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)

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

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

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)