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DesDownunder

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Blog Entries posted by DesDownunder

  1. DesDownunder
    For 50 years my working life has been involved with motion pictures...on film.
    It is therefore not without some sense of nostalgia that I saw the headlines about Kodak filing for bankruptcy.
    I knew when I came out of retirement late last year that the cinema I am working at would succumb to the deadline, in about 18 months, when all new movies will only be available for digital projection - no more movies on film. From what I can see all cinemas including large screen format theatres will be digital within a year or so.
    To my eye digital projection is at about the same stage as the Compact Disc was when it was first released; not as good as the analogue in some areas, but better in others and with more convenience. Undoubtedly, further development will render further improvements for digital projection in cinemas and for home.
    I was lucky, very lucky. My experience in the industry spanned the era from the early 1950's through to the present. Most notable were the large screen presenttions in Cinerama, CinemaScope, TODDAO, and the other 70mm large screen procesess including IMAX.
    From a performance art point of view there was nothing like seeing 1-2 thousand people sitting in a theatre waiting for that magic moment when the lights dimmed and the curtains parted to reveal a spectacle that would transport the audience to another world, time, space, or all three.
    Sadly most of the cinemas of today have no sense of showmanship, being forced to survive commercially by selling foul popcorn and ice cream at exorbitant prices. My current cinema is a real joy, as it has one of the largest Wurlitzer organs in the Southern hemisphere.
    It's great fun to watch the organ rise out of its concealed pit with the organist playing away for all he or she is worth, whilst I dim the lights to set the mood.
    Last Friday night, at midnight, we screened Rocky Horror Picture Show to 400 screaming fans. The manager, organist and I decided to do a presentation at the start with me playing Riff Raff. I really didn't need any makeup, but I decided to gild the Lily anyway.
    Here is an atmospheric photo of your trusty orang-utan made up to look like an aging Riff Raff. I think I look more like a zombie. And yes, that is my own hair, I didn't need the Riff Raff wig.

    During the screening, I wandered around the theatre and sat alongside members of the audience as they threw rice and toast etc., at each other. Some of the expressions on their faces were priceless. We had a great fun night and the evening raised a huge amount of money, so we are going to do it again on the next Friday 13th with some different antics.
    I should add that the theatre is a non-profit organisation run by volunteers of the Theatre Organ Society who owns the theatre, with the projectionist and manager being the only paid employees. Naturally I didn't charge them for my performance as Riff Raff. (I wasn't projectionist for the show that night.)
    I managed to tell the audience about one of our currently screening movies, The Iron Lady starring Meryl Streep as Margaret Thatcher who was just a jump to the Right.
  2. DesDownunder
    Like old people tend to do, I was recently aware of reminiscing about my early teenage years; in particular about my school days, and specifically, my high school nickname, 'De-link'.
    Now you might actually think you can work out how I was given this name, but I'm willing to bet you'd never get it right.
    As fate (and my poor study habits) would have it, I had to repeat my second of year high school. I was pissed, to say the least; another year of being bullied and tormented by both teachers and students. Here's what happened.
    I walked into the class room, late, because as a repeat student I had to be reassigned to a specific class and it took time for the school dictators to work out where I would go, or perhaps which teacher would put up with me. After all, who would want to deal with a snivelling, red-headed sports-hating boy who was only good for being ridiculed, bashed and intimidated?
    So I walked into my new classroom, and the teacher told me to choose a seat. I sat down at the nearest desk, which was right next to the older, bigger, hirsute boy who, unbeknownst to me, was regarded by every student in the class as the most terrifying yeti on the planet.
    I didn't know any better, so ever the polite nerd, I greeted him, "Hi, I'm Des."
    He looked at me with astonishment, through eyes that hid behind a tangled fringe of black hair that wanted to curl, and told me his name was Barrad. I later learned he was referred to as 'The Barbarian'.
    The teacher muttered something along the lines of, "Oh, that's just great, the outcasts sitting together."
    I immediately lost it. I'd had enough. I stood up, swallowed my rage, and calmly told the teacher that we were not outcasts unless he treated us like outcasts. If it had been 1975 instead of 1958, I feel certain someone in the class would have proclaimed, "The Force is strong in this one." The truth was, I'd had it with being a victim. Besides which, I was going through puberty and didn't need this 'outcast' crap to think about, along with trying to work out why some boys looked better to me than others.
    The teacher just looked at me with a severe expression on his face and told me, "Don't be impudent; I'll have no delinquents in this class."
    And for the next two years I was known as 'The Delinquent.' It was quickly shortened to 'Delinkie' and then to just, 'De-link'. I loved it. It was a term of respect and friendship. It changed my life. Looking back on it now, I wonder what would have happened if I had rejected the well meant intent of the friendly nickname. It's so difficult to sort out the slings and arrows of torment from the terms of teasing endearment.
    The Barbarian seemed to become quite upset, over time, as I think he felt he was 'the missing link', and 'De-link' should have been his nickname. Luckily, he had his own friends in another class so I didn't need to worry about him.
    Thus began the first time in my life in which I could relate to my class-mates without fear. It didn't hurt that I was nearly a year older than them. In hindsight, we had developed that link of trust so often missing amongst young teenagers, who are ever anxious about being hurt by each other.
    For the next two years I lived without fear of being bullied or intimidated. I had made four great friendships which continued into my early twenties, when they all found girls to marry, and when I went out of my way to get laid as often as possible...until I became happily entangled in the bonds of love for these past forty years. And no, those high school friends were not gay, but we admitted to loving each other as we shared growing up together; teasing each other, exchanging our discoveries and wondering anew about life. I know some will think we were lucky, and I guess we were, but so often, it seems to me, we need to jump that chasm between fear and trust, the unknown and the known, instinct and intelligence, or our sophistication of thought becomes a missing link forever.
    With that link to reality no longer missing, we have the means to recognise the real perils of our existence. We then can realise the rewards of sharing our lives in friendship and love, and we discover that living...well, it does get better...and I remember that even that teacher's attitude improved.
  3. DesDownunder

    Why Dildo?

    By DesDownunder,

    Timmy at, 'A Place Of Safety' recently posted this ad for making a dildo of yourself, and then asked why?
    So I replied thus:
    I can think of four reasons, Timmy.
    1. It allows the individual to experience what others experience when he is topping them.
    2. It would make a nice conversation piece on the coffee table. At least it would alert the overnight guest as to what he is in for, as well as letting your visiting parents know how much you have matured.
    3. As a parting gift to one's ex boyfriend. (Also as a bequeathed item in one's last will and testament. If copies are made, everyone could have one, and they could be 'handled' around at the funeral service.)
    4. Because most people like to oblige others, the newly made dildo from your own member will assist you to fulfil the direction sometimes made by others to, "Go F**k yourself."
    I am also interested in testing a pet theory of mine that the individual's rectum is probably the inverse shape of one's own penis. If this is true then the dildo should be a very snug and satisfying fit.
    Of course it might be better to find one's body twin, er...sorry I mean, soul mate.
    No doubt y'all will have some alternative reasons.
  4. DesDownunder
    I sneezed.
    So I have been sniffling with an inflamed throat, and headache. I don't think it is swine flu or bird flew, but who knows? I'm not going to the doctor either, because if it is swine flu and he catches it from me then who will I consult if I get the Elbo virus?
    Hmmm wait a minute, that's the Ebola virus. Silly me, my elbow can't get a virus can it? Can it?
    The worst thing about a cold, I'm sure that's all I have, is sitting around waiting until you to feel better so you can then go and feel the bf.
    I suppose I could go and feel someone under 30 and if they start sneezing and die I will know that I have the swine flu.
    I know you can sit and watch TV until you feel better but it just makes me feel worse.
    I'd rather sit and read the stories at AD if I could stop sneezing all over the keyboard. Damn if the bf sees the nasal purge all over the keyboard, he will think I started without him. Well not so much started as finished I suppose I should say.
    kmfghoaslrvzb btt GSGJ,.IODXSxnne454642m-kp
    There, I have cleaned the nose spray off the keyboard. It looks so much better. The keyboard, not my nose.
    I just wrapped the keyboard in plastic cling wrap. That should solve the problems.
    Damn I just sneezed all over the monitor screen.
    I'm going to bed. Hope I don't sneeze all over the sheets.
  5. DesDownunder
    So here am I, aging by the second and running around trying to find some semblance of reason to the bizarre conditions of warranties.
    My new all singing, all dancing, all annoying mobile phone has stopped working after 6 months. The screen is plain white and the battery won't accept a recharge. I rang the Telephone company, -on the land line phone, as the mobile was busted. Did you really think I rang on the mobile which is broken? Of course you didn't. A voice answered,
    "In a few words," she says," Please tell me the purpose of your call."
    "WTF is this? oh, okay, I get it...My phone is busted."
    "I'm sorry," apologizes the voice, "I didn't understand you. In a few words please state the nature of your call."
    "My mobile phone isn't working."
    "Your phone isn't working. Does that sound right to you?"
    "yes!" I want to add an expletive or two but refrain.
    "Please tell me the nature of your problem."
    "The friggin phone ain't able to take a friggin charge."
    "Your account has been over-charged? Is that correct."
    "No!"
    Silence.
    "Please press the hash key."
    I press every key several times.
    "Okay, I am not able to ascertain your query, please hold while I connect to a service consultant."
    Musical interlude.
    "Your call is important to us and has been placed in a queue." announces a recorded voice. "We are experiencing an unusually large number of calls at the moment. You may wait in the queue or press 2 and leave your phone number and we will phone you back tomorrow."
    "Yeah right. Do I look stupid? I'll wait."
    Musical interlude, interrupted by a commercial trying to sell me a new phone. I ignore the offer to go to 'sales' by pressing 3.
    "Hello my name is Sam, how may I make you day perfect?"
    I burst out laughing.
    "Hello, hello...Can I help you?"
    "Yes you can. Firstly tell the boss to get a new script writer, secondly shoot the auto-voice system, it doesn't work."
    "Yes, we have a lot of trouble with that," says Sam.
    "And thirdly," I tell him, "I want my mobile phone repaired. It is under warranty."
    Certainly Sir, when was the phone purchased, what is the telephone number, which country are you in, and what seems to be wrong with the unit?"
    "The unit? Oh, you mean the phone."
    I supply the details he requires as quickly as I can, the sun is setting.
    After several minutes of music and commercials, Sam (he sounds really cute) returns and tells me that I have a a valid claim and he will escalate my case to the senior technician who will send me details on how to get my phone repaired. In the meantime if I want to use the phone service I should buy a cheap phone and put the SIM card into it. I thank Sam and before I can invite him home for a midnight tryst, he bids me farewell and hangs-up.
    The next day I buy the suggested cheap ? $60 phone, transfer the SIM card and voila, I am connected again to the mobile phone world.
    Four days later, the Senior Technician sends me a return for service form, which I must sign. In it, is a clause that says I agree to being charged a minimum of $100 if they fix the phone because it is not broken under warranty. No. I check with a lawyer friend. Don't sign it he advises.
    "I have no intention of signing it," I tell him.
    "Wait until Monday and take it direct to the manufacturer's service department." So I will do that.
    In the meantime, the laser printer is reporting a paper jam, but there is no paper jammed in it. It's under warranty. I check their website which is like trying to find your way around a brothel in the dark. You can tell someone is being badly screwed, you're just hoping it isn't you.
    Finally I find a local phone number to call.
    "If your enquiry is to do with a scanner please press 2,
    If your enquiry is to do with a printer please press 3,
    If your enquiry is to do with something else we make, please press another number..."
    And so on...Finally a girl informs me she will email me with the time for the printer to be serviced...
    The printer serviceman is coming Monday. They will charge me $104.50 per hour from the time he leaves their premises until the time he returns if he finds the paper jam is due to a paper jam, as that is not covered under the warranty.
    Where is the Consumer Affairs phone number. Ah there it is.
    "Hello, you have rung consumer affairs. If your enquiry is about..."
    I hang up.

  6. DesDownunder
    Announcing: New category in my blog: Deeper thoughts of an Orangutan.
    I am thinking I might like to write some thoughts, essays or viewpoints on various subjects that are perhaps a little abstract, maybe nonsensical or even politically incorrect. I might even write an address to the people of Earth, once I am certain the mother-ship is on the way to pick me and take me home.
    Anyway I have created a category in my blog for subjects that are somewhat more outsopken. If I can ever get time, I may even video them and put them on youtube.
    I also want to see how the Categories system works in the blogs. So we may never get more than this post if I cannot find it again.
    In the mean time think on this:
    If I have a thought today, that affects what I will think tomorrow, why didn't yesterday's thought, about today, have any affect at all?

  7. DesDownunder
    I don't understand all this fuss about a financial crisis. I've been in a financial crisis for over ten years. Every time we use up the limit on the credit we just get the bank to extend the limit. Sexual deficiency is the only real crisis worth worrying about. So far I reckon we have another 12 months before we run out of money again, but wait, I will soon have the pension money coming in and that will have to help.
    So I reckon the banks should extend everyone's credit limit and then we wouldn't have a crisis.
    The girl at our bank thinks the balance on our account is what we have deposited in the bank. She doesn't realise it is what we owe. She smiles at me and says we are doing quite well. (She's not talking about my sex life.) I think she should be put in charge of the International Monetary Fund.
    My health is better lately, but I still have a sleeping problem -he snores.
    So I have to sit up until 5 or 6am when I become tired enough to sleep through the sound of the gale force wind coming from my beloved's nostrils. I'm always surprised that he can grow hair up in those things. His nose hair sways like the palm trees in a tornado.
    Have you ever watched anyone sleep? Fascinating. Definitely an R rated activity after 30. Before 30 of course, it is an X rated biological process. After 40 it becomes more wishful thinking than an activity. And once you get to 50, you can't wait to sleep so you can dream about what it was like when you were under 20. At 60...what was the question again?
    Oh, yes the financial crisis. I wonder if the bank will give me enough credit for the Chinese aphrodisiac herb that lets me think I am 20 while I am awake? It's a great herb. I just wish it affected more than my brain. If you take too much of it it makes you feel like a real dickhead.
    Of course when it comes to one's sexual apparatus, it is true that you must keep using it or you will lose it, what they don't tell you is that after 60 when you use it, you pass out on the bed afterwards. Oh well at least I look like I am sleeping.
    Wake me up when the crisis is over.
  8. DesDownunder
    My personal thoughts on the US election
    It doesn't really matter what I think of the election result. Of course I am pleased Obama has been elected, but my reason for being pleased is both because I think the Democrats needed to be elected to adjust the balance away from the extremes of the right, and for a more selfish reason.
    Here in Australia our own "Left" wing party was elected to power not so long ago. The Labor party is our equivalent, in political terms, of the US Democrats. It is my fervent hope that the promises of the new US Presidency, will have some deep and meaningful effect on our government for the better, because they as a left wing party have strayed too far from their own principles of compassion.
    It is true that America does have a global influence, and the world is looking to see, hoping beyond all measure, that Obama lives up to his promises. If as may be expected, he operates under a policy of inclusion rather the ones of exclusion or collusion, then we may find that the fears some have about his presidency, will prove to be unfounded.
    Provided you can set aside the fear and prejudices of bygone manipulative eras, President Obama's election whichever way you look at it, gives the world, the hope of peace, a chance for change for the better.
    The point is not that he is black, the point is, that he is a human being who has won election on the basis of that change for the better.
    I think, we all need to work together in bringing about change for the better.
  9. DesDownunder
    It's still hot, so is the weather.
    I am devoting my time to my new forthcoming story which I just know is not going to be everyone's cup of tea or coffee or soda. I suppose I could have included beer and wine, but would anyone read my stories while drunk? Would anyone read one of my stories while sober, is probably more to the point.
    But hey, someone has to write this stuff, right?
    I have long tried to avoid writing an "Aussie" story, being more interested in the universal subjects that affects our romantic lives, or ideas of living romantically.
    Yet out of the Australian azure blue sky came a vision to allow me to explore, contemplate, attempt, both, and strike me lucky, perhaps even more.
    Anyway you can all stop brushing up your Shakespeare and start you lessons in Aussie customs and our local cultures, which we try to treat with antibiotics and sterilisation.
    You have plenty of time, as I suspect it will be a few weeks before I complete it and get it edited.
    Of course, I might finish one of the other stories I am working on first. Isn't writing fun?

  10. DesDownunder
    I wonder how much of what we write is truly original?
    I read a poem by bi_janus today, just now in fact, and I allowed my mind to go blank. This is not a difficult feat for me, unless I think with my feet.
    Anyway back to bi_janus' poem, which you can read here, Original Face Instruction Manual for Worrywarts
    I confess the title seemed to not do the poem justice, but it works if you think about your original face. The poem gave me pause for thought, and I was put into the frame of mind that usually only meditation brings; that quiet moment, seemingly endless, yet always too short.
    My thoughts turned Zenish and then it happened; I started to type, and this is what I wrote,
    "The silence between the notes is still music."
    I looked at it. Could I have possibly come up with that?
    Is it original? Surely someone must have said that before me.
    I must be old and forgetful, and I thought, of course someone would have said that before me.
    But it doesn't matter does it? I like it and added it to my signature.
    If someone has seen it before do, please, let me know. I'm curious.
  11. DesDownunder
    Parents - Three of Each
    A humorous introspection
    by Desmond Rutherford © 2012
    I’ve been asked for a short version of little Dessie's early years of parental influences.
    It all seemed to me, even back then, to be rather ordinary really, but in reality my early years were a minefield of historical precedents setting our cultural taboos and traps.
    How's that for an opening sentence? Okay, don't get excited, here are the details.
    Most of the time my mother and her sister suffered from the malady known as 'choosing the wrong husband'. Basically, they would marry any man that addressed them as “My Lady.” Their domineering mother, my grandmother, (duh) had better luck with my grandfather, but irregardless, he died at the early age of 57, leaving me stranded, at eleven years old, without a biological father figure. How did that happen?
    My father was one of those men who never grew up. At 16 he joined the crew of the last windjammer to sail to England via the Cape of Good Hope where the ship encountered a storm, and in his words, "a dry bed was just a wet dream," which was how he wrote it to my mother in the letter describing his travelling conditions. They fell madly in love with each other, and when they were both 24 they married and he took to making the bed wet with her, but not before I was conceived. Or was that why I was conceived? Anyway, he was very good at making the bed a wet dream, but not with my mother. She divorced him when she discovered him practising his, 'get a wench pregnant' skills with another woman.
    But you wanted the short version...I'm sorry, I get carried away. Let's just say that step-daddy number one was a real 'good guy', until he revealed that he really was The Step-Father From Hell, as we soon discovered after grandfather (remember him?) died. For some reason, known only to the Psycho Step-Fathers' Guild, my step-father decided to beat my mother up every night after grandfather died. It was probably some kind of escape clause in his Step-Fathers' Guild contract, should he ever discover he was totally unsuited to marriage.
    After a couple of years of being beaten nightly, my mother became weary of his futile desire to prove himself a man, and divorced him. He then ran off with one of my godfathers; a detail I would not learn until I was in my late twenties. He was one of those guys who try to prove that he is something he isn't. No, I'm not making this up. Luckily, he didn't molest me. My cousin has to accept responsibility for that, when he taught me to play 'doctors' with him, but then I was so naïve at 9 years old, that I thought he just wanted me to examine his body as any good doctor would. Goodness knows what I was touching, as he never did take off his clothes, and later he married. I wonder if that lasted. No traumas for me from that encounter.
    I remember the trauma I did have, when I discovered my sexuality. It was a school boy thing. The school doctor, who looked like he could have been someone's father, tested my testicular travelling tendencies and I decided I wanted to improve my range. Once it became apparent that I was only interested in touring the same destinations with same minded teenage males, I knew that my family, such as it was, was not going to cope well with my self realisation of my sexuality. In a moment of insanity at age fifteen, I checked with the local Baptist Church as to what God said about homosexuality. The priest (who should have been a father figure) told me it was better to be homosexual than to molest little girls. What incense was he smoking? It turned out that he was later arrested for, you guessed it, molesting little girls. He obviously didn't take his own advice, but I felt freed from the restrictions of Scripture. Atheism was added to my repertoire and I cancelled my covenant with my childhood religious fantasies. Feel free to do the same. You have nothing to lose but your insanity. But I digress, again.
    Step-father number two was much more docile; he was in fact somewhat boring but loved my mother. He was a butcher, and at age fourteen, I told my mother that she married him for his meat. She told me, “Not really, dear,” and then we both burst out laughing. He was not a large man.
    In the meantime, my mother's sister (that makes her my aunt) was busy sorting out her 'husband number two'. I think the first one died when I was infant, and much later, when I was in my teens, so did number two. She had better luck with husband number three as she died before he did but then he was sixteen years younger than her. She didn't have any children, though I'm certain she managed to get her consorts to have wet dreams. Needless to say she hovered around her only nephew (me) like any good mother-figure would.
    In between all these comings and goings, my biological father, who had joined the merchant navy, visited me whenever his ship was in the local port. He was evidently successful in making beds wet whenever his ships berthed, and indeed found a number of women who were only too happy to give birth to his children. We still, to this day, have never found all my half-siblings and I only met one of my ex-step-mothers, who was really nice.
    Then mum died, and even though I was 21, my aunt and my grandmother decided I needed to be looked after. I escaped to Melbourne and found true love, for six months.
    All in all, I have to say I was lucky I was gay, or I might have been tempted to shoot myself had I thought life for me would hold only the possibility of heterosexual relationships like those paraded by my parental units. What was that about a man and a woman, a mother and a father, being the best environment for a child? Obviously, whoever claims that, never met my family. Did I mention they were all alcoholics? Setting all their faults aside, I did grow up feeling loved by my parents, all of them.
    Even though there was an additional male role model in my life, in the form of a mentor, I do not talk about him directly, though you may find his creative and loving influence in nearly all of my stories. I would have been a very different person without him.
    So, this mostly happened over fifty years ago, in a time when gay relations were a crime that could lead to a social disaster, with no chance of redemption. Somehow, I never felt tempted to contemplate suicide. I was always far too interested in discovering how things would turn out. Even the daily beatings and bullying I suffered during my school years, until my mid-teens, never made me question the worth of being alive. As I have said before, I was lucky. I was determined to live. As I approach my sixty-eighth birthday I can tell you now, with no uncertainty, that seventy years of life is not enough, despite all the trials and tribulations we encounter. Indeed, I am wondering if they are what makes life worth living, if we can just accept the beauty that surrounds us, giving us the opportunity to love each other.
    Will my partner and I marry? Will we have children? I can tell you we actively support equal human rights for marriage, but we might not enter into marriage ourselves. We never had children despite trying nearly every noon and night for these past forty years, but, like my dad, having made our bed wet, we dream in it.
  12. DesDownunder
    Where have I been?
    Friends, despite rumours to the contrary, I haven't been ill, dead, or ignoring you all.
    Our video store has been in decline for several months and that has left us with many troubles which have demanded most of my time.
    We finally closed the store at the end of February. Renting DVDs has become too difficult in a small town like ours, especially when you consider that 70% of discs are returned with scratches, dried pizza and greasy etchings from fingers. I suspect some people have used the shiny silver platters to serve the Hors d'?uvres. So we have stopped renting DVDs and decided to go online to only sell DVDs. Our website should be up and running shortly.
    The local cinema (run by friends of ours) has also given us an area where we sell new and ex-rental stock. That has been doing quite well too.
    At present we are trying to keep our heads above financial poverty with other projects, and hopefully we will realise some rewards which will permit some free time to write some stories again. I managed to sell my old car for more than it was worth, and got $180 for it. we eat this week.
    Of course I would like to blame our dire state of affairs on the right wing politicians, but it seems the left is almost equally to blame. Thankfully we didn't vote for either of them. We voted for the Australian sex Party. And no, I am not joking, they actually exist. LOL
    So just as soon as I get some free moments I will attempt to write a story or three, but it may take a little longer before I am able to do so.
    Cheers.

  13. DesDownunder
    So there I was sitting quietly minding my own business when the phone squawked.
    It didn't ring, it squawked like a duck with the flu. Which flu? How the hell do I know? There are so many hideous diseases getting around and I'm only a poor hypochondriac, not a doctor.
    Speaking of the doctor, I showed him my leg last Tuesday. He said he wasn't impressed.
    "No, no," I told him, "look there," and I pointed at the scaly red mark just below my knee.
    "Is it skin cancer?"
    "Tell me," asked the doctor, "When was the last time your knee was bathed in sunlight?"
    "Hmm that would have been in 1979 at the beach just before sunset."
    "Doesn't count."
    "I was trying to look seductive for the guy in the tight cut off jeans."
    "I don't want to know," said the doc.
    "So it isn't cancer, what about that awful flesh eating disease, or leprosy?" I asked in my most serious whiny voice.
    "It's a slight case of eczema, nothing to worry about. Put this cream on it." He handed me a small sample tube of ointment.
    "This is the same stuff you gave me when I had a chafed dick," I told him.
    "There is nothing wrong with your memory. Yes, it is the same white cream; the one you told me that when you rubbed it into your dick, it came straight out again." He chuckled. "I don't expect you will have that problem with your knee."
    "I do hope not," I said and thanked him as I left.
    **************
    The phone squawked again, bringing me back to the present.
    "Hello?" I answered not really certain whether anyone was actually calling me.
    "Do you want a job?" asked a male voice.
    "A head job?" I inquired.
    "Yeah, right. At least I know I dialled the right number. We need someone to do a shift tonight."
    I was so excited. Someone had taken ill and they needed me to fill in at the cinema where I used to work, and the money would be more than welcome.
    Thirty-six hours later, I am in agony. Every muscle in my body is revolting. Well that isn't really new, my muscles have never been my best feature. I don't remember work being this exhausting. I looked up the operator's handbook I got when I was born and sure enough there on page 547 is the warning about not going back to work after you retire, it will deplete what little energy you have left.
    I laid on the bed breathing...after a fashion. I'd go to the doctor if I felt better.
    If I live long enough I will type this up for my blog as a warning to others.
    As for the phone, it doesn't squawk any more, I unplugged it.

  14. DesDownunder
    It's been an awkward year for me and I hadn't been able to get to the local poetry reading group for about 8 months (I think.)
    Anyway, the stars aligned with Jupiter and the moon was in the seventh house, etc., and I had the night free to attend the local poets reading their poems. Most of them of course read descriptions of 'things' as if they were shopping lists delivered like a telegram, but hey, people were attempting to be creative, so who cares?
    The first shock was that the admission had risen to $5, but the nice girl at the money taking table knocked off a dollar because I looked so old and decrepit.
    I picked up the handout for the evening and was shocked into the middle of next weekend. The group was going to reduce the allotted time for reading from 4 minutes to 3, for each reader, with a promise of looking to go to 2 minutes!
    Okay so they were going to trial 3 minutes in April and May. Well I can tell you there is no may about it, I won't be there. I mean what can you read in 3 minutes? the dinner menu?
    This irked me somewhat, in case you haven't gathered. In one fell swoop they would wipe out reading any of the classic works by Tennyson, Coleridge, Rimbaud (hi Jason), let alone my own unworthy efforts.
    When I complained, I was told I could just read an excerpt. A what? Are these people insane or is their brain missing in action?
    So I sat down and waited my turn to read. I managed to talk to few people during the break, and discovered that the bohemian element had decided to rename Adelaide as 'delayed, because we were always behind what was happening anywhere else in the world. The fact that it has taken so long to think of this is proof that they are right.
    So I questioned people about the proposed reduction in reading time, and was told that people didn't want to stay out till 11pm as it was too late. Too what? Late? Do these people even know that 11 pm is the starting hour for the local gay bar?
    Come to think of it I don't think they have heard about being gay yet, despite my gay poems and a couple of very nice young men skirting around the subject in their poems.
    I watched as people revealed their total lack of knowledge on microphone technique, one man trying to lick it as if it was a black aniseed ice cream, while another woman decided it was in her view of her text and so pushed the microphone away until it fell off its stand. We all got feedback for her effort.
    I finally got to read my Reflections and my All I can Be, poems. I was pleased with very enthusiastic applause, so they are not too bad a bunch of people after all.
    Then I remembered I was in Adelaide and probably the applause was for the previous poet, his applause being delayed.
    I've now had some time to think this over, and I have come to the conclusion that the Church controlled conservative government has decided to use its influence to eradicate the left-wing poets by limiting their reading time at poetry meetings because it won't fund someone to lock up the hall so late at night. The volunteers want to get home early.
    This will mean that there is an opening for a really good poetry group to spring up but as it will take sometime I guess that will be 'delayed too.
    Foo on the lot of them. If they want decent poetry, they will just have to come to AwesomeDude and Codey's World.
  15. DesDownunder

    80. Today-ing

    By DesDownunder,

    I hate being interrupted when I am doing something useful.
    There I was on a research project of some importance. I was counting the number of errors made on all the web pages on the Internet, when the phone rang. It was of course from a marketing firm who used a person whose native tongue was not English (or American). I of course had been counting the aforementioned web page errors without writing them down. So when the phone rang I completely lost track of how many errors I had counted. All that work gone forever.
    The person on the other end of the phone said something like, "Allo, out are you doing today?"
    Where did they learn to say that, The Yoda Academy of Jedi English?
    I replied of course that I was in.
    "Allo, out are you doing today?" the voice asked again. I wondered if the caller's gender had been deferred at birth, perhaps till sometime after puberty made it possible to make a determination.
    "Allo, out are you doing, today?"
    It suddenly occurred to me that this might be some stalker who despite being English-challenged was trying to confirm whether or not I had come out.
    "Do you mean to ask if I am out of the closet?" I inquired.
    "You are in cloths today?"
    "Well I usually am in cloths.
    "In cloths? Today?"
    What is it, with this preoccupation with...today?
    Why do people add 'today' on to the end of their sentences. You know, like the checkout operator at the supermarket tells you the total cost and then next thing she asks is, "Will that be cash or credit card, today?" See what I mean? I feel like asking her if I can pay tomorrow. When did she think I was going to pay, next week?
    "Allo, out are you today?" asked Yoda's top student.
    "I have been outing myself for many years. Are you out?" I ask ever so sweetly between gritted teeth.
    "Alloing Sir, I am suping visor, in charge of staffing, is problem being here, today?"
    Souping Visor? Stuffing? Is he feeding Darth Vader?
    "No problem, being here, I can't answer about being there though, -today."
    They've got me saying it.
    "I can being assuring you everything is fine here, today."
    "Why did you telephone me?" Stopped myself from adding 'today.'
    "Oh Sir we are just doing surveying to find out how you are doing today."
    "You're not trying to sell me something?"
    "Oh no, we just want to be nice and..."
    It was at that moment that the line went dead. I heard an awful noise and when I looked outside I saw several pigs had entangled themselves in the telephone cables as they flew past my house, today.

  16. DesDownunder
    The following is inspired by Camy and the replies in his blog entry "Rowing not rowing."
    Quote Kapitano (from Camy's blog):
    I think the expectation of discord in a relationship is one of the major causes of those tensions.
    Having an idea of what concerns you about the habits of a someone you like, should most likely be weighed against your own needs to control the other person.
    If at least one of the two people in a relationship hasn't got over the TV sitcom idea of controlling the other person then arguments are bound to occur.
    The idea of creating a perfect partner after having failed to find Mr (or Ms) Right, is never really going to lead to a harmonious relationship.
    Helping someone to be who they want to be, even allowing them to just be themselves, is a tricky business.
    Making the someone into whom you want them to be is fraught with impending action of disaster.
    So how can we avoid arguments, resentment, disappointments, plots to kill each other etc. in our relationships?
    The answers are as numerous as there are couples trying to find the 'Happy Ever After.'
    Too many of us worry about stupid things like squeezing the toothpaste from the middle or the end of the tube . Whilst in confrontation mode, neither party is going to find the obvious solution of each person having their own tube of toothpaste. This principle can go a long way to solving the minor stupid annoyances of no real consequence.
    Finally however there comes a time to realise that you don't care about the other guy's imperfections; indeed you may find they are what makes him special to you.
    The Hippie Guide to Love says, you should set up rows of suitors to have as wide a range of lovers as is possible.
    It also says,
    If you find someone to love, set them free, if they come back to you, they love you too.
    What this means is, that if you love someone, you seek to liberate them; set them free from what ever confines them, and never attempt to imprison them in your own ideal world. Indeed such a prison has two inmates; both of you. If either of you attempt to be the prison guard as well, resentment will follow. Both must escape this prison and decide to be together, each of their own free will.
    When both partners know that they are free to be themselves, arguments tend to be discussions on what is best for either or both of them, rather than just being selfish assertion of a rule or concept of what is 'right.' This is not a compromise however. It is a somewhat, simple, (sometimes difficult) sacrifice made, for the one you love.
    But before you can love another, you must learn to love yourself. Self-loathing is not really a satisfactory basis for loving another person.
    Once you have come to love yourself, you are then able to sacrifice your self-love, by offering love to another.
    It is here that the core of argument ferments, if for any one moment, the offering or substantiation of love is perceived as rejected or ignored.
    It is necessary to trust that love exists at these moments, that love has matured beyond selfish ambition, that owning each other is not a worthy relationship. That the arguments, the ambitions, the expectations even, are sacrificed because loving each other freely is our unconditional vow.
    Then we may become aware we are wondrously, humans, being in love.
    Sometimes we may express our affection by telling the object of our love to "Go Fuck yourself!"

  17. DesDownunder

    (39) Don't Fence Me In

    By DesDownunder,

    What next can go wrong?
    No don't tell me. I don't want to know.
    After all the other various catastrophes (see previous blog entries) the fence blew over in reasonably mild storm. I have shopped around Very carefully and have found a man who will fix the fence for $400.
    But the old fence is next to useless. The wooden railings have rotted. The posts have snapped off beneath the earth and a new fence is only $930. Bargain! Should I get two in case of another storm?
    (No, the insurance won't cover the fence as storm damage because the wood had rotted.) Silly me for thinking otherwise. I am so stupid.
    On top of that the computer has gone sillier than me. I have to start the thing then wait for it to not open Windows while it goes to a black screen, then press the reboot button. It then boots up okay. Office has stopped working properly. It has dropped back to an old install?? So I will need to update that.
    Now all of this is just a drain on my meagre savings. I soon won't have enough money to pay the boyfriend to keep living with me. Not that he charges much. So long as I keep him fed with donuts for breakfast he is happy.
    You guessed it, his favourite donuts come from the supermarket where their donut machine broke down and they can't get parts to fix it.
    So I have to make scones or toast and the b/f is not looking happy at all. He wants his donuts.
    I have asked the fencing fellow to put the new fence up as fast as he can so I will be able to let the b/f out into the backyard without fear of him running away. At the moment he is locked in the bedroom and I only let him out to shower or go to the video store to work to earn the money I am spending on cars, fences, printers, scanners and computers, all of which I need, so that the video store business will attract customers who continually believe that their sole purpose on the planet is to scratch the DVDs they hire from us. Although I will admit some of the DVDs, when they are returned, look like they have been used to serve the orderves Hors d??uvres at a garden party. I won't mention those that have teeth marks from where the hirers' kids have used the DVD for a Frisbee for their pet dog to catch.
    But I am not complaining, you understand, I have my health (so long as I can afford to buy my heart medicine, along with my vitamin supplements.)
    Thursday I have to take the b/f's car in for a new clutch. The car not the b/f. Thankfully his clutch is still fine, so long as the lights are out.

  18. DesDownunder
    I clicked on the computer link and it began its down-loading
    I okayed this and that and read it was all installing
    So now do I sit and wait or do I go a-calling?
    What am I supposed to be doing
    With this Yahoo Messaging?
    It is very puzzling,
    This YIM-ing,
    Thing.


  19. DesDownunder
    Have you ever noticed your own aging process?
    I saw myself losing hair on my head 24 years ago. I was alerted to this by the number of twinks that ran away from me, rather than towards me. I was almost arrested for causing stampedes in the shopping mall.
    It was the first sign that I might not be immortal.
    The second sign was the lines around my eyes.
    The third sign was when the lines sagged and became wrinkles.
    The fourth sign was when I developed hypochondria about the first three signs being imminent indicators of my need to smash mirrors in order to feel good about myself.
    The fifth sign was when people looked at me and lied. "You haven't changed at all," said friends I hadn't seen for 25 years as they held up their fingers to make the sign of the cross, in my direction.
    The sixth sign was when young children pointed at me and said, "Ooh, look Mummy, it's the evil emperor from Stars Wars." It didn't help when the mother said, "No dear, that is Darth Vader without his helmet. I should stop wearing black.
    The seventh sign I am told, is when you forget what the first six signs are. I don't believe it.
    The seventh sign I have just discovered is when your armpits go bald.
    Don't laugh!
    The hair in my armpits is thinning, almost threadbare.
    I wonder if I can get some of my pubes transplanted to my armpits, I have plenty of those, so far.
    I'll ask the doctor. He'll know.
  20. DesDownunder
    As most people know I am an insomniac except when I am asleep.
    It is not unusual for me to slip into bed at 4, 5 or even 6 am.
    Snuggled safely in bed alngside the boyfriend, I eventually drift into the land of dream boys.
    So it seems, does the boyfriend!
    I went to bed at 3 am this morning and was laying there waiting to fall to sleep, when suddenly the b/f stopped snoring and began making wild noises. His arms and legs flurried in all directions. The bed covers fell to the floor in fright.
    His elbow landed in the middle of my chest as his hand hit me in the mouth.
    He sat up in bed. I felt my chest and then my mouth.
    "Are you awake," I asked with a calmness that surprised me as I checked with my tongue to see if I had lost any more teeth.
    "I was dreaming," he said, "I dreamt I was chasing Tom Cruise."
    Now this came as a shock. I made no reply. He didn't usually go for Tom's type. Silence replaced our dreams.
    Finally I spoke into the darkness, "Did you at least think I was Tom?"
    "No, no." He replied, "I dreamt he had broken into our house and was robbing us. So I chased him out of the house."
    "My hero," I said. He giggled that same cute giggle he has been using ever since I met him.
    "What the hell could we have that Tom doesn't have better?" I asked, "Why would he want to steal from us?"
    "I don't know, I just chased him out the door." said the b/f. "It was only a dream."
    "I'll move out if you want him to move in," I said, sadly.
    "Don't be #f%&(* stupid. I'm going back to sleep," he said as he rolled over.
    I am wide awake.

  21. DesDownunder
    So we had a storm. First, the wind blew out the pilot light on the water heater.
    Then the wind blew the side fence over at an angle of 30 degrees leaning into the street; its jagged edges just waiting to decapitate the early morning joggers. The gutter is conveniently placed nearby to catch their heads.
    I had to get the care serviced. I get it serviced every year whether it needs it or not. This year it only cost $210. I think the mechanic was pleased that I warned him to put a plastic sheet on the car seat to protect his overalls.
    The side wing of my glasses fell off, but the wasn't caused by the storm.
    The good news is that the glasses will be fixed under warranty.
    The fence repairer wants $ 40 a metre to fix it. (10 x 40 = $400).
    Where am I am going to find $400?
    Mature age men don't usually make that much money in a month, no matter what talents they may have.
    So I find the local Tool hire shop and guess what? They have a post hole digger for $80 a day.
    I'll need 9 posts and 3 bags of cement. Oh goody I can do it myself and save $200.
    The supermarket has stopped making fresh donuts. What will we have for breakfast now?
    I'm exhausted just thinking about it all...I'm going to have a rest.
    At least the wind has stopped.

  22. DesDownunder
    I made some scones tonight.
    The supermarket donuts have taken a turn for the worse,
    So I made the scones.
    I used the oven to bake them.
    The boyfriend said the donuts were making him feel ill,
    So I made scones.
    Now I suppose the scones will make him feel ill too.
    He has been eating donuts for breakfast for ten years.
    He suddenly blames them for making him feel ill.
    Personally I think he has caught my cold.
    But the donuts got the blame for him feeling ill.
    I made scones.
    This blog entry will be entered into the most inane blog entry competition.
    The first prize will probably be a plate of scones,
    or donuts.

  23. DesDownunder
    I am really getting a little tired of feeling yucky!
    So bad have I felt that I have not been able to sit for too long at the keyboard.
    All I can do is use one hand to type because the other hand is trying to make me feel better, by wiping my fevered brow.
    (And you thought I was going to be filthy didn't you? Go on admit it.)
    So I lurk around the forums feeling not so good.
    The doctor says I am fine, nothing serious, just getting older, maybe with a "bit of a bug."
    Yikes, getting older! When did this happen?
    What next? Will I start to decay on the spot?
    Rotting flesh falling onto the kitchen floor.
    Perhaps I should get another cat to save me from having to mop up.
    Great clumps of what hair I have left now litters the carpets.
    If I vacuum it up it clogs the vacuum cleaner.
    But then so too do the dead mice.
    A bird of unknown origin died on the driveway overnight.
    I didn't know a thing about it until the boyfriend left to go to the video store and came back into the house screaming about death and dead things all over the yard. I immediately thought of the 'End of Days' and joined him to view this calamitous event in our back yard. I can't really call it the back garden as it is mainly shrivelled weeds.
    I grabbed the shovel and dug a hole and then with great dignity lowered the deceased into the hole.
    Unfortunately it fell off the end of the shovel into the grave hole, causing my darling to shriek in terror.
    "Is it dead?" he screamed. For some reason I thought of John Cleese and the dead Parrot sketch from Fawlty Towers, but I resisted the temptation to pick up the poor dead bird and fling it skyward in the hope that it might take off. This flight had already departed I told him. He is so sensitive.
    I put my arm around him to comfort him. He was shivering. I wondered if he had been meeting this bird behind my back as he drove off in the mornings. I wouldn't haven't minded, I'm not the jealous type.
    We stood silently by the grave uttering our thanks to the gods for the fowls of the air that had fouled up our driveway, and looked carefully to the heavens to see if there were any more dropping down to Earth.
    It was only a small pigeon sized bird. But what had killed it?
    Did it have a heart attack in mid-flight? Was it a suicide?
    Was it bird flu? Well this bird flew no more.
    Bird flu! Bird flu? OMG. We might have bird flu.
    I sterilise the shovel.
    "Quick, quick," I tell the beloved one, " we must wash our hands."
    I ring the council to get the latest news on migrating birds with epidemic diseases.
    They tell me not to worry.
    The boy friend drives off to work muttering something about me being a hypochondriac-drama-queen.
    And he was the one that was screaming!
    I'm going back to bed.

  24. DesDownunder
    I just washed the floor in the bathroom and laundry. I try to do it every year whether it needs or not.
    We are having a drought. The Govt. has put us all on restrictions. Water is very scarce.
    I thought I might do a naked rain dance in the street to help. How would that help, I hear you ask?
    Well it would scare the neighbours into leaving the state which would mean more water for those of us who remain.
    Things are so serious with the water that pretty soon I will have to make the coffee with bodily fluids.
    Won't need to add milk or cream.
    Any way I was going to tell you about farthings. Hands up all those who know what a farthing is?
    A farthing was a quarter of a penny. My grandparents told me they could buy quite a bit with one.
    I saw one once, it had Queen Victoria on it...well her likeness anyway. I'm really not that old. She was dead before I was born.
    Remember the Zac from my last blog entry? I was wrong. I have just realised that a zac was sixpence or 5 cents.
    The slang for the threepenny piece was a "tray". I wonder if it was spelt tray could have been trey?
    Well my mom use to get a tray for her lunch money.
    It bought her an orange, a pastie or pie with tomato sauce, a cream bun and a drink of cordial.
    That lot would cost $10 today.
    I'm rambling aren't I?
  25. DesDownunder
    I've been tired and not feeling the best, mainly because the best keep well away from any one my age. Okay, that's not true. The best do come near me, but it is a curiosity thing with them, I think. They still won't let me feel them though.
    I could view my present frame of mind as feeling the worst, but that wouldn't really help either, as the worst won't let me feel them either.
    Maybe my mind is horny and is sick of waiting for my body to catch up to it.
    Yeah, I reckon that would explain a lot.

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