The Melburnian

Pass the Parcel

2008-02-03T10:27:00.000+11:00

There’s been a few instances of late that I have been told by others I know that I am a complete package. What that exactly means varies between each person who has said this to me, but essentially they regard me as someone who should be in a relationship.

It’s depressing enough that I am single and I think about being with someone at least twice a day if not more, but then to have other people who exacerbate this singledom, is more depressing. You wish that they never opened their mouths to state their claim. But it’s part of nature. I say and do it all the time.

Maybe it’s annoying for me because I can see the qualities I have within myself and don’t understand why a quality man cannot see them as well or maybe it simply lies in the fact that I am not a complete package. The answer lies in the latter. Anyone who says otherwise is just doing their best as a friend to convince me otherwise.

A friend from Milan called me a complete package the other day and I wondered why he could see it, yet others in this narcissistic community of ours cannot. The problem lie within self esteem, I know that much. But also lies within the fact that anyone I take a liking to inevitably becomes a friend, because the window of opportunity is small and passes by quicker than a Japanese bullet train.

As the biggest marketing event of the greeting card and floral industry – Valentine’s Day – approaches, it’s inevitable that the depression of being single will sink in yet again. You try hard to avoid all that crap that they emphasise and push down your throat, but it creeps in somehow. To some degree, it creeps in. Anyone who says it doesn’t is lying. It does.

A close friend suggested we do something for the dreaded day together, primarily because he finds himself single after an intense romance. So I agreed to do something just as romantic, as though we were in a relationship. Although I’m doing for him so that he doesn’t get too upset, I’m doing it for myself too. It’ll be therapeutic somehow… I hope.

But going back, what constitutes a complete package? Of course, it changes from each person and naturally, our list of what we want in someone is complex, specific and almost completely unachievable. But ever the optimist, I think there is bound to be someone or at least a few people that fit the bill.

Maybe that’s why they keep calling me the complete package?

Eat @ Taxi Dining Room

2008-01-21T13:16:00.000+11:00

There aren’t many places where you can get amazing views of the city in Melbourne, particularly as there is no harbour like our friends up north. In fact, you could probably count them on one hand. And to get great views alongside amazing food is even more of a challenge.

Taxi Dining Room is the ultimate in fine dining with the most amazing views in the city and it is worth every single cent. Located above the popular pub Transport in Federation Square, Taxi is a little hard to get to, especially with the drunken bogans and sheilas down in the pub below. Unfortunately, these very people spoil the overall experience but only ever-so slightly.

The concept is modern Australian with a distinct Japanese flavour and the food is flavoursome, creative, mouth-watering and delicately put together by head chef Michael Lambie and his team.

Being in a large group meant exploring a wider range of dishes starting from the entrées which included extremely fresh sushi and sashimi tasting platters, Szechuan duck broth with crispy duck egg & Morton Bay bug dumplings which was deliciously wet and crunchy and creamy Crystal Bay prawn gyoza. The entrées only served to make us want more.

The mains were mixed. The Salt & Pepper Fried Duck with eggplant pickle was filling, crispy and maintained moisture quite well despite having almost no fat, unlike other duck dishes of its type. The Roast rosettes of Lamb with pea puree melted in your mouth while the Roast Port Philip Bay snapper fillet received mixed reviews from others – mainly not being substantial enough.

Taxi is set in an extremely modern surrounding and wait staff are dressed too casually for a venue which boasts fine dining, these two elements combined take the experience down a little. However the service is attentive, informative and pleasant.

Taxi is not for the everyday dining experience and like most other high-end restaurants, comes the price tag which might shock you if you’re not prepared for it. The wine list is extensive and expensive with wine by the glass starting at $12 and bottles going as high as $2200, yet the cocktails list is very tempting and inviting.

Together with the food, attentive service and amazing views, Taxi is one place you must dine at for the experience. Its only fault is being located above a noisy, popular watering hole and its casual environment/attire.

4.5 of 5

Feeling great in 08!

2008-01-21T12:44:00.000+11:00

A belated Happy New Year to all! It’s been a nice break away from the blog as it has given me opportunity to enjoy my surroundings and people I am with. I’m not even sure if people are still reading or even checking the blog anymore… Nonetheless, I will (on occasion) post my adventures and I hope you enjoy.

I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday season and took advantage of the stifling heat that blessed or melted us throughout the two weeks of the holidays.

Anniversaire heureux!

2007-12-05T19:37:00.000+11:00

Okay, so it’s been only a matter of days since my last post announcing I was taking a break. So sue me. I thought it was important that I highlight the fact that today is the first anniversary of this blog, which started off as a means for me to express myself through written word, an outlet of my creativity and writing abilities and basically somewhere to whinge and bitch. And a year later, I’m still doing it, albeit not as often as I once did.

It’s been an interesting year with many deep, soul crushing, esteem destroying lows and some highlights, all mainly stemming from people I know or situations I have found myself in. Not everything has been shared here, and I believe that not everything needs to be shared.

Although this is a public blog, like many others written by people it’s part of lives and captures our emotions, feelings, frustrations and elations. To a large extent, readers respect that. After all, we are all human.

So have I achieved everything I set for myself in the past year? Yes and no. I have made personal progress with certain aspects of my life and yet I still seem to find I am in Square One with other things. Most of these things I tend to believe will be the key to my seemingly elusive happiness.

Although there are only a few weeks left in the year, I’m going to grab them by the balls as best as I can and enjoy them, living it up as much as I can.

If I want things to change, then I will have to change the way I think. Something I’ve known for far too long, but done nothing about. So I may be back peoples, even if my hiatus was short lived. Just keep those positive, loving and entertaining coming. I just hope people have read this!

We interupt this broadcast...

2007-12-01T09:06:00.000+11:00

I've decided to take a bit of a break from blogging for a variety of reasons including not having the time or much to talk about. This was a long time coming, so it's time I actually announced it.

I've met some great people through this and established great online friendships with others.

I'm sure I'll be back soon enough. In the interim, I'll be checking out all my favourite blogs and enjoying what (and who) I have around me.

Stay tuned...

Over at Ricky Martinville…

2007-11-20T19:10:00.000+11:00

For those playing at home, you may recall that I encountered a work colleague at a gay bar in Melbourne’s gay south side village with results that would fit well within the screenplay of a sitcom.

It was expected that there would be some awkwardness between the two of us, neither of us wanting to draw unnecessary attention to our sexuality in a predominately male chauvinist work environment. And my expectations of what was to occur that following Monday morning played out to a tea.

The odd thing was that despite the fact we barely spoke to each other prior to seeing the other out at the said gay bar, for weeks following, neither of us actually encountered each other within the office at all. It was all very odd. How could have not run into each other you say? Easy, it just seemed that the timing was off.

But about two weeks ago, about a month or so after it all happened, something changed. We needed to become involved with each other due to an event I was organizing. He was dealing with clients and he had to follow my directive. So as we worked together during the course of the two day event, I allowed my character to come out (no pun intended).

So jokes were shared, general conversation was created. He seemed comfortable with me and me with him. Now we say the usual hello and goodbye but on occasion it goes beyond the pleasantries to general chit chat. Nothing has ever been said about our sexuality, and nothing needs to be said. It’s not the time or place and there is really no need raise it.

I don’t expect a full blown friendship. But at least that weirdness has gone. I guess it’s all part and parcel of being at a new workplace which is continuously expanding and trying to find your place within it.

In Nightmares No One Can Hear You Scream

2007-11-17T09:39:00.000+11:00

I’ve always managed to keep my work life and my personal life separate with a degree of success. Never letting on too much about myself to the people at work and avoiding going out too much with work related functions, particularly with people who I would consider just work colleagues.

Come the end of the work day, I walk out those doors I leave my work brain behind and don’t think of it until I walk back in through those doors the next day. It might sound like wishful thinking but I manage to succeed to a degree.

But you can’t help your subconscious and the mind of its own… literally! You would call them dreams usually as the collective noun, but I much prefer the term nightmare. You see, I have been dreaming about work and things/tasks/events related to work to a degree that it is downright horrifying. I’d say so damned horrifying that it’s on par with Freddie Kruger slashing me apart.

In these nightmares, you can’t escape unless you wake from your slumber. But I know if I do, then it’ll be tough to get back to sleep and even tougher not to even think about work and the nightmare when I am awake. It’s tricky.

So why do we get sucked back into the thought of work even in our dreams? It’s not a good thing if you ask me. To be thinking about work in your dreams is slightly disturbing and not good for the mind or body or the soul for that matter.

So how do you avoid thinking about work, especially in your dreams? I think my currently nightmares stem from the fact that I do not have something else to focus on such as a hobby or a boyfriend. I think that if there was something else for me to focus on then such nightmarish happens wouldn’t be happening… or at least they would be curbed to an extent.

So what do I focus on? How do I separate the realness of work and the dreams of work colliding together into a nightmare that not even Sigourney Weaver can save me from before it bursts out of my chest? And how come my dreams aren’t full of naked muscle men in a hot steamy romp? Damned dreams!

Eat @ belleZain

2007-11-14T19:42:00.000+11:00

Unlike the Harbour City, there are only a select few places where you can enjoy fantastic views of the sun, sea and surf in Melbourne and Port Melbourne is one of those places. With so many restaurants, bars and cafes vying for your patronage and offering a meal with a view, it’s tough to decide on which place will be the best value.

belleZain (1 Beach St, Port Melbourne. Phone: 03 9646 6706) is one such restaurant set in modern surroundings that gives you the views with a light modern meal to match.

The décor is slick, modern and sexy with plump cushions abound clearly marked for the designer set of the surrounding posh Port Phillip crowd who dine here. But it’s the glass panelled patio dining area which is the selling point. The views of the expansive Port Phillip Bay are breathtaking. With the sun beating down, the sand of Port Melbourne beach, the giant palm trees and blue sky – this is all about sex appeal.

But what about the food? The menu stems from the Mediterranean with Italian and Spanish influences and on paper sounds very appealing. A mix of pastas, risottos, tapas, wood-fired thin crust pizza and then an interesting mix of seafood and steak mains, there is plenty to have your mouth watering.

But the menu suffers from the latest trend of using overly fancy words for describing the elements to each dish and when the meal arrives, there just seems to be something lacking.

The Cavatelli pasta with Confit Duck Ragout sounded very tempting, but lacked some basic flavours and had a very watery base which detracted from the overall dish. The Linguini with Tiger Prawns and Seared Scallops was creamy and light but lacked a little in prawns which would have made the dish far more filling.

The pizzas proved popular and had a great combination of contemporary and traditional toppings. The wood fried element added to the flavours and added a deliciously crunchy crust which left you licking your lips.

The dessert menu proved equally tempting with Saffron Panna Cotta and White Chocolate Raspberry Brulee on offer. The wine list is extensive and sources quality wines from Spain, Italy, Australia and France.

belleZain tries hard to be something that it is not. Perhaps it’s not the place to order pastas dishes, but it’s not worth for the pizzas alone – there are better places to get quality pizzas. Service is above average and courteous, but not the standard it should be for what it wants to be.

belleZain is a good spot for a light, quick lunch on a warm summer day.

2 of 5

Shiny, Sparkly, Shimmering

2007-11-08T18:59:00.000+11:00

It’s funny how things you initially love and think is the greatest thing since sliced bread soon becomes stale, tired and yesterday’s news. As humans it seems we need to be entertained to a certain degree to make sure we still show interest in something.

Case in point with my enthusiastic entrance into the world of gay clubs and bars. Although initially I was drawn to the “thumpa-thumpa” of the music and the well manicured (or scruffy) men around, soon after I became bored of it all and wanted something more. I became bored of going to the same places and hearing the same music and not seeing what else was on offer. The shine wore off.

Then came along a monthly night which I loved instantly with its different crowd, great eclectic mix of music and New York underground club surroundings – I was hooked! I couldn’t wait to get to the next one.

But it was only a week or two ago when I realized that I was over it and I now need something new to entertain me. Or was it that I was just not feeling it that night and I was not in the mood? I can’t be too sure. I’ll have to see what happens the next time I go… If I go that is.

So what do you do when the initial shiny glimmer of a new whatever starts to inevitably wear off? Do you continue to get involved with it or do you move onto something that entertains you in the way you are wanting?

And if so, does the response you take for those things reflect on how you will react and respond with relationships? Are you willing to give it your all and go for the long haul or resign yourself to the fact that it can’t or won’t change?

I’m not sure if I react the same way for such situations or whether I process them with the individual respect they need. I actually think I’m in the latter camp. One thing is for sure, I’ll try that one night only bar again and decide whether it’s worth it again.

Eat @ The Lion of India

2007-11-03T11:06:00.000+11:00

A stalwart of the North Essendon restaurant strip, The Lion of India (192 Keilor Rd, North Essendon. Phone: 03 9379 2161) is big on quality and the abundance of fragrances and flavours that Indian cuisine has to offer all in a modern surrounding.

The Lion of India specializes in Tandoori Indian cuisine and as always there are so many options that it can be hard to settle on just one meal, especially if you love this type of cuisine. The Lion caters very well for both carnivores and vegetarians with at least 15 dishes in each camp.

We started our Bollywood feast with a selection of Pakora dishes including Chicken, Paneer, Cauliflower and Eggplant Pakoras. And although they were delicious, they were slightly over cooked in the deep fryer as they were a dark shade of brown rather than golden brown, resulting in the spices losing their flavour. An interesting accompaniment to the appetizers was finely chopped Granny Smith apples, a nice refreshing addition to a deep fried dish.

The mains are just as tasty and will definitely leave you feeling full to the brim. We selected a couple wet curries and a couple of dry curries. The Chicken Shahi Korma was creamy with coconut and cashews with a mild spice factor while the Beef Curry was not only spicy but packed with a multitude of spices and herbs – perfect for soaking up with some hot buttery and garlicky Naan bread.

Of the dry curries we tried the Bhuna Gosht which was deliciously fragrant and tasty that I can still taste the curry paste with the traditional Saffron rice which mixed in herbs and grains rather than the urine yellow Anglo stuff. The Chicken Makhmali was an interesting selection, but lacked the excitement the other dishes had.

The service was a tad slow considering the restaurant was only a third full but was supplemented by the charms of the waiter we had whose voice would make Kamahl proud. The modern surroundings of the restaurant new venue work well and shy away from the typical dingy overly crowded feel that so many other suburban Indian restaurants have.

The Lion of India is definitely worth the visit and although Indian food is always overpriced for what it is, somehow you leave satisfied, full and wanting to go a second round after resting for an hour and knocking back a mango lassi.

3.5 of 5

Tutto che voglio

2007-10-28T19:16:00.000+11:00

Malgrado esso è l'estate nella città ed il calore rivela tutta la bella corpo dell'uomo.
Niente cambia il fatto che sono ancora solo ed il desiderio che sono stato desiderato per me.

Tutto che posso fare è sogno...

ed attesa.

In the eyeSpace

2007-10-25T13:48:00.000+10:00

In a rush to get to the Victorian Arts Centre on St Kilda Rd, I weaved in and out of traffic to join a friend and his friend (a former dancer) to see celebrated choreographer Merce Cunningham’s Dance Company perform eyeSpace. In the end, I wondered why I rushed to get to the Arts Centre at all.

Although my friend and I had no idea of what we were about to see, I walked in with an open mind and ready to be inspired by this collection of contemporary dance pieces.

The performance bought together three different pieces spanning over 50 years, namely Suite for Five, the high anticipated eyeSpace and finally BIPED. The dancers were well controlled and although primarily danced individually, they worked in harmony somehow to create an interesting performance.

The highly anticipated and interactive eyeSpace combined various sounds and an iPod for each audience member which played music that was as varied as the dance moves themselves. The BIPED performance was the most visually interesting as it combined the dance moves of each performer with computer graphics which added new layers every minute.

Although I’m no expert on contemporary dance, the choreography was interesting, yet the music (or rather the sound waves) distracted from the performance. Unfortunately the performance was not engaging enough for me overall, so much so that I felt myself nod off a couple of times during the final piece. There was something lacking but it could be a combination of the choreography and the music.

It must have only been me and my friend who missed something completely, as Merce Cunningham was given a standing ovation when he came out onto the stage.

There is a final Merce Cunningham performance tonight, but the Melbourne International Arts Festival continues until Saturday. And although this wasn’t necessarily my cup of tea in dance, I appreciate the opportunity to have seen the piece and want to go to see more things during this popular arts festival.

7.4 on the Rectum Scale

2007-10-20T08:24:00.000+10:00

I blame the new anti-smoking laws introduced into bars and clubs by the Victorian Government earlier this year. Underneath the thick blanket of tobacco and hash smoke, the highly stomach churning fumes emitted from between the cheeks used to be covered up and remained undetected. But now, this is no longer the case and we’re all victims of copping a slap to the face when someone decides to lay a wind loaf.

Now of course, I am not some prude who says they never fart because I do but there are some limits as to when and where you can sing the anal anthem such as in bed with your partner while playing Dutch ovens. Everyone likes their own brand and coupled with the human instinct of curiosity, one is always interested in their own quality. But there are limits!

One guy I know loves letting one rip and doesn’t necessarily care where he drops them much to our detriment. Unluckily for us he considers a club the best place to drop them in multiple, quick succession. And it couldn’t be anymore disturbing as we are dancing on a packed dancefloor when suddenly one of us senses the free floating anal vapor. Our noses will twitch, we’ll turn away or casually dance off to another area as quickly as possible. All the while he will continue to dance as if nothing happened. And since July, this has been far more evident since the cloud of smoke no longer exists to cover it up.

And it doesn’t stop there. He’ll let rip at least 30 times over the course of a night. Not so much fun when you’re trying to enjoy yourself, cruise the cute boy to your left in a packed club. You might be seen by others as the one who played the trouser tuba… not a good look!

Although a few of us have said something to him immediately after, he finds the situation hilarious with his rip roaring laughter which most likely will be followed up with another stink burger. Unfortunately he doesn’t realise that it is quite off-putting and not as funny as he thinks it is. I think as much as we will tell him that it is not acceptable and we are not at that level of friendship, he will continue to burn rubber in front of us while out. Great.

But club crop dusting seems to be prevalent as this weekend I was in one of Melbourne’s busiest, most popular and largest nightclubs, CQ, dancing to the retro hits of the 80’s with some friends when I smelt a couple of F-Bombs wafting over our way from a tall, lanky guy in business gear. He cut the cheese so damned fast no one had time to prepare for it. But it didn’t stop, he let rip with a couple more which my friends noticed and our faces reacted in a spasmodic twitch it was as if we’d been hit with Agent Orange.

So I guess since these new anti-smoking laws have come into effect, we will all now be susceptible to high toxic turd honking from people who not only love their own brand, but want to swathe in it whenever they’re out. Military gas masks look to sell out! Get ‘em while they’re in stock!

My Listerine in his bottle!

2007-10-16T19:52:00.000+10:00

A friend once stated in all his wisdom that the stupidest thing you could ever do was to move in with another friend, particularly one you were very close with. It simply is a recipe for disaster he said. The friendship would inevitably end on bad terms.

Now that may seem a little excessive, but I have to agree with one aspect of his theory in that you need to be careful with who you choose to live with. One wrong choice and it could spell disaster or at least provide the friends who aren’t part of the disastrous living conditions with a whole host of hilarious anecdotes. Like it has for me…

One such friend has provided me with a barrel of laughs ever since moving in with some friends who make living with family a whole lot more appealing to anyone considering moving out. Tales of disappearing food that goes un-replenished, magical bottles of Listerine that seems to empty and refill in another’s after passing the ¼ mark, snappy mood swings and a general lack of privacy are just some of the entertaining stories I’ve heard about from what I dubbed “Green Acres”. I’m almost waiting for Eva Gabor and Eddie Albert to be standing in the front yard whenever I visit.

Other friends who have experienced far worse encounters with narcissistic wannabes belittling guests, flat mates who end up squatting to multiple break-ins. One frightening story was a girlfriend who moved to the bustling inner-city suburb of Richmond. It was one late afternoon as she hopped into the shower to get ready for a late night at work that drug addicts had broken into her home and stolen cash, a TV, a DVD player and a mobile phone. Mind you, the bathroom door was left ajar due to the fact there was no lock on it and she figured she was home alone. Apparently she wasn’t.

For me personally, I have been asked and invited by a number friends and acquaintances to become a housemate. For many however, I know that it would be friendship suicide if I was to ever do so, namely for the reasons that I know how they are and I know how I like things. I know that for me that I would have to live with someone who had similar home values as I did, purely to reduce the probability of creating fireworks.

Of course, even with those people who I know I could probably live with, there will surely be an occasion (or two) where we would disagree with each other. It’s to be expected. Yet, I know that I will have my friend’s theory at the back of my mind every time I decide to move in with someone new.

I guess its all part of the adventure of gaining further independence from the hand that feeds you when you’re growing up. Just make sure you don’t pour your housemate’s Listerine into your cheap no-label mouth wash bottle. Otherwise, I’ll never hear the end of it!

Watch out boy, he’ll chew you up

2007-10-12T15:19:00.000+10:00

Nowadays no one can be too sure about who they are in a relationship with. It’s a sad fact, but something we are all too well aware of, especially after seeing celebrity break ups being shoved down our throats. A prime example is Heather Mills, a seemingly sweet and loveable woman who is fast turning out to be a bitchy gold digger as she prepares to secure a sizeable chunk of Paul McCartney’s fortune.

And queers aren’t safe either, Melburnians will recall the recent story about two queers who have been battling it out in court over art work they shared in their home.

I’d previously written about Sugar Daddies but didn’t think about the potential consequences of a break up gone awry. Now, after witnessing the recent events of a Sugar Daddy I know, my perception has changed completely. I guess initially I had been glazed over by the materialistic benefits. I should know better!

After setting a cunningly creative trap, the apparent Sugar Daddy unleashed the Bunny Boiler within his younger lover. The lover had been caught in the bright shining headlights of the trap and once caught out has been desperately trying to claw his way back into the relationship, determined to make everything better.

The young lover knew he’d done wrong by liaising with another man so far as starting an affair with him, without thinking about his relationship with the Sugar Daddy. And so began the pleas and desperate measures in the shape of constant text messages, emails, faxes, late night phone calls, letters and who knows what else. The barrage of pleading and begging became never ending.

The young lover knew his world of fine dining, expensive jewellery, paid international vacations, paid rent, gifts and hot sex was evaporating quicker than rain on a 38ºC day. He was used to a life of luxury and his glamorous life was fading faster than he could attempt to clasp it back. As a gold digger, he was trying anything and everything he could to get back into Sugar Daddy’s wallet.

So Sugar Daddy learnt his lesson. Or has he? I can’t be too sure whether he has or not. But it’s a clear sign that such relationships don’t always work. There is always a hidden agenda.

Sure, there may be real relationships where there is a respect and love that goes beyond the money that one partner has, but it’s always better for the Sugar Daddy to approach such pretty young materialistic things with extreme caution. That’s if they can stop themselves from chasing some tail…

Tag! You’re it!

2007-10-09T19:35:00.000+10:00

Thanks to talented scribe Richard Watts, I’ve been tagged for what bloggers call a ‘meme’. Essentially what it involves is revealing eight facts about yourself and tagging eight other bloggers to do the same. The tough bit is deciding which facts to tell!

I cannot whistle to save myself. Despite my best efforts to learn the whistle technique, it seems I am one of those unco people who cannot whistle. Sure, I can make ridiculous robotic sounds with my tongue and lips, but I simply cannot blow. Hehe.

I am currently struggling through British actor, Rupert Everett’s autobiography which although containing semi-glamorous Hollywood-esque stories and gritty stories of gay life in London, is still dull, sporadic and a chronological headfuck.

Still on books, I always have at least six books on ‘backlog’ that I am yet to read. Mind you, when I finish one book, chances are there’ll be another three I’ll see that will be added to the pile somehow.

I have an intense dislike for legumes be they peas, beans, chickpeas or lentils, despite the fact I still eat them. Mainly they’re eaten by force – you don’t have much choice when you’re strapped into a chair with a gun to your head.

Still on legumes, despite my dislike for them, I surprisingly love Yellow Lupin Seeds aka lupini. It must be the wog factor.

I was legally blind when I was four. Long story there.

Interestingly, I only need glasses for reading nowadays. And even then I don’t need them all that often.

I’ve had four pet dogs since I was born, two of which have been Maltese Terriers.

Now I tag Evol Kween, Fembotanist, River Tales, Love In Melbourne, DUP, R*yan, Sarah Cooks and Single In The City to share their randomness!

Oh, for those playing at home in relation to my last post ‘Chance Encounters of the Gay Kind’ – nothing has been said yet… not unusual!

Chance Encounters of the Gay Kind

2007-10-07T09:35:00.000+10:00

What happens when you run into a work colleague at a popular gay nightspot on a night out with your friends, particularly when you work in an office where everyone is oblivious to the fact you are gay? I go into hysterics, as was the case over the weekend.

Off to one of the city’s prominent gay clubs to see a friend perform in drag for a “one night only” benefit, my friends and I decided to move onto another nightspot after the performance was over. Club hopping from one to another, it was no surprise that each place we ended up in got progressively worse. The music was bordering on stale, the crowds were worse, and the tiredness factor had kicked in very early.

That was until we walked into R&B night at one of the smallest clubs you’ll ever see… My night picked up incredibly. Immediately I had seen him, a work colleague, in a group of similarly aged men in the same club, knocking back a beer. Dressed very casually and almost very straight, he too, immediately saw me. One friend asked if I wanted to leave, but I declined. I have nothing to hide I told him.

Now let me preface this by saying that no one at work has any idea that I’m gay – odd, yes but it is made more interesting by the fact that this work colleague and I barely say much to each other at work. It’s usually a “Hey, how are you?” politeness and not much else. So you could imagine the reaction each of us had. I started telling my friends, whispering in their ears while they casually glanced over at him. And he, telling his friends in their ears while casually glancing over at me.

The quasi-awkwardness of the whole situation threw me into hysterics and naturally I decided to amp up the gay factor by gyrating up against a friend and holding him intimately and close. It was pretty hard not to laugh while I was doing it.

Naturally, I entertained the fact that he may be straight and was at the bar for a friend’s party, but there was a certain something that told me this wasn’t necessarily the case. Still, you never know. Regardless, we stayed for a little longer, the novelty factor of me wearing off quickly, and we headed to the next place.

So what happens next will be interesting. Monday morning around the water cooler may not be the same. Will our conversations develop further beyond the pleasantries? Have I kicked the rumour mill into overdrive? Will there be an awkwardness between us, neither one acknowledging the night? Or will things continue how they were before?

Monday morning will be a very interesting one… *Cue the evil laugh*

La Dolce Vita

2007-10-01T19:28:00.000+10:00

Being the cinematic lover that I am, I usually get excited about the season of film festivals that are sprinkled throughout the year. Be it the French, Spanish, Melbourne International, Queer, Greek or Italian Film Festival, I always find the time to pencil in at least one film if not more.

One dearest to my heart is the Italian Film Festival, namely because of my cultural background, but additionally because of the quality cinematic offerings that come out of Rome’s Cinecittà each year.

Italian cinema is seeing resurgence back to the heydays of Fellini, De Sica, Bertolucci and Rossellini. And it’s no surprise that I’m excited about this year’s Italian Film Festival which started a couple days ago. It’s 19 days of quality Italian cinema.

Over the last few days, I’ve been lucky enough to catch a couple of the better films on offer. Saturno Contro is a touching story about a group of friends who come together regularly, and as each week progresses nothing changes but they admire, respect and love each other deeply until it all changes for them. It’s a fantastic, touching story of friendship, love and with the two lead protagonists being gay, it’s one that’ll be of interest to those who are gay or have gay friends.

Manuale d’amore 2 is the riotous sequel of Manual d’amore (obviously!) and again has an Italian who’s who of film stars including the beautiful Monica Bellucci. Yet this line up doesn’t detract from the story about love in its many weird and wonderful ways. The movie is almost certain to be released generally in the near future.

Uno su due is a powerful drama about a man who seems to have the high life living as a successful lawyer in Genoa in a cute apartment and beautiful girlfriend until it all comes crashing down when he receives a life changing health scare. At times funny and at times uplifting, the movie is one you walk away from with a renewed outlook on life.

The festival finishes 7 October and is screening across three Palace cinemas in Melbourne including Como, Balwyn and Westgarth.

The Wild West

2007-09-29T09:54:00.000+10:00

The urban sprawl of Melbourne is so widespread, that it can often take an hour and half to cross from one side of the city to the next and so like the division between the north and south, there is a east and west division. And although the population of this ever-growing city is heavily skewed to the east and southeast, more than 1.5 million Melburnians call the city’s west home. And for most of us, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

The west brings together a clash of cultures so eclectic that it reads like a UN convention. Westies include Italians, Greeks, Maltese, Vietnamese, Polish, Serbs, Macedonian, Croatian, Ethiopian, Sudanese, Chinese, Turkish and Lebanese that bring together a kaleidoscope of smart know-how to make the west far more interesting than the east’s image of the West being a continuous industrial park full of derelicts.

Growing up in this ethnic cultural melting pot of Melbourne’s west has exposed us Gen X and Y kids with an amour that arms with a real world sensibility and street-wise common sense that I don’t think any of us could replace.

Don’t get me wrong, the western suburbs definitely have their problems that stem from the culmination of these cultures. There are the young wog boys who drag race in their hotted up Holden Commodores and then there’s the tragic street fashion of tight black leggings and drag queen-like makeup from the girls and Adidas or Kappa tracksuits from the boys all with matted, gelled, cockatoo-like straightened hair. And who can forget the ‘bewdiful’ western dialect that is ‘nuffin but fully sik man’.

Sure, we may all want to escape it. But when we do move, we never venture too far east and we still retain those street-wise smarts which prepares us for those hurdles that those from the East may not be ready to deal with. We want things done or we don’t agree with what’s been said or done – a Westie will use their background to make it right in a way on a Westie will know how.

And for a Westie that treks over to the other side of the city, the differences are noticed fairly quickly. The ethnic mix disappears almost immediately and the culture overall changes, it’s almost like a different city. Only a Westie will know what I mean.

So would we change our Western suburb upbringing for anything in the world? I’d say no. It’d made us the people we are today. And there’s nuffin wrong wif that awright? It’s fully sik!

Easy like Sunday morning…

2007-09-26T11:45:00.000+10:00

In an age where we are rushed off our feet and seem to be scheduling every little occasion to the last iota, it’s not surprising to hear people talking about weekenders as if they were major international vacations. It’s amazing how something so small can be so refreshing.

It was over some tempura and sake that a friend and I were raving on how a simple weekend away down to the peninsula, surf coast or up to the snowfields could be so revitalizing to the human body and mind. It’s almost as if you’ve traveled halfway across the country or globe for an extended holiday, but in reality you’re only about an hour away from the city.

But I guess it really comes down to how much you allow yourself to take it easy and let loose and we all relax in different ways whether it be hitting the surf, getting involved in extreme sports, having a few drinks at the local or lazing about with a good book and a cuppa.

For me, I take comfort in the company of my friends and spending time with them doing whatever, whenever, wherever. I’m simply not fussed, I just like spending time with them and enjoying their company and last weekend was the perfect example of how it can naturally progress so well.

Although a good friend organized a games night, it ended up becoming a kaleidoscope of watching the footy finals, drinking, eating and playing a riotous crossbreed game of Pictionary and Charades. And it couldn’t have been any more fun if we tried. We didn’t care what we were doing, we just enjoyed each other companionship and friendship.

So why do we get caught up in the necessary stresses of life? It’s obviously a combination of things. But I try to eliminate those stresses as best as I can and let myself enjoy what’s happening around me. That’s why I’m easy. Or so I think…

It’s A Chemical Reaction

2007-09-22T17:19:00.000+10:00

I have lost my mojo. It’s well and truly gone and it may have left the building for good. Not so good for a young gay man, but it’s the fact of matter. The loss of my mojo is not so much the sex drive element yet rather the ability to find anyone attractive or interesting. I simply don’t find any guy attractive.

Sure, there are the unattainable ones who have perfectly sculpted bodies, golden tans, square jaw lines and killer style that I think are hot, but they may as well have cheesy porn music playing in the background. I’m talking about guys who I would want to get into a relationship with. There is no attraction. And I am worried.

Am I cursed? Am I going through a sexual slump? Or is it purely that I just haven’t found anyone who is considered my equal? I’m not too sure, but I’m leaning to the slump side of things as I scroll through hundreds of singles profiles, I keep thinking the same thing “Eh, whatever…”

Or is it related back to something else? Did my unrequited love episode earlier this year strip me of any love or passion that I could have for anyone else? Am I actually still subconsciously holding onto those feelings and wanting it to come back with an actual result? I would say no as I know that love has well and truly extinguished with a DNR tag attached. But did it really kill my ability to find anyone else attractive? I have to wonder if it did.

So after regular nights of going out with friends to bars and hours checking out singles profiles, the may be blatantly obvious that I cannot even see it. My standards may be high, my expectations may not be realistically set or my understanding of relationships might be completely askew. The answers could be numerous.

Either way, the sex drive doesn’t exist and I need to find a way to get it back and unfortunately, unlike Austin Powers, I don’t have a time machine to send back to rescue it from the clutches of my personal Dr. Evil. Unless you know someone of course who does…

Those Two Little Words (Part 3)

2007-09-19T20:19:00.000+10:00

After charging full steam ahead on the trail to ‘Outsville’ to my friends, I felt ready to tackle the biggest hurdle any gay man faces – telling the family. Again, I wanted it to be quick and painless, but it was foolish of me to think that something so major could be done in such a nonchalant way. Yet, despite this naivety, I knew I wanted to keep the momentum going and tell them soon after I had told the last friend. It was to be almost a year later when I started the family inroads.

I always had moments when I was going to say something to a family member, but then I was always put off by a casual remark about ‘gays’ or ‘getting it up the Hershey Highway’ or even the timing was not right due to circumstances, that I never said anything.

It was one wintry afternoon during one of our regular bitching sessions that I knew it was time to tell my sister – the one person I get along with the closest. I was ranting on about something that had pissed me off which led to her responding about a similar situation that had happened to her. It was during her rant, that I just thought “This is it. I should tell her”. And so I did.

It came as no surprise to her, and was accepted fully and wholeheartedly as I knew I would be. I only hoped that the situation with the parents would be the same, so you could imagine my surprise when the issue of me potentially being gay was never mentioned amongst my family. Here was a hurdle I didn’t expect. Despite this psychological hurdle, I still had a good feeling of how they’d react.

Weeks passed, nothing said, until finally on a non-descript Monday night I wandered into the living area and told them I had something to say. As I started my spiel, instantly my dad knew what I was going to say. I hadn’t even said those two little words yet when he moved over to me and said “If you’re happy and you’re comfortable, then I’m happy and comfortable.”

But my mum was still unsure what was happening. It was after I said the words that the shock and surprise set in. After a few minutes, the initial shock settled in she motioned for me to sit next to her and she hugged me. The whole process took less than 10 minutes.

It was a few days later that we spoke further about the revelation, I dropped on them. I told them how it all came about and how happy and relived I really was since coming out to my friend all those months ago at Midsumma Carnival. The response was positive and overall, went exactly how I had hoped with the reactions exactly as I had expected.

All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a better response. And although it will take a little longer for the parentals to understand it all, it’s been a fairly painless and uplifting process. Friends and family have all taken it into their strides and have been, and continue to be supportive.

I know the coming out process is never ending, but for me, the most important people in my life are aware, everyone else is secondary. If others, who find out, have an issue, it’s theirs to deal with. I’m out. I’m happy. I’m free.

Got To Let It Show (Part 2)

2007-09-17T18:56:00.000+10:00

Once I said the words, like a production line starting up for the day, everything went into motion and I was like a charging bull. For me, the ‘process’ of coming out to people was going to be like ripping off a Band-Aid – quick and clean. And for the most part, it was.

It was about a fortnight after I had come out to an old school friend at Midsumma’s Carnival that I gathered the courage to go out as a gay man with him, his friends and a whole host of new guys he’d met at Carnival. Nervous as all hell, as I walked towards the bar little did I realize I would meet the very people who I hold very near to my heart today.

The night was fun and eye-opening. It was also the night that I met him. And even now I am thankful I have the privilege to be one of his closest friends. Additionally that night, I met a very cute and young Italian boy who would be the catalyst of coming out to my closest friend.

It was at a gay club that I had run into this young Italian stallion and as we noticed each other and I very enthusiastically kissed him hello and then continued on my merry way, that my friend queried and questioned and probed several times of whom it was that I just planted my lips on. I put it off each time in those five minutes. For what reason, I don’t know. But then in an instant, I blurted out that I was gay and spilled out details of my movements over the last couple of weeks much to his excitement and exuberance. Now there was no stopping me!

Over the following few months I progressively told each of my friends. For most, it was confirmation of their suspicions with only one or two being genuinely surprised by my revelation. But all in all, they were all and still are supportive. It makes no difference to them and they still see me as the person I was when we first met. I knew that I had nothing to worry about, which for some can be reassuring.

Of course the process of telling people was structured in a strategic way by my own admission and naturally there were a couple, shall we say, hiccups along the way. Nothing major, but in some circumstances it pushed me along much quicker in telling certain people. But I guess you can’t plan everything to the last iota, can you?

Before long, all my friends were told and they started seeing me being far more relaxed and forthcoming with my comments about men and sex – both to their amusement and shock. But they were the easy part, as it always is, the next step would be family. And although I was on a speeding train heading express to Outsville, inevitably, it all slowed down as the time came for the family…

-to be continued-

Want The World To Know (Part 1)

2007-09-13T19:30:00.000+10:00

The road to coming out was a relatively easy and simple path compared to many others I have heard from those I know. For some their journey in becoming their true self is still in progress. For each of us, it is a different experience fraught with different reactions, acceptance or rejection. No story is the same.

This is nothing earth shattering or a huge revelation. But after my recent actions (and some would say bravery), it was high time I shared the story of my experience. Some will recognize events similar to their own, some may be inspired to come out and some may just be curious to know what it is like.

Unlike some, I knew I was gay many years ago but I never was distraught by the thought that I might be different or that I liked men. I knew that I was and that was pretty much that. I didn’t deny myself or emotionally beat myself up trying to convince myself that I was actually straight. I just knew I liked the body of a man and that I found the male species incredible sensual.

But it was years and years later that I did anything about it. I was happy to carry on with my life – go to school, go to university, go to casual jobs, hang out with my friends. I was almost on auto-pilot, going about life and being contented with what was happening. Of course, being a randy teen, I did use the internet to my advantage. But that was the extent of it.

It wasn’t until I came home from Europe and I had started going out with a close friend to gay clubs as an “emotional support” for him that I knew that I no longer wanted to be single and coop up my true party animal self like I had been. So as I continued to “support” my friend (all the while, having my own personal agenda) I made movements in the road to coming out.

It was after another friend’s birthday on that bright, warm sunny Sunday afternoon that I impulsively decided to go to Midsumma Carnival. It was there that I ran into a former school friend, himself gay. When I saw him, after an initial “oh crap I hope he doesn’t see me”, I darted off to look at other stalls and performances. Was I ready to take the first step? What am I really waiting for? It was then and there that I gathered the courage walked up to him and say hello. So I walked up and tapped his shoulder to his excitement and surprise.

He asked me point blank if I was gay. I said yes. And in an instant, I had just come out as a gay man. The ball started rolling….

-to be continued-

Eat @ Gingerboy

2007-09-10T19:59:00.000+10:00

Hidden in one of Melbourne’s infamous laneways lies one of the city’s hottest new restaurants, the tantilising lovechild of renowned chef Teage Ezard and it is here where you next want to be dining.

Gingerboy (27-29 Crossley Street Melbourne Ph: 9662 4200) is the dark, sexy and ultimately satisfying dining experience that is also a little cheeky. And it’s all part of the fun. From the busy barman creating deliciously naughty cocktails through to the well-intended upselling by the wait staff, Gingerboy is one hell of a fusion experience. And the food is something else.

Like so many hip Asian-inspired restaurants that have opened around the city, Gingerboy encourages sharing main meals allowing to try more entrées. The theme is Asian hawker market and so an emphasis on Thai and Malay dishes abound and they are all mouthwateringly yummy.

We started with the now infamous Son-In-Law eggs, crumbed soft boiled eggs with chilli jam, which explode in your mouth combining the warm yolk, chilli and Asian herbs and followed with the deliciously simple but oh-so-tasty Crispy Chilli Salt Cuttlefish. The flavours are light and combine well without making you feel bloated or regretting your order and provide the perfect introduction to the main meal.

The Pork Ribs Rendang was simply delicious combining the right amount of spice and flavour without being too heavy and fattening. The pork was succulent and juicy absorbing the curry well. Although this was a ‘specials’ dish, if it were on the regular menu, I would highly recommend it. We coupled the rendang with Fried Corn Cakes and a delightfully refreshing Prik Nam Pla and Paw Paw Relish salad.

Coupled with some quality wines, we left Gingerboy satisfied and definitely full. The restaurant itself is decked out in glossy black bamboo with mystical fairy lights adding to the modernist intimacy of the experience. The waiters are extremely helpful and provide wise suggestions and even add a casual, relaxed element to a sophisticated venue.

I can’t really fault Gingerboy except to say that there are other places (such as Tom Phat) which offer similar cuisine at far cheaper prices. But sometimes we just have to treat ourselves to a night out. Gingerboy is definitely a repeat venue if only for those Son-In-Law eggs, but the menu is outrageously tempting, several visits may be required.

5 of 5

Read Tummy Rumbles review.

100 (Just Add Tequila)

2007-09-07T16:33:00.000+10:00

After a hard week at work of putting up with annoyingly loud colleagues, inane email requests, self tanning from the fluorescent lighting and using wanky corporate terminology – there is nothing more I want to do on a Friday afternoon than go home, get my groove on and go out with my friends. And there is nothing less I want to do than go for Friday night drinks with work colleagues.

The concept of after-work drinks is something that slaved city workers dreamt up to find an escape from the grind of the working week. Is spending an additional few hours in your work gear, boozing it up with your colleagues and getting absolutely trashed the best way to spend a Friday afternoon? I’d say no.

Maybe I just don’t get it. Maybe I’m not that much of a corporate social butterfly. But I am baffled as to why anyone would want to spend any more time with people that they have spent the majority of the week with? The weekend is the time for seeing friends you haven’t seen or spoken to and enjoying your own time. Isn’t it? And for me, the weekend starts the moment I walk out the door on a Friday afternoon if not sooner.

Don’t get me wrong, on occasion I have partaken in Friday afternoon drinks. At my last job, we’d finish early, one of us would go buy a top notch bottle of red, crank up the chilled Latin beats and relax for a little while just talking utter rubbish. Other times, we’d knock back a few reds in a nearby cocktail lounge while sampling some quality French cheeses and antipasti. Of course, this all sounds very decadent, but then again, there were only three of us and the boss was loaded.

But even so, we kept it to an occasional event and even then, we didn’t stay around for too long allowing us to carry on with our planned Friday nights out. Now in my current role, I have been asked every week to go for drinks, and every week I have turned them down. I know I can’t go on avoiding it, but in all honesty – I have seen you people for the past five days!

Maybe I’m being too harsh and maybe I’m being an outright stick in the mud. But I know that I would rather see my friends and catch up with them instead of being stuck in my work gear, pretending to be someone I’m not with people I prefer to see only at work. Wouldn’t you?

Eat @ Breizoz French Crêperies

2007-09-04T19:42:00.000+10:00

Crepes are one of the best things to come out of France, besides the French National Rugby team, fine cuisine and fashion couture, and unlike those I just mentioned, they are the perfect parcel-sized bundle of goodness without the price.

Breizoz French Crêperies (139 Nelson Place, Williamstown Ph: 9397 2300) is the perfect place to indulge in a little bit of Brittany while enjoying the atmosphere of the seaside surroundings of Williamstown in Melbourne’s south-west. With a full range of savoury and sweet temptations to water your palate, the best thing is being able to sample more than one thanks to the cheap prices!

Les Galettes (savoury) dishes range from the simple Ham through to the traditional Ratatouille, Provençale, Boudin Noir and Merguez and Tomate while Les Crêpes (sweet) menu offers such sweet delights including Chocolat, Almond Praline and Banane. For those who like a bit of zing in their meals, Les Crêpes Flambées are the fiery ones to go for.

The crepes are made fairly quickly and it’s best to eat them nice and hot. The wait staff recommends washing down the crepes with some French cider, but I think it detracts from the overall goodness of the crepe itself, especially those sweet tasty ones.

Service is prompt and perhaps a little cheeky if you encounter the owner, which may be construed as rude, but is not meant to be. As mentioned, the prices are cheap which lets you either stick to a budget (and not your diet) or go for more – which is definitely the way to go.

There is a sister Breizoz café in Fitzroy (Cnr. Gertrude & Brunswick St, Fitzroy Ph: 9415 7588) but if it is atmosphere on a warm sunny afternoon you are after, then the Williamstown café is the place to be. C’est bon!

2.5 of 5

Chill @ Red Monkey Tea House

2007-09-01T17:35:00.000+10:00

After what seemed an eternity of searching for a tea house where you could spend a lazy afternoon or evening sipping on an eclectic mix of infusions, I finally found the jackpot at Red Monkey Tea House (470 Victoria St, North Melbourne Ph: 9326 7572). And as an avid tea drinker, I am in heaven.

A friend introduced me to the concept of tea houses when visiting Montreal, where you could relax on an ottoman or daybed, sip on a hot pot of Moroccan Mint, Oolong or Jasmine tea, read a book or play a game of chess. They are a perfect way to spend a few relaxing hours. But upon returning to Melbourne, we couldn’t find anything remotely similar and so when I first heard about Red Monkey, I knew I had to visit immediately.

The funky, friendly young couple behind Red Monkey combine everything that is tres chic in Melbourne at the moment, pulling elements of CBD laneway bars, gritty Fitzroy cafes and hot tapas bars to create an intimate place to hang out. Once you’ve knocked back a few, a game of Scrabble or chess is a good way to ease further into a relaxed state.

Tea is supplied by North Melbourne local, Tea Party (137 Victoria St, Queen Victoria Market, Melbourne) and varieties range from traditional blacks to whites, greens and rooibos. But tea is not the only item on the menu. The team can whip together some very tasty cocktails and the staple beers and wines are on offer too. And to top it all off there is a good list of tapas ranging from yum cha bites to more Spanish influenced dishes.

Red Monkey Tea House is a perfect place for a date in an area that is fast earning a reputation of quality dining establishments and watering holes. And although it’s only been around for a few months and its name has to spread around, it is great place to kick back and enjoy a quiet night out.

The Summer Is Magic

2007-08-29T18:48:00.000+10:00

Can you feel it? It’s about to burst with an exuberance filled colour, sunshine and warmth. Summer in Australia. It’s edging closer and for most of Australians, it can’t come soon enough. And although technically it is still winter, it may as well be December.

It’s the anticipation of hot days lying on the golden beaches, eating icy poles melting quicker than you can eat them, cruising the buff boys walking around shirtless, the sun glistening, eating fish and chips on the beach and warm nights strolling along with your friends soaking up the atmosphere.

The last few days in Melbourne have been marvelously golden and summer is there, taunting us, making our mouths water knowing we can’t have it - yet. For me personally, I can’t wait until all the outdoor events begin. From the Moonlight Cinemas to the Zoo Twilights right through to Midsumma next year, there’ll be an endless array of things to see and do in the warmer months that I’ll be dragging my friends to experience with me. Of those friends reading, you’ve been forewarned - Anthony’s got the cashola, and he’s taking you along for the ride.

But as we settle in for another summer, so too do we prepare for the scorching days of 45°C in multiple succession, of sitting in traffic in the sweltering heat, of sleepless nights, of power shortages due to exceeding demands and of crowds. I guess something’s got to give for us Aussies enjoying the endless sunshine and having the chance to gaze at the hotties walking along the beach or street.

For me personally, I would love to be sipping chilled Mojitos on a deckchair overlooking Port Melbourne or St Kilda beach from an apartment balcony with the sultry mellow Brazilian sounds of Bebel Gilberto as the sun sets on a 30-something degree day watching the people below me go by. But chances are, I’ll be sweltering like a bush pig, up against other sweaty office workers on the train on a 40-something degree day stuck somewhere between North Melbourne and Kensington stations waiting for the country trains to pass by.

I like my other reality better… all I have to do is find that ever elusive sexy, amazing, loving boyfriend who just so happens to be stocked with Bacardi and has an apartment in the prime real estate strip of St Kilda’s Esplanade. Hmmm… that’s going to be tougher than I think…

The Games We Play

2007-08-26T15:46:00.000+10:00

Everyone likes to play games - that is, board games and card games, not so much those of the psychological, mind variety. But inevitably we all end up pawns in a game where we end up tip-toeing around certain people or issues that could potentially end up with explosive results.

It generally is marked at a point of time and moving forward, the games commence. And so start the multitude of questions that you, the contestant, have to figure out the answers to. Is there a hidden meaning to what someone has just said? Am I meant to read between the lines? Why did they say or do that? And of course the million dollar question – Why didn’t they call me?

Lately I have been caught in a couple of cat-and-mouse games where I have had to figure out the rules and work my way up the ladder rather than sliding down a snake. More often than not, my involvement in such games resulted in me being mousetrapped either by my own fault or being dragged in by another.

After being stung in a number of such games, I decided to step back and let the games play themselves without me becoming involved in the politics, inadvertently broaching taboo topics and becoming the victim of hate. The dramas worked on my emotions and wore me down like a thunderous rapid over a rock which over time disappeared. I was exhausted, upset and down right depressed.

And of course there are the relationship games. A close girlfriend was telling me about a guy who seemed to stuff her and her emotions around. Wanting, needing and justifying his love or non-love to her was a minefield that even the Axis Powers couldn’t hope to replicate. Finally she put the power into his hands and washed her hands of his ridiculous on-again, off-again antics.

So why do we as humans have the need to play games with others? Whether it be a game with our friends or our lovers, somehow all it takes is the roll of the emotional dice and BANG, we are suddenly playing some distorted game of life. It’s baffling, tiring and immature. So why do we do it? I guess I won’t know until the games stop, if they ever do. Until then I suppose I’ll keep passing ‘GO’ and collecting $200.

Toot, Toot… Hey Beep, Beep!

2007-08-23T19:32:00.000+10:00

As a Mini driver, there is a secret kinship that is shared only with other Mini drivers, but I’m fairly certain that drivers of other unique models share a similar kinship. But for new inductees, this kinship can come as a surprise. But ultimately makes you feel part of something greater.

After wheeling my new glistening Mini Cooper out of the showroom, it was only moments after driving down High St, Malvern, that I was inducted into the Mini-owners group by another driver. It was a simple wave, kind of like those that you see train or tram drivers do whenever passing another train or tram. Suddenly I was part of this new group of motorists who shared one thing – the love of the classically designed Mini.

At first I thought the driver was being courteous, but as time went on, an increasing number of Mini drivers were giving me the wave, to which I quickly learnt to reciprocate. No matter where I was – in the city, out in the suburbs or driving in the country, the wave became a common occurrence. Of course, not everyone waved, but of those who did, it became fairly obvious that this was something Mini drivers did.

Now over a year on, it had been a while since another Mini driver waved, but after a fruitful (and expensive) day of shopping, I was exiting the carpark when another Mini rolled in. The driver waved enthusiastically at me with a Cheshire cat smile. This was a seriously excited driver.

I didn’t respond purely for the fact that I was caught off guard by her waving. I honestly thought she was waving to my friend was with me. All I kept thinking was “How can she see him that far away?” and “Does she even know him? Who the hell is she?” And as I maintained my dumbfounded, confused look, she continued waving with gusto.

I continued up the ramp and drove off still confused. But as my friend and I spoke at length about how I just ignored her, he alerted me to the fact that other drivers did something similar. Apparently, Mazda6 drivers wave to each other. And something tells me VW Beetle drivers do it too.

Such a simple gesture makes you feel like you are part of something greater and that you are part of a group. It’s a reassuring feeling for a species that has an innate need to be loved and have companionship. I have to lift my game and continue the Mini tradition, even if they are waving excitedly from a far.

Everything has a Pink Lining

2007-08-21T16:06:00.000+10:00

The Pink Pigeons of Melbourne are set to fly off after an incredible three months perching in City Square and surrounding city buildings.

The pigeons were created by good friend Omega Goodwin in an effort to remind us that everything has a silver lining and that beauty can be found in even the rarest of places as part of the Living the Arts program funded by the City of Melbourne.

This is your last chance to see the installation before the pigeons fly off on Saturday 25 August. For more information about the installation, to purchase the pigeons or the fantastic photography visit online.

Ride the Love Train

2007-08-20T20:23:00.000+10:00

Of the very few things that bring us joy on the train, the opportunity to cruise fellow passengers is one that we all do. Checking out the talent as they board the train at every stop, we quickly give them the once over. Men will think about which girl they’d sleep with, women judge other women and gay men cruise for which guy they’d take home or into the subway underpass for a quickie.

Recently I wrote about a friend who got off the train in more ways than one, but it’s not just him scoring while catching public transport. It seems that nowadays, people are using the train as a means to pick up and making contact with those they deem hot through the daily commuter newspaper, MX (for those readers outside Australia, think of Metro). Passengers are sending out messages in hope those they lust over read it and make the initial contact. Hey, if it works…

Only a few days ago, I was playing touchy feely with a student who was rubbing his body up against me. Mind you, the train was not packed and it was his butt that was rubbing against me. I could only think there was something attached to that rubbing. Sufficed to say that he got off (the train!) before I did, so our interaction was left to a minimum.

However, I have had unpleasant cruising experiences after someone who was a semi-regular on the train recognised me on a gay dating site and made initial contact. Enticed by the potential of hooking up with a hot fellow passenger, I quickly discovered he was not all that and a bag of potato chips despite he becoming obsessive over us hooking up. But I was having none of it and told him so from the outset. I was simply not interested. Now whenever I see him on the train I exude a steely, bitchy look on my face in case he gets any ideas.

But one of the hottest moments ever experienced on the train was one afternoon when I was in some weird ménage-a-trois with an attractive 20-something girl and a tall, dark and extremely hot 30-something man. Of course, I was stealing glances at the hot guy with his manly features and smartly dressed casual attire.

But all the while, the girl was stealing glances at myself and the hot guy beside me. I could cut the tension with a knife. I wanted him, she wanted him, but she also wanted me. We smiled a couple of times, I like to think because we both thought the guy was hot, but I could be wrong. It was all too much and I couldn’t get off the train quickly enough.

I guess it is all part of the fun. Stealing second looks, an upturned lip, maybe a wink or more. The amount of veritable hotties, male and female, that board the train is probably the most exciting part of our working day. I just hope one day that a cute guy comes onto me while on the train which leads onto something greater. Or even just a message in the MX…

Sugar, Sugar. Money, Money.

2007-08-17T17:00:00.000+10:00

Everyone secretly wants one whether they care to admit it or not. The idea of being doted upon by a well-to-do older gentleman, better known as a sugar daddy, is something we all entertain the idea of but very few of us ever obtain.

Having a sugar daddy has been highlighted a number of times in many a television show or film – Will from Will & Grace meets a generous older art lover, Sex and the City’s Samantha gets showered with expensive jewellery until she sees his saggy butt, Queer As Folk’s Emmett gets spoilt by his older lover until he croaks while they are joining the mile high club. It goes on, sometimes to the point of life imitating art – see Anna Nicole Smith and oil tycoon J. Howard Marshall.

But think about it for a moment. Imagine being showered with gifts, the prospect of travel, dining at the finest restaurants and attending the glitziest soirées all for a little slap and tickle. As Samantha says to her appalled girlfriends “All cats look the same in the dark”. Ewwww. Reverse that.

But if you entertain the thought for a moment, you too could be living the glamorous life, just remember that not every sugar daddy qualifies for a Seniors Card. Think about those sucked and tucked peroxide blond, tan-in-a-can bitches that strut down Melbourne’s Chapel St, Sydney’s Castlereagh St, New York’s 5th Avenue or Paris’ Boulevard Haussmann with their well-to-do hot boyfriends. Damn lucky sluts.

One friend was offered a seemingly chance of a lifetime when a cute 30-something dotcom millionaire from Boston. After spending the night dirty dancing with each other and some hot and heavy petting in a Boston bar, the millionaire offered him the chance to come down every second weekend (or was it every weekend?) to spend time with him and essentially become his boyfriend. All expenses paid.

What more could one ask for? Hot sex with a hot millionaire who wanted to spoil him every weekend. He refused. He had his reasons and after much discussion, I finally understood why he felt that it was wrong to dupe someone like that. I respect him for his decision. And although I would have jumped at the chance in a heartbeat, it was reassuring to know that there were people who didn’t think immediately like me.

Essentially it comes down to loving the person. I guess the lure of all those gifts and adornment would be enticing for most of us, but if there is no love there (whether it is there immediately or it grows as time goes on) then a sugar daddy is only sweet until the sweetness dissolves.

Eat @ Hwaro Korean Barbecue

2007-08-14T19:13:00.000+10:00

Always one to try new things, I jumped at the chance to try out Korean cuisine at Hwaro Korean Barbecue (532 Little Bourke St, Melbourne Ph: 9642 5696). Korean food aligns closer to Japanese and with the packed tables of Korean businessmen tending to their beef fillets, ribs, belly and prawns, it looked like it was going to be an interesting dinner.

This place is only suitable for meat lovers, with practically the whole menu consisting of beef, ox, chicken, pork or seafood, but it’s the cooking part which is the most fun. You cook the meat for yourself on a hot pot filled with scorching coals, and judging by the enthusiastic Koreans on other tables, this is what authentic Korean cuisine is is all about.

In addition to the meat based dishes, there are noodles, soups and rice dishes which are tasty, simple and spicy all at once. The Bai-top-shell noodle seafood salad is hot and spicy with a hint of freshness, while the Bibimbap vegetarian rice dish is almost like a reassuring risotto, but borders on bland until you throw in some chilli sauce which gives it a kick.

The warm wood paneling and the bamboo screens gives the restaurant a very clean and slick Seoul feel, but is let down by the staff who range from experts to novices which can be frustrating for diners who don’t know much about Korean cuisine. The drinks list has a couple fresh Korean beers, such as Cass and Hite, an adequate list of soju (a kind of sake) and Korean wines.

The food itself is over-priced for what it is. With simple flavours and not very filling portions, we left Hwaro still a little hungry and scouting somewhere for dessert to fill us up. A definite fun night out due to the cook-for-yourself factor, it’s probably best to find a Korean friend and go with them.

2.5 of 5

The Powerful Assumption

2007-08-11T11:40:00.000+10:00

They, the people of the village, felt they knew him and all he was. Yet, they, for the ignorance of human kind, did not know him at all and their assumption of the man was far beyond the reality. They knew him, but did not know him.

It’s funny how someone can think that they know you so well before you have a chance to clarify it for them. But it’s even funnier when they think that they know you down to a T, but in reality they don’t have the faintest idea of who you really are and what you are really like.

I was recently asked by a work colleague whether I lived at home with parents or in my own place with my girlfriend. I answered honestly and stated I was still at home but planned to move out sooner rather than later. But it struck me that he immediately assumed I was straight and had a girlfriend. But then again, I am not going into work with a rainbow flag badge and a typically gay lisp. I’ll leave that to some other queer.

It was just an expectation and I chose not to clarify it as my sexuality was none of his business. In his ignorance and defence, it is just the way we have all been bought up. We have learnt to just expect things or take certain things for granted. We all do it to one degree or another.

But sometimes an assumption can be completely way off and be construed as rude, and it is then that you have to stand up for yourself and educate the ones involved. Or simply put them in their place.

After coming out to a couple of friends in my usual nonchalance manner, I was struck at how they apparently knew that I was gay since the very first time they’d met me. I thought it was very self-assured snap response to meeting someone for the first time only 18 months earlier. For all they knew, I could have been a ‘metrosexual’ who knew his stuff.

I am neither camp nor blokey, but rather I see myself as a fairly average modern male. But according to some, I was as camp as a row of tents during Mardi Gras. I took offence that they immediately assumed that I was gay, just by the apparent way I acted. But as I thought about it, it became apparent they associated gay men with what their image of a gay man was and those they already knew to be gay (who coincidently, were camp). They had to change that perception of gay men.

As mentioned in an earlier post, assumption on the part of others has always been around and will indefinitely continue to be. But how can we avoid assuming that a person is everything we expect them to be and more when in reality they may only be a small part of what you expect? Can we avoid it? I guess we can’t and all we can do is continue in our ignorant ways until someone corrects us otherwise.

Northside/Southside

2007-08-07T20:01:00.000+10:00

Melbourne’s Yarra River cuts through the city and its surrounds offering a tranquil backdrop against the bustle of the city. Stretching for more than 242km from Port Phillip Bay, it snakes its way up through to Mount Baw Baw in the state’s northeast. Like many cities built on the banks of a river the Yarra is the thriving lifeblood of this ever-changing city, yet it’s inadvertently created a culture of snobbery dependent on what side of the river you reside.

The river itself has apparently long been regarded by psychological barrier for Melburnians living south of the river and as such has created a culture whereby those on the southside are adamant to steer clear of the northside. They dare not to cross the river and do only for necessity (such as getting to the airport).

It’s an “us” versus “them” mentality that has lasted for generations. However, I think that as time goes on, younger Melburnians are tossing such notions out the window with the easy accessibility of the city. There is more to this city than the surrounding proximity of your own home and getting to places to see and be seen is not quite the chore people used to make it out to be.

This northside/southside culture has become so ridiculous that I have heard cases whereby people vehemently refuse to cross the river to even see friends or family who have moved to the other side. The other side… it almost sounds like the Twilight Zone. Yet, it’s so true that people from the southside will scoff at anyone who suggests they try something north of the river. Oddly enough, I have never heard anyone from the northside oppose having to cross the river.

I can’t help but feel that these very people are stuck in a distorted reality and are truly missing out on what is on offer across the city, both southside and northside. In the north there is an abundance of restaurants and cafes, galleries (including the famous art movement Heidelberg School) and the gateway to the Yarra Valley and the snowfields. While in the south, there are restaurants, galleries, the beaches and more.

There is so much on offer that those who refuse to cross the Yarra are truly missing out. I suppose that it is really their loss. By choosing to be ensconced in their own little world south of the Yarra, then that’s their choice. But if that means missing out on experiencing all that the city has to offer, then you have to feel a little sad for them. Don’t you?

I ♥ NY

2007-08-04T17:10:00.000+10:00

Before Sex and the City, before September 11, before I even knew much about the place, before countless films and before even visiting for the first time, New York City was the one place I always wanted to live and work. There’s a certain stigma about the city that truly never sleeps and I always wanted to be part of it.

The thought of moving to New York has been something that has come and gone in waves, and the latest tsunami-like wave is about to hit. Lately, I have been thinking about New York a lot and the thoughts are coming thick and fast. The imagery is permanently burned into my mind and I want to be part of it again.

For anyone who has been to New York, you will have an understanding of what I am harping on about. And for those who live there, damn you to hell for being one of lucky ones. There is no need to go explaining what it is that entices me to this metropolis. But for those who haven’t had the good fortune to experience it themselves, it’s simply the pulsating heartbeat of the place. There’s no real way to describe it, you just have to experience it to know what I mean.

The sights and images are tried and true. But these sights, coupled with the sounds, the people, the smells and the aura of this city is enough to get this Melburnian on a direct flight. Hell, let’s be honest, it doesn’t take me much to convince me to go… just give me the ticket. And I’m pretty sure that I am not the only one who thinks this way.

A few years ago I was so serious about the move to New York that I had checked ticket prices, researched apartment rentals, share houses, joined several forums for expatriates living in New York and managed to get several contacts who could potentially help me secure a job once there. And there is a strong feeling that that seriousness is about to return with a vengeance.

The last time I was in New York, I ran into a former high school buddy who had made the move to the Big Apple to study theatre at NYU. He worked part time at a popular Nolita restaurant on Mulberry St and rented a tiny apartment he shared with three others above another Nolita restaurant nearby. As we were catching up, I grew devilishly envious of his courage and his New Yorker lifestyle. Lucky bastard! It was then that I knew that it was possible for someone like me to take the punt and make the move.

The thoughts and dreams at night are increasing in frequency. Maybe I will make the move sooner rather than never. One thing scares me so – the loneliness of setting up in a new city on a new continent where my closest friends are in another country, an hour flight away. So I’m putting out the call to any New Yorkers reading this… a riotous ball of Aussie fun is potentially on his way. Or maybe all I will have to do is flash them my smile, throw about a few choice Aussie words and they’ll be like putty in my hands…

Eat @ Tookaiya

2007-08-02T10:14:00.000+10:00

The last time I ate at Tookaiya (314 Keilor Rd, North Essendon Ph: 9374 3099) was some five years ago and I remember that the dishes were filling, authentic and above all, delicious. It’s good to see that some things never change.

Along a strip where Italian and Greek restaurants are dominant, Tookaiya offers a good alternative for a quiet night out in Melbourne’s West. Tookaiya is one of Keilor Rd’s busiest restaurants and even on a weeknight, the place is a hub of eager diners looking for their Japanese fix.

All the staples are on offer here, from a wide selection of sushi, sashimi and nori rolls from the Sushi Bar through to decent-sized mains. The menu is extensive and even the fussiest diner will find something to eat. The entrees and starters are mouth-watering and for those who love Japanese cuisine, it’ll be hard to settle on just one. Gyoza, Miso Soup, Agedashi Tofu (lightly fried tofu), Tempura and Harumaki are just some of what’s on offer and each dish is full of simple, satisfying flavours.

Then if deciding on an entrée was hard enough, the mains are equally as tempting. For seafood lovers, the Kaisen dish with its grilled prawns, calamari and scallops in a garlic sauté is the one to try. While other offerings include Sukiyaki (raw beef hot pot), Tori Don (Teriyaki Chicken) and Unagi Don (Grilled eel) tempt the palate.

Nothing was too dry or too greasy or too fishy, Tookaiya found a harmonious balance in each dish and didn’t overload on trying to be too much all at once. Again, as always, it’s simply deciding on what dish to order without seeming to be a ravenous guts.

Tookaiya is a simple but popular suburban Japanese restaurant. It has the food and praise from locals to back it up. Service is a tad off the mark (we waited 10mins just to get menus) and wait staff tend to always look rushed off their feet, but when they finally come around, they are courteous and friendly. A good weeknight out.

3 of 5

Enter Stage Left

2007-07-30T09:50:00.000+10:00

The world is a stage or so goes the old adage about life. And chances are, if you were a popular Australian singer-songwriter who grew up in Tenterfield, NSW and penned “I Still Call Australia Home”, your life will end up on the stage – on Broadway with the delicious Hugh Jackman starring as you nonetheless. But for most of us, that’s highly unlikely.

I’ve long been a fan of stage production from musicals to dramatic plays to rock concerts. Part of the charm is the lighting, the music, the costumes, the props, the buff male dancers frolicking topless on stage or the excitement of getting all dressed up for a night out on the town.

And although it’s a fairly stereotypical aspect of a gay man to like the theatre, my enthusiasm for it transcends the stereotype, as I take a deeper appreciation at the craft itself and the efforts put into by the cast and the crew to create entertainment for a crowd. There is more to it than just the glitz and glamour. Those elements are just the bonuses – the end result.

The copious amount of work that goes into any production is astronomical and if you’ve been part of a stage production, you’ll know that you appreciate the end result more so than the regular theatergoer. From the actors, who have an uncanny ability to remember two hours of dialogue to the chippies who create intricate and functioning props, when you start think about it, you start to have a true appreciation of what goes into a production.

So it’s with this appreciation that I am enthusiastic about going to see a production on the stage whether it be a musical, a dramatic play, the ballet, concerts, stand-up comedy or even the opera. And over the years I have seen plenty of said productions across the globe from the theatre districts of Broadway, London’s West End, Toronto and of course, Melbourne.

From 42nd Street to The Lion King to Miss Saigon, from the International Comedy Festival at the Melbourne Town Hall to the Forum Theatre, from Tom Jones to Destiny’s Child to Madonna I’ve seen quite a lot in my time and hope to see a whole lot more. I know I am not alone when it comes to wanting to experience more of what this city offers and the prospect of discovering more is exciting at the very least.

City. Art. Buzz.

2007-07-26T18:03:00.000+10:00

You can almost sense that spring is approaching in the city as tourists from across the globe pound the pavement along Princes Bridge, young folks sit on the ledges that scatter across Federation Square and you can lap up the atmosphere and people watch as the city pulsates.

There’s nothing better to do on an afternoon in Melbourne than get lost in the myriad of things to do, hence I spent my afternoon with a close friend at the Guggenheim Collection exhibition at NGV International. The exhibition itself was an opportunity for me to revisit some of the fantastically abstract and colourful artwork I’d seen at the original Guggenheim in New York City.

The exclusive exhibition at NGV showcases the most interesting and inspiring pieces from 68 artists from across the four Guggenheim collections around the world. With artwork from the world’s most popular contemporary artists including Jackson Pollack, Jeff Koons, Andy Warhol, Cindy Sherman and Roy Lichtenstein, the pieces are abstract, large and come in a variety of media such as video installations, iron, string and the regular ‘oil on canvas’. Some will inspire, some will repulse and some will make question what the artist was thinking but all the pieces in the exhibition will certainly provoke a response.

It’s almost okay to say that given it’s a Guggenheim exhibition that the entry price is reasonable, but the fact of the matter is that this exhibition is over-priced and should be at least $5 cheaper. The exhibition is not as big as previous exclusive exhibitions held at NGV such as the popular Impressionists or Picasso exhibitions. Yes, the pieces are great, inspiring and colourful. And yes, there are some big names from within the art world that are being shown here, but still, it should have been slightly cheaper to be accessible to more people.

Despite this, I still enjoyed the exhibition and encourage anyone who has a slight interest in art, has been to any of the Guggenheim museums before or anyone who wants to spend a quietly relaxing afternoon somewhere, then NGV is the way to go. The exhibition runs until 7 October 2007 and is exclusive to Melbourne.

As we headed to Federation Square, the buzz of the city continued - students taking abstract photography, tourists pouring through their guides, business types dashing from appointment to appointment and us… relaxing and basking in the winter sun.

Street Meet

2007-07-23T09:14:00.000+10:00

There are people who just seem to know everyone and no matter where they are, what time it is and who they are with, they will run into someone they know and inevitably end up having a good little chat with them. I know a few of these said people and I always think how I never seem to run into anyone out of the blue… unless it’s someone I don’t want to run into.

Lately I have run into or seen people I know, but don’t necessarily want to talk to and nothing is worse when each party has seen each other and you avoid each other like the plague. It’s uncomfortable, awkward and you feel a tad rude for ignoring, even if you are usually a big bitch.

I have seen the same two guys that I once worked with over and over again recently and it seems no matter where I go, one of them is there. It’s almost as if they are an undercover detective keeping tabs on me and reporting back my seedy goings-on to my lover. Alas they aren’t, although it does feel very ‘enemy of the state’. But the thing is, I never really got along with them as I did with other people I worked with at the same place, so we avoid each other.

Whether it’s been along Collins St at lunch hour, at a community theatre, the local take-away store, the local mall or even a regular café haunt, I see these guys all the time. And it will only be a matter of time until one of us says something. The latest sighting was at the local Nando’s store where one guy walked in with his two very cute friends. Although I wanted to gaze at the friends, I quickly turned away and scrambled off to me table.

Do you strike up conversation even though you never really had a rapport with these people in the past? Or you ignore and continue on your merry way? I’ve pondered this previously and although the circumstances were slightly different, I think well if they ain’t gonna acknowledge me, then I won’t them.

So why is it that you run into the same people? And not people you want to talk to or other people you know from your present or your past? If they live in your area, that explains a lot. But if others you are acquainted with live in the same area, how come you don’t see them? And why is it that those who know everyone and cannot go anywhere without running into anyone, run into people they will actually speak to? I guess it’s one of life’s little curiosities.

Eat @ Bopha Devi

2007-07-19T08:34:00.000+10:00

Always one to try new cuisine, I finally took the chance to try Bopha Devi (27 Ballarat Street, Yarraville Ph: 9362 0941) which specializes in contemporary Cambodian/Khmer cuisine and instantly I knew I would be impressed with what was on offer.

The tight shop front sits no more than 25 people and minimizes the Asian themed décor to a minimum with only a couple of statues and bamboo in an otherwise ultra-modern setting. Diners not used to the latest fad of communal dining will find the space a little cramped but once the food arrives, all such issues disappear.

Bopha Devi delivers the unexpected for Melbourne. As the city’s first Cambodian restaurant, there are dishes with unique combinations, fresh flavours and above all, completely different to anything else. The dishes are completely mouth-watering and as you scan through the menu to decide on what dish to order, the next sounds deliciously more tempting than the last. Suffice to say, the choice is extremely hard.

The beauty behind Khmer cuisine is its combination of Chinese, Indian and French influences and that shows in each dish. And although the dishes are simple and fresh, there are layers of complexity and aromas to create something truly delicious.

The K’dom (crispy chicken and crab rolls) were an interesting combination and delicious as were the Garlic and Chive Rice Cakes. The appetizers alone were plentiful and bursting with different flavours. But the best was yet to come with the main meals. The Saramann combined coconut, lemongrass, broccolini, crushed peanuts and turmeric amongst other ingredients to create a fresh, light but ultimately tasty and filling meal. The K'nyei Stir Fry combines julienne vegetables and ginger for a warm meal that bursts with flavours and aromas.

And if those weren’t enough, the other dishes just keep getting better. Soups, salads, stir fry dishes and curries are all part of the mix. Additionally, a small dessert menu is on offer, but it’s really the savory dishes you come to experience. Best of all, it’s not overpriced.

Bopha Devi has a much larger sister restaurant at Melbourne’s Docklands precinct (27 Rakaia Way, Docklands Ph: 9600 1887). It is recommended to book in advance for both restaurants to secure a seat in what is sure to become Melbourne’s new favourite Asian cuisine. Visit Bopha Devi online to get your taste buds watering.

5 of 5

Is That Your Pash Rash Flaring Up Again?

2007-07-16T09:36:00.000+10:00

Public Displays of Affection or PDAs - A sign to world that love really truly exists or a mechanism to make others repulsed and annoyed? It’s something that has been discussed time and time again in many friendship circles across the globe. Yet, it is something that continues to happen and will inevitably continue as time goes on.

As a singleton, it’s very easy for me to be completely dismissive and utterly repulsed by the actions of a couple who are all over each other like a rash (which coincidently will eventually happen around their lips). And chances are, when I finally meet that someone to call my own, I will probably end up in some lip locking that will be nauseating to others around me. But at this stage, I am one of those who is ready to hurl at the sign of mushy, gushy PDAs. And hurl… I will.

Recently an acquaintance was telling me about a friend of theirs who had just fallen in love and was head over heels for the new person in their life. And as such, the two were lost in love. They were oblivious to how ridiculous they looked whenever the PDAs started. Smooching with the squelching noises you’d hear from pulling your gumboot out of mud, constantly holding each other and it went on and on. I was then told that this couple ate off eat others plates, fed each other and were pretty much on the road to opening a joint bank account. She was smitten with him… and it seemed he was equally as smitten. It was either that, or he was pussy-whipped.

I encountered my own sickening PDA recently while innocently waiting in line to see the latest Hollywood blockbuster film, Transformers. As with most eagerly anticipated blockbusters, the session was sold out and so the queue just to get into the cinema was quickly established. The queue went on for what seemed like miles.

The young couple, who stood awfully close behind me, started making out practically within seconds of joining the queue. And it didn’t stop until we’d entered the cinema. He was all over her like an unstoppable skin crawler disease. Pecking, smooching, squelching and kissing her all over her neck, arms, face and wherever else he could get to. And being within centimeters of the “action” I heard every slurp, suck and squelch. It made my skin crawl and I desperately wanted the cinema to open to escape the couple. It was either that or I was going to hand them some money to hire a hotel room for the night.

Suffice to say, it was uncomfortable for me to hear and witness it all and surely it was disturbing to the other people around me who I’m sure were thinking the same as I. Do couples realize it’s embarrassing and uncomfortable? Do they realize that PDAs are not necessarily an acceptable form of public behaviour? I’m guessing not.

All we can do is grimace and try to move away as quickly as possible… unless we find ourselves engaging in highly soppy public displays of affection ourselves.

Eat @ Rathdowne Street Food Store

2007-07-13T15:05:00.000+10:00

Breakfast is one of the most anticipated meals for many Australians and finding a place that has a good ambiance and delivers quality breakfasts can often be like finding a needle in a haystack. The Rathdowne Street Food Store (617 Rathdowne St, Carlton North Ph: 9347-4064) has become one of my favourite places to do breakfast on the weekends.

The café has been feeding Melbourne’s yuppies for more than 10 years with its home-made breads and lip smacking breakfasts and has managed to maintain its popularity ever since. On weekends, the food store is usually packed out and it is wise to make a reservation in advance to avoid disappointment. The scores of hungry Melburnians turned away for lack of available tables was astounding. And they have every right to be disappointed. The food is fantastic.

After ordering the drink du jour, a soy chai latte (which coincidently is made the ‘traditional’ way, taking 15 minutes to make), I ordered Eggs Benedict – a dish I usually never order for the richness of the Hollandaise sauce. However, I was pleasantly surprised. The eggs themselves were cooked to perfection with the yolk still runny; the ham was not too salty and thin enough to still replicate ham while the Hollandaise itself (the make or brake of the meal) managed to maintain the flavour without the unnecessary richness which usually would have made my stomach turn. The Hollandaise was drizzled onto the eggs without drowning them and overpowering the entire dish.

The coddled eggs with fried tomatoes and wilted spinach on brown multigrain bread also proved to be a hit. The extensive extras list is also very tempting with fried tofu, sautéed onions, mushrooms, tomatoes, baked potatoes and hash browns are just a fraction of what else is on offer. The coffee proved to be fresh, as did the variety of juices including the refreshing combination of orange and ginger.

Egg dishes are only part of what is on offer at Rathdowne Street Food Store. Croissants, porridges with yoghurts, hotcakes and even Coco Pop cereals are on offer. But it seems that the egg-based dishes that most people come for.

The Rathdowne Street Food Store is one of the better places for a lazy breakfast on the weekend. Wait staff seem to be frantic and rushed, but the service maintains a friendliness and speediness which can often lack at many cafés. Just remember to book.

5 of 5

For more information read The Breakfast Blog’s review of The Rathdowne Street Food Store.

Take a Whiff!

2007-07-11T09:46:00.000+10:00

Aromas, scents and smells invoke emotions, memories and passion amongst most people. Fragrances and perfumes ignite the aphrodisiac within us and the right scent on the right body will often send us crazy with lust-driven passion. It’s the ultimate turn on. While odours, stenches and stinks usually make us want to run away in case we throw up.

Most get it right, yet there are so many that get it so very wrong. You can go from stomach-churning body odour to headache-inducing fragrance drenching often within the same family. The secret is to find the perfect balance. But smell is a highly taboo topic for people. You don’t want to offend a person by telling them they stink to the high heavens but you don’t want be shafted with having to tolerate the stench emanating from them for much longer.

Case in point when a work colleague had a chronic trail of BO whenever she worked. It started off highly nauseating and ended being highly toxic. No one could work with the poor girl. It was like being shoved under the hairy, sweaty armpit of a hairy Arab man at a kebab house on Sydney Rd. And all the while, no one was quite sure whether she knew of her malodorous problem or how to handle the situation in advising her. We’d thought of suggestive product placement within the staffroom, subtle comments to each other about a smell to getting the manager to have a quiet word to her. Eventually the manager did speak to her, and it turned out she couldn’t wear deodorants due to their aluminum content. So we had to grin and bear it until she eventually left.

And if it was difficult with work colleagues, it is even harder when dealing with a friend. On a night out recently, I was privy to the malodorous smells from a friend of whom I have learnt to stay at least 10 feet away from unless nasally safe. He had a repellant scent of BO which emanated from every available pore and I can tell you that it was not good. And with the accompanying flatulence that he squeezed out at regular interviews, I can tell you now that I was very close from throwing up. The rest of us could not handle it and yet, we avoided saying anything to the poor guy.

But from the lack of deodorants and perfumes, people can very easily go to the other end of the spectrum and douse themselves in a fragrance when they think they smell like roses. Old wogs have a special knack in this skill and all too often go over the top. I was reminded of this at the recent premiere of Anita, which coincidently has become known as “Open Fly Night”.

Seated in front of us was an Italian woman no older than 60 who had primed, preened, washed, plucked, blow-dried, waxed and buffed herself for the premiere. After all, it was a ‘special occasion’ and she just had to look her best. But she clearly overdosed on the perfume she used, which was a classic fragrance you find at Forges of Footscray, synonymous with wogs.

It was as though she bathed in it. It wafted around her like a dust storm and made us behind her very, very ill so much so that I, along with the others, ended up with severe headaches from it. So for two and a half hours we sat through Garibaldi and his pash rash epidemic and La Signora in front of us with her “Scent of a Woman”.

So how do you tackle these issues? Do you tell them straight out that they stink like dirty ass or do you grin and bare it? Do you drop subtle hints or do you talk to them carefully and strategically? As a taboo topic, it’s a tricky one and, like eggs, should be handled with care.

See that hairy, sweaty Arab over there at the green grocers? Go on… take a whiff. I dare you.

Eat @ Siam Orchid Thai Restaurant

2007-07-09T09:38:00.000+10:00

The seaside suburb of Williamstown has long been a meeting place for friends with its range of cafés, restaurants, fish n’ chipperies and boutique stores. The variety in cuisine is vast, spanning from Mexican to Italian to Indian, all with varying degrees of quality. One place that stands out in the quality stakes is Siam Orchid Thai Restaurant (145 Nelson Place, Williamstown Ph: 9397 5303) with its traditional Thai cuisine.

With its simple modern décor, Siam Orchid has become one of busiest and favourite restaurants with locals. And once you’ve tasted the food, you’ll understand what the fuss is all about. As mentioned in another review, Thai cuisine can vary in quality and Siam Orchid finds itself comfortably in the centre.

The banquet is always one of the smarter choices when the a la carte menu proves too tempting to settle on just one dish, which is the case here. For as little as $25 per person, a banquet at Siam Orchid will fill you up and leave you satisfied without feeling bloated or Buddha-like.

From the Thai staples of Chicken Satay Skewers to Curry Puffs to the tried and true Tom Yum Soup to start with, the flavours from the peanuts and herbs or the spice from the chilli burst on your taste buds. And although you could make a meal from the entrées, it’s best to leave room for the main meal, of which there are many.

Curries varying in degrees of heat are on offer as are hearty stir-fry dishes along with noodle dishes which are guaranteed to fill you up on a chilly winter night. Siam Orchid offers an extensive seafood menu as well as a lengthy vegetarian menu ensuring that vegetarians are well catered for.

Siam Orchid offers tasty dishes at very reasonable prices and full of flavour. Wait staff are gentle and patient, a good sign considering this is one the busiest restaurants in Williamstown. And although it may not be the greatest Thai restaurant in Melbourne, it’s definitely one that you will remember and are sure to come back to.

3 of 5

From Here Towards…

2007-07-06T15:48:00.000+10:00

Of late, it seems as though I am attending a gallery opening every other week or in fact weekly. And this week was no different as I attended the launch of the latest exhibition at the Toyota Community Spirit Gallery in Port Melbourne.

The exhibition, Crossroads, focused on exploring crisis and the need for change in the modern world. With pieces from 38 differing artists from across Victoria, New South Wales and New York City, each piece represented their view of crisis and the need for change. Pieces ranged from sculpture, painting, metalwork and photography.

The gallery itself is an initiative from Toyota as part of its corporate citizenship program. The gallery provides space to emerging artists across the country free of charge and this week launched its 13th exhibition. The gallery works closely with the City of Port Philip and Hobsons Bay City Council, each of which had representatives at the launch.

Each piece at the exhibition told a different tale from the next with themes ranging from global warming to freedom of expression to community-based campaigns and African civil war. Many pieces were well executed and instigated emotion with the viewer. Although many pieces were ridiculously priced (prices going as high at $18,000 but averaging $1600), a few pieces managed to sell, even those that were badly placed within the gallery.

Curator Ken Wong provided some inspiration to collectors and the artists while caters served large platters of antipasto, nori rolls, chicken satay skewers and spicy meatballs. And with the wine and beer flowing, this art connoisseur got tipsy pretty quickly.

The Toyota Community Spirit Gallery is located at 155 Bertie St in Port Melbourne. The Crossroads exhibition runs until 26 September 2007 and each piece is available for purchase. The gallery is open Thursdays and Fridays from 1pm until 6pm or by appointment. Those interested can contact curator Ken Wong on 03 9690 0902.

Deeper and Deeper The Further I Go

2007-07-05T08:46:00.000+10:00

The following account was written several months ago and was never published due its highly personal nature and emotionally driven subject matter. Since its completion, the emotions attached to it never came to fruition, and so, it was regulated to the archives of ‘never to be published’. However, in light of recent events, I have decided to publish this article in an effort to cleanse myself and move on in a fresh, new direction with whom this account is based upon. For the first man I ever loved…

Recently a close friend and fellow blogger spoke of how song lyrics often replicate our own emotions and feelings almost to the point believing the song was written just for you. There has been numerous times where I have experienced the phenomenon. Lately, the sensation has been occurring on a daily basis. All of which stems from a certain emotional attachment.

It is true, that each glance, each laugh and every moment together, you fall deeper and deeper into a vicious circle of infatuation and adoration. And so begin the myriad of questions that don’t help you reach a resolution or be of sound mind. You question whether you are making it all up, you wonder whether it could really be a reality, you have arguments for and against what you are feeling. The battle is ongoing.

It makes it harder when you realise that everything fits. Absolutely everything. The little niggles don’t bother you at all but in fact are endearing. You realise the frustration when you feel elated, relaxed and simply happy whenever you are together. You count the moments until you next meet. The silences aren’t awkward. Ever.

If only you didn’t think it to begin with. If only a good friend didn’t say exactly the same thing you were thinking, out of the blue. If only you didn’t realise that every box is ticked and everything is right. If only you knew that what you truly wanted, didn’t potentially ruin what you have in the current.

So what do you do? Suppress your emotions and let things continue? Hope that something happens to confirm your thoughts? Or admit it? No one can offer you the answer. Not even yourself.

I think about you everyday. I imagine a life together – you and me. But I’ll never tell you for I am afraid that I’ll be hurt. And it kills me to see you with anyone but me. I love you. And you’ll never know.

Ethnic Stage Delights

2007-07-02T09:33:00.000+10:00

Over the weekend I enjoyed the stage delights from two ends of the theatre spectrum no further apart from each other, but couldn’t be anymore ‘Melbourne’ if they tried. Both productions have a limited season remaining in Melbourne and those looking to experience Melbourne’s theatre scene should snare tickets quickly.

After the successes of ‘Wogs Out of Work’, ‘Wogarama’ and other various ethnic comedy shows, Italo-Australian comedian Joe Avati and his team put together ‘Il Dago’, a spoof of Il Divo with a heavy ethnic twist. Avati, along with George Kapiniaris, Simon Palomares and Sri Lankan newcomer Nish, provide the laughs and memories of growing up as an ethnic minority in Australia.

Anyone who has seen Avati, Kapiniaris and Palomares on stage before can be guaranteed a mighty good time and sore belly from the constant belly laughs. From the family visits we used to do when younger to being belted and told not to cry to interracial marriage and its scorn within families, everything sounds awfully familiar to a lot of wogs. I, along with 500 other wogs from northwest Melbourne, knew exactly what the guys were talking about. Newcomer Nish, provides an interesting perspective on families from the sub-continent, but falls short from the other three. But with time, he’ll prove to be a good entertainer.

Not surprisingly, in an ethnic comedy, no race is left untouched. While Italians, Greeks and Spaniards cop the brunt of their antics, Indians, Sri Lankans, Chinese, French, Croatians, Aboriginals and mostly, Lebanese are mentioned with riotous punchlines, mostly from Palomares. It’s highly recommended to bring an extra pair of undies because chances are you’ll wet your pants from the laughs provided.

Il Divo are touring around Melbourne, Geelong and Shepparton right throughout July before heading to Adelaide then onto Hobart, Sydney and Perth. Sydneysiders can catch the boys throughout September and October. Tickets have been selling fast so those interested should book quickly.

Visit their webpage for more information about performances and dates. Highly recommended show for any wog.

From stand-up comedy to the musical theatre, I, along with Melbourne’s theatre going scene saw the latest production of Miss Saigon. A production anyone interested in musical theatre should go see and fast.

Based upon the classic Madame Butterfly, Miss Saigon is set during the Vietnam War where an American GI meets a young innocent village girl who works for The Engineer as a prostitute. Their love and tradegy ensues with colourful but ultimately powerful performances for the next two and half hours.

Entertaining and solid performances from Leo Tavarro Valdez (The Engineer), Laurie Cadevida (Kim), David Harris (Chris) and Juan Jackson (John) give this production depth and credibility with a story that could easily be watered down. It also helped that both David Harris and Juan Jackson swanned around the stage topless in Act One showing off their amazingly ripped torsos.

The show stopping ‘American Dream’ number was entertaining and riddled with comedic timing from Tavarro Valdez and had me singing it repeatedly all the way home.

Miss Saigon is playing in Melbourne until July 15. If you haven’t already seen it, I highly recommend booking tickets fast. The production moves to Brisbane for a very limited season before moving onto Sydney in September. Visit the Miss Saigon website for more information and tickets.

Eat @ I Carusi

2007-06-29T10:27:00.000+10:00

I Carusi (46a Holmes St, Brunswick East Ph: 9386 5522) is the Grandfather of Melbourne’s authentic pizzeria craze, the place where real Italian thin-crust pizza was introduced to Melburnians and the blueprint for all the newest trendy pizzerias scattered across the city.

From the outside, I Carusi doesn’t look much but inside is where the magic happens and your mouth waters. The intimate lighting, white washed walls, art deco Italian advertising posters, garlic and chilli hanging on the walls are all subtle additions to what goes on in the kitchen.

Being a somewhat regular, it is still difficult to know what to order. From the small antipasti list of fried olives or prosciutto and sopresa (all of which come with a small pizza-like bread) to the simple salads such as fiore di latte, tomato and basil or rocket and parmesan to the long pizza list, there is so much to choose from and you want it all.

The 24 pizze, either 10” or 13”, are simply mouthwatering. From the simple Margarita to the authentic Quattro Formaggi to the creative Pizza For A Friend, every pizza is delicious and simple with only a few ingredients. The Alla Moda di Guiseppe is a potato pizza with a white base (no tomato sauce) with fiore di latte, caramelized onions and rosemary, while Pizza For A Friend has thin pumpkin slice, rocket and pine nuts. The Romana has cherry tomatoes on a white base with fiore di latte, pancetta and rocket.

Both meat lovers and vegetarians are well catered for with options to entice all types. And it’s easy to see why it’s become one of Melbourne’s favourite pizzerias. Even on a Thursday night in quiet Brunswick East, I Carusi is hub of activity with cute wait staff waltzing around the restaurant with hot pizze and people walking in every few minutes.

Due to its popularity, I Carusi has two sittings – 6pm and 8pm. And its imperative that you book as tables fill quickly and only by sheer luck will you get a table on a quiet weeknight just by turning up.

Although you may be tempted to order the larger 13” (and for some, like myself, polishing off a large I Carusi pizza is easy) but it’s wise to leave space for one of the delicious Dolce pizze. The Calzonicino filled with dark, milk and white chocolate is deliciously evil so much so the small scoop of raspberry gelato on the side is necessary to balance out the richness of the chocolate that oozes out. Other dessert pizze include banana and honey, strawberry and dark chocolate and peach and white chocolate. All of which have received rave reviews.

One thing is certain, leaving I Carusi on an empty stomach is never an option. The only problem is just settling for one pizza rather than ordering them all.

I Carusi has a sister restaurant in St Kilda (231 Barkly Street, St Kilda, Ph: 9593 6033).

5 of 5

Intimate Moments of Discovery

2007-06-28T11:08:00.000+10:00

Last night I attended the gallery opening themed ‘Relationships’ at the Yarra Sculpture Gallery in Abbotsford in support of the recent work completed by good friend, Lesley Ens. While battling through peak hour traffic along Alexandra Avenue in heavy down pour, I eventually made it to the gallery which had work from nine artists all of which included their interpretation of relationships.

Alongside Melbourne’s art-going scene, I appreciated fine porcelain tea cups, bowls, ceramic installations, retro inspired collages and coral inspired fountains. Naturally, art being art, not everything on display was my cup of tea, but slowly an increasing number of red dots found themselves strategically placed alongside some of the pieces throughout the gallery.

The work of the talented Lesley Ens included the gentile movement of the North American Bison, Polar Bear and wingless Waterbird. All of which have been in grave danger of extinction due to the efforts of mankind. Lesley’s work encourages people to think about the cause and effect of relationships and how every action we take has a reaction (whether adverse or not).

The slow movement of the Bison and the Polar Bear show their grace and purity. With the clean lines and modernist styling, these slipcast porcelain sculptures are really a stylish addition for any art enthusiast. Not surprisingly, these graceful white sculptures sold pretty quickly.

Additionally, Lesley created 25 stoneware tea bowls, inspired from her time in Japan and the concept that tea brings people together both strengthening relationships and creating memorable moments.

Other creative pieces from other artists included collages using imagery and text from the 1930s and 1940s, paper-thin handmade bone china tiles decorated with botany inspired imagery. With pieces starting from $25 and going as high $2400, most pieces are within financial reach with an average price of $90. I encourage anyone who has an interested in unique sculpture to visit the gallery and take time to appreciate the labour of love completed by the nine artists and, if the bank book allows, invest in a quality piece to call your own.

The artwork will be on display until 15 July 2007 and is available for purchase through the Yarra Sculpture Gallery curators. The gallery is located at 117 Vere St in Abbotsford and is open Wednesday to Sunday from 12pm to 5.30pm. Go online for further information about the gallery and the pieces available.

To Market, To Market

2007-06-25T09:08:00.000+10:00

Regular readers will recall the story a few weeks back of the train ride that culminated in a hot and heavy session of afternoon delights. Little did I realise that I would soon bare witness to the master at work with my own virgin eyes. It was a sight to behold. And to be honest, I’m a teeny bit envious. I was like gay Daniel LaRusso watching gay Mr. Miyagi and learning the fine art of cruising from him.

Readers will also be aware of my complete obliviousness of my surroundings and such was the case until the master begun his work. While shopping for quality delicatessen goods at the ever-popular Queen Victoria Market, the Master saw a deli vendor in the corner of his eye, who, it was later explained to me, was checking out him and his rump. I, as usual, was lost in my own world of food and deli goods until I heard the vendor call out “Hey there boys! What can I get you?”

We kept walking until the Master turned and caught the vendor still cruising him. As we walked a little further, I was pulled back and we stopped right in front of him. This was my opportunity to watch the work of an expert unfold. We were greeted again, but as I was eyeing off the cheeses and the fresh slices of salami and mortadella, Con the Vendor, went about slicing fresh pieces of prosciutto for us. While he was slicing the prosciutto, the Master quickly double checked where wedding rings were meant to be. I quickly responded just before the Vendor offered us the prosciutto with his bare hands. I meekly made some remark about being a vegan before wolfing it down.

Of course it was delicious, but while I was savoring the prosciutto, the Master and the Vendor were amping up the level of cruising. He asked about the fresh dolmades the deli had in stock, and then proceeded to tell the reason why we were being picky about the food we needed. After a casual mention of lesbians, various dietary requirements and the impending party we were throwing, he proceeded to ask Con the Vendor what he was doing over the weekend to which he responded by saying he had a farewell party for a friend and that he was probably attending a popular gay night which was being held over the weekend. And that was it. He had him.

No sooner had Con the Vendor wrapped the dolmades container in cling wrap, had he said something to the Master in Greek. To which, naturally, he responded in Greek. If it hadn’t been for the throngs of people and the mounds of stuffed eggplants and capsicums, I’m pretty sure these two would have gone for it right then and there. As we paid, Con the Vendor introduced himself and the Master reciprocated. “Maybe I’ll see you at the dance party,” said Con. “Yeah you’ll see me there,” he replied. “See you there then!”

As we walked off I couldn’t control myself, laughing and in awe of what had happened in my very eyes. The Master had scored at the Queen Victoria Market. It may as well have been the Formula One Grand Prix or the International Motor Show. For most readers, it would seem as though this very event is nothing. But remember, to these pure, shy, completely oblivious and virgin eyes, this very event is nothing short of inspiring. I will learn from him for many years to come.

Now for what happened at the dance party…

Boy Lacks Initiative

2007-06-22T09:31:00.000+10:00

Men can be downright boring creatures. Particularly if you are an extrovert and those you interact with are not. It can sometimes be an uphill battle to stir up emotion, interaction and even conversation when the person/s you are with are mute, unresponsive and plain dull.

I was asked recently how quickly I went on a date after meeting someone online to which I responded that it really depended if I thought we had that initial ‘click’ whether it be online or face-to-face. More often than not, the click just isn’t there with most guys I meet, them failing to have the initiative to ask questions or be interesting. Is it because they are confused as to the roles each member has to play in a gay couple or that they just don’t know how to generate conversation?

Sure, the initial conversation online can be tricky, especially since you aren’t physically talking to the person, but I’d like to think there’s always something you can talk to someone about. And after asking a myriad of questions about him, the last guy I spoke to online failed to generate any interest on my behalf mainly because he didn’t take any initiative to create a spark. In the end, I put it down to his being much younger than I. It was then that I swore that any guy I went after had to be older than me… even if it was to create intelligent conversation!

One of the last dates I went on was a while back and by the end of it I knew that I had to set higher standards for what constituted my going on a date with someone new. After a few days of intense online conversation, a few laughs and an admission of a long life together (on his behalf, to which for me, THAT should have been the warning light), I decided to meet up midweek with the guy at the swanky plush bar, Polly, on Fitzroy’s Brunswick St.

Although a couple of years younger, the guy could carry a conversation and seemed to be interesting. How little did I know that when meeting in reality, it would be completely different. Once I walked in and spotted him sitting in a dark nook, I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir and greeted him. Almost instantly I wondered when I could go home. After the initial pleasantries and greetings, all forms of conversation came to a screeching halt.
He told me that his lesbian friends were sitting just across from us and that they were all heading to another bar later. Politely he asked me to come along. I declined. As time dragged on, I struggled to ask him questions and generate conversation. And for anyone that knows me, I can usually talk under water.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed a clock and kept looking at it for a suitable time to leave. I drank that wine faster than any wine connoisseur dared. Funnily enough the highlight of the night was when one of the lesbian friends came up and mentioned something to him. And in the brief three minute conversation I had with her, I had more fun with her than I did in the whole time I knew this guy! If only she weren’t a lesbian and I wasn’t gay. What could have been!

Finally, after what seemed an eternity (despite being just under an hour), I announced I had to leave. To which he admitted that he had to make a move to the next bar with the lesbians anyway. Again, politely, he asked me to join them. I was tempted just to spend more time with the lesbians but again I declined.

Walking back to my car, I wondered what the hell went wrong and why all of a sudden was this guy so boring. Why couldn’t he create conversation? Did he regard the date just as a catch-up? So turned off dating by this one experience, I decided that my standards had to be higher than they were.

So why is it that men can become boring? Or is it that I am just going after wrong type of guy? I certainly know my type and the very prototype I use to judge all other men is not at all boring. I guess it is all part of the experience and misadventures of dating in a queer world. Dammit!

Loosen Up Your Buttons

2007-06-19T09:29:00.000+10:00

A few days ago I attended the Melbourne premiere of the much publicized Italian film, Anita, at the Australian Centre of Moving Image in Federation Square. The film premiered at the recent Italian-Australian Film Festival held in Sydney where quest of honour Sophia Loren added a certain aspect of Hollywood glamour (even if, in my opinion, she looked like a character from The Muppets).

Anita recounts the story of Italy’s national hero, Giuseppe Garibaldi, the man who united Italy into one nation in the 1800s, and his encounter with a young Brazilian woman who he falls in love with in the years preceding. The movie in itself was a simple production without the razzle dazzle of Hollywood names and effects and such was poorly held together with too many plot holes. But even with these shortcomings the film still managed to tell the story of Italy’s favorite hero in a way that kept you interested and perhaps even a little inspired by Garibaldi’s passion. The intelligent editing of a particularly squeamish torture scene was one of the highlights from a director with great potential.

Attending the screening with a couple of friends, we went in with minimal expectations and came out with more than we bargained for. And most of it wasn’t even from the film. After a brief introductory speech from a representative of the Istituto Italiano di Cultura (Italian Institute of Culture), the director, Aurelio Grimaldi, was introduced to the packed auditorium. Dressed smart casually as only Italians know how, Grimaldi spoke passionately about the film, his inspiration and the subject matter. All the while, his button fly was completely undone. And it was obvious to all.

The poor man spoke at length about the film and the whole time the auditorium whispered amongst themselves about the Italian’s fashion faux pas. No one dared say anything. Finally after what seemed an eternity, the film began and so we saw Garibaldi and his lover give each other extreme pash rash over and over again. Less than two hours later, the film ended and question time began.

Of course, all the old wogs in their Sunday Best had to share their archaic opinions of Garibaldi and the film, such as why didn’t Grimaldi make a film about Garibaldi uniting Italy, while others questioned the directors next projects and how he was enjoying Australia. But again, throughout question time, the director’s fly was undone. No one had mentioned it to the man during the film or prior to coming out for questions. He answered every question enthusiastically but again, oblivious to his gaff.

It probably didn’t help the situation that the Italian Consulate General was also at the premiere, which, for the audience, made it even more awkward for the poor oblivious director. As question time ended, the hordes of wogs left the cinema, the director’s fly still open and cornered by the Consulate General. We eventually left the cinema talking about the fashion faux pas and the film itself in the chilly Melbourne night.

The next day I was contacted by my friend who said she kept thinking about the film and the poor director. I wonder if Aurelio Grimaldi was ever told about his fly or whether he walked into the busy Federation Square with his package open out for the whole of Melbourne to see on a Friday night? Oooh that would have been nasty.

You’re a Whore for a S’More

2007-06-17T21:03:00.000+10:00

The idea had crossed both our minds and it was only a matter of who was going to call the other first. We had a hankering for saltwater taffy and we had to have it then and there! So the idea of driving 45 minutes along the Nepean Hwy for some preservative-laden, cholesterol-inducing, sugar-loaded, fat-injected and above all, tasty American food was one of the sanest ideas either of us had in a long time.

So I along with my partner in fatty gastronomic crime piled into the car and headed to the Mecca of all things American – USA Foods store in Bentleigh. As we motored on down the Nepean, the idea of loading up our car with quality junk food, spreads, chips and chocolate proved too much. We couldn’t talk about anything else.

Once we entered the store, a now-regular haunt, fellow foodies packed out the store with arms and trolleys full. We were in heaven. As we made our way down the aisles, giant jars of dill pickle, Ranch salad dressing, Pop Tarts, flavored pretzels, Gumbo mix, Taco Bell burrito seasoning, Lucky Charms cereal, peanut butter and jelly spread, marshmallow spread, beef jerky and S’Mores were in abundance and we wanted it all! Although the Kosher salt was something we could have easily done without…

But given the expense for each item, we thought better of going overboard. That is until my friend saw the wall of saltwater taffy. That’s when I lost her. If the range of flavours weren’t enough, the smart owners of the store packaged a giant five pound (2.5kg) bag of assorted taffy. And if that bag wasn’t enough, she was after additional flavours which took the taffy count to six pounds (3kg).

More than fifty dollars later, we piled back into the car drinking Cherry Soda and chewing the prized saltwater taffy. As we headed back home, I challenged my friend to not guzzle the entire six pounds by the week’s end. She hit back claiming the taffy would last for more than a month. I knew better.

It’s now been five hours since we arrived home, and just as suspected, the taffy is still being eaten. She just cannot stop eating taffy. Although she admitted that the Buffalo Wing Pretzel Party Pack, was delicious and made an appearance.

We’ve started our next list which now includes such finger licking goodness of Artichoke Spread, Marshmallow Spread, Canada Dry Ginger Ale and 3 pounds of Crisco. God knows what we’ll be using that for.

USA Foods can be found at 11 Nicholson St in Bentleigh. Visit www.usafoods.com.au.

The Wise Tradesman

2007-06-13T19:24:00.000+10:00

Tradies are like layman incarnations of a spiritual leaders or advisers with their worldly outlook on life and people. Their stories are usually riddled with funny anecdotes, street-wise advice and, in Australia, a hint of ocker. And for us Aussies, I don’t think we’d have any other way. Even though we won’t freely admit it, we all love a bit of ocker.

Recently I came across a tradie, a removalist to be precise, who, after a while of minding his P’s and Q’s, started to relax around us and tell us the stories of clients he had in the past. As a removalist, there is a good chance you will see more than most people will ever see, some good, some bad but mostly cringeworthy.

One job had him clearing out the contents of “this poofter in Heidelberg” who was moving to the other side of town. As he and his assistant were carefully packing away sofas, tables and beds into his truck, they flipped over a small coffee table that had a large tube of lube stuck to the underside of the table. The two freaked and dropped the table immediately. After bickering over who should remove the lube, they approached the owner who then had to pack the coffee table themselves into the truck, after removing the suspect lubricant. The removalist thought about asking for rubber gloves, but then quipped that “they’d probably get the wrong idea”. Indeed. After all, fisting is a global gay pastime. Isn’t it?

But he had no qualms asking for rubber gloves when helping Melbourne’s infamous Maxine’s move to its current premises. Maxine’s, a well known bordello, had employed his services and all was going well until the owner asked him to move a giant throne which sat in the bordello. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the throne was covered in very questionable stains. Dry retching, he approached the owner and said “there was no way I’d be moving that unless he provided gloves”. Suffice to say, he now limits what he moves.

Another client, a somewhat regular, is a prostitute (or more specifically a madam) who runs an illegal brothel which tends to move every few months. An expensive task for those who do it just once or twice in their lifetime, but clearly no problem for this client. The removalist told us that she would call him every few months as “the cops were sniffing around or had busted her” and had him move all her furniture to the next venue. Included in her possessions was a giant box of dildoes in all shapes and sizes for her girls and clients. She is now in a mansion in the suburb of Doncaster, and the removalist is just waiting for her call. To me it sounds like a Benny Hill sketch waiting to happen… Que the theme tune.

His stories went on and on from clients who demanded he cut their furniture to fit through doorways to loading up four large trucks for young couples to the inevitable stripper story.

Their stories entertain, amuse and surprise not only us, but themselves and despite the generalisation by society that a tradies job is dull, I must say that after hearing just a smidgen of stories from a removalist, his is the job that is the most exciting but I’m sure other tradies have stories just as riveting.

I’m off to trawl through the Yellow Pages to pick out a plumber, a chippie and a landscaper just to hear their stories. Oh and if they’re cute and ripped then that’s a bonus. I just won’t tell them I’m one of those “poofters from Heidelberg”. Unless he tears his top off…

Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag

2007-06-07T10:09:00.000+10:00

Last night I attended the official launch of the Pink Pigeons of Melbourne art installation hosted by the artist, a good friend of mine, Omega Goodwin at the ever popular Brunetti’s in City Square.

The fiberglass pigeons were installed over the weekend by Omega and several helpers on one of the larger trees in City Square which sits just beside The Westin Hotel on the corner of Collins and Swanston Streets. Omega sculpted over 200 of the hot pink pigeons, 50 of which are nesting on the tree in the square, while the rest will be scattered throughout the surrounding CBD area.

The idea came to Omega as the onset of winter approached to brighten up the endlessly dreary and grey days of a Melbourne winter, inspired by their grace and form despite the general Melburnian consensus that pigeons are the ‘rats of the sky’.

The Pink Pigeons of Melbourne installation is part of the City of Melbourne’s Arts Grant Program, an annual grants program which encourages young artists across the city to create unique and beautiful art work for the city and its proud citizens.

Being temporarily part of the Melbourne’s art scene made me feel chic and trendy as cute waiters dressed with hot pink scarves or ties waltzed around the launch with hors d’oeuvres, pink champagne and wine. Brunetti’s put on a fantastic spread for the artist with its infamous Italian hot chocolate and presented everyone with bonbonerie. Hosts for the night were Joy FM 94.9FM Thursday Breakfast Team.

The hot pink pigeons will be nesting in City Square and the CBD for approximately a month before they fly off. The pigeons were also seen across Spain and the UK as part of a photography project undertaken by Omega and partner Kevin. Photography of the pigeons across Europe will on exhibition at Brunetti’s City Square for a month and is available for purchase as are the fiberglass pigeons themselves.

Those interested in purchasing any photography or a pigeon can contact Brunetti’s who will direct you to Omega.

For more info about the installation:
There is beauty in everything: Pink pigeons of happiness land in CBD
Coo de gras - pink pigeons for our parks

Two’s Company, Three’s a Crowd

2007-06-04T10:09:00.000+10:00

His intentions meant well, but little did he realise that his suggestion would have made me felt extremely uncomfortable. No one likes to be considered a third-wheel let alone a fifth-wheel whenever out with couples. And yet, it seems that couples are oblivious to the notion when they encourage their single friends to join them whenever out.

Being the third party in any scenario is never necessarily a good thing in a general sense. As the saying goes, two’s company and three’s a crowd. So as the third wheel you’re never really wanted to begin with. The couple take pity on you and have to make efforts to include you in conversation, but when it boils down to it, the third-wheel tends to add a hurdle for the couple. You’re cast aside when they start to converse with each other and you end up hanging around like a bad smell.

Only in threesomes, where you are the external third party is being the third any good… you’re not attached and you’re going to have some fun regardless.

So when a friend, who has just entered a relationship, offered to pick me up on a recent night out, I had to refuse immediately. Not only would it have been extremely uncomfortable with me watching them gush over each other in the car, I knew that I’d be a hindrance to them as the third wheel. So I told him just that, to which he said I would never be a third wheel with him. But I knew better. Speaking to another mutual friend later on, I was told that our friend (whenever in a relationship) did not understand the concept of third-wheels and probably never come to understand the concept.

But if you thought that being a third-wheel is bad, try being the fifth wheel. Being a fifth wheel is exactly the same as the car type. It sits there, unwanted and unneeded. If one couple was not enough taunting you, then as the fifth wheel, there are double the taunts. It makes you feel extremely uncomfortable, lonely and leads to embarrassment. You don’t want to be there, you feel as though you need to escape.

I became the fifth wheel one night and didn’t realise it until it was too late. A good friend and his new girlfriend and another friend with her latest flame and little old me headed out to an Asian restaurant in Albert Park for a low key night out. Piled into one car, we managed to find a park pretty quickly and it was only when I got out of the car and started to head to the restaurant did I realise that I was the fifth wheel on a double date. It was the perfect double date all but one thing. That one thing was me. As we walked along, all I could do was think what a fool I had been not to realise it earlier. I began to feel extremely uncomfortable and suddenly pangs of loneliness hit me.

Although my friends intentions were meant to be good, I could not have felt more like an idiot. The night wore on and overall, despite my awkward feeling, it was a good night. But it was from then on that I decided I was never to find myself in that situation again.

The feeling is not great when you are an extra in a couples world. There are ways to avoid it and although couples will never come to realise that being a third or fifth wheel in any group is not a good thing, singletons have to come to realise it is up to them to avoid these situations at any cost.

Eat @ Lemongrass

2007-06-01T10:03:00.000+10:00

Lemongrass (176 Lygon Street, Carlton. Ph: 9662 2244) has long been right at home in Melbourne’s Little Italy. And although an odd place to find Thai cuisine that is actually flavoursome and good, Lemongrass is a nice change from the usual Italian fare.

Thai cuisine can easily swing from the cad to the good. Lemongrass generally leans to the good side but can sometimes lapse in its quality. The flavours and taste of each meal is everything you expect in Thai cuisine and although the usual favourites are there, Lemongrass offers other dishes which introduce diners to new experiences and tastes in Thai cuisine.

Set in an opulent setting, Lemongrass sits inside a period shop front and decked out with large golden lions, multi-arm buddas, elephants and beautifully arranged oriental flower pieces. Its dark charcoal walls, intimate lighting and bellhop suited staff add to the intimacy to a romantic night out. Small groups can have their own partially private rooms while exceptionally large groups can book out the entire second floor for functions.

Lemongrass exceeds in what it does best – its traditional dishes. Each dish is a kalideoscope of ingredients, flavours and colours and is presented in exceptional quality and with the right group of people it can be a ball of fun.

Although the traditionally dressed waitresses are gone (which added to part of the restaurants charm and experience), diners will walk away from Lemongrass generally very happy. Only beware that you may pay more than you might expect. But hey, you only live once.

Visit Lemongrass online – www.lemongrassrestaurant.com.au

2.5 of 5

Stopping All Stations

2007-05-29T10:13:00.000+10:00

It was a usual Thursday afternoon as he waited at Flinders Street Station for the train back home. Pigeons waddling along the platform, the wafting smell of deep fried Dim Sims and potato cakes, the indecipherable announcements by rail staff were all the usual sights and sounds of peak hour.

In his peripheral vision, a figure was approaching him and it caught his eye instantly. This figure was just his type. Casually turning his head, approaching him was a bald man no more than 38 with bulging arms, a rippling body and tattoos along his arms. He, Roger, was the true embodiment of a man. All he could do was stare.

Roger stood behind him, and so the cruising began. The casual glances, the inconspicuous head turns, he couldn’t get enough of this burly hunk of man. Within minutes, the train pulled into the station and he boarded the train. Roger followed. He sat, Roger sat opposite. As the train began to depart and enter the subway, the cruising continued.

As the train throttled towards its next stop, he eased the cruising and turned to look at his reflection in the window. Roger was looking at his crotch, instantly he knew there was potential for more. No straight man would stare so obviously at a stranger’s crotch. The cruising continued for another four stations until they arrived at his stop. He thought he’d take a risk, before reaching the station, he began to collect his bags in a way so obvious that he was about to get off (in more ways than one) that even Blind Freddie knew he was going to disembark.

He approached the train door, suggestive glances continued as the train pulled into the station. He exited and began to walk along the platform. The train began to sound, the doors about to close. Roger leaped up and dashed out the train. And began to follow him out the train station, and followed him all the way home, a mere three minute walk away.

At this point, it is still unknown whether any words had been exchanged. The pair arrived to his apartment and had rough passionate heated sex. Roger’s bulging arms taking his slender body roughly and having his way with him. The pleasure was indescribable. It was hot. Then as quickly as it began, it was over. Roger, the electrician, left and he was left on his bed naked, sweaty and satisfied. He was left wanting more.

Catching a train never was so much fun. He hasn’t seen Roger since, but he can’t wait to see him again.

This is true account of recent events as told to me. Pardon me while I light a cigarette. Anybody got a light?

Port in the Storm

2007-05-26T15:04:00.000+10:00

When you think the feeling of loneliness couldn’t get to heights, it’s when your friends up and leave for another country that your world starts to shrink quicker than you care to accept. I now find my world rapidly shrinking, but conveniently with more ports in the storm across the globe.

Ironically at a farewell party at a popular bar in Melbourne’s CBD, I was told by some close friends, that they were moving to London by 2008. The news, although not surprising by any stretch, made me think about the recent movements by other friends. Here I was, at a farewell party for someone who was moving to Japan (not the first time a friend had moved to the land of the rising sun). A month ago, another couple I know announced they were moving to London this August, while another close female friend announced she was seriously considering moving to Fiji. In addition to these announcements, I already have a married couple who live in Los Angeles, a married couple who live in Toronto and a gay couple who live in Milan.

It seems my immediate world is getting smaller, but my worldwide accommodation options are progressively getting wider. So how do you handle these changes in your life and does the dynamic change? The change is difficult, particularly if those people who are leaving to seek new adventures in another country are your closest friends. This was the situation which happened to me a few years back, when, in the space of a few months, there was me and one other friend left in Melbourne while the rest of our circle were scattered across the globe.

After one friend up and moved to Toronto to marry his Canadian girlfriend, it was only a matter of time when two girlfriends traveled across Europe then relocated to Montréal. This was closely followed by another friend who moved to Toronto for work and another friend migrated to his native Spain to live there for a while. While everyone moved overseas, another friend moved interstate, to the Top End nonetheless, with her boyfriend at the time.

Within a matter of weeks, all that was left in Melbourne was me and a friend. What were we to do? We were friends, but not necessarily close. But as time went by, the two of us made the best of the situation and as a result our friendship grew stronger. Although we didn’t spend every waking moment together, we did spend more time together than we would have otherwise. Eventually most friends found their way back to Melbourne and the group grew in size again. But it wasn’t the same, everyone was different and we were back at Square One, the group dynamic had to be recreated. We had our experiences here in Melbourne, they had their international experiences.

Now I find myself in a similar situation, and although I have a greater network of friends now, I have to wonder if the dynamics will change once they all come back home. I guess they will. But at least for the time that they are away, I will a port in the storm when I next make an international sojourn to Europe, North America or Asia. Hope they have a bed ready!

Take the Backseat

2007-05-22T08:56:00.000+10:00

It seems like nothing can go wrong. You’re on Cloud Nine and everything seems perfect. There is no one else except for you and them. It’s the precious time when you first enter a relationship with someone. They are the moments you will remember and cherish. They are the dates which set the foundation of the relationship.

But when does your investment in a new relationship start to erode the foundations of your friendships? Are you able to balance your new life with that of your past? Do you risk losing the friends that have so fiercely worked to protect you or can you combine the two into a harmonious existence?

As with most people, the moment you enter a new relationship, your friendships take a backseat to your relationship until you are able to find a way to share your love with everyone in your life. But can it happen with your closest friends? Will they ever feel the same after all those years you shared together? In most circumstances, your friends have to learn to adapt and understand their new role in your life, understand that they are no longer the ones you share your woes, thoughts and opinions with. It’s like being thrown a curve ball and they do not how to catch it. And as human nature goes, sometimes the change resembles rejection and they end up feeling hurt, unwanted and unimportant.

In my experience, I’ve been fortunate enough in some circumstances where my closest friends have found their partner. So the effect on my life was kept to a minimum and my ability to adapt to their new lives was minimal. One close friend moved overseas for the love of his life and although the initial change was hard, my ability to adapt was quick and minimal. He had moved to another country, so I didn’t feel as neglected as I would have if he was still here and didn’t maintain our friendship in those initial weeks of the relationship. It helps that his wife and I are practically the same person.

Of my other friends who are in long-term relationships, all have made conscious efforts to ensure their partner becomes integrated and part of our original group. And we all make efforts to welcome them. Ensuring your partner can become part of the group and can interact with your friends is one of the most important factors whenever I date someone new. Nowadays, as our group gets larger (due to partners) the dynamic changes but remains the same at its core.

But it’s not always plain sailing, particularly in those initial first dates. Having fallen for his newest flame, one of my closest friends has become a victim of the inability to balance his friendships with his relationship. And with the emotional attachment he has established for his lover, it appears that this relationship may be one that is everlasting. But here lies the problem, there is no balance to the point where his friends have not seen him in more than a month. No calls, no emails, no real contact.
For me personally, nowadays I am the one who is making all the contact, when in days gone by, it was balanced interaction. It’s been extremely difficult for me, given our usual contact per week prior to the relationship. To me, I’ve lost a friend and I know I will never get it back.

So what do we do? Do we let it be and hope that within a week things will go back to how they were? Do we say something? Do we hope that he finds a way to balance his life out and finds a way to introduce his relationship into his friendships? I would be inclined to say something, but does that run the risk of ruining your friendship? I guess, for me, time will tell. Balance is the key, but lose your balance and you could fall of the edge in ways you might not have expected.

Eat @ ManMo

2007-05-21T10:17:00.000+10:00

Asian eatery ManMo (42 NewQuay Prom Docklands) has stood the test of time at the troubled Docklands area to still one of the original restaurants in the area that offers quality dishes at reasonable prices.

In its modern surroundings, ManMo offers traditional Chinese, Malay and Thai meals as well as dishes with a modern twist. Entrees are extensive from steamed dumplings to curry puffs and fried wontons as well as the ever-so-tempting Peking Duck. The choices are tough, you could make a whole meals just from the entrée list alone.

The main menu is equally as extensive with a range of Chef Recommendations which tempt the palate. Featuring heavily is a range of seafood based dishes, however meat lovers and vegetarians are well catered for. The wine list is equally as extensive with a wide range of Australian wines.

Wait staff are attentive, even to the point of pedantic, which can be startling for the unprepared, but are happy to oblige to any changes to your dish if need be. Service is quick and efficient and waiting for your main meals is kept to a minimum, the way a restaurant should be.

The location of the restaurant offers inspiring views of the CBD and its proximity to the waterfront adds a calming and soothing aspect to an otherwise busy cityscape. Ideal for a quiet night out with your loved one or a small intimate group, ManMo achieves the right balance for a satisfying night out in an area where you are spoilt for choice and quality can range from pitiful to exquisite.

3 of 5

Obsession is a dangerous state of mind

2007-05-18T09:21:00.000+10:00

How much can you obsess over something? How far is too far? The concept of obsession has been focused on in many films, but it’s our own personal obsessions that are the most interesting. More specifically, it’s the obsessions of our closest friends that we become more interested in and want to get to the root of, whether it be as a spectator or otherwise.

Most obsessions stem from an initial interest in something or someone. In the case of my friend, it was a certain someone. He'd met a seemingly fantastic person and the initial sparks were promising. All in all, the guy was good on paper.

I forewarned my friend that despite the attraction to this guy, he shouldn’t get too caught up on the emotions in case this Mr Good-on-Paper was going to screw it all up. But despite my best efforts, my friend fell deeper and deeper like Alice in Wonderland. The promise of romantic dates, adventures across the city and simply being in a relationship were like glittering diamonds in a field of bleak solitude.

Alas, Mr Good-on-Paper let him down upon moving to Melbourne. There was literally no contact, a strange result after Mr Good-on-Paper was most enthusiastic about meeting my friend. Yet his obsession continued, we all tried to reach conclusions for my friend as to why it happened. To this day, Mr Good-on-Paper never made contact.

Which lead me to think about obsession and how far is healthy and how far is completely whack. I can understand his obsession, after all, I would have acted exactly the same if I were in his shoes – in fact, I did with the hunky waiter. But eventually he saw the light and realised that Mr Good-on-Paper was in fact a complete knob.

Recently I obsessed over someone who I had never met, spoken to or even knew of until I saw them on a MySpace page. And within minutes I was obsessed. Despite the fact that he lives in another city in another state of Australia didn’t mean a thing. I started to Google him, look at all the photos he had uploaded onto his page, read all his comments and went as far as looked him up in the White Pages. I knew I had gone too far. I was obsessed. By the end of the day, I had taken steps to avoid using MySpace again and my obsession faded faster than it arrived.

We all have something we obsess over – our hair, our look, our car, our relationship, our attraction to the opposite sex, our quest for finding Mr or Miss Right. The list is never-ending. But most of us realise the point where it should stop, as did Angus. We know that if it goes any further, that it becomes less a healthy obsession which you can joke about with friends to something with darker or deadly connotations.

Do you have an obsession? What is it? Be brave enough to admit it here.

Tell a little. Tell a lot.

2007-05-14T10:57:00.000+10:00

How much should you tell your friends about your life? Everything or just a little? Do they need to know everything that is going on in your life and your private details, your sexual fantasies, fetishes, personal opinions on other friends, events or situations? Or should we remain the gatekeepers to what we really want, think and feel and not interrupt the status quo?

It has been an issue I have thought about a lot lately and more so over the last few days, after being somewhat betrayed by someone I thought I could voice my opinions to. As a result, I’d be inclined to suggest that your friends needn’t know it all about you. Remaining a creature of mystery is an important piece to ensure your friendship continues, but also protects you from being ambushed.

Certainly, there are instances when you need the advice of a good friend or you would like to clarify something with someone you think would understand. And there would certainly be situations when you are aching to gossip about someone or something to someone you just know will agree with you and gossip with you equally as much. It’s what we do as humans – we gossip.

It’s all part of friendship I would assume - the ability to confide and share information with those who you deem to be close and sincere. But the flipside to this expectation is to expect that the same people you gossip and share information with, do the exact same thing with others about you. It’s only fair and should be expected. I do it. I’d be lying if I didn’t.

In the past, I have been accused by some of not telling enough about myself but I am guiltier of telling too much. I tell one person, then not satisfied with their input; I go tell someone else hoping they’d give a better insight or agree with me even more so. But there are definitely times where I gate-keep the information I tell certain people. Certain information should not be shared too much and if you have been told something that is perhaps taboo, private or secret you are expected to have the decency to honour it and guard it with your life. Don’t you?

Recently I was caught out where all my opinions about a particular situation we’re spilled out to others. Delivered in a ‘joking’ way, I had to refrain from my face dropping and then being overcome with anger wanting to jump the table and punch their face repeatedly. Suffice to say, I learnt my lesson about divulging my opinions to certain people.
Additionally, I learnt not share any information about my sex life with any friends after it became widespread knowledge about one sexual preference of mine. Not even a kiss gets reported nowadays.

So how much do you share? And should you expect the same? I guess it comes down to how much you are an open book yourself and how comfortable you are in sharing the information, opinions and beliefs you have. Don’t gate-keep everything, but know who you can tell and who you cannot to avoid being flustered and embarrassed.

Eat @ The French Quarter Patisserie

2007-05-12T16:03:00.000+10:00

The crisp morning air, a freshly brewed latté and pain au chocolat is the perfect combination for a relaxed Saturday morning at North Melbourne’s newest hot spot. The French Quarter Patisserie (Corner of Curzon & Queensberry Streets, North Melbourne) brings the best of France to the up-and-coming North Melbourne area and the locals cannot get enough.

The newly opened patisserie offers fresh coffee and the best hot chocolates outside a chocolatier in Melbourne but it’s the sweets that are the real reason to come here. Escargot, Pain au Chocolat, Almond and Apricot Brioche, Croissants (plain or filled), Almond Croissants, New York Baked Cheesecake, Strawberry Tarts and a myriad of other deliciously tempting treats are all on offer with crew in the kitchen constantly baking fresh produce for the eager crowds in the café. The bakery also sells fresh baguettes and bread loaves which look good enough to eat on their own. By 11am, freshly made filled baguettes are on offer and you are spoilt for choice.

The patisserie’s décor is fresh, clean and crisp and accentuates the feeling of Parisian living with its outdoor furniture replicating the cafes along the Champs d’Elysee. Word of mouth has quickly spread regarding the patisserie and it’s best to arrive early enough to snag a table before North Melbourne’s yuppies descend with their designer puppies and mounds of Saturday newsprint.

The French Quarter Patisserie also offers cakes for occasions including a mouth-watering Orange and Mascarpone Flourless Cake. Open from 7:30am to 5:30pm daily, The French Quarter Patisserie is the best reason to wake up early on a Saturday morning.

4 of 5

Strangers on a Train

2007-05-11T15:58:00.000+10:00

The Japanese are dead silent on the metro and foreigners who make noise are scorned, said a friend who recently came back from living in Tokyo. But if you travel on any Metlink service in Melbourne, it can be a mixed bag.

Sure, silence is golden but how quiet is too quiet? Travelling into work the other day, the battery on my iPod died prematurely and so I was left sitting on the train with no music. The silence was deafening. I had completely forgotten how silent the train really was. It was a change from the usual group of rowdy schoolgirls who annoy the crap out of pretty much everyone else on the train.

But I think there is some unwritten rule whereby people are not meant to talk on the train or do anything on the train, at least loudly. Fellow passengers will look at you in disdain if so much as your mobile phone rings.

And if you phone does ring while on the train, be prepared for a whole host of eavesdroppers. Last week, one of my regulars (i.e. a passenger who catches the train from my station around the same time as me) was on the same train home. Her phone rang and heard her start ranting on about “seeing him”… clearly a boyfriend who was about to become an ex. So I just HAD to listen.

As she went on about how he is not worth it and she told him where to stick it, I became even more interested. I didn’t even know the woman but I was thriving off the entire situation. I loved the juicy gossip that the guy she caught the train with every morning was apparently a scumbag.

It’s times like this that you’d wish that people on the train made a bit more noise. I was sure that I wasn’t the only one listening to her conversation. But alas, our section of the train was completely silent.

Silence may be golden, but if you’re in a train speeding towards its next stop, you want to be sure that if your phone does ring, then it’s your stop that’s next.

It’s been weeks since I wrote the main part of this post, and since then, I have seen the woman drive into the station alone. But last week I saw who I assume is her boyfriend again. Made me wonder… what the hell was she talking about? I need to know! Arrgggh!

Information. How Can I Direct Your Call?

2007-05-08T11:13:00.000+10:00

In the last few weeks, I have played the role of Directory Assistance for complete strangers who have been game enough to approach me for information. And this new role has thrown me a little, considering I haven’t had experience as a Car Salesman, Travel Agent or Real Estate Agent.

But it seems I have a face people can trust and approach for the information I need.

Scenario One at Officeworks. As I approach my car to make my way to the next errand, a woman in her thirties comes running up all flustered and proceeds to ask me about my car and its features. In less than a minute, here I was – car salesman for prestige sporty vehicles. In my tracky dacks, unshaven and even a bit woofy, here I was showing this random stranger my car and encouraging her to buy one and to even use the dealership I went through. Answering her questions, a whole 20 minutes later, I was running late and had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t in some random Dali-esque type dream. I was amazed I didn’t offer her to take the car for a spin.

Scenario Two at some random bar. I meet a friend of a friend who has just come out who notices my tee which has Canada splashed all over it. Suddenly I became a travel consultant selling the land of the maple leaf and all that it entails. From highlighting the metropolis neighbourhoods of Toronto to romanticising the Parisian feel of Montréal’s Old Town, I was convinced I should have made some sort of commission on the ‘sale’.

Scenario Three in East Keilor. Pulling up to my friend’s house, I was about to head to the front door when a young family in their pimped up Holden Commodore greeted me and asked if I lived in the area. To which they continued to ask about the area and its pros and cons. Suddenly I was Anthony – Real Estate Agent. Havig moved from Sydney, the family were looking for a property to buy or rent in the area and started telling me of their troubles securing a property in Melbourne due to the market’s competitive nature. From properties in East Keilor, I began selling them the idea of moving to Keilor Park, an adjacent suburb, and its merits as well as the booming suburbs of Airport West and Glenroy. For a good ten minutes the young family and I were talking property and all its aspects. I was an expert!

So in light of these situations and the many more I am bound to have in the future, becoming an expert in the many fields/industries I have no clue in, I’ve concluded I should become one of the City of Melbourne Ambassdors you see roaming around Bourke and Swanston Streets purely to wear the bright red parkers with a giant information sign blazoned across the back.

It’s either that or I start answering my phone “Information. How can I direct your call?” to purely confuse the crap out of anyone who calls. Although I’m pretty sure, that they’ll still ask for directions to a restaurant or landmark without realising it…

Sense and Sensibility

2007-05-03T09:49:00.000+10:00

“Follow your heart - Your intuition. It will lead you in the right direction” sang folk songwriter Jewel.
“Listen to your heart when it’s calling to you” sang Roxette.

But when it comes to following your instincts and acting upon what your senses are telling you, is it really wise to heed your intuitive advice? Usually your gut instinct is the right answer to many conundrums or problems that we encounter throughout the course of our lives.

But sometimes, following your gut instinct can lead to the realisation that you were further from the reality than you cared to admit. It can prove disappointing, depressing or even great, particularly if you are initially in a negative mind frame. The constant battle between head and heart can be one of the greatest battles a human being can encounter. So which ‘advice’ do you take? One of logic and sensibility of the mind or the emotionally charged one of the heart? It’s tough but sometimes you just need to learn from life experience.

A good friend is rocking between a relationship that has become on-again, off-again and recognises that the constant battle between head and heart is causing unnecessary strain on their emotions. The battle within themself will continue and no advice from any friend or family member will help achieve a resolution to their situation.

While another realised that sensations and encouragement from close friends is not necessarily conductive to realising their wants and desires. Gut instinct told them that there was a strong possibility for romance with one who they’d been infatuated with over a lengthy period of time. But it wasn’t to be when their gut instincts were much further from the reality. The admiration was not reciprocal.

The battle between head and heart is one that will continue in mankind and really boils down to being part of the journey of life, which sounds like a croc, but when you think about it… isn’t everything we do part of the grander scheme of life? I’d be inclined to think so.

So what do you do? If you have a sense or feeling about something, do you act on it? If so, do you approach with trepidation or with gusto? But if you decide to let things slide and continue on their so-called merry way, then are you missing out on what could potentially be?

One friend of mine, an eternal optimist, would say not to let your pride get in the way and always remember that there is always another opportunity in the future for the result you want. And that is probably the best way to think. Keep your options open and maybe, just maybe, your intuition will lead you in the right direction.

Eat @ Tom Phat

2007-04-30T10:30:00.000+10:00

Brunswick’s Sydney Rd is fast becoming the place to be, to be seen and is the new Brunswick St, Fitzroy. New cafes, restaurants and clothing boutiques are popping up along the busy strip. Tom Phat (184 Sydney Rd, Brunswick Ph: 9381 2374) is one of the latest restuarants offering above and beyond the usual Turkish fare found along Sydney Rd.

Tom Phat has become so popular with locals and foodies that even at breakfast, you have to be incredibly lucky to get a table. Offering a range of fresh, modern takes on Asian cuisine, the majority of dishes focus on Thai and Vietnamese dishes which satisfy the palate and leave you wanting more.

The Crispy Fried Silken Tofu with Chili and Coriander is light and flavoursome with the right degree of heat, while the Buddha’s Delight is filling and perfect for a cold winter’s night. The usual suspects are included such as a Massaman Curry, Red Chicken Curry, Thai Green Curry as well as some interesting dishes such as Da Woon Nu and Son-In-Law Eggs (the latter which have become synonmous with the restaurant). All the dishes are light and refreshing but are full of flavour and are sizeable portions.

Finishing off is a selection of not-so-Asian cakes and traditional Asian favourites with a twist. Such was the Fried Banana. Fried in a very thin light batter, the banana is not your usual fritter but rather a dessert that won’t make you feel guilty for ordering dessert. Complemented with a scoop of homemade coconut ice-cream, the dessert proved popular within our group.

Tom Phat’s décor is very converted warehouse and dark but has stylish inflections of its Asian roots throughout the restaurant. Tom Phat combines the right elements for an enjoyable night out without having to trek to the usual restaurant strips of Melbourne.

4.5 of 5

Photo: Melanie Faith Dove. Courtesy of The Age.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall…

2007-04-25T11:00:00.000+10:00

Recently I was speaking to a friend who was seriously considering the possibility of seeing a psychic to find answers to some aspects of his life. Encouraged by a friend who claimed the psychic in question was dead accurate, he admitted to me that he was lured by the whole encounter despite feeling sceptical about it all. He wanted to get some answers.

In the past, many of my friends have been to see psychics with mixed results and generally, I have always been a sceptic and one experience in particular left me with no doubt that seeing a psychic was a waste of money and time, to which I’ll come to in a mere moment.

One friend saw a psychic who had a credible track record of accurate readings. This particular woman made claims to his job, his choice of vehicle, his relationships and the one who he’d end up marrying – a skinny blonde who was a good friend. Now while we all guessed who it was in our circle, the reality was, that despite the psychics time line of six months, the claim didn’t come true, despite all the other claims occurring. It was almost two years later when the skinny blonde he’d end up marrying walked into his life, so the psychic proved to be right.

Maybe I was wrong about psychics after all… That was until I got roped in by a friend to see one.

She wanted to find out about work and her love life, eager to find answers after getting out of a long term relationship that saw her move interstate away from family and friends. But she needed emotional support, a back up if you will, which ended up being me. So along we went to see the psychic.

Now I don’t need to tell you that the first sign that said to me ‘Yeah this is a waste of money’ was the fact the psychic was set up in Melbourne’s busiest and largest market, The Queen Victoria Market. The second sign was her makeshift set up. Anyone who thinks that some crushed purple velvet and some star shaped fairy lights and NO crystal ball, is a legitimate psychic set up is sadly away with the fairies.

As the psychic started dealing the tarot cards and reading through their meanings, some of the information was correct, but the clincher came when she turned to me and asked “How long have you two been a couple?” I looked at my friend and turned back to the psychic and responded “We aren’t a couple”. The psychic quickly backtracked and claimed that we seemed to be in love with each other and looked very in tune with each others emotions. It went on and on. I restrained myself from laughing and grabbing my friends hand and demanding her money back. The psychic couldn’t tell I was gay, not very good me thinks. Now, I’m no feather-boa wearing queen who minces and sashays around Commercial Rd with a limp wrist and a lisp, but I’m sure even blind Freddy would at least question my sexuality. Once the psychic completed her reading we walked off and I burst into laughter. Good one lady!

Then and there I knew my scepticism regarding psychics was legitimate. That was until I was watching Temptation with a psychic/tarot reader as a contestant. Needless to say she lost catastrophically, ending on 15 points to the carry-over champs 77 points. It wasn’t until host Ed Phillips made a quip about her tarot reading skills and not being able to see the loss coming that threw me into fits of laughter.

Eat @ Chilli Padi

2007-04-23T11:14:00.000+10:00

Malaysian eatery Chilli Padi (Shop OE7, Menzies Alley cnr of Elizabeth and Lt Lonsdale Sts, Melbourne Ph: 9663 5688) is one of those restaurants which quickly becomes a staple in your restaurant portfolio, and for me, it’s almost institutional.

It’s rich flavours, sizeable portions and inner city ambiance, Chilli Padi is a great place for a quick bite before a show, a big birthday celebration or an intimate dinner for two. The only danger is being tempted to order more than you can eat.

The friendly wait staff are knowledge about each dish and the best wine to accompany the meal. Since opening a few years ago, the menu has changed slightly but retains the best dishes including their deliciously spicy Beef Rendang, Braised Duck Breast with chestnuts and lotus roots, Mee Goreng and Laksa Noodles in coconut broth. The large platter-type dishes combine the best dishes with a side of steamed jasmine rice are new to the menu and are perfect for those with big appetites.

Although originally a Malay eatery, Chilli Padi has introduced other dishes from around Asia including Korea, India and Japan. The only odd inclusion into the menu is the Porterhouse Steak with ‘shichimi’ chips… not quite an Asian dish.

However, everything else works at Chilli Padi. The flavours and dishes combine to create a fulfilling experience and as you leave, no matter what you’ve eaten, you are guaranteed to leave full and with a smile.

4 of 5

Mother Superior

2007-04-20T10:03:00.000+10:00

“For an educated woman, she’s pretty fucking stupid!”

This was the choice phrase uttered to me as I discussed the latest antics about a friend of mine to my sister. Her comment came after a string of similar comments from other friends who realised they had had enough of the friend in questions superiority complex.

And inevitably, I too, came to the same realisation – She thought she was above everyone. Her superiority complex most likely stems from her upbringing, which although fairly humble, was a common characteristic trait amongst her and her siblings. Responding in condescending tones, making people feel silly or inadequate if they didn’t know something and the inability to create conversation.

It may appear odd that we continued to remain friends with such a person, but the notion of being able to speak above and beyond sex and the general gossip was attractive to me and others. But as time went on, there were situations where the superiority complex would be revealed. Consistently making changes to dinner plans, consistently reiterating her vegetarian dietary requirements (which, for a group of carnivores was no problem anyway) and her general demeanour while out for celebrations have worn thin the veil of tolerance.

Now, usually, I give people the benefit of the doubt and don’t strike someone off, but lately, I have been of the thought that if we were not to be friends with her anymore, that I would not bat an eyelid. Sad but true.

My feelings became increasingly legimate last weekend at a birthday dinner (to which we pay for the birthday person’s meal in lieu of a gift) when she not only abused one friend for buying a gift, but also sulked at the prices for curries and insisted on getting less food for everyone at the table. The antics continued once we left the restaurant and continued onto The Melbourne Supper Club, a popular cigar/wine bar in the city.

I usually loathe cigars, but here the scent of cigars was intoxicating. However, for Mother Superior, it was not acceptable and stated she was going to go elsewhere and meet up with the rest of the group afterwards wherever we decided to go. We were only too happy to move to the non-smoking section of the wine bar, as I realise (as a non-smoker) that cigarette smoke is disgusting. But I could not believe her snap response once we’d entered the bar and sought an alternative room.
Now, correct me if I am wrong, but usually friends will go out of their way for friends, particularly on their birthday. You may not like it necessarily, but it is a part of friendships. Is it not?

A few days ago, I found out the superiority complex kicked in again as she refused to celebrate the impending engagement of mutual friends.

So how far do you go? Do you turn a blind eye and accept that it’s their character or do you drop them like a sack of potatoes gone bad? It’s a conundrum that you don’t necessarily want to be involved in, particularly if you have been friends for a number of years. Has the friendship gone stale? I would say so. Is it worth resurrecting? You’d hope so. But if superiority complexes get in the way of what friendships are about (i.e. being honest, relaxed and not having to doubt your own intelligence) then how do you handle it carefully as not to break the fragile eggs of friendship?

Now Boarding

2007-04-17T10:25:00.000+10:00

The bug has bitten me yet again and the itch is starting to cause a rash that is proving irresistible to shake. The urge to travel has crept up on me and it will only be a matter of time until I’m off to see more of the world.

It all started last week when a guy I know came back to Melbourne to visit friends and family for Easter after spending more than a year working in Milan. The stories of beachside parties, outdoor nightclubs, beautiful people, amazing sites, skiing on the Alps, fine dining, inter-European travel and the idyllic Italian ‘dolce vita’ proved too enticing to resist.

The itch had well and truly started and only started to get increasingly persistent once a very close friend and I started to organise our own trip together. And if things couldn’t have gotten worse, the accounts of recent travels by friends across Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and Peru only helped intensify my urge to grab my passport again and see the world.

So where to go? The choices really are endless. But there is significant pull for me to get back to Italy and see relatives and much more of the country so much so that I have been quoting prices for airfares, referencing train schedules, reading up on sites within Sicily and checking accommodation options. But then there is Argentina, Brazil, Cuba, France, Morocco, Egypt and Spain.

Mind you, I have already had an overseas holiday recently which beckoned me to try for a life of endlessly lounging on the beach and shopping in designer stores on an island with palm trees and endless sunshine.

The itch is getting worse. And the idea of travelling is too tempting for me. I have itchy feet and it will never go away. I love seeing the world, experiences new cultures, trying new things, seeing new places and revisiting old ones and understanding how other people live.

I may have to go see my doctor (aka my travel agent) pretty quickly. The rash that the bug has given is proving too hard to fix!

Eat @ Longrain

2007-04-15T11:06:00.000+10:00

Much hyped hawker communal dining restaurant, Longrain (44 Lt Bourke St, 9671 3151) quickly became the ‘must try’ restaurant of Melbourne after its huge success in Sydney and to a large extent the concept of communal dining and sharing dishes with each other works well, allowing you to try a range of dishes and appreciating the flavours of the curries and other dishes.

For a group of 10, this was a perfect opportunity to try a range of dishes. The Braised Duck in Soy was juicy, tender and flavoursome with the meat shredding seamlessly off the bone. Just as delicious were the Salt and Pepper Tofu with Mixed Asian Greens, the Red Curry with Wagu Beef and vegetable, the Red Tofu Curry and the Thai Angus Beef Salad. The flavours and aromas wafting from each dish, certainly added to the anticipation of tasting the dishes.

Washed down with Pinot Gris, Mojitos and other cocktails, Longrain succeeds in creating a vibrant atmosphere in a large warehouse that is stylistically designed for functionality and ambiance. Cocktails were flowing, music pumping, beautiful people abound.

The queue lining up at the bar eagerly anticipating is testament to the popularity of the place. Longrain, like many popular new Melbourne eateries has two sitting sessions, 6:30 and 9pm. And you don’t want to be late as we were.

Although generally the wait staff were courteous, helpful and made educated recommendations (particularly for a large group) the experience was bought down by one waitress who consistently asked questions and reiterated the 9pm deadline which our table was to be vacated by. Although she was polite about the whole situation, we felt under pressure to wolf down our meals and get out, not allowing us to soak up the environment and enjoy our meals properly. Had only she mentioned it once at the beginning and then 30 minutes before the 9pm finish, it would have been fine, but this was not the case with a reminder (what felt like) every 15mins.

Aside from that demeanor, the atmosphere, food and efficency is top notch. Longrain deserves a second visit with a much smaller group and being on time to try the entrees and desserts which sounded equally as mouthwatering and delicious.

2.5 of 5
Bought down by the constant barrage by one waitress

The Glamorous Life

2007-04-13T10:45:00.000+10:00

Nothing entices the beast of envy to rear its ugly head more than the success of someone else. They achieved something admirable, they have that stunning partner (or are stunning themselves), they have that so-called glamorous life – attending gala events/openings/soirees, killer fashion sense, hot apartment in an even hotter location, it goes on and on. They have it and we want it. Bad.

Sometimes it is someone that we know, which cuts even deeper into our conscious than we care to admit. However, more often than not it is someone who I encounter sets of a chain reaction of jealousy within me that become depressed. I yearn to have their smarts, their sense of style, their looks, their passion but I quickly come to the realization that these things are unique to them, and that same person can be jealous about something I have.

Case in point, when I discovered that I was being envied by one of my nearest and dearest. After meeting new people who quickly became good friends, I began cultivating friendships and spending time with them. Little did I know that while I spent time with these new friends, that the beast of envy was causing unease with other friends. After more than a month of fragile diplomatic-type relations somewhat similar to North and South Korea, a resolution was reached and an understanding was achieved. The need to jealous was fruitless as the friendships I maintained with each person was different and unique. Something I have always maintained.

Recently I encountered someone only can be described as an Adonis-like Greek God. After quickly learning his background, their interests, career and lifestyle, I became insanely jealous. He had the glamorous life. Here was someone was had perfect toned skin, a killer body, was an entrepreneur, owned his own flourishing business in a busy and popular part of the city and appeared to know everyone equally as hot and successful. I quickly became not only obsessed but insanely depressed.

After a while I realized, his life could be just as difficult as the next person. He might realize what he has and works with it well, but there are probably other areas which are just as tough, depressing and sad as the rest of us. Well… that’s what I like to hope anyway.

Jealousy is one of those human emotions that will be around forever and is obviously going to be accentuated when as class (or caste) system is in place in your surroundings. It’s a matter of realizing what your pros are and accentuating the positive. There’s always someone who will look up to you, if you realize that or not.

Just Keep Swimming

2007-04-10T10:02:00.000+10:00

I have come to the realization that I have a terrible memory, namely my short term memory to the point where I cannot remember what I thought ten minutes ago, let alone what happened a few days ago.

It came abundantly evident the other night when a good friend and I were parking the car and we were interrupted in conversation by collecting the ticket. The slight pause in conversation led us both to have a mental blank and we completely forgot what we were talking about. Gazing into space we tried to think of the topic, and both looked at each and burst into laughter. Our collective short term memories were hopeless.

Both of us admitted our memories were like sieves, most information fell by the wayside and not much of it was retained. We both admitted we forgot names, stories, events and discussions that happened up to a week prior. It can be detrimental and downright embarrassing especially when it comes to meeting new people. You can be regarded as rude or insensitive to your immediate surroundings. I have forgotten many a persons name whenever I’ve been introduced to people, and although I know chances are that I’ll never see them again, I would still like to try to remember their name.

My situation has become so ridiculous that the other week I was talking to someone about my weekend. Not only could I not remember what I did, which was watching a movie, but I couldn’t remember who I was with, what film it was and the actors in the film. It stumped me for the better part of a day.

While my memory is faltering, it’s pretty clear that some friends have memories like elephants. One close friend can recall the insignificant and inane discussions and events that happened ten years with such explicit detail, you’d wonder if he filmed the occasion knowing he’d speak about it a decade later.

So although my memory is like that of a goldfish for the short term, it seems most people have issues for remembering things whether it be long-term or short-term. It’s annoying, particularly if you want to remember something in particular, but I guess we can follow Dory’s advice and “Just keep swimming”.

Attack of the Giant Chocolate Bunny

2007-04-05T15:56:00.000+10:00

Just a quick message to my readers (the both of you) wishing you a Happy and Safe Easter.

I hope that the Easter Bunny (one dressed similarly to my friend here) visits you and treats to you to mountains of delicious chocolate and maybe a few other surprises during the Easter Egg Hunt.

Have a great break.

Paris, Je T’Aime

2007-04-03T09:34:00.000+10:00

What is it about French cinema that makes you feel such a gamut of emotions, leaving you satisfied long after you have left the theatre or switched off the television? Is it the romanticism? Is it the endearing characters? Is it the witty repartee? Or is it the cinematography of what is arguably one of the most romantic countries (and cities) in the world?

Certainly the recent French Film festival has helped trigger my emotional attachments to Paris. The cinematic selection was, as always, superb with France’s biggest stars including Gerard Depardieu, Cecile de France, Alain Chabat, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Romain Duris, Daniel Auteuil and Audrey Tautou accentuating everything extraordinary that is France.

After watching the delightful Prête moi ta main with Alain Chabat and the beautiful Charlotte Gainsbourg, even after the woes and dramas the leading protagonists endure, the finale injects one final rush of romanticism leaving you wanting to book a ticket for the next flight to Paris.

Being swept up into the notion of an everlasting love with a charming Frenchman in an apartment in the 4th arrondissement Paris overlooking the River Seine, eating croissants and marmalade for petit déjeuner, baguettes with jambon et le fromage for déjeuner and canard et pommes frites for le dîner, throw in some steamy passionate love-making, a zippy Vespa and a miniature French poodle (or equally as chic breed) and most of us are certainly wishing we were there amongst the thick of Parisian life.

I often have mini flashbacks to my time in Paris, eating baguettes in the carefully manicured gardens, riding the Métro (and jumping off while still moving), eating duck every night and appreciating its classic architecture. The concept of living in Paris, with the aforementioned scenario is extremely appealing and certainly not out of the realms of possibility.

Take Tina Arena for instance, who fled Melbourne for London and somehow made her way to France where she has become a huge star, met an extremely dashing Frenchman and has since started a family. Tina, I am devilishly jealous of you!

The film Amelie, starring Audrey Tautou is to blame for my love affair with France. It’s clever cinematography, charming storyline, charismatic characters and its final sequence is everything that makes living in Paris so appealing.

French cinema will continue to entice, romanticise and excite audiences across the globe as will my love affair with all things French. Paris, je t'aime et moi ne le veulent pas aucune autre manière.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

2007-04-02T13:55:00.000+10:00

One night at dinner recently, someone posed a question which stopped us in our tracks – “Why lie?” The question was put to us during a discussion about excuses and the lengths that people will go to avoid the truth or avoid contact with certain people.

As we all shared stories of bending the truth in situations which we desperately wanted to avoid for one reason or another, the stories became more preposterous. Most vivid imaginations and stories threw us into hysterics, gasping along the way. But realising that it became commonplace with everyone at the table, I started to wonder – who can you trust?

The fact of the matter is - is that everyone lies, bends the truth, exaggerates and fibs throughout their lives. I’ve done it, you’ve done it and your colleague sitting opposite you has done it. But when excuses upon excuses and lies upon lies are dished out, people begin to question the intent and start to form opinions which aren’t necessarily favourable.

The trick to being able to tell lies successfully is not getting caught. I must admit that in my time, I have come up with some gems to avoid any conflict with my friends or family. But there have been times where I’ve been caught out and I have had to backtrack and come up with an even more convoluted lie to cover the last one. Believe me, it’s not easy!

One lie that came to bite me on the arse was when my friend and I went to the Australian International Air Show a few years back. The day was amazing but it was also a scorching hot day. By the end of the day we were burnt red raw and the following day we were questioned as to our whereabouts. We lied. But within days, my friend let slip where we had gone and by then, it was too late.

We laugh about it now, but I learnt then that lying and making absurd excuses were never a good option. But I have been privy to excuses and lies in the years since that incident from people around me, and they don’t realise that I find out everything in the end... an investigative journalist does so with stealth and success. So watch out because I will find out when you least expect it.

Livin’ in Gangsta’s Paradise

2007-03-26T10:38:00.000+10:00

God bless the Western suburbs! There’s nothing better to perk your spirits than your neighbourhood being terrorized by a mentally unstable, drunken, crack addict coming down off his morning hit of Ice. Such was the scenario not 10 minutes ago.

Our usually quiet street where nothing remotely happens was disturbed when the topless tattooed perpetrator was yelling and grumbling at the top of his lungs as he criss-crossed the street damaging vehicles and switching off the power to each house.

With obscenities and incoherent rambling, the psycho continued on his rampage. By the time we noticed our power had been switched off, he had made his way to the next house and my mother and I slowly walked outside to be greeted by the police swerving into our street.

As soon as we’d advised them he had left the street not a minute ago, the Hollywood scene began as more people carefully left their homes wondering what and where this madman had gone.

This brush with a madman gets better, the police helicopter has just flown over twice and sounds like it’s about to come over a third time. I’m expecting this story to be on the news tonight. It just adds to the already glowing views of our suburb which has been noted for its drug dens, drag racing and gangland links. This is Melbourne’s West.

Speaking to a neighbour, it turns out the madman started his rampage earlier this morning along her street. With her vehicle damaged, her boyfriend’s vehicle damaged, the madman apparently went along her (much longer) street damaging cars and tampering with the power. She claims to have called the police at 9am. They didn’t arrive until he started his second campaign (on our street) almost an hour and a half later.

Stay tuned as more updates come. The police helicopter has passed over our areas six times now. This is exciting stuff!

You're what the French call ‘les incompetents’

2007-03-25T10:58:00.000+10:00

Incompetence. Women say men suffer from it; men usually don’t deny that they do. The inability to complete something can be frustrating for the one involved but can be downright maddening for others who are expecting results.

I’ve often said that some people I know couldn’t organize a bowl of cereal to save themselves, and usually I am right, while others would turn up to the opening of an envelope is you asked them. Yet, it baffles me as to how difficult it can be for someone to take control of their surroundings, duties or responsibilities and deliver on their promises to others. Again, much like the notion of assumption, I don’t ever expect the incompetence of those around me to go away.

Don’t get me wrong, I make no excuses for myself as I am as much to blame as the next person, yet when you are consistently let down by those around you, you’re bound to explode. Case in point, when a friend had organized a night out at a much-hyped Thai restaurant in Melbourne’s eastern suburbs. We made the cross-city trek to the restaurant working up an appetite along the way, expecting to have a table reserved.

Alas, once we’d met up in front of the restaurant with the others, we were told they hadn’t booked because they were sure we’d get a table (on a Saturday night nonetheless). Of course we didn’t. The restaurant was fully booked and tables weren’t going to be free for over an hour. We ended up eating at a dodgy local pub. Not exactly the Thai cuisine we were all anticipating.

Other situations have included receiving details of a night out so late that alternative plans had been made, being told to meet at a certain time at a certain place then waiting over an hour for the person who organized it to arrive or, finally, being told that they hadn’t booked or forgot to book tickets for a hugely popular event even though you had cleared your plans for the entire day/night for something you were genuinely anticipating. The last scenario has happened to me on numerous occasions of late.

I know that this will have hit the nerve of a number of people I know who read this blog, particularly as they know who they are. I half expect to have fewer friends by the end of the week, especially since I have lashed out at the same people twice within the space of a week. However, I believe it needs to be said.

Sure, there are certain circumstances when it cannot be helped, and there is no problem in that, life is too random and unexpected to know what is about to happen next. But when you next ask me what I did over the weekend, and I reply “Sweet FA” - do not come back to me saying “Well why didn’t you call me?” because the simple response would be that if you didn’t fuck me over with your ineptitude for orchestrating a simple get together, I would have been with you to begin with and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

For my remaining reader who has read to the end of this post, apologies for bringing down the mood lately. I hope to come back in a lighter mood in the next few days. No promises. Don’t want to get your hopes up of course.

Dance Little Lady, Dance

2007-03-23T09:41:00.000+11:00

Everyone has their own little dance moves, their favourite steps and their preferred genre of music. But next time you find yourself in a nightclub, bar, black-tie ball, wedding or anywhere else with a dancefloor, take a moment to watch the people dancing around you.

Sure we would all love to have dance moves like Justin Timberlake, but in reality, most of us are far from breaking out the moves on the street like Gene Kelly while he was singing in a downpour.

As you watch the crowd dancing, you’ll notice that some people have their own little quirky dance moves and believe me - it’s hilarious to watch. Doing this little experiment has provided hours of entertainment for my friends and me. This is not to say that I am a world-renowned dancer, in fact, far from it, however, I’d like to think that I at least have a sense of rhythm…I hope!

I apparently once told a friend that she couldn’t dance to save herself and boy did that set off a chain reaction of events that would lead me to eat my apparent words. She ended up taking salsa classes to prove me wrong and now can burn the floor with her hot Latin dance moves.

One night in Melbourne’s Latin Quarter, I remember seeing a middle aged couple who were amongst the salsa dancing crowd. They had either stepped out of a bad 80’s teen movie or a Fast Forward sketch as they “bounced the basketball”, “raised the roof” and “weaved their hands for a giant jumper” while the crowd were swinging their hips, gyrating against each other and twisting to the Latin beats. A friend and I watched them for 20 minutes as they were burning the dancefloor with their crazy moves. We were in hysterics and to this very day we mimic these exact moves whenever we are in a club together which sends us back into fits of laughter. I’m sure fellow clubbers wonder what the hell we are doing.

Watching my friends provides me with fodder also. One friend I go dancing with regularly tends to push his butt out, hunch over and clap for a little while before he straightens up. Certainly an odd way to dance but then again, another friend claps and waves his arms like his still thinks he is Ibiza or he is a sea lion whenever he dances and the rest of us have to duck and weave to avoid any contact with his long flying limbs. Actually come to think of it, a couple of friends do the sea-lion mating dance.

But it’s not all protruding butts, long limbs and sea lion-like movements; another friend pretends he is a member of Manpower or The Chippendales with his suggestive moves – pretty odd considering he was dancing, back in those days, in a group of straight guys. Another just doesn’t move at all and basically keeps to the tried and true side-to-side bop.

Of course everyone is different, but honestly, next time you are out and you find yourself on a dancefloor, keep an eye out for the crazy dancers. You’re bound to have a quiet chuckle to yourself. Unless of course you are the one that people are laughing at…

The Divine Assumption

2007-03-21T11:26:00.000+11:00

And so it ascended towards the heavens, the sun shone as brightly as it ever did during the month of festivities, and they watched with joy and amazement as it soared above their heads, across the fields and plains seemingly oblivious to the assumption they had created.

In this day of modern communication tools – the mobile phone, SMS, email, instant messaging – there is little room left for overlooking those nearest you when getting together and enjoying each others company. Yet the use of assumption as a means to avoid conflict when confronted by those closest to you is increasingly being employed by those very people.

Assumption on the part of those nearest and dearest to me has always been around and I expect it will continue to be well into the future. However, the danger of assuming is that you could always be terribly wrong without having checked. I have been both a perpetrator and victim of assuming something and it can often lead to a messy clean up afterwards, particularly if you’re found out. Believe me, the clean up is more exhausting.

It’s a natural instinct, I guess, for humans to just assume something will happen, something will change or something will adapt and for the most part, it doe happen as expected. But when it doesn’t, it can have damaging results, particularly to those involved.

I have been privy to numerous pitiful excuses in the past from the weather too hot (or too cold), the classic hair washing, too late in the evening, too short notice and of course, assuming I was already busy with other things with others. I have usually left the excuses alone, but increasingly as the excuses build up and the use of “I didn’t think you were free” becomes a standard response, I tend to vent my frustrations to anyone who will listen. And for the most part, they agree.

Not that it will ever change. It won’t. And I don’t expect it to. Yet, as far as I am concerned, you cannot assume certain things until you are told so. It’s not an easy habit to break. I’ll admit, that I won’t always remember to not assume but it’s worth trying to fix within myself.

NO, I wasn’t doing anything that day, I was free all day. NO, I wasn’t the person who organized that dinner that you weren’t invited to. NO, I don’t watch that gay drama you keep referring to, so stop muttering under your breath saying that I do. NO, I don’t know what that feels like, mainly because I have never had the opportunity to experience it.

NO, I didn’t know you purchased a house, got engaged, got a new job, met someone, ate at that restaurant or were going away, because you didn’t tell me. NO, I don’t like that bar/club/restaurant/gallery/shop/township that you are so fond of but I go because as a friend I do things so I can spend time with you. And NO, I don’t like your dry sense of humor because it actually is offensive and not funny in the slightest.

To recognise yourself in the aforementioned is a brave thing to admit. However, I believe there is more courage in trying to change yourself for the better. Stop using excuses and stop assuming – it can ultimately destroy relationships, ruin your friendships and create unnecessary headaches. Rant over.

His Hips Don’t Lie

2007-03-19T10:24:00.001+11:00

Well it happened. I finally ran into the delectable waiter - the object of my desire – who I had courageously given my number to, after months of flirting. By all accounts, our encounter went well to the point where we’ve agreed to meet up in the near future.

Out with my friends at a popular gay watering hole, I was uncharacteristically playing social butterfly, constantly bumping into people I knew and catching up on their gossip. Throughout the night, I kept seeing the yummy waiter about, but decided against saying anything for fear of embarrassing myself and looking like an obsessive stalker.

As we finally hit the dance floor later in the night, I saw the object of my desire walking towards us out of the corner of my eye. I knew he wasn’t coming to see me, lost in his own world, but as soon as he reached me, he recognised me and was brave enough to say hello. Suffice to say that he was excited to see me as he kissed me and embraced me the way an Italian grandmother does when she’s just stepped off a flight from Sicily.

He continuously apologized for not calling as he claimed he lost my number in his multiple house moves within the last six months. My friends were apparently right after all. He said he felt terrible at leaving me without a call and again apologized for appearing to be so rude. I forgave him and we began to briefly chat before my friend returned from the bar. So as the music blared, the waiter and I danced, holding each other at times, hugging other times and he, freaking out that my close friend was also a close friend of his.

As we danced, my hands naturally found themselves back onto his slender hips. Now, everyone has their own idea of what is the sexiest part of the body, and I myself am usually a legs man. But this fine specimen of man’s hips was by far the hottest part of his body. I couldn’t help myself by hold and caress them. I loved every minute of it.

As the night progressed the waiter announced we should catch up and although I am not holding my breath, the prospect of seeing him in a non hot and sweaty environment is still enticing. However, if it weren’t to happen, I am certainly not going to lose sleep over it or be hung up on wondering why he never called or instigated anything.

And so another episode of this seemingly unending sitcom plot came to a close. I’m sure he’ll pop up again and more wild antics will ensue but until that time, I’ll keep my options open and enjoy whatever else happens along the way…

Read more "Delectable Waiter" antics:
Small World. Small Community.
504 Hours
240 Hours

Eat @ Shark Fin House

2007-03-15T09:14:00.000+11:00

Yum Cha has become an Australian tradition thanks to the pioneering, gold-seeking Chinese who settled in Victoria during the 1850s. There are a myriad of Chinese tea houses strewn across Melbourne that offer tiny parcels of goodness wrapped in a steamed or fried package, but only few are hard to get into. Such is Shark Fin House, although this time around I, along with R*yan, were promptly seated and began our Dim Sum feast.

Shark Fin House (131 Little Bourke St, Melbourne Ph: 9663 1555) is renowned for its Yum Cha and soon enough the trolleys with the little ladies speaking indecipherable Mandarin/Cantonese with steaming bamboo baskets of Prawn Dumplings, Pork Dumplings, Prawn on Toast, Chicken Feet, Fried Squid, Pork Spare Ribs and Sticky Rice Puddings were abound.

The key to Yum Cha is to know your limit and not get over excited with what is on offer. It’s also wise to ensure the ‘delicacies’ trolley comes past – you know, the trolley with those weird items such as Chicken Feet or Frog Legs – as that’s where you will get the tastiest items. Pace yourself, ensure your tea cup is filled with Green Tea and your Yum Cha experience will be heaven.

The deep fried items are well made, with enough stuffing, seafood and thin pastry that don’t make your stomach feel heavy and are not drenched in enough oil to fill tanker. The steamed items including the Prawn Dumplings, Scallop Dumplings and the Pork Buns are light and flavorsome.

Shark Fin House is the perfect place to try Yum Cha if you haven’t before and highly recommended as a return venue. While R*yan and I left with some room to spare (for Max Brenner nonetheless), I’m sure we could have gone a few more rounds of dumplings.

Definitely the best Yum Cha that I’ve had in Melbourne, it comes close to my Dim Sum/Yum Cha optimum experience in Montréal. Shark Fin House has a sister restaurant in Chinatown, Shark Fin Inn (50 Little Bourke St, Melbourne Ph: 9662 2681).

3.5 of 5

MySpace. MyAddiction.

2007-03-13T18:39:00.000+11:00

I said that I wouldn’t become addicted. I said that I would only check it every now and then. Boy, how wrong I was!
My name is Anthony and I’m a MySpace addict.

**This is your cue to say “Hello Anthony.**

Bored one day at work I finally succumbed to the MySpace craze and what seemed a harmless activity has become one of my biggest time wasters. MySpace isn’t all that great when you think about it – all you really do is add friends and comment. But since I created my own profile, added friends, musicians and celebrities onto my page, the attraction to add more friends and check out people’s photos has become the activity du jour.

It’s basically the six degrees of separation in an online environment. My friend is friends with someone else who added someone else they barely know who just happens to know someone else who has Jesus Christ as their top friend.

Now I spend hours looking at the friends of friends and their friends and discovering who lives in not only my hometown, but also in Sydney, the Gold Coast, Los Angeles, London and as far as Puerto Rico.

So how does something seemingly so simple become so addictive? It stems from humans being an inquisitive creature – wanting to know who you are, where you are, what you do and why you do it. It also probably stems from the fact that people want to be surrounded by more people who will elevate their own personal status.

I’m actually working my way to befriending Donald Trump, although I can apparently befriend Rasputin and Hitler who are apparently not dead according to their popular MySpace pages.

The question is – when will it stop? And my guess is, that it won’t. I read somewhere that 1 in 4 Americans have a MySpace page. Scary when you think about it, but now it’s become a standard question amongst Gen-X and Gen-Y. But it’s clearly the way of the future, just how email and mobile phones have become a given.

I’m off to befriend Sharon Strezlecki now. I won’t be long… I promise...

Logging On: This post was really just an excuse to post an image of a fat naked man.

Eat @ The Kathmandu Cottage

2007-03-12T10:39:00.000+11:00

North Melbourne around Errol and Victoria Streets has grown to offer some of Melbourne's best restuarants. Ranging in cuisines, places that offer incredible food at affordable prices include Acquum, Fraus, Errol's, Libertine and The Kathmandu Cottage.

The Kathmadu Cottage (349 Victoria St, West Melbourne. Ph: 9329 3960) offers Northern Indian and Nepalese dishes that will tickle your palate and fill you up just with its entrees! Curries include Indian favourites such as Butter Chicken, Vindaloo, Madras and Korma as well as interesting vegetarian dishes such as Pumpkin Korma, Aloo Gobi and Sweet Potato Koftas.

Coupled with saffron rice and naan bread, these spicy dishes fill you up pretty quickly leaving you satisfied and thanking yourself for not ordering another side of Samosas or actually ordering that tempting banquet!

With pleasantly demure service by the wait staff and decor that is reminscent of a wedding reception centre, it's pretty obvious that the focus is on the food and its flavours of the sub-continent.

Those in the know will leave enough room to trek next door to Fraus Chocolate and Crepes for Melbourne's tastiest (and thickest) hot chocolate and a Nutella and coconut crepe.

The Kathmandu Cottage is the perfect place to spend a quiet Sunday evening with friends and with a menu that makes it truly difficult to order just one dish, rest assured that you'll leave full and wanting more... or at least more Samosas.

3.5 of 5

L’Anniversaire

2007-03-08T14:46:00.000+11:00

The last weekend of February signalled the first anniversary of an important milestone in my life. It signalled the end of one chapter of my life and opened up my eyes to new world that I knew little of up to that point.

This particular milestone, introduced me to new friends, reintroduced me to old acquaintances, offered me the chance to dabble in experiences new and foreign to me, has allowed me to experience a side of Melbourne which I hadn’t discovered previously and let me be the true person I am.

These experiences have been both character building and beneficial for me. In retrospect, if this milestone hadn’t occurred, my life would be very different and even this blog wouldn’t exist. I would still have been living the life I had previously and continued to deny myself the opportunity to enjoy life the way I do now. That is not to say that my life back then was not pleasant, because it was.

The anniversary itself passed by quietly and without brouhaha, exactly how I prefer it to be. However, as I pondered on the last twelve months since this particular milestone, I quickly came to the conclusion that there were a lot of things that I hadn’t achieved in those initial (and crucial, I might add) twelve months and with less than a month until my birthday, it doesn’t look like I will achieve them before then either. This triggered me to go on a rollercoaster of emotions and inevitably ended up at Sadness Station.

Did I not dive into my new life with enough gusto? Have I screwed my opportunities royally? Was I not enthusiastic enough or forceful enough to achieve the things I wanted to? My closest friends would think not, if anything, they would say I went in with guns blazing.

In any case, in terms of my new life chapter, the past twelve months have been truly positive. I am thankful that I have met the people I have and even more thankful for establishing friendships with some of the nicest, funniest, witty and kindest people I know. And despite the dramas in other aspects of my life, they, along with my closest friends have been the saving graces.

Time will tell if those things I set out to achieve will happen in the next twelve months or even within the coming weeks, before my birthday. We’ll see…

Love and Marriage

2007-03-05T18:02:00.000+11:00

Over the weekend I was witness to some exciting news. One of closest friends and his long term girlfriend had announced their engagement. Although initially I was sceptical when they told me (there’d been multiple Boy Who Cried Wolf situations in the past) I was genuinely happy for them when I realised they were serious.

The celebrations with the couple and some other close friends of ours resulted in a drunken celebration that involved 100 cupcakes with a kaleidoscope of coloured icing, chocolate bits and those finicky shiny sugar balls (Don’t ask). Overall the spirit was high.

But as they recounted the stories of other people they had already told, the responses weren’t so joyous. One close friend of the bride-to-be questioned her intentions, asked if she had been forced into the marriage and ended say “Well I suppose, if you’re happy… then congratulations” with the gusto of a sloth. Other people responded in a similar manner and it’s known that the groom’s older sister will react psychotically when she is eventually told.

After I left my friend’s place, I started to wonder… since when did engagements provoke such negative responses? Why in the world was almost everyone questioning their intentions? Here is a couple, madly in love with each other, and yet the responses were varied.

In the end, I concluded that it was jealousy amongst the friends. These doubters were older than the engaged couple, still single or were protecting the older siblings of the couple, fearing that they might not cope well with the knowledge their younger siblings were getting married before them.

But the engagement was a natural step and the right choice. The groom-to-be has never been happier in the whole time I have known him and the bride-to-be is genuinely in love with him. So three cheers I say!

Their engagement, however, is yet another sign I have entered the stage of life where you realise you have grown up. This year alone, I will have four weddings plus an engagement. I have already had three weddings of my own (non-family) to attend and it seems they are going to increase.

It’s scary to realise that you have already hit that age, where you have your own weddings to attend and that your friends that you have known for years are happily investing into a marriage, a mortgage and eventually children. As Sinatra sang, "Love and Marriage. Go together like a horse and carriage..."

The Romance of Investment

2007-03-01T15:18:00.000+11:00

Nowadays, it is not unusual for most couples to move into together once they realise that their relationship is fairly solid. Living in sin is living with common sense. It’s the “try before you buy” concept, and for many, it works.

Usually couples move into a unit, rent an apartment or share with another housemate. More unusual though, is when a couple invests in a property early in the relationship. So was the case with a friend I once worked with. After meeting his latest flame in a whirlwind romance – two country hearts united in a pulsating city – the new couple decided to validate their commitment to each other and purchase a home together. They’d only been dating for about four months. How serious is ‘serious’ in a relationship?

Clearly for my friend and his girlfriend, it was serious almost immediately. But how can one be sure that your other half won’t pick up and walk out or worse give you the boot and denies you access to the home that you equally invested in? It’s a tough call but it seems an increasing number of young Australian couples are investing in relationships in this way.

Maybe I am old fashioned, maybe I am too naïve, but this kind of commitment is huge and the fallout resulting from an ended relationship that shares common property is too much of a risk. Especially being so early on. Nowadays you can never be too sure how your relationship will eventuate.

This is not to say that I am a complete pessimist on relationships. In fact, if I were presented with the option of buying a home or something equally great with my better half, I most probably would shout it from the rooftops in joyous strains. But it would come down to timing and whether I knew my relationship was one for the long term. I wouldn’t be able to bear the trauma and dramas associated with fighting it out for a home as well as dealing with the fact that my relationship had ended.

So when do you know the time right? Is it dependent on your investment within the relationship itself? Is it a snap response to your intention to gain independence and learn the realities of a mortgage? Is it two weeks? Or is it four months, as was the case with my friend?

I guess the answer lies in the variance and randomness of each individual relationship. When you know – you just know. It takes guts and passion, so I suppose if both are present within your relationship, then all the best. Just read the fine print.

Great Expectations

2007-02-27T13:03:00.000+11:00

One recent Sunday morning, I was speaking with a friend about relationships and potential partners and his responses were not that unfamiliar to what I have heard in the past. I probed further and asked why he, a fine specimen of a man, was single. Again, his response was not unfamiliar.

My friend, an attractive, tall, dark man whose sweetness is matched by his sense of humour and witty repartee finds himself in the same predicament as the rest of our group – single. How this can be is beyond me. But his response to my question was simple. He is fussy.

We all have our standards in what we want in a partner – good looks, fantastic sense of humour, cosmopolitan outlook, stable job, independence and wealth. The list goes on and on. And yet, with our high standards in what we want, we ask for the unattainable – perfection.

Speaking to a couple who have been together for 14 years, they said that the only thing that matters when it comes down to it is that your partner shares the same values as you. If these values are not the same, then the relationship is not going to work. All the other factors you require in a partner are just a bonus.

So knowing this, why do we still demand perfection in our partner? Why do we have expectations that they need to check every box on our undoubtedly long list of prerequisites? The answer is simple. We just want someone perfect.

But what is perfection? It really varies between each and every one of us. Our interpretation of perfection is and always will be different to the people around us. What we find perfect in one person will not necessarily be the same for another person and hence why being fussy has become the standard response for many singletons.

Should we lower our standards? Definitely. Should we obliterate our standards and be happy with what we get? Maybe, but I’d be inclined to say no. By dropping our standards, we accept anything that is dished out and deep down, we know that it’s not what we want.

I admit that my standards are extremely high. And it’s been to my detriment, hence why I am still single. So by lowering my standards, I should hypothetically be able to find what I am looking for. Time will tell.

But without re-evaluating our great expectations of what we want in a partner, it’s going to be a tough ride. It will be interesting to watch over time who ends up in a couple they can honestly see a future and who will continue blindly searching for perfection. After all, perfection is a state of mind. Isn’t it?

Pleasure in Pain

2007-02-23T11:25:00.000+11:00

During the week, I played the role of security blanket for a friend who had just broken up with her boyfriend. It wasn’t the first time I played such a role for her and I’m guessing that it won’t be the last.

After weeks of fighting, one-sided arguments, drunken nights and very little make-up sex, she finally had come to the realisation that her boyfriend was not worth the energy – something her closest friends and family had known from day one.

Despite the fact he was four years younger than her, even after he would throw tantrums and respond to her questions as if they were still in high school, she was convinced he was not as immature as we had all indicated. Although she could see all of his downfalls, she just could not give up on him so easily. That is until the straw finally broke the camels back and she said to him that she was ending it. He, as expected, reacted as any 10 year old would. Cue her teary call to me.

But after I hung up (doing the best I could), I started to wonder – when in a couple, do we gain pleasure from the pain? It would seem so.

A colleague of mine told me about her friend who was living with a man who could be best described as an abusive, lazy dole bludger who used his partner’s money and lifestyle to suit his life, a K-Fed if you like. But despite all her friends efforts, she remains with her K-Fed to this day even after realising he is worthless.

Does such reaction stem from the need to be in a relationship and not wanting to be alone? I would suggest so. But does it also stem from the fact that we hope to change someone to eliminate the bad bits and keep the good bits? Perhaps. The need to be with someone and not die alone is a major reason for many people, particularly women who are more emotionally involved than men, to remain in a relationship that is clearly not all peaches and cream. Yet women are not the only ones who fall into this trap.

A close friend of mine was in a long term relationship with a girl who became physically and mentally abusive towards him. You could be forgiven to think that she was a man. But despite the abuse, which culminated in a fully fledged fight in the foyer in one of Melbourne’s premier nightclubs and effectively ended the relationship, he maintained he loved her throughout their relationship. It was his first love. Thankfully, it wasn’t his last.

There is the old adage that love is blind, but I am sure that even Stevie Wonder could have seen that such abuse was not worth staying in any of the relationships that I have spoken of.

Sure, from the inside it’s seen as heaven on earth and from the outside it’s hell. But without our friends to warn us of the dangers up ahead in these toxic relationships where would we be? Miserable? Suicidal? Dead? I guess it’s all part of the endless search to find the ‘One’… if they ever exist.

Harem Scarum

2007-02-20T15:59:00.000+11:00

Riddle me this. How does a late-40s overweight Greek man acquire a harem of nubile young men to dote on him? Don’t know? I’m not entirely sure either.

However I found myself in such a circumstance recently when a close friend and I went clubbing one night to farewell the man who I now regard as “Pharaoh of the Virile Males”. ‘Pharaoh’ was returning back home to New York City and his bevy of beefcake were all invited to wish him farewell.

Here was a solid, middle-aged man of European descent, not particularly blessed with good looks surrounded by men as young as 19 and no older than 26 who seemed to praise and adore him and his every move. Amongst the kisses, suggestive gyrating hip-grinding and lingering hugs, I stood dumbfounded at how this man acquired such a following. Surely in any other circumstance, Pharaoh would not have been given the time of day by any of these boys, but here as the music pulsated he was being worshipped.

What made Pharaoh so interesting? Why were throngs of young men throwing themselves at him? Did he play Sugar Daddy in return for sexual favours? Was he well connected in both Melbourne and New York? Did he supply them with quality nose candy for their nights out? Did he boost their esteem and stroke their ego (among other things) in a way that only he knew they responded to? I would be inclined to suggest that all or some of these were applicable.

But all I could think was - How come he didn’t have any friends his own age? Was he surrounding himself with these fine young specimens as a snap response to Peter Pan syndrome? Or was it to provoke responses such as mine? I couldn’t tell. I had to find out.

After we left the club, I asked my friend how he came to befriend Pharaoh. It was revealed that he was introduced to Pharaoh a few years back by an ex (who was 20 at the time) who was extremely enthusiastic about introducing my friend to Pharaoh. The reason behind the enthusiastic introduction was never disclosed.

But soon as greater details were revealed, it became evident that these young men were all interconnected by sexual relationships that they’d had with each other at some point or another, and at the helm was none other than Pharaoh. His involvement and exact reasoning behind his presence was never pinpointed and even now it remains a mystery. But you could be forgiven to think he was a pimp or the “go to” man for these young specimens of masculinity who were looking to get connected in whatever way possible.

In the end, Pharaoh, much like those of Ancient Egypt, remained a mystery to me. Now back in New York, I have to wonder whether he has a harem of nubile young men that surround him in the clubs of SoHo, Greenwich Village and Chelsea or whether he comes back down to Earth and continues life as any other overweight, 40-something man in Manhattan. I guess I will never know.

Now you’ll have to excuse me, my young, virile and buff Ancient Roman guards have finished peeling the 4000 grapes I asked for and are about to bathe me in a honey and milk bath...

La Vida es un Carnivale

2007-02-15T18:24:00.000+11:00

Recently I wrote about a girl’s life replicating a Hollywood script, but after having a reflective moment yesterday evening I’ve come to realise that everyone’s life can replicate Hollywood script, just that all the boring bits haven’t been edited out.

In fact, humans thrive more on gossip from what is happening on their block, building or community than what happens in the trash magazines despite what the publishers of such magazines think.

We go on a rollercoaster of emotions within the space of a week or month that is far more interesting that what Stefano did to Summer while he was having an affair with evil stepfather Roman who was backstabbing Kimberly as well as taking over Skye and Jed’s cloning company on that show The Days and Passions of the Bold, Beautiful, Young and Restless in the Guiding Light of OC 90210.

In the last 12 months my circle of friends have had brushes with death, become engaged, lost their license, had multiple relationships in the hope of finding “The One”, come out of the closet, made major investments, broken up with long term/long distance lovers, developed life threatening illnesses, multiple one night stands, gone overseas, broken up with lovers, made new friendships and renovated houses. It sounds like everyday life doesn’t it? That’s because it is and there is probably a whole gamut of events that I have left out.

The emotions and strain on our lives make us wonder – is it worth it or why is it happening to me? But hindsight is a wonderful thing and when we look back, would we have it any other way? Sure, there are things we would change, I am the first to admit that if I had my time over, there are a myriad of things that I would have done long ago. But we make the choices and we have to live by them and these choices give us the gossip that we thrive on.

I guess life is what you make it. And at this stage of my life, there are both aspects which I have come to enjoy but there is a whole lot more which I would change. At this stage, the bad outweighs the good, but waiting for the right moment to come along where opportunity knocks and unleashes the chain reaction that leads to everything falls into place is part of the fun I guess.

Latino song queen Celia Cruz once sang that life is a carnival and I have to agree. Sure it’s not all wild rides, bad food and sweets, dazzling lights and dizzying heights, but it’s an adventure nonetheless.

Now it’s about time I went to find the ticket box for my next wild ride…

Would you like fries with that?

2007-02-12T10:24:00.000+11:00

The demise and deterioration of common manners has been one of the most talked about issues of late across the nation. The end of please, thank-you and niceties amongst Australians has seen us become less of a friendly peoples, to a nation that only cares about one thing – self. Nowhere more obvious is the demise of our common decency than within customer service, which should be relabelled customer-do-it-yerself.

Recently out at one of Melbourne’s premier cafés and pasticceria with a friend, we experienced first hand the denegration of customer service. After ordering coffee and pastries, my friend craved for a simple mixed drink of Cinzano and lemonade. After nursing the drink for at least 30 minutes, my friend was noticed that fleas had surfaced to the top of his drink. In total, six fleas were floating in the drink to which we both freaked and I encouraged him to take it back. We concluded that they must have come out of the lemon slice or the ice as it melted.

Once my friend returned to the counter, he was welcomed with snap responses and quips amongst the baristas in Italian. The barista who’d made the drink threw it into the sink after my friend told him about the fleas and offered to make a new one. After my friend declined and asked for his money back, the barista turned to another and whinged “after an hour of drinking it, he only noticed now and wants his money” and the lemon was just “dirty” in Italian to which the second barista offered to remake the drink.

By this stage my friend was fuming at the blunt rudeness of the baristas and demanded to see the manager. The manager went red after my friend explained the entire situation, explaining that a nonchalance attitude was unacceptable for baristas in such a respected café and that bitching to others in a language that most customers who frequented the café understood, was not at all professional. Suffice to say, the money was refunded and the manager apologised profusely for his staff. But the damage was done, they’d lost a customer.

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard of people being caught out bitching in a language other than English. A girl I knew bore the brunt of a whinging 50-something Sicilian woman who continually muttered Italian curses under her breath every time she was asked a question. Eventually, my colleague confronted the woman telling her she understood every word that was being said. The confrontation garnered the attention of the manageress who was out the back of the store who eventually asked the 50 year old what her problem was. The manageress was left to clean up the mess left behind and tend to my colleague.

I, too, recently was victim to poor customer service at a popular sporting store in Melbourne when I stood in front of the sales assistant and said “Excuse me” three times before she turned her head and looked at me. I was literally facing her less than a foot apart. By the time she looked at me, I figured she’d already lost my business, asked my question with less enthusiasm than she and walked off on her. She was just rude and I wasn’t going to waste anymore of my time.

So where did manners and customer service go? Did it disappear with change of the millennium or has society become so fast-paced that no-one has time for each other anymore? Schools no longer teach it, in fact, did we ever learn it at school? Or is it really up to the parents? Have parents failed their children by not teaching them proper etiquette and manners? It’s a sad state of affairs when no-one has time for one another in the general community.

So how does it change? And will it ever? It probably starts with self. If we each take the initiative to improve our own manners then one hopes that the effect will rub off onto others and snowball across society. We can only hope.

Thank-you.

Narcissus is a Starr

2007-02-08T10:30:00.000+11:00

When you go out with your friends to bars, you tend to meet the nicest, strangest, funniest or just plain boring people. I met The Starr* about six months ago when he started to flamboyantly flirt with my friend, who was inevitably freaked out by this larger-than-is-necessary-in-life character. Although that particular event is not my story to tell, I have since encountered The Starr and been subjected to his narcissistic ways.

Let’s go back to basics. The Starr lives with a friend of mine who has had to endure his fake British accent, his 3-inch thick make-up and his need to be the constant centre of attention for years. His dress sense resembles a ballroom dancer, let’s say Paul Mercurio, from Dancing with the Stars. And he is a dancer/dancer/entertainer… apparently.

My last encounter with The Starr was at a games night at my friends place. Inevitably The Starr was there and clearly didn’t know how to be a gracious host. Each time the door buzzed, he ran to the buzzer and yelled out to my friend asking if they knew anyone by that name. Throughout the course of the night, he used any tactic that would garner him any sort of attention. He’d start singing, make a ridiculous comment and even change what he was wearing so that people would notice his orange fake tan legs (imagine Big Bird’s orange legs).

As we were well into playing Pictionary, The Starr yelled out “Who wants to listen to my music?” No-one responded, but despite this The Starr trotted off to grab his CD and inserted it into the player. All of a sudden, I was transported to the Eurovision Song Contest in some Nordic country. The music was blaring, over-the-top and overall tragic. No-one should have been subjected to such torture. But it got worse. He started to sing with the music. My friend was furious. The Starr had crossed the line. Who did he think he was imposing his Eurotrash music onto his friends?

I turned to my friends and began imitating the co-hosts from various European countries recounting their nations vote to the Eurovision host nation. We ended up in hysterics. The Starr was oblivious. The game ended fairly quickly and The Starr went off to get ready for his night out on the town.

It was a couple of weeks later that I saw The Starr again. This time, performing at an open air concert in St Kilda. I finally got to see it all in action. I should have brought along another pair of undies. I was dying from laughter at how extravagant and ridiculous The Starr’s performance was. It was all about him, despite the fact he was being drowned out by his own music, so you couldn’t actually hear him. His narcissism became clear when he promoted his own MySpace page in the middle of a song and missed his opening line cue. What a true talent!

It’s been a while since I saw The Starr, but I have to feel for my friend who lives with him, although I am told it’s only a matter of time until the lease ends and The Starr is given the boot.

There is only room for one Starr. I guess we all know someone like that but remember star is spelt with one ‘r’.

* This is how his surname is spelt.

To Embellish

2007-02-06T09:57:00.000+11:00

How many people, that you know, like to tweak their version of the truth to the point that it barely resembles the truth and reads more like a screenplay for a Hollywood romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan? It’s not uncommon for people to tweak their stories to make it sound better or get to the point of the story across quicker, but when you encounter someone who lives to tell how glamorous their life apparently is, you have to stop and wonder – where does the truth end and the embellishments begin?

One girl I know lives to tell her stories of schmoozing with the C-grade celebrities of Melbourne to anyone who listen. So desperate to climb her way into the social pages of the newspaper, she attached herself to a forgotten former reality TV show ‘celebrity’. Despite this, we are yet to actually see her in any of those social pages.

From the moment she mentioned that she was dating him, we were convinced he was a figment of her imagination. Surely they could not be dating, but after months of speculation he became a reality. Since their “whirlwind” romance began, they were living the high life, apparently, going to the Logies, buying properties in Brighton, buying Porsches for the week and Ferraris for the weekend, moving to the United Arab Emirates and constantly partying across Melbourne with fellow celebrities and their partners.

The stories kept getting bigger and more absurd each time and the truth behind each story really had to be questioned. But in the end, the stories eventually did become part of a Hollywood script, as we’d found out that she was almost sold as a sex slave for a harem in Oman and almost force onto a plane to Muscat, Oman. All this occurred while she helped her reality TV star celebrity settle into Dubai.

The recount of her stories from each person she knew continuously became more contrived and crafted and the truth became a blurred concoction of alternating realities. No-one knew exactly what story was the right story for any of her many stories! In the end, a group of us decided to feed the ego and sit back and enjoy the entertainment that was being provided.

To this day, apparent houses in Brighton are still on the cards, despite “just missing out by a $1million” and although the Ferrari order had to be cancelled because her TV star boyfriend “just didn’t want to wait for two years” they are still deliriously in love and are apparently getting married…
… it’s just that no-one has seen the ring and nothing has been mentioned to her loving parents. But it’s still happening!

Ah poor girl, still clutching onto hope until the bitter end.

Trust a Try

2007-01-30T09:24:00.000+11:00

How far can you trust your colleagues? Some would think that those you are closest with you could trust with your life while others you steer clear from and don’t associate with them under any circumstances. Like relationships and friendships, it varies between each individual. Case in point with my friend Chris who found out the hard way that his workplace was no longer a place where he could trust people.

After being caught doing 180km/h on the Calder Freeway a few months back, Chris lost his license much to the detriment of his career where his car was his business. Ever since, he has had to rely on the good nature of his girlfriend, work friends, work colleagues, his parents and public transport to meet his clients and get his work done.

Recently, while on his way to the shops with his girlfriend he noticed a silver Ford sitting idle on front of his house, which began to follow him as they made their way to the shops. Within days, he noticed the very same car sit in front of his home, his girlfriend’s home, his office, at his client’s properties and in the rear view mirror whenever he was in the car. But at no time was he ever driving. The car followed him the way a mob boss gets his henchmen to carry out a hit on you.

The mystery vehicle became such a regular occurrence for Chris that in the end whenever he walked past the silver vehicle, he’d wave to the man in the car who clearly didn’t know how to avoid attracting attention. At one point, Chris walked out of his girlfriend’s house to his car where he was about to step into the passenger side when the silver vehicle started its siren and flashing lights. It was an unmarked police car.

After a brief discussion with the police officer, Chris was informed that someone had called the Flemington Police Station and told them that Chris had been driving without his license. The officer commended Chris for not driving and told him that the trace on him was going to be dropped. Unfortunately the officer couldn’t tell Chris who called the police to dob him in. It had been an anonymous call.

But the precise times of the police car being at his appointments and tracking him during his work hours led Chris to eliminate the possibility of the “dobber” being one of his friends. It had to be someone from work. He slowly eliminated colleagues until he short-listed three people who potentially would have rung the police.

Suffice to say these three have since earned his wrath for trying to cause greater issues than are necessary at work. But it’s a lesson to be learned, be on guard at all times even in a quiet real estate office in the suburbs…