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Monday, November 26, 2007
Goin' to the Chapel



Do you know what's even harder than being gay? Being gay and Indian. Indian men are supposed to uphold the long standing traditions of harvesting many grandchildren for their parents. So of course, you can imagine the kind of plans my parents have in store for me. They're so adamant to get me married off that they've got a marriage funds account setup for me since the beginning of time. I hear that it's worth quite a sum, but my folks would rather give it to a Mother Theresa charity than fund their son's gay wedding.

But seriously speaking - gay or straight, Indian kids have been known to experience a lot of pressure from their folks to get married at the right age. The men can't marry when they're approaching 30 because apparently all their sperm has migrated north to their brain. And women can't marry if they're approaching 30 because that only leaves 10 years to have more kids, compared to the 18 years of child-rearing bliss they will go through if they marry at 22. I've heard this story so many times before from my mum - how she was married so young, had to look after her husband and kids, then moving house, having more kids, staying at home - you don't think we remember these things? HELLO? That's our childhood you're talking about - WE WERE IN IT!

A lot of my friends ask me about what's going to happen when my parents (especially my mum) start entering that 'wedding fever' mode. It's like a dormant autopilot mode kicks in, and before you know it, they house has been repainted, new furniture has been ordered, and suddenly there's a marble statue in the middle of the living room. I just give them the 'cross that bridge when I come to it' answer, but I know better - my mum is one determined woman.


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Saturday, November 24, 2007
Ironic



Via USAToday.com:

Simpson was to be booked on two counts of robbery with a deadly weapon, two counts of assault with a deadly weapon, conspiracy to commit burglary and burglary with a firearm, police said. The district attorney, meanwhile, said he expected Simpson to ultimately be charged with seven felonies and one gross misdemeanor.

If convicted of the booking charges, Simpson would face up to 30 years in state prison on each robbery count alone.


So does anyone else find it remotely ironic that this guy was acquitted of murder, but could face 30+ years for robbery?


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Wednesday, November 21, 2007
The Internet Is For P0rn
Well after much hoo-ha and hours of work, I've finally got my website up and running.

Ladies and gentlemen, please say hello to out in my head.com

(:


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Highway to Hell
What I love the most about Dubai is the truly fascinating weather we have here. A year in Dubai is basically broken down into 338 days of sunshine, 10 days of cloudy/overcast skies, 5 days of rain, and 12 days of fog. So naturally today had to be a fog day.

I think that when the fog rolls in, the density of a driver's brain changes somewhat. Most of the people driving on the roads this morning were staying in their lanes, driving at a slow speed, and doing furious shoulder checks before changing lanes. But this morning I witnessed a rather strange fog-induced driving phenomenon: driving with your hazard lights on.

Now if you don't know what your hazard lights are, just hit the little button with a red triangle on it next time you're in the car (it's the one right next to the 'Wife Eject' button). Generally, hazard lights are used when your car has stalled on the road somewhere, or you've pulled over into the service lane because you've discovered halfway through your trip to Abu Dhabi that the cat has once again snuck into your car's engine. But in Dubai, hazard lights can be used for many other purposes. They let you pull into a parking space and not purchase a ticket because "I am only going for 5 minutes and the attendant will see my lights and not give me a ticket". You can double-park behind someone's car and put your hazard lights on because "I am only going into the bank for 5 minutes". But today almost every second car that was driving on the roads had their hazard lights on. Now I'm guessing that people are thinking "Oh what a smart person I am - people will see my hazard lights and they will be careful when driving". Uh - nooo. If your hazards are on, how the hell are you going to indicate when you want to swap lanes? Ah - I don't have to indicate...since both my indicators are on, you can guess which lane I'm going to swerve into! I think this is what driving in purgatory is like - three lanes of traffic with the car hazards on because people can't decide if they want to drive into heaven or hell.

So here's a couple of fog-driving tips for you all:
  • Your headlights (or high beams) are not the same as fog lights, so avoid blinding the person in front of you who is trying just as hard as you to navigate. You may as well stick your brand new Nokia out the window and navigate with that.
  • Radars still work when it's foggy, so fat chance that you are going to get away with driving at 150kmph.
  • For the love of god, don't take photos of the fog when driving. If you really must act like a bloody tourist even after living here for 8 years, please pull over to the side of the road before whipping out your camera.

Drive safe people!



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Monday, November 19, 2007
The Hardest Part
People always say that it's good to stop sometimes and take some time out to reflect on how things are in your life. Anyone who says this to you has way too much free time on their hands and should be shot. But anyway, today I'm taking a two minute break to evaluate my life. Recent events has left my head in a bit of a swirl, but I'm hopeful that things will turn out for the best.

You know how as best as you may try not to have one, you actually do have a life plan? Think about it - stop what you're doing and ask yourself: "Is this what I imagined I'd be doing at age XX?" A lot of us will promptly say no, but for the precious few that actually say 'Yes', they're actually the ones who had no life plan to begin with. Sound confusing? Well the way I see it, the more you plan for life and sort things out and create your own timelines, the more you restrict yourself for having much fun or adventure in your life. There really is little that you can do to prepare yourself for what life has in store. There's no user manual, no training guide, no GPRS system that can tell you what you're supposed to be doing at this very moment in time.

Relating with this whole 'life plan', people also tend to plan out how their romantic life should turn out. Everyone has a picture of their ideal partner, with every detail sorted out - down to their very hair colour. But the truth is, what do you do when life doesn't seem to be giving you that person you've dreamed up? What if instead life delivers you a 89% match? Do you still fuss over the other 11% of a person that doesn't fit your description?


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Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Mo Money

Movember - Sponsor Me


I want to take a quick break from my usual blogging to tell you about Movember:

Movember (the month formally known as November) is a charity event held during November each year. At the start of Movember guys start with a clean shaven face. The Movember participants known as Mo Bros then have the remainder of the month to grow and groom their moustache and along the way raise as much money and awareness about male health issues as possible. One of the serious issues that this campaign addresses is prostate cancer. And who'd be more worried about prostate than a gay man?

A co-worker of mine Sean, is taking part in this campaign, and I'm asking you all to try and donate some funds to his selected prostate cancer council, the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia. So dig deep and send some cash his way!

To donate, please click here.


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Monday, November 05, 2007
This Little Light Of Mine
The hall is annoyingly clean, and painted pristine white. The walls are decorated with children's depictions of various miracles through the ages, and other colourful images of happy families with hearts floating in the sky. We sit in a circle on wooden chairs that were clearly not built to fit a grown adult. Most of the people are staring down at the floor, admiring the various cracks and not wanting to look up.

Sandra's voice snaps us back to reality. "Okay everyone, I'm very excited to introduce a new member into our group tonight. Everyone, say hello to David!"

I can feel eyes swivel in their sockets as the attention shifts to me. I am fighting a throbbing migraine and am wishing to be anywhere else but here. Mind you, I'm wishing - not praying.

"David, how are you this evening?"

I shift into a more comfortable position on the miniscule chair but remain silent.

"You know, David was an important person in the Bible - he defeated an angry soldier named Goliath with just his sling! Do you know how he did that?"

"With a big rock?" My answer is almost automatic. For a split second in time, the mood of the room seems to shift, and people begin to breathe easily again, but Sandra's voice clamps down on our windpipes again.

"No silly! He did it because he had faith in God...and if you have faith in God, you can do anything!"

I have images of myself flying over mountains and I hurriedly stifle a laugh. Sandra is speaking again.

"Why don't we have a little song before we begin? Gordon?"

Gordon's body seems to come to life at the mention of his name, like an idle puppet that waits for fingers to slip through and give it life. He has broad shoulders and a narrow nose, but shows no reaction to the mention of his name. He seems to float out of his chair as he gathers his sheet music and heads to the piano in the corner. He sits gently and gingerly on the stool, and I marvel at the elegance in which he moves. His fingers greet the piano keys like old friends, and without another word, he begins to play, his gaze transfixed on the sheet music, eyes dancing over the notes. I close my eyes and allow the melody to seep into my mind - it seems to be a familiar tune, but I cannot remember the words or where I last heard it. I begin to feel slightly relaxed, and I debate if this is the music's work or the after effects of last night's various concoctions. When the music ends, I open my eyes and Gordon has soundlessly returned to his seat. Sandra gets up from her chair and stands in the centre again.

"Thank you for that Gordon, that was wonderful. I'd like to welcome you all again to our meeting. For our new members, this is G.W.G - Gays With God. I hope to teach you all that God loves you all in spite of being gay, and you can learn to love him too."

Sandra's voice trails away in my mind and I slump back down in my chair. The throbbing in my head returns and I try to will it away. I truly hate my parents for sending me to this place, this plastic bubble of faith and love.


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Thursday, November 01, 2007
Don't Be Shy




Condom.

No other word can make a guy blush, splutter, grin, giggle, and fidget at the same time. What is it about condoms that can make some people just so awkward? Especially when you have to go out and buy them - some guys have told me that's the most uncomfortable thing to do. I remember once I was at a checkout and there was a box of condoms in my basket, and the checkout lady gave me this brief look as she scanned them, sort of like a 'oh I know what you're up to' kinda thing...it didn't help that she was Indian. So anyway, I shot her back my most bitchiest look - at least if she had opened her mouth and recommended a particular flavor or brand, I wouldn't have slammed her head into the cash register like I did. But in life, you learn from your mistakes. So back to the condoms - isn't it the most awkward thing in the world when you've both assumed that the other person is bringing one along? Ever had to make a dash to the closest 24hr store or pharmacy to pick up an 'emergency' stock of ribbed ones at 3am?

I remember when I was about nine when I had gone to a pharmacy with my mum, and on the counter was a box of chocolate flavored condoms. Now obviously being the sweet innocent boy that I am, I demanded that mum buy me a box of these rather odd looking chocolates. In the end I did get a resounding slap to the back of my head, and years later, I found out they tasted like they were made in the 1860s.


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