Catch up, you twats!

The next season of Shameless starts in the UK on the second day of the new year.

If you haven't caught this show, written by Cracker alumnus Paul Abbott, then get cracking. You've about a month to take in the 25 or so episodes so far.

Don't know what I'm talking about? Here's the first ten minutes of the first episode. If you're not hooked by the irascible charm of the Gallaghers by the end, well, I'd recommend you not watch any more because you'd probably find it rather dull.

The Secret Life of Screams

I love these little snippets of film lore that leak into the general consciousness. I love the way they can be hidden for years right in front of our eyes, or in this case our ears.

Meet The Wilhelm Scream. Actually, you've most definitely met it before, many a time.

Observe:



The Wilhelm Scream was created in 1951 for the film Distant Drums to overdub a man being eaten by a crocodile. It was stored away in the sound library and consequently used often enough and conspicuously enough to be noticed by a sound artist who then went to town, using it in countless classic film that he was working on. As is the way with these things it took on a life of its own and has now been used as an in-joke by everyone from Joe Dante to Tarantino.

Hollywood Lost and Found has a more comprehensive history, which echoed to me through panopticist and Boing Boing.

Now go forth and listen out.

Word of the Day

in·vag·i·nate
tr. & intr.v. in·vag·i·nat·ed, in·vag·i·nat·ing, in·vag·i·nates
1. To enclose or become enclosed in or as if in a sheath.
2. To turn or become turned inward.

Try to slip it into your conversation today. I managed to use it in the park.

My, how we blushed!

Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan (or, This title is already too long so I think I may run out of sp

Watch in amazement as an intelligent Jewish Cambridge scholar makes generous helpings of Americans look scarily scary.

It is a little like filmed entrapment. Hell, it is a lot like filmed entrapment.

It is rather like the infamous Heston scene of Bowling For Columbine has been fed steroids and forced to train with the Chinese swimming team.

But it is incredibly funny in parts.

The man's got balls.

Cringefactor 9.

Bedrooms and Hallways (or, Let's run the sexual gamut)

I've been a big fan for Rose Troche's "pansexual" comedy for a long while now and, watching it again the other night, I thoroughly believe it is holding its own against the ravages of time. The acting is still charmingly over-the-top, the direction just off-centre and the script assuredly navigates the terrain between flippant comedy and too-meaningful drama. Bedrooms and Hallways seems as fresh and clear skinned as it ever has, the only thing that seems to have changed is me.

I remember when I first saw it; on top of finding it cheekily witty, I also found it quite unsettling. The idea that a centred and self loving gay man could enter into a relationship with a woman I found disturbing and unrealistic. I suppose, after fighting for so long to be comfortable with myself, the notion that all that hard work could be undone was incredibly challenging.

And I have often thought about it since.

Seeing the film again recently, I have to say that my view on the matter has changed. In the past few months I have had a good many friends, and friends of friends, broach the topic with me. I even know of one or two who have made the jump. Speaking today with a new friend, who has been on both sides of the proverbial fence but refuses to use the label "bisexual" because labels always leave a sticky residue, she used a very similar rational to the characters in the film: the person is more important than the bits.

Byron says, "If it walks like a duck..." but I tend to side with the no-labels camp. I can understand that the preconceptions that stick to the sole of bisexuality would be even more severely misleading than prejudices many in the gay community feel are wrapped up in "gay", especially if it is truly a love of a specific person that is at the core of the relationship. Troche's pansexuality comes to us residue free. Hoorah! Use it with glee for a few years before the community at large gets a hold of it and sullies it with their pernicious pre-conceivities (do you like that one? I just invented it myself).

My point?

I guess, I have just come to the realisation that I don't find the idea challenging anymore. I don't think I'll be making the jump any time soon but I wouldn't feel confronted if one of my friends did. I still think our struggle to be comfortable with ourselves as sexual beings leaves an indelible mark on us as individuals, and to turn away from that battle in some way belittles it but, looking back now, I don't think that that was my issue way back when (when? 1998).

Back then, it was the ramifications the switch would have on all the gay trappings that led me to be disturbed. If someone was no longer gay, would they have to change themselves, their personality? We collect our sexuality around us like with songs and clothes and parties and friends. The "gay" lifestyle, if you will.

Were those trappings so incidental? So disposable?

Yes.

And that was a scary thought because I thought of those things as more important than they are.

I don't need a badge to be me.

And I certainly don't need a label.

Now that I am happily myself; now that I am comfortable that the different aspects of my life are not draped around me as identifying marks of my sex life, I am comfortable that I would still be me even if I fell for a woman. And being comfortable in that makes me comfortably trust that anyone else could do the same.

I got all that from a fluffy little film. Well, I never.

B&S Quote of the Week

It seems I am going to have to start a weekly post documenting my favourite line from the week's episode of Brothers And Sisters. This week's:

Cute Soldier Man: Life on the base is pretty much 24-7 sausage-fest.
Kevin: Sounds pretty... horrible, that, that sounds pretty horrible.

Tags: television, gay

Meredith Previews

So, Meredith Music Festival is a mere two weeks away.

To whet your appetites, here are some of the bands I'm looking forward to.



Yummy!


Tags: music, Meredith, video

Upcoming: Snow Patrol

I've been out of commission for these past few days. I'm okay... just listless.

The unemployment/career redirection thing is starting to get to me. Don't worry, I'll get on top of it soon.

In less dreary news, I got some tickets to the Snow Patrol gig in a couple of months. Andrew's friends tipped me off to the pre-sale gig over at the band's official website so I managed to pick up some excellent standing room of my very own. In Festival Hall, which is more than I can presumably say for many Melbournians, who may now be sporting tickets to the Sydney show due to a mix up with the links.

I did email the site to warn them but they obviously didn't get it in time. A circular came around today from Ticketmaster urging all to check their venues. All this confusion for a few lines of code.

Aaaanyway, you can see the gig has popped up in my Upcoming.org box to your left. It was a really useful tool in London to source gigs and the like but over here nobody seems to use it. Get there now, gig up and present. Join the cyber-party.

That is all. We will now return you to normal programming.

Tags: gigs, social, community

Diary: Travel Fallout

More from the decade-old diary, this entry is from my final year in the desert, just after returning from my first trip to the U.K., Ireland and France

8 February 1999
It seems it is the way to go, to begin writing again at the start of the year. Maybe it has to do with the thought of starting again and so one becomes reflective to learn from one’s mistakes. Of course I am always reflective, though I cannot say that I always learn from my mistakes.

I suppose the main reason that I am writing this is that Tuesdee pissed me off again today, or she was pissed of with me, it is all the same nowadays. I don’t know what to do about it all now. I would like to keep on seeing her but she makes it so difficult to enjoy being around her because she spends her time venting her resentment of my actions or revelling in the things that she has managed to scream at me when she was drunk (what a night that was, I am surprised I didn’t hit the diary sooner). Unfortunately I am beyond caring about what happened because she blames me totally for everything that happened and I see it more as a two sided affair, though when I try to discuss this with her she manages to only hear the times I blame her (either I am still too forceful with my reason or Tuesdee really does only hear what she wants to- in many situations). On top of this she has gave me clear indications in Ireland that she didn’t want me to talk with her about her life (even though she pleaded with me to tell her how I saw her) and I assume that includes the effect I have had on it. So at this point in time I tend not to speak to her at all because whenever I say anything beginning with ‘Why...’ she gets pissed off, I suppose I am supposed to keep purely to the weather and peoples’ health.

As you have probably guessed, and you have no need to because you already know, this all blew up on the trip through Europe, which, by the way was fantastic. It just got to the point that I didn’t want to speak to her and she, I think, didn’t want to speak to me. When it boils down to it we really are not compatible people, she is too much like I used to be and I find that infuriating because she won’t try to change. Yes, I know that that is pure unadulterated arrogance on my part but it hurts me to see her so desperately unhappy and then to absolutely refuse to change when she has admitted herself that it is the only way she will ever be happier. And then she constantly brings up all the hardships from her past which she claims to have survived even though they are so clearly still pressing on her, she is not one to let go of misfortune, instead she clings to it like a safety blanket.

Well, enough about that, anyone would think that I am hung up on her (hmmmm?) and if last year is anything to go by I will be getting back to not writing about her in no time at all. Instead I would like to discuss my trip to England and the surrounding countries, a fair tale that encompasses many of the loose ends that have been hanging from different sections of this electronic tapestry namely, Jo Reilly, solitary travel, oh and of course sex (oh and I can’t forget to describe this years teachers because I get such a laugh out of last years descriptions).

Well, like I said the trip was fantastic (excepting of course all the arguments with Tuesdee). I really couldn’t go into all the details but I adored Paris and all the confusing streets, street names and language barriers. As I look back I have the fondest memories of my trip in Paris and all the guys in the hostel. Met up with Pete and Mel there and saw so many famous art works and buildings. Highlights... Notre Dame at two in the morning on New Year’s day... the statue in the Musee d’Orsay... open air ice-skating and losing my boots behind the counter... staying up drinking red wine in the street...

Went to Stratford-upon-Avon and saw three shows, they were fantastic and the town was absolutely lovely. Stonehenge was cool, strangely mystical despite the touristy feel. Patch-work Dublin and Liz and Michele. Saint Paul’s at night. Running into Jake in all sorts of bizarre places. The Seurat in the National Gallery. The copy of David in the V and A, and the one on Ross’ fridge. Taking the piss out of British television. Taking the piss out of British television programmers. Taking the piss out of Americans. Pannini from that little deli in Republique. Gay clubs that play decent music. The Underground and Le Metro. Buying a porn mag in a Leeds newsagent.

Travelling alone is just so cool, you do actually meet a heap of people and don’t have to spend time alone unless you want to, and a lot of the time I ended up wanting to. Time alone by myself running through city streets at midnight. Expensive meals in Leicester Square... where I met up with Jo and ended up telling her that I was gay it is raining again and I have once more realised how much I will miss this place at the end of this year, the wet thunderstorms and Gershwin... she was really cool with it, I actually felt really comfortable with her from the very first moment we met in London, I connect with her somehow.

Which of course leads me to Ross and that whole mess. Well it wasn’t so much a mess because I tried my hardest to avoid him but that is also why it is a mess. I am surprisingly settled about the whole deal now but I remember a few days around Saint Paul’s feeling alternately joyous and woeful (yet always so very pleased that I could feel such emotions). Of course this all sprung from the fact that with Ross I totally enjoyed sex for the very first time. I adored laying on his chest all night and sucking his cock in the darkness of the morning, I could happily have lay in his arms for hours. Reality of course tells me that I am living so far away and that he uses too many drugs and that I really know nothing about him but all in all I didn’t want to leave his arms. I suppose it is good that I didn’t get too attached and there is always the chance that we will meet when I get to London next year...

Sorry, I will have to write about the teachers later as it is far too late at the moment and I am running low on batteries.

Previous diary entries:
I Wanna Play
Confessions of an Amateur Melodramatist
Before I Sleep a.k.a. Diary Drowsiness
Goodbye 1996!!!
Back To The Bush
How Time Flies
End Of An Era
Kissy Kissy
Diary Tonic
Diary: Losing My Religion Virginity
Diary: May Burst

Tags: diary, coming out, gay

Vamos (en directo)

The Johnstone Street Fiesta this year was, like last year and the year before, a gauntlet of stalls selling empanadas, paella, choripans and South American handicrafts. I have no idea why, even though I know that every year it is exactly the same, I am surprise at how lo-fi the whole affair is, nor why I am not as disappointed as I probably should be. Truth be told, I love it. The pedestrians, the smoke and the music.

And what music they had this year!

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Vamos

Andrew and Michael are twins to the end and this makes them truly unique individuals. As a performance duo they leave their audience breathless with anticipation as to what’s coming up next. These guys are full of surprises. Not only are they trained artists but they are experienced quality singers, song writers and out front performers with such heat that you can’t help but feel a little singed by the experience.

For more hyperbole and a litany of snippy remarks about former band members, check out their biography.

And now, feast your souls on the wonderful gaiety that is, Vamos



Words fail me... These guys are as fantastic as they are deluded. Watching them is like watching an Australian Idol hopeful ripping a band-aid off. The best thing is, they have improved. You can check out where they have come from by watching them being watched by a bemused crowd at a backyard barbecue, which apparently constitutes their "showreel".

I shouldn't mock. I am sure with a decent producer and someone who is deft at twiddling knobs on a mixing deck, the boys could take it to the best of them. Let's hope for the best, for all our sakes.

Tags: music, funny, gay

Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Amen!

Thank Sweet Baby Lord Jeebus, the Catholic church in America has finally admitted that homogaysexuality is not a choice and that homosexualists should not be turned away from the church...

...as long as they don't act on their homogay urges or tell anyone but their closest friends and family that they have them.

So near, yet so far.

All those free thinking bishops obviously invented a time machine and held talks with the US military circa 1995.

Bless!

Thanks to Reuters, via Towelroad

Tags: religion, church, gay

Tom Foolery @ The Arts Centre Playhouse

I have to say that the opening of the MTC's new Tom Lehrer musical revue, Tom Foolery was notable not for "red hot" Rhonda Burchmore's performance, or that of Jerry Connelly, rather the most persistent memory from the evening is the moaning of the patrons about the appalling quality of the MTC's productions. To be fair, not everyone was complaining, everyone over 55 seemed delighted.

The show itself is a witty collection of Lehrer's oeuvre strung together with witticisms of Lehrer's utterings from his live performances. Perhaps because it was devised by theatrical behemoth Cameron Mackintosh, or perhaps because aforementioned MOR production values of the MTC but the whole affair seemed a little overblown.

Thank god for Tom's songs, the managed to shine through all the sequins, feathers and affectations. The sixties were a tumultuous time and Lehrer manages to satirise the morays of the era in a way that still edges towards the risqué today. The ditties still feel relevant despite the fact that we were hearing them in a theatre full of conservatively dressed middle-aged men and women but by the end of it all I could think is that everyone seemed to be missing the point. I am sure Lehrer is turning in his, um, armchair.

This production, give it a miss. The show, try to catch it with just four players and a piano in some community hall.

Tags: theatre, review, MTC

Someone Wasn't "Saved By The Bell"

WARNING: Do not click on anything in this post in an place where you are not at liberty to clutch your hands to your eyes and scream, "WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDRENNNNNN!!!!!"

Click for more than you wanted to know!
First Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, now this!

It seems like my childhood is being taken over by porn.

Dubious thanks to DudeTube for this one.

Tags: television, porn

Posts Updated With Pretty Pictures

You may remember that I promised you some updates to the posts detailing our tourist frenzy through Victoria last week. Well, Lorraine uploaded her photos the other day so you can now go back and enjoy the pixelated delights of Phillip Island and The Great Ocean Road.

For more viewing pleasure, you can check out the whole collection of touristy shots and the augmented Melbourne Cup album.

Tags: photos, Melbourne

City Smackdown: Melbourne vs.Brighton

Well, you can't see Cat Power at the Royal Pavilion.

Actually, you can't see Cat Power anywhere seeing as she always ends up crying and leaving the stage.

Tags: photos, pavilion, forum

My Excuse

This is my excuse for not showing up at the 2nd Melbourne Bloggers' Meet.



Of course, there is also the fact that I forgot until Richard rang me, and by then we were already enjoying the sand and the sea.

Next time.

Tags: Melbourne, blogging, beach

Job Search 2006

I think I have made it abundantly clear here that I am after a new profession. Years of living in the otherworldliness of the education system have taken their toll and I am desirous to make the break.

Months of peering at Internet job searches have dampened my enthusiasm for the usual routes, so yesterday I took a leaf out of a curly-haired friend's book and visited a vocational psychologist. It was a refreshing experience and a good place to focus my thoughts amid the cloud of confusion that has been obscured my future vocational path.

It was a relatively brief discussion as most of the time was taken up dealing with the Amsterdam situation. After she gave me the a clean bill of mental health there we got down to it. It was pretty much what I had been expecting (What would you do if I said you could do anything tomorrow?) but it was helpful talking to someone who wasn't at all invested in the situation, plus there were a few interesting insights she threw into the bargain.

In the end she set me up with the Strongman Interest Survey, which I have completed and sent off to the big computers for analysis. The profile that it will spit out is wracked up against the extensive data bank of profiles of workers who are satisfied and happy in their jobs. I am actually quite interested in the outcome.

Even before the results come back I am finding it to be a settling and satisfying process, given that I have just finished with Daniel Gilbert's Stumbling On Happiness. Donald recommended I read the book a couple of months ago and ended up graciously leaving me with his copy. Gilbert is quite adamant that his work is not a self help book. Indeed, it is not until the conclusion of the book that he gives anything resembling forthright advice. His one recommendation: If you want to be happy, listen to other people who are living in your projected existence and follow their advice.

Seems like a good course of action if you ask me. Certainly better than sitting here wondering what the fuck I am going to do with my life.

Tags: job search, psychologist

Tourist Trap #4: The Melbourne Cup

Steve, Me, Andrew, Edel and Lorraine (awake) at Flemington
Tired, driven-out, penguined-out, viewed-out, even We Can Be Heroesed-out, we arrived at Flemington for the Emirates Melbourne Cup.

Trash abounding! And we ended up right in the centre of it!

Before we begin, I have to uphold a solemnly made promise to Sam; here is your tan line in all its glory:



The rest of the day went something like this:



We ended up at Bear Brass, looking over at the obscene queue at P.J. Obriens. It seems that fully half of Ireland emptied into Melbourne for the Cup. We moved on to The European, after being refused entry to an Irish pub (go figure) and at around 2:30am we looked at our watches to discover it was actually 10:30pm. Tourism had taken its toll.

Food, home, bed, wake, breakfast, shop, chill out on Brunswick Street (a truly Melbourne experience). The end.

Tags: Melbourne, Melbourne Cup, races

Tourist Trap #3: The Great Ocean Road

So there is not much to say here, except that Andrew (a.k.a. He Who We Can Now Saw Good Things About) is a driving machine.

I'm leaving this post in here as a place holder for when I manage to source the photos from the other cameras that were there on the day.

Et puis vous voila!


We didn't make it all the way to the Twelve Apostles (of which there are only something like two left) but it was a beautiful drive nonetheless. We saw Bells Beach, or something closely approximating it, and some fantastic scenery. The road was winding and the weather was windy. It makes for pretty pictures but slow driving.

After lunch we headed back home through the rainforest and Geelong (which is prettier?).

Home, food, pick up clothes (and camera charger), drop of car, food, bed, wake, food, Melbourne Cup... Anyone tired yet? I know we were!

Tags: Melbourne, tourist, Great Ocean Road

Tourist Trap #2: Phillip Island

So, Sunday came around. Hung over, camera dead, no clean clothes... Let's go to Phillip Island.

Ingenious!

Actually, apart from our collective desire to see the penguin parade, the whole trip doubled as a disincentive for Andrew's friend Lorraine to fly to Kangaroo Island. As the brochure at the hire car store implied, Phillip Island is like Kangaroo Island but with a Formula 1 track. And it was.

We ended up seeing a kangaroo and a blustery beach. It was good to see the beach again after all this time but I (and my newly sand-blown skin) would have preferred some more amiable weather.

Somewhat misguidedly, I assumed that going to see the penguins would involve sitting down on the beach and creeping up on the little devils. I expected a solitary, quiet evening. When we booked our tickets they told us that the previous evening had seen 2000 punters walk through the door; quiet and solitary? Not in the slightest.

After walking out of the information centre and along the boardwalk you are greeted with grandstands, floodlights and marshals, cleverly disguised as rangers. After a brief and uninformative preamble in three or four languages you get to sit in the biting wind waiting to see rolly polly penguins make a dash for the dunes. In all honesty, they are cute as hell, but the grandstand is a little too distant from the action. The real action starts in the dunes.

As you muscle back through the crowds to the information centre you get to see the penguins in their burrows taking tea and chatting to their pals. We were lucky enough to attend the parade during mating season, or something along those lines, so we had been promised some courtship action and maybe a bit of territorial biffo. I was half expecting to see a gang of penguins roaming the dunes with machetes but it didn't happen.

Then, as we approached the exit, just when we thought our money had been wasted, we hit a cordon. Some penguins were crossing the bitumen walkway. Aw, cute, hurry the fuck up! It was then that we saw it. Two penguins doing the nasty thang. It astounds me how watching animals going at it can still reduce a crowd of grown adults into tittering schoolgirls. Oh, the innuendo. My favourite was a father, pissing himself laughing as he told his young daughter that they were playing leapfrog.

Good times!

Drive, home, bed, food, Great Ocean Road...

More photos to come, it is just that I have to scab them from the others because my camera was dry.

Okay, not too many more, but I did manage to find this one with the cute sign...

They do insist in removing all the fun, don't they!

Tags: melbourne, tourist, penguins

Tourist Trap #1: The Rialto

So, did you miss me? I'm still here. Just been away from my computer, trapping some lovely Irish tourists in the best that Melbourne has to offer. It has been a smashing long, long weekend, filled with lashings of ginger beer. Actually, there wasn't all that much ginger in the beer, it was just lashings of beer.

The best thing about showing visitors around your city is that you get to see things you've never bothered to look at yourself.

First stop was The Rialto, ex-tallest building in Melbourne, which affords stunning views of the Eureka Tower, the now tallest building in Melbourne, along with lots of other Melbourney views.

Mmmm, views...




For dessert we saw some more views from above, which someone had left scattered along the banks of the Yarra.

Home, food, St Jerome's, Cookie (don't go there, they're rascist), The Lounge, food, home, bed, wake up, food, Phillip Island...

Tags: melbourne, tourist, Rialto

La Clique @ The Spiegeltent

Oh my Lordy!

My last visit to the Spiegeltent (now at home in the Arts Centre forecourt) was to see Art of Fighting's etheral performance around this time two years ago, or was it last year? It is a fantastic venue and I have always been keen to get my arse back inside it. Saturday night, thanks to a benevolent friend, I got my chance.

I am sure you have heard everyone rave about La Clique. Part burlesque, part circus, all raunch. Well, it is all well and truely true.

I won't say too much because you owe it to yourself to see it with your own eyes. Let's just say, a few members of our party were going home early to finish what the show had started. It is that sexy. And it is funny too. And sexy. It has more OMG moments per hour than Cirque du Soleil, hence Kel's re-christening of the show... Cirque de la Gay.

Go!

Tags: circus, theatre, spiegeltent

Why you no update?

Hi y'all,

It is going to be a busy few days. Friends catching up, theatre, moving house, Melbourne Cup and possibly even a drive down the Great Ocean Road. Updates are going few and far between. On the upside, I am sure there will be many a pretty snapshot.

I'm out in Ascot Vale now, the edge of the 'burbs. If you want to be snooty, you can call it Travencore. It's a bit like that. It may be further out but that is a good thing. It means I need to use my trusty bicycle to get around. More bike = less gut. Good.

Speak soon.

Wildside Timewarp

Recently, when we were all waxing lyrical about Alex Dimitriades' turn in Head On a commenter commented commentedly about Wildside, which I still hold to be one of the most perfectly written, acted and photographed television series ever filmed. In reply, I mentioned that if it were ever released on dvd, I'd be the first to buy it. Then, in an effort spell her name right when I praised her excellent performance in the show, I did a search for "Mary Coustas Wildside" only to find that it HAD been released on dvd late last year, albeit unceremoniously.

True to my word, I rushed down to JB HiFi and purchased a copy. It turns out it is only the first three episodes (ridiculously priced at AU$40) but hell it was a trip watching it again. Masterful.

It brought back memories of moments watching the show when I'd be sitting up, almost grabbing the television, with tears streaming down my face. I can name few shows that managed to draw such finely human characters, all flawed, all tortured by their world, and yet all so incredibly endearing. Painfully endearing.

Of course, the dvd never got as far as Alex or Mary but the (almost) self-contained story of Bill's return to Sydney to find his son, who he suspects has fallen victim to a pedophile ring is superb, especially in the light of what was to come. Just the setup, the interplay between the police and the crisis centre, put Wildside in the unique position to be able to be "hard line" and "bleeding heart" on almost every prevailing social issue of the time.

On viewing it now, I was amazed to see two of our up and coming actresses (Abbie Cornish and Rose Byrne) had roles.

Back in the day, I was astounded to learn that Racheal Blake, who I thought was about 30 or 35, was only 25 (imdb can't confirm that but I have it on good authority from my ex boss' sister who worked on the set and who also claimed that Alex was gay and found it hard during the kissing scenes, take from that what you will). Wildside had a power to transform the ages of its cast. Just check out these shots (keep in mind that it is hard to get a clear snapshot because the camera work was so "handheld", as was the fashion).


I mean, Abbie convincingly played a teenager, eight years later, in Somersault (a must see film, sorry Ange) and Rose, although I think she looks younger than Abbie here, is was playing Brad's priestess of lurve, in Troy.

Freaky... or is it just me?

Tags: television, Australia

Brothers and Sistrrrs

While others are going ga ga over Heroes and the latest season of Battlestar Galactica (SPOILERS, AARRGH!!!) I have been experiencing an uncharacteristic lull in my television viewing habits, most probably due to [insert oblique Irishman reference here].

One show has managed to hook me though, ABC newbie, Brothers and Sisters.

I've already blathered on about how it stars Rachel and Sally and almost the entire cast of Alias, what I haven't said is how relentlessly sentimental it is. I love it. I don't know how but it manages to have me in tears despite its preposterously well-worn storylines.

Getting on my soapbox though, I have to say that Brothers and Sisters has one of the single most realistic portrayals of a gay relationship I have seen on the box. And when I say this, I am including both editions of QAF. I think what marks it apart is how interwoven the gay characters are into the fabric of the family. Yes, they are as cheesy as the rest of the bunch but there is a natural flow, something rings true about how they interact.

It is difficult to put a finger on exactly what they have done right here. There are some wonderful television shows where the main character is gay but there is no issue made of it and there are some wonderful shows where one of the ensemble characters is gay and everything is made of it (issues, issues, issues). I think where Brothers and Sisters succeeds is that there is the perfect level of issue taken with the homo-gaiety, about the same amount of issue that comes up in my everyday life.

And it is sweet. I love the exchange:

-"How did you get so cute?"
-"I was born this way, what's your excuse?"

In any respect it is a step up. I don't know if I would call it brave as much as I would call it refreshing. And damn watchable.

Tags: television, gay, queer

"I'd like to thank Sweet Baby Lord Jesus..."

Whilst ambling through my site meter just now, I noticed a good many hits from this address. Bewitched, bothered and bewildered I surfed on through and found this:


I'm perplexed and well, honoured, I suppose. I know a few friends who read NNM but the aforementioned site meter barely averages 70 visitors a day.

Of course, you could vote for me here, but in all honesty, I really don't know what I would do with the prizes that are up for grabs. If the winner won a job in the industry of their choice, I'd be hitting the streets in a placard, kissing babies and anyone else who'd be interested, but as it stands, I'm sure one of the other worthy nominees' penises would have more fun with the prizes. Still, it is nice to see your name up in pixels.

I'd recommend voting for R*YAN, I've met him and he's really sweet. Or better yet (or at the same time), vote for Q+A at the Rainbow Awards, SBLJ knows it's been around long enough and I'm sure some of you have gotten laid after a night out there. It is only polite.

Seeing as I'm not going to win, I thought I'd make an acceptance speech for the nomination.

"Thank you to whoever nominated me, you rock. And thanks to Queerclick, for being queer and clickable. Thanks to my Mum and Dad, who never really talk about anything queer, but who are also kind of clickable. Thanks to all my friends, without whom I would never have started this blog. Thanks to Gwyneth Paltrow for stealing the Oscar off our Cate... Thanks to both my readers for their foolish dedication. And finally, I'd like to thank Sweet Baby Lord Jesus for making all this possible, especially the second crusade (my favourite crusade) and the Catholic church... *music swells*

Tags: gaybloggies, well-deserved fame, purleese

The Craw: A Timely Update

You may remember a few months back that my manky hand was christened "The Craw" in honour of its new-found crawness.

Well, it no longer looks much like it did back then, it looks quite a bit more handish. Actually, works a lot more handily too.

See!

So I suppose the time of "The Craw" is over.

Of course, it is not all smooth grappling. My grip is still terribly weak and I cannot make a full fist. Yes, it's true, my hand still forms a perfect finger sign in full tense mode but there have been gains, which is encouraging.

Kate now says she doesn't have to see me each week and my next appointment with hand therapy is in a month. So, a month till my next hand therapy gig and two months till I see the hand surgeon again. While I was walking home, I felt positively normal.

Now I just need a job. I have an appointment with a careers psychologist next week and an appointment with some Job Centre setup this afternoon, so it's all systems go on that score.

Roots seem to be burrowing steadily into Melbourne earth.

Tags: recovery, injury, photos