Saturday night was Sleaze Ball – the second big gay dance party on the Sydney calendar and small sibling to the Mardi Gras dance party in February/March. This year, breaking with tradition, only one hall at Fox Studios was used – The Horden Pavillion. Usually there would be the Horden plus one or even two smaller spaces used to accommodate people with different music tastes. The “headline” act this year was the Potbelleez, a Sydney electronic/DJ group who had a top-10 hit earlier in 2008 “Don’t Hold Back” which was catchy all over commercial radio and in the mainstream clubs. Other DJs were Alan Thompson (UK), Mark Murphy (Sydney), Simon Caldwell (Sydney).

Alan Thompson I’d heard play before and was glad that he was relegated to the 9-12 “warm up set”. My ambivalent thoughts regarding his music didn’t change. (Boring, relentless, hard-ish minimal house).

Mark Murphy I’ve heard play lots of times and tend to either really get into his music or feel left a bit cold by it. He is a good, experimental DJ, playing a mixture of fairly hard underground electro-house and sometimes tribal sounds. He played a brilliant set at Mardi Gras a couple of years ago (after Boy George’s masturbatory set). He also recently played really really well at the tiny underground Saturday Night “Handle Bar” that we sometimes venture out to. At Sleaze, he played some god tunes, but overall the set was a bit of a mess. Too eclectic – i.e. not the kind of “musical journey” one likes to be led along by a good DJ – and some pretty bodgy mixing.

Simon Caldwell was a complete unknown quantity – and remains so since we left to go home to bed half an hour into his set. (Not because it was a bad set I might add, but because we were tired and the artificial energy and serotonin flood had worn off by then

That leaves two. Potbelleez and Sveta. I wish the Potbelleez played for considerably less than the hour that they were on for, and I wish that Sveta had played for at least an hour more than her all too short two-hour set.

The Potbelleez were worse than 4am drunk karaoke. Their singing and rapping (at a gay party!?!?!?) wasn’t in any key – let alone the wrong one. Their attempts at hyping up the crowd “Helllllooooo Sleeeeaaazzzeee We’re the Potbelleez…..” was met with bemusement and polite golf claps from all except those whose drugs had kicked in early (not mentioning any names…Baba…). The false hype reminded me of my mis-spent pentecostal youth. lol. Some of their backing tracks were actually quite good pumping tech-house but the moment the goose on stage was handed a microphone, the floor emptied.

Thank God, come 1am my favourite DJ in the whole wide world, the smiley, diminutive, sexy, lezzo Local girl Sveta rescued the night. She read the room and the mood beautifully and played all the right tracks at all the right moments. The set was typical Sveta for these big parties. A hard and slightly twisted edge with driving and funky basslines and seemless mixing. Lots of teasing and building without cliched “ecstatic” drum machine buildups, but instead a second of silence then sudden infusions of even more hot, powerful basslines. I may be a tragic groupie, but I couldn’t help getting right down the front and dancing before the throne of such talent. I love that kind of visual interaction between DJ and punter. There was also surprisingly a nice bit of space there where baba and I could dance like lunatics, as is our penchant. It was a F’n brilliant set.

No doubt a lot of the Oxford St madonna-kylie-mariah-remix fans would have been rather like fish out of water with the harder sounds, and the trance heads had absoulutely no where to go and listen to the lasers and see the music floating about the room; I expect Mardi Gras will cop some flack over not being all things to all people. For me Sleaze 2008 (my first sleaze ball) was a pretty ordinary party, made very memorable by a great set from 1 DJ in particular…who even blew me a kiss

What it comes down to though (in my sagely wisdom) is the blinkered vision of an unfortunately significant proportion of American voters. Alas the influence of that distinctively American brand of showy, political, evangelical Christianity (adopted here by Hill$ong and the like) means that the “leader/s of the free world” are usually elected on the basis of their stance on comparatively inconsequential matters such as their views on women’s reproductive rights, gun laws or gay marriage. To hell with the fact (to borrow from the American parlance), that these candidates have no foreign policy or economic management credentials. Never mind that they’ve never travelled and seen the world – either as emissaries or private travellers. So long as they oppose abortion on the one hand and promise unfettered access to guns on the other, they get sufficient votes from the rabid religious right to get elected. Then as we’ve seen from Sideshow-Bush, they carry on in a most UNchristian manner once in office by declaring wars, feathering the nests of the rich and powerful and ignoring or abandoning the poor and poweless. Ah…but they make all the right noises about defenceless embyos so they must be God’s elected representative. (Never mind the defenseless embryos – and men, women and children – killed in the carnage of the unjust wars and crusades they’ve fought).

This quote from the Sydney Morning Herald sums it all up:

However, for some analysts, Palin’s limited experience in foreign affairs is unlikely to affect her support among the rank-and-file Republican base, which responds to her staunchly conservative views on abortion, guns and religion.

“The party base doesn’t care about foreign policy, so it should not be too much of a concern,” said Sherry Bebitch Jeffe, a political analyst at the University of Southern California.

God Bless America – as they say – and God help the rest of us if Grandpa and the Moosehunter win the election in November.

August was my second visit to that hallowed shrine of fine dining, but it felt a bit like the army of staff there just were going through the motions on that second visit. They’ve been serving many of the same 14 dishes to a hundred-odd punters every night for a long time. There was no personal attention, no engagement between kitchen, waitstaff, food and customer. Dare I say there was a whiff of cynicism in the air that cold August night. Oscillate wildly on the other hand had a true buzz; there was a palpable excitement and passion in the air.

The room is unpretentious and almost cramped. The vibe is comfortable, Inner West-come-as-you-are, without being overly casual. There’s starched, white linen on the bistro tables, but the staff don’t do that silly fine-dining crumb scrape thing between courses. The two floor staff worked hard to ensure diners were comfortable and that the meal was moving at our pace and rhythm. Their tone was spot on. The only other waiter I’ve encountered who struck such a perfect balance between professionalism and friendliness, passion for the food without masturbation, was a Frenchman in Gordon Ramsay’s Tokyo outpost. Right at the beginning of the night we were invited to ask any questions we may have about any of the dishes or ingredients. A tick for avoiding snobbery and making it OK not to know what “Tonka” is! Dishes were explained matter-of-factly when brought to the table and when compliments were given as empty plates were taken away staff seemed genuinely pleased to hear them.

So, what did we eat that was so good? Delicious, warm house sourdough was a promising start. The really emorable dishes were the duck with sassafras, sweet potato and cinnamon, and the “deconstructed” pumpkin pie for dessert. But the absolute crowning highlight was the liquorice-cured salmon with blood grapefruit and beetroot sorbet and lavendar (yes the flower!) foam. I still marvel at the phenomenal combination of flavours on the palate. I quite simply can not think of another dish in my entire life as a foodie that made me that excited. (Though Tetsuya’s sashimi scampi with passionfruit and white miso comes close).

All of that sensational food with a decent espresso and heavenly petit fours at the end came in at just $202 for two – plus $45 spent earlier at the bottle shop for a decent bottle of BYO Eden Valley riesing. That’s pretty much the same price as each person would pay at most other restaurants of this calibre in Sydney.

My only thought as to how this place could improve (and I’ve had to scrape the barrel) would be to put the price up by $20 and concentrate on sourcing local and organic ingredients of the highest quality. Maybe I’m a victim of a food fad, but I almost felt lost not knowing whether the ingredients were locally sourced, biodynamic or somehow special, or whether on the other hand the kitchen hand had just popped around the corner to Franklins to get them.

I’m glad to have dined at Oscillate Wildly while it is perhaps still just on the cusp of fame and greatness and while it is still small and intimate. In fact I wish I’d been there a few years ago in its infancy when it was still doing a-la-carte. I certainly hope it stays small and unpretentious rather than expanding and losing its authenticity.

“Good to hear from you again.

Unfortunately this apartment has being sold, and yes it is the same as the one you inspected with me bar the stair case and yes it has larger out door area’s.

You have to be quick with the better buildings, it is very hard to see number 413 at its best with the way it is at the moment, if it was clear and your own furniture in you would be surprised, don’t discount it.

I will send you an email of the new apartment’s we have to offer you, please let me know if you would like to inspect them.”

I should mention this has nothing to do with the agent being an immigrant or from a NESB. He was as true blue, dinkydie an aussie bloke as one would ever meet. Clearly I wasn’t exagerating in my earlier post!

Giving new meaning to the word “designer”, Garland Lofts features voluminous 2 storey voids to the living area, saw tooth roofs to bedrooms and a totally unique indoor/outdoor bathroom with its own private balcony.

Bali meets New York!!”

WTF?!?!?!?!? a “Voluminous void”????? at least the spelling and punctuation are decent.

My biggest gripe however is the dreadful spelling, grammar, punctuation and realestatespeak in all the online adds. On principle I’m not going to buy a flat from an agent who advertises “A spacious residence in a quite area with stainless steal appliance’s, big balcony’s, built in’s off the bedroom…” (sic) I exagerate…but only very slightly. Obviously getting past about 5 or 6th grade primary school English isn’t an essential criteria for the job.

So anyway, lots of people I know have been breaking up recently. In fact among my circle of friends and acquaintances, this breaking up bizzo has been going on for a few years. The gays are doing it, the straights are doing it…everyone is breaking up! Of the couples I knew when baba and I first started courting, off the top of my head, I can only think of one that’s still together. (Ms L and the Welshman, take a bow). By law of my straw poll averages, couples that get married are just as likely to break up as those who don’t. The ones who aren’t strictly monogamous seem to fare a bit better than those who are (or at least claim to be. There’s something to be said for distancing Judeo-Christian “morality” from issues of the heart – and the pelvis). Recent statistics say that the average Australian marriage lasts 9 years; hardly a lifetime! And of those who do make it as far as dribbling through dementia together, I wonder how many are still genuinely in love.

Baba and I are still plodding along and dare I say, still in love 7 years down the track. I can’t think of anything right now that is likely to cause us to want to break up. It’s all just too lovely and comfortable. Routine? Yes. Exciting? Not particularly. Deep? Yes. Genuine? Yes.

No one can tell what the future holds. Baba could up and walk out on me tomorrow with a rich, dashingly handsome replacement – or I could do the same. Love is like that. The human heart is fickle. I hope not though in our case. We often talk of growing old together and I’d say that there’s a fairly strong chance that will happen. I find it very hard to imagine anyone else that I could connect with on as many levels as I connect with baba.

…having said all that, baba did remind me last night of that Indian fortune teller who soothsayed that I’d have three wives…

bah humbug. thank mother mary that baba and i are flying down to taswegia for the days that this whole circus climaxes.

We went to a really fun and interesting party last night. After my recent rant about the rotten state of the gay scene in Sydney, it was so refreshing to be at an event that had a kind of more underground, friendly, non-meat-market feel. The event I refer to was called Non-Scene, A Winter Solstice. The venue was a bar called the Loft at UTS on Broadway. As the event’s name would suggest, the crowd was a bit different to the normal gay bar scene. There was very little preening and posing. There was very little sleazy cruising going on. Apart from a few joints being passed around, beer was about the only drug in evidence. It was just a congregation of couple of hundred people of every gender imaginable (and then some), misfits, friends and lovers and a very funny interpretive dance/mime routine set to Hotel California.

What has a good night out got to do with being queer? Well a lot really. At these kinds of events I always find myself thinking how fortunate I am to view society from outside the mainstream. To be in a room full of other “outsiders” where there is acceptance of diversity and where creativity and individuality can be expressed without fear of ridicule or judgement. Where men can walk around in frocks and makeup if they so choose. Where women can wear a tux and army boots. Two boys can kiss in one corner while two girls grope in another and none of this behaviour turns heads. Let and let live is the reigning philosophy.

I think of the millions of folk in whitebread suburban homes watching So-you-think-you-are-an-Australian-big-idol’s-dancing-brother or whatever inane shit is on channel ten these days. I also find myself thinking of the repression of sex and sexuality that mainstream western culture still imposes, and am thankful to be part of a community that challenges those norms. I’m glad to be able to dance like a lunatic if I want to. (There is something primeval and essentially human about dancing – maybe that is the “earth sign Taurus” in me speaking). Even though most of the people at these events are strnagers, there is a bond as we shrug off the mantle of the outside world and celebrate together.

Being an outsider in day to day life, as I move though the mainstream, I also think is advantageous – at least in a society like Australia where there is at least a modicum of tolerance for “my tribe”. I can see things from angles that others perhaps struggleto. I can empathise with other outsiders in the community. I think to be a gay man with my feminine and masculine sides in ying-yang-like balance is like being psychologically ambidextrous. There is balance.

True, these things are not the exclusive domain(s) of queer folk – far from it; but I would argue that if I were straight, I would be far less likely to be exposed to such alternative ways of thinking and living. And even if I was exposed to them, I wonder whether perhaps I would have inherited sufficient societal predjudices as to make me discount such experiences as the folly of complete fruitloops. I would also concede that there are many many gay men and women who wouldn’t identify with the sort of scene baba and I enjoyed and felt such an affinity with last night (and at other events like Kooky and Tropical Fruits at new year). Horses for courses. But even those in the thick of mainstream gay, those who pimp and preen and go to Oxford street venues several times a week, week in week out, those who get emotional watching Will and Grace, those who ring up and vote for the token gay “character” on the latest reality TV show, those who love their broadway tunes, and all the other cliches (some of which I must admit to holding dear), even those folk are set aside from their heterosexual bretheren by the very fact that biology has made them (us) different.

Here endeth the lesson

Just for good measure, here is Yet Another Article on the loonies over at Mercy Ministries. Interestingly, it has been reported that a significant number of companies have withdrawn their sponsorship of the cult and distanced themselves altogether.