourmet foods or whatever else we want in our post-material lives. Your altruistic gesture will be greatly welcomed because it is our superpower that has brought light and riches to a fledgling town.

Get out there gays, and unleash your economic powers. It is only you with your unique lifestyle that can do it after all.

---
Please note: this blog is based on rather extreme sterotyping. Please don't complain on these grounds. It is tongue-in-cheek humour.

Dating a Prison Punk

2007-06-09T17:52:00.000+10:00

First of all, I would never call a prisoner a 'punk' to his face. But it seems dating them has become a whole lot easier. Thanks to my favourite gay news feed (DNA Magazine), I was drawn out of curiosity to "Hot Prison Pals". DNA called it scraping the bottom of the barrel; who am I to disagree.

http://www.hotprisonpals.com

This is simply funny. Take, for instance, Ron Harris. He is seeking a woman, aged 25-45, who is easygoing and positive, for companionship and visiting. VISITING!!! Michael Choma is a freespirited type of person, who has a habit of pushing the envelope too far when having fun. He wants to meet someone he can 'click' with, and possibly get with once he gets out. Chris Cook is in college while he's in the slammer; he's open minded, and 'not racist'. Darrell Treadway is 'willing to relocate' for love. Brian Godden is 'looking for someone MALE or FEMALE to bust conversation with'. How romantic. Chris Woodall specifically states he doesn't want men writing to him. Patrick Vaughan is "currently is prison for violent crimes with a very long sentence'.

See, they're all good really. They just want a chance...... anyone? No? Well me neither. But I thought this was funny enough to blog. I could have gone on for days extracting funny quotes.

Q&A No More?

2007-06-04T22:04:00.000+10:00

Q&A is to close in four weeks, and I'm incredibly saddened by this. I could count the number of times I have been to the Fitzroy club on two hands, but it holds a special place for me. Every single time I've been, something has happened, whether good, bad or ugly. It was my first gay clubbing experience, I found my love for French accents, picked up my only regret, drank too much beer, did Jager bombers, used the potential for sex as a power mechanism, picked up a guy who loves his hair more than I love mine, lived a straight man's fantasy when my group of lesbians all started making out, had an argument with a guy who wanted to be smarter (like me) while I wanted to be better looking (like him), bought my first very gay drink (it was flashy and red), caught a $50 taxi ride home, saw a guy I had been seeing turn up on a prescription drug/alcohol bender, stood in line to get in for two hours over Easter, decided that drinking wasn't the best way to get rid of bad feelings, decided that sleeping with randoms was also not the best way of getting rid of bad feelings, made out uncontrollably (and very un-ladylike), decided I wouldn't engage in a game of hard-to-get with a certain guy, made out in front of this same guy a few weeks later, second-hand smoked 9,000 packets of cigarettes, found out that if I'd shut my mouth for just one second longer I'd have be in (kissing) with a very attractive man; and, most importantly, was introduced as my boyfriend's boyfriend. The best moment of the lot, I would say, was walking into Queer and Ugly under Will's arm knowing I had studliest guy there. I saw people look, and all I could think of was "back off, he's mine, get your own man candy."

Along with all the good memories -- well, not all good, but all educational in some way -- it is just a fun place to be if you don't have many ex's (as I don't). It isn't an urban homo club, with the same Euro-pop songs pumping out every week, or with judgemental queers dressed in the latest fashion and hair that cost more than their weekly pay . It's relaxed, and not trashy like the Peel. You can be who you want without the (overt) fear of someone looking down at you. I love the music, which is completely random. I love the fact that everyone has a skeleton there. I love the fact that my shoes get so dirty when I go, and that I always spill beer on them (I don't drink the stuff...). I love negotiating the stairs when drunk, not to mention those really steep ones. Most of all, I love the Thursday night out; sure, there isn't a night bus home, and the pressure to find a warm bed is on or it's $50 home, but it's just fun.

Don't leave me Q&A!!! Or the other devoted queers who have practically married the place. It might be tacky, it might sound weird, but it's special to me.

---
For info on Q&A closure, see: http://www.samesame.com.au/features/854/QA_The_Final_Countdown

To the Scum of Russia

2007-05-29T11:30:00.000+10:00

In a note of social justice, I want to say to those fucking Russians who thought it would be a great idea to beat up gays in Moscow:

Join the 21st century you poor excuses for humanity. You DO NOT have the right to beat up minorities because they don't conform to your values. How could you do that? How could you sleep at night? AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, why would your orthodox god believe that demonising and vilifying certain portions of the population is representative of his work?

Russia decriminalised homosexuality 14 years ago. Homosexuality has not been a psychological disorder for more then 30 years. And the Cold War ended in 1989 (in response to the outrageous claim that the West is somehow taking over with its 'liberal' ideals).

To those Russians, you're a fucking disgrace. And I will never travel to Russia (NEVER) while gay men are beaten up (then arrested) for delivering a piece of paper to the city hall.

Grow up Russia. It's 2007. As for the orthodox religion, time to move to this millennium.

Satisfying the Ethics Within

2007-05-21T23:33:00.000+10:00

Today I had two crises of conscience that I decided to settle. In one day, this is pretty good, even for me. When I do this it brings together two things that are part of my core being: my desire to be open and honest, and my desire to live an ethical and moral life as I see it. When I feel the latter has been compromised, my conscience has been weighed down, I feel the need to express and explicate it. I don't like keeping it wrapped up inside of me, and invariably I feel that another person will be hurt by my silence (if there is another involved).

My first crisis ("crisis") I managed to settle very easily. For the first time in Notes from the jGeneration I mention Will. I don't want to because I'm determined it will jinx something -- I sincerely hope I'm wrong. Yesterday I said something in a joking context, yet it bugged me. So, via natural progression of these things in my mind, I set the record straight. I had said that if he started working too much I would 'loose interest pretty quick'. I didn't mean it of course, and it looks bad when it's typed out in blog form. This morning I corrected this, and told him that I like him much more than I'd hate any potential long hours.

He didn't even remember me saying this. Yet still, my crazy conscience wanted things set straight.

The second crisis was much harder. Will (see crisis #1) has a, er, history, with a lovely man named Dave. Dave is a really fantastic person, and someone whom I credit for helping me smash out of my shell. He doesn't know this, and I probably would rather he didn't. Such a great guy, a friend, and someone I wouldn't ever want to hurt in any way.

Going out with Will, thus, was one of those situations you see in sitcoms or soapy dramas. Going out with someone who had knocked back your very own friend (who subsequently felt very bad afterwards). I settled my conscience with Dave, telling him what was happening and hoping this would not cause a tension or discord. I picked honesty over concealment, even though it was risky. In the end it was worth it; even if things do blow up (and I very much hope they don't), at least I can be satisfied knowing that I had to balls to do the right thing.

I may not be a confident person. I may be shy. But settling my uneasy feelings is something I'll always do. The risk is high, but this is a risk society. I just hope that I can minimise some of it through doing the good thing.

To a jReader, I encourage you to find a thought, feeling, idea that nags at your conscience. Something that may make you feel guilty or bad. Something you've done or said (or not done or not said). And set records straight. I'm not religious, and I don't think this will serve a spiritual higher purpose. But it will serve a higher personal purpose -- you will be doing, ultimately, the right thing. Because if it was nagging at you, you weren't comfortable with it to start with.

It doesn't always make me feel good. But at least I can sleep easier.

A Year in the Life of Gay

2007-05-16T17:56:00.000+10:00

Thursday, 17 May 2007 is a significant date for me. It is the date that exactly one year ago I accepted my sexuality. For the first time I was wiling to accept and embrace the thoughts, feelings and desires that I had been having since quite a young age (but had, until that stage, neglected and repressed). To date I cannot think of a more important event that has happened: my sexuality is a fundamental aspect of my identity -- what it is to be James Leckie. It is something I deal with, mediate, control, hate, love, despise, embrace, quiz, push away, expose, conceal, loathe and adore. Ultimately, being gay is something I love, because it is a realisation of myself -- who I am. In turn, this realisation has allowed me to be overtly and outwardly expressive. I have made friends and met incredibly interesting people I otherwise wouldn't have. And for that I am so thankful. Gayness turning one year old is a milestone for me -- my world was thrown into chaos in May 2006, where May 2007 I feel comfortable, happy, more confident than ever and generally a person with a greater self-understanding than many others. If someone said 'would you like me to turn you straight?' my answer would be a flat 'no thanks, I'm happy the way I am. In fact, I honestly love it.'

On a sunny autumnal day, while analysing the finer points of the 2005-2006 federal budget on a bus to Monash, a man named Danny rocked my world. My little girly crush was a watershed event -- the same-sex thoughts and desires throughout my life came flooding back. And for some reason, it was at that moment that I accepted it. I accepted that I was non-heterosexual to begin with, followed by a period of feeling incredibly bad, followed by unsuredeness, followed by that fun moment when I stood in front of the mirror (looking fab in a black sweater) and said "I'm gay", followed by growing into myself. This was eventually followed by my first trip to a gay club (Q&A: nothing special, but special to me), and the big moment: coming out. I wish I had more to say other than this was a complete non-event. A good thing I guess.

It is only now, however, that the more delicate points of my sexuality are starting to be explored. Sure you can kiss and makeout, but there is more to life than this (no believe me, there is!). In the first of two Ben Lee references, I want much more for people to catch my disease, and for myself to catch another's disease. A constituent part of life is emotional bonding, something that I never really pursued but has in 2007 (I'd have to say my favourite year out of the 20) become important to me. I realised the other day (having a conversation about Ben Lee) that I would gamble everything for love -- love can be painful, hard, unrequited, heartbreaking, but I think it's worth it for the joy it brings to our lives. This leaves me terribly vulnerable, perhaps sappy, but it's a gamble that can be worth it (my Grandparents did, and they have been married for 55 years).

Others may not see the importance of my sexuality turning one. But to me it was virtually the dawning of the rest of my life. Realising who I am has allowed me to be my true self to others. Every morning I wake up feeling happy with my sexuality, and desperate to extend it just that little bit more before I return to bed. It took 19 years to come out, but its been one hell of a year. I love who I am, I love what I am, and I cannot wait to see what my next big gay year holds.

Gaying it forward.

The Price of Equality

2007-05-10T22:00:00.000+10:00

The Government is proud of its budget surplus for the financial year. You will hear this phrase repeated 1.3 million times before the election: "a budget surplus of 1% of GDP" (now approaching A$1 trillion).

With all this money, you may think a Government that is controlled by the LIBERAL Party (LIBERAL -- please look this up in a dictionary) would seek to ensure some social justice. Alas, when it comes to gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgenders, equality is just too financially expensive.

Measures that are free? Well, possibly. Attorney General Phillip Ruddock (ironically, a member of the same human rights organisation as I) has stated that he would consider equality measures that "do not involve significant budgetary outlays."

Giving same-sex couples equal status with regards to government payments? Absolutely out of the question. Such a policy would require "money that has to be found."

Do we not live in 2007? In a modern, Western nation based on the principles of LIBERALISM and DEMOCRACY? Or am I mistaken... has an organisation akin to the Taliban infiltrated the last remnants of social justice existent in the Liberal Party? Is it not worth dipping in to that $10 billion surplus to make the nation just that little bit fairer?

I wish I was making this up. It was fiction, a nightmare, a description of a totalitarian/authoritarian/repressive state. But I'm not. Your chief legal officer has said non-heterosexuals = not worthy of equal status or standing.

If you can stomach that, take a long hard look at yourself.

The O.C. jStyle

2007-04-23T22:02:00.000+10:00

I thank my cousin for the parallel to The O.C. with my recent month. Perhaps if I were Jewish, Seth were gay, Summer and Anna were men, the link would be even closer -- though, I can't see that being a very plausable storyline.

The Notes below this one (barring my attack on my iPod, which will now be taken to court like the hats of Ancient Greece) are in-the-moment accounts of a very traditional tale of boy meets boy. Ultimately it has ended in pain and tears, which seems rather silly given the time span, however this Note seeks to document the very weird and very latest events of my social life. While Notes from the jGeneration may seem incoherent rabble, it is my favourite medium of expressing myself and often the only way some people actually know what's going on with me (I'm looking at you, family, given I often don't speak about this to you on the telephonic device) .

'Q&A at Q&A' finished with me in a state of much confusion. Matt arrived on Good Friday eve as pissed and high as I'd care to see him. I was hurt, disappointed and super freaked out. I was not so much depressed for the rest of the night as I was purely disappointed. It had ended quicker than it began. To this was the stupidity I felt at feeling so strongly for a person I (evidently) didn't really know. I can't thank people enough for listening to me and my emotions, as I seemed to be looking for answers, reassurance and advice from everyone. In particular Dave, my midnight D&M buddy Shane and Danni (who assures me I've got many more heartbreaks where that came from) deserve thanks for me throwing emotional Louis Vuitton baggage at them.

Travelling home the next day, stinking of, er, smoke, I wracked my brain as to what had happened the night before, and what I should feel about this. Am I supposed to like the performance of Matt's? Or am I better off without? Dave's point was exactly this, are they worth taking on all they have, including those not-so-kosher parts, bearing in mind one has to have dignity? 300 SMS messages later (and still on the train home) a message from Matt expressed his regret and ashamedness at what had happened. He was, as he told me, upset that he had ended things so abruptly. Heading to his home town of Wodonga, he took a couple of days to think things over and we spoke the following week.

As an analytical person I was stumped after we finished our phone conversation. Did he want something between us? Was he enthusiastic about it? Where, ultimately, did I stand in this? We did speak about Q&A and he expressed his embarrassment at it. I told him that worse things could have happened (and true, they could have), and that I was not judging him. Who am I to judge anyway. It seemed there may have been hope to win the man with the perfect back as we agreed to meet later that week; ultimately the end of what was.

I left his house that night (NIGHT!) after things had gone horribly. Interruptions were a plenty and I was "prioritised" below studying (in fairness, this may have been the reverse just three months ago). I just felt like that was that. El fin. Following a week of not knowing my position and his feelings towards it all (and having passed up a rather cute guy's offer to Diva Bar) I sent the ultimatum. This was during a lecture on the Liberal Party, so it was never going to be a good reply. In the end I got what I expected to hear: "I just don't feel a spark, but still want to be friends..."

This didn't hit me hard like the earlier time as I'd completely expected it. In fact, I was the one who drew it out. As to how long he was going to string me along before telling me this I have no idea. My friend Q&A was there once again that day.

I've learnt countless lessons from this whole experience, which is incredibly important for self-development and knowing how to act just that little bit different in similar circumstances. While I will spare most of the detail, for there are some things I do like to keep personal... seriously!... I'm a better person in the end. Live and learn. To use a truly horrible phrase, there are many more fish in the sea, unless they're tuna and the Japanese are fishing; Charming and I will meet and I will handle myself in an improved manner. This does not mean, however, that I will not be myself. My commitment after coming out and accepting my sexuality is to be me, and no one else. In spite of all this, my confidence has never been higher and someone somewhere will want a smart guy with sexy brown eyebrows, who has a sense of humour, gives and loves receiving affection, loves travelling and Spanish cinema, and LOVES saying 'FREAKINGEEEENIUS". (No, that was not a personal, and please don't send it to gaydar... without a flattering photo.)

As to how I feel about Matt? Amazingly understanding. I'm not sure where my understanding nature has suddenly come from, but as I'm not a jedi... yet... I can't make him feel a certain way about me. It's his life, their his feelings and emotions. I still think he's a pretty great guy and respect him very much. In retrospect we are very different people with very different life courses. In a touch of evilness and narcissism, I hope that one day he will drop his pen and think "hmm, I definitely let a good guy go there." Self-centred? Perhaps. But the confident me doesn't care, I'm learning to like and respect myself much more. Just one thing to take from my experience if nothing else.

jStylin' the O.C. will continue sometime soon. Till then, it's more random Notes from the jGeneration.

Revenge of the manic iPod

2007-04-21T13:57:00.000+10:00

Is it just me, or is my iPod against me. I think it is you know. If I took out every song regarding relationships and how fun love is, I'd be left with the most emo songs on there. Which is not all that great because I don't have any emo music. So I'd be left with all the music that doesn't have lyrics (which is my extensive classical selection, especially Tchaikovsky, the best classical composer in my opinion).

I tried this experiment on a limited selection of music. I took my Jamiroquai playlist, removed all the songs regarding love and happy relationships, and ended up with two songs from the 28. And one of them was about prostitutes.

I'm not so much bitter anymore as I am not wanting to listen to songs that preach 'just how amazing it all is', or how I should be 'giving love a chance'. Go away iPod.

Come back when you have something else to say.

Q&A at Q&A

2007-04-06T16:15:00.000+10:00

*This blog was removed due to certain sensitivities. It now returns with nothing to lose. Please enjoy this black listed jBlog*

Q: why is the queue so long at Q&A? A: because it's Q&A on Thursday night!!!

*This Note from the jGeneration is informed by the entry below. Please read it first for context*

I could generate a lengthy discussion (circular in direction) about Q&A which, as I also realise, some jReaders may not know of. Q&A is an awesome little club in Fitzroy, Melbourne, where Thursday nights are all about Queer and Alternative. My latest adventures there can only be described as weird. In fact, I'd go so devilishly far as to say very weird.

Amazingly (considering my blog below) I was feeling great when I headed out to the city. Looking good, hair fantastic (I received numerous compliments, and one gay guy adjusted it for me) and feeling confident. When I arrived at Flinders Street, another Monash queer was there too and we discussed various happenings. He, like me, is a working-class leftie, who likes Paul Keating. I though 'this is going great', I've put this Matt saga behind me. However, he did turn up, and I went to pieces.

(The weirdness began, incidentally, with the religious leader and his daughter singing and preaching on the stairs of Flinders Street Station.)

When we arrived at Q&A, I realised that Matt was pretty out of it. On what, I don't really want to know... alcohol he says, but I'm not entirely sure. This was bad on two counts: (1) I could not approach him, and did not want to approach him in that state despite my burning desire to talk with him; and (2) just having to see him complete with relative happiness made me very sad. So sad, in fact, I just wanted to go home there and then.

We waited in the queue for some 90 mins, and as bad luck would have it, Paul (a Monash queer) had to catch the last tram back. So he was in there for about 10 mins after all that. Inside, finally, among all the smoke, I amended my guilt of calling this guy Mika (to which he took offence) and became friendly with. He's a nice guy, and can hold a conversation for eight people on his own. Thankfully, that just allows me to nod and smile. (A laugh here and there never goes astray.) I had so little to drink (three Bacardi's) as I was simply not in the mood, which in itself is weird. I felt too bad and didn't want to drown in with alcohol (as the lyrics of James Morrison suggest I shouldn't).

Mika and I left (note that Mika is a bisexual guy who is attracted mainly to women and I continue to call him Mika in this blog and for evermore execpt to his face) for the Peel just around the corner. Further weirdness ensued where, after having I.D. checked, a man wearing boots, leather briefs and bunny ears wanted to charge us $5 cover. We refused as it was already 3:30am. I refer to the cover guy as the bunny. It was so worth a photo.

Finally to complete my blog entry, I make note that emotions are funny ; I saw Matt trashed, slurring his speech and in no way conducting himself like I remembered him, I still like him very much. Weird? Well not really, not from my perspective, though I'm sure some will disagree with me. I can't put this to bed, and I think this shows just how much I feel about him. I still like him, have not judged him, and think no less of him even after the night's shenanigans.

Ho hum; time will sort it all out, but I do hate waiting.

--
And to my secret NjG admirer, thee who leaves comments anonymous: you secret is safe with me. But email your identity!!! No telling, I promise. jalec3@gmail.com

The Synthesis of James Leckie & Jack McFarlane

2007-04-03T22:27:00.000+10:00

*This blog was removed due to certain sensitivities. It now returns with nothing to lose. Please enjoy this black listed jBlog*

Admittedly my story somewhat resembles a story off Will & Grace, more notably that of Jack McFarlane. But my story was given gravity by one very crucial factor: it was my first experience of a gay relationship.

I left the house a number of weeks ago adamant that my night would be horrible, and I'd be catching public transport home (a symbol of an unsuccessful night). But I met the most amazing person; perfectly good looking, studies at the same university, is clever, smart, witty, funny, talented (at this point I'm making myself sad), worldly, well travelled... He had it all. And he was into me too. My night at XChange turned out so fantastic I couldn't believe it.

Matt and I spent some time together between then and now, and while it wasn't an enormous amount of time, I thought it was perfect. Not only was I comfortable around him (a rarity or sorts for me around people I really like), I felt secure enough to tell him things about myself and my life. Perhaps too much, as I think the fact that I hadn't had a boyfriend previously was the clincher. But nevertheless it was the best time I've spent with anyone in my new home city.

It has, alas, ended in tears for me. While feeling as happy as ever, and looking forward to our night out at Q&A, a text message in all its glory stabbed me painfully. Along the lines of 'I don't feel we're right for anything more than a friendship'; also that he didn't feel a 'spark' between us. Funny, given that every time we kissed I felt something. The moment he gave up trying to chase down "Matt Damon" at XChange and we started dancing I felt a spark. Naive? Hurts when it doesn't come back.

My sadness and disappointment stems from two things. The first is that my social side is a sensitive topic -- I don't like being idle, sat at home, not meeting new people and so forth. So when this happens I get very down on myself and very restless. Meeting a new guy and seeing the possibility of a relationship almost cured this; it wasn't a worry, and I never even thought about it. The second thing is that it was a milestone in my (homo)sexual development. Meeting a gay man who wants a relationship seems like finding a non-unionised teacher; they're out there but they're hard to find. Plus, as I've stated a number of times, the gravity was increased because I like Matt so much.

I guess one can only philosophise once the pain has receded. There are great people out there, and one day I'll meet one of them. And there are relationships to be had (even among the urban, sex crazed gay youth), one of them has my name on it. True as these points may be, it doesn't seem so possible with the way I feel at the moment. I've also learnt a lot about myself: for instance I'm very fragile and very emotional. Not only that, I find it virtually impossible to bear a grudge these days. Seriously, in years gone by I might have hated Matt for this, but no, I can't do it. In fact I still like him.

If it hadn't been about a person I liked so much, it wouldn't have mattered. Especially given the amount of time we'd been (sort of) seeing each other was so short. But he is amazing, and meeting someone like him again seems so remote. My time will come -- but how much heart breaking will I have to go through? If this can happen over such a short time, I almost fear a lengthy relationship.

I haven't over dramatised this in anyway. I'm hurting because I like a guy who doesn't like me back (in that way). And because he's so amazing it just makes it all together worse. Time will heal it though. I have every confidence in that. It's all part of life I suppose; Prince Charming might do well to find me... hint hint.

Speaking the Unspoken

2007-03-14T10:21:00.001+11:00

I don't purport to be a moral crusader. In fact, my favourite area of study, that of sexuality, analyses how moral crusades and the supposed gate keepers of all things 'normal' have destroyed the way we (society) perceive things. Take the idea of sex; this has been shaped through various means, including and perhaps especially the moral bastion that is the church -- consequently, male-female sex, involving physical bodies in a monogamous relationship has become normative. While moral crusades are fought against countless things, I tend to side with their opponents. I am a very liberal and progressive youth. My point is that I'm most definitely not a moral crusader, seeking to spread my values on others. And certainly, I would not adopt religious ideas, much less push them on others. However... however; I do have a thing with the truth.

The truth is an important concept for me. I don't like to lie, I don't like to deceive others. Quite the opposite in fact; I like setting the record straight, being upfront with people, and letting my true self be seen. We can all be closer as humans if we tell the truth. We can avoid sticky and damaging situations with the truth. Mostly. And just imagine what kind of society we'd live in if politicians were at the forefront of honesty. Everyone, however, and for whatever reason, has bent the truth. Sometimes it's necessary to protect something or someone. But as much as I can, I like to keep it real. The hardest thing I've done is to come out as gay. That was something I wanted to do, because I knew that keeping it locked up was deceptive, and didn't sit well. Plus, it said that I was ashamed of who I was. In another plus, every time I enjoyed my sexuality (whether dancing with a guy, or merely chatting to a person about the topic), I would feel just a little bit guilty in my concealment. So for me, truth and honesty are incredible virtues.

This week I've been feeling very happy, and very good about myself. Much more than normal; in fact I might have put it down to drugs. The reason for my well being is releasing a truth, speaking my unspoken, to someone very important. The substance of this is not for here, suffice to say it was something I had been sitting on, and would have continued sitting on otherwise, had I not gone with my propensity to let truth be told. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes it's wonderful; all I can say is that by being honest, by being myself and going with my truth telling tendency, I have felt happier in the last few days than I can remember. (This is not to say, incidentally, that I'm a sad person.)

My point is that letting go of things, correcting the record, or never skewing the record in the first place, has a powerful effect on people. Understandably, some must conceal certain things for well being. I hid my sexuality until I was satisfied and comfortable. This is justified. The feeling one can gain from throwing honesty to the wind, as I have felt, is truly unbelievable though.

---

A second part to my mid week blog is loosely related to the above, about truth and transparency, but certainly ties with the title. So the two are not strange blog fellows.

As I mentioned, I have a great (and am continuing to develop) interest in human sexuality. Sexuality is often something expressed as polar opposites; on the one hand you may be heterosexual, on the other homosexual. Simple? Well not quite. Bisexuality is so often overlooked as a genuine expression of desire, feeling or emotion. It is certainly the most stigmatised of the 'common' sexualities, and just 0.9% of Australian men identity as bi (1.6% identify as gay). Furthermore, bisexuality is often discredited and disregarded, it's people subject to commentary such as "...you can't be bi for life. Eventually one has to choose a side and settle down" (Esperanto 2007: 12).

Bisexuality fits nowhere it seems. I remember in grade seven, a friend of mine once said 'being gay is bad, but bisexual is something else.' And consider how much we, as a society, accept 'being bi'. Imagine if you found out that a person you idolised swung both ways. How would you feel? Would you question their integrity? Would you think less of them? Imagine, then, if you discovered they were gay. I guarantee, with much exception however, that you would grant more tolerance the way of the gay, than the way of the bisexual.

I'm here to say that I've become very acquainted with bisexuality recently. No, I'm not having an identity crisis. I'm happy just being me, just being queer. But I have met many bisexuals in recent months including the sexuality officer, David Lim, at Monash University (funny guy). I understand much more than I used to about the forgotten/demonised sexuality, I speak much more about it, it has increased legitimation in even my (open, tolerant, inclusive, progressive) mind, I read about it, and I understand how it must feel to grow up with dual-sex attraction (though not from personal experience -- I mentioned above how a friend described bisexuals while at school).

When it comes to sexuality, bisexuality is pushed into the shadows. I'm standing up for my non-heterosexual friends here. If anyone, ANYONE, reads this blog, I would like them to do two thing: think and speak openly about bisexuals, and accommodate them into a favourable perspective. It is not a matter of not committing, promiscuity, carefree/-less attitudes; bisexuality is a genuine expression of emotion, of desire, of attraction and, most importantly, love.

Let me leave you with my inspiration for this article (one of, there are actually two, the second is a very special friend of mine), the lyrics for "Billy Brown" by Mika. I don't know what this song is about, but I like to think Billy is bi; a 'victim of his time', and member of the sexuality in the closet.

Oh Billy Brown had lived an ordinary life.
Two kids, a dog, and a cautionary wife.
While it was all going according to plan
Then Billy Brown fell in love with another man.
He met his lover almost every single day
Making excuses through his (dodly) holiday
(Unto religion that he said and duty found
They didn’t know his faith was (earthlic) bound)

[Chorus] Brown…Oh Billy Brown.
Don’t let the stars get you down.
Don’t let the waves let you drown.
Brown…Oh Billy Brown.
Gonna pick you up like a paper cup.
Gonna shake the water out of every nook.
Oh Billy Brown.

Oh Billy Brown needed a place, somewhere to go.
He found an island off the coast of Mexico
Leaving his lover and his family behind.
Oh Billy Brown needed to find some peace of mind.
And on his journey and his travels on the way,
He met a girlie who was brave enough to say,
When they made love he shared the burden of his mind.
Oh Billy Brown you are a victim of the times.

[Chorus]

Oh Billy Brown had lived an ordinary life.
Two kids, a dog, and a cautionary wife.
While it was all going according to plan
Then Billy Brown fell in love with another man

To all bisexuals: one day may you decrease your stigmatisation to that of a gay (what an aspiration!). But in my eyes, you are all incredible people.

To bisexuality, may we speak freely of it, may humans express it without persecution.

NjG Reflections: Intensifying Old Themes

2007-03-10T18:22:00.000+11:00

I thought I'd exercise my brain in this blog; as I have not written one for a while, why not look back at a week in jHistory. This, of course, requires me to remember back some seven days, and pick out key moments that made me laugh, cringe, cry, jump, smile, scream, clutch in agony, fall, and all the other associated verbs. Let's see if I can't include everything from politics to sports to fine arts. Not in that order. And my classic theme of being queer will make an appearance. What's that? Me? Queer? At this point take note of the title. We're all in for a bumpy ride.

I questioned whether it was possible to actually get gayer, let me proceed from statement and prove it.

On Sunday night I frequently flop in front of the TV and watch a movie. Usually something stupid (for example, a few weeks ago I had the unfortunate pleasure of watching Jarhead. It had Jake Gyllenhall in it... still rubbish). But last week's Sunday Spectacular happened to be a Kylie concert. Until now I'd never had anything to do with Kylie, and couldn't understand her big gay following; this was shattered when I watched the replay of the Melbourne Showgirl Tour, realising that I knew most of the songs anyhow. How fabulous is Kylie? Well, it has to be said, she is absolutely fabulous. Her costumes are something else, the songs are sexy, and she has lots of dancing guys (often dressed as fairies (!)). OK, so I realise I like Kylie. Gay huh. But as for music, it just gets better.

The Scissor Sisters, famous for gaying it forward, feature prominent on my iPod these days. I found the coincidence particularly funny on Wednesday, when, as I was at the gym, English Rugby was on the TV accompanied by 'Filthy Gorgeous' through my pod. Sometimes you have songs you just constantly repeat, for me this has become 'I Can't Decide'. With regard to music, I also listen to 'Grace Kelly' in high rotation, by Mika. My brother thinks Mika is gay , so we'll go with that instinct. Maybe he has a very good gaydar.

This last week I also made a foray into gay politics; the blog below is a copy of an email I sent to a radio station in outrage over homophobic comments. This is definitely something I feel really passionate about; perhaps it's a calling... if I can find a job in human rights, that pays, I'm there.

Continuing the random thoughts within the queer paradigm, I overcame a personal hurdle this week. For some reason I find the Queer Department (and its associated things, like the Free Lounge) incredibly intimidating. I don't know why, it's all very freaky. But I gathered the courage and went to the MQN (Monash Queer Network) lunch on Thursday. And I'm so happy I did, because everyone was very very nice. I especially liked this guy, TK, from Osaka. He studies graphic design, is a very talented artist, and a really nice person. In general however, the people I met were friendly, accommodating and not at all reflecting of dangerous stereotypes (that is, bitchy and judgemental). So yay for me; not only was I surprised that I went, I was incredibly happy with myself.

With my newly browned hair, my eyebrows had become decidedly invisible. This is because they are naturally blonde. Funnily enough, within a few days of each other, two people asked me whether I dyed my hair, and said that their queery was based on my eyebrow colour. My friend Danni thus convinced me to have them tinted, along with my eyelashes. $28 later, I now have killer lashes, and eyebrows you can see!

*

The week in politics was bumpy at best for both parties. In my opinion, the Liberals are looking very shaky. They sense that Labor has the initiative just seven months out from the federal election. But the Australian public aren't that stupid (though, you did vote Howard in four times); I think they will see the relentless attacks on Rudd as not only unfair and unjustified, but as part of a dirty smear campaign. Case in point is the performance by Alexander Downer on Insiders, who showed us exactly what scared, power-drunk politicians do when under threat. They turn into 15 year old girls, with arguments akin to: 'na ahh'. Shame Downer; you are the Foreign Minister of a major industrial nation. For god's sake man! Moreover, I feel Kelvin Thompson was hard done by; he made a silly mistake (OK, a stupid mistake, by giving a gangland murderer a good character reference), but was a victim of the current political climate. Funny that all the notions of ministerial, and shadow ministerial responsibility should come flooding back in an election year.

While not strictly politics, I very much enjoy the works of American feminist Gayle Rubin. Sure, she has some weird ideas (notably about inter-generational sexuality), but her ideas make sense and writing style is very agreeable. Given how much I enjoy the reading for my Sociology unit on sexuality, I this as being my favourite area to study. Not only do I have a vested interest, that's as a social human being, I love analysing the way society constructs certain elements of its existence. Future job prospects: Human Rights, academic, the next Alfred Kinsey.

*

In assorted random thoughts:

I hate Melbourne's public transport system. It just sucks. And it has gotten worse since I started using the trains again. One train being cancelled is not adequate, but two in a row is unacceptable. Especially when there is no explanation. Stop spending money on roads Bracks, fix public transport for those of us who RELY on it. We don't all have parliamentary cars.

The Bill is a stupid show, and they seem to be shooting for the longest single take in history of recorded television.

I caught a nasty disease this week, not my cold, a travel bug. Funny thing is that I don't really want to knuckle down and save like the tight-arse I have been over the last few years. I'm happy spending $28 on eyebrow tinting, $130 for jeans and so forth. But I want to go to Indonesia. This would allow me to squeeze in Malaysia and Singapore. Not even the dubious commercial airline safety record would stop me.

I now run 7km; that's RUN 7km. I'm happy with that, but want to go harder.

Valencia are going to kill Chelsea, then win the Champions League.

Finally, I have been communicating with my cousin Jim's (see picture in pink '60s shirt) boyfriend. There is only one thing to say about Andy: what a nice guy! It's not everyday you meet someone who is intelligent, funny, AND spunky. Hoping he comes to Australia to put some darker shades on what must be very pale skin. Also hoping neither have read this. If by some chance you have.... embarrassment for me.

NjG will continue next week, presumably, as I have no other ideas.

Until then, make it your weekly task to speak out against homophobia.

Tackling Homophobia: BE HEARD

2007-03-03T20:25:00.000+11:00

Homophobia is a scourge on society. Everywhere you look in the media, in particular, there are remarks that serve the sole purpose of degrading the gay community. While I was perusing a collection of gay-interest news items, the comments of an American talk-back radio presenter came to my attention (for background, see: http://www.dnamagazine.com.au/articles/
news.asp?news_id=1726). It seems quite clear that Michael Savage has a problem with gay and lesbian parents, not to mention gays and lesbians in general. He has not only offended myself, but thousands of others who identify as gay. Moreover, I don't feel he should be allowed to get away with such vilification. What makes him better than me, or any queer individual? Nothing. What allows him to assert that homosexuality is abnormal? A society with many ills, of which Savage seeks to uphold and represent.

This is my first protest on the issue of homophobia; I cannot tell you how proud I am in doing this, and how unbelievably outraged I am. I for one will not let people like Savage repress, marginalise, further stigmatise people in the manner he is doing. He must not be allowed to get away with it. I would encourage anyone who is fortunate to be a jBlogger to follow me in protesting.

Email: info@talkradionetwork.com

We can only make a better world, where all are free and equal (my greatest passion) when people stand up and be heard. People like Savage embody sentiments that detract from society and humanity. It is clear I'm very passionate about this, and I hope you can be too. Stand up, be heard.

---

Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing; I'm sure your listeners would agree with me. But I feel there is a point where a line must be drawn between freedom of expression and inciting hatred, or vilifying members of the community.

I refer you to comments made by Michael Savage about homosexual parents, and gays in general. His assertion that homosexuality is a manifestation of confusion, or a sign of abnormality, is not a practice that should be tolerated. These comments seek to repress a considerable portion of the population and are deeply hurtful. Moreover, his use of the word "normal" to affirm the status of heteronormativity is decidedly anachronistic, and, again, hurtful to the gay community.

I would also like to point out that gay parents are just as competent as those who identify as heterosexual; capable of showing levels of love and care on par with any couple (or single parent for that matter). Studies will show this, and I think Mr Savage should perhaps engage in some extra-curricula study on the topic.

Homophobia is a serious problem in our society and should be tackled. Yes, freedom of speech and expression is incredibly important. I will not deny that; but comments such as those made by Mr Savage seek only to vilify gays and lesbians, repress and marginalise these people (myself included) and effectively render us second class citizens. This is not fair, against an ethos of 'equality for all', and completely unacceptable.

Michael Savage should apologise for his commentary on homosexual parenting (and homophobic remarks otherwise). If he does not feel this is warranted, consider this: do you really want your organisation to reflect the ideals of a bigot, homophobic, hurtful and, quite simply, abusive man?

James Leckie,
A member of Amnesty International

jQ's Top Five Men of the Moment

2007-02-13T18:36:00.000+11:00

Ok, every post gets gayer and gayer. It's definitely a theme of the jBlog. But can I really be blamed for this? I'm just a 20 year old gay guy coming into his own as an out gay man. So let me say this to all those who are offended by such themes, go away. Gay is here to stay. Forever will it remain entrenched in the thematic fabric of this fine internet publication which is, let me remind you, the gateway into my inner-insanity -- not yours, not anybody else's. Thus, in light of the previous (December 2006) edition of the American GQ, I wish to present my own "Men of the Year" -- however one year is far too long, so jQ (a division of my empire) presents the "Men of the Moment".

Not only has a decent article alluded the jBlog for a significant amount of time, it's an appropriate time to mediate or temper a phrase I utter every five seconds: 'oooh I love him'. It was very hard to finally settle on one fine gentleman to top the list, but every time I indulge in their art it literally moves me. The Englishman is a phenomenal new talent and a man I wish I could whisk away to Spain where he could sing me into a state of careless pleasure. Mr 2 is only a close second, and they would both be One if at all possible; again he is a singer who makes me feel all funny inside. Three is another Englishman and has a killer smile; Four and Five are sportsmen and are physically, well, captivating.

It's not GQ's 'Men of the Year', it's highly subjective, there's only five men and people will undoubtedly disagree with me. Let there be light.

Five: David Villa (Football, Spain)

Admittedly, my initial fixation with this man was based on superficiality. I'm not normally superficial, but there you have it. Villa is, after all, a sportsman, not a philanthropist or something interesting. But he is a fine specimen of a man and currently one of Europe's most outstanding footballers.

David Villa Sanchez, El Guaje ('the kid' in Asturian), recently signed a multi-million Euro contract for La Liga side Valencia. In addition to this catapulting to fame, he starred in Spain's otherwise disappointing run at the 2006 FIFA World Cup, scoring three goals and not accruing so much as a caution. At 24 he's causing a stir among the top clubs scrambling to get his name; Chelsea, Manchester United and Real Madrid are among these. Regardless of where he plays, however, Villa will cause a stir -- he is undeniably talented, poaching the easy goals, setting them up, taking free kicks, and scoring the spectacular.

Villa makes it into the top five for a number of reasons. The main reason is that he stirred my interest in Spanish Football, which now means more early mornings and late nights in addition to Manchester City matches. I absolutely love watching this guy move around the football field, his silky skills, beautiful goals and (I have to say it) boyish good looks warrant a mention here and his inclusion in jQ. Me gusta mucho senor, tiene mucho calor.

Four: Rafael Nadal (Tennis, Spain)

Another superstar of sports, another Spaniard; Rafael Nadal has added another dimension to men's tennis. The 20 year-old has set the courts on fire and is the undisputed King of Clay, also becoming one of the few Hispanics to not only compete on grass, but cruise his way to the Wimbledon final in 2006. Rafa is by some margin the world number two, which in reality is the best of the rest. He may have his time in the sun at some stage throughout his career, while Federer is around though, that top spot will remain very allusive.

Nadal makes the jQ Top Five for drastically changing my perception of tennis (a game I've always like incidentally). He plays an incredibly physical game, chasing balls down that would escape lesser players and engaging in aggressive, intense base-line rallies. It all makes for an incredibly captivating tennis experience; now I stay up late, get up early or otherwise record his games for later viewing. One of the great players of our era and, just to lower the tone, you can't go past those biceps.

Three: David Tennant (Actor, Scotland)

There have been countless Dr Who's, each one different, each one differently eccentric, all cult-heroes. Recently the BBC revived the series casting Christopher Eccleston as the ninth Doctor; he became a very hard act to follow adding a certain comical element. Staying in the role for only one season, perhaps in attempt to avoid typecasting, David Tennant, the man with the cutest and most charming smile in Europe (and possibly anywhere) took the reigns to the Tardis.

Tennant began as a theatrical actor, though he shot to fame on the silver screen for his role in Casanova. This was consolidated -- perhaps -- by playing Barty Crouch Jnr. in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. For the Scot, playing the Doctor is a realisation of a childhood dream, remarking in 2005 on GWR FM (in the UK): "Who wouldn't want to be the doctor? I've even got my own TARDIS!" Of course it helped that his childhood dream was underscored by a one-million-pound paycheck from the Beeb. Forbidden from attending any fan conferences while he is still the Doctor, Tennant will remain in the role until 2008.

Why does this man make it into jQ? Good question, perhaps I should do a serious, less superficial Top Men. But this is the "Men of the Moment" -- settling once and for all my trivial comment "I LOVE THAT GUY!!!". Tennant, Dr Who, was a little girly crush I managed to develop; if nothing else, his smile alone puts him at number three. As far as I'm concerned (fortunately I don't have any experience in Dr Who any way), we have before us the best time traveller. Just, don't smile, knees can only take so much.

Two: Pete Murray (Singer/Songwriter: Australia)

When it comes to listening to music, I am very particular. Some, of course, would say weird; and here's why. Certain music I will not listen to second-hand, whether someone is playing it on their computer, it's on the radio in a shop, or it is anywhere where my attention is passive. Nor will I listen to something if I'm not in the mood for it -- if I see my favourite song on TV, chances are I won't stop and watch because there is much distraction, people walking through and foreign noises. I guess I have a collection of 'sentimental artists' where the only time I wish to listen to them is when I really want to -- when my attention is there. And this is meant out of great respect. When I do this, I indulge in their art and appreciate it for all it's worth; unlike iPod flippers and those who study to music. It is indeed weird, but then see the mission statement for this blog.

Brisbane-born Pete Murray released his first album, Feeler, in 2003 (though it did not reach number one until a year later). See the Sun hit the charts in 2006 and is, in my opinion, just as good as his first. It's almost a case of a reluctant musician, as Murray was a very talented sportsman being selected for the QLD Rugby Sevens side and contesting the Australian Athletics championships. Even after injuries prevented any serious career path in sports, he desired to work in medicine. Fortunately for the world of music, the Australian came to his senses and began to master singing, songwriting, and the guitar for good measure. Murray moved to Melboune in 2002 to pursue a music career; he teamed up with guitarist Pete Williamson and, having finally formed his band, one a Triple M music competition. He, and his band, signed for Sony-BMG in 2003.

When I listen to Pete Murray I feel emotion. His songs can stir happiness and sadness in equal measure. Murray's place is cemented by the joy I get from listening to his labours; the music is sweet, catchy, and realistic. The way I feel about this artist and his music is best encapsulated in my reaction to his 2006 ARIA performance of 'Opportunity': I found myself in a foetal position with the biggest smile on my face, yet trying not to tear up (on this last note, I failed). For moving me in such a way, welcome to jQ.

One: James Morrison (Singer/Songwriter: England)

The first time I heard the name "James Morrison" I was at the gym. I may have complained earlier that the MONSU Gym, at Caulfield, has Sunrise blaring from the TV until 9am. I was completely surprised not to be greeted with a fat bald man playing jazz on his trumpet/
trombone/piano/euphonium/fugal/french horn, rather a young Englishman with long hair and an incredible voice. It wasn't until I bought his CD, however, that I began to appreciate this stunning musical talent.

Morrison began playing guitar at age 13 and, like many more indie type artists (in my context, those who aren't up themselves), began busking in his then-home town of Porth, Cornwell. Eventually he ditched the musicians' songs and began composing his own, singing in a remarkable husky voice -- which he credits to a bout or near-fatal Whooping Cough. In 2006 Ploydor Productions signed Morrison with his debut album, Undiscovered, released on 31 July. It hasn't taken the world by storm, it hasn't won a Grammy... yet. But in my opinion, this is one phenomenal musician, and reward must come.

The reason for James Morrison being my Man of the Moment is simple; where Pete Murray makes me feel emotions, Morrison takes it to a whole new level. I'm a girl really. When I listened to 'Better Man' the first time there was a tear. Recently I tempted fate by listening to the same song in an emotionally fragile state (flying home to Melbourne after three wonderful months in QLD) and had tears streaming down my face. For all the flight attendants to see. In a complete turnaround, songs such as 'Undiscovered' make me smile and breath hard. For the ability to slap me around like this through his art, James Morrison is the jQ Number One. His music will remain my favourite for some time to come, and I wasn't even superficial about this either. (At last.)

Where GQ, and their silly capitalising of the first letter, have top men every year (please), I have men of the moment. Zygmunt Bauman (2000) coined the term "liquid modernity"; our reality is forever changing, forever flowing, and our society is never stagnant. More importantly, our society has become one of high disposability and precariousness. I very much like Bauman as a socio-philosophical thinker, and for the ever-flowing state of society (plus the fact that I'm bound to find someone I love even more in a few weeks), jQ remains committed to a far more frequent updating of its top men.

James Morrison's words can even encapsulate how I feel at this moment: 'well I know that it's a wonderful world but I can't feel it right now.'

jQ

(Please comment on my Top Five)

My Enviable Crew

2007-01-15T14:00:00.000+11:00

I recently engaged in an undertaking few people would consider necessary. For me, it was absolutely essential to do this for a number of reasons: the most important being not wanting to live a lie, and facing up to one of life's many, often tricky challenges. And a challenge it was; the lead up to 12 November 2006 was hard (though, it must be said, there were far more moments of joy and personal delight). At times I felt as if I had finally finished queuing (for personal acceptance) and had jumped on the emotional roller coaster. There were times of worry, and times of nervousness. Upon completing this undertaking to any specific person, my heart rate had increased to about 145,000 beats-per-min. I had sleepless nights (and delayed sleep due to:), constantly thought about things past and present: feelings, signs, emotions, attractions, relationships, events and so forth. This undertaking I refer to, of course, is the personal and social process of coming out; announcing one's homosexuality to a close band of individuals, or anyone who'll listen.

It is often said that coming out is a two stage process, and I wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was a perfect alignment in the cosmos, because at a certain point in May 2006, I was prepared to accept the fact that I was gay. And there had been countless moments before when questioning my sexuality would have been appropriate -- though inhibitions and a sheer refusal to accept even the possibility led me to shun it all, deny it, erect a façade. So it was pretty monumental when, intensely attracted to a guy in a Politics tutorial, I joined the queue for my emotional roller coaster (coming to a theme part near you). This figurative cosmos alignment is probably explained by growing up and maturing -- not to mention leaving school where being gay would be an unwelcome hardship I'm sure I could not have dealt with. At 19, after realising my attraction to a man, and accepting and unearthing 'evidence' that clearly points in a fruity direction, I came out to myself.

Self acceptance was quite easy. There was a period where I was very down (not quite depressed), where sleep did not draw a line under any ill-feelings, however this did not last long. Soon after, I realised that I could at last check out guys guilt free -- like ice cream without kilojoules (I feel this innovation is my new life calling). The negotiation, deep thought, many questions and searching for things (and their meaning) still kept me busy though I felt very positive about it all. After a number of months I stood in the mirror, looked at myself (looking fab in my black sweater), and announced: "I'm gay"; no longer was there just the 'possibility' of being gay -- I felt, and feel, that I have discovered myself... certainly in this context anyway. This was not half as hard, the next few months would prove, as coming out socially -- to my friends and most importantly, my family (my crew).

While the intervening time was incredibly totally excellent (as my blogs show, also the general happiness of finally accepting my homosexuality), I had set a time to come out of the metaphoric closet. A time to explode through the doors, swinging a feather bower with a sequinned dress and, as the rules seem to stipulate, an extravagant wig, to say those two little words. While I wanted nothing more than the moment to come, the lead up was excruciating. How would they take it? Would it be met positively? Would the crew accept it, but not embrace it, or (even worse) be ashamed? These were all very real in my thought process, even though they were highly pessimistic. I picked a few 'groupings' of people and prepared a sort of speech, often practised while walking places. A little formulaic perhaps, but each was from the heart, and let people know what they meant to me and how important they were to my existence. On 11 November 2006, I jumped on a plane (one of three flights that week) with high nerves, a touch of fear, much adrenalin and a certain amount of excitement -- it was time to take a hatchet to the closet, to announce to the world that I was gay.

November 12 was a typically beautiful Queensland day, and as I sat on the decking at the front of the house, I informed Pete (the man I regard, at very least, as a father) that I'm queer. My heart was racing, pounding in fact, I was sweating profusely, and I was incredibly nervous. The reaction to the utterance 'I'm gay' was completely unexpected. While I knew there would be no problem, I was taken aback by these words: "yeah I know", as if I'd said something so incredibly obvious. Had I not been so astounded by these words, my response would have been, 'well why didn't you tell me'; in actual fact, I'm glad he didn't. While I was quite shocked at this response, it was met with relief -- the worrying and nerves had, indeed, been unfounded. It was a great feeling. I take great pride in my decision to come out to Pete first; this is the person who, after all, raised me, nurtured a culture of ideals I hold strong, and has been my father figure for most of my 19 (freakishly, nearly 20) years.

"I'm gay",
"Yeah I know".

The following day was the big one. I think everyone is scared of coming out to their grandparents; perhaps it's the perceived level of conservatism, or the belief that in 'their day' there wasn't such deviancy. I walked down to their house as nervous as hell, dreading what their reaction would be, dreading a nuclear fallout. After stalling for hours, literally, I sat down in front of them and explained my important news (it was not, as Grandma tried to guess, me getting married). Living up to the title of this blog, Grandma and Grandad were simply fantastic: their first words were nothing but heart warming; to paraphrase, that I'm still the same person, nothing has changed. You always expect grandparents to reject such a notion with great prejudice; the complete opposite proves that my GG's are the best anyone has... anywhere. Given how much they both mean to me, such positive and embracing reception was just fantastic. I could wipe the sweat running down from my armpits (in fact I even checked the carpet where I had been sitting for a giant sweat mark) happy in the fact that my major hurdle had been conquered. They're the best, and I love them heaps.

My Dad delivered my the classic reception, and in a way I'm glad he did because it just wouldn't be coming out without it. I'm referring to the 'won't get married, won't have kids, I won't be a grandfather' treatment. He came round after the initial shock. (And shock it was.)

Danni, a friend I value greatly, was one of the few people I told very early on -- this was not something, after all, that I wanted to tackle on my own. When I told her I think I satisfied one of her long held wants: to have a gay friend. Every girl's necessity. I'm not quite sure I'm camp enough for her preconceived desire, but still, gay is gay is gay. It feels like I'm always patching things up with Danni, but she has made the whole thing so much easier. Danni also has the credit of taking me to my first gay club; thank you so much, it's great that there are not only people like you, but that you are a friend of mine. If you have made it this far down (and I know you complain about the length), you're a star, and you have made coming out and accepting my gayness so much easier. I count myself lucky to have Danni as a friend.

I hardly ever see my Uncle John and Auntie Babette these days; they live in Cairns, I split my time between Melbourne and the Sunshine Coast. Babette is a nurse, with an uncanny knack for gory medical detail while John is a... well, John is super smart. As if the Masters in mathematics isn't good enough, he's pretty close to a computer genius. By now all was good, very few nerves, no problem. See what I mean? Nobody has a better family. There was a precedent, however, with my Auntie and Uncle.

One of the last two people I want to mention (though one's absence by no means indicates lack of importance) is my cousin Jim. Some of my fondest memories were spent with Jim, including the creation of our own Lego world (we had two islands, Citadel and Proxima, connected by the Lego train), having drinks spilt all over me, playing computer games, eating packets of custard creams and making fun of Indonesian Presidents to name but a few. Moreover, I've always looked up to Jim, and held a great respect for him -- not to mention great jealousy at being able to complete assignments the night before and get acceptable marks. He has always been this tall figure for me; impossible to even be angry with, 100% likeable. Indeed I love him heaps.

The day after I arrived on the Sunshine Coast, the day I began coming out, Grandma told me that my cousin Jim was gay. GAY!!! Complete shock (I've never been speechless in my life until that moment) eventually gave way to sheer delight. It's funny when you discover a quality about someone you didn't previously know; I remember when Danni found out that I love anime. Her voice jumped up about three octaves. So naturally when I discovered this little thing about Jim I was ecstatic; it was just the best thing. I mention my cousin because after I told him that I too was gay, he replied with the kindest and most uplifting words anyone has said about this. There is nothing like being so nervous about something, only to be met with support and encouragement. Can't wait for you to get home cuz -- and don't forget my hat.

Finally, my brother Tom (or Boston as I call him). It is a quaint paradox that we are closer now than we ever have been -- this despite the fact I spend most of the year 1700 kilometres away. We get on well and make an excellent team; perhaps a little too good, as our gang mentality in Vietnam demonstrated. I told Tom that I was gay quite a long time before coming out properly, which inadvertently placed quite a burden on him -- I strongly insisted that nobody find out until I was ready. He stuck to his word and for this I am in his debt. When I mentioned the situation, his words were simple and brief: "it doesn't change who you are". As my brother is the most apathetic and carefree person on the face of the earth, these words carried much gravity. Thanks Boston, you're a star. Well done, and thanks also for bearing the brunt of the overt gay stuff -- those rent boys on bikes in Saigon were pretty hot though. :-p My intention is not to make you uncomfortable, I talk to you as I talk to any of my mates. Thanks bro, just remember, men can't have opinions about fabric.

There are heaps more people I could have mentioned, but I had to bring my epic blog to an end at some stage. The 2006th year after that dude passed out on a cross was an interesting one for me, and I wouldn't have changed it for the world. Every day I become more comfortable and more confident with my sexuality, something made possible only by the wonderful supportive people around me. My family (not forgetting my mates, notably Danni and Shane, who I neglected to mention but who sent me a warming email after I came out) are quite simply the best. They are supportive, unashamed, proud of me irrespective of anything, and are respectful that I have come out to them. I know that I can count on them at any stage, for anything, to be there for me. I don't think there is a better family that anyone has ever come out to, which makes my crew just awesome. I love them all and I'm certain that Jim and I are the envy of the gay community.

To my enviable crew.

Human Being Profile: Shane Jury

2006-12-31T14:23:00.000+11:00

My holiday is most definitely over. I know this for a fact; when I go for a walk in Caloundra I don't encounter people (interesting people that is), there aren't big buildings, there is no excitement and forget any night life. In Caloundra, 'night life' would probably refer to those who have slipped through the social net and wonder about at night. Maybe this is a harsh assessment of the Sunshine Coast (Caloundra in particular); indeed just the other day I ran into three friends on the same day during two short walks. But I've found it very difficult to adjust to a place that barely has 60,000 people -- as opposed to 6 million (see the blog below). I think there are two things at play in this situation: my new found desire to throw off all shackles, and become less inhibited (more social in other words); and also this terribly pessimistic idea that I'm never going to meet anyone. The two together make for some interesting moments; made much harder living in Caloundra.

Believe it or not I've decided to write a blog about somebody else. Well, I'm trying to... a bad start perhaps?

Given the chance to catch up with friends and check out Brisbane at night I naturally said yes. And I'm so glad I did. I caught up with people I hadn't seen in ages and, significantly, continued my process of deshackling. How?

Originally the night was to be centred on a jazz club in Milton however this was shut. Fortunately for me -- a bit too classy for my wallet. So the decision was made to hit a club which we did though in all fairness, it was relatively tame -- especially compared with what I imagine The Family to be. Nevertheless it was incredibly fun. I'm sure I looked like a complete twat, indeed I felt like one, but I had the most fun dancing till 3 in the morning. Night time in Brisbane is awesome. My Friday night was about catching up with mates, but it drew me to a dance floor where I became less self conscious and less caring (not to mention the fact that I had so much fun). It was a personal triumph, to be there in a city I now love even more and throw some chains off.

To those who went with me, I'm sure this sounds stupid. But there you go. The subtitle of the jBlog is 'a gateway into my inner insanity'.

Now to end the narcissism, I turn to my mate Shane. For those who don't know Shane, he is incredibly smart. Not just smart, smart smart (let's go with uber smart). He studies Law at the University of Queensland achieving distinctions in the units, and the previous year topped all six subjects at high school scoring an O.P 1. Moreover, Shane is looking fantastic these days -- the gym can actually pay off (straight people go to the gym? This shouldn't be right:-)) Politics wise, we speak the same language with very little disagreement (we possibly had a difference of opinion at some stage). It's nice to have discussions with educated left-wing people, though my world contains academics, so this is now quite a norm. While I consider myself to be good friends with Mr Jury, I have previously really only known the bookish version. So I was well impressed when we caught up on a few occasions last week.

SHANE IS HUMAN!!!

[It's at this point that I should point out that Shane is an avid jBlogger, owning all the accessories including the jTrip, jTunes and jBlog shoe connector. So buddy, this is all light hearted!]

Human, and not at all like the bookish person I remember. And this was demonstrated continuously, from the moment we met up and I threw on Tiffany's scarf (nothing says gay like her scarf... I must have it) to the moment when he downed his x'th bourbon to the moment he absolutely ripped it up on the dance floor. Give Shane a beat and he's off. Speaking of beat, I always pictured him in a robe with a pipe, critically analysing Mozart. BUT NO!!! For Shano it's a necessity that you can at least shake your head to it. He has a car and doesn't drive it like a dickhead. Brilliant! Has one night stands. Fantastic! Goes to clubs and parties hard. And confident as; he's smart and he knows it.

It's perhaps not so much a transformation as just meeting a side I hadn't previously; and I'm so glad I did. This seems gushy I know, or like I'm booking a pardon from the High Court, but I only tell it how I see it: this is the jLife. Shane buddy, I look forward to getting to know you even more, and uncovering more skeletons! You're an awesome person and I love being in your presence. We can talk politics in a taxi, discuss the pro's and con's of third world debt, then go and work some moves. I can see some fun times ahead, and that absolutely includes The Beat. Just remember, there are ladies who don't want you: there's your challenge, and I have every faith.

Bring on 2007.

Saigon Saigon

2006-12-18T17:35:00.000+11:00

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) (15 December 2006 -- 20 December 2006).

We arrived in Saigon on a warm Wednesday morning in December. The train was timely and the propaganda booming as we pulled into the gem of the south. I was full of excitement as we pulled in; my hopes were high and unlike the times where I've been so disappointed, Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC) has been absolutely fantastic. Well on its way to becoming a new Singapore? Just give it a few years. The rising capitalism and entreprenurialism of the Vietnamese people will see this stunning city boom, and I for one want to see it happen. Saigon Saigon... let it happen.

Through a series of changed ideas HCMC became our longest single stop. Subsequently I have no idea where to start my final travelling blog, so bear with the roughly structured text that follows... and apologies for the torturing of the English language. But where to start... well, Saigon (as everyone calls it) is located in the very south of the nation and is home to some 6 million people. The city is so huge it is broken up into districts (of which there are about 10) and extends over many horizons in every direction. While there are people everywhere, the number of motorbikes is something to behold. The 'moto' is definitely the transport of choice and to be honest, it just makes sense; fuel is cheap and they run on an oily rag. Come nightfall the number of motos is just unbelievable -- makes you stop in your steps to marvel. Moving back to the city itself, it has a plan similar to western cities, with a 'downtown' and surrounding suburbs. The Dong Khoi area is the city centre, and when you are there you could be anywhere in a typical cosmopolitan city. In many ways Dong Khoi Street reminds me of Collins Street in Melbourne -- BMWs, Dolce & Gabana stores, opera houses and five star hotels. The shady streets of the city make for nice respite from the blistering sun. It is here that you can not only see tourists from all nations off the world, but also the middle/upper class Vietnamese flaunting their stuff. The buildings light up, the people are out, the city is young, neon signs bright and modernisation fast. HCMC is happening already, and it's only getting better.

I will say one last thing with regards to the city itself, and that is two main other areas of particular interest. Pham Ngu Lao is backpacker central, where the rooms are cheap and beer is flowing. It's a really fun part of town and stays open quite late; there are bars for drinking (well, what else), restaurants are everywhere at least one of which will satisfy some certain craving, desire, curiosity or sense of humour (one of my favourites was this one where all the wait staff were so incredibly effeminate), and there is just everything you need from laundry to banks to mini-marts to marijuana to coconuts (that's Tim to you -- long story) to massage boys to pork rolls. Pham Ngu Lao is awesome, and pretty much your only choice if you're on a budget. The second area I want to mention (actually it's the third, including Dong Khoi) is Cholon -- a kind of Chinatown. It's alright, with lots of stuff happening but it is a long way from PGL, and especially the city centre. An Dong market is worth a look, but otherwise stick closer to the city.

If you're into sightseeing, Saigon is your place. I for one love touristy things, but I always try to blend into the fabric woven by the locals. The first place we saw, and found purely by accident, is Ben Than Market (Cua Ben Than), at the end of yet another Le Loi street. Ben Than is the place for everything... and I mean everything. I bought coffee there, drippers, shirts, tea and some other silly stuff. But it is definitely a place for food -- during the day the food is inside the market, and served by women cooking up a storm at individual (though identical) booths. The food is, quite simply, fantastic -- fresh, relatively cheap and very tasty. At night time the market must close but this doesn't stop the food -- no no no. The night market springs into life and the food is even better! GO NIGHT MARKET! Anyone in HCMC must come to Ben Than for dinner (or if you can't visit at night, at least come for lunch). Stated above, the An Dong Market is also really cool, and the place where I bought my beloved beads. Ah beads, why I'm so fascinated I'll never know. Lastly, while talking markets, the military replica market (down Duong Yersin) and the import market are both really cool. The latter is where I stocked up on duty free -- Absolute and Kahlua for $16! Not to mention the Vodka Hanoi I bought just a few days earlier for $3.

While sightseeing in Saigon it is essential to visit the Independence Palace, home of the South Vietnam President (initally Diem) while the nation existed. The palace is stunning, with wide staircases, open air corridors and a stately feel. All of the rooms are furnished beautifully, including some great artwork much of which symbolises life in Vietnam. At the end of the tour (not necessarily recommended) there is a video which is particularly anti-American... just up my street. Also particularly anti-American is the War Remnants Museum (formerly the Museum of American and Chinese War Atrocities), which I found to be a particularly solemn experience. There is all the standard stuff, including captured tanks and helicopters, but also lots of photos. Now, photos may sound boring but they actually brought me to tears (not uncontrollably though). I could handle the victims of Agent Orange and the bottled foetuses which were horribly deformed, however the exhibition of peace posters by children was gut wrenching. Every poster called for a peace among individuals and nations, it was the innocence of youth that made it all just so sad. If this wasn't enough there were more photos of war crimes, with one standing out in my mind -- I felt like letting loose but there were too many people around. A black and white photo depicted a women lying on the ground, a basket from which she'd been selling prawns was over her face (the produce scattered all over the ground) and her husband standing by in absolute shock and disbelief. The genuine, unstaged and horribly real nature of the photo captured my attention for maybe 10 min. I walked away very sad, yet pleased I'd seen the the graphic depictions of the Vietnam War at a grass roots level.

Other museums Tom and I visited included the Ho Chin Minh City Museum and the Museum of Fine Arts. The former was not really much, and probably not worth the walk or entrance fee (15,000VND). The art gallery, however, was fantastic. Housed inside are paintings, rare artefacts, carvings, statues and sculptures. Some of the paintings are simply stunning, especially those by the featured Vietnamese artists on exhibition -- there isn't a special style (most are portraits, landscapes, impressionist, abstract etc.) though many depict Vietnamese life. My favourite three were very similar: the colours were beautiful and there was a nice contrast between sharp and smooth shapes. In some ways it looked 3D. The gallery itself is a work of art, and well worth the visit (there was no entrance fee when we went due to a power cut, but expect to pay about 15,000VND). I bought a great book by Tranh Co Dong, a propaganda artist during the war -- worth every cent of the $4!

As it is impossible to go through all of the sights in Saigon (don't challenge me though ), lastly I turn to the Dong Khoi area itself, an area I loved. Dong Khoi Street itself is great -- a tree lined avenue with countless motorbikes and BMW 7s, not to mention the designer shops and boutiques. There is a nice little gourmet food shop nearby (a place to stock up on things like Perrier and green Tobasco) and the hotels made me feel considerably poor. The mosque next to the Sherriton Plaza is nice and peaceful as is the Hindu temple -- worth a visit. The Opera House is impossible to miss, situated in the centre of a huge intersection of Dong Khoi and Le Loi streets. I'm disappointed we never went to the show, so if you're in Saigon on a Tuesday night why not pop in. The Q Bar is located sort of under the Opera House, and is very classy.

Continuing my world record attempt for the longest blog, it's worth mentioning shopping (I saw a guy wearing a shirt which said "I shop, therefore I am"). There is shopping for rich and poor; the former may as well stay in the Dong Khoi area, and if you have the dong you'll walk away with some really nice things. On the other hand, if your budget is like mine, shop anywhere else! Ben Than is great and Le Loi street is filled with people selling cheap knockoffs. I think I have about 3 fake Polos and a fake Lacoste shirt, not to mention the printed T's. Coffee is a good buy (get them to throw in free drippers) while there are a million and one wooden items to buy. My recommendation is go nuts, and go nuts in the cheap areas!

When it's time to leave the art gallery and the sun sets, Saigon comes out to play. Night time in the city is pretty good and very busy, but if you're a clubber you will probably be disappointed. I went to two; the first one (forget asking the name, it was a couple over from De Tham Street) had cool music, which was appropriately loud (that's extremely loud) but there were only tables, all of which were taken, with no room so stand (let alone dance, not that I do) at all. The second was the classic Apocalypse Now (Appo) which too was a disappointment. It also has the most expensive beer in all of Vietnam, at $3 per Tiger. Pham Nhu Lao is filled with bars, all of which stay open until the very early hours (I once woke up at 4am to hear the bamboo place thingy still going). They are much more expensive than, say, Nha Trang though. Once again, and continuing a theme, beer is usually very cheap (Tiger is the best, even I like it, though I found Carlsberg to be very nice, and cheap at the gay cafe -- 12,000VND). Eating is a real treat in HCMC, as mentioned, the best place to eat is at the night markets (Ben Than). There is a nice Indian place in PGL and the usual plethora of Italian restaurants. The gay cafe I mentioned is not really gay, but the wait staff certainly are -- nice food, cheap beer, awful music. Lastly I want to mention Kim Cafe, covered in Utopia and Lonely Planet (that I know of). We ate here everyday and it's a no-nonsense place to order cheap and tasty food. The Pho is excellent (so much beef, so many noodles, and forget the chilli -- even for me it's hot), and the pricing is very good (which means cheap!). If you can't decide where to have a meal, head to Kim Cafe.

I don't feel I can do justice to Saigon with these words; after Singapore, of course, it is the most fantastic city I've been in. It's absolutely beautiful, stunning in fact, and you are never short of something to do. Whether morning, steamy afternoon, or night. While I've said it before, the people here are fantastic -- really friendly, very industrious and generally act with good intention. Moreover most people in HCMC speak English, or I was just used to people speaking so little English they all seemed like Shakespeare. Either way the Saigonites are great people. It's easy to get around, just jump into a taxi (the run to Tan Son Nhat Airport is probably the most expensive fare), onto a motorbike ("hello moto"), or just walk and soak up the atmosphere, knock back all of the 'offers' while you're at it! Ho Chi Minh City is clean and efficient, modern and ever-growing; give yourself at least four days for this city is perhaps the jewel in the Vietnamese crown. Saigon Saigon, I cannot wait until I see you again.

Tue: Mr Vietnam.

2006-12-12T21:32:00.000+11:00

Nha Trang (9 December 2006 -- 13 December)

Reflecting on Nha Trang, two thoughts spring immediately to mind. First, I have very little to say; we didn't really do anything but relax, eat and make use of our palatial room overlooking the South China Sea. Second, my sociological student has a PhD topic as the town is just so interesting; there are prostitutes and bars, and the underside is really quite amazing. Nha Trang was not my favourite place in Vietnam, but it was a great town to kick back; easy to get around and highly recommended to all.

The Reunification (non-) Express departed extremely late from Danang -- more than two hours -- which meant arriving in Nha Trang at around 11pm. In turn, this meant giving in to a tout and finding a make-do hotel for the night. It was small and poky but it did the trick; there was a good James Bond movie on I seem to recall. Given the amount of time we were going to spend at the beach, it was necessary to find a better place. So once again it was left up to me (accompanied by my trusty sidekick) to find the perfect room. My new system was to take business cards from hotels and write the price down; it works better than memory. We must have checked about 10 hotel rooms with one of them so nice, nicer than any one we've even seen in Vietnam, it could only have been out of our league. Fortunetaly Pete must have been on something strong because we took the palace (actually it was only $24 per night); and worn out from the hotel-finding expedition, we cranked up the air conditioner and flopped on the double beds. The Golden Hotel had pretty special views of the sea, Vinpearl Resort and the rest of Nha Trang. It was also pointed out to me that the room had a good view of a guy who lifted weights all day. If you ask for more you are just being picky.

What to do on the first full day? Go out of the hotel, and turn left along the beach. On the second day? Well not the second day (somebody had a hangover -- no not me) but the third day, out and right along the beach. In a way Nha Trang reminds me of the Gold Coast, but not as tall or built up. There are hotels everywhere and as far as you can see along the front are huge buildings. Also on the esplanade is a fantastic theatre; there's just something about the official Vietnamese buildings. It's not so much the architecture as the clean and pristine nature of the buildings themselves. Apart from heading out on the bay on a boat trip, we didn't do much else. The boat trip was great fun; everything was very tame on 'The Fairy' (yes serious) early in the day... nothing some alcohol couldn't fix. Those on board were mostly Australian and English, and were really funny people. The best Aussie was an accountant who had been made redundant and was spending his payout on a SE Asian holiday. He was loud and crude but was very nice. The English girls were great value -- to say they didn't speak the Queen's English is an understatement; add beer and sun and you have a lot of fun. I also made friends with a Korean guy, Su, who was travelling through Asia. He's an architecture student from Seoul, 24, speaks great English (quite a novelty here in Vietnam) and is very well travelled. Su had been in India just after I left last year and has backpacked through Europe (turns out people do go there and backpack living on baguettes). Amazingly I didn't get burnt or even stung by a nasty -- a few people emerged from the water with some painful looking rashes.

I mentioned that Nha Trang was an interesting place, especially from a sociological perspective. Of course this is my usual perspective these days; my major has spoiled the way I look at society (naively, that is) and now I can only analyse it. So why not take a shot. We aren't talking about an entirely tourist-oriented town, but it's pretty close. At 350,000 people Nha Trang covers very little landmass and is centred on the beach. While I haven't been to Thailand, I imagine this is what many of the major tourist resorts are like. People with baskets of 'goodies' (books, chips, cigarettes, lollies etc.) constantly annoy you trying to sell at least something. More often than not they are unsuccessful and can put a negative spin on dinner. You get a lot of women doing this job, including impossibly young children. The men, on the other hand, work in hospitality, drive taxis, or drive motorbikes -- the last of these being the most disturbing. Motorbike riders all offer you three things, in this order: a lift somewhere (usually cheaper than a taxi), marijuana (good and cheap I'm assured), and finally a prostitute (or "boom boom" as it's referred to as). Prostitution is alive and well in Nha Trang, and isn't even remotely concealed. Tom was in the lift coming back to the room one night when he saw a Japanese businessman with a young Vietnamese sex worker in our lift. Perhaps this is tolerable, but it's when children are involved that, for the highly ethical westerner I am, considerable distress and disgust kicks in. (I say "perhaps" this is tolerable with regards to over age prostitution; in Australia, no problem, knock yourself out, but here it's different. There is a greater likelihood that it is forced upon the workers -- that it is much less a choice than it is, say, in Australia or Holland.) The age difference between the punter and prostitute is also a big factor: Tom wanted to break a Coke bottle over a fat middle aged man's head as he was escorted ("chaperoned") by two extremely young Vietnamese girls. It's not a nice topic but it is a reality here; an underside side to such a spectacular nation that is very unfortunate. I mention the prostitution as it is a reality, and people shouldn't be under any illusions; but it isn't constantly in your face (it's not mega obvious) and it doesn't come even close to spoiling your time. Walk down the street in St Kilda and it's exactly the same if not worse. The last thing I would stress is not to make judgements on whether to come to Vietnam based on the prostitution alone: it is worldwide, and just a small part to such an awesome country -- as my photos illustrate.

I would like to end the blog on a happy and fun note however. Earlier I mentioned that Pete had pointed out the weightlifting guy to me; well he also found another guy for me (he actually said as I got back to the hotel: 'I've found two guys for you'). Tue (pronounced Tué) is a resident of Nha Trang, and to say that he is perfect is every possible way is understating the truth. Straight black hair complemented skin I can only dream of -- oh so smooth and the best colour (not really dark but certainly not light). Tall and slim, he's 19, a student of English and very smart; nicely dressed and well presented too. But the most amazing thing is his smile... it either cripples you at the knees, takes your breath away or makes your chest swell up. If he was the cover model for GQ they wouldn't have to digitally enhance anything. Tue is, though this may seem shocking to some, even more shy than me -- very softly spoken, very cute. The hottest guy in Vietnam? Absolutely. And I challenge you to find a nicer person, both physically and especially personally. Overcoming my chronic lack of confidence, and my own shyness, I finally shook the other two off and went and chatted with him. My plan did not come off as anticipated, and though we spoke for a while it was pretty interrupted. The guy is just so nice, sweet and shy, I wanted to whisk him away to Spain and play volleyball (that's his sport) on the beaches of Mediterranean Sea.

There's something you wouldn't have read, as I wouldn't have written it, six months ago. Life is good. And I'll keep the gay ranting gushiness out of the next blog... or will I... well I'm writing this in Saigon and you never know. Loving Vietnam. Gets better everyday. The people are great, food not too bad and the natural beauty in abundance.

Long Live Cho the Triangle in The Venice of Vietnam

2006-12-09T17:38:00.000+11:00

Hoi An (4 December 2006 -- 8 December 2006)

Hoi An is described as the Venice of Vietnam: we certainly discovered this, however not for the original reasons. This is a town in central Vietnam that lives and breathes tourism. It reminds me of Pushkar in Rajastan, India, in that everyone is white and dishing out the currency -- everyone except, that is, the business owners. Hoi An attracts a specific type of traveller, certainly not mine or Tom's demographic nor the type of tourist that Pete is. Most whities here are middle class and middle aged, drink red wine, complain about interest rates (in other countries... you know how it is with overseas investment), and stay in resorts. Thus, business has adapted to this and restaurants are expensive, alcohol is on sale everywhere (including Australian wines), there are no mini-marts (I get disturbingly excited when I see a mini-mart or, even better, a 'super'market) and the resorts on the beach are absolutely huge. Everything you could possibly need to forget that you are in Vietnam. It's kind of ritzy, perhaps one reason why they call it the Venice of Vietnam, but we also discovered the other.

This place has a problem with flooding given the proximity to the river. Typhoon Durian has been, well, kicking up a storm, and while it did stop raining the river finally burst its banks -- big time. The streets flooded all over town and in true Vietnamese entrepreneurialism, a sea of boats (sorry) popped up as water taxis. It was not very pleasant in my opinion as the restaurants were on the other side of the flood waters; my feet, even knees, got considerably wet. Just the day before Tom and I tried desperately to keep our shoes dry -- seemed pretty silly whilst I was knee deep in muddy water. The flood was barely acceptable until just at the end, when I was grossed out more than anytime in my life (no exaggeration). I was nearly sick. Time to have a shower and wash half of the river off my feet.

In conjunction with ripping people off, Hoi An has a roaring tailoring industry. The three of us (one more reluctantly than the others) weighed in and had some suits tailored. Tom and I had virtually the same suit made, black with a white shirt. Though I wanted mine slim, and asked specifically, Tom's is slimmer, but I couldn't be bothered having the adjustments made (in the intervening time they would have tried to sell me more pants, more jackets, winter coats, silk, scarves, ties, vests and so forth). Pete had a versatile jacket made; we all look very smart. The market here is very good and has a speciality in Tiger Balm; though I was quite fond of the Copperhead wine -- a drink with a copperhead snake in it. Seriously! There is a snake in the jar and you drink the liquid stuff! I've stocked up on fake Ralph Lauren polos, Tiger Balm and an awesome thin black tie. Unfortunately My Son, which was supposed to kill most of the last day in Hoi An, was flooded. Perhaps that's 'flooded'; perhaps I'm too sceptical. The end to the Hoi An stop eventually came, and it was Reunification Express time once again.

This blog has been written in two parts (the power went out during the previous paragraph), and as I waded back to the hotel I realised I'd been doing this place a favour. So, to keep it mild, I didn't like Hoi An. People rave about it, 'oh it's sooo beautiful nah nah nah', but I couldn't find it's endearing qualities. But that's me, I can't believe people are still travelling with me (perhaps they're after free ointments that only I have...). Everyone in the town is middle class and paying through the nose for things; restaurants are relatively overpriced; touts sit on every single street corner; business people scream at you from the other side of the street; and the town is very very small. Hoi An is not my kind of place, I'm more your hippyish, $6 a night, banana pancake type traveller. No doubt this is a beautiful place. And I'm as happy as, plus the food is pretty great. It's worth a visit, but it isn't for everyone. Bargain hard and stay vigilant!

--
Cho the triangle is the name I gave to a street sign -- I may have mentioned earlier that when I'm hungry or tired I get giggly. I nearly collapsed when I saw the street sign, with a yellow triangle, and 'Cho' underneath it. Weird? Highly. Cho takes its place alongside Clive the Gazelle, from Bikaner, India.

Duelling Mobiles on the Reunification Express

2006-12-02T19:03:00.000+11:00

Hué (1 December 2006 -- 4 December 2006)

As I mentioned in the previous blog, leaving Ninh Binh brought with it a chance to learn the Vietnamese train culture. Unfortunately there isn't really one -- certainly not like India. When we got on we were met by very enthuiastic train staff, with badges and uniforms. Our water was delivered and everything was alarmingly smooth (I say alarmingly because in India this doesn't happen -- nobody has a uniform, people need to be kicked out of compartments, luggage needs to be reaquainted with its owner and so forth). Of course this efficiency came back to bite us as Pete was moved to a different compartment due to some very illogical booking. As we arrived at Vinh, the first stop, an evil Vietnamese man pushed his way in and took what was technically his seat (he knew we were all together). He also had a sleeper for his bags (at 350,000VND). This meant war.

Evil Vietnam started playing awful pop-music on his mobile phone, without any consideration as to whether this would annoy us. It was loud, annoying and awful but it was moderately tolereable -- until the night set in. When the sun had gone, the lights were off and it was time for sleeping, you do not play loud music in a quiet and populated compartment -- exactly the thing he did. So Tom and I launched war, my Samsung pitted against a piece of crap Nokia; mine with good and loud music, his with awful Vietnamse ballads. I can safely say that team Samsung were the winners, and there was no more music. It was duelling mobiles on the Reunification Express.

We arrived in Hué at 1am, not the time to arrive anywhere let alone a city in which nobody knows, without a hotel room. Strolling down Le Loi street (there appears to be one in every Vietnamese town) I thought we might just have to rough it and stay at the Accor hotel -- we stopped for directions to the cheap part of town. After a night in a small musty room we awoke to one of the most outstanding cities in the nation.

Hué is fantastic. It is a young, vibrant town that isn't entirely dependent on the tourist trade. There are shops everywhere, cheap (and not so cheap) eats, coffee bars, fake things, great people and heaps of things to do. The Perfume River is really quite spectacular and the main bridge stands beautifully alight at night. Hué is on actually on two sides of this river, while we stayed on the south side, the ancient Citadel dominates the north. Also on the north side is the Dong Ha market -- the best in Vietnam. You can buy everything here, everything. After spending... 'some' :-p money on alcohol (the makings of White Russians) we wondered through, eating weird things and being chased by people wanting us to eat more weird things. Great stuff -- the market is, for me, one of the main images I have of this nation, and Dong Ha was certaily the best.

Unfortunately the discovery of the Citadel was rained off. We didn't know it at the time, but Typhoon Durian was starting to ply its trade over Vietnam (after killing 1,000 people in the Phillipines). It was time to give up and head back to the hotel dripping wet. Just a few hours earlier Pete, Tom and I stopped for lunch at Lac Thanh restaurant on the north bank -- the owner is deaf and is perhaps the kindest man in the entire nation. When we went back a few days later, he gave us all a really cool bottle opener (home made, with his name, the date and restaurant on it -- hospitality we haven't encountered here or in India). The custom is that we find a sight in our home country (like the Opera House, or Reichstag, or Tower Bridge) and open a bottle in front of it. I'm yet to decide where to open mine.

Another day of exploring the day after was also marred by rain. Pete thought we could do with far less dignity so he bought us some rain ponchos -- bright purple. While Tom looked decidedly silly in his, he took it upon himself to label me "Casper's Gay Cousin" -- I can live with that. The following day was one of the highlights of the trip in the DMZ tour.

The Demilitarised Zone tour had been a long time coming, and was something particularly looked forward to by Tom. Horribly ironic was it that he got sick about 2 hours into the trip and had to go back to Hué. I continued, taking extra pictures, and had a great time. For $10 I went on the deluxe tour, stopping at the Rockpile, Ho Chi Minh Bridge, Khe Sahn, Ben Hai River and Vinh Moc tunnels. While there is nothing there, almost literally, Khe Sahn was my favourite place -- there is something just so spooky about it. There is a bunker there with an exit that goes no where but into some thick grass and palm trees, but that was the Vietnam War. There weren't any roads, or buses, or touts, just warfare and jungles. It bemuses me as to, firstly, why anyone would go to war with Vietnam; and secondly, how on earth the Vietnamese (a calm and friendly people) beat the American war machine.

Along with Hanoi, Hué is my favourite place in Vietnam. There is just something that I love about it. It has life and vibrancy, young and hippyish but with a middle class tinge; the food is excellent (restaurants are everywhere, literally), the sights are beautiful, people friendly and in general has a safe and fun feel to it. As I type this in Hoi An I would happilly go back to the hotel (swim back, that is), pack my bags and head back to Hué for another few days. Anyone who misses this place on their travels is very silly -- it has something for everyone and is on the main rail line. You have no excuse! Go HUE!!!

Westerners on Wheels

2006-12-02T19:01:00.000+11:00

Ninh Binh (27 November -- 30 November 2006)

Bound for Ninh Binh we needed to catch the ferry off Cat Ba. The sorry excuse for a boat left at 5:45am and, as I had predicted, we did not receive our wake up call. It was fortunate that I had had a very crappy sleep the night before. So we scrambled around, packed our bags, got dressed all in a hurry and, my favourite, in the dark due to the frequent power cuts. We made it easily, but the call would have been nice (and as luck would have it, my phone had died just the afternoon before).

The ferry to Hai Phong (the Hai Phong 1) was... er... on the brink of collapse. It was a rust bucket at best and made the old version of the Big Cat look like the Queen Mary II. We all sat in the first class section (!) but I'm not sure we had such privilege -- though we paid more than double the fare for Vietnamese citizens. The seats were horrible and sticky, the boat just gave in to any wave without any resistance but it was only two hours -- and it was all an experience. At about 7 the boat people turned the TV on, which was death for me. When I don't eat I get very giggly, and Vietnamese TV had some truly awful love ballad video clips on. I started laughing, and laughing, and laughing at this awful music -- the other passengers also saw the lighter side but I had to go and stand outside. As we pulled past the pride of the Vietnamese Navy (akin to some rubber dinghies with machine guns) the touts ambushed us at Hai Phong jetty. There is no cheap arse accommodation in Hai Phong so we set off straight for the bus station.

I didn't even look at myself in a mirror on the morning we left, needless to say I hadn't had breakfast. Tom and I set off, down the outrageously dangerous streets, in search of food. There were lots of bars and cafes, but no where to have something to eat. We settled on a prison diet, bread and water, though with a twist. The water was Milo and the bread was brioche. In a way this was unfortunate because I'm now hooked on brioche -- IT'S JUST SO GOOD! Sweet, cakey, bready, filling, mmmmmmmm brioche. Plus it's fun to say, brioche. Pete thought he could beat us on the food stakes, he failed miserably (though I applaud his effort) and the fried rice was about as bad as could possibly be.

The bus to Ninh Binh was very uncomfortable, for a lot of reasons. Buses are actually quite fun as the drivers are like kamikaze pilots. They will spend 10 mins trying to overtake a car, do it at break neck speed, then slam the brakes on to pick somebody up. The best thing to come of the trip was Mr Xuan, a hotelier from Ninh Binh who was touting to tourists (while I was not happy at this at the time, Mr Xuan is probably the friendliest person in Vietnam) and we ended up at the Xuan Hoa Hotel (the bus dropped us off right outside!). $10 a night, nice hotel people, full of westerners (even if they are German)... what more could you ask for. Hot water? Towels? Laundry? We had those too!

There is nothing to Ninh Binh, everyone who stops here is after the sights around the city (in fact they can be done as a day trip from Hanoi -- we have been trekking for a week and only travelled 93km from where we started). Our first full day involved a lot of resting -- all of us got out of bed late and did very little throughout the day. The bank proved very hard to find (especially as it closes at lunch for about 2 hours) and we walked about 6km in search. In the end they wouldn't change Aussie dollars (for Pete's sake, I have real, US money); fortunately Mr Xuan did out forex at the hotel. Rather alarmingly the train tickets were purchased easily and that was the dusty day in Ninh Binh.

The thirst for tearing up the highway on the smallest motorbikes was satisfied when we headed for the tourist sights around Ninh Binh. Tam Coc is described as Halong Bay on the rice paddies, and indeed it's almost as spectacular. The boat ride was incredibly uncomfortable but altogether worth it. Included in the ticket for Tam Coc were two temples -- a bit of a climb but once again, worth the effort. This is what we came to Ninh Binh for, and it didn't disappoint. Tom is now a master of the 110cc motorbike, demonstrated by the horrible roads to the sights, and I am a master at leaning into corners -- it's hard work........ :-p

I was not necessarily looking forward to leaving but I was hanging out for two things, first was our arrival in Hue, and second learning the culture of the Vietnamese rail system. Both counts did not disappoint.

The Gay Revolutionary and the Cat Ba Kids

2006-11-29T21:10:00.000+11:00

Cat Ba Island (24 November 2006 -- 28 November 2006)

Amazingly we weren't charged to get off the junk when we arrived at Cat Ba Island. Of course we were dropped off at the tourist dock about 2km away from town; it was a hell of a walk in the dark, with all the bags, in shockingly uncomfortable thongs. It was worth it though when we arrived in Cat Ba town.

Cat Ba survives on the fishing industry and tourism. Both are alive and well; the water was alight with fishing vessels (and floating restaurants) and every second person was white. If ever you needed evidence that this is a small world, the first place we sat (rather, flopped after the walk) was next to some people from Buderim (about 20 mins from Caloundra). They were on a whirlwind trip around Vietnam and Cambodia and were well into the liquor (as we got there daiquiris were being put down, but I'll return to this soon).

We checked into a really shabby hotel for the first night -- you clearly get what you pay for. For $6 we got bad towels (if you could call them towels at all), cockroaches, power cuts, no hot water and a bathroom with a peeping hole (seriously! There was a hole in the wall and a stool sitting outside it!). It was a huge room though, and it had a great balcony. Nevertheless Tom and I made our preferences clear, and we moved to a great hotel down the road, and closer to the beach. Room was $10, had hot water and a great view from the now infamous tang 6 (the 6th floor). Bastard getting from the room to the bottom though.

The night we stayed in Cat Ba Crappy Tom and I once again found the Buderim kids. Two are studying at the UQ, one has a job and the other has just graduated. They were well and truly hammered but this didn't stop them (in true Aussie spirit it seems -- they even had their Vietnamese tour guide pissed!) and we all had a game of pool. White Russians flowed, Tom reacquainted himself with the rather sophisticated dry martini and we had a great time.

By far the best day on Cat Ba involved motorbiking. I was not particularly interested in having my own bike, I gave it a shot but... na. Tom on the other hand was clearly born with the need for speed -- I'm pretty sure he'll be applying for his motorbike P's. Suited up with our awesomely small Hondas we set off around the island. Think Jurassic Park and you have Cat Ba; there are mountains and cliffs everywhere, rugged forests, lakes, hill passes, rice paddies, ports and little towns. It's a tamed but still rugged island in the Gulf of Tonkin and a bike is the only way to see it. The title refers to the hat I was wearing on the back of Pete's bike -- a green one with a red star. It's a novelty really but I needed to keep the sun off (I can hear Grandma's appreciation at wearing a hat now). Tom labelled me the 'gay revolutionary', which is a title I'm happy to accept. Move over Che, James is in town.

The natural beauty of Cat Ba is amazing. There is no place like it anywhere and words can't do it justice. Everyone who travels to Vietnam must spend some time on the island. Unfortunately there are touts everywhere, and you will be ripped off at some time (Pete was given a map of the island one day, the day after the lady came up and charged him 20,000VND for it!). In a way it's understandable, tourism is the game there. But it isn't fair to milk tourists for everything they've got. But I think putting up with it is worth it; I loved this place and a couple of days is needed to do it justice. Cat Ba is also great for a swim, Cat Co 2 is the best though Cat Co 1 (the beaches are numbered) has better surf. Try the sugarcane juice on the front esplanade! mmm sugary, makes me hypo.

World Record Set for Non-Japanese

2006-11-28T00:47:00.000+11:00

Halong Bay (24 November 2006)

To see the back of Halong City is pleasurable; it's certainly not an ugly place (naturally anyway), but there is nothing or nobody there! After a mad scramble to get some photos of my bridge (from Bai Chay to Hon Gai), run back for pho ga, pay the hotel bill and find a taxi we arrived at the tourist dock. Now two things need to be mentioned here: first, as we were driving along the meter on the taxi went out. What was a 20,000VND trip ($1.20) became a $3 trip! Pete and I ganged up on the driver and refused to pay him anymore than what the meter would have said. Second, the tourist dock is an absolute farce: arguably the most tourist unfriendly place in Vietnam. Be prepared. Why?

Noted already we were ripped off with the taxi. Having spent 100,000VND on tickets the day before, the 'official' controllers had never heard of the person I paid. Fortunately this was sorted though the stings kept on coming: the cave walk was an extra 30,000VND. Nice, so now we're up to 130,000VND each. But we weren't alone in this, Pete ended up talking to some Irish tourists that were about ready to really smack somebody -- they had been pissed about quite seriously (while it wasn't funny, they were moved off our boat after we had been sitting at the port for 45 mins for no good reason). There was also a very nice Italian man on our boat (he had designer stubble, as Grandad puts it) who was told he could not stay on the junk for the night -- he (he has a name, though he kept saying it to damn fast) had paid about five times the amount we did to sleep on the bay. Right so that was it? Sadly no. The English people on the boat had been screwed a number of times (and let the operator know about it), lunch (at 50,000VND) was rubbish and one of the Canadians lost their key at the bottom of the Gulf of Tonkin. The Kiwi wanted to scoop it up with a "nit", though the bottom was about 12 metres down. Lastly my favouritist brother was the subject of a particularly nasty sting; the Italian, who had payed for kayaking, did not have a partner and Tom offered to be his co-oarsman. Seriously, where was the dude going on his own? When Tom got back the operator charged him 50,000VND! Not a huge amount but nobody had told us anything, and the operator man comes and charges him for 20 mins kayaking (20 mins which should have been 2 hours). We threatened a complaint though they seemed unfazed. They are clearly used to it.

In a way it is almost worth booking a tour package for Halong Bay; at least you are sheltered from the awful tourist touts waiting to milk you for every last dong. But I guess it's all experience, plus there were countless positive points to come from the day in the World Heritage zone. The rock formations are stunning, almost indescribable, resembling something from a fantasy. There are thousands upon thousands and many have caves and grottoes to be explored. It is a truly magical experience to absorb Halong Bay at a slow speed, and enjoy on of the world's finest natural wonders. For hours you can sit and marvel, forgetting about the ripoffs (that have come, and those in the waiting) and the other cares that inhibit the pleasurable experience of doing nothing but gaze. Halong Bay is a test of patience, but definitely worth it. Stay away from Halong City if possible and if an organised tour is reasonably priced, go for it.

I must have taken over 100 photos of the rock formations which must push the record for a non-Japanese tourist. It is a truly fulfilling experience to have seen Halong Bay, something I'll always remember and treasure. Like the haj, I call on all able bodied persons to visit the bay at least once in their lives; your breath will be taken away and awe will be etched onto your face for quite some time afterwards.

That Riviera Touch

2006-11-23T22:18:00.000+11:00

Halong City (Bai Chay), 23-24 November 2006.

In a footnote to the previous blog, there are two remarks. First, the mysteriousness of Mario will remain forever. I was so unbelievably tired that not even the pounding techno music would have woken me into consciousness. So Mario's could be anything. Second, the morning we left Hanoi we had a very good breakfast. The food was cheap and good (a full English was $2), the coffee unbelievable, the cold chocolate drink would probably be illegal in Australia, and the waiter was adorable. Visitors to Hanoi, eat at this place and please have the ice milk coffee (the cafe is called ???????).

Not many people stop in Halong City and the reasons become obvious. It's a weekend destination for Hanoi folk (at 3.5 hours by road) and is undergoing massive renovation. Think Gold Coast or, as Tom has pointed out, the French Riviera. It is set on a hill and huge hotels reach for the sky, many with grand entrances. Somewhat remarkably the room prices are not that bad; we are staying at the Thong Nhat Hotel for US$18 per night. The sea view is awesome, the islands of Halong Bay sticking out of the sea with cruise ships moored just in the foreground. The bridge to the other part of town is something to behold. But amazingly this is not a nice place. Currently there is no power to any establishment that doesn't have a generator (or isn't a major hotel); the tourist boat dock is teeming with touts to milk you dry and the damn Americans have ruined it for everyone (by paying any old price that's quoted) with business overcharging on everything (in the few hours we've been here, CD copying, water and coke are more expensive than the capital). The view of Halong Bay is to die for, but staying here more than one night could easily do your head in.

We headed out for our nightly walk to be greeted by nobody. It was like a ghost town with the occasional Chinese tourist (there was a Chinese cruise ship moored off Bai Chay). A ghost town except for one notable exception -- Sin City's famous Thai massage; young Vietnamese women, with far too much makeup on, offer "massages" for about $5 per hour. This seems a little too cheap to me, but there you go -- in Halong, anything goes. Even Tom was propositioned a number of times, at only 17 years old.

Halong City is a very weird place. I describe it as a shame; the scenery is beautiful with the sloping hill down towards Halong Bay and its magnificent rock formations. However there is nobody there (anywhere), Thai massages get very annoying (especially seeing as they are on every corner) and the ripoff merchant is just around the corner. I was very glad to leave, albeit it in a hurry. Halong is not a place to spend any more time than necessary; I would say it is advisable, given the departure times of the ferries, to catch an early bus from Hanoi for the trip on the bay. That riviera touch, but certainly no more than this.

There's Just Something About Mario

2006-11-22T22:06:00.000+11:00

Hanoi, 20-23 November 2006.

Only 10 seconds after leaving Noi Bai Airport in Hanoi I thought we'd stumbled upon India again. Car horns were blazing and cattle were crossing the nation's best highway. 'Just great' I thought to myself; not that I didn't enjoy India, but it was a difficult (at times) holiday. It took very little time, however, for these prejudicial thoughts to dissipate.

The old quarter of Hanoi is where most tourists base themselves, and it's not difficult to see why. There are countless streets, very narrow, each lined with shops and food stalls. Every trip out of the hotel means finding something new and different, something that hasn't been seen before. There is a street for ceramics, clothes, headstones, alcohol, baby formula (the average age in this country seems to be around 15 years old), fake sunglasses and watches, designer clothes, shoes and so on. The smell of cooking food finds its way through the air and every street corner has a bia hoy place. Bia hoy is fresh beer, at VND2000 (10 cents) a glass, though even a Heineken will only set you back $2. The motorbikes are a pain in the arse, as is the ever increasing car traffic, but the tiny streets of the old quarter are intoxicating.

Naturally with all the shops comes a lot of spending. My bro and I have been buying heaps of novelty things -- t-shirts (my Tiger Beer shirt is far superior to any Bintang singlet), the Vietnamese flag, cheap arse CDs (VND10,000 each; 80 cents) and shoes. You have to bargain hard though; one lady wanted US$20 for a pair of thongs which I ended up paying US$10 for (Vietnam is virtually a two currency economy), while one kid wanted US$25 for a crappy hat! He got US$2 though I still felt ripped off (and being ripped off is something I hate; this morning we had a French breakfast which utterly sucked. It cost a fortune, wasn't tasty and, well, was just crap. Back to pho ga for me). I will give the French the coffee however. There are places to get coffee, for about $1, everywhere. If you must you can have a baguette, or croissant with ham and cheese, but the coffee is dynamite. Actually I'm a bit hooked on the ice coffee, which is really REALLY strong stuff. And I'm buzzing from having an espresso and Vietnamese black coffee (in quick succession).

The Vietnamese people are so friendly, good natured and non-confrontational. Having said that, I expect to go an pay for my internet and get stung. Nobody pushes you into buying things and everyone has a smile. One thing that is very noticeable is the industriousness; not only are power lines being fixed (or installed), but streets are swept and cleaned every night, and the office hours are like 7am-11pm. Last night we stopped at Mao's Bar, Mao is very gay incidentally, and they are open from about 10am till 4am. I love the Vietnamese and I think they really respect the fact that I am (and Pete and Tom are) polite back. An example of how friendly the people are came last night; we were at the Hub Pub -- where we met Tim the weird Englishman -- when we were invited to this dude's birthday party. So it was birthday cake and watermelon daiquiris for everyone!

We leave Hanoi, reluctantly for me, tomorrow and head to Halong City. Apparently it's the new Sin City with Thai 'Massage' places everywhere. Not to mention the karaoke. I would advise anyone travelling here (Vietnam) to fly out of Hanoi. It is the best city and getting here early before the flight would be a blessing. I also highly recommend a trip to Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum -- a truly wonderful experience. The air of respect as you walk past his embalmed body is overpowering.

Lastly, let me address the title of this blog; because there is definitely about Mario. Mario is a nightclub outside our hotel though it's very weird. The entrance is addictive viewing, much better than Who Wants to be a Millionaire in Vietnamese (the prize money is in US dollars in case you're wondering; otherwise it would be pretty pointless -- I have VND1.3 million in my pocket right now). People turn up on scooters, staff members give them money, scooter people hand over a package and then ride off. Sherbet perhaps? And Pete has noticed that all the people who go in are men, so we think it's a gay bar. I intend to go in tonight, satisfying my craving for White Russians (... that's the drink), and settle the Mario mysteriousness. It may turn out that it's just a club with really loud techno music, and sherbet, and straight people. God I hope not. Where's the fun in that?

I wonder who Mario is... he might be good friends with Mao.

The jBlog on Tour: Selamat Datang ke Singapore!

2006-11-20T10:22:00.000+11:00

Travel rule number 1: all ye who travel must stop in Singapore and, if possible, explore the tiny island and its wonders. Of course this isn't a travel rule but who hasn't stopped in Singapore en route to somewhere else?

I'd been looking forward to the one afternoon we had here for months and it was certainly justified. This is the most fantastic nation on the face of the earth! I was thinking of how to describe it last night while I was 'sleeping' on the most appalling chairs, but it is extremely hard. To start with it is futuristic and organised, reminding me of some sort of science fiction novel. People are really friendly, non-confrontational (even when they are trying to sell something), and generally kind natured. The country is completely safe, and I have a feeling a mugging is punishable by death. Everything is clean and efficient and it seems like everyone (EVERYONE) is rich. We got off the MRT at Raffles Centre, below a shopping mall where I could have bought $1000 of designer stuff in a heart beat. Come to think of it, the airport shops sum it up in a way: from Prada to Ralph Lauren to Hugo Boss, Chanel to Tag Heuer. The social hierarchy is quite obvious however; similar to India, the Tamils have all the crappy jobs.

After we had mastered the MRT (every city in the world with a mass transit system must look to Singapore), we accidentally stumbled upon the Raffles Hotel. A welcome accident I must say. The cars out the front were really quite something -- BMW's, Mercedes and even a Bentley. I wanted to at least have a look in, of course I was the only one dressed appropriately (which included shorts -- please visitors, wear shorts. The equator is like 20 mins walk away and it's freakin humid. I love the humidity here).

Following my longing for more money it was time to spend it, by grabbing a new camera. Greater urgency was spurred by the fantastic views of the city. It doesn't seem like there are a lot of sky scrapers but every one has some sort of really cool unique feature. Buying the camera was a breeze, believe it or not most businesses are willing to accept Mastercard! After this I broke the law here for the first time by taking a photo in a shopping centre (my favourite crime is pulling the emergency stop on the MRT -- a $55,000 fine). The best was still to come (including more law-breaking, mostly j-walking).

No doubt you've seen pictures of the lion fountain on the waterfront, which looks spectacular at night in front of that dump of a hotel (the Fullerton). It was nice to stand in the spray given the intense humidity. Restraining Tom from taking anymore photos of the Concert Hall and Convention Centre (like a building wrapped in bubble wrap) it was off to Chinatown. Our trip coincided with the meeting of the Singapore Elvis Club, some weren't as bad as you'd think. This was taking place next to the stall that sold Pig's Organ Soup. Chinatown is awesome but after a few Heineken's at a very reasonable price (in the India sized bottles) it was time to wind up the night... via Newton Circus. How was the food? Fantastic! Food and Singapore, the best of friends.

If you made it this far down well done. I would advise grabbing accommodation in the city and not crashing at the airport. All night they were playing christmas carols through the PA system which was hugely annoying. In particular the twelve (million) days of christmas. This was compounded by the fact that I kept thinking of funny things and bursting out laughing; Scrubs has ruined me for life. The funniest thing (to me, and probably won't make sense if you aren't me, hadn't slept for... I've lost count of the hours, and don't get weak and docile when tired) was this guy in the chair in front of me. He was a fine specimen, really hot, tight t-shirt, nice skin, great straight black hair, early 20s, from Perth judging by his movement after the gate change. Anyhoo, and back to earth, like I said he moved after the gate change; while I wan't trying to crack on or anything I didn't want to look a complete childish fool. Being a City fan, thus not having any luck, he got up and looked across at me, huddled into the fetus position like I was fending off an attack from a shark. How utterly hopeless. Funny though, and once again I burst out in laughter.

Singapore is the best country. It's just really cool. Young, efficient, modern and clean. The food is great and people are friendly. I'm off to plan my immigration (catch the plane to Hanoi and consume a huge amount of caffine).

On the Wrong Side of Society

2006-11-13T01:03:00.001+11:00

You've either heard the rumours, started the rumours, are an avid reader of the jBlog, or have been directed personally to this page. This is the coming out blog which, I must admit, has been in planning for about three months. Not the actual wording itself – I have a life people, check out the entries below. However I have been planning the best way of smashing open the closet for some time now; at least this way I can indeed confirm rumours and inklings, and also clarify a few things along the way.

I am gay. Perhaps you would like to read that again? I’M GAY!!! I’m queer, a little (OK a lot) fruity, a mo (my favourite – mo, as in hoMOsexual… get it!). This does not bring shame to me; I am proud and completely unashamed to say that I’m gay. If people suddenly make judgements based on this fact alone, I don’t want to know them. It would take a pretty shallow person to stoop so low, not to mention an attitude that is decidedly anachronistic.

Given this, for all who have the great honour of knowing me there are two important things. The first is that my sexual preference does not change who I am. I’m still James, still have red hair, am still a Leftist and still love the Cat Empire. Who I am at heart has not changed because I dig guys over girls. So never see me in a different light, never ask the question ‘who is he really’, never speak to me any differently or feel suddenly awkward around me because I’m still the same person. If not a little braver and more confident for putting my sexuality out there.

Second is that this is not a taboo thing. I am not afraid to talk about it and to those who know me, you are going to hear about it. Don’t try to sweep it under a rug or pretend it isn’t true. Further, don’t be afraid to say that ‘yes, this is my brother/son/friend/[please insert relevant association here], and he is gay’. If you throw a ‘you gotta problem with that?’ I’ll be well impressed. I’m not ashamed of this, and hopefully neither will anyone else.

I feel great that I have finally come not just to accept this, but embrace it. For a very long time I have had, well, shall we say ‘same-sex tendencies’. To start being true to myself is a great feeling, even better when I can share it with those who mean most to me – family and friends. And now that you know, feel free to tell me what you think. I would really love to know. Of course if it’s bad, then you have me to deal with… This is the beginning of something that started so recently, but goes back so far. For me to be open and true to myself means being open to everyone. I have no idea what lies ahead, or what will be thrown my way, but I do know that whatever this may be I will face it without cotton wool over my eyes. I am gay people, open, honest and damn proud… time to start getting used to that one!

For those who do read my blog it is riddled with hints, see how many you can find! The club in the last blog is Q&A (Queer and Alternative), Stephen Jordan is not just ‘hot stuff’ at left back if you know what I mean, “N” is a guy and his name is Nick, I’m passionate about gay rights, and I have an serious crush on the new Dr Who. Come on, how could you not feel weak at the knees looking at that photo. I even bought his shoes.

Public Safety Warning: Attention All Closets

2006-11-11T23:00:00.000+11:00

The axe has been wielded. Closets, your days are numbered. Prepare to be made redundant.

Intoxicating in More Ways Than One

2006-11-10T16:44:00.000+11:00

I'm shaking off that outer layer of conservatism and my 'oh no, I don't drink' mantra. So it took much longer than for most people, as in, getting smashed was not something I did in high school, but hey, at least I got there in the end.

I have no clothes, thus I enlisted the help of Danni. This was a good choice as I finally got my Dr Who shoes (Converse, grey not black) and my first ever pair of jeans (!). Can you actually believe I fit into a 28" waist? ME NEITHER! But I do even with my childbearing hips. That went down with a minor hitch and then it was time to get nervous about going beyond my comfort zone (actually I needed my passport to get there).

Meeting up with Amanda for the first time since high school meant getting down to business. Three Smirnoff Blacks which, I have to say, are freakin easy to get down. A little too easy perhaps? Then we finally went out; and I had my ID checked by a bouncer. How cool. I get comfort and satisfaction out such small things. Of course I didn't realise that Victoria's anti-smoking laws were pathetic until we got in, and I passive smoked a half a pack of cigarettes in 7 minutes. The funny thing is that you get used to the smoke -- but when I finally rolled out of bed this morning (1pm this afternoon) my jeans absolutely stank of smoke. Stupid Bracks... how bout fixing the smoking laws!

Round 1, and Amanda wouldn't let me pay (Danni was the DD -- the responsible one) for the drinks. Under instruction I had Barcardi and squash which, I must say, was not very nice. I also realised that as spirits are expensive, I should have had beer. But I don't like beer -- and if i must drink it, the beer must be foreign. From any country (preferably European) but here. I broke the "rules" but it was my shout next.

Round 2 brought me quickly back to vodka (and raspberry). A girly drink fair enough, but I look at it this way: it has alcohol in it, and tastes like raspberry! My cousins, brother and I used to call raspberry-lemonades "fire engines". It was at the moment when I realised I was not the only person who couldn't dance (man, people are shocking dancers) that I spat a fairly large amount (for talking spit) at Danni. I do feel bad about this -- SORRY! The funny thing is that earlier in the day I realised that I spit a lot when I run, inadvertently. I had been up at five, and run 8 kilometres that morning and still made in till 1 the next morning. Round 3 was another vodka (broke the etiquette again) and Round 4 I stole Danni's drink, vodka and orange. Or a Screwdriver as I like to call it.

Seven drinks all up... a pretty good haul I thought. Especially seeing as it was my second time pissed, and I'm a lightweight. I wasn't sick in the club like I thought I would be, and didn't pass out until much later on. But there were more fun and games, and losses.

After pissing in the alley behind the club (real classy like) I was sick out the side of a moving car in the middle of Melbourne. While this seems cool (actually I think it is) it did make a socking mess of Danni's car. Sorry car. When we stopped so that I could stumble around a Shell servo and find a squidgy, this trucker dude starting yelling at me for some reason. Perhaps he should get a life. I can't actually remember what happened after that, I know is that I got home, was sick a few times on the front lawn and drunkenly cleaned the inside of the Toyota Beast.

The worst thing, however, is that my fucking wallet went missing. Fortunately I had my licence (go QLD) and cash on me (my jeans are, admittedly, a little tight with a fat wallet in them) so they weren't lost. But I spent ages cancelling my two credit cards and two ATM cards. Not to mention my student ID which will cost $30 to replace. To the bastard who has it: go to hell, to directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200... from my bank account.

A fun time apart from the wallet thing. I even managed to turn my heater on and get changed into my jami-jams when I was blind. Thanks Danni, thanks Amanda, sorry car, sorry Danni's face, and whoever has my wallet, you know what to do. The whole thing was particularly intoxicating -- especially the alcohol. Funny that.

Long Live Multiculturalism

2006-11-07T19:18:00.000+11:00

HA! Take that Australia. Japanese horses won 'our' stupid race that stops a nation. What's that I hear you say you delinquent Cronulla rioters? What's that John Howard? Something about White people are the best? "Australian values"? Asians should go home?

Well two JAPANESE horses finished first and second in the national horse race, sponsored by an airline from the UNITED ARAB EMIRATES.

STICK THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT! Australia bashing is fun, because this nation pisses me off and I'm ashamed to call myself Australian.

Long live multiculturalism.

For the Record

2006-11-03T14:57:00.000+11:00

On occasion I wear a heart rate monitor when I do my cardio training. It is, after all, cardio training. For those of you who may not know, the monitor wraps around your chest -- sitting just below my painfully slowly developing pectoral muscles. The constant impact with the ground and heavy breathing causes it to slide down; and there is no heart rate around your thus it needs fixing.

I am consciously aware that this fixing looks decidedly like I'm adjusting a sports bra. People, I do not wear a sports bra. You will just have to believe me on that one; no sports bra, no bra, no manzire (or bro). Of course if I decided I did want to, then that would be my choice as a free citizen in a liberal-democratic society.

So for the record all ye who see me in full flight -- I'm not adjusting women's underwear, just my heart rate monitor. Honest...

So Long Satire

2006-11-02T09:03:00.000+11:00

Without doubt one of Australia's best television shows, The Glasshouse, has been axed. It's sad for Australian TV which is, at best, pathetic. To find a show with witty, clever political humour is a rarity, and though I'm not a conspiracy theorist the massive lean to the right on the ABC board has clearly ended the five year showing. Recently the programme had won an AFI award and was receiving the highest ratings in its history. On occasion it even won the 9:30 time slot. Perhaps the ABC could provide us with a reason for the axing? I think: 'we're a bunch of government stooges' will suffice.

The Glasshouse: it's hard to oppose a government these days.

From Blues to Hot Jazz

2006-10-31T14:09:00.000+11:00

I love football and I love my team Manchester City. Of course I see more of Chelsea, Liverpool, Arsenal and the scum (Manchester United) than I do of the blues so when we have a win like today, it needs ripping, encoding and jBlogging.

Life as a city fan is full of ambivalence. The seasons always start with so much promise: good signings, good youth, talk of some new investor and speculation about Europe. But it always seems like perpetual disappointment; endless losing streaks, injuries, old OLD players and just staying in the Premier League. City must be the most up-and-down football team in history. Beat Arsenal, get thrashed by Wigan; sign Georgios Samaras, sign Paul Dikov (ahhh!). The worst thing, however, would be the lack of passion often shown in the body language of the players. They're payed 30,000 pounds per week to kick a ball around a park while people who support the club pay 30 pounds they can't afford to watch them. And when they do their job like it's data entry, it's simply awful.

Since I started watching the beautiful game there have been lots of early mornings, and lots of late nights. Often I get to 2am and think, what did I wait up for? Fortunately this morning was not one of those; City turned in a spirited performance against the bogey team (!) Middlesbrough. Sure only 1-0, but off a killing last week. And there was team spirit around the place; blue moon could be heard in Blackburn. Tackles were flying in and the shots reigned in on goal.

If criticism can be levelled against the team, it's that the performance was precarious. We looked like an embattled team, Macarone had shots (two) ricochet of the post and you could see it was all a little frail. But it's a road to recovery. One final criticism is the dropping of Stephen Jordon; I think he's hot stuff at left-back and Thatcher should just head on back to rehab.

Come on the blues: let's have some consistency for once... positive that is.

A Public Advisory, as the Sorry Saga Continues

2006-10-27T23:30:00.000+10:00

I realise that I have placed an awful lot about my deep seated insanity on the internet. Where everyone from Bill Gates (an avid reader) to my brother (I see you there Boston) can read for themselves just how weird, sad, scary, nutty, pretentious, leftist and silly I am. But I see it as exhibitionism for people who can type. So continues the tale of "N" -- and by tale, it is in fact all true. However I write this with a wry smile across my face... so don't take it too seriously.

After posting on the internet my liking of this person whom I delegate the letter "N" as reference, I finally realised that it was all a bit silly. 'Grow up child' sort of thing. Naturally this fizzled when once again our mornings clashed today. Strangely odd was the fact that as I was wearing dark blue shorts and light blue top, they were too! Clutching at straws? Yep, but straws are what I got. It was the sort of top that just screams animal instinct -- tight and revealing, allowing every curve to be followed, every distinction identified, and making the smoothness of the upper body blatantly obvious. Sorry, lost in my thoughts there; at risk of slipping into a soft core pornographic novel, to the point of this blog.

The public should be warned about the serious dangerousness of Chris Isaak. Often I think of what the soundtrack to my life would be, what music would play, when, under what circumstances and so forth. Without an iPod, it's left to my mind to play the music (just yesterday I prepared myself for an exam with the theme song to Neon Genesis Evangelion). But today it was really quite funny; like a scene from a movie about my boring life. While undergoing a process of distancing myself from my little ("little") infatuation, I was listening to Wicked Games by Isaak -- not intentionally. As it was playing (which makes sense if you go and download the song NOW!) I saw them standing outside. They'd changed into formal, business, attire and looking beyond sexiness.

Perhaps it was just .3 of a second, but it was like a perfect fraction of time. The music matched the scene. Plus there was light headedness and a severe lack of energy (thus docility) to go with, given that I had just run 8 kilometres after waking up at 5 in the morning. I think the point here is don't listen to Chris Isaak, or any music for that matter, where there's a chance it becomes the perfect soundtrack. The perfect soundtrack in a scene of human attraction anyway. Imagine what might have happened! I can't afford painkillers, I'm a student... I have alcohol to buy.

Once again all I can say is this is actually true, though I laugh as I write it. Believe it or not. "N" exists; I like them (ah yes), and Wicked Games almost induced some sort of hypnotic trance. As the song goes: 'What a wicked game you play to make me feel this way; what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.' HA! But I beat you this time Isaak, because I'd rather fall in love with them (this makes sense if you've heard the song).

If you look hard enough, there is a point to this blog. When you find it, you better let me know.

The Inner Child

2006-10-20T15:47:00.000+10:00

I fear getting old and I'm only 19. Not because your skin gets wrinkly or you start forgetting things, but because I'd be perpetually annoyed with myself. However there are some things that getting old brings with it, like a little maturity, perhaps a little adulthood, that I could certainly do with. And I refer to an earlier post where I mentioned this person I "liked" (for the sake of privacy :-p let's call this person N).

My daily routine clashes with that of N for, well not long enough, on a number of days every week. It's short and episodic but I have an infatuation with them. This is where the problem begins: my lack of any maturity comes out to play. I can't help but stare... what happens when they look back? BATTLE STATIONS!!! Avoid eye contact at all costs. A swift movement of my eyes to something else (as if to say 'I so wasn't looking at you) and then, as calm ensues, back to day dreaming once again.

But what to do if we walk past each other. Uh oh. Here's problems. Remember the non-existence of god? All the things that could go wrong here (and I swear to, um, god, that one of these days I will fall over something). What happens when N is right beside me? This is a tricky one. There's a need to act normal, cool and collected. There's a problem here though -- because you can't act normal when you are thinking about acting normal. Constantly I think to myself, what kind of side do I want to be seen. It's the same when N and I are in the same space -- how do I compose myself? How do I act? Suddenly the sub-conscious becomes the conscious; which can't be good. Finally the big one -- communication, exercising the power of speech.

Well I don't have anything here. Nothing.

In turn I move to the more substantive part of this blog (apart from enlightening people who would like to know -- whoever that could possibly be), that I AM SUCH A CHILD! Oh my god. It's either sad or cute that I can't make eye contact, desperately don't want to make an arse of myself or can't even say "hi" at all of 19 years old. In my defence I'm looking for a way into conversation, but god say something already! I'm leaning towards the former -- it's very sad. Can, and do, people in the late teens still have 'crushes' on people? I'm so hoping people do otherwise, well, the jLife is in trouble. I don't want to get old, but perhaps I need some adulthood. Or confidence. Otherwise I'll use up all the letters in the alphabet and given my childishness, have not have said anything to them because I'm to freakin' nervous to.

Still, at least I can make a sober assessment about it all. In the meantime, and until I find my adulthood wherever it's hiding, bring on Monday morning; where for a short time I wonder if N is single, whether there will be dialogue, what clothes they'll be wearing (a fine dresser if I may say so... well I would wouldn't I?), whether their black hair will look any different or whether that body could get any sexier. Or whether something is said, and I get lost in their eyes and pass out. Even if I don't act, at least the timetable clash is fun and potentially includes a ride in an ambulance.

In case you were wondering, yes, this blog is actually true. It's the new expansion pack to jLife -- the production name is jInfatuation, but consumers just call it jCrush. I sincerely hope none of you were eating when you read this.

I see skies of blue, hair of grey, old people shouting, hey bloody youth.

2006-10-13T19:43:00.000+10:00

We've all seen the imagery of patriotic nations -- virile young men, industrious individuals (men) and soldiers (again men). At this point, it should be pointed out that women are marginalised in this imagery; and by imagery it's mostly based on war-time propaganda. But still my point is clear, you think of nationhood you think of strength, youth, industriousness and prowess.

What, then, is happening to this nation? IT'S BLOODY OLD! Look left, there's an old person driving a car when they shouldn't be; look right, there's an old person trying to pay for groceries using coinage from the Dutch East Indies. And what a burden on our health system. I go to work... other people go to work and pay their taxes to keep oldies in their cars. And it's only going to get worse people. Our population is getting very old. This is a scary thought for me.

This morning the oldness of this nation smacked me in the face. I was taken aback literally, and nearly had to gauge my eyes out. Upon arriving at the gym (late, as the Melbourne public transport network had once again shown its inadequacy) I changed and went to warm up. When I turned the corner into my normally empty stretching area you can only imagine the shock to see four old people, in short shorts, speaking about completely pointless things and no doubt farting at a rate of 3 f.p.m's (that's farts per min). Dear god I thought! This is the reality of the aging population; I go to the gym and expect sweat to be teeming off young bodies and here are old people, stretching, IN SHORT SHORTS! Not only had I just had breakfast, I'm prone to mood swings so early in the morning (make that anytime of the day, exacerbated by lack of coffee -- by mood stabilisers) and might have had a surge of confidence, leading me to say "go back to your retirement villages and please, put some long pants on like other old people".

Silliness aside, I really did find it a confronting prospect. The population is getting older and individuals like me, who (will) have an income in the billions, will bear this cost. And it's at this point that this blog entry should actually have a point: we need to plan a little better than we are. MedicareGold was a start, but no, the Australian public were too stupid to vote for a young Prime Minister. And consider the problems with the labour market -- it'll be either too small or people in their eighties will be in the workforce. Just imagine ordering Domino's only to have it delivered 63 min late because the 80 year old delivery "boy" lost his glasses, had to stop and use the toilet, got lost, couldn't figure out the 'new fangled technology' that is a mobile phone, and stopped off at the hospital to visit three sick relatives, and shout 'young people today' 7.6 times.

WAIT! Another problem my fellow socialists/lefties/democrats, the oldies are going to keep the wax figures that are the conservatives in power for a long LONG time... I can't go on. I'm infuriated. Oldies are costing us money, ruining our driving experiences, taking too long at supermarkets, are too confusing, are taking my stretching area and, worst of all, it's only going to get worse.

Young people rise up! I so can't ever get old. Though if an old person is reading this blog, I'd say my days are pretty limited anyway.

**my grandparents, incidentally, are 100% exempt from these comments**

The Wrong Side of Straight

2006-10-12T21:23:00.000+10:00

It's not often I would say such a thing, but shame on the Queensland Government.

As part of the curriculum in my home state, a specific activity asks students studying sexual identity to 'imagine life in a gay community the moon'. Students are to imagine themselves as a heterosexual individual living in a mostly gay society (The Australian 10 October 2006) and reflect what social life would be like. To its absolute credit, the Queensland Studies Authority (QSA) has defended the activity, aimed at 13-14 year olds. Beattie, on the other hand, has declared that it be removed from the curriculum.

There are so many problems with this, in my opinion. First of all, Beattie should not be interrupting in the process of the independent studies regulator. If he does, and Julie Bishop is doing the same at a federal level, we politicise the education system. Such an occurrence is detrimental for all no? Children deserve to be taught, not indoctrinated.

Second, it patronises students. As I have done by referring to them as children. Thus I make amends by clarifying that they are legally children. The world does not smell of tulips (except in the Netherlands) where everyone is happy and equal, with no cares and not a problem to be had. Society is, to put it bluntly, a sphere of dangerous people (look no further than that dick George W.), domination and repression, and countless other social pathologies. We shouldn't be wrapping up a 14 year old in a piece of cotton wool; it's naive, ridiculous, irresponsible and ultimately patronising. Fourteen is not young. At this age, year nine, most have made huge choices like whether to have sex or not, try drugs or smoking, whether to go to parties, whether they want to go to university and so forth. The patronising works on two levels, society is so not perfect and this should not be kept from students, and a 14 year old will not be irreversibly or irreparably psychologically damaged by this; and 14 year olds can make, and have already, large decisions.

My third objection to the pulling of the activity is based on equality. My passion is driving for a world where every man, woman and child is an equal entity. Of course I'm an Arts student, with no money and no political capacity, so my task is contribution is small but will get bigger. Homosexuality has had a very tough time recently (by recent I mean the last few hundred years) and believe it or not, was only struck off the mental illness list in 1992. Since when have gays and lesbians been any different to the other 90% of the population? Why is it that we can discriminate against a man who loves another man, yet an abusive man who hits his child and wife has so many more legal foundations in his relationship (that is, entitled to all the rights of marriage and child-rearing). Why is it that two men who dearly love each other cannot even have this recognised by the state, but Hollywood film stars get hitched more often than they eat.

My point is clear and I risk getting far too passionate, thus my sentences (even more) disjointed and the rambling perpetual and incessant. So I finish by throwing my support to the QSA and hope they put Beattie in his place. Homosexuality is not scary, is not sick, is not dangerous as many in society like to think it is (and shame on them). What is more, we cannot shield students from the realities of our social system; perhaps this is the most harmful part. Pull the blanket down, let the intolerance (due to lack of exposure) breed, then whip it away very quickly.

BOO! HOMOSEXUAL! KILL IT!

It's a damn divine dilemma

2006-10-11T13:45:00.000+10:00

Is there a god? Almost an age-old question. It's a battle royale between atheists and, er, god-fearing people. Perhaps this is the proof that there isn't a divine being after all , and that puts the argument and age-old debate to rest... at this point I probably should be careful my notebook battery does not explode "unexpectedly".

Here's the proof that there is no real god. Just answer this question: have you ever done anything very silly, that just robs you of your dignity and credibility, in front of someone you like? Of course the answer to this is yes. There is no room for debate on the jBlog -- it's a jOcracy, and forget about jLiberalism. Everyone has fallen, slipped, said something stupid, dribbled, stumbled, chocked, not said anything, twitched, squeaked, dropped something, banged something, burped, farted, taken off their smelly shoes, been caught singing (badly), had bad breath, not brushed their teeth, at the most inopportune moment ever. The moment when the person you like is, yes, RIGHT THERE!!!

And then the world caves in. You go into crisis mode. Do I run away from the situation, pretend it didn't happen or make fun and light of it? All the while you wish you could go back in time just 5 seconds to prevent this whole situation from arising.

So theorcats, why does god make fun of the human condition? By making us do these silly things when we are engaging in a process of liking or being infatuated with somebody? Surely if there was a god, she would stop this silliness or unfortunate mishap in the pursuit of human nature. But no, there is no god. My proof is absolutely irrefutable (remember the jOcracy, but feel free to leave (wrong) comments). God does not exist because human nature is to like, and to like means to do embarrassing. God would put a stop to this no?

It is at this point that I probably should say that, indeed, I speak today from personal experience. Perhaps a little bitter James? Oh definitely. I made a complete ARSE of myself in front of this person I like. Of all the times it could have been, it was then. THEN! While they were right there, beside me. No, I didn't fart or burp. I'm far to classy for that. Though I can't figure which is more sad, the fact that a 19 year old still 'likes', or the fact I sought to prove there is no god with this as a case study.

In sum, it's just a little more evidence to the pile that god doesn't exist. To be human is to like others, to like others makes us happy. Why remain in a state of non-action when we embarass ourselves, insead of preventing it so we can at least try to achieve out happiness?

Sociological Comedy Hour

2006-10-09T15:42:00.000+10:00

Sociological theory is not known for its quick witted humor and... actually, humor at all. It's a dry boring field I study.

SO, when I happened to be reading this excerpt by Anthony Elliot (2005: 134) and got the giggles, I thought I should share it with the world.

What is postmodernism? For many people the writings of postmodernists are jargon-ridden, shot through with obscure terms and ideas. What is the difference between the mafia and the postmodernists? The mafia makes you an offer you can't refuse; the postmodernists make you one you can't understand.

He's no Jerry Seinfeld, but that is funny. It's academic funny (though I got the giggles at it); where you'd be sipping port and laughing with one's chums. If you laughed at that, you should feel superior in every way to those around you. Be sure to let it slip off the tongue at your next dinner party.

Anthony Elliot: at last a Sociological theorist (or theory academic) with a sense of humor and the intelligence to know that this dry DRY field needed at least a little colour.

Certainly an Interesting Conception

2006-10-01T15:59:00.000+10:00

How could anyone hate Thailand? Apart from those who lost all their money in the 1997 Asian Financial Crisis. A spiritual, cultural and peaceful people who live in a land of unquestionable beauty. It's a complete destination from adventure to laziness, unscrupulous touts to bemusement at westerners, mountains to beaches, McDonald's to Pad Thai. The language is beautifully incomprehensible and, my personal favourite, Thailand is a predominately Buddhist nation. Politics in the Kingdom, however, is a wild ride with an interesting conception of democracy.

After the huge controversy and awesome display of people power at the April elections, Thai politics descended into a bit of a farce. The election result was annulled by the supreme courts and Thaksin resigned as Prime Minister. BUT... he offered to stay on as caretaker PM. What a friendly chap. If only he'd shared his billions in personal wealth with the people who desperately need it (ah, not his family or business interests). Descending into what was purported as a 'constitutional crisis', the military sought to act -- something needed to be done.

Thus, on 19 September the tanks rolled into Bangkok and overthrew the government. WHAT!!! You may scream, oh loyal democrats like me. Given the frequency of such an occurrence this is almost a normal procession in Thai politics. Carefully follow this one with me: bad government = coup. Simple eh? Thaksin was in New York at the time, eating Bagels no doubt, when that sneaky general sneaked his sneaking not so sneaky military machine into the capital.

General Sonthi Boonyarataklin, Sonthi to his mates, is effectively the new leader of the Thai people. Just don't ask what he and his cronies are calling themselves, they are seemingly vein, like me, and are never satisfyed with their public image. Let's call them the Council for Democratic Reform Under the Constitutional Monarchy. Monarchy? Oh yeah. The King, Bhumibol Adulyadej, has given his full blessing to this little cabaret. Perhaps he's scared the tanks will roll over his rose garden and throw him out of his house (his position in the constitutional framework). Nevertheless he's all for it. But back to business.

The 250 seat parliament has been overthrown, and reinstated with the members picked by the military junta. The temporary constitution appoints 35 ministers, calls for elections by October 2007 and the drafting of, wait for it, yet another constitution.

SCORE CHECK PLEASE!

Since 1976: 10 Prime Minsiters; six coup attempts; one bloody crackdown on pesky democrats.

When the Monarch was installed (yes, that's right, we can't get rid of it and the Thais install one) in 1932, the military ruled for over 50 years. Perhaps it's a little unsurprising that the Thais would want a whole heap of PM's to make up for lost time.

... incomplete post...

What do Floyd Landis and The Doctor have in common?

2006-09-24T13:24:00.000+10:00

I think we can all be thankful the old days of Dr Who are gone. Perhaps we need to be chronologically relative when judging such things, but the Doctors and his assistants have been... let's just say terribly unappealing.

Dr number one looked about three heart-beats away from cardiac arrest -- constantly. Forget the cardio teams on Arnold Schwarzenegger's sets, the British Army would be required to keep Death out of the BBC Studios while they were filming the first few series. As for the assistants? Actually the less said about them the better; not that they were ugly or necessarily unappealing, just products of their time which, fortunately, is not ours.

David Tennent and Bille Piper are the Dr Who team for a new generation. My generation -- Gen. Y. The Doctor has a charm that could melt ice, brings a certain youthful enthusiasm to the 'job' (at age 35), and Converse shoes that should become the norm with any suit. The new assistant is unlike any of the oldies (most definately sitting in their nursing homes jealous as all hell while eating their mushed up bananas). Rose Tyler, the strong confident women with undeniable sex appeal -- something surely lost on the nerds and fans of the old series.

Sure the new Dr Who's may be built for the commercial age, with action, monsters, special effects and, of course, sex appeal, but it's all good fun. And if any series needed an injection of Floyd Landis's special mix it was this show.

Dr Who, hey, Dr Who.

The Worst Song in My Head...

2006-09-12T16:14:00.000+10:00

Just when I though 'mmm bop' by Hanson was the worst song ever to have stuck in my head, along came Justin Timberlake.

Dear god.

Yes, 'sexy back' (or whatever the hell it's called) has been today's song. Truly the biggest piece of crap to be commercially sold in CD format. It's just a midi back beat with Timberlake intermittently saying: "yeah". I study my arse off for peanuts while he says "yeah" into a microphone and gets paid millions of dollars!

I hate Justin Timberlake, and his stupid song, and his stupid money which he won't give to me... Shame I can't get the fucking song out of my fucking HEAD!

US Open 2006

2006-09-11T21:24:00.000+10:00

Can anyone stop the Fed Express? Apart from Nadal... and even then only on clay.

Normally I would have gone for Federer in today's match (actually that's anyone over an American), but I broke with tradition backing Roddick. I love watching Roddick play -- he brings a great enthusiasm to the game and has a fantastic serve. Disappointed to see him lose but great to see him take the game to Federer and at least make him work for it.

Hopefully the resurgent 'A-Rod' will continue his form -- he is a great player and deserves success.

And I hope everyone noticed Maria Sharapova's dress in the final. Stunning. What a great fashion item and a fabulous garment.

Queensland Election

2006-09-09T13:50:00.000+10:00

I am the most excited Queenslander today. It's election day. It's the day every three years that democracy holds a festival; a day where all are invited (well, so long as you're over 18, are Australian and aren't in jail) to engage in interest-based preference lodging. I feel a little disgruntled that of the 2 million+ that make up the Sunshine State, myself (regrettably not registered there) and my mate Jack (the smartest guy I know), are the most interested. That, according to my calculator, is a terribly small percentage.

Nevertheless, at the end of today there will be a Premier whether the people care or not. Two candidates have really come to prominence during the campaign, debating the issues of importance and arguing over the best way to get things done. They are Peter Beattie and Peter Beattie. Peter Beattie's main contender, in other words, has been himself. If you are questioning this point, consider the fact that Beattie went into meltdown last year over the health crisis, over water, electricity and so forth. This was the unlosable election for the Tories and they didn't have to do a thing! Beattie was killing Beattie. But Premier Beattie managed to trump crisis Beattie, and has done so during the campaign.

Confused? Well, me too. The point to take away from this is that Lawerence Springborg and Dr Bruce Flegg (come on, who's naming conservative children these days?) are perhaps the most hopeless politicians in the nation. The only person who could defeat Beattie was Beattie himself. I can't help but feel sorry for Flegg though. It's not his fault the cameras hate him. (On this, I propose that 'fleggish' become an adjective in the Oxford Dictionary for someone who is characteristically like Bruce Flegg.)

But still I'm excited. Elections bring together a host of things I love. Politics, electoral campaigning, media, quantitative statistics, graphs, and Anthony Green. Sad? Yes. Even sadder when your team loses. But what can I say; I'm an election junkie (thanks Danni!).

Can Labor actually lose a seat? Find out tonight on every one's ABC.

Hi

2006-09-08T21:40:00.000+10:00

This is the jBlog. Why the 'jBlog'? Because I have an obsession with Apple. That said, i don't own a mac, or an MP3 player, and am a slave to PCs and Microsoft. But still, I'm prone to obsessing over something.

Plug yourself in for a dose of insanity. The jBlog jGeneration begins.