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.