You don’t feel cold during chilly weather if you think about it properly. The key is - think of the weather as crisp, brisk or refreshing; rather than miserable or wet.

This is what I was thinking right before the garbage bin hit my head.

I was walking to the train station and a garbage truck was emptying some bins nearby. It was one of those garbage trucks that have robotic arms, which can grab the bin, hoist it up and empty the contents into the truck all by itself. The problem was that instead of placing the bin on the ground when I walked past the truck, it threw it at me.

It didn’t hit me that badly, but enough to give me a migraine most of the day. The driver was nice about it (for someone who had just thrown a bin at my head).

This is not shaping up well. See, it’s a public holiday on Monday, and for the past three public holidays in a row, I’ve badly hurt my testicles in some way or another. This whole bin-throwing-at-my-head thing is a bit foreboding. I feel that I’m going to hurt my testicles on Monday like they’ve never been hurt before.

*****

Adam went out to the pub with a mate on Sunday afternoon and came home happily tipsy. He was pleading with me to let him take me out to dinner when he arrived home as if he’d never met me before. I managed to nut out why he wanted to do this, in the midst of his drunkidity:

1. He’d realised he’d never taken me out to dinner before. (When I first met him, I used to say that if he took me to Sizzler, I would be ten times more impressed than if he took me out to a fancy restaraunt. I’d have a far better time at Sizzler. Unfortunately, we never went)
2. He thought he was a millionaire because his work had deposited two months of pay into his bank account by mistake, when they should have only deposited one.
3. He was drunk.

We caught a train into the nearest larger suburb a few hours later. Upon arriving at our destination, all the train ticket barriers were wide open - you didn’t need to put your train ticket into them to leave the station, you could simply walk through. I had a right mind to walk over to the station attendant’s window:

Me: Excuse me? (raps on window)
Cityrail person: Huh? Yeah?
Me: Could I have my money back for this ticket, please?
Cityrail person: (immediately on guard) Why?
Me: I friggin’ paid good money for this ticket, and could quite easily have gotten away without buying one. Just look at that! (points to ticket barriers) I could have bloody walked straight through them! Gimme my money back!

After we had a nice dinner and commented on the waitresses’ slow service and/or visible panty line loud enough to offend other diners, we made our way home. To complete our little night, I had my heart set on hiring a Ren and Stimpy video from the video store. I haven’t seen this show in years and it’s something I really miss watching - definitely one of my favourite cartoons ever. Adam assured me we’d get one, but upon arriving at the video store it was shut. I was totally deflated until Adam realised he may have some old Ren and Stimpy videos at home.

This perked me up right away. It was a pretty good night all round, really; but Adam summed it up when he said ‘I’m just happy to spend a night with my boy’.

Before I go on, I need to tell you of my dilemma. I never know what to call Adam when I’m talking about him to other people. He’s just ‘my flatmate’ to people who don’t know I’m gay, but I don’t know what to call him to people who do. I have a few choices available to me:

* My boy. Adam uses this. Personally I think only guys under the age of 18 can be called boys, but in the gay scene it seems anyone under the age of 88 can call themselves a ‘boy’.
* My boyfriend. I totally detest this. It just doesn’t sound like it describes the relationship Adam and I have.
* My man. This is what I use, but friends tell me it sounds far too gay. Thus the need to find a new word.
* My fuck. I was told to call Adam this by some people in a chatroom, but this is the kind of room filled with people who firstly enquire of your location, then the size of your genitalia. Personally, I’ve never felt the need to put a tape measure to my dick.

*****

Adam successfully managed to locate an old video tape he’d made during high school, filled with a variety of different cartoons. After watching the Big Baby Scam episode of Ren and Stimpy, the theme from Gummi Bears suddenly started blaring from our television. I wasn’t quite sure what to think when Adam started bouncing around on the couch and said:

Adam: Ahhh! Gummi Bears! I loved the Gummi Bears! I love the Gummi Bears song! Gummi Bears!
Me: What the fuck were you doing taping the Gummi Bears?
Adam: What’s wrong with Gummi Bears?
Me: Um… it’s a bit… I dunno, not the kind of cartoon I’d pick you to watch, that’s all.
Adam: Didn’t you watch it?
Me: Not really. Um… I don’t think it was on in Melbourne for long, really.
Adam: Ha, Melbourne must be gay - you don’t have Gummi Bears!
Me: And you’re trying to tell me you’re not gay, and you watch Gummi Bears?

*****

If the stabbing near the local fish and chip shop wasn’t bad enough the other Saturday, there was more fish and chip shop violence this week - strangely enough, around exactly the same time at the exact same location. It appears my need to fulfil basic grocery requirements each weekend correlate with random outbursts of aggro.

This time it was personal - I was walking towards the fish and chip shop and heard lots of yelling. The fish and chip shop guys are fairly placid, but the person caged in there with them didn’t sound like he was. Fifteen seconds and many expletives more later, who else but Wezza emerged from the shop, spitting back at the owners and cursing that they would ‘get theirs’. Normally Wezza is quiet as a mouse - maybe this is what he’s like when he’s run out of money for weed?

I’ve noticed Wezza floating around downstairs with a goatee, lately. I think he’s grown one and in turn grown a new personality. He’s gone bad since this goatee. He’s got goateetude.

*****

Torana recently became an officially accredited Telstra ADSL technician, and celebrated his first successful installation of a customer by blowing up his own computer later that day. Literally. He walked away from it after installing some cards, and it exploded.

The thing is, about a month ago, Torana knew about ten percent of what Adam and I did about things like this, but I think Torana’s got mega-tech knowledge and he’s not sure how to cope with it. I was hoping he’d be able to install ADSL on my own machine, but I’m not sure I want to let that guy near it.

*****

After sitting in the front seat of the train carriage and subsequently getting neck cramp last week, I’m now faced with the opposite problem: I can’t look out of the window due to neck cramp and am forced to look at the back of people’s heads.

This is almost a blessing in disguise, though. I used to just sit and stare out the window, but I’ve actually started talking to people who sit down next to me lately. I initiate things with a ‘How’s it going,’ and see if they respond. This all went a little wrong on Monday when after I greeted one young woman she took it as a signal to use more than the standard, unwritten rule of taking up 50% of the seat space (or 33%, if you’re on the three-seat side of the train). She started telling me about her work, and how her daughter had been throwing up all night, and how funny it was. I told her that I’d thrown up blood a short time ago and that was kind of funny in retrospect too.

Then she asked me what I thought of the Cityrail logo, and if I thought it represented anything in particular.

Me: Doesn’t it represent… I don’t know, travel? Transportation?
60% train seat woman: I’m not sure how you get that from it.
Me: Well, it’s half an arrow pointing right stuck on top of half an arrow pointing left. That suggests moving and transportation, to me.
60% train seat woman: I think it’s kind of sexual.
Me: Oh?
60% train seat woman: All that moving back and forth and stuff.
Me: Hmm, I’m not sure.
60% train seat woman: I’m very convinced about the sexual thing.
Me: Actually, given it’s Cityrail, I think the arrows pointing back and forth represent vast, universal confusion.

*****

Five Problems That Have Arisen As A Result Of My New Employment

The Cola Buffer Zone problem: People who know me will know of my strictly policed Cola Buffer Zone. The rule is No Cola Can Be Drunk Before 11am. I’m not sure why, but drinking Coke before 11am is creeping into the brunch/breakfast zone, and Coke has no part in these meals. Also, Coke tastes different before 11am. Different in a bad way. Sort of… bitey and tart.

However, my new work has a constant supply of free soft drink. This is very tempting to my palate so early in the morning. I’m almost ready to kiss bottles of V and No-Doze tablets goodbye, and turn to Early Morning Cola for my caffeine wake-up kick instead. Perhaps we need a really pissweak cola for such early hours. Breakfast Cola, or something. In any case, I’m seriously considering reducing the Cola Buffer Zone back to 10.30am. You know, just on a trial basis.

The Playing Pool Against My Boss problem: My work has a pool table, and I was recently invited by my boss for a game. This caused instant panic: do I either (a) play a strong, fantastic game showing how in control I am, or (b) let my boss win, because he’s my boss? The answer was actually decided for me, because I’m crap at pool (I’m going to blame my blind eye for a whole lack of co-ordination thing here).

The Atari Teenage Riot problem: The sales team at work are not arseholes like the sales team at my old work, which makes for a nice change. However, they have this really, really strange way of playing ‘Revolution Action’ by Atari Teenage Riot really loud whenever one of them makes a big sale. When I’m talking to people on the phone they want to know what the hell’s going on. I just tell them that a revolution’s going on.

The Olympic Torch problem: One of the guys at work ran with the Olympic torch, and bought the torch he ran with. The problem is he uses it in such a haphazard manner: it’s often lit and people run around with it doing laps of the office. I also caught a group of people lighting cigarettes with it, and I felt really guilty for some reason. I’m not sure. The whole carelessness disturbs me somewhat, and I’m not sure why.

The Olympics TV problem: It’s cool that my work has got TV’s everywhere with the Olympics on, so we can watch the Olympics as we work. There is a problem I have though: if there is one TV ad I hate more than that O’Brian’s Glass ad with the freaky complaining goldfishes with human faces, it’s the latest round of Qantas ads. If I hear that fucking children’s choir cavorting all over the world’s landmarks singing in perfect, nauseating harmony one more time, I’m going to lose it. It’s already caused one person I sit near to kick over a potplant. I want to bite the head off the person who thought up this ad concept. It’s hauntingly effective, but bloody annoying after a while.

I want to come back as a ferret in my next life so I can get away with biting people’s heads off.

*****

Answering The Rhetorical Questions Of Musicians, #02:

‘Why don’t you come along and join the joyride?’ - Roxette

Join a joyride? With you? You’re bloody unemployed now as far as I’m concerned - how can you afford a car? Secondly, are you aware that a joyride is a sexual thing in some countries? Eh? As for Australia, joyriding is a bloody criminal offense!

Go back to Sweden and take your criminal shenanigans with you.

*****

Speaking of music, I was giving Adam crap the other week about how he only listens to dance music, and couldn’t possibly understand my taste in music. In a desperate attempt to redeem himself, he cried ‘I’ve got a Pearl Jam album, you know!’ Disbelieving him, I made him retrieve it. I have no idea what he’s doing with a Pearl Jam album, but amusingly enough it’s No Code - the crappest Pearl Jam album of all.

I was also giving Adam crap recently about how he likes Boy George. Well, maybe not Boy George in particular, but a DJ mix CD he has which was mixed by Boy George. As part of his retort, however, Adam started singing Karma Chameleon, but the words didn’t quite sound right.

I asked him to tell me what he was singing, and doubled over in laughter. Apparently for the last fifteen years Adam thought ‘Karma Chameleon’ was actually called ‘I Want To Become A Comedian’.

*****

I’ve gotten to know Vanessa Undresser at work a bit better now. She’s hilarious, and totally innocent most of the time too. She was sucking on a Chupa Chup yesterday, when from nowhere:

Vanessa Undresser: Ooooooooooooh! OOH OOH OOH!
Me: (worried I’m missing out on something good) What? What??
Vanessa Undresser: There’s chocolate in the middle of this Chupa Chup that Big Mo gave me. That was pleasantly unexpected.
Big Mo: Even better, it’s got carob in it!
Vanessa Undresser: (screams) Oh my fucking god! (throws Chupa Chup in bin and washes mouth out with water)
Me: Um… carob isn’t that bad, is it?
Vanessa Undresser: I don’t want fucking germs in my mouth!

It eventuated that she wasn’t being funny, but genuinely thought that carob was some kind of germ.

*****

I had an enquiry from a person named Mr Hyman at work, who was enquiring on behalf of one of his children’s orders. I noticed that they didn’t have the same surname as him - I have to confirm this stuff for security reasons. I was a little curious as to why his child had a different surname from him and his wife, but it all became suddenly clear when he asked me ‘How would you like to have the surname Hyman?’

*****

Just remembered something that really should be on my List Of Problems That Have Arisen As A Result Of My New Employment, but this one deserves special mention. I thought this was purely the stuff of American TV shows, but apparently unisex toilets are a reality in Australia. I can’t get used to them. I’m nervous every time I walk in there. The seats are always down instead of up (women complain that men leave the seat up, but we feel the same way about having the seat down, you know!) I even cut my hand on the toilet paper dispenser last week, I was so nervous.

I think it’s the fact that having a tampon bin, condom vending machine and syringe disposal unit in the one room is just a little… not quite right.

*****

First and foremost: these putrid blue coats that are being worn by the Olympics volunteers are homosexualising the city of Sydney.

I’ve also found it quite amusing how almost all advertising is indirectly tying itself to the Olympics. Tooheys New beer in particular is currently screening ads not too dissimilar to this:

A lot of people are discussing the silly things Channel 7 Olympics commentators are saying. One of my favourites was when Australia won the men’s relay:

Channel 7 commentator: And look at Michael Klim’s parents over there… (sounds of shuffling of papers, as if checking something) Sorry, that’s Michael Klim’s PROUD parents…

I don’t understand this whole Olympic pin craze, either. I was walking through Darling Harbour last week past something called the ‘Coca Cola Official Pin Trading Centre’. A woman standing outside with a megaphone advised me that ‘The next pin trading event begins in five minutes - if you want to become a successful pin trader in the future, you must attend’.

I know my career path is fucked up, but not THAT fucked up.

*****

Of course, the Olympics means a lot of regular shows can’t be broadcast at the moment. I’m sure grade three kids around the nation are missing all the best kid’s gameshows from the two gods of kid gameshowdom: Tony Johnston, and James ‘I’m Not Gay No Really I’m Not’ Sherry. Actually, they’d be good interviewers for Channel 7’s Olympics coverage:

Tony Johnston: So what do you want to do when you grow up? Astronaut, fireman, princess?
Cathy Freeman: Um…

Speaking of questionable celebrities, Michael Tunn of bigfatradio.com has answered an age-old question: What’s the sound of two hands clapping? If you want to know the answer, listen to Michael Tunn’s afternoon show and you’ll hear the answer every time he’s trying to make a point. This is a very annoying habit, especially over radio.

Once again, I want to come back as a ferret in my next life.

*****

I keep visiting Darling Harbour because you really can fit in as some sort of tourist. I’ve never seen so many people there before, but somehow in the crowds I spotted a girl I used to know in my early years of high school - Bree.

Bree was the girl I used to pretend to lust after in my early years of high school. I’m not sure why I liked her so much, but I remember thinking at the time that she was charismatic. I had no idea what charismatic meant, but I was sure it was a really good thing and that she had plenty of it.

I had a quick chat with Bree before her boyfriend started getting a little wary of me, so I attempted to cross the road and was nearly run over by a car with ‘flatmate.com’ printed all over it. I have no idea what flatmate.com is, I frankly can’t be bothered checking, but I should sue the bastards. (Shit, nearly getting run over, getting hit on the head by a bin… Monday is not shaping up well at all)

I made the mistake of trying to obtain lunch from a nearby food court, which was horrendously overcrowded with tourists. The staff of one food outlet took it upon themselves to chant ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie’, expecting a resounding ‘Oi Oi Oi’ in reply.

Instead, we heard a few voices chanting ‘Aussie Aussie Aussie’, a pause of about five seconds, then a large group of big men yelling ‘DEUTCHLAND’ from the end of the room. Didn’t quite have the same ring to it. Then they launched into an enthusiastic, drunken reindition of a song which appeared to be titled ‘Viva Lock Up Your Sons’ - it may or may not have been in German.

*****

I spotted a giant tent being run by a beer company, and checked it if was general admission. To my joy, it was - all that was required of me to fill out a short questionaire. I thought it would be quite difficult, but it was just dumb stuff like ‘What is your name?’, most likely for them to build up a database of beer lovers.

I remember when I was at uni, I used to shit myself over exams. The uni I was at had a habit of putting a really easy question as the first question on their exams, to help you ‘relax’. Something simple, like ‘What is one plus one?’

On one particular exam I took, the first question was ‘What is your name?’ I took this to be some sort of trick question and wrote ‘The title to which I am known by’, or something along those lines. I failed that question.

Once I got into the beer tent, I was quickly approached by a drunken American looking for directions - he wanted to know how to get to the city. I told him he wasn’t that far away - just follow the big Centrepoint tower and you can’t go wrong.

Drunken American: That Centrepoint tower looks like a cock.
Me: Not really.
Drunken American: I think it does.
Me: There’s a circumcised version in Melbourne called the State Arts Centre.
Drunken American: Oh really? What does it look like?
Me: Um… think of a stretched out cone, and then stamp all over the bottom of it.
Drunken American: Ow! Get away! You’re not stamping on MY cock!

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