Intense Sarcasm

Dear Readers (all 4.3 of you),

It took me forever and then an extra hour to churn out that last superb post about my desire to wear cool clothes. (Note the intense sarcasm.) Lately my efforts to sit down and write have not been very successful.

It’s a shame to end with such a beige post but I’m going to be taking a break from blogging.

I’m very busy at the moment trying to find my marbles.

I’ll be back soon or possibly soon-ish, I haven’t decided yet.

x
Michael Who?

I went to see the Guggenheim Collection at the National Gallery of Victoria and saw, among other things, Felix Gonzalez-Torres' "Untitled (Public Opinion)" which is a continually replenished 300kg-pile of cellophane wrapped licorice candy. It was tasty.

Geek Waiting For a Musician

A quick glance in my wardrobe and you will soon see proof that I strongly believe in the traditional Melbourne philosophy that black is the new black. Sometimes I worry that my penchant for black, or at least dark, clothes gives off the wrong impression about me. I imagine if a pack of rabid little emo kids opened up my wardrobe their mascara ringed little eyes would fix on me with a judgmental stare as they said,

“Seriously dude, you need to lighten up a little.”

Firstly let me say that I don’t consider myself to be an overly superficial person... but, as I meander through my day to day life I do take notice of what people choose to wrap themselves, and so I wonder, do people form detailed opinions of me based solely on how I look? I seriously hope not, because my ‘geek face’ complete with braces and glasses and my pre pubescent body, which all the 12 year old Russian gymnasts are completely jealous of, is not exactly a work of art- and despite my efforts I don’t think any combination of clothes is going to change that.

I love people who have a sense of personal style that they carry off with effortless confidence. It’s less a materialistic concern on my part and more about how people chose to express themselves, I don’t care if you are wearing a designer t-shirt, I want to know why you chose that particular t-shirt. Concise descriptions of my thoughts and opinions are rare; I’m more of a rambler; however I’ll spare you my thesis entitled,

‘Michael’s Opinion on Every Piece of Clothing He Has Ever Seen: The Extended Version,’

and simply say that I love a little bit of creative quirk in fashion. I tend to spend my days admiring people I am impressed by from afar, secretly wishing I could be their geeky best friend who gets cooler simply by associating with them. Unfortunately I have absolutely zero confidence in wearing anything other than homogenized shopping centre ‘fashion’. So I spend my days sitting around wearing overpriced and somewhat ill fitting jeans wishing that my life would turn into an offbeat teen movie where an awkward yet loveable geek is befriended by a free spirited, and impeccably dressed, musician who takes the geek under his wing and teaches him how to express his inner self, of course by the end of the film the musician has secretly fallen in love with the geek and realised that there is more to life than how you look on the outside.

Clearly I’ve given this way too much thought, and upon reflection I’ve realised that simply prefacing a completely superficial post with the line ‘I’m not superficial’ achieves nothing at all, except possibly making me sound like a superficial hypocrite.

Enjoy the following pictures of people whom I would stalk if I saw them in the street.

I can't think of a witty remark to write about these photos.

Cassingle

3am.

Insomnia is a condition invented by weak sycophants with nothing better to complain about. I’m not an insomniac; I actually enjoy staying up all night long slowly descending into madness.

My night usually begins with me using MySpace to systematically stalk every person I’ve ever met, then I like to clean things that don’t need cleaning, such as my phone charger and electrical extension cord.

Sometimes I like to curl up in bed and watch some quality late night television. Recently I have learned a lot about developing a proper skincare regime, after watching heartfelt testimonials from Jessica Simpson AND Kelly Clarkson I think I’m ready to invest in some Proactiv solution. Despite my lack of acne I really feel that I too am a caterpillar waiting to emerge from my cocoon, and for just $69.95 (+ postage and handling) I can finally fly free. Wait- I think butterflies only live for two days, cancel my order, I’m sending my money to Benny Hinn Ministries. Benny Hinn told me that if I accept Jesus as my lord and saviour he will take charge of my life and lead me not into temptation, especially if I give him my credit card information or something like that. The whole thing sounded really exciting and people were totally fainting when he touched them on the head so I think he’s the real deal. The only flaw in this plan is my complete lack of money, sorry Jesus.

Being awake in the dead of the night really isn’t that bad. You do have to throw on an extra layer, or five, of clothing to compensate for the fact that unless you are asleep in bed Melbourne winter nights are like a bitch slap to the groin with a slab of frozen meat. Once I’m rugged up in a style I like to call ‘Eskimo tracksuit chic’ I can actually be quite productive. Just last night I alphabetised my entire music collection- including my prized collection of cassingles. For those of you who are starring quizzically at the screen thinking ‘Cassingles?!? What are they? Did Michael get a bad batch of speed’ a 'cassingle' is a cassette tape single popular in the early 90's. Other useful tasks completed in the still of the night include cataloguing the freckles on my left arm, planning global domination, and arranging the clothes hanging in my wardrobe accorfing to their potential resale value.

There is no better opportunity to spend some quality time with myself than in the middle of the night. Sometimes I like to play little games, like, ‘Can you open a bottle of wine at 2am without the sound of the popping cork shattering the silence of your suburban home where you live with your parents who are sleeping nearby?’ Another of my favourites is the ‘Where did I go wrong?’ game. The aim of this game is to recount and replay in your mind all the stupid things you have done in your life, the catch is you have to do it without having a complete nervous breakdown, complete with tears and simultanious hysterical laughter.

After a few nights things do tend to get a bit repetitive so I like to spice things up with some good old fashioned screaming into the pillow and begging for sleep. I might actually give that a try now.

Let me restate, I’m not an insomniac.

Convinced?

The first person who suggests I try a glass of warm milk and counting sheep will recieve a Croatian axe kick to their head.

Bad Lighting

Last Thursday I had a truly a horrible day at work which involved me spending 6 consecutive hours photocopying like a crazed secretary on a cocaine binge, at one point I had to fight off another would be photocopier who took issue with me using 3 machines at once. The poor guy probably didn’t deserve the verbal abuse I spewed at him but unfortunately at that point I was 4 hours into my photocopying session having only eaten a packet of butter menthols since dinner the previous night and nothing short of a priest wielding a crucifix and holy water could calm me down.

Needless to say when I finally returned home that evening I was definitely not in the mood to go out, and the bitterly cold Melbourne night was doing nothing to change my mind. Alas I had no real choice on this particular evening, it was the final night of ‘Q&A’ (‘Queer and Alternative’ night at ‘A Bar Called Barry’ in Collingwood) and I had promised friends I would be in attendance for one final night of alcohol flavoured antics.

I approached the venue only to be greeted by a line that was 10 people wide with a tail stretching farther than MY eyes could see: which is almost 'as far as the eye can see'. Needless to say I laughed quietly to myself, turned around and started looking for a taxi to take me home. I don’t do lines.

Then my phone rang, it was my friend Paul. In his infinite wisdom he had scoured the line for people he knew and squirmed his way in with them, effectively bypassing the majority of the crowd. Then through a series of tactical manoeuvres he managed to find other people even closer to the front and join them, eventually positioning himself mere steps away from the entry, very impressive.

I crossed the road and approached the sea of writhing homosexuals anxiously, despite having Paul directing me over the phone I could not see him through the crowds. Then suddenly- like a frog’s tongue snatching a fly from mid air Paul’s arm shot out of the masses and pulled me into the crowd. As I regained my orientation I quickly realised how much of the line I had actually skipped, let’s just say that the brief time I spent waiting in line with my face crammed into the back of bad polyester wig was a sinch compared to the marathon the poor fools behind me had to endure.

Finally inside I cloaked my jacket. Then it began, my Q&A ritual, the battle of the voices in my head.

SNIDE MICHAEL: Look at all these pathetic people, desperately scouring the room looking for their next conquest. So glad we’re not like that.

SELF EFFACING MICHAEL: Whatever loser! You’re just jealous because no one here would look twice at any of us.

SNIDE MICHAEL: You may have a point. But at least we are smart and funny and can hold a conversation about something other than designer sunglasses.

SELF EFFACING MICHAEL: Are you forgetting that we have designer sunglasses? We’re such a hypocrite. And let us not forget that ‘conversation’ wont keep you warm at night.

MELODRAMATIC MICHAEL: Yeah! Who is going to want a skinny white guy with braces and glasses? We’re going to be alone forever. FOREVER!

SNIDE MICHAEL: … *rolls eyes*

CALCULATING MICHAEL: Get it together everyone! Smile. Laugh at peoples jokes. Act confident. Hang around with your friends and try to seem as interesting as possible.

MELODRAMATIC MICHAEL: Aaargh!

SELF EFFACING MICHAEL: Why did we even come here?

BAD JUDGEMENT MICHAEL: Enough! Listen carefully. First go to the bar. Second order something dangerously alcoholic. Third, drink! Repeat these directions until I am the only voice you can hear.

Fast forward three Jager Bombs, a few beers and more mixed vodka concoctions then I care to remember and I’m heading home in a cab holding up my head with both hands, completely convinced that if I let go it would fall out the window to be lost forever on the Tullamarine freeway- leaving the cabdriver in quite the odd predicament.

It was a long night...

I made some new friends, fellow bloggers R*yan, D.U.P and Dave, who endured my bad dancing and drink stealing, shared a few laughs with some old friends who introduced me to the gay scene, I bumped into a blast from the past and served up some long overdue verbal abuse, witnessed some dramatic antics from drunken friends, met up with an old crush and flirted shamelessly, and thanks to the bad lighting in the venue I kissed a cute guy who is completely out of my league.

An uterly chaotic night. The perfect final chapter for Q&A.

The role of 'Michael' in this story will be played by... this guy from Heroes who's name I dont know, but it doesn't matter because he is insanely attractive, and I'm madly in love with him, take another look-- he is painfully good looking. Yes- I know how gay that sounds, no- I'm not embarrased to admit that I'm obsessed with this photo, yes I will stop rambling now.