Sunday, June 13, 2010

Quote of the Day

Heard on a children's television show:

Just sit there and practise until your blisters harden into callouses.

Damn, I should have been using that one on my students all along.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

Early Morning Wash Job

For work yesterday the Roster Gods granted me the pleasure of having to do a 4am Excavator wash. It's been ages since I've been rostered on to do one of those – I tend to get stuck elsewhere doing other things and miss out on all the fun.

And it is fun.

Alright, you get shit all over you. It's freezing at this time of year and you're pressure blasting with water – which means that you will be standing outside in a long sleeved shirt with two jackets over the top, two bright white sperm suits over that, both of their little white hoods up over your beanie adorned head and a hardhat on top. Looking like a slow moving marshmallow. And you will still be freezing. After three hours solid of pressure blasting, you will also be saturated even through all those layers.


You're using a gun with 4000psi behind it. They're easy to hold when you're used to them, but there's still a kick that will send a beginner backwards. You get up there in the dark and carve away at the grease and mud covering this huge machine and work your way toward the dawn.

I had chunks of mud an inch thick and the size of a man's shoe blasting off the top of this machine in the path of my water gun. All around me there was destruction caused by me, and only me. Oh, therapy. It was brilliant. After the destruction and debris is blasted off the side and into the dark the machine emerges as clean, shiny, and - of course – overwhelmingly orange.

Somewhere near the end of all this comes the other bonus of the shift... Dawn. I love seeing the sky change shade by shade as I'm working. It comes as a surprise every time. I look up from my destructive path for a second and realise There's a tinge of blue to go with those stars now and it makes me smile. It carries with it this indescribable burst of energy and wonderment mixed together. It's exciting. It gives me this wonderful feeling of awe at the way the world works.

It also means I can see any bits I've missed before we hand the machine back to the service crew.

It's crap, it's dirty, it's freezing, and it has the remarkable property of reminding me that it's great to be alive.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Breaking Down

Seven golden rules for healthy eating habits

1. Drink plenty of water.

2. Eat more fruit and vegetables (at least two servings of fruit and five servings of vegetables every day).

3. Manage your portion sizes.

4. Eat less processed food.

5. Eat regular meals – don’t skip meals – and always eat a healthy breakfast (e.g. bowl of natural hi fibre cereal with sliced banana and low fat milk).

6. Restrict your alcohol intake.

7. Limit your intake of “extra” food. These foods are not essential to provide the nutrients the body needs and some contain too much added fat, sugar and salt. Examples include lollies, chocolate, biscuits, cakes, pastries, soft drinks, chips, pies, sausage rolls and other takeaways. Choose these foods sometimes or in small amounts.

I went to an osteopath yesterday. What a disaster. All my conceptions of my own health are out the window.

I thought I was strong. No. My back is in severe pain because my muscles have degraded so much through bad nutrition that I don't have the strength to support my own body weight. There I was thinking I had just overstepped things a little. I thought I just needed a little adjustment and I'd be okay again. Good to go. Not a chance.

The weight that I am now, which I thought was reasonbale, but still about seven kilos over where I'd like to be, is actually fourteen kilos above the upper limit of the healthy weight range for somebody of my height. Fourteen to drop before I'm even on the border of it.

The tension in my neck is ridiculous.

My muscle tone is terrible.

This has all happened through years of constant abuse, lack of nutritous eating and proper exercise and of course, the word that is spat at me as a devil by every health professional I've seen: Smoking.

My blood pressure, however, is spot on. And my pulse is good. Conclusion? My body is fucked but I have a good heart.

I'm crushed, to be honest. I really thought I wasn't that bad heathwise and now that it's all come crashing down around me I feel like curling up into a ball and crying for a while. There's a small glimmer of positivity there - this is a good wake-up call to lead a healthier, more active lifestyle. To lose more weight. To give up or cut back on the smoking. It's an uphill battle that I wanted to fight and climb through anyway. But that hill just seemed to morph from a small ascent into something size of fucking Everest. Not many people have the skills to get past base camp there! How the hell are me and my fourteen extra kilos with zero knowledge of proper healthy lifestyle going to ever be equipped to tackle this one? Will I ever reach the top and do I have the guts and abitlity to maintain my balance when I get there? Will I teeter on the top for a while before my strength runs out and I go rolling back down again?

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Gender and the Bathroom

I've started wearing ties again. Oh Fuck, it's been about two years since I felt comfortable enough in one. Let's just say that the elements I surrounded myself with in the time in between were rather quick to judge and I fell for it, slowly but surely cutting out the little masculine things I enjoyed. At the time I was kidding myself that I was fitting in. Now I see it as a major setback in my personal gender explorations.

Anyways, tonight I stepped out in a dress shirt and a tie. Apart from the fact that my chest still sticks out far more than I'd like it to, I looked good. I was happy. All I needed to do was to avoid checking myself out in side profile and I'd be fine and confident in my manufactured masculinity. Happy and fine as a non-gender-specific polymorphous individual.

I'm lucky to be sharing a very supportive environment now. The people around me are not just okay with me expressing who I am, they are encouraging me to explore it more, even. It feels great to be filling out my own skin again.

The fact that there are differences between my reality and that of other people became apperent when I went to the bathroom at the club we were having dinner at just this evening. I went to the bathroom for obvious reasons, and also to tidy up my apperance. I adjusted my tie in the mirror as I was turning to leave. At the same time, a poor older lady was walking in. She looked at me and I could see the embarrassment in her eyes. Panic that she'd walked into the wrong bathrooms. She walked backwards out the door and checked the sign.


First thought: I don't want a scene here at all.

Second thought: Fuck you, lady. I wear who I am on the outside. I'm sure you piss in the same bathroom as your husband at home anyway.

Such a dilemma. I felt for her confusion, yet was angered by her narrow-mindedness.

Perhaps I just need to remind myself that other people's thoughts and reactions are their own, and not mine?

Monday, June 7, 2010

Quote of the Day

"Vic's back is like a jigsaw puzzle that doesn't fit together."

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Object of Affection

I want one.

It's rare these days for me to make a decision based on pure sexiness of an item. I tend to be influenced more by functionality of an item rather than looks. A nice, sleek looking car? Why the hell would you do that? Can you fit a drum kit in the back of it? No? What the fuck would you want it for then??

But wait just one second.

I want that one.

It gave me a funny feeling in my crotch. It made my mouth open. It made my eyes glaze over. It made my heart rate quicken and I don't want to stop looking at it. I want to stroke it.

What the fuck will happen when I sit on one?

Monday, April 12, 2010

Dear Vic

When leaving in a work truck it is important to:

- Make sure all items required for the day are packed.

- Delegate a spotter before reversing a truck and trailer out of the smallest vehicle parking area in the world, which is packed with far too many vehicles. If not, you may actually run into something.

- Make sure the radio works by cranking it up. This will also ensure that nobody in your work crew will snooze on the hour or so drive to the mine site, thus ensuring that they will be 100% awake and ready to work (or at least hastily exit the truck) when they arrive.

- Walk around the truck prior to departure making sure all items that are supposed to be secure indeed actually are. This should stop things from falling off.

- Walk around the truck prior to departure making sure all items that aren't supposed to be secured have been detatched completely. This should stop you from taking a trailer along by accident next time. Who would guess it? You're dragging around 2.3 tonnes of vacuum unit on wheels and you don't even know it? Damn.

That is all.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Train Station Goodness:

I love trains. Always have. Watching them, hearing them, travelling on them.

Train stations will always hold some hidden little smiles for me - a surprise flower growing between the tracks, the weird way an underground station smells in all it's tiled clinicity, the fifty people all gathered under the clock as a meeting spot. There's graffiti, one of my favourite visual excitements, and usually there's a slogan to make my mind twist.

On the way into Sydney recently to see the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras parade I caught sight of a beauty at Waverton station: a beautifully painted station fixture sign that said

Alight here for Beautiful BALLS HEAD

... and we all know what comes right along with balls, don't we? But there's plenty of those types of heads floating around already and I'd rather not like to spend time with them!

Thursday, March 4, 2010

On Morning Time

It's early. I have twenty minutes in which to drink a cup of tea, put my shoes on, panic about the whereabouts of my keys and cigarettes and then I'll still be at work before I'm meant to.

Jonah the Mostly Black Cat is rustling away beside me tearing up the latest box that has pissed him off. The fridge is humming away to itself, the pay TV box has joined in with it's own somewhat possessed hum and yet still, above all the household running sounds I can hear the crickets carrying on outside.

This time of morning is pretty relaxing when I'm not rushing to find clothes, shake off a hangover or just beat the consequences of too many hits on the snooze button. There's stuff all traffic out and about. All the drunken idiots that tend to walk by have either got into a fight and been hospitalised or arrested or they've passed out somewhere by now. It's just me and the crickets.

It's times like now - kicking back, relaxing before the start of the hectic day - that I try to resolve that I will get up well before I'm required to every day. I know somehow that it's not going to happen. Things will get in the way. Jonah will destroy my bedroom all night leaving me with the five minute gaps the snooze button affords me to catch up. I'll get hit by the drunk stick before bed, rendering any form of organisation completely useless. I'll forget to put the washing on early enough and have to fight my way through the stress of ironing still wet clothes while saying shitgoddamnhell just dry. I'll decide to make muffins for sixty people at the drop of a hat.

There will usually be something to keep me from kicking back relaxing in the mornings.

But.... I really do love this time.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Period of Annoyance

It’s time for a little song. Come along, warm up your vocal chords and join in whenever you’re ready. No need to be shy, now! Today’s song is called Riding the Red Pony or is otherwise known as Making Teabags for the Vampires

Periods. Why do I even need them?
Periods. I hate them with a passion.

[Aunt Flo sends her regards!]

Periods. Make you panic in the restroom.
Periods. Soak your pants if you bleed through.

[Blowjob season. Bitchy Witchy Week!]

Rags. What a pity there’s no riches.
Monthlies. It’s what turns us into bitches.
Cramps. Hurl your stomach into stictches.
I’m out of action. Can’t stand the bodily glitches!

Periods. So much better if it’s not you.
Periods. Can’t find a toilet when you need to.

[Feed the lesbian vampires!]

Periods. A curse I can’t get rid of.
Periods. Tell all of them to fuck off.

[I sat on a tomato]

Visitors. So much for battle of the sexes.
Girl Things. Wish them on your exes.
Red Tide. It’s The Blood of St. Menses.
Sticky Time. I’ve got a Leaky Basement!


Monday, February 1, 2010


Last night I woke sprawled face down like a starfish across my double bed, in just a pair of underpants. I must have tried to embrace my bed in a bear hug out of joy for finally seeing it. That’s right, I think to myself. I came home on the train last night and had to wait forever for it. No wonder bed was obviously a disorganised event consisting of Aim and Flop. The process was more than likely hastened by tripping over the cuffs of my jeans as I tried to step out of them.

Why did I wake from the depths of my overtired, exhausted and somewhat alcohol induced slumber?

Rain. A downpour of summer storm proportions. We’ve been having heaps of those lately in Vicsville. Normally it would be a great feeling to roll over, stretch a bit and then settle in to listen to the beautiful sounds it creates, bask in the smell of rain and the cool breeze it brings. I have always loved a downpour. It gets into your soul. It calms you in a way that nothing else can. It is contentment.

This time it is panic.
It is panic, and near-naked streaking.

Out into the common driveway of six units I went at full sprint. Underpants hanging around my arse, tits (stupid things they are) heaving in all the wrong ways, and car keys gripped in my hand.

How the hell I remembered that the windows were down I have no idea. In those twenty seconds of full world exposure I managed to get my only item of clothing, my underpants, completely saturated.

With my entire body wet, still exhausted and probably still drunk, I ditched the soggy, floppy underdacks without ceremony right next to the pair of jeans I’d tripped out of. No sitting back and basking in the sounds tonight. Straight back to embracing the bed and the sleep that comes hand in hand with it.

Sunday, January 31, 2010

Night Out

An hour of preparation shared between the shower, razor and the bedroom mirror.
An hour of self-admonishment for forgetting how to let loose with my style.
Five cans of Rum & Dry.
Half a dozen cigarettes and a couple of slices of cold pizza.

Smash the last can of rum down on the half-dozen block walk to the train station and there’s no turning back.

We’re going out on the town.

More specifically, I’m going out on the town to the only local gay bar I know in existence. That was another point of self-admonishment. I’ve forgotten my dyke style. I haven’t been around my kindred spirits for so long I’ve forgotten how to make my statement among them.

Twenty minutes of train journey.
Twenty minutes of enduring some snotty little teenage girls talking about how many guys they got onto and how so-and-so is so disgusting for getting onto so-and-so.
Get me another fucking drink.

I turn on the music player on my phone as I get off the train. Let’s have some pump-up music, in the form of Big and Rich’s party track Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy:
Well I saddle up my horse and I ride into the city
I make a lot of noise ‘cause the girls they are so pretty

Yep, yes, and hell yeah. I’m hoping to see me quite a few of those pretty girls, bust a few beers down and perhaps make a few friends. Then I plan on getting my merry arse on to the dance floor and working off all the pies I shouldn’t have had on the way to work. Then, hopefully, I’ll make it home without sleeping past my stop on the train.

It worked out, sort of. I listened to bad karaoke run by a fantastically camp tranny. I watched two absolutely gorgeous women play some great pool. I was hanging out in the smokers’ section chatting to the occasional random person when…
I got picked up on.
You’re joking. I think to myself.
I haven’t hit my peak with the style. I’m wearing sneakers for fuck’s sake. I’m carrying ten kilos more fat than I want to, and in all the wrong places.
Surely this is a joke.

I bailed to the dancefloor because I wasn’t actually there to pick up. I just wanted a night out.

She continued to seek me out, cornering me in the smoker’s section.

No joke. She definitely wanted me. Wow! Holyshit and whatthefuck all in one big swirly mix. I ended up trying to go home because I wasn’t exactly that interested in her. She was sexy all right, but I was tired and she was extremely forward. She asked if she could kiss me before I left. Sure, I say. Why the fuck not then?

It was nice, although it felt as though she was trying to rape me in the middle of the courtyard after a while. I broke it off, kind of embarrassed to be virtually fucking in front of everyone, and also not wanting to have her think I was going to take her home. Another day, maybe I would have. Not this time. I had only just started coaxing my dykeness back out of the closet and there was no way sex was going to come easily to me. I thought it best to head home. That’s where things turned nasty.

I was a fucking tease
A mole.
Apparently I knew that she’d had her eyes on me from the second I walked in the door.
An arsehole.

So maybe it’s going to take a while to get my mojo back in full swing. Certainly it’s going to take a while to deal with being hit on. That normally doesn’t happen to me and was a daunting surprise to say the least.

But the mojo, my inner dyke style?
It’s coming. It’s coming back with a vengeance.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Quote of the Day

"The problem with your gene pool is that there's no lifeguard."

Monday, January 4, 2010

Born today: Newton

"Newton was not the first of the age of reason: he was the last of the magicians."
- Keynes, John Maynard (1972), "Newton, The Man"

Sir Isaac Newton was born three hundred and sixty-seven years ago, today. At the time of his birth, though, it was Christmas Day, 1642. It just happens that England hadn't adopted the Gregorian calendar yet. In fact, the Brits didn't change to the different style calendar until quarter of a century after Newton died, so the poor bugger was stuck celebrating Christmas and his birthday on the same day. They were the fourth last in the old Europe to join in on the whole Gregorian calendar party, so if he'd been born somewhere such as Spain or Portugal he could have enjoyed separate Christmases and birthdays his entire life.

Most people have seen cartoons of an apple donking Newton on the head, prompting him to come up with the theory of gravity. Well... not quite true. Watching an apple fall from a tree in his mother's garden prompted him to think on gravity. Not whether it existed, but whether it extended so far from Earth that it could also be the force holding the moon to it's orbit. Since he guessed the same force was responsible for other orbital motion he named it "universal gravitation".

"The" tree is a subject of some debate. The school that Newton went to (even though his mother took him out of school to be a farmer for a while - which he didn't like much)claim that they bought "the" tree, uprooted it, and plomped it in the headmaster's garden years later. Apparently his signature can still be found on the library window sill - so possibly the school has spent more money on refurbishing their gardens than they have maintaining the buildings.

Woolsthorpe Manor, Newton's family home, reckon they still have it safe in their garden. Trinity College in Cambridge think they've got a descendant of it in their gardens below the room he lived in when he studied there. You can even buy a descendant tree for yourself, from the National Fruit Collection, for your own inspirational benefit. Perhaps you could place it next to your model of Archimedes' bath. I feel a theory on the rate of decay brought on by fruit fly invasion coming on.

Heading off to work to:

Well, to install some insulation...

But my real aim for the day is to keep a tally of how many lame Hey Vic, haven't seen you since last year! comments I can get.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

What Happened to the Weekend?

Yesterday I was planning to write about a nice little drive in the rain through the local countryside. There were nice little rainy landscape shots. There were geese. There were heritage buildings. There were bunnies and flowers. There were signs and reflections and patterns and all things photographically inspiring.

And then there was major pain. The type of pain that landed me in hospital.

So began couple of hours of morphine and uncertainty as to what the hell was going on. In fact, I still don't know what really happened. It was somewhere between my chest and crotch, but it was sending cramping pains all over my body. Mainly I just lay there in pain while the nurses shoved opiates at me and asked if I felt any better. Occasionally I dozed off.

There were a couple of beautiful moments of Australianism to witness. God, our people just make me smile.

One of the nurses came by with a plastic cup and shoved it out toward me. The doc said you should have this. It tastes like crap. I raised my eyebrows at her. Serious, darl. It's gunna stick all the way down your throat and you can't have anything for ten minutes after you have it. It's horrible crap. Well, at least I didn't have any good expectations for it then.

Where's me tape? Who stole me tape this time? Inspiring, definately.

Anyway, after a bunch of drugs and a few scans I still don't know what caused the pain. I have been told though, that I need to avoid cheese and large meals, as well as smoking and drinking. Have these people been informed of my cynical approach to the "standard" resolutions for the new year? Am I somehow being sent a message that it is time to act on those rather than putting it off for another year?

Friday, January 1, 2010

Kisses, Happy New Year

Beer Garden

Now that I am capable of some degree of movement, it is time to say Happy New Year to everyone. The standard resolutions are in place - I have contemplated never drinking again, looked at the financial gains of cutting back the smoking, and swilled down Coke while affirming that I need to be more healthy in my lifestyle. They'll all go to shit very quickly, of course. But this year is mostly about being the Groover.

Out of the foggy hangover haze that is clouding last night's activities rises one very clear memory: a kiss. Actually a couple of kisses.

It was out of the blue, and to be honest I have no idea why or how it started. We were wrestling for the possession of my hat, and somehow ended up kissing. Oh shit I remember thinking. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. So I pulled away quickly, only to be grabbed by the back of my neck to come back for more. Oh what a fantastic feeling. That hand on my neck pulling me down. The beautiful soft feel of her lips. The slightly sweet taste of her mouth. The feel of confident, strong, desiring hands upon me. The soft skin of her neck under my lips.

It's been so long since I've had a hand that desires me touch me like that. It's a memory that will make me feel a little weak at the knees for quite a while now. Wow, what fantastic kisses they were.

Of course, I want more. Typically, though, I have picked a person that I shouldn't have. The search will need to be continued elsewhere. That's another resolution. I want somebody else to touch, to share with, to kiss with passion and receive all that back in full from them. I think I deserve it.

Oh, and I resolve to blog far more frequently than last year.