b r a v e c r e a t u r e s

So , the picture I have in the corner. I have been asked a number of times who took it and what I am smiling at. I have been told that I look happy and I have been asked why - well there is a story to that.

There is another one, that my now-ex took of me took, they ex who did such a effective job of breaking my heart. Its of me laying on my back smiling. And everyone loves it of me.

They tell me I am so happy, appear so in love and it glows from me. I was - It did - that time is now past.

I wanted another one - that glowed as much, that was just about me.

So when I was in Rio, first couple of days there, I was up early and the sun was streaming in, past Corcovada. I was happy and at peace and at rest and at ease - with myself and my life, and I wanted to capture that. So I lay on the sofa and using the timer took a couple of pictures - only 2 or 3, and that was one of them.

I really like the picture, and I think it captures me now - grey in my beard, a few wrinkles, a bit of sun damage but smiling and looking out to the world with a measure of joy.

And thats the story of that picture.

Now the common wisdom is that one does not dis-respect either the Australian film industry or ones own minority cinema. But given that the opening night film for this years Melbourne Queer Film Festival, “50 ways of saying fabulous” is both from New Zealand and, well, not very good, I feel vindicated in giving it a bit of a raspberry.Actually, since the president or co-convener or grand dame of Melbourne Queer Film Festival (MQFF), or whatever they are calling that position now a day, is an old mate I probably should feel bad about being harsh - but I don’t*

Truth be told, the film is ok without being sensational. It is a faithful retelling of the book by Graham Atkins and shares many of the strengths and weaknesses of the original. In particular the story is missing a strong narrative drive. It moves from scene to scene without any real strong, binding story arc. It is in effect 50 vignettes in search of a narrative.

I remember when I read the book I started by really enjoying it, thinking it was really interesting and funny. But as each chapter progressed, a sense of sameness settled over the book each chapter was funny in a self contained kind of way, but they didn’t link into anything greater. It felt like the rambling reminiscences of an elderly relative on mild sedatives

The film captures this sense of meandering beautifully.

By moving to the screen, there was the opportunity to bring some of the hero character flights of fantasy to life. In the first 10 minutes that’s exactly what they did, and beautifully so. Cross dressing preteens in space, giant monster footballs, flying saucers and some really marvelous acting from the leads.

And then it stops, apart from one wet dream sequence that is more disappointing than anything for its poor execution.

All up I got teased with this wonderful fantasy set that had no follow through.

Sitting back and looking at the whole piece, it’s a cute enough coming of age story for a rural fag (autobiographical much) which has some sweet nostalgia if you went through it, but I think fails to connect if you didn’t live through it.

If it’s a quiet Sunday night in over winter, grab this as a B movie to watch with you beau on the sofa.

*sorry Tony

What follows is an IM chat between myself and the inestimable Barbie.

Robert says: So do you think that one needs to be dreary to be married? Or at least to stay married

Barbie says: huh?

Robert says: Well I was thinking about Barbie. There are not many boyfriends who would love Barbie as Barbie deserves to be loved

Barbie says: That's a serious understatement - but then you KNOW how I love auditioning them. Even if they fail they are good for an hour or two

Robert says: But surely they should be worth a little more than that. As we both know, they tend to get all intimidated and run off after a while. So I was thinking Barbie is SO FABULOUS And is SO much fun to be around, why don't boys stay

Barbie says: Because Barbie is more than their little minds can handle

Robert says: Exactly, so one wonders Well - wtf is what one wonders first THEN one wonders If this is true Then perhaps only the dreary can get or stay married

Barbie says: You may be onto to something

Robert says: Let's look at the evidence for a second It seems that if you are too fabulous Or too three dimensional They bail after a while

Barbie says: Well one does have to wonder

Robert says: Yes, its food for thought Lets face it Given some of the people who can find a partner the entry requirements cant be too high ne c'pas

Barbie says: This is very true Maybe barbie will be single for ever?

Robert says: Maybe but if you will be I will be too At least we will have someone to gossip with at the old evil queens home

Barbie says: Yes indeed

Robert says: Although I am not sure that things are like this everywhere. Its not been my experience. I hate to point to this as the panacea of all good but I think it might be Melbourne

I recently had a couple of reason to pause and reassess my presence on the internet. I had never thought particularly deeply on it, but lets face it this is a pretty much completely public space, just about anyone could be reading this. I guess that's part of the thrill.

The three incidents in question are quite different and quite instructive. The first was a mail from Harley over at Gayety who I have been subsequently corresponding with. He was a little surprised that I was so public about aspects of my life and wondered if I was concerned that my present or future employers might have trouble with some of my publicly declared antics.

Now Harley works for the government so its understandable that he might be a little careful on that score, although funnily enough he has been pretty open about some of his exploits as well. We talked it back and forward a bit and in the end I decided to remove a little bit of identifying detail but basically fuck-em-if-they-cant-take-a-joke. And given that most of my favorite jobs I have been hired at least partially because I will, and I am quoting here, add a little colour around the place. I recently used the phrase in a meeting "working with that vendor was like being raped on a beach by a recently released 300 lb convicted multiple murderer. Brutal, fast, abrasive, disorienting and really not what we had been hoping for. Plus no flowers after, not even a card." Given that, I suspect work has an idea of how my mind operates.

The second was a post over from Darien over at At Worst, My Best in which he kind of took me to task for an earlier post of mine that he seems to have disagreed with. In truth I did come across a little slutty, but in my defense I was kind of going for yuks, or as Jon Stewart likes to call them, snicks. I didn't much enjoy the implications of what he wrote, i.e. I am a perhaps a little shallow or in fact something of a "Ho", but it's his opinion, its his blog and basically what he things has precious little real impact on me. But at the VERY SAME TIME I really do appreciate his opinion, enjoy talking to him and want to maintain a conversation. He is a great writer (I think), seems like a good guy, has a well informed set of opinions that don't always match mine and he is happy to share with me. He is a good conversationalist. Regardless of what Darien says of me in the course of these partially public conversations, and of course there are some limits, I don't feel that I need to cut him off because he has displeased me.

So at last we come to our final example. I posted something I thought was fairly innocuous as a comment on a blog that I read occasionally. There was some sort of power thing going on with the New York Blogging Fagarati. They get all snippy with each other and one had used his evil power to block another from some bar because the second had said semi-mean things (actually quite funny) in HIS blog.

It was all like "oh no YOU DINAUT!!!" (insert own head waggle). Got that? It is kind of he said/she said, I know. Anyway I get a mail telling me to go away basically. I am not planning on reveling who this is or quoting the entire email� but here is a snip "My blog is an account of my life — which spans two blocks. It is not an international review. … I think we'd all be better off if you just ignored me. Just quit coming to my site."

Snap! Girlfriends been told. Now this is the FIRST time I have commented I think and certainly the first time I have received an email. And while I am perfectly capable of being a nasty piece of shit when I want to be, I was pretty mild - I have confirmed this with both Barbie and Miss Manners.

So what's the deal Chaniel? If you are posting your life on the internet, are you expecting no one but your friends to read it? It is a public internet last time I checked. And if you don't expect people to read it, then why would you have blog ads on your site? That does imply some expectations of readers or at the very least tweaked out friends who sit there and click manically until their meth wears off. So is the expectation that no one is going to challenge him? No one is going to argue, or in my case tease? Lordy, that must be an amazing life. I am forever getting teased so I suppose its my expectation of life. But then I am kind of funny looking, annoying, socially abrasive and, as Barbie is so often at pains to remind me, completely lacking in fashion sense‡.

Maybe my feeling about this will change once I have had an blogsquatter giving me grief or an internet stalker, but at this point I am left with a few questions. Am I weird that I like the conversation this blog brings me? Is it strange that I don't get particularly upset when I am challenged? Is it really something to boast about to say that your life can be defined by two city blocks, regardless of the city? If that's all your world is, do you really need a blog to communicate? Is ego stroking all that a blog is about?

Na, thought not.

as tempting as that is

‡ I really DIDN'T know that Birkenstocks were the new loafer

This is starting to get me cranky, not that it takes that much.

The Japanese are in the Antarctic, in Australian waters (more or less), hunting and killing whales for - and here is where I get lost - SCIENTIFIC PURPOSES.

WAH?!?!

Cause dead whales will really help us better understand them, oceanography, the Antarctic ecological environment, krill and, oh wait, yeah, SUSHI. I shit you not, this has to be the lamest piece of cover work on science since the US started testing nuclear devices at Area 19 in Nevada. During the tests conducted there in the 1960’s the workers were not given much in the way of protective clothing and have gone on to pretty much all get cancer.

Oops.

Back in the southern hemisphere, the relatively impartial New Zealand government is questioning the Japanese agenda, which has GOT to be a sign that all is not kosher on the Nisshin Maru. But is anyone paying attention/giving a shit?

Nope.

Nothing seems to be getting any decent international attention. Not even the media circus over the who hit who(m) dodge round up between the Nisshin Maru and the Sea Sheppard, the Farley Mowat and the Oriental Bluebird.

Please note that the Farley Mowat fetchingly has a blade device on its side designed to rip open another ship’s hull - kind of Australia 2 with roid rage. You would think that at least Jana Wendt would get up tight about that, if not Dan Rather. But no.

Meanwhile the Australian government is staunchly sitting on its hands. Environment Minister Ian Campbell with his youthful ward Greg Hunt (just try and tell me that relationship isn’t creepy) seems to be off on “hols” since there hasn’t been a peep out of them. The best we are getting from DEH is a “no comment” from a low level minion.

It would seem that J’Ho’s house of trained poodles are just not up to the task of managing international politics without a firm hand on the leash. Only the inner cabal - Treasury, Health, Immigration and maybe Defence, get to talk without a minder.

Enough, this is giving me a head ache. Just thinking about two more years of the Nazi Party in control of this country is bringing dinner back to haunt me.

Please write to The Minister for Raping the Environment and tell him that even though whales have out evolved him he should not give into bitterness (cause its only pretty on Barbie). He need to grow a spine, and tell the Japanese to fuck off.

Here endth the rant.

PS Have a look at John Howard’s blog. I nearly swallowed my tongue laughing.

OK, I should probably leave this one to Bitter Barbie, the suicide bomber of truth, but its really getting on my tits.

What is it with Melbourne fags?!?

They are they MOST shy and reclusive of pack animals, and truly not very friendly.

I had thought it was me, but after a week away at Byron Bay where I was belle of the frickin ball, I am now coming to the conclusion that the problem is elsewhere.

So my friend Joe and I were at the Prahran Pool this weekend. Spectacular weather and all that, and quite a social outing. Lots of fags, splashing around enjoying the fine weather. But do they mingle? Do they talk between groups? Do they socialise? Do they meet and greet? The answer is a resounding NO!!

For some bizzar reason, this city seems to have been socially caught at the age of about 13. They are all stuck in their junior high school cliques, hanging out in their respective tree houses, dis’ing each other and not talking to strangers.

The whole city needs a sticker slapped on it that says “Gossip Happens!”, I shit you not. It is little wonder that certain individuals have fit into Melbourne like the ebola virus into a rabid fruit bat.

Let me tell you right here, and I say this with conviction, there is not a one of Marshas’ tree house gang that I would shag if my life depended on it. There is something seriously NOT hot about a guy that squeals like an eight year old girl when he gets his hair wet.

Its a good thing I have my blog to talk to.