15.09.2008 - Don't Pain on My Parade

And the Olympics aren't really over yet - a month since it ended we're still celebrating Australia's athletes. That and the endless reports of scandals and shenanigans of the Olympians, who slept with whom?! Who pashed whom?!

Who cares?

It's like finding out your parents have sex. Honestly, these people must be under so much pressure to be mega-role models. And just because they're paid to be on cereal boxes and to take their kit off for underpants commercials! How do we repay them? In Sydney - by making them trawl across one end of town to another with forced smiles in emoticon-yellow sports jackets while crappy ticker tape is dispensed from a moving pickup, sandwiched between amateur marching bands and in a bizarre moment - some high-heeled pink costumed trannies. I think they got it wrong, Gay Mardi Gras is in March he-ladies!

These guys deserve their day in the sun sure, but all this fanfare about their non-sporting lives overshadows their patriotic athleticism and drive. I would rather celebrate their passion to push the human form to extremes through discipline and respect for organised sport.

Unless of course, there's a video of those Olympic backstage-locker/steam room post-Game events that's circulating around the internet, then I'll start to care. And only then if it's the Men's Polo team(s). Or those crazy Russian/German/Chinese/American gymnasts that I had the patience to watch. Or those taut divers? Or maybe all of them together?

Now that's an Olympic dream.

The Hit: (Download) Don't Rain On My Parade - Latoya London (American Idol - live) (now thaz gay)

Palin vs Clinton

This is one of the B-E-S-T parodies I have EVER witnessed.

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are WOW.

14.09.08 - Kitchen Confidential

I find solace in a warm kitchen. This is the way it's always been - it explains why I was a chubby kid, but also the reason why when I need to pour any creativity out of my system - the spatula comes out and I bake. I think of my sis when I bake, if not her - my nanny who taught me how to stir fry when I was 9 and makes a mean roast ginger chicken.

Actually, it's a winter revival - how wonderful that the seasons drive a hobby. In the summer our default activity is "beach". I think in the winter, while we pile on the pounds - the chef inside peek-a-boos a little.

This is my "Everything But the Kitchen Sink" Cookies - a recipe modified from this one. Except I swapped out toffee for pecans (too sweet otherwise), and then dissed cherries for cranberries, since I can't find them here.

Here's what they look like.

13.09.08 - The First Redleaf of The Season

Back to my favorite harbour beach, the first warm day of spring worthy enough of lolling around in the sun. Only four months had passed, my my, it felt like a long time.

We planned this day mid-week; right after we voted for the city elections and a big breakfast. We got there the earliest we'd ever been, still a little fluey but eager to get in on the sun action. It was almost empty apart from two families with young children running around in the sand and an old lady who looked like she'd been baking in the sun non-stop, she wore nothing but a visor and a bikini bottom, her sagging bosom shriveled reaching down to her belly button - imagine Cameron Diaz' neighbor from Something About Mary who owned the pooch. Hello, The First Titties of Spring.

Thankfully, as the sun-seekers crowded in, mostly from the surrounding gay-borhoods, The First Six Packs of Spring appeared. Then the First Ass-Floss Bikinis of Spring. I wonder how these people exist - taut and already tan, progressive in their perpetual summer looks through solid gym routines and spray tans year round. I'm more old-school this way, ha.

When we left it was starting to cool again, some wild wind chilling our backs. We got enough: a burnt nose and a strong tan line. Summer here we come.

The Hit: (Download) Another Spring - Nina Simone

12.09.08 - Burgers by the Burgerman

Or as it were, by the BurgerWomen. Because every time we walk in to the Burgerman in Darlinghurst, typically after some boozing somewhere - we are served delicious stacks of gourmet burgers by the friendliest butch lesbianese that you'll ever find.

Tonight was really no different. Except since Darlinghurst is the centre of the gay Sydney universe, my friend I found ourselves rushing our exits as we spotted ex-trade milling about in other tables - there is just no decorum for that really. Waving, or even polite hellos is just taboo when you're hands are too full heaving burgers in to your eager pie-hole.

And in case you're wondering - this burger is the Vegetarian Not-Vegetarian = fried eggplant, roasted sweet potato and capsicum, beetroot, garlic/basil mayo, lettuce and tomato (that's the usual Vegetarian), slapped with a burger patty and tasty cheese. Yum.

11.09.08 - Message in a Coffee Cup

A smile begets a smile, simple right? More than hearts or leaves, my emoticoffeecon was weirdly work-related. Thanks to the barista I rarely see because she works weird shifts, she added some happy to my froth, perfect I suppose for a mid-afternoon slump. By far, she is the hottest momma to have poured me a cup. She's Latina, got a killer afro sheen, rack and booty. And yo she's not afraid to work it.

I want to hag her so bad.

I have a bizarre infatuation for my baristas, my morning guy George is full of Greek-cool. He's married with two kids, but man I think he's fine. Another dude who recently left Sydney, had huge blue eyes, blonde and had that surfer careless machismo you just want to take him home and shower in milk. Ow, what was I saying?

Oh yeah. I think more than anything it's the anticipation, the need for your fix and the Pavlovian association of the medium serving your vice. I imagine it's the same for any other addiction, I wonder if smokers ever have crushes on their tabaqueiros.

The Hit: (Download) (You Caught Me) Smilin' - Sly and the Family Stone

10.09.08 - Ah-Choo

Thank you faux-spring, you've fooled me once again. Around this time every year when the temperatures move a little higher up the teens, we don our gay apparel by shedding fleece layers and leather jackets in exchange for skimpy cotton and linen outfits still unripe for the season. You're a true Sydney-sider when you brave the beach even if the chill wind of winter still blows.

"It's crisp", a friend said - heading to dinner in just a t-shirt. As much as winter weight keeps us warm in this transition period, our blubber doesn't work like other animals - bears in particular. He got sick the next day, fool.

As for me, a wind breaker clearly didn't keep me as warm as it should have ("It's from Uniqlo", I reasoned, "no one else has it here!"). I wanted so much to celebrate Spring fashion (Fashion Week in NY and "30 days of fashion" in Sydney) in brighter, lighter gear it all back fired when hay fever and a bad cold struck me down causing self-pity, puffy eyes and multiple layers of thick clothes, just when more faux-Spring weather came around - I didn't even dress this warm in winter. Urgh. I feel like a marshmallow man.

The Hit: (Listen): Night Fever - The Bee Gees

09.09.08 - Apartment #26

Apartment number 26 has been listed for sale. The local real estate agent's snail mail proudly pimped its "district views", "secure block" and "close location to cafes, transport and amenities". Hey you don't have to tell me, I live in the building - and on the same floor. Except I enjoy street views and in the winter time when the tree outside my window is bare - views of Rushcutters Bay. Or in realtor-speak, "water glimpses".

I know the apartment, or at least its former tenants. They were a rascally bunch - two women and a man - three siblings (?) maybe in their mid-to-late-4os, living in a 36 sq m studio apartment. While we exchange curt smiles in the confined space of the elevator, I don't think I would be as polite when I'd spot one of them in Kings Cross huddled under one of the bare trees. Or the other in a wig, fishnet stockings and a mid-riff top. Or on one occasion, the two women were screaming at each other from across Darlinghurst Rd. So I figure, without judging people by their appearances - that they comprised of a pimp, a drug dealer and a crack whore. I wonder which of them earned the most.

One weekend, I saw clothes, sundries, crap and a beat up microwave all in the hall, spilling out of their apartment - as if someone took a shovel and pushed everything out of the apartment. I figured they moved out. Or was kicked out. (They were.)

The Hit: (Watch) Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves - Cher

08.09.09 - The Return of Brenda and Kelly

While everyone fussed about the MTV VMAs, Gen-X never felt older until last night's resurrection of the Peach Pit and (most of?) its patrons on TV via the new 90210 series simultaneously reviving Brenda's fringe, West Beverly High Cali-cool and the longevity of Aaron Spelling's evergreen handle on cheese.

Rather than start clean, the Kansas to Cali storyline milks every last drop of The Beverly Hillbillies with a more modern day Clampett Walsh clan clambering over Rodeo's super-social-set. This dramedy now runs separate plot lines for the paternals, AND grand-paternals (thank you for picking up Jessica Walter from the hell of Arrested Development's under-development). They're of course rolling with this to bizarrely integrate the original 90210 cast (who are all now related to each other) work in the plotlines. Clever, kind of.

Thankfully, double duties and screen time goes to paterfamilis and school principal played by Rob Estes (Melrose Place and uuuh, Silk Stalkings if you can remember that) and boy does Daddy age well, woof is he hot!

The only downside to all of this is that we're not only watching a large set of teen students, we're watching the lives of their teachers and their parents (or as it were parent-cum-principal) unfold in cringe-lite dialogue and sassy other-worldly opulence. One that only the true Gossip Girl set can appreciate (or relate to).

Now if only Hobie from BayWatch got his own show back, I bet he's hot. Oh wait - he already did make a cum-back. Well, kinda. But he's not as hot as I thought.

07.09.08 - Big Poppa

My dad is somewhere in California. The last time I spoke to him he said he was "maybe leaving for the States", I find out the next day he did fly over there. I haven't spoken to him since. But, it's Father's Day in Australia - the US and the Philippines celebrate it around June - so really, there's no need to worry about gifts or greetings - the latter being the only thing he's received for such an occasion since I lived here - which really points to his non-materialism rather than my stinginess.

He's wise my Pop. And ever so sunny when I talk to him.

06.09.08 - Fag Hag

I thought of you when I saw this.

A few "you"'s actually: sister, cousin, friend, mother, Aunt, stranger on YouTube, neighbor, colleague, ex-colleague.

I'm glad you can hag for me with no hesitation. Or taking all that out, just for being a friend. Thanks.

This was apropos to a Saturday night when a friend and I had been eagerly recruiting for a hag when the one we had left us. Because really, we could use you if either of us picked up so no one would ever be alone. Later that evening after drinking GTs at home, we played pool while drinking what tasted like Cosmos from plastic cups and "Groove Is In the Heart" was playing. Classss.

Oh and just so it's known. Neither of us picked up.

05.09.08 - Trapped Inside an Emotionless Emoticon

This is the most emotionless emoticon I've seen.

And so trapped inside it, what else would you do when the only visible parts of you are your hands? Yeah, I knew you were thinking what I was.

This is my place of work. We were packing that day to move two floors up to "improve corporate communication" with our fellow emotionless co-horts who we would be pod-ed with so that we can more easily harass each others' personal space for the sake of not-getting-more-work-done. Or if all goes well, as planned by our crafty Human Resources Department - we would be "one" in the spirit of professional culture advancement, a step closer to office Utopia, by submitting to the false pretenses of forced polite workplace togetherness in back-patting, self-congratulations, hurried verbal masturbation and sweaty boardroom Powerpoint orgies.

Or as a colleague said it "it's a workplace circle jerk". This slight cynicism combined with sharp observation earns her r-e-s-p-e-c-t.

04.09.08 - #1 on the Sides, #4 Car

A summer look in early spring. I almost got a head cold because of the false-Spring that half-sprung early in the month, happens every year yet I never learn. Now half my head is cold, dang. I'm glad I got myself freshened up - half the fun was sitting in a chair catching up with my trusted hair stylist who we worked out I'd been seeing for 5 years. That's about half the time I've lived in this city and almost twice as long as any boyfriend I've had.

Is it weird to think of her as part of the "network" that make up the familiarity of Sydney for me? Mind you, hair in itself is SO personal, it grows out of you - so you better be damn sure someone treats it right. I know someone who would drive an hour to have hers done - and yo, I relate.

03.09.08 - Ken's At Kensington

Two doors down from Peter's of Kensington is the discreet Ken's At Kensington.

But let me say it now: I did not go in. (It's a gay bathhouse.)

In fact, I just passed it on the way home from my accountant on a sick day that found me cabbing it for comfort food at Ayam Goreng 99 in Kingsford. My timing was off and instead of the no-nonsense public transport I came to expect (sarcasm, please), the nearby girls schools unleashed giddy, screaming pre-pubescent young lasses volleying for a bus position on their respective ways home to gab about their schoolyard crushes while listening to the Jonas Brothers (because Joe is SOOO hawt! OMG!). So I walked instead, and as if leading me directly away from the Inner East's Sodom (so I hear) - the bus stop closest to it was going my way and had space for just another.

Needless to say I know where it is now, in case I ever - I hope I never - have to get there.

02.09.08 - Wonderful Chicken

Waiting for a friend before seeing Hellboy, I killed time by checking out the mega-massive Asian supermarche called "Maxim" at the basement of the Lumiere Apartments on George St. This thing was massive, and just as Town Hall seems to transition the city from CBD to Chinatown - Maxim sat solidly in the middle - a mod, minimal open plan market stuffed solid with Oriental delicacies - and by that I mean Gyoza flavored potato chips, Milky Soy Green Tea, and any Asian kid's childhood staple Yan Yan.

01.09.08 - Back to the Apple Isle

Barely has Miss Em settled back to her home that I've already planned to invade her little island down under Down Under.

This time I'm off with another friend. Unbeknown to us - we planned it the weekend that this Bacchanalian feast hits Hobart, so curtly called the The Hobart Beer Festival

Says it all don't it.

Prepare for me Hobart.

One Less Egg to Fry

My person is leaving.

Actually, two of them - as I found out last night that another friend is moving to his hometown. The first, back to hers. It's an Exodus from Sydney-town it seems, or my life. Two persons leaving.

Grammatically, I should say "my people" are leaving, but that makes me sound like Moses leading "his people" across the Red Sea. Or Braveheart at the charge. Or Harry leading broomsticked witches across the Thames to fight that dude with the white-hair. You know what I mean.

So they're leaving. The In-Case-Of-Missing-Keys person. The bully-you-with-honesty person. The OMG-it-is-a-bad-date-give-me-an-out phone-a-friend person. The "that's-what-friends-are-for" person. The family-you-choose person. The no-plans-let's-make-some person.

I am thankful I have these people, and even more so the ones who still party the good party (at least in my immediate locale), still in my heart and on speed-dial.

And so, as much of a tribute to them as I sit in their stable of people from a far-away land (and to those that do stay), but fortunate to participate in the bask of their effervescent glow as brightening my world albeit shortly, wallow with me a little while I turn their departure from Sydney in to MY sorrow.

I know I should be happy, but all I do is cry.

If I added any more songs, I'd hurt.

I Miss You - Bjork
Miss You - Etta James
I'm Gonna Miss You in the Morning - Luther Vandross and Patti Austin
Miss You Much - Janet Jackson
Neither One Of Us (Wants to be the first to say goodbye) - Gladys Knight and the Pips
One Less Bell to Answer - The 5th Dimension
Never Can Say Goodbye - Isaac Hayes

And as a bonus. A brilliant LIVE version of The 5th Dimension's "One Less Bell to Answer" from Soul Train.


(Passage of the Red Sea: Source)

Paris, A Baker's Dozen (#2): Visionaire/Lacoste Boat Party

Oh lord how do I even begin to discuss this one. Probably one of the B-E-S-T parties I have been to - in my life.

Imagine this - timed with a blue Eiffel Tower for its first night heading the EU (see more here), aboard the decked out Le Paquebot near Pont D'iena and with a star-studded attendance (Eva Mendes, Karl Lagerfeld, Mark Ronson) - this party was wow.



Then add to that Lady Bunny's huge personality (and wig), beats from SpankRock and oh - Santogold icing more cool cred on the Siene. She was amazing, fierce and friendly at the same time - and she brings it. She has a presence, fullstop. She sang all my favorite songs from her debut album, and she worked the crowd like anything when she sang L.E.S Artistes. HA!


Best of all - I got to hang out with one of my dearest friends (thank you JOpa) who I've known since those awkward teenage years where we both found our obsession for Madonna. Go V!
Download: Santogold and Diplo's "Top Ranking" Mixtape

Guys Don't Make Passes at Gays Who Wear Glasses

While I know others who despise wearing eyeglasses despite necessity, I secretly like wearing them. I get to hide behind them on occasion - and sometimes, they work so well I often get asked if I wear glasses when let them rest as I don contacts.

I've been wearing glasses since I was 14. My most memorable pair - my second, were thin wire frames that were roadkill once it fell from my lap as I let them defog from the cold air-conditioning of my car when I jumped out of the driver's seat to steal a poster of the first X-Files film for my cousin, if you're good - you'll know that was in 1997. The irony of charity.

Since then I've moved on to sturdier plastic - with anti-reflective, double-glazed lenses (so technical no?), fully flexing the muscles of experimental dabbling of geek chic in the early 00's.

The pair above is #4, from 2002. Nice dark brown frames boxy enough to just sit below my eyes. I've been wearing them on and off since 2002 with a short break as I experimented with other styles and contacts. I love them.

This one is #6, I got in 2006 - attempting to appear avant-garde and contradicting myself from the heavy dark frames I had been wearing, I picked up these clear glasses from D&G.


And taking a cue from D&G (and Viktor & Rolf and D-Squared) from last month's 2009 S/S shows where they sent just about every model in eye glasses (don't you love my segues?) I decided to do some upgrading on the spec-front. Say hello to #7.


First, since I couldn't find Persols to turn in to eyeglasses - and inspired by Terry Richardson's bespectacled portraits, I had Jose - the optometrist at Karishma at the Wentworth Hotel in Sydney convert tortoise shell Ray-Ban Wayfarers into specs. This feels out-there poseur style, the round frames off set my fat cheeks.

And since it was early in the morning before work - I really only intended to stop in to "just see" what stock was available - the big looming "SALE" signs calling my attention - I browsed some more and found a second pair that looks the same-same but different. Bigger glasses, boxier, and oh John Varvatos - I could wear it with the Jack Purcells he designed. And given that Jose was an affable salesman - and that I still had a why-the-hell-not attitude left over from my va-cay I returned home from the day previous. I got these too.


As a friend said, "you look like a hot Asian nerd" - I guess if anything I don't mind being a walking, talking oxymoron.

Ciao Italia: Live from Italy

Hold up, hold up, hold up - before you think I am about to start singing "Who's That Girl", or at the very least emulate the Queen as she writhes and whirls along Venetian canals singing along to "Like a Virgin" - let me just say that, no - that will not happen.

Although I can only hope that there are people out there who will certainly enjoy that, I'm not about to in my current state of mind - being offline for a week while I cruised (double entendre intended, although the "cruising" part was unoften and unsuccessful), and finally trying to catch up with myself after 3 and a bit weeks of being away from home. I am here, barely - as I just realised I have 31 hours of flying time ahead of me crossing the Atlantic tomorrow to NYC then the Pacific next weekend to get home.

I do miss home somewhat, except glad I am away this week as it will be M-A-D-ness in the wonderful walls within Emerald City as the Pope graces the "great Southern land of the Holy Spirit" (did he really mean NZ? I think dude was confused, I mean look at him - can we say car-azy?!) and with about 200K pilgrims sampling Sydney's world-renowned gay clubs and saunas, oops - I mean Sydney's great open spaces for camping and manic Kumbayah-ing. Imagine adding 5% to a population in a week, that's an Olympic-sized audience, the gay bars won't know what hit 'em.

So while the Pope visits my home, I got to do a little switcher-oo as my little journey has taken me to Roma - his home. Or should I say the seat of Roman Catholicism amid the clusterfuck of old remaining buildings dotting this fine city.
Check me looking all pious. I am repenting my evil gay ways. Although, let it be known that since I got to London three weeks ago and traveling as I did - I have never been so touched and surprised by the deep deep roots of Christianity I was subjected to as I visited Church, after museum after monastery, after grave - that I felt this huge surge of guilt about sodomism. To avoid any Circles of Dante's Hell - I just gave head instead. Wait, did I just say that? It's the nasty gin they served at a bar called Hangar earlier tonight - making me all honest. I really went to Rome to absolve sins and wash my unholiness in the many holy fountains in the city (or should that be watering holes).

And so before we get back to regular programming, sing (or writhe) along. Watch Madonna's Like a Virgin from the Confessions Tour

Paris, A Baker's Dozen (#1): The Eiffel Tower in 13 Sittings

So as not to bore anyone with a random collection of a gazillion photos of one of the most recognizable landmarks in the world - here's another baker's dozen to start off this list. I first saw the Eiffel tower as I climbed the crazy escalators of the Centre Pompidou after being in transit most of the day. It was mid-evening, but being the summer it was bright. The clouds were sparse. The setting was perfect, and to be fair - surprising, as I didn't understand that as you reach level 6 of the Beauborg you would be floored as the city's expanse is majestic - and one of its many jewels doesn't disappoint.

The following days I'd get to see it from Pont Neuf, up close, across the way from the Trocadero, behind the Arc de Triomph, from the window of the Metro and twice, for its daily encore when its lights would sparkle for 10 minutes at 11 PM.

And as for the last time I saw it - that was special too. It was the first day that France would head the EU for a year. To mark that occassion, the Eiffel Tower turned a shade of blue and found a way to put the stars it tried to reach - right on it's chest.

See all 13 "sittings" of the Tour Eifel here.

Around the World in 32 Days: A Baker's Dozen Special (Introduction)

Raph-locator: currently in Barcelona.

To prepare for the onslaught of "how-waz-its?!" from everyone back home and to really justify my wtf-woah-really good-times on a four week leave from Sydney (3 for play, 1 for work) and to somehow give context to over 3,800 photos I have somehow managed to take in just four cities in 2 weeks (8 more to go - and yes I am snap-happy) - I'm going to attempt to give order to a random list of the best of everything I love/adore/amor from this trip.

Alas, without a proper moment to fully absorb each city on my mammoth trip in situ as I move from one to the other at a hyper-pace of packing and unpacking then studying the next city in transit (I only prepare HOW to get from airport to hotel and figure the rest out - sightseeing, food, etc as I go along - smart right? ha! thankfully I have guides for each one), and with no solid internet connection - I've resolved to take a baker's dozen of the best random things I love from each one. Call it post-partum appreciation.

So why a baker's dozen? Just because. I love the concept of lists, and trying to find order and themes and whatever. Also, it's the number of people in the Last Supper which would really be an allusion to the unexpected deep dive in to Christianity I've encountered on this trip. But before you say your 'Amen's, while most everything in this trip was wholesome, not all of it is holy (so you'll have to keep coming back

I'll start randomly, although it is the one I did just leave behind, Paris.

Goodbye Diet, Hello Heartburn

Ouch. I officially threw my diet out the Iberian Air window as I went from Paris to Barcelona - demarking each departure and arrival with a BIG meal. Country Pate (entree) THEN Chicken with bleu cheese cream sauce and pommes frittes? Lunch in Paris.

In Barcelona - I opted for the most mentally-comforting lipid-reproducing stomach-expanding food of "home" - the only Filipino food in the Raval district of the Time Out Barcelona guide I picked up. I had pinakbet (stir fried quatro stagioni style veggies with pork and shrimp paste) and lechon kawali (deep fried pork) oh and garlic fried rice.

And so now, my heartburn will either give me nightmares or keep me up all night.

The American Way, Irish-style

Back at work we're doing employee peer assessments in the belief that the view of your co-workers will improve your general professional demeanor in the fulfillment of your fuller career path within the wider company.

While this might work in a utopian workplace, I thought about how this might work in real life - and I found a more apt symbolism... grocery store aisles. Well more specifically, a take on another culture's goods as represented by a large discount chain.

This week in Ireland, Lidl (think Aldi) has "USA Week!" - a special section for Americanized goods suited for a cross-Atlantic audience. And while I liked to browse "McEnnedy" products (see they even "re-Gaelic-ize" an already popular Irish name - Kennedy) - their catalogue consisted of dried cranberries (Craisins!), authentic marshmallows, and chilli mixes... this however, popped out of the aisle...

You like? Not only Hot Dogs - but canned hot dogs!

Not to say I am an expert in American culture, but if this were a workplace, I'd be bringing this up in a peer-assessment form. In a quiet Irish country town untouched by obvious global industry (a lone Subway flies that flag, imagine - no Starbucks OR MickeyD's - the closest one is an hour away. I will however be corrected since Magee's up the road provides Donegal tweed to Burberry) - the idea that Americans buy hot dogs in a can (vaccuum sealed no?) must be normal.

That being said, American industry has for decades misrepresented other cultures in their grocery aisles (and those countries that import them, case in point - the Philippines where SPAM is part of the local fare)... and yet another (my sister's favourite, she eats it with rice)...


I wonder what the Austrians think of that?

Who Knew?

The Irish country side rendered me speechless - this country really is beautiful. And contrary to the greenery we are fed in postcards and ads (see left) - I got to see the Irish coastlines and beaches, more of it than you can imagine. And damn are these beaches pretty, all they need is the sunshine (it's ok I'm talking about the weather, EVERYONE here does). Pristine sands, rolling clouds and sheep - everywhere.





Here's what I got to witness when we went down to Maghera Strand. Apparently vikings came through here in 702 (!) my god the history in these rocks and sands. The dunes went for 16 kms, there were caves to explore but high tide and the lack of will saw us stuck in the sand...

And as if we hadn't had enough of jumping (there were more - check them here) - I thought I'd try my hands on the ground, upside down... this, to more than anyone, was a shock to me. Who knew I could hand stand?

The Mac Dad will make you: Jump, Jump!

And in the case of hanging out at the majestic Rossnowlaugh after a morning of hefty Irish rain where blue skies reigned - my sister, rather than just being my sister holding a camera taking crappy tourist-y posing shots - took the situation at hand and turned in to Mac Dad.

Or Daddy Mac. Regardless, she got me... well, you get the idea, but being the older sibling - she naturally led by example...


And just because with family you're wont do to silly things, I got in to the spirit of it.


More photos are here.

As much as allusion becomes homage, let me extend my love for a 90s classic some more - and that won't be wearing my clothes on backwards - I tried it once when I was a fat 12-year old, it was uncomfortable - here's that tune that inspired my shoulda neva have sartorial faux pas, or in this case my "ebordraw".

Enjoy - Kris Kross "Jump" (D*L*I*D Remix)

No Romance Without Finance

Isn't that a nice philosophy? No money, no honey.

Wait, it's not High Class Hooking 101.

‘Cause nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’/You got to have somethin’ if you wanna be with me

As much as I want to say my momma was clever enough to have taught me that lesson early on in life - it's really just a catchy lyric from Gwen Guthrie's 1986 funk classic (more on that later). To me, it's really a simple adage in standing your ground and taking no compromises for your aspirations.

Whoa, life is too serious, love’s too mysterious/A fly girl like me needs security

Deep and meaningful right? Let me get all Oprah on your ass - you see, at some point, we realize that what we have to offer in this world, our "honey", our "romance" - is a gift. And that doesn't deserve any trade-offs. We deserve exactly what we put out. Now let me get off my soapbox.

‘Cause ain’t nothin’ goin’ on but the rent/You got to have a J-O-B if you wanna be with me

It's not all that serious really - while this blog is part of my self-exploration in the romance I've got to offer the world - it's really a huge personal ad of my mental/emotional and sometimes physical shortcomings for cyber-suitors. Hey at least I'm honest (and sorta half-serious).

So laugh with me, laugh at me, well whatever.

Now just sing along with me.



And lyrics - check out: Gwen Guthrie's "Ain't Nothin' Goin' On But the Rent".