My Mother and Facebook

My friends had warned me and I did not listen.

It all started back when my mother joined the digital revolution and went online. It wasn't long before she created a Facebook account and then... yes, sent me a friend invite.
I put off responding and took this dilemma to my friends.  Their response was a resounding 'NO!'. I think they all added a variation to the effect of 'are you insane? why would you even need to ask if this is ok? Of course it isn't!' Apparently, you do not add your mother to your Facebook account, I understand this now, but couldn't help but feel really guilty! After all, this was the woman that carried me for nine months, gave birth to me, fed me, changed me and loved me.... how can I not accept a friend request from my mother??? What kind of an ungrateful son would I be?  So, I ignored the good advice of my friends and accepted my mother's 'friend request' and then things became awkward.
At first it was 'kind of' ok. When no one responded to one of my posts, my mum would support me by posting encouraging comments like 'I like everything that matthew does'.. yep, it's  just like the encouragement ribbons I used to get at Little Athletics  (cause I was shit at Little Athletics), except this time it is a public post on Facebook by my mother. Anyway, things were reasonably ok, until the phone call. Which went a little like this:

Mum-' Hi, X is sending you a Facebook invite, so just make sure you accept that when it comes through'

Me- 'What??!!, Who is this person??'

Mum- 'you know my friend X...'

Me (becoming a tad hysterical at this point and reverting to a 12 year old)-'MUM! I am NOT accepting friend requests from YOUR friends, OH MY GOD!! My friends told me NOT to accept your friend request and now look what is happening!!!!' 

Mum, a little hurt and puzzled- 'Why would your friends tell you not to be my friend on Facebook??'

Me (hearing the hurt in my mothers voice and now rightfully feeling like complete crap!)- 'Cause you're my mum and it is not cool!!  But I told them I couldn't turn down my mothers friend request...'

Mum (now with some pride in her voice) - 'come on love, just for me, for your mum!'

Me- 'mum, how did they even find me on Facebook (I have my fathers surname and mum has her maiden name'

Mum- 'well.. X doesn't have many friends so I suggested that they add you... go on , for me, for your mum. I did tell them that you would accept the request.'

Me (feeling that I have no choice in the matter, and making sure my mother knows that I am not happy! and no, I didn't stomp about this time) - 'Ok, that  is it!!! no more mum, no MORE!!!!  I will accept their friend request, but I don't want anymore of your friends sending me friend requests, ok??!!

Mum- 'Oh, X is not my friend, X is my neighbour.

I just groan at this point.

The next evening, I call mum and advise that I had accepted her neighbour's friend request... mum responded with, 'oh, I just deleted the request they sent me'.
I flip out 'ARE YOU SERIOUS???????". Mum laughs and says 'I deleted it accidentally, I asked X to resend the request'. I think I ended the call very quickly with, 'Ok mum I have to go, I can't talk to you anymore.' All the while I was asking myself, why I didn't listen to my friends in the first place and not accept my mum's Facebook friend request.


I think my mum secretly delights in driving me crazy, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she is writing a blog called 'Things I do to drive my son crazy'.


Many thanks to V.G. for editing!

The little black Melways

There I was, I had just sold my car to a very straight, young middle eastern mechanic who worked for my mechanic, who I had been going to for years and years. I had given the young man the keys and said kindly (because I am a very generous man!), "Keep the Melways, it is current, I have no need of it"..... and then a day later I realised with embarrassment what I had left him with, was actually my little 'black' Melways!

***At this very early juncture, I should point out that 'Melways' is the brand of a Melbourne (where I live) street directory. The 'Mel' in Melways being for Melbourne. I did not realise this till a couple of years ago when I was interstate and asked someone if there was a Melways about so that we could work out how to get 'unlost. They they looked at me like I was an idiot .. "Umm this is Brisbane...Melways are for Melbourne!, here it is called Brisways!" they snorted. "Oh!", was my confused and embarrassed reply. Who knew?

Now, back to the main point of all of this!....Being a single modern man, I have been 'out there'. I don't mean in the garden doing some much needed weeding, but out there, on the dating scene. Dating is word that for me has wholesome connotations and I guess the modern scene is often anything but...but what is my point? A post lamenting the loss of more innocent times? No, something a little more sordid. Today's dating scene is more like a .. well, you meet online, you exchange 'vitals' and interests and then before you have finished saying hello and starting the small talk about the weather and contemporary art, 'Bob's your uncle!' ( a euphemism for: making hay while the sun shines (can you use a euphemism to explain the meaning of another euphemism?)).

So, being an 'out there' modern dating man, I have had my fair share of 'dates' and because I can be forgetful.. I would dot point important details of said dates .. name, address, phone number, 'vitals', 'interests' and important information like - 'nice guy but boring', 'bad breath' etc.... now, because I am practical.. I go that little bit further with all of this and just in case I want to go back on another 'date'.. I placed these little bits of paper, on the actual page of the Melways  (road directory) where they lived. This obviously makes it easier for me if I wanted to visit them again. With me being 'that way inclined'.. this also means these little bits of paper obviously had other men's details on them. 

Anyway ..So here I am, having sold my car and given away my little black Melways with all of it's dirty little secrets, names, addresses, numbers etc,  to a young and very straight  mechanic, who worked for my mechanic  etc.......which all means that obviously I can never go back to that most brilliant of brilliant mechanics.... but at the same time I cannot leave these other peoples personal details 'out there' in the greater world where they may be  used to hurt them in some way... can I?  

Maybe?

What a dilemma!.. what to do?
I mean, another option would be to have the young man sacked so that I can go back to my mechanics if I need to and then won't have to shamefully face him.

Before anyone gets all up in arms, of course I know what I 'must' do...which is the 'right thing' of course! Being of southern Italian blood, the 'right thing' would mean to have him 'removed' permanently. But, being a kind hearted man, I ignore the voice of Calabrese reason and
after much deep breathing and many slugs of hard liquor, I venture back to the mechanics (where I knew the car was waiting on some much needed repair work) and asked  my car's new young owner if I could grab an important document I think I left in the Melways..  He was polite enough and pointed out where the car was. Acting as calm as a cucumber I quickly nabbed all the dirty little bits of proof of the wicked life I had led ( a statement which incorrectly infers that I am now a model catholic!) and believe it or not.. In a panic I actually contemplated  eating the 'evidence' in case he came over and caught me red-handed with it.. but then thought about how I had no fluid/drink to wash the paper down with and my mouth would surely get all dry.. because it was probably like eating dry biscuits.. right?..and your mouth gets so dry that you can't actually swallow! So I took it all home and shredded it instead. I sighed a huge sigh of relief because not only was I amazingly clever and saved the day for millions of unsuspecting gay, bisexual and 'curious' Melbourne men, but now, no one would ever know about my shameful little black Melways.

I am certain that there is a lesson there in all of this... but I'll be buggered if I can find it ;-)

Dear crazy and beautiful people, please don't be so hard on yourself.

We are all a little bit crazy. Some of us are more crazy than others, some of us are more openly or publicly crazy than others, some of us are crazy behind closed doors and some of us are so scared of being thought to be crazy that we hide who we are and present as cold, frozen and aloof.

OK, maybe some people are far from crazy, maybe they are well balanced and sane.Well,  Bully for them! (for those reading this who are under 70, 'good for them!').

For the rest of us, I wonder sometimes if we get so caught up worrying or thinking about how crazy we can be seen to be, that these very thoughts get in the way of everything else. I have come to the personal conclusion to stop worrying because everyone else is as crazy as me and if they aren't, then maybe they are hiding it, ashamed of it, waiting for the right moment to give me a lovely surprise with a sudden display of it, or maybe they aren't blessed with a touch of craziness and are just plain BORING. Crazy is as crazy does and if you can't be a little hysterical, unpredictable and able to think outside that bloody square, then how humdrum and predictable a life we would live?

Craziness needs to be loved, to be nurtured,  to be encouraged, to be celebrated and to be held up high for all to aspire to. Yes, for it is a beacon of light in the grey of the mundane and monotonous! If it wasn't for a little craziness, how would the great achievements in human history have occurred?  You just need to look at a photo of good old Albert Einstein and his wacky hair to know that he is a little bit crazy. Van Gogh's beautiful artwork is another case in point, who would have thought to try such a different way of painting? Only a crazy person!

Don't get confused, I am not suggesting we all go on holiday to a sanitarium, wear straight jackets or start taking anti-psychotic medication. I am not talking about mental health issue type crazy here, but the kind of craziness that allows you to function in the greater world, whilst still allowing you to be and do as you want or feel, to be a little left of centre and importantly, be true to your magnificent crazy self! Don't get me wrong, I am not for a second implying that non-crazy people aren't being true to themselves, they are, it is just.. that they are so.... well, you know... predictable and... dare I use the 'b' word?

Sure, for us crazy people, it's not all sunshine, rainbows and lollypops (with apologies to Lesley Gore), for some, being a little crazy means over-reacting to things, exaggerating everything and sometimes flailing your arms about as you do it. Sometimes this isn't conducive to ongoing and long lasting relationships... sometimes our crazy behaviour can get in the way of what we want in life. The glass half full people amongst us, see these moments  as opportunities to moderate and adapt our craziness to help us achieve what we want in life. In other words, change for the better. Yep, talk about seeing the silver lining! The 'glass half full' crazy people talk about owning your crazy, rather than letting it own and control you.. Deep stuff!

So, my dear fellow crazy and beautiful people, be your crazy yourselves and do it with head held high. Life is never perfect, so the next time you are a little crazier than you might like to be, don't be too hard on yourself, be a glass half full type and see it as an opportunity to learn from. An opportunity to try and do things differently next time and to own your crazy rather than letting it own you. Most importantly, what ever you do dear crazy person, never hide your crazy, never deny it and most of all, never ever get rid of all of your craziness, because without it,  you are not you. And you are beautiful just as you are.

Some dodgy photos of my new beard and some notes on the racism my beard has seemed to stir up!

This was recently posted on my tumblr, but felt it worthwhile to reprint here.


Me by my mate Dean:

Me by me:

Since growing my beard I have been abused in the street, had disproving stares and comments from family and friends and generally been at the receiving end of a lot of racist comments!

I’ve been told on a number of occasions that I should shave my beard off because I look like a ‘Jew’, others say I should shave it off because I look like an ‘Arab’ or an ‘Arab terrorist’. This is all said as if looking like a Jew or Arab is something to be ashamed of.  One man walked past me in the street last week and just as he past me, he yelled out ‘fucking Arabs!’. This behavior only makes me want to keep my beard. I consider it an honor to be thought to be part of the rich culture of my Jewish or Arabic/Middle Eastern brothers and sisters. I have to say it isn’t all hard going, A couple of middle eastern eateries I visited, called me brother and gave me some complimentary side dishes ;-)

The bad news for the racists around me is that now that I have discovered beard wax… the beard will definitely be around for a while!

I do acknowledge that we are all potentially racists in someway, I know that I have been guilty of it in some ways. I think that racism can to be taught, learned and past down through the generations. I grew up with a lot of Greeks who were still very angry towards the Turkish people for what had happened in the past…These friends were all born here in Australia and didn’t directly experience the events they were angry about. I am not attacking my Greek siblings, just using this example to make a point that leads to a question. The question is, how do we heal and start to see each other again as individuals and to see without a lens of hatred and bigotry?

As for me, being gay and growing up on a government housing estate, I have had my unfair share of homophobic comments and poor treatment.  I am a tough bugger and will plough on regardless of what others think. Besides, it’s just a beard….. ;-)

Me by Nadia N:

Me by  Dani (and yes, I know that shirt needs a rest!):

Lastly, me by me and hey look! different shirt! ;-)




All photographs copyright the respective owners. 2014

The magical power that parents have to make you feel twelve years old again.... and not in a good way.

How is it that no matter what age you are, your parents still seem to have some magical ability to regress us to age twelve?  I don't at all mean this in lovely way, you know, a way in which we are transported back to a time and state of being of innocence, where we had no worries about work, mortgages, children, the environment and life as we know it as todays responsible adult. I'm talking about being regressed back to all the crap stuff about being twelve- ie. your parents spoiling your fun and making you do things that you don't want to!

Recently I had a very adult event in my life. The opening of an art exhibition which I was part of and which my mother attended. All was well, until my mother wanted me to do something for her and I was too busy attending to my guests to fulfill mothers wants. Mum kept asking me about a friend of mine I had known for ages. Mum wanted to be reintroduced to her and kept asking me where friend 'X' was. Mind you, I was busy being a host and spruiking my art which was on sale. I did respond to mum's requests with 'she is over there mum'.. to which mum would ask me to retrieve X to present to her. I know what your question is and the answer is: Yes, my mother is the Queen of England. Anyway my mother, whom everyone comments of with phrases such as  'Oh, your mum is lovely' or, 'Oh, your mum is so nice'... etc. Yes well, wait till you really know her, because if you don't give her what she wants, she will turn into the lord of HELL at any moment! as evidenced by what happened next at the exhibition.... As I was busy working the room, I walked past where the queen of England was seated (yes, my mother) and BAM! My mother just about rips my arm off as she grabs me:

Mum- In a steely tone, 'Have you brought your friend X over to me yet? I want to see what they are like after these years that have passed..'

Me, in the middle of working the room at MY event (and wondering why people ask rhetorical questions.. I mean, seriously, If I had brought X over to you, would you have to ask me If I had??)
'No mum, she is just over there' I say as I also point out where X is standing and in fairly close proximity'

Mum- 'go and get her', with her steely tone getting steelier by the syllable.

Me- exasperatedly 'Mum, I'm in the middle of stuff! I'm busy, she's over there' (ie. Queeny, get up and walk over there....)

At this point my mother, whom everyone falsely believes is LOVELY and is always saying ' oh your mum is  so sweet etc..... well, she gave me one of those looks, that dark alley stare that says  'do it now boy or I will cut you!' Then, between clenched teeth  she demands "Bring her to me NOW!'.  At which point, I regress into a twelve year old who has been told to stop playing with his friends and go and do some painful chore. My shoulders hunch up, are then released with a huge shrug and sigh as I turn and STOMP off to collect my friend X.  I find X, grab her arm and state sulkily 'Mum wants to meet you', then I STOMP back over to the queen who is smiling broadly, with X in tow....

Yep.... Parents.... no matter how old you are, they are always your parents and can always make you feel like a child, and not in a good way either.

p.s. I do love the Queen, err I mean my mum!

The good the bad and the ugly- July 2012

 The Good: Things that help with dieting - Shit snacks in the cupboard!



I have tried a thousand diets.. Ok..being the lazy dieter that I am, I have tried them in my minds eye and could see that they wouldn't work..mostly because I LOVE food....and I am lazy.
So... I found a new diet.. the no food diet.. yes, it goes against my ideology that food is yum and must be eaten... and yes, any nutritionist and/or sensible person would clearly see this is a crazy and stupid diet that NO ONE should do.. however... I have  lost of couple of kilos and that is all that matters!

One amazing thing I have found is that when and if you can't cut out snacks.. you need to buy 'Shit snacks'. Yep, SHIT SNACKS, and by that I mean food that looks, smells and tastes disgusting.
Recently I purchased some ridiculously  priced 'root vegetable chips'. Even whilst looking at them I found myself thinking 'why would anyone think that parsnips and turnips would make tasty chips?' Soon after, whilst watching a film one night and feeling like a snack (even though I wasn't hungry!), I reached for the 'root vegetable chips'.. and yah, just as I suspected, they were HORRIBLE! To make matters worse,  they were LOW SALT!!!! Why sweet Jesus, why??? Being a trooper, I tried to plough on... I really did, but even if I was STARVING and hadn't eaten for a YEAR! I doubt I would have been able to eat those shit snacks,  which quickly went into my rubbish bin, cause I didn't even want that shit in my compost bin or worm farm.. cause you know those low salt shit snack nutrients were only going to go back into my garden, into the vegies and yep.. back on my dinner table and straight back to me!


So dear friends, if you are having trouble dieting, due to excess snacking.. the trick is to stock up on shit snacks, because when you do open them.. and you will, they will be so horrible that you won't want to finish eating them and there in lies a small victory for your waistline!!!!


The Bad: Sexual and romantic tension at the dentist's


A good mate, who was sick of me complaining about 'driving for an hour to see my expensive dentist across town', had enough and finally referred me to her dentist, who is not only great, charges reasonable rates, but importantly is only a 15 min ride away.  My first visit was an emergency, which uncovered some other work that needed to be done.... So, once the emergency was resolved, the dentist mapped out a treatment plan for the one billion other fillings I need (yes, I have terrible teeth). I was surprised that my old dentists hadn't picked this all up, given I see him every 6 months for a check up AND generally have X-rays done.

Anyway, my new Dentist, here forth know as the Dentist, has lovely green eyes.... and when I am in the chair, his warm soft hands gently caress my face as he delicately works on my mouth. At the end of each session, what would usually be a normal 'blokey' kind of  handshake, instead sees his large warm soft hands gently, but firmly enfolding my smaller hands...as our eyes meet above, seemingly whispering to each other...
Yep... True! My friends think that I am making this all up.. I got to the point where I thought, Maybe I was reading this differently to what was really happening, then came my last visit to see him. He hadn't filed a new filling down enough and I couldn't really bite down without feeling awkward and uncomfortable. So, I go back to get it corrected and despite the friend who referred me saying the dentist was gruff, rough and unattractive... he was once again, warm and gentle with me. We actually had this tender and awkward moment where he thanked me for being able to come back in, and I said 'no, no, thank you, for being able to fit me in'.. and he smiled this broad warm smile and said 'not at all'.... and then I think he said something like it was his pleasure...and we stood there awkwardly in silence and I finally said.. 'umm, I guess I better go, thanks'... and said 'um yeah sure' and smiled....both of us feeling like teenagers in love....

So, I think there is sexual/romantic tension there  (ok, maybe not tension, but it makes it sound more DRAMATIC!).. and I think the only way forward is for my dentist and I to date and maybe even cut to the chase and just be intimate and loving and make babies who will be blessed with good dental hygiene.... but my fear is for my friends, who are his current patients. Because if it doesn't work out between the Dentist and me... then where does that leave them, his patients? Like any immature break up, will they have to choose a 'side', or will he just cut them loose, cause they are 'my friends'??  I am definitely not immature, but I can't really speak for the Dentist!




The Ugly: Guilt

It is winter here and we are having the winters I recall from many years back- cold, wet and crap. I have to say I am loving them for a change. We have not long come out of a ten (plus) year drought and we have water back in our dams again!!!  Anyway, recently I saw a film with a mate and he was running pretty late..so instead of waiting alone in the cinema foyer, which had no heating except for one oil column heater that three people were already crowded around...!!!!  I decided to walk to the local video store which was only a few shops away, and kill time browsing their shelves in the small, cosy and warm shop... sounds good, except that when I opened the door to the shop and let in an Artic blast... the owner was right there and copped it all. He looked up and seeing it was me, warmed up and was like 'Oh, hello Matthew how are you going?'... AWKWARD!!! I made pleasantries and then started to 'Faux browse'.. Then I started to panic and think about how I am wasting his time and heating and they don't make much money, and are such a great store and get things in when you ask.... so now I thinking of how to get out of this, without having to borrow a film... and my plans are becoming more and more elaborate... I could feign a panic attack and leave in a cloud of sympathy, I could pretend to take a call on my mobile and go further and pretend there is a crises/emergency and run out of the shop yelling 'JUST WAIT! Just WAIT!, I'll be there, HOLD ON!!!'...then I hit JACKPOT! and start to look for films that I know they should have and checking to see if they are out... Finally I find one and go up to the counter and ask if it is in.. the owner taps away at the computer.. 'oh, sorry matthew that film is out and not due back for a few more days'... I, being a NIDA graduate (not really), channel 'loss, disappointment and frustration'... 'Oh NO!!!! I was so looking forward to that film!!! I give out a couple of loud 'TSKS'.. I look about annoyed 'There was nothing else I wanted...' I put on my sad face, my body lurches with dejection and then for some reason, not even known to me, I say "I've gotta go, I've gotta go!" quickly and repeatedly like a crazy person, glare at the owner in anger  and then I rush back out into the cold.

I guess I'd rather be cold and guilt free, than warm and full of guilt that would have made me break down and cry like a baby!!!. When my mate finally arrived at the cinema, I told him about what had happened. He just looked at me dumbfounded and explained that there was another alternative, which was to be upfront about why I was there.. Who would have thought???

The end of carb fury.

It ended with a hand-cut deep fried chip smothered in mashed potato. The taste was divine. My tastebuds celebrated the return of the prodigal son. My hunger and my anger subsided. I was once more one with the carb, and one with humanity. I was peaceful, I was content. Rage and anger were forgotten.

For what seemed forever ago, I had been separated from my twin. Like East and West Germany we pined for reunification. A grey wall of stony-faced bureaucracy passed down rules that made no sense and forced me to watch my every mouthful, as others watched me and I them.  We became Stasi informants, ever watching and ever reporting. Ensuring the rules of the carb free diet were adhered to. Daring not take a bite least we ourselves be reported. Life was lived in fear. But now, now the walls of grey tastelessness have come down. Now that which is my other half- Carbohydrate and I are joined once more. Tears of joy run down my face as life is lived fearlessly and the tastiness of freedom fills my mouth.

I have not lost the weight I was hoping for, in fact I don’t think I lost any weight… But to live life counting and worrying about every mouthful is to live life a prisoner.. and I refuse this.. To live life craving and hungry, yearning for that which you are not ‘allowed’ to have is a life of misery. I walked about angry, full of carb rage and fury, but no more. I may be chunky, but so what! For I am happy! I am calm and I am at peace. If I meet some cute man who rejects me because of my chunky frame... then he is not my ideal partner. For this is me, content chunky carb lover!!! Bring on the mashed potato smothered hand cut potato chips!!! In fact, bring me two serves!

New York bed Bugs.

I always had this feeling that I was special, that I would one day do something that would touch the lives of many people…. and I think that I have discovered what it is.

The Age newspaper has reported a bed bug infestation in New York:

http://www.theage.com.au/travel/travel-news/new-york-under-attack-as-bed-bugs-make-unwanted-comeback-20100913-157g6.html

http://www.theage.com.au/travel/travel-news/bedbugs-put-bite-on-big-apple-20100803-113x2.html

Well…..I think this was me !!!!  I think I imported Parisian bed bugs into New York! Let me explain how. In July this year, my friend Mary and I were in Paris and were attacked by bed bugs in our hotel room…. I thought I escaped untouched, I moved on to the UK and then to New York. It wasn’t until I was in New York did the bites appear and at that point I then vacuumed out my suitcase, washed all my clothes in hot water and placed them in a hot tumble dryer (shrinking my cotton Lacoste polos in the process).  At one point soon after this in New York, a close friend was in my hotel room… and I thought I saw a bed bug on him (I am good at spotting them, Mary and I were catching them in our hotel room in Paris). Like a maniac I acted at once and struck out trying to swipe the bed bug off him. I then tried to casually stomp on it and act as if nothing had happened. My friend asked me if I was ok. I off-handedly replied ‘I thought I saw something on you, an insect or something’. I shrugged off his question and then looked about manically towards the floor for the crushed bug, all the while trying to remain causal. It had escaped!!!!!  I commented ‘Must have been some fluff’. My friend must have thought I was crazy at this point, because I was still trying to act casual, relaxed even, all the while trying to spot the fiendish bed bug… was it under the draws?, the chair? the bed?? It had escaped!! but to where?? I never did see that bed bug again. I guess it joined the rest of the illegal immigrants in the United States of Freedom and laid its eggs, doing what all racists fear that migrants (legal and illegal) will do and that is breed and take over and It has!! All because of me !!! I have had many a sleepless night worrying about my friend and if I sent him home laden with bedbugs. I have been too embarrassed to ask. I guess the articles in the Age have answered my questions.

To my friend, to New York itself and to all of its residents, I am so sorry!