Well hello!
Back online for the first time in almost a year, coming to you from Horseshoe Bend. It's an old suburb of Maitland alongside the Hunter River and is dotted with 19th century houses and 'Flood Level 1955' signs placed on telegraph poles a good 12 feet above street level.
We're surrounded by animals - horses, owls and the most elaborately coloured crawly things I've ever seen.
Al this and more can be found on a new blog, coming shortly - horseshoebent.blogspot.com
Lois says goodnight.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Friday, March 6, 2009
Fuzzy recall
I don't remember the exact time I took this photo, but then this bloke couldn't remember when he had his tattoo of two dogs fighting up his arm done:
I love old blokes with forearm tatts.
I love old blokes with forearm tatts.
Safe 'n' Sound
Mick and I went to Maitland - Rutherford, actually, the next town further west – to put his possessions in storage.
He's lived in a small one-bedroom apartment for about 30 years but seems to have acquired several lifetimes worth of mystery possessions.
He didn't label a single box.
He's also cavalier with securing his cargo; we were like Steptoe & Son meets The Beverly Hillbillies:
The trip up was notable for the strange, grey weather and the fact that, as far as I could tell, every driver behind us gave us at least a 20-metre berth, presuambly terrified that a random item of Mick's - a stack hat; a hacksaw - might free itself en route. I would have been.
Fortunately, I couldn't see much; what appeared from behind the tarpaulin - apart from being "closer than they appear" - were usually menacing:
Afetr a forced detour (turns out a truck struck a footbridge near Maitland) we arrived at Safe 'n' Sound, an immaculately bleak operation with a nice line in sexy bloke staff:
It took two sweaty hours, a brief downpour and 'strictly no smoking' but somehow we eventually crammed Mick's existence into the equivalent of a roomy walk-in wardrobe.
The home hunt begins.
He's lived in a small one-bedroom apartment for about 30 years but seems to have acquired several lifetimes worth of mystery possessions.
He didn't label a single box.
He's also cavalier with securing his cargo; we were like Steptoe & Son meets The Beverly Hillbillies:
The trip up was notable for the strange, grey weather and the fact that, as far as I could tell, every driver behind us gave us at least a 20-metre berth, presuambly terrified that a random item of Mick's - a stack hat; a hacksaw - might free itself en route. I would have been.
Fortunately, I couldn't see much; what appeared from behind the tarpaulin - apart from being "closer than they appear" - were usually menacing:
Afetr a forced detour (turns out a truck struck a footbridge near Maitland) we arrived at Safe 'n' Sound, an immaculately bleak operation with a nice line in sexy bloke staff:
It took two sweaty hours, a brief downpour and 'strictly no smoking' but somehow we eventually crammed Mick's existence into the equivalent of a roomy walk-in wardrobe.
The home hunt begins.
Friday, February 27, 2009
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:
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.
Overheard at the Oxford Hotel.
Cue raucous laughter.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
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…
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…
Monday, February 16, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, February 9, 2009
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".
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".
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