Sex... with the City

Those vagabond shoes were killing me. It was a relief to take them off for the 20-hour flight from New York. Home sweet home after what was easily one of the best, if not the best, weeks of my life! I was a part of it. Right through the very heart of it! I love Sydney and adore coming home after any getaway, but this time, I was actually sad to leave the Big Apple. I only had 6 days on The Island but I made the most of every minute I had.

I arrived at my hotel in Chelsea, Manhattan around 6pm on Easter Sunday. It was perfectly located on 24th St just off 6th Avenue, away from the overcrowded and touristy locations. Suitably jet-lagged and running purely on adrenaline, I rendezvoused with my colleague and we went for dinner at a French restaurant just around the corner. No sooner had I cloaked my jacket (oh yeah, it was cold…. about 8 degrees) but the attendant remarked at what ‘amazing hands’ I had! A hand sketch artist apparently, who took an immediate liking to mine. Bless. I was quite spaced out at the time, and given my company, I thought it best not to see where this could go. Rather, I blushed like a little girl and went to our table.

After dinner, my colleague (who had arrived the day prior) went back to the hotel to catch up on some sleep, so I decided to explore the neighbourhood. A little timorous at first given my current state of mind, but I soon found myself surrounded by the soaring neon ‘scrapers of Times Square. Like a deer in headlights I was, so rather than reach the same fate, I detoured back downtown passing the Chrysler Building & Grand Central Station before literally stumbling upon the Empire State Building. Seizing the moment (and given I’d pre-booked an open tour pass online before leaving Sydney) I ventured to the top of the icon. Breathtaking… not just the views but the weather! God it was cold. And the wind… sweet Jesus! No wonder he fuckin’ rose on This Day! After about half an hour I was concerned I’d tempt fate and try to fly off the edge so decided to head back to the hotel. The room was adequate. A massive bed (which would prove useful come Friday night ;p)

No Easter Monday holiday in New York so it was off to work for the first day of training. We walked the 8 or so blocks to the DoubleClick office on 8th Avenue. Like everything in NY, the scale of operations was massive. Our co-workers take up about half a floor on a square block. There’s a real chance you could not know someone who worked in your office! Not surprisingly, they are a very intelligent team. The internet advertising industry is obviously further developed in the US market than it is in Australia, and as a result, the cream has certainly filtered to the top. Our recent acquisition by Google should only accentuate that. As Nooglers (new Googlers, as the saying goes) we benefit from their unique culture, no more so than with their fully-catered kitchen of chefs! While we only saw the lesser extreme of this in our Sydney office the previous week, here in NY, where Google coincidentally share the same building (albeit two floors) as DoubleClick, the food hall is simply incomprehensible…. a dedicated macaroni & cheese bar, design-your-own salads, a grill & carvery, plus vegan, vegetarian and kosher selections, plus a beverage fridge that would rival that of a 7-11. Then there’s dessert! Needless to say the whole experience was a mouthful. After a long and overwhelming day in the office, we ventured local again for dinner (like we needed more food?!) but not before I bought some gloves…a necessity this time of year in New York if you have any intention of using your fingers for their intended purpose.

Tuesday was filled with more introductions and meetings at work which made the evening’s retail therapy even more rewarding. After browsing the local boutiques it was time to hit 5th Avenue. Fabulous with a capital FUCK! I spent a small fortune at Abercrombie & Fitch. I blame that on the hot, hot, hot, semi-naked model in the foyer that lured me off the street. Do you come with the jeans? I have no excuse for melting the plastic at Armani Exchange. Prada, Louis and Gucci oh my! No ruby slippers were gonna send me home. As I paraded back up 5th like a packhorse, I succumbed to the bright lights of Rockefeller Centre and its ice-skating rink. Despite my sheer exhaustion, as an addict from way back I piped-up, cloaked my goods and hit the ice! It was quite surreal. And I didn’t stack it once, thankfully, as that surely would have ruined the new suit I was wearing which I purchased prior to leaving Sydney. Yes, I was quite the corporate sight that night. Cardin on Ice! I cut my session short so as to visit the ‘Top of the Rock’, widely regarded as a better view of the City than the Empire’s.

The mid-week hump, while surely not as noticeable for one in New York, was punctuated with after-work drinks in Greenwich with the Ad Exchange team. While at least 15 headcount for the NY office, my colleague and I were about to launch the product in the Australian market as a dynamic duo! The night was spent networking and learning the finer points of Whisky. Surely beneficial could I have remembered any of it!

A long way from Tennis Sydney’s Thursday night Virginia Slims, I found myself at Madison Square Garden for a New York Rangers game. That’s ice hockey for all you sport un-enthusiasts (*eyeroll*) I donned a supporter cap for fear of being mistaken as a New Jersey Devil, grabbed a footlong (hotdog, puhlease) and took my seat in the Stadium. My first hockey game. Now, I know you’re not supposed to go all the way on the first date but my cherry was popped. Talk about being put away in the change-rooms! In keeping with tradition, my elation was premature with the Star-Spangled Banner bringing me to my knees even before kick-off (or rather the ice-hockey equivalent?) Still, only a minor penalty compared to the butt-ending, hooking and slashing that was to follow. Where do I sign up?! A goal in the dying minutes thankfully clinched a 3-2 victory to the Rangers. Sweet. I may have even embraced the poor fan that was sitting next to me. Competitive sport… what’s not to get?!

Saving the best for last, and spookily so, Friday night was Culture Night. In every sense of the word. Broadway’s blinking neon had been enticing me all week… Wicked, Young Frankenstein, Chicago… the choice was endless. But there was to be only one. Rent. The Pulitzer and Tony Award winning musical about Bohemians in the East Village of New York City struggling with life, love and AIDS, and the impacts they have on America. An all-time film favourite of mine. After a season-extending run on Broadway, the show is to close early June so my mind was made up. And I wasn’t disappointed. Even the chattering Girls-Night-Out behind me couldn’t dampen my spirits. I mean, please, this isn’t a midnight Rocky Horror screening. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I didn’t pay to hear you pinch the decibels, bitches. Nevertheless, I was moved in more ways than one that I commemorated the affair with a cast-signed poster. All proceeds going to charity. That’s a tax deduction, right? After a quick costume change at the hotel afterwards, I fought the bitter winds and ventured out to one of the bars marked on my mud-map. Feeling rather Dorothy*, I kept circulating the lounge until something caught my eye. It wasn’t long. Or was it. A trio of pilots. Black American. Grounded… but on my cloud nine. They took me under their wings (pun intended) as they soared Upper Manhattan. The service was exceptional, notably Boston Boy’s. Boston may be known as America’s Walking City but there was certainly nothing slow-paced about this pilots’ trajectory.

A consequently sleepless night had me feeling rather drained (ahem) for the final stop on my itinerary… the Sex and the City Tour. Gay dear? Who dear? Me dear? No dear. It had to be done. If only for the complimentary cupcake and discounted cocktail! A busload of more than 50 fans were treated to a 3½ tour of notable ‘On Location’ hotspots… the Pleasure Chest, where Miranda purchased ‘The Rabbit’; Magnolia Bakery on Bleecker St, where Carrie & Miranda devoured sugary cupcakes to overcome their troubles; Scout (actually named O'Nieal's), Steve & Aidan’s bar in the West Village. The highlight, seeing the steps to Carrie’s apartment. After disembarking the bus, I had planned to visit the Met Museum but time was quickly running out with my impending flight home that evening so there was only enough rope to briefly swing by Central Park, on what was a glorious day in Upper Manhattan. I then walked the 25 blocks back to my hotel (like I said, the vagabond shoes were killing me) before collecting my luggage and heading out to JFK.

It’s surreal to think that I was just in New York. The whole experience, by its very own definition was phantasmagorical. Or could that be the result of the bottle of wine I’ve consumed in writing this?! In any case, it’s something, somewhere, I’ll never forget. Ever. And anyone that knows me and my inherent mind of a sieve, can understand the magnitude of just that. I even purposely watched those in-flight movies that featured New York, as a final parting tribute. The City will never look the same as it did this past week.

“As we drive along this road called life, occasionally a gal will find herself a little lost. And when that happens, I guess she has to let go of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, buckle up and just keep going.” Carrie Bradshaw in 'Sex and the City'

*Doh-rah-thee: adj. Separated from others; solitary or singular. A long way from home.

Does my bum look big in this?

As the year draws to a close, every man and his reindeer compile their best & worst of lists as a tribute to the most notable events of the past 12 months. I don’t have a dog, let alone a reindeer, but here’s my rear in view…

Where to start? At the beginning! A very good place to start. In January, I made my first trip to the Australian Open in Melbourne where I saw the bootylicious Serena Williams and infallible Roger Federer win the respective Grand Slam titles. The Swiss master later went on to win his 11th (Wimbledon) & 12th (US Open) Grand Slams in 2007 in what was another stellar season on the ATP Tour. At the other end of the spectrum at Tennis Sydney, I had a somewhat lightweight season on the Virginia Slims Tour with less silverware to speak of. A paltry runner-up in the Winter competition (by a measly 1 game no less!) tormented this Ice Queen, who failed to cometh in what is usually my bread & butter time of year on court. I found some form late in the year and the exciting news of my namesakes’ possible comeback to the WTA Tour in March ’08 shall hopefully inspire me to greater heights next year.

No sooner had I dusted the dirt off Roger’s mantle, I donned a pair of devil horns for the Kylie tribute float in the Mardi Gras Parade. Even the Divine Miss M sent best wishes to her Impossible Princesses. A no-show at either the Parade or Party, Kylie was excused with news of her latest album splashed across the web. Sample tracks were leaking quicker than a busted boob-job, until finally ‘2 Hearts’ hit the airwaves in October, closely followed by the album ‘X’. Losing none of the shine that has made her the chameleonic star of the past two decades, there’s rumours she’ll return to Sydney for Mardi Gras’ 30th Anniversary next year. Aren’t there every year?

A surplus of stars went Down this year in divastating fashion. Beyoncé strangely enough, delivered a sensation that her Experience has occurred before! Fans got P!nked in May by punkstress Alecia Moore, doing more in a suspended net than most lesbians can handle terra firma. Christina went Back to Basics with more candy than a child’s back pocket while Gwen left no doubt her Escape was far sweeter. Present and accounted for at all, but none dared to grab my life by the stalk as did the omniscient Dame Edna Everage. Back with a vengeance, she took audience participation to the über level, and at my expense! Brenda Blethyn & Sigrid Thornton were less intrusive in Talking Heads, where rather it was I who got up close and personal. Les ballet made a comeback with Billy not the only Grandiva in a tutu.

Off-camera but by no means any less theatrical, my life took a few stage dives as I moved out on my own in June for the first time after more than 15 years of share accommodation. Seems I reached 'that difficult age' of zero tolerance-maximum pleasure! Needless to say I’m enjoying my self immensely (ahem) and there are no signs of any cats joining the fray anytime soon. The move, while relatively stress-free, was punctuated by a change in job albeit within the same week! Now at the ‘nerve center of digital marketing’, I’m demystifying Rich Media, not to mention breaking down the company’s bandwidth thanks to Facebook!

Spring sprung in September but the only Bush to affect my allergies was that of the APEC variety. One of the other sure signs that spring is on the way is the return of the migratory birds. The Swans. Unfortunately, they were more like ugly ducklings at the business end of the season this year, bowing out in the first week of the finals to bogey team, Collingwood. Fucking Magpies. No-good, lousy birds spoiling my birthday. I cried. I wanted to, it was my party.

Thankfully, newly-outed Anthony Callea tickled the tonsils at Homesexual’s 2nd birthday as it was time for the boys to bring sexy back. We knew we were on the verge of something wonderful when fellow friend of Dorothy, Darren Hayes, stepped into the light. His Time Machine Tour tripped the light fantastic, intimate & live. But it was JT who had me love-stoned. There was nothing nimble or light about his dancing, pity it was all for the girls.

So as the jolly fatman fills his sack for another shot at stardom, I wonder what surprises lay in store for me in 2008? Meh. Same shit, different smell. Mustn’t grumble. It will be my 10-year anniversary in Sydney! So that’s, what, pottery? Leather? Hmm… can’t imagine traipsing the strip in terra-cotta. That’s sure to chafe.

Wave that glad and grab life by the stalk...

It was with great trepidation (but excitement) that Wilma and I headed off to the Capitol Theatre on Friday night to see the much-revered Barry Humphries in his Back With A Vengeance show. Having somehow sneakily secured front row centre seats prior to tickets going on sale online, we were cautious of what would now be our apparent visibility to the star. Never one to shy away from a bit of audience participation, there was however some general concern over Sir Les Patterson’s flagrant speech impediment that was bound to see us dodging the frequently fired spitballs from that grotesque mouth. That itself would have been a blessing given the events that soon unfolded much to my chagrin.

The show opened with the incomparable Dame Edna Everage lowered on a giant pair of bedazzled spectacles, waving a gladiola, and accompanied by that infamous cry of “Hellooo Possums!”. The Moonee Ponds housewife hurled the gladiola into the crowd as if tossing a bouquet at a wedding. Naturally, it was a cat-fight for the cream and in hindsight if I’d known what was subsequently in store for me I’d have probably let some other punter catch it.

After a quick musical entrée celebrating her 50 years in the business, the Dame was off. A video montage followed while Barry quickly changed and soon re-emerged as Sir Les Patterson in Lestralia. Usually tolerable in small doses only, Les sprayed his thoughts on our wonderful nation with the occasional jab at an audience member, not to mention his own member… with its not-so-subtle appearance in his trouser leg! Crass, crude and hilariously uncouth, Les left no stone unturned in his beratement.

Some normality was restored with the second act, alter-ego Sandy Stone. Though the least recognised of Humphries’ characters, the nostalgic melancholy of Sandy Stone endears the wistful old man to the audience. Humiliated at confinement to an aged-care facility, Sandy’s tragic humour parodied the bigotry of yester-year and at times tugged at the heart strings. Somewhat of a low note though leading into intermission.

The second half saw Dame Edna return to the stage (accompanied by the Very Gorgeous Ednarones) and is primarily given over to audience participation, which for most may have been quite tiresome but for moi, was nothing short of outrageous. Wilma cleverly recorded the whole thing on her mobile...






Those who have seen the show will be aware of the script but in a nutshell, I was “randomly” selected from the audience and married off to a 94-year-old woman, Eileen. If that wasn’t enough, Edna thought it mandatory that my mother be told of the wonderful news, given "she's been praying for something like this.” She then proceeded to call my mother on stage! Please don’t pick up! Please don’t pick up! D’oh! Well, it was mortifying to say the least but Mum didn’t do too bad considering she didn’t realize she was on speaker phone to the whole theatre. Much to Mum’s dismay however, I’m still trying to convince her it was all a joke! Null. And. Void.

The fitting finale turned the audience into a garden of gladioli as we waved goodbye to Edna with a little ditty sing-along. A cleverly pre-recorded scene then saw Humphries take to stage complete in top hat & tails for a well-deserved ovation.

I'm Not Dead

P!nk is definitely the new black. So hot right now! Last night’s concert at the Entertainment Centre was übercool to say the least. To think that I originally didn’t want to go for lack of a theatrical performance! To that, P!nk gave me the proverbial ‘hand’ and proved otherwise in spectacular fashion.

The giant feathers and strippergram cops, while not as I had expected, were evident but leant a certain amount of scissor-sister appeal to the show. In fact, not only were the plethora of lesbians in the audience aroused by the rock diva, but I even found myself lusting over her (if only for her hot peroxided hair and washboard stomach!) She was H.O.T. And if you’ve got it, flaunt it… baring plenty of flesh throughout the show in a skimpy two-piece bikini and mini ensembles. Obviously suitable costume choices no less for her acrobatic forays in mesh netting and suspended curtains.

Vocally, she was amazing. Her raspy, guttural sound was at its best despite weeks on the touring front and the blanks she did leave were adequately filled by her fabulous backup singers or the crowd. Fan favourite ‘Stupid Girls’ delighted the audience as P!nk facetiously paraded the catwalk in Hollywood Haute style, complete with skanky ho entourage. Then she let her ‘fingers do the walking’ as she writhed within a suspended net above stage.

It wasn’t all bitch ‘n miss however with a serious segment (seated around a faux camp fire complete with marshmallows) voicing her opinions in an open letter ‘Dear Mr President’ – her next single from the album. The accompanying video montage touched home on a variety of current US societal issues and garnered applauded praise from the audience. A rousing rendition of 4 Non Blondes’ ‘What’s Up' followed and reignited the crowd.

She seemed extremely comfortable on stage despite some overzealous fans demanding her attention, happily shaking hands with the punters and engaging in conversation. Who knew she loved cowbells so much, with the promise of an impending release featuring nothing but the dulcet tones of one. “I love cowbells. I’m gonna write a song with just cowbells. Paris will probably release it when she gets out of prison.” She was humorous, adoring and selfless throughout.

The finale was nothing short of spectacular. After returning to the stage for her encore, P!nk (unlike Beyoncé) pleased fans with her recent single ‘Nobody Knows’ before wrapping up (herself, literally, in suspended curtains!) with ‘Get The Party Started’. The resulting fanfare was extraordinary as she hung, swung and twisted herself above the floor-standing audience, exhibiting athletic strength not previously associated with the singer. This fragrant flower is a far cry from the M!ssundaztood cookie-cutter pop act of earlier this century. She’s definitely not dead. And we’re floating.

Beyoncé, Can You Handle This?

The Bootylicious One recently visited our shores for her ‘Experience’ Tour. One of a myriad of ‘Dreamgirls’ Down Under over the coming months… notably P!nk, Christina Aguilera and Gwen Stefani. I’ll see all of them bar P!nk.* While I love her new album I figured she’d just jump around in front of a band for most of the night (notwithstanding a likely repeat of her acrobatic AVMA appearance) in true rock style. Wanting more booty for my buck I’ve opted for those divas who’ll push the production values through the roof! Christina & Gwen are overtly theatrical to say the least so I’m expecting more than just an ‘experience’ from them.

That’s not to say Beyoncé didn’t impress. She opened with a very cool mash-up of ‘Crazy In Love’ & Gnarls Barkley’s ‘Crazy’ which set the scene. I was expecting more gays-in-the-village, but the audience seemed to be dominated by short-skirted skanks and their hip-hop hoods, who were suitably impressed with B’s 10-minute Destiny’s tribute. I have to admit I wasn’t a true fan of DC many moons ago and it was really only Miss Knowles debut follow-up album B’Day that truly hooked me. Not to mention her recent foray into film with the delightfully camp Dreamgirls. It’s no surprise that ‘Listen’ and ‘One Night Only’ dominate my frequently played playlists on my ipod. While ‘ONO’ didn’t get a run at her concert, ‘Listen’ did so I was content with that (despite her performing it with a back-up tape!) Reviews the following day blamed her possible jet-lag, having only flown into the country the day before her first performance. Nevertheless, what she lacked in voice she certainly made up for in dance. The choreography was sensational. And dat shizzle is da truth right dere. Da girl can mooove!

Other notable highlights included a cabaret version of another perennial favourite of mine, ‘Ring The Alarm’ that closely replicated that of Chicago’s ‘Cell Block Tango’. While it was a far cry from the Freemason’s Club Mix it was refreshing to see her deliver something a little unexpected. On the downside, I felt the male dancers had too many clothes on. Yes, I did. All that baggy hip-hop shit really detracted from what I could only imagine were hot, ripped bodies underneath. And you know there’s nothing I like more than a block of hot chocolate, so the only cream in my jeans was unfortunately that from the Wedge Wench in front!

I should also pay mention to the noticeably absent encore, which I’m sure everyone in the arena was convinced was going to be none other than the first single from the album, ‘Déjà Vu’ but alas on went the lights and fans were left scratching their heads. Well, I was. Suitably, as Wilma will attest. I mean, it’s not like she couldn’t perform it in the absence of Jay-Z given other duets were adequately managed with pre-recorded vocals/footage. Who doesn’t perform their number 1 single from the album they’re touring for?! Vuja De!

* After publishing this post I got word of an additional P!nk performance end of May with pre-sale tickets online Friday so I've decided to go. If only for the giant feathers and strippergram cops. The rock diva does camp! Who knew!

Mmmm … Sacrilicious!

Jesus was one lucky bastard to rise again on Sunday. It’s now Tuesday and there’s no resurrection in sight for me yet. God I feel awful. Overdunnit perhaps? I even resisted the urge to also go out Sunday night in favour of an extra night’s recovery but that seems to have done little to dispel “that feeling”.

My Easter-Feaster began Thursday night with the annual Slide54 party which was AWESOME. A glammed-up Studio54 themed party that hit all the right notes, even if some of the patrons outfits didn’t. Nevertheless, it was a gorgeous mix of beautiful nobodies and glamorous celebrities. Not to forget the infamous ‘Man in the Moon with a Spoon’ that hung high above the illuminated dancefloor. Shauna Jensen kicked off proceedings with a classic tribute before the funk was raised to a whole new level. In keeping with the tradition of its notorious namesake, one would be excused for partaking in all forms of hedonistic pleasure, including the rampant ravishing of one sexy rollerboy! Proceedings concluded around 4.30am at which point I reluctantly took myself home and happily finished myself off.

Good Friday afternoon I went over to Wilma’s for an afternoon on the couch watching dvds with the VB boys, before a meat-free dinner (like that’s gonna get me into heaven?!) and then later Friday Night Fetish Football back at home. Proceedings concluded around 11.30pm at which point I reluctantly took myself to bed and happily finished myself off.

Saturday was wet. And then some. Tennis was cancelled which was a blessing given the shithouse weather and also meant I could watch the Swans game in the afternoon. A close match sapped me of all energy and things were looking rough for the evening’s plans. Dozing in and out of consciousness, if it hadn’t been for Miss Fashionista’s ‘rapid’ intervention it could well have ended up being a real Holy Saturday. One of entombed rest. But no, this was to be the Mother of all Holy Vigils! Suddenly I was feeling more energetic and alert. Full of confidence, with a heightened sense of well-being! I got myself ready and cabbed into town to meet up with Snuff & Co. A shooter or two at their place before going to arq around 11pm.

***SCENE MISSING***

‘Very early in the morning, they came unto the sepulcher, bringing the spices which they had prepared and they found not the body of the Lord Jesus.’

For he was at Manacle. Mind, body & spirit. Well… body & spirit at least. The chick which burst forth from its lifeless shell around 3pm was a resurrection of sorts. Resurrexit sicut dixit, Alleluia!

Objects Of Love

Sniff. The 2007 Mardi Gras Festival drew to a close Saturday night… well, more like Sunday night for me. And even later for some! All the preparations of the past month culminated in an amazing parade, awesome after-party and outrageous recovery.

After a 5-year hiatus from marching in the parade (2001 Madonna Music Cowboys & 2002 Sydney Gay Games Tribute) I simply could not resist the chance to be a part of the 2007 Kylie float in this year’s parade – Kylie’s Impossible Princesses. Inspired by Kylie’s timeless classic ‘The Locomotion’ some 20 years ago, what better way to celebrate Kylie's anniversary than by participating in this year’s parade. Even the divine Miss M sent her wishes…

I want to wish everyone participating in the 'Kylie2007' float at this year's Sydney Mardi Gras the very best of luck. Make the costumes great because you KNOW I'll be watching! Whether you're a Marching Boy, Mechanic or a Showgirl, enjoy yourselves and Happy Mardi Gras!

Love Kylie x

As expected the week prior dragged like a porn-stars’ appendage. I’d set myself little tasks each day in order to stay focused (and sane)... Monday I bought my party/recovery tickets etc, more underwear (yes, it’s a fetish) plus DJ Dan Murphy & Jimmy Dee’s latest Stonewall collaboration which was the perfect pre-Mardi Gras recipe. Tuesday was final parade rehearsals. Wednesday I went over to Wilma’s for dinner and manscaping. Thursday I had tennis and Friday I collected my parade costume from the alterations studio… seems I’d over-estimated my waste size a month ago pre-rehearsals (bless) so got the shorts taken in a gaydar inch or two. Then it was Saturday! Off to the solarium for a spray tan and then spent the afternoon developing on the couch. We had to be in Hyde Park by 4pm which seemed extraordinarily early, especially given we had to be ‘in uniform’. Or rather out of it! Surely it was too soon to be flashing flesh across the city? Or not. Nevertheless we spent the next 4 hours mingling with other paraders in the holding area, practicing our routine and posing for the paparazzi (see photos in Flikr badge). Then it was show time!

The feeling is truly amazing when you step out onto Liverpool St to a sea of smiling faces and raucous applause. Beyond description. The adrenalin kicks in and you feel on top of the world. Our routine was choreographed to a 9-minute megamix of some of Kylie’s classics – Better The Devil You Know, Celebration, What Do I Have To Do, Dancing Queen, Spinning Around, Can’t Get You Out Of My Head and On A Night Like This – which tied in with our 5 groups – Showgirls, Devils (me!), Spinning, Space, Celebration. If you did not get a chance to see any footage of what has been described as the best float in the parade then check out these great videos courtesy of YouTube or Follow the Adventure via the video blog of our marching groups' Aussiebum 'Slow Speedo Bois'! If you look close enough (Pause. Frame. Frame. Pause. Squint) you will even see me! Our efforts even prompted another message from Kylie herself…

To all the Mardi Gras Kylie 2007 performers and crew, congratulations on a great show. From what I have seen and heard, all your hard work and 'fabulosity' paid off. There with you in spirit!

Love Kylie x

A benefit of being in the parade is that you don’t need to worry about getting out to Fox Studios for the after-party because you’re already there… via a 1.6km march! However, this also means that you’re one of the first at the party around 10.30pm. In any case, this gives you the chance to freshen up and check out all the venues and dance spaces before the crowds arrive.

The party lived up to all (my) expectations with the highlights being The Freemasons’ 3-hour set who are just fucking fabulous, The Young Divas show (minus Ricki Lee?) where Paulini nailed a rendition of Beyonce’s ‘One Night Only’, Jimmy Dee’s retro-rave in The Forum and Dan Murphy’s closing set (6-10am)… 'Don’t Want The Morning To Come'. I stumbled out and got a cab home just after 10am, in desperate need of a shower. The Toy Box recovery party at Luna Park kicked off around midday so it gave me a couple of hours to rejuvenate. And it took all my effort to stay out of bed and force myself back into frivolity but I was glad I did once I arrived at Luna Park and entered the Big Top. What a spectacle! By the time I left around 7.30pm I’d well and truly done my dash. The better part of 24 hours on the go!

Got a decent sleep Sunday night and had yesterday off work. Capped off the long-weekend by hooking up with an ex-shag last night which went some way towards dispelling the PMG depression that is now starting to take over mind, body & soul. Meh. Long live Mardi Gras!

Is it that we are your flock thou?

My holidays are drawing to a close. Mustn’t grumble. I’ve been having a ball.

Took advantage of a Sunday night out the first weekend and hooked up with an ex at arq, Li’l Korma, which was bless. Had a couple of days to recover before flying to Melbourne on the Wednesday, so took in a movie (‘Dreamgirls’ ... ‘You’re gonna love Effie!’) after a dentist appointment. Yes, I’m well aware of the irony of that given my weakness for the Candy Bar. Certainly made for entertaining viewing given the left side of my mouth was still numb from the local anesthetic. With drooling like that I should have been at a ‘Mums & Bubs’ session (twice a month, on a Thursday, from 10.00am. Check your local guides.). Yes, I had to look that up.

My flight to Melbourne on the Wednesday was fine. I’d pre-arranged the week prior an airport transfer to our hotel. I say arranged, but it was harder than that. The operator at Sunbus (who were the bus company responsible for the transfers through Qantas Holidays) was confused with the fact that the 3 valid transfers were not all from the same flight. After a great deal of time explaining that Riza, Miss Murdoch and myself were all arriving at different times, from different cities, we were scheduled. Well, I was. Miss Murdoch had arrived the day prior (that was just too confusing for Sunbus) and as it turned out, Riza’s flight was delayed later on the Wednesday and they failed to pick him up. In any case, they didn’t miss much. By the time I’d reached my hotel in the city it was the better part of 2 hours after I’d landed. Am I bovvaad?

No sooner had I dumped my bags at the hotel I was on a tram out to Chapel St to meet up with Miss Murdoch and her friend Flick. In no time I’d picked up some HOT underwear I’d been chasing and some flip-flops before we breaked for a pie ‘n pint at the pub around 5pm. On the way back into town I expanded my tennis wardrobe (have to at least look the part even if I can’t be the part) with a visit to the Nike store. Deciding against the Sharapova one-piece (lemon butter’s not my colour) I opted for a sleeveless number and some Rafa ¾ pants, despite Murdoch’s taunts that I would look like a walking Nike advertisement. If she’d got off her mobile long enough to see me in them she would have seen just how hot they are! When I got back to the hotel, Riza had arrived and arranged for us to visit a friend of his in the city for dinner. So we went to the Queen Victoria Night Markets for some local culinary delights before retiring to our room later in the evening to watch some Catherine Tate on dvd. What are you like? You know what I’m like. I know what you’re like! Needless to say, her histrionics became the backdrop for our holiday.

Thursday was our first day at the tennis. The Australian Open – The Grand Slam of Asia-Pacific. Miss Murdoch met us for breakfast at the hotel around 9am, checking in a day later than Riza and myself. We were now officially a crowd. We walked to the tennis around mid-morning. Thankfully, the majority of our favourites had made it through to the semi-finals which is what we had Centre Court tickets for. I only had one (tennis) objective of this holiday, to see Roger get his 10th Grand Slam title. Feder-bear (pictured) made the journey with us! Who dear? Me dear? Gay dear? No, dear! The women’s semis were pretty much a non-event with Sharapova and Serena easily disposing of Vaidisova and Princess Fiona (Clijsters) in straight sets. Later that night, Roger’s semi against title-contender Andy ‘A-Rod’ Roddick was even more one-sided as the Swiss Mister totally dismantled the big American’s guns. Mmmm. Weapons of Mass Destruction they were not. More damage was done by the woman who was seated next to me throughout all three matches that day. Her incessant yabbering was quite the distraction. Which only got worse the more daiquiris she had so you can imagine what she was like by the men’s match that night. I was surprised she even made it up the steps to our seats given we were in the top tier of the stadium! Thankfully, we were out of there in just over an hour so Riza and I decided to hit Commercial Road. How dare you... how *very* dare you! We met up with a couple of other friends-with-benefits of Riza’s at the Market. Not much to report. Cheap beers and bitch juices but no smoking restrictions. We were home by 5am only to wake Murdoch with our whisperings and woffings.

Friday was Australia’s day. Or was it mine? In any case, I got to sleep in while the others did breakfast. With just the one match scheduled in a twilight session we had the better part of the day to celebrate what's great about Australia and being Australian. It's the day to reflect on what we have achieved and what we can be proud of in our great nation. What a fucking liberty! We headed out to St Kilda to meet up with Throb, Quattro and Flick. While a throng of floaters attempted a world record thong challenge on the water, we walked the beach before picking a spot to eat & sun ourselves in the Glorious Melbourne Weather. Suitably sunned and invariably sozzled, we later departed for the tennis, which again, was a lop-sided affair with the hot Chilean Gonzalez powering himself into Sunday’s final against Federer. This worked in our favour as it meant Riza and I could get back to the hotel to shower and change before we headed off to ‘Red Raw’, Melbourne’s Midsumma Festival G&L dance party which was at the Metro just around the corner from our hotel. Convenience. Not bad Melbourne. Good effort. I hung in the room where Sydney DJs Mandy Rollins & Jake Kilby were playing. I’m nothing if not loyal. Plus it meant I didn’t have to traipse up and down all the stairs of the old theatre where it was held. Riza piked early (‘Where’s the other one?’ Murdoch screeched in her best early morning drag-queen voice upon his return) while I stayed ‘til close at 7am and then headed back up the street with the morning trash. I resisted an offer to go to the recovery opting for some necessary rest prior to the women’s final around lunchtime.

I was a shadow of my former self at the game, which itself lacked any real energy with Serena running away with a convincing victory in just over an hour. Again, the gods were looking after me, enabling me some additional R&R at the hotel before we all headed out with Throb, Quattro, Flick and her friend MaiTai for some pre-dinner drinks at Madame Brussels, a rather fancy terrace house with a somewhat yester-year tennis theme. Fitting, given our visit to the City. We then headed (against disturbingly cold winds! What the?!) to the Teppanyaki Inn for a gorgeous feast before a nightcap at Eurotrash. Everyone headed home but Riza and I decided to head into the Market again to meet up with one of his friends and a good friend of my flatmate Miss Fashionista, Zorro. Unbeknownst to either of us, Riza’s friend and Zorro are actually good friends themselves so it was quite the hilarious introduction when we arrived to find them both on the dancefloor. I stumbled back into our hotel around 6am and slept for the better part of the day before meeting up with Riza and Murdoch in Chapel Street in the afternoon.

The anticipation of the men’s final on Sunday was a little overwhelming for a munted me who was starting to feel the effects of a trio of late (or rather, early) nights/mornings out on the town. Nothing like burning the candle at both ends. The first set was extremely close and went for longer than the women’s match! At last! The fans want to see some tennis! Fernando needed it but couldn’t convert on two set points in the tenth game. Roger, as he so often does, clawed back to force a tie-breaker and ran away with the set practically quashing any chance Gonzo had in causing an upset. Not to be embarrassed, the Chilean fought admirably in the next two sets only to drop his serve in the seventh game of both which was enough for Federer to claim his scalp. Roger’s 36th consecutive victory in fact, one of many records the Swiss continues to break as he continues to dominate the men’s tour over the past 3 years. Next up Rolland Garros, one hopes. Fingers & toes!

Monday morning was an early start for Murdoch and I with the Sunbus scheduled to pick us up around 7.45am to take us to the airport. Slept for most of the flight despite Johanna Griggs new hair-do causing a raucous in business class.

Melbourne 2007. Jan 24 to Jan 29 (in John Barrett voice). Had a ball. And the ball was good.

Shaken, Not Stirred

Too 007. Way! I wonder if James ever felt like this? Never! The events of the last couple of weeks have left me gasping for air as I finally loosen the tie around my neck. We all know how much the seasonal festivities take out of us but honestly, I’ve been working harder than Bond on Her Majesty’s Secret Service!

Christmas started with a Thunderball. Drinks on the Friday prior at Miss Fashionista’s brother’s place eventually turned into a big night out. Probably best to get it out of the way early. And to be honest, right now, I can’t even recall what sort of night it was. Seems like a lifetime ago! Having abandoned the family this year I had an orphan’s affair with friends… Wilma, (V)B1 & (V)B2, Janome, Jolie, HippieChic, Miss Victa & Brewster. Wilma had us over on Christmas Eve for dinner & drinks which was lovely. And it just wouldn’t be a proper night without Singstar. Thankfully, after a dozen Cosmos, I found my true voice. Shame it was while kneeling at the wheel of the porcelain bus an hour after I got home!

Still, I arose around 9am on Christmas day (unlike some, Wilma!) and made my way to the (V)B’s place for a champagne breakfast. Wilma had also kindly offered her culinary skills in preparing some savoury treats, however was mysteriously absent from breakfast… and lunch. In fact, she only arrived around 4.30pm after an impossible mission involving an extraction team, big sunglasses and a cap! By that time Santa had come more times than Pussy Galore. It was a fishy affair as the seafood rolled out during the day… oysters, mussels, prawns, crabs. I refrained after last year’s heroics. So while Bond had Christmas (Jones) in Turkey, j(aded) had no turkey at Christmas. Le sigh. What can I say, I like my meat. By 10.30pm I’d pretty much outstayed my welcome and while the others seemed to be warming up (on Singstar, again), I’d hit a wall. The only thing being hit at the time!

I spent Boxing Day at the movies. I love it! Somewhat of a tradition for me. Saw Night At The Museum and Happy Feet. The latter was most enjoyable. Nothing like a feel-good movie about a queer penguin to warm the cockles of one’s heart. Think I might take up tap this year. That or go to Antarctica.

So while Christmas was relatively low-key, New Year was given the Royale treatment. Miss Fashionista’s brother Snuff has a top floor apartment in the city and so hosted a NYE ‘Emerald City’ house party. Quite the decadent affair… cocktails, canapés & Charlie. And the Chocolate Factory. We hit the clubs around 2am, making an appearance at Slide, arq and the Columbian before retiring for a few hours rest before going to ToyBox at the Hordern around 1pm on New Year’s Day. My first ToyBox party and it was sensational. Had an awesome day, so much so that when proceedings finished with a confetti shower (and a somewhat slightly disturbing SpongeBob Squarepants parade) I didn’t want to stop. So I didn’t. Tomorrow Never Dies! I was lucky enough to get on a guest list to Homesexual Hawaii on New Year’s Day Night so ventured to the next venue where I ran into my favourite family of Pandas. I speak of that 19 year old (now 20), who’s been occasionally warming my lap since May, and his beautiful sisters. But that’s a story for another day. I dragged myself out of the club at about 7am. A shadow of my former self but alive, to die another day.

Light Years...

Or more precisely, six hundred and sixty-two days after I lined up outside Ticketek at 3am for tickets to her first show, the Showgirl finally made it home. I can’t believe it was that long ago! Needless to say, the anticipation was overwhelming come Friday night.

Given I was the one who queued for tickets, responsibility for getting us out to Homebush also seemed to fall within my duties, so it was quite the mental job organising 12 arrivals given CityRail decided ‘our Kylie’ was not considered a ‘special event’ like Bono, and so no special train services were scheduled. Be fucked if I was going to commute back and forth to Lidcombe on a Friday evening! Instead, both Miss Fashionista and I offered to drive and car-pooled 7 of our friends. They happily sipped champagne while we battled the peak-hour traffic. The other 3 made their own way from the other side of town. We left home about 6pm and made good time to be there just after 7pm. Enough time to down a few drinks and visit the merchandise outlet. Programmes, wristbands and flags… oh my! Like a kid in a candy store, I was. It’s almost mandatory to be gay as a handbag full of rainbows at a Kylie concert!

Our seats were exceptional. Nice one J! I’d hoped we’d be close enough to the catwalk so I could snap some close-ups smell the sweat from the male backup dancers. The audience were on their feet before Kylie even took to the stage. Not surprising given these were the die-hard fans who had secured tickets to the very first ‘original’ Sydney show. All I wanted was some acknowledgment from Kylie about this and she did not disappoint thanking us in her opening speech. A speech mind you, that went for a little longer than intended as there was a technical glitch that delayed the progression of the show for about 20mins. Kylie kept us entertained with an impromptu karaoke session before ducking off stage again. Obviously to kick some ass!

The show was amazing. Okay so I’m biased, but it was. I’ve never seen her look as beautiful as she did on stage that night. Despite her energy levels obviously being depleted these days after her traumatic battle, she still gave her all. Her dancing was conservative at times and she allowed the backup singers to fill the occasional line or two, but her commitment to putting on a trademark Kylie extravaganza was in no way compromised. There were many highlights… including her new song ‘White Diamond’ which sounds amazing! After 2 encores it was time for her to go but not before an overwhelming ovation (and mexican wave) from the capacity crowd that near brought tears to the eyes of all including our purser. Thankyou for flying KM Air. We hope you had a pleasant flight. Please, fly with us again.