Tutto che voglio

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

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

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!

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

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!

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

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

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

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…

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…