Flynn, welcome home

Gardening on a budget

There’s a new ‘lifestyle’ show on channel 10, Guerilla Gardeners, that has the best of intentions but a horrible compulsion to scatter child-unfriendly furniture and terracotta gravel over unsuspecting and frankly inoffensive empty public space.
Occasionally though they hit the mark, as they have on South Dowling St, a thoroughfare to the city from the airport.
It comes across more like an artwork than a stunt – and it’s still there (not my photo):



Irritatingly they blanket this TV exercise with faux-subterfuge (bullshit brushes with the law and Mission Implausible soundtrack) and then bark about The Man lest anyone question their suburban artistic credentials. It’s dreadful and so very Aussie.
Gawd I hate that word.
Just quietly I blame Jamie Durie and his fucking water features for this outbreak of network-funded amateur gardeners.
Everything's a mini-theme park.

Maybe they should look at what someone has done with that steep, so often overlooked block of Burton Street - so close to working girl central - a very comfortable and quite chic little wipe-down courtesy lounge:

Quote of the week

"I stopped crying in the '80s."

Overheard at the Oxford Hotel.
Cue raucous laughter.

Smoking in Sydney

Behold, Midnight Shift's street-level smoking area:


Bleak is the word.

When you're in it, you either feel like you're waiting for your sentence to be delivered, or hoping for some peanuts to be thrown in your direction.
From the outside, well...

I do like the hazard/safety strips around the only escape route. Surely some evil queen chose those.

Gay PSA Horror

A friend ripped this from an unspecified men’s room a few weeks ago and I... well, frankly I shrieked a little.
What the fuck?


“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO YOURSELF?
Your night out. Your new boyfriend. Your sixth drink. Your ex-boyfriend. Binge Drinking. It’s all about you.”

This would have to be the most confused and confusing gay public service announcement/warning/whatever to emerge in quite some time. Who are the people behind this? Where are they?
OK, so they used a beer label concept for their slogan – cute - but at first glance these models look like triplets having an argument over who buys the next drink.

Then it dawns on you – two of them are wearing the same outfit!!
Couple!
Brothers?
Creepy.

Still, the message is in there somewhere. Perhaps the queen on the left is saying “Don’t go there girlfriend” while his doppelganger/life-partner is thinking “I'm my boyfriend's alter ego and I tend to grope. I also protrude my tongue at inopportune intervals”, which just has to have caused a little frisson.
Meanwhile, the poor bloke in the middle is thinking, “Who the fuck are these deadshit queens in their ridiculous matching AFL paraphernalia??"

I honestly don't know who did this or what they were trying to do.
Needless to say, at least two posters were ripped down in disgust/bewilderment - and not by me.

Just another Wednesday night

That's Dallas Dellaforce, best drag queen (among several other accomplishments) in town.

And this is David (I think... hope... shit...) formerly known as Faggot Rooster, who's about six and a half feet tall and used to sport dreadlocks:


They're new neighbours - flatmates, no less - and have made HiDarl a lot more interesting.

Misadventures in gay marketing

Mardi Gras Fair Day and Launch were held on Sunday. It was wet; I hadn’t planned to go.
Fortunately, a friend of a friend did attend, which is how I get to share this highly questionable addition to the already dodgy realm of gay marketing, the Gaydar Man Tags, which were handed out on the day:


“PLAY BUTCH, SLING ON YOUR TAGS, SHOW YOUR ALLEGIANCE, JOIN GAYDAR!”
Well how could you not?

Perplexingly, along with the tags, the pack includes what appear to be two tiny cock rings.
But no! According to the back of the packaging:
“IN YOUR PACK: Identification tag chain with two dog tags and silencers. slip ‘em over the edges to stop ‘em banging, while you’re getting banged.”

Hmmm….

There are so many things wrong with this I don’t where to begin. First I suppose is the exhortation to ‘play butch’, which really does kill the mood right up front. And the forced language irritates me no end (apparently the word “them” is a little femme).
But I think what really bothers me is that they designed this tinny, clichéd accessory - the gays love to play soldiers! - that is essentially a wearable advertisement; the only ‘identification’ you could possibly squeeze on there is your cock size. Or IQ.
And of course that’s the point:
It’s the first fashion accessory (since the hankie code) specifically designed to be fucked in.

At least with hankies you got a range of colours to choose from…

Typos Averted!

Okay, so last Wednesday I noticed a crane in the Square, systematically visiting each of those big banner poles:


It seems someone had realised, what with the official Mardi Gras Launch coming up on the weekend, banners with incorrect slogans lining our precious Golden Mile simply wouldn't do:


Cue Monday.
They're all back up, and I was happy to see they resorted to the time-honoured MG tradition of home-sewing. Rather than reproduce the offending banners at considerable cost, they just whipped out the Bernina and got stuck into it, meticulously inserting the missing "S" on every one:



Someone deserves a drink.

Typos United

Passing through the Square on the way home, I thought there was a massive promotion for the new Ministry of Sound compilation.
But no, just Mardi Gras time again:



Pity the official slogan is Nations United - plural.
As a mate pointed out, Nation United at least makes it sound like we should be friendly to people from Adelaide, a noble enough cause.

Also, note the absence of "gay & lesbian" from the banners.
I suppose that's what MG's new president means when he says the organisation is becoming "more inclusive".

Heatwave!

If you're unfortunate enough to be in Sydney's western suburbs, this weekend is going to be unbearable.

Mick and I got a headstart yesterday by heading to Bronte beach:


The water was beautiful; we stayed in a little rocky spot between the ocean pool and the Bogey Hole.
It was swarming with crabs:


Sadly this one didn't move, but I do like communing with nature every so often, even if it is dead.

Friday night

Taylor Square, midnightish.
The Irish girls are out in force, sans backpack:


Cute! Ok, a little slutty, but the square is another matter. Evidently superkeen to eradicate any untoward behaviour of any sort, it seemed the entire local squadron of available law enforcement was stationed in our beloved dead space:


Having taken that photo and rejoined Mick in the Courthouse pokie lounge, I thought perhaps I’d witnessed some sort of anomaly or had stumbled upon the tail-end of a drama I’d read about tomorrow.

But no, almost an hour later, there they were:


And we used to whinge about the lack of police presence…

Intrepid graffiti

The billboard on top of the building on Taylor Square formerly known as 191 is high – four storeys high, not counting the height of the signage itself.

Regardless, some brave, presumably methed-up moron(s) somehow managed to scramble up there with art supplies and a burning desire to spread the message of “unholy black metal’".

Twice:


I love the fact they were able to spell upside-down.
And that they chose a Special K advertisement.

Mo'ment

Public art

Taylor Square’s last makeover a few years back included the addition of several illuminated diorama pods scattered about the space, in which local artwork was to be displayed on a rotating basis.

All very well-intentioned, but the pods themselves are a bit disturbing, like giant alien worms poking their heads out through the paving. When they first appeared, I was taken aback by their appearance and highly dubious of their purpose, but they were at least clean and appeared to have an almost sedative effect:


Since then they’ve been broken, graffitied and generally disdained, although the current selection of archival Australian photography isn’t that bad.

Pity some queens were compelled to add the evidence of their attendance at that heinous Malebox night at Stonewall:


Then again, as community art projects go, kinda sums it up.