2 megapixels and counting

Today I slept in and the only reason I awoke at 1pm was because my alarm went off. I had a lovely brekkie in my kitchen at 3 with polish rye bread, avo and prosciutto with the gas stove top flickering in the background, not so much for ambiance but more to prevent hypothermia.

Tonight we have a concert in a tiny church in Richmond, so I've just handwashed all of my black clothes and some of my jeans as our washer is a piece of shit. As I was soaking my Sixty's I couldn't help but think of those poor Italian kids coming home from an 18 hour day at the factory with dye coloured hands and scurvy.

Some random snaps from my cell (can't be bothered to carry my slr all the time).





It'd be like totally awesome to have some shots of my latest piece in like one of the grafitti laneways. I can dress in skinny jeans and look kinda grungy. Wanker.

Shipwrecked

Last night I had all the alcohol in Australia. Today I pay. After my presentation at work which was accompanied by a bottle of Coopers Vintage beer (get your gritty hands on a six pack now) and half a bottle of red wine I had dinner with an ex-date who had come down from Canberra with his hot new boyfriend. We had more wine and a conversation, mostly between me and the new hottie, saturated with ambiguous one-liners that grew cheekier and cheekier to a point where I actually started worrying about the physical well-being of our neighboring patrons. Then we went gay clubbing. First to the Lair, the home of the Melbourne bear, and then to the Peel where I was so drunk I found myself on the dance floor over and over again.

This morning I awoke in a strange and foreign land next to the cute Muscle-Kylie I found in a lucky moment on the said dance floor. Such was his obsession that not only did he have LPs and images hung in all rooms minus bathroom (no space for anything), he had a K tattooed on his shoulder. We didn't exchange digits, and after emptying my backpack's contents onto the front stair of his complex I had to go back up to find my damned phone.

I have been considering a hardware upgrade and getting a detachable liver that I can just infuse with alcohol and chuck it back in to make the process of getting drunk more efficient. Upgrading to Chastity 1.1 and uninstalling Sluttiness 2.0 are alternatives to a swipe.

After a rather uncomfortable tram ride I stopped by the Queen Victoria market for reasons I don't know, and picked up an orange. There was a television crew there filming a guy talking about real, fresh vegetables with an enthusiasm so fake I mini-vomited in my throat. Brekkie with Sunray and doc D a bit later was not a big success nutritionally wise. The eternal optimist I am I ordered a large brekkie with poached eggs and bacon, sourdough bread and fried tomatoes, and managed to eat ONE bacon slice while fighting trembling and regurgitation. At least Sun's dog loves me after I fed him the rest of the bacon.

To treat myself I got a haircut with Andy who just opened his own salon, Pheadra, in Carlton. And what a sweet cut it is. Don't know if I should drop a shot of it now or in 7 days when it has grown a bit on me and it's looking its best. Felt a whole lot better after and looked as well I hope, with three day stubbles that compliment the cut perfectly. We discussed doing a portrait shot and I got the number for his studio photographer.

Now I'm completely spent after a long week at work and this night with listening to soul and funk with some friends at the Brunswick green. I told them I wouldn't have alcohol but would not mind having the barkeeper instead. Grey Goose vodkas on the rocks consumed: 1, Barkeepers: 0. I have to start keeping my word.

What else have I been doing while doing this?

The hilarious (or gay) Heinz commercial, American Athlete who loves his disco and posts heaps of tracks and last but not least Shorpy's blog of awesome historical photos.



The Friday lunch addition to my record collection: Looks as if I spent time in the b-section..

The Meters - The Meters (soul / funk / r&b, recommended)
Best of Out Of The Cool v2 (classic jazz pearls with the likes of Miles Davis, Quincy Jones etc)
Bloco Electro - Global Beatbox part 1
Billie Holiday - god bless the child (another jazz classic)
Breakestra - Hit the floor (r&b, one track feat jurassic5).

Thursday night is almost Friday

It's kind of weird going on a date that doesn't really feel like a date. I've been out with a guy a couple of times now, doing very non-datish stuff like shopping for haute couture clothing while hauling his green shopping bag with 1kg jar of capers and sundried tomatoes in oil around. That's pretty much it for the non-datish stuff I just realized, but we've met up for coffee (though I don't actually drink coffee) and then gone off to do other stuff, usually shopping. I know that he's ridiculously allergic to strawberries, so he obviously wouldn't share my crepes with berries de bois (the flourescent hospital lighting isn't very complimenting..) which we had after vietnamese dinner, and that he likes vodka more than wolf blass with his said vietnamese, but I still don't know his surname.

We have so much fun talking about ridiculous stuff like one of his friend's fake testicles and whether it is hung with synthetically manufactured or organically produced materials, or the retarded (ok, gastronomically challenged) guy at the icecream factory who thought that the ridiculously overpriced chicken stock / generic exotic fruit flavoured ice cream was to be labeled 'mango flavour' that we don't really talk about everyday stuff. Which is f'ing awesome if I may say, cause I've been on some dates here that have been pretty bad. The type where you find your mind wandering to ways of escaping like having an unexpected paroxysm of projectile vomiting. The annoying bit for me is that though I find him awesome, I'm not physically attracted to him; he's more best friend material. And I do mean the latter part. He's such a great guy, had only my mother maybe chainsmoked heavily a bit while I was pregnant or something, my genes maybe would have found him irresistible and we'd live happily ever after in la-la land and have beautiful, adopted babies.

But thanks to my mom's impeccable healthy diet and ergonomic posture, I fail. I'm such a wank sometimes. So now comes the dilemma, how do you tell someone that they're best friend material, and not shagadellic? All Saint's "Never Ever" 'You can tell me to my face or even on the phone. You can write it in a letter..' is probably not the way to go about it. That single only made it to no 4 in the states in 1998, even though it had the awesomely titled 'nice hat remix' as its second track. What a shame. And a clear indication it's not the more popular way of going about this. Great sunglasses though.

I went to the gym after handing my bike over to the hottest mechanic I've seen in the southern hemisphere so far; chisseled chin, bright smile, strong arms and both really friendly and helpful. I might have to have some more work done, or get some tips.. At the gym I did some rowing, hangups and stomach exercizes while trying to talk to the Accompagnist from choir. It's pretty hard to hold an intelligent conversation, mostly in barely apprehensible grunts and gutteral choking sounds, because your abs are working so hard that if you lose consentration your spine will snap like a babysister's barbie doll in a malevolent child's hands. Exactly, Barbie won't brake with a brittle Snap (well engineered, high quality rubber-plastic toy); she will endure a bit of rough love, but she won't really be the same ever again. You tube doesn't sport the uncensored version of Team America's sex scene, damnit. Still pretty good.

What else? Yes, toga yoga in five hours. Damnit, this has happened every night of the week. Like Tuesday night going to see the Hulk at the late show with Sunray stoned out and me having a butterscotch icecream for dinner, or last night going to Ginger (new favourite) on Brunswick having awesome coctails and flaming kakamura (no, You're a flaming kakamura). It's flambéed turkish cheese, and misspelled. Too busy having fun and drinking expensive alcohol to sleep. I'll die exhausted and worn from dragging my dialysis machine due to liver malfunction around - but hopefully happy.

I wonder if I have any readers what so ever out there. All the other blogs have vast amounts of soft porn to attract the hordes, but I guess social porn can be almost as addictive. Though not as eye pleasing. I usually just pick up the latest DNA to satisfy that.

Full on & the winter jacket

It's Sunday night and I'm completely devastated and worn. I started my new and improved social life on Wednesday with going out to pizza with the choir, enjoying more or less free wine and being past the stage of having to explain my background to everybody. Sometimes it would be nice to be mute, though being in a choir wouldn't make much sense. Maybe I could start my own retard choir; sometimes I get the feeling that I'm actually retarded and the only reason for me being where I am is either because of a) people taking pity in me or b) it's a social experiment of implementation. Being pretty intoxicated we decided the Opium Den untill closing time would be a good way of passing the rest of the night, which it was.

Thursday work ate away a lot of the day, but I took a long break to have crappy and expensive food on Gertrude street (not going back there again, 2nd strike and way out), go shopping for a winter jacket and buying a Clemente Talarico shirt instead and getting a brochure with their gorgeous model which I day dream about for the rest of the day, and getting some more records; "shut up and dance" 3cd electro compilation and a soul collection that I rated 5 stars in my itunes. After picking up the records it had started raining so I lounged back to the office under my glossy CT shopping bag with a french hot chocolate in my right hand. Thank god for that place, they fix any bad day. After work I went to the gym to watch television while burning some aggro and k's on the treadmill. It's pretty good watching telly while jogging because you don't realize how long you're on there for; you're being entertained on individul screens on each treadmill. Suddenly your knees start hurting and you realize you've been watching the home shopper's channel for hours though. After me and some friends did a small tour of our favourite joints in Fitzroy.

Friday I was supposed to hold a presentation at work, but nobody else had prepared, so we just had Cooper's vintage beers and lots of red wine instead. Went to the gym for my lunch break and did lower body as I knew there would be no way I'd do that after the office drinks. My legs are still malfunctioning today, so I suppose I did a good job. For the night we went to Miss Libertine in the city which had heaps of German Dj's on, but before reaching that point we did a tour of smith street's waterholes and grabbing a 'bab. A hottie I dated a bit after new years texted me later that night saying he was coming to Melbs next weekend and I replied friendly "I'd be happy to catch up" in text 1, shortly after, text 2 "I've missed getting you out of your aussiebums ;)", he replies "I'm bringing my bf". Later I bump in to Random Table Share and give him my phonenumber on a note to make myself not feel like a total L. RTS was a guy I bumped into at a tiny japanese restaurant in the city where the only free seat in the joint was at his table and he didn't mind sharing. While eating my teriyaki chicken he kept giving me these ambiguous glances, but silence all through the meal. At the end I said It was nice sharing a table with him and that we should do it again sometime soon, and he responds he's dating a chick. Anyhow, it's still worth a shot, randomly bumping into him a second time. Faith's a bitch.

Saturday I spent catching up with X at the market before Sunray and I started looking yet again for The Winter Jacket, this weekend's fashion mission. We were all over the place and looked at everything ranging from "What were they thinking" to "I could pay a whole african village's tuition for a year, or I could look good in this". I'm too fussy with these things and just can't be bothered to buy something I don't really like, so we went home to my place and had red wine, vegetarian risotto, parmesan and GT's instead. Then we went dancing at 1st floor where Sydney hip hop hot female quartet "killer queens" were playing. Whenever I go out dancing and really enjoy myself, usually accompanied by being off my tits intoxicated, I toss my head as if I were having a seizure, so now not only are my legs slightly malfunctioning from Friday's workout, but I have a sore neck as well. I'm having a deep tissue massage this week for sure. After 1st floor we went to the Peel to escape the 2am lockout were Nothing Exciting happened, except for this screaming wanker who thought I was on drugs. But we know what to do kids, you just say "No!".. Luckily I had learned the sign language signs for "shut up you cunt".

Today I met up with a Boy for the second time and as the last time we had stupid amounts of fun. We went to fashionable stores like the fashion victims we are looking for The Jacket, sporting his heavy grocery bag with sundried tomatoes and large amounts of capers. It might have been a bit humiliating, but at least he was getting a good workout carrying it. Later he accidentally confiscated my umbrella on the train to Prarhan, so now we have to meet up again :)

Tonight I've had Thai for dinner, done about 10 weeks of washing, cleaned my room, tailored a shirt (it's still too big) and talked to friends back home. It's Soccer season back home, so the newspapers are full of footy stories as there's seriously nothing else going on in my small town (the other headline is people complaining about the neighbour's choice of time to mow the lawn). The latest was on a kid becoming the youngest supporter ever. The father called the fan club to have her enrolled as she was being born. How unpleasant would that phonecall be, seriously? Moaning and screaming and placenta splashing to the ground in the background.. Not something I'd like to have in my voicemail box anytime. Apparently Tom Cruise had Kate's placenta in a milkshake.

While writing this itunes pumped some Stevie Wonder, Young love by Mystery jets, 2042 L.A. dreams by Gentlemen drivers, Patrick Fiske's 'Receiver', and the excellent sink or swim mix by Devlin & Pretty titty. And I'm getting up in five hours to go to the gym...?

Oh my jesus, I just saw a picture of a placenta. How unpleasant.

ENTERTAIN ME DAMNIT

After being sick for what feels like for ever (4 ever ever? 4 -ever- ever? _Outkast) I'm socially starved and in great need of seeing real people instead of cockshots and blurry bathroom tiles on gaydar. I've been disconnected from the real world a little too long and seem to have forgotten how to start a usual conversation ("is dat u in the pic?" isn't my line of choice trying to pick up on the tram).

Good being back at work today, but was fairly bored so I took a long lunch break (I'm getting pretty good at that as nobody seems to really care when you're in the office, so I rather work late and get a bit of those sweet melbourne winter days instead at lunch untill somebody tells me off). I went to the record store and picked up some sweet classics (Grandmaster Flash' two first albums, Otis Redding's best double disc and Stevie Wonder's awesome Talking book) and a new one which sounded interesting by review, Crystal Palace, but turned out not to be getting heavy rotation in my itunes back in the office. I might just have to start dj'ing on the office speakers; the headphones I've borrowed of the office leprechaun make me look like a dope pilot who has no idea what he's doing, with the microphone on the one side of the headphones.

And then she said...

After reading through most of the Australian gay blogs on the pink board's list, or in a lot of cases rather scrolling through a lot of hot and not-so-hot half naked to offensively naked men and advertisements, I realized there's not very many gay guys in Victoria blogging.

On a similar train of thought, I went to the doctor this afternoon after waking up at about 3.15pm and still not feeling my usual great self. It turned out I had a pretty full on chest infection so my Russian doctor (da, yes, I saw it wanz bak in Russia while i stjudied) prescribed some sweet antibiotics and, my boss will love this one, another day off from work tomorrow. I had a blood sample taken as well, so my arm's a bit sore at the moment. Luckily nowhere close to as sore my arm was the last time I had a sample taken, when the evil woman stabbed me with a needle the size of the adrenalin syringe from Pulp fiction just before I went out kite surfing. I also purchased a thick and warm white, woolen sweater ($6 @ Savers) to keep me toasty while at home, and a beanie ($2 @ Savers) and gloves ($10 @ k-mart) for my bicycle ride to work. The beanie is the least disgusting of the three, though I think I can pull the sweater off as nationalistic irony.

Had a lovely dinner tonight at X's house with L-bomb and Drunk (X's a great cook, as she said herself, "I would have been an excellent housewife, I'm perfectly chisseled for suburban life, unfortunately I've got ambition") and we talked about wrapping parent's cars around poles, Drunk's mother referring to his girlfriend as a dirty whore, Batman series from the 70s, the 2 AM lockout and our own binge drinking traditions. Norway is quite exceptional when it comes to drinking culture; or total lack thereof, but coming to Australia I was blown away by the sheer volume of alcohol consumed. It didn't take long for the first feeling of being an alcoholist was replaced by numbness and a place for GT's in the daily diet though.

While writing this I've been listening to Michael Franti & Spearhead's Stay Human album. I saw him perform at the Fillmore in San Francisco when I was living there, and what an experience that was. X said she hadn't seen me that happy ever, and that has to count for something. If only my heart were the size of his..

Easy like Sunday morning

It's Saturday night, actually it's already 3 o'clock Sunday morning, and I'm still sick. Didn't go to work on Friday either, I slept in and then watched a documentary on David Hockney from the 60's, and then a 2 1/2 hour self-help DVD on how to become a millionaire. Apparently it's fairly easy, you just have to acquire $15 000, then take up a loan on your house and start dealing shares. If you don't feel like losing your house there are no less than eight other ways of going broke.

Just before I was about to put all of my belongings on gum-tree and e-bay to increase my equity and start buying blue-chip, Ray-ban came over and cooked me Indonesian chicken soup. Large amounts of fresh ginger and garlic; it wasn't as if I was going to try and pick up and neck anyone that night anyhow. Then we had a look at my CV as I'm considering another job possibility and wanted to buff it up a bit. He's even more anal than what I am when it comes to details, so we fucked around in indesign till the juice ran out of my powerbook's battery and my arms started cramping. W decided to treat ourselves to a bit of man-candy, so I found Batman begins on DVD and cranked it up (the other options were 1) 'Bodyguard', the 1992 classic with Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston, 2) 'Hercules in New York', Arnold Schwarzenegger anno 1970 - 15 years before the classics 'Commando' and 'Red Sonja' and 3) Lord of the rings trilogy). 2 minutes into the movie we realized it was a screener as the sound was almost none existing (the television set we're sporting here is pre-remote control, so we couldn't see anything wrong with the image), thank G for cheap Asian DVDs.. It wasn't as if the dialogue was the focus anyhow.

Before turning in for the night I first called my mom for half an hour and then my brother and his wife, who just decided to move back to Norway after quite a while in Swedish exile. I think I decided while talking to my bro to stay a while longer in Australia and see my Office project through a little longer and learn some more.

Today I haven't done shit, except for still feeling completely fatigued and as if some pneumonic plague molested my lungs before vomiting in my sinuses. Oh, I had chicken soup for breakfast at two (I love when my daily rhythm goes sour) and went with some friends to see a ballet at the Arts centre at night. Bad idea leaving my bed, but worthwhile just to get out of my ridiculously cold room. Did I tell you about my theory why it's so cold; that somebody must have died there?

Stuff I've been doing while writing this:

Oh my jesus, jump jump
Pretty aggro Krumping

Itunes blasted Drop the Lime's Bass for Golden pudels mix and Devlin & Pretty Titty's SinkOrSwim mix.

It's getting late and I'm starting to feel a strange attraction to my heater..




--

A little 6am update after sleeplessness and gay australian blog browsing..

Simple rules: Open iTunes, turn on shuffle, press forward for each question and use the song title as the answer.

What does next year have in store for me? "Lip gloss (remix)" Krazyfiesta
What’s my love life like? "In the waiting line" Zero 7
What do I say when life gets hard? "fool) Cat power
What do I think of on waking up? "it's tricky" Run DMC
What song will I dance to at my wedding? "Get it together" Go team!
What do I want as a career? "Standing in the way of control" Gossip
My favorite saying? "Those Winter nights" Jenny Wilson
Favorite place? "Phantom" Justice
What do I think of my parents? "Praise you (12" club)" Fatboy slim
What’s my porn star name? "Hands" Fourtet
Where would I go on a first date? "Rhymefest" Mark Ronson & Nick Catchdubs
Drug of choice? "In The Ghetto" Dolly Parton
Describe myself. "Cinnamon Girl" Neil Young
What is the thing I like doing most? "Closer" Travis
What is my state of mind like at the moment? "The Fallen" Franz Ferdinand Justice Remix
How will I die? "Emotion" Daft Punk

Who needs the magic 8-ball when you have iTunes

At home

Today I'm at home after calling in sick this morning. I left work early yesterday, came home and literally passed out on my bed in fever for a couple of hours, still in my work clothes, ceiling spinning opposite way of the ground, bucket at the side of the bed because I believe it deserves to see some more beautiful scenery than just the washing room.

Have been feeling a bit better today and even ventured out for a late lunch with a friend at 3, my first meal in over a day. T had had the most peculiar dream about meeting his grandmother in a younger and way more buff version, dressed in a tank-top (or a wife beater as they're called here). A blue one. Apparently that was the thing that freaked him out, because men are supposed to dream in black and white while women in colour. He thinks it's related to women being able to multitask, men not. I said that I dream in colour and that I'm shit at multitasking. My dreams are always more vivid when I have cheese or apple just before going to bed; T had a cheese sandwich just before tucking in.

The thing that I found out I wanted to think more about, basically just as I wrote it, was the title. I first wrote it as a geographical description, ie. not 'at work slaving away' or 'at the Exchange hotel checking out hot boys', but started thinking about the saying 'home is where the heart is'. At the moment I'm living in Australia, on the opposite side of the world from the rest of my family and friends (I have a history of re-rooting a bit away from the nest).I find I start questioning things like feeling of belonging, roots and nationality when I'm this far away. For the longest time I was knowing that I'm half american, but unaware, if that makes any sense; you know it for a fact, you just haven't processed it and taken in the full meaning of it. So I know where I come from, now I'm just trying to figure out where I belong - and with that, where home is. At the moment home is where my hat is, my sweet woolen, charcoal sixpence I got for my birthday two months ago from my awesome Aussie friends down here.