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PlugInMatty

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  1. PlugInMatty
    So there's this girl I used to work with.
     
    We used to be close, but she had problems with her boyfriend and started pushing everyone away. Then, when one of the girls in her dept stated the obvious (i.e. dump him, he's a dick), it all ended in a rather fiery confrontation. I believe her exact words were "The only reason we fight is because of all the f**king stress at work". I believe the other girl's exact words were "You tell yourself that, honey."
    And then, psycho girl stopped talking to me. Dunno why. Guilt by association, I guess. Who cares.
     
    Anyway, they passed her farewell card around at work the other day, and I initially refused to write in it. What do you say to a colleague after an acrimonious split? If you don't have anything nice to say... Anyway, despite that, at the last minute, I thought of the perfect thing to say and decided to jot it down.
     
    Thnks Fr Th Mmrs.
     
    xMatt
     
    (Look it up, if you must. But if you don't get the irony straight away, you won't find it funny.)
     
    Anyway, as sad an ending as it was, the whole thing made me happy because it reminded me of the day that I quit my last job.. It went exactly like this...
     
    It was a quiet Monday morning, many weeks in the making. I'd called in 'sick' and attended a job interview the previous Tuesday, and spent the subsequent six days planning my entire routine. Then, the moment I got the phone call saying 'You've got the job!', I put the whole thing into action.
     
    First, I made sure to dress for success. In this case, that meant jacket/collar/tie/cufflinks, the works. Although I'd probably spent that morning watching an NBA game or indulging in random youtube, I made sure that I looked a million bucks.
     
    Then, since one of my friends was the manager on duty, I went into my place of employment and jumped on the office computer. After approximately two seconds of thought, I started typing my resignation letter. And since I've kept a copy on my computer all this time, so I can tell you with 100% certainty that my resignation letter went like this:
     
    Dear <Owner's Name>,
     
    My mother always told me that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all.
     
    Consider this your seven days notice.
     
    Kindest Regards,
    Matt.
    To quote a figure skating term... stuck the landing perfectly. Scored a handful of perfect tens. Even got a 9.5 from the Russian judge.
     
    Then, inkeeping with my brat-ish behaviour, I printed a copy off and faxed it to all the other businesses owned by my boss. I also printed a copy and pinned it to the office noticeboard. Then I printed a copy to hand to the boss. And finally, I indulged in some workplace tradition and signed the underside of the office desk with a permanent marker:
     
    So I'm on my back, and I've just f**ked <owner's name> in the arse.
     
    Who said history never repeats?
     
    xMatt
     
    And then I jumped in the car and turned up unannounced at the owner's head office. Never mind that he was in the middle of some meeting. After a brief conversation (in which I wished him the best of luck), I walked out into midday sun and began the next phase of my working life.
     
    Not once did I ever look back. And frankly, I'm a better person for it.
     
    Anyway, now I've told you that, tell me your funny work-related stories.
     
    Or comment on mine.
     
    You know you want to.
     
     
  2. PlugInMatty

    What is love?

    By PlugInMatty,

    Love.
     
    Call me a cynic, but I've never really understood society's obsession with 'love'.
     
    I mean, I can understand physical attraction (mmm... let's engage in sexual intercourse), I can understand attachment (let's engage in sexual intercourse... again), and I can understand companionship (let's engage in sexual intercourse AND conversation), but what is this 'love' that we all aspire to?
     
    I wouldn't ask, but I'm working on Chapter Six at the moment, and I'm beginning to realise that 'love' is something I'll have to tackle at some point in this story. It was my own doing, obviously; but truthfully, when I planned this whole thing out on paper, 'love' was just an incidental thread to tie the whole storyline together. A nice little story arc with the broadest possible appeal.
     
    And while I have every intention of doing 'love' justice, how can I achieve that when I have no idea what 'love' actually is?
     
    It's like trying to write a vagina monologue. I can imagine how violated My Angry Vagina feels, but I'd only be guessing at the end of the day.
     
    And you know what? When it comes to my writing, I don't feel comfortable guessing.
     
    So what is love?
     
    Tell me.
     
    Can you? Do you know?
     
    Cos I don't. But whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's aspirational. Just like people who want to be rich, there are people everywhere who want to be 'in love'. But just like money, there's 1 rich human being for every 1,000,000 who aspire to it. But that doesn't stop them from faking. Fake it 'til you make it, don't they say? Just like millions worldwide who invest well beyond their means to appear 'rich', there are millions worldwide who invest unnatural amounts of effort to appear 'in love'. They buy extravagant gifts ('my husband bought me diamonds, he must really love me'), they have romantic getaways ('we're going to Hawaii in March, we're so in love'), they meet regularly for 'dates' and eventually co-habit...
     
    And for what? As much as they aspire to it, how many of them actually reach the destination called 'love'?
     
    And don't get me started about fake it 'til you make it, either. I know people who post Facebook updates every five seconds about how much they love their boyfriend. That's not love. To paraphrase Margaret Thatcher...
     
    Being in love is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are...
     
    You aren't.
     
    And speaking of public declarations, how soon is too soon to drop the 'L word'? I've known people to drop it after a couple of weeks. I've also known people to just casually mention it, as if they're asking their partner what time it is. And the way they say it completely trivialises the concept of 'love' in my mind.
     
    Admittedly, I was raised by a single parent, so I don't really have anything to judge all these relationships against. But surely 'love' is more than having somebody to come home to at the end of the working day? Surely it's more than a regular, monogamous sex?
     
    Or are we, as a society, so confused that we actually think these things constitute 'love'?
     
    Honest to god, I think we confuse being 'in a relationship' with being in love.
     
    I might not have a parental relationship to base these judgements off, but I've been in relationships before, and I've had people tell me that they 'love' me. And the first response out of my mouth should have been 'why?' Because I don't know what it means.
     
    And I've never said it back. Call me a bastard, but I'm not going to say it back until I know what it is. Just like the little ginger kid at the spelling bee, I'm not going to spell it out until I get a place of origin and a proper definition.
     
    So this is where you come in.
     
    Tell me, dear reader, what is love?
     
    Because it's 600 words later, and I still wouldn't have a f**king clue.
  3. PlugInMatty

    Clothes shopping.

    By PlugInMatty,

    So I've been giving myself a bit of a makeover lately.
     
    My dress standards had never been all that terrible but, somewhere along the line, jeans and hoodies had become my default setting. And it was getting shit. And I was getting lazy. And god forbid, I was looking like some generic, suburban hetero. Like I should be in line at McDonalds, or walking to the newsagent to buy a copy of Sports Illustrated.
     
    Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.
     
    So armed with my tax refund and a wad of cash I'd been saving up (I don't keep a credit card), I did what every other gay boy does on a Saturday morning (no, not his boyfriend) and jumped in the car to go clothes shopping in the city.
     
    And it was...
     
    Kinda boring, actually.
     
    Since team breeder became team metrosexual, all the clothing stores stopped employing pretty gay boys and started employing hot chicks instead (sorry darling, but the only rack I'm interested in doesn't have a set of hands attached). So now, instead of browsing clothes stores and chatting up sales assistants, I'm forced to plug in my iPod and offer a polite 'no thank you' when the blonde with nice boobs comes over and offers to assist me in my selection. Seriously, what the f**k? Since when did clothes shopping become an anti-gay experience? Sure, it's nice to talk about pretty boys with a girl who meets her token gay friends for coffee and air-kisses every second Tuesday, but I'd much rather scope out coffee and air-kisses with a pretty boy who's sitting right in front of me.
     
    And might I just add...
     
    Staff discount.
     
    Second only to my dream of dating a bartender is the dream of dating a nice, pretty sales assistant at a clothing store.
     
    Again, staff f**king discount.
     
    Anyway, back to the shopping, and I soon got bored with the usual suspects and wandered down to McDonalds to grab a frozen coke and regroup. Then I wandered into JB Hi-Fi and pondered buying One Tree Hill and Veronica Mars in their 'buy two, get one free' dvd sale they've got on at the moment. But I couldn't decide which box set to buy as my 'get one free' purchase, so I burnt that idea and went to get a haircut instead. The hairdresser was nice enough I suppose, but she used the word 'forte' in the wrong context. TWICE. Seriously, people who try to use big words and fail just piss me off. AND IT'S NOT EVEN THAT BIG A WORD.
     
    And just to top it off, she did this weird combover thing at the end and it looked stupid. Literally, the moment I left the hairdresser, I rushed to a public toilet and spent the next 5 minutes re-doing my hair in a style that didn't look like a young Bob Saget. In reality, that actually meant putting on my ball cap to create 'hat hair', taking it off again after 2 minutes and de-Bob Saget-ing from there. I actually kinda liked it after that.
     
    Anyway, I decided to label my city experience a complete failure and cruised out to the 'burbs and to try my luck at a department store. *gasp* That's right, a department store. All the shit in the city seemed over-priced and/or boring and/or ugly, so I decided to go for something a bit more simple and went shopping at a department store.
     
    And you know what? It was brilliant.
     
    The staff actually left me alone, and I got to wander around picking out things that I actually like. Just nice, simple, plain, comfortable things. Things without massive designs screen-printed across the front. OMG socks and underpants. And when I took it all to the counter, it didn't cost me half of Malawi's GDP.
     
    Jesus christ, I think I might go back tomorrow!
     
    Speaking of tomorrow, gotta hit the gym again. Only been twice this week. Not good enough. Depends how late I go to bed tonight, though. I've got a nice rhythm going on Chapter Six of The Things You Fear The Most, so I might sit up til 3am writing that.
     
    Overall, I'm loving the gym though. The whole exercise/eating well thing is working out quite well for me. Lost heaps of fat/inches, apparently. 20cm off my waist, or something.
     
    Put it down to self-restraint.
     
    I've also managed to refrain from telling the personal trainer how much I'd like to lose 20cm in him.
     
    You can put that down to self-restraint, too.
     
    Night xx
  4. PlugInMatty
    So I've got a three-day weekend coming up, and my tax return has just come through...
     
    Bad.
     
    Boredom + Matty + Money = Bad.
     
    Or tequila.
     
    I'm the only person I know who actually likes the taste of tequila.
     
    Dunno why.
     
    Dunno why I call myself 'Matty' on GA, either.
     
    Nobody calls me Matty.
     
    Well, that's not true.
     
    Nobodies call me Matty.
     
    Case in point: Chicks who want me to do something.
     
    Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Matty, could I ask a favour?
     
    Matty, would you be able to grab that box down for me?
     
    Matty, could you grab me some paper for the copier?
     
    Mattttttttttttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...
     
    You get the drift.
     
    Tokyo Drift.
     
    That movie's great... on mute.
     
    Now it's raining outside.
     
    And I'm listening to Yellowcard.
     
    And I think I've got a crush on Sebastian Vettel. He's younger than I am, and he races in Formula 1.
     
    What the f**k.
     
    Since when were professional sportspeople younger than I am?
     
    God, I feel old.
     
    Just got a text from my shooting guard, too. He's like the little brother I never had. Just wanted to let me know that his other team lost, but he nailed two three-pointers in a row at the end of the game. Sounds inconsequential, but I'm so proud of the kid. Barely had the confidence to even put a shot up at the start of the season. Now he's my best player and the team's 14-0. I think I'll name him MVP at the end of the season. He'll love that.
     
    I think he'll cry when we win the grand final in four weeks, too. I'll probably cry right along with him, to be honest. There'll be hugs. There'll be high-fives.
     
    There'll probably even be McDonalds after the game.
     
    Nothing says 'WINNER' like a 50c cone, no?
     
    I could go one right now, actually...
  5. PlugInMatty
    When you think of the greatest songs of all time, what do you think of?
     
    Motown?
     
    Elvis?
     
    The Beatles?
     
    Taylor Swift?
     
    Jonas Brothers?
     
    Personally, I think of all of the above (*cough*). But while I make fun of Taylor Swift and the Jonas Brothers, the idea of what constitutes great music is entirely subjective and the topic of endless debate amongst both friends and colleagues alike.
     
    Is it beautiful lyrics? A talented singer? A great producer? A catchy hook? A memorable riff?
     
    A combination of all of the above?
     
    This is gonna sound like a complete cop-out, but I really don't think that one isolated thing can define great music. If you tried to capture its essence and re-create over and over, it'd be formulaic and fit the exact definition of bad music. So I suppose, when you think of it that way, great music comes from within. It's not a particular chord progression or vocal pitch, it's how a band captures a mood or particular moment in time. It's the emotion, intent and technical ability that takes a good idea and executes it at an exemplary level.
     
    Some bands have one or two of the necessary elements, but their lack of talent or direction in a particular area stops them from achieving musical greatness. A singer might have a great voice, but no songwriting ability. Conversely, how many times have you heard amazing lyrics and wished they were sung by a better vocalist? A band might also have great ideas, but lack the technical ability to capture those ideas in the recording studio. Conversely, a musician with limited talent might strike it lucky and work with a producer who knows how to get the best out of them. You might also hear a great riff in a mediocre piece of music, or a catchy hook in an anotherwise boring musical experience.
     
    Sometimes though, everything falls in place and the end result is a piece of music that ticks all the metaphorical boxes that define 'great'. But even then, that doesn't mean they've created great music.
     
    As I briefly touched on before, the definition of great music is entirely subjective. It's not a chord progression or vocal pitch, it's the emotion a particular song evokes in the listener. A great song isn't necessarily the one that makes you tap your feet or sing along in the car; it's the song that makes you smile and want to dance around, or the song that makes you cry every single time you hear it.
     
    But even then, evoking a strong reaction in the listener doesn't necessarily make it a great song in isolation. With the amount of songs used in television and advertising nowadays, the reaction might not have anything to do with the actual song at all. I mean, do middle-aged women cry at Unchained Melody because it's a nice song, or because they're picturing Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore in that iconic scene from Ghost? Do the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because I like Snow Patrol's Chasing Cars, or because it makes me think of all my friends crying when Denny died in Grey's Anatomy? Is Europe's The Final Countdown a funny song, or does it make me smile because it brings back memories of mocking Riverdance at a local nightclub?
     
    When you think of it that way, is any song a great song in isolation? I'm sure there are people who think Wonderwall by Oasis is a great song, but I don't like it because it makes me think of the funeral of a friend's father. Similarly, Silverchair's Anthem of the Year 2000 makes me think of the same song being played by four different bands at the same school assembly in grade seven.
     
    I don't imagine the people from A Clockwork Orange go much on classical music, either.
     
    Anyway, now that we've established what does and doesn't make great music, there's a music countdown on the radio today. It's called the Triple J Hottest 100. Every year on January 26th, our national 'youth' radio station counts down the 100 most popular songs of the year, as voted by Triple J listeners. And although Triple J is notorious for its inflated self-importance, this is literally the biggest annual music poll in the world. Last year, 800,000 votes were counted. It was mostly boppers voting for Sex on Fire, but the poll has validity nonetheless.
     
    And might I just add...
     
    Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, my sex is on fire!!!
     
    Anyway, they decided this year that they'd run a poll in the middle of winter to adjudge the Hottest 100 of All Time. Why? No idea. But today, Australians get the rare chance to collectively select what they think is the greatest song of all time. Naturally, since the list is being compiled by Australians, there is going to be some local content that you've probably never heard of. Similarly, since Triple J is a largely Indie/Alternative station, there are going to be some 'fringe' songs that didn't get played on MTV, but were insanely popular with the Triple J listenership. And the rest? Well, they're just shit songs that shouldn't be in anyone's Hottest 100 of All Time.
     
    This is the list we've compiled so far:
     
    100. Franz Ferdinand - Take Me Out
    99. TV on the Radio - Wolf Like Me
    98. Led Zeppelin - Kashmir
    97. Midnight Oil - Beds Are Burning
    96. Daft Punk - One More Time
    95. Stevie Wonder - Superstition
    94. Modest Mouse - Float On
    93. Massive Attack - Unfinished Sympathy
    92. Bon Iver - Skinny Love
    91. AC/DC - Back In Black
    90. Kings of Leon - Sex on Fire
    89. Rage Against the Machine - Bulls On Parade
    88. The Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter
    87. Coldplay - Yellow
    86. The Beatles - Come Together
    85. The Dandy Warhols - Bohemian Like You
    84. Bob Marley & The Wailers - No Woman, No Cry
    83. Placebo - Every You Every Me
    82. System Of A Down - Chop Suey!
    81. Pulp - Common People
    80. The Rolling Stones - Paint It Black
    79. David Bowie - Life on Mars
    78. Smashing Pumpkins - Today
    77. Gotye - Hearts A Mess
    76. The Stone Roses - Fools Gold
    75. Green Day - Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)
    74. Nirvana - Lithium
    73. The Clash - London Calling
    72. The Shins - New Slang
    71. The Smiths - How Soon Is Now?
    70. The Prodigy - Breathe
    69. Jeff Buckley - Grace
    68. Blink 182 - Dammit
    67. Ben Folds Five - Brick
    66. Elton John - Tiny Dancer
    65. Underworld - Born Slippy
    64. Violent Femmes - Blister in the Sun
    63. AC/DC - Thunderstruck
    62. Nine Inch Nails - Closer
    61. Blur - Song 2
    60. Johnny Cash - Hurt
    59. Augie March - One Crowded Hour
    58. Daft Punk - Around The World
    57. Tool - Forty Six & 2
    56. Jeff Buckley - Lover, You Should Have Come Over
    55. Bob Dylan - Like A Rolling Stone
    54. The Cure - Close To Me
    53. Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb
    52. You Am I - Berlin Chair
    51. Smashing Pumpkins - Bullet With Butterfly Wings
    50. Crowded House - Don't Dream It's Over
    49. Guns 'N Roses - Sweet Child O' Mine
    48. Beastie Boys - Sabotage
    47. John Butler Trio - Betterman
    46. Faith No More - Epic
    45. Queens of the Stone Age - No One Knows
    44. The Beatles - Hey Jude
    43. The Beach Boys - God Only Knows
    42. Bloc Party - Banquet
    41. Michael Jackson - Billie Jean
    40. Nirvana - Come As You Are
    39. Pearl Jam - Better Man
    38. The Killers - Mr Brightside
    37. Tool - Stinkfist
    36. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Into My Arms
    35. Smashing Pumpkins - 1979
    34. The Living End - Prisoner Of Society
    33. Silverchair - Tomorrow
    32. New Order - Blue Monday
    31. Metallica - Enter Sandman
    30. Jimi Hendrix - All Along the Watchtower
    29. Pixies - Where Is My Mind?
    28. Radiohead - Fake Plastic Trees
    27. Powderfinger - My Happiness
    26. Michael Jackson - Thriller
    25. Pearl Jam - Alive
    24. The Beatles - A Day in the Life
    23. Hunters & Collectors - Throw Your Arms Around Me
    22. Massive Attack - Teardrop
    21. Powderfinger - These Days
     
    In approximately five hours, the top 20 will begin counting down. Based on the songs and bands that have charted so far, these are the songs that I believe will comprise the Top 20 (in no particular order):
     
    Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
    The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army
    Radiohead - Creep
    Radiohead - Paranoid Android
    Led Zeppelin - Stairway to Heaven
    Hilltop Hoods - The Nosebleed Section
    The Verve - Bittersweet Symphony
    Red Hot Chilli Peppers - Under The Bridge
    Placebo - Pure Morning
    The Rolling Stones - Satisfaction
    Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the Name
    The Whitlams - No Aphrodisiac
    Queen - Bohemian Rhapsody
    Foo Fighters - Everlong
    Muse - Stockholm Syndrome OR Knights of Cydonia OR Plug-In Baby OR New Born OR Bliss OR Time Is Running Out (no idea where the Muse vote is going, but two of those six)
    Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah
    Metallica - One
    Jeff Buckley - Last Goodbye
    Grinspoon - Chemical Heart
    Eminem - Lose Yourself
     
    It's hard to figure out, really. The Beatles should be in there, but after analysing the form guide, I don't think they will.
     
    And for the record, these are the songs I personally voted for:
     
    Muse - Plug-In Baby
    Crowded House - Better Be Home Soon
    At The Drive-In - One Armed Scissor
    Jane's Addiction - Just Because
    The White Stripes - Hotel Yorba
    Spiderbait - Buy Me A Pony
    Duran Duran - A View to a Kill
    The Beatles - Let It Be
    Muse - Stockholm Syndrome
    Queens of the Stone Age - No One Knows (#45)
     
    And now I've dumped all that on you...
     
    What do you think constitutes a great song?
     
    Did Australians get it right?
     
    If not, what do you think are the greatest songs of all time?
     
    And more importantly...
     
    WHY?
     
     
     
  6. PlugInMatty
    Jumped on the scales this morning...
     
    Not good.
     
    Used to be pretty big (108kg/240lb), lost a lot of it when I was nineteen (76kg/170lb), and now I've put exactly half of it back on (92kg/205lb). Dunno how I feel about that just yet. I'm almost twenty-three now, a couple of inches taller taller than I was at nineteen and a whole lot broader through the shoulders, so I guess that explains a bit of it. Still, feels like I've let some of that good work go to waste. Bit disappointed in myself, to be honest.
     
    So what am I gonna do?
     
    I'm gonna join a gym.
     
    It goes against all of my principles, but the new job has me sitting on my arse all day, and I'm worried that all the sitting is gonna backfire when the basketball season wraps. I can see it coming a mile off.
     
    I think a little bit of it might be vanity, too. Let's face it, I'm becoming more vain with every passing day. I actually took moisturizer on a two-night trip away. I mean, come on. If you'd told me three years ago that I'd be doing that, I'd have punched you in the tits. But now it's the new normal. What. The f**k.
     
    Either way, I'm making the phone call tomorrow. I've got another week off basketball, so that's plenty of time to get it organized.
     
    Speaking of basketball... just not feeling the NBA Finals this year. Game two at Staples was a bit rubbish, and Game One was even worse. JJ Redick looks f**ken hot with facial hair, though. And trust me, he was hot enough without it.
     
    Taking my boys away for a big tournament in four weeks, too. The sooner that's organized, the better. Can't wait. They'll probably win it, too. Undefeated after 11 weeks. Yep, they're really that good. Don't tell them I said that, though. Would never hear the end of it. Didn't think I'd miss them as much as I do, either. God knows what I'm gonna do when we're all split up next year. Enjoy it while it lasts, I suppose.
     
    I think one of them might be questioning some... things, too. Dunno how I'm gonna handle that if it comes up. He's almost like a little brother to me, but there's a line, and I don't wanna go anywhere near it. Kinda clouds your judgement when you've got the kid literally crying on your shoulder after a tough game, though. But he's a smart kid. Hopefully he knows he can come to me for advice.
     
    That's enough for now, anyway. Will let you know how the gym goes. Might even get a personal trainer. God knows there's a gap in my life that only a hot personal trainer could fill...
     
    Lol.
  7. PlugInMatty
    Have you ever written something that's really shaken you up?
     
    Like, you've sat down and began writing a scene at your computer, and it's just taken you to a place you really didn't want to go?
     
    I have.
     
    I've just spent the past couple of days pouring my heart and soul into something massive, and now I'm scared half to death that it's not going to get the job done. I mean, f**k. I don't pour my heart and soul into anything anymore. Why this? Why now? Jesus Christ. Where the hell did this all come from, anyway? I thought my parents had bought emotions, straight off the rack at Ikea, and somehow lost the instructions along the way.
     
    My fragility's supposed to be in a flat-pack, buried in my parents' garage.
     
    And now suddenly, I need a 'handle with care' sticker.
     
    What a f**ked up day I've had.
  8. PlugInMatty
    **Scroll down for new reading material**
     
     
    Ok, so I haven't been around much lately.
     
    Yeah, I know. I haven't been around much lately. So?
     
    What are you, my mother?
     
    Anyway, it's 1.10am on Sunday morning, and I've got this thing that I really wanna get out there before I lose my nerve and blow the whole bloody thing up.
     
    I do that a lot, you know.
     
    Yes, I know it's destructive.
     
    What are you, my mother?
     
    Anyway, there's this holy grail in gay literature that some of us aspire to at some point, but very few of us actually execute well: the Coming Out story.
     
    To go off on a rant for just a moment...
     
    The internet is full of stories about perfect boys with perfect boyfriends who are already out and now their parents are in PFLAG and they have about 25 female best friends that they talk about fashion with and it's all just f**king PERFECT!!! The internet is also full of stories about boys who are completely comfortable with their sexuality, except they haven't come out, they never intend to come out and, their parents, god bless 'em, well they just never asked. Or even better, they're insanely rich and they're never home. Or even better than that, they're dead.
     
    w00t.
     
    But how many stories have you read that have captured the actual reality of coming out? Stories that have captured the apocalyptic 'oh my god, the world is going to end' range of emotions that a boy goes through before he reveals the deep, dark secret that makes him different from all his friends. Not good kinda different, either. Bad kinda different.
     
    Anyway, back on topic, the coming out story is something that many of us have tried at some point, but we usually come up short in either effort or execution. I could name you some examples, but that would just be rude. And I'm not rude.
     
    What?
     
    I'm NOT rude.
     
    What are you, my mother?
     
    So anyway, now that I'm 22 years old and both comfortable and confident enough to tackle such an overbearing topic, I'm going to present you with my first, desperate attempt at documenting that first, desperate moment of truth. That harrowing moment in every out-and-proud gay boy's life where you just know life is never going to be the same again.
     
    But before you read the scene, I'd better give you a bit of background information about my story (which can be read here, by the way).
     
    There's this boy, and he's relating a series of events to a homicide detective throughout the course of an interview. It's a reasonably simple format: the boy tells the reader about a series of events in first person, and the detective asks him questions about those events in third person. I try to use specific trigger words and pointed questions during the interview to keep the first person narrative moving along, and the whole thing looks alright so far.
     
    Anyway, I had this one scene in chapter three where I had to explain how two characters had met. I kept trying to write it in past tense, but the scene just leapt off the page in present tense. The scene went as follows:
     

    It
  9. PlugInMatty

    lolza.

    By PlugInMatty,

    what do you call a Muslim flying an aeroplane?
     
     
     
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    * * * *
     
     
     
     
     
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    a pilot, you racist.
  10. PlugInMatty
    Ahhh, another day in paradise.
     
    So it's Sunday night, 9pm. I should be sleeping because there's a Grand Prix at 3.45am, but I can't be bothered. That's right, I'd get up at 3.45am for motor racing. A man's gotta have priorities. But there's gonna be one nasty side-effect... 7.30am start at the office tomorrow. 7.30am start every day of the week, in fact. Why do I torture myself like this, seriously? 7.30am starts are the devil. I've never been a morning person and I never will be a morning person. I can totally imagine myself as one of those 40-year-olds who cannot function in the morning without their first tablet, coffee and cigarette...
     
    Seriously, the only way I can get to work on time in the morning is to get out of bed, plug in my iPod and blast myself with loud music until all of my faculties make themselves available. Trust me, you haven't experienced ironing until you've done it to the tune of Murder on the Dancefloor.
     
    Anyway, what's the latest?
     
    Well, I bought vegemite scrolls on the way to work on Friday. f**K they were good. I swear, Vegemite is my crack. Brown, pungent, spreadable... no, not that crack. Get your mind out of the gutter.
     
    I guess that's a good segue to the real point of this blog...
     
    I'm over work.
     
    I used to pride myself on the randomness of my life, the unpredictability of it all. But since I took a full-time job, I have to be in the same place at the same time doing the same thing five days a week. And what a place it is...
     
    I work at a desk. It's a vast, spacious, white desk. Completely non-descript. There's a computer, with a nice, shiny, new flat-screen monitor to go with it. It's a nice enough computer, but it's hard to appreciate its beauty when its sole purpose is to pixelate the daily agony of working life in Rosny Park. I also have a mouse, a keyboard, a calulator on my desk. Even a desk calendar. Just behind the calendar is my side of the cubicle wall. It's also non-descript, with two pieces of cartridge paper the only adornments in an otherwise drab sea of grey material. With suitable lack of fanfare, they carry all the rostering information I deem necessary to get through the working week.
     
    Look to your left. There's Andrea, my team leader. Nice lady, Andrea. Got pissed at a family bbq and broke two ribs last week. Funny girl. Reminds me of my mum, actually. But I'm not sure she believes that I'm gay. How many times can you say The Golden Girls in a 'What are you up to tonight?' answer before somebody gets wind of your sexuality?
     
    Actually, I was talking to Andrea yesterday when I spotted a visitor to the office. Visualize him, a sweaty man in a too tight high-visibility shirt who had come to check the smoke alarms. How on earth can a man be so sweaty when it's 16 degrees celsius outside? Jesus. We don't care about him and his lazy left eye though, the only thing we care about is what he's holding...
     
    Smoke, IN A CAN.
     
    That's right...
     
    SMOKE IN A CAN.
     
    Can you say more fun than a pants full of ferrets?
     
    Imagine the havoc you could wreak. Every time work gets too shit to bear, you just take out the can, spray a liberal amount of the stuff near a smoke detector and scream 'OH MY GOD FIRE!!!'. Or, for the more subtle among us, 'Can you smell smoke?', followed by 'OH MY f**kING GOD THERE'S A FIRE!!!'. Or, if you're feeling particularly adventurous, 'OH MY GOD WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!'.
     
    Then, all you have to do is slip the can back into your manbag and file calmly to the nearest fire exit before taking the rest of the afternoon off.
     
    Sounds like a plan...
     
    Maybe tomorrow won't be so bad after all.
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