 | Walk. Don't Walk Men's StyleJune 2010 I don’t know if you’ve been to Melbourne lately, but this city is a jaywalker’s paradise. Technically it’s illegal, but in reality, pedestrians rule the roads. Just loitering at the edge of the footpath will prompt oncoming drivers to give you an encouraging wave. Stepping out? Prepare to bask in the glorious sound of screeching brakes as every vehicle within a 100 metre radius skids to a halt. This poses problems for any Melburnians foolhardy enough to leave city limits and travel to foreign lands, like Sydney. Last time I was in Sydney I made several ill-thought out attempts to cross the road and was hooted, yelled, and gesticulated back onto the pavement. One kindly older gentleman spoke very slowly and clearly as he told me, ‘We do things differently in the city, love’ and shooed me in the direction of the pedestrian crossing. |
 | Polyamory: a love story FilamentJune 2010 Let’s begin with a love story. Julie and Karl met at a party and became fast friends. They both liked boys and daydreamed they would meet wonderful men who would accept the special place of each in the other’s life. One day they kissed, and everything changed. That was thirteen years ago. ‘We’d been sleeping together, just as friends, for two and a half years; we couldn’t bear to be apart. Then we realised we were in love. It was a surprise to us, but not to any of our friends!’ Julie laughs. Now they’re engaged and thinking about setting a date for their wedding. They’re also considering how Karl’s live-in boyfriend Ben will be involved in the ceremony, not to mention Julie’s three significant others. |
 | Dream catcher Sunday MagazineApril 2010 I’m an early bird. But don’t worry – I’m not one of those annoying types who might call at 8am on Sunday while you’re in the midst of a delicious early-morning dream to ask are you awake yet? And do you want to have coffee? Much as I might like to, I’ve learned that calling before 10am on the weekend is socially unacceptable, even if you have children. If the ten commandments got a modern day rewrite, this would top the list. I don’t know quite how I turned out this way. In my teenage years the alarm clock was the enemy, the unwelcome herald of another day’s scholastic and parental control. In my twenties it meant work, work and more work. These days, I don’t even need an alarm. My body clock has it all under control. Beaky twitters from outside the window? Check. Hazy light playing around the edge of the blinds? Check. Dawning awareness of the need to be somewhere or do something? Check. Good morning, sunshine. |
 | Sowing the seed Men's StyleApril 2010 Greg Walters makes his way through the hotel lobby with a satisfied grin on his face. It’s four in the morning, and less than an hour since he arrived and headed for room 101, where two women who checked in the previous evening awaited him. The guy behind the desk is looking at him sideways, but Walters doesn’t care. He’s used to it. Walters, a butcher, has been coming and going from Melbourne’s hotels at odd times of the day and night for the past few years. He’s not a male escort, or a pimp, or a pervert; he’s a sperm donor. He’s what’s termed a ‘known donor’, a man who donates to a mate or family member who’s found out he’s infertile, a single woman friend at the mercy of the man shortage, or, as is the case for the ladies in room 101, lesbian couples wanting to conceive, but lacking the obvious ingredient. |
 | Pedal polo Inside SportMarch 2010 It’s a late November afternoon in Melbourne, and polo season is in full swing. The air is alive with the thwack of mallet on mallet and the baying of an excited crowd. Take him down! C’mon, be aggressive! I hope you’re gonna clean that up! Kill! Show us your - you get the picture. Clearly these are not your average polo fanciers. But then, this is not your average polo match; there’s not a safari suit, a picnic hamper or a blade of grass in sight, let alone an actual horse. This is day two of the inaugural Australian Hardcourt Bicycle Polo Championships, the fastest growing urban bike sport around. |
 | Totally tee CLEOJanuary 2010 Sometimes life can seem like one big, long hangover. Especially at this time of year, when celebratory champagne, beers around the barbeque and living it up large on New Year’s Eve are all in a day’s – not to mention night’s - drinking for most of us. But a growing body of teetotalers in our midst is choosing not to indulge in that most acceptable of modern poisons: alcohol. They’re flying in the face of recent research showing that Australian women are big binge drinkers, knocking back, on average, eight standard drinks per session. |
 | The bullionaires Men's StyleDecember 2009 Used to be that you had to head for the hills to find gold; these days you need look no further than your friendly neighbourhood vending machine. If you live in Frankfurt, Germany that is, where the world’s first bullion vending machines were installed earlier this year. First sausages, now gold. Investors can satisfy their fiscal cravings by purchasing gold in pre-packaged one, five or ten gram bars that come in a metal case labeled ‘My golden treasure’. The $5 Canadian Maple Leaf coin and $15 Australian Kangaroo coin are also on offer. Prices are updated every fifteen minutes, and fluctuate at around 20% more than market price. Ker-ching! |
 | Riding for a fall Inside SportNovember 2009 It’s an overcast Queen’s Birthday weekend in Victoria, and I’m at an event that would tickle her majesty’s equine fancy - the Melbourne Three Day Event (M3DE) a top notch nag’s get together on the Australian equestrian calendar. It’s Day Two, Cross Country, and horses and riders of all skill levels, from pony club hopefuls to bonafide Olympians, are traversing the custom designed and built course; 5.8km of 26 jumps multi-element jumps. An interested crowd of fresh faced, well to do country types looks on; men in stockmen’s coats and hats, women in jeans and designer gumboots, and jodhpur-clad, leather-booted teenage girls a plenty. I’m just grateful I’m on the other side of the fence. A horse and rider round the corner and gallop full tilt down the straight, heading for a 1.2m high jump made from logs of wood stacked one on top of the other, chopping up the grass and making the dirt fly. They seem as one; the rider leaning into the horse, using weight and voice, perhaps a subtle pull on the reins, to communicate speed and direction, pace and reach. |
 | The long goodbye Sunday MagazineSeptember 2009 “Where do doggies go when they die?” My six-year-old niece, Stella, asked me this question a few weeks ago after the death of her beloved family pooch, Buster. After a hasty, huddled conference, her parents and I told her Buster had gone to roam the big dog park in the sky. Stella pondered this for a moment, then hit us with a barrage of follow up questions. “So why are we burying him in the garden? Will his bowl be there? Who’s going to pick up his doo-doo?” And poignantly, “Who’s going to make sure he’s a good doggy?” We did our best, skirting the questions with typically agnostic flakiness, but we were woefully unprepared. Not only had I not known what to say, I hadn’t really known what to do with Buster himself. I decided to look into it. |
 | Under wraps Sunday MagazineAugust 2009 I’ve been unwrapping online purchases, and I’m a little ruffled. Frustrated. Irritated, even. A little resentful, a little angry. Okay, I’m enraged. Enraged! It’s not because the bar mixer doesn’t look like the picture, or the special lash-lubing mascara is dry, or the CDs are scratched. It’s because it’s taken me close to an hour to infiltrate the packaging. I felt as though I was playing a never ending game of pass the parcel, except I was the only one playing, and I already knew what treasure lay within. Please don’t ask me what the point was, because I don’t have an easy answer, and I might just bite your head off. But I’m not alone. I am in fact suffering from wrap rage, defined by up to the minute online dictionary wordspy.com as ‘extreme anger caused by product packaging that is difficult to open or manipulate’. Exactly. I know that somewhere out there, a machine is laughing at me. |
 | Not tonight, I'm screwing Lucy Men's StyleJune 2009 Anything that has to invent new words in order to explain itself should be viewed with suspicion. And interest. Suspicion because we’ve obviously made it this far without the word, why do we need it now? Interest because, well, there must be something going on here. The word: polyamory. The meaning: having more than one loving, intimate relationship at a time. Not to be confused with polygamy (so Mormon) swinging (so fifties), or sleeping around (so so), polyamory - also termed polyfidelity, or poly - is the new relationship buzzword, code for having your cake and eating it too. Take Tom. Tom has been happily married to Cath for nine years, but spends two nights a week with Lucy, who is in turn married to Paul. Paul has been involved with Christina for eighteen months. Lucy is also in love with Martin, who doesn’t have another partner, but he’s happy to share Lucy. |
 | A contemporary tale of classic desire The AgeFebruary 2009 Melbourne artist Ross Watson laughs as he remembers the time he thought his most famous patron, Sir Elton John, was about to blow his top. "When he came to the gallery I'd just had an exhibition and it had sold out. He was flicking through a portfolio and saying 'Well, where's this one? And where's this one?"' "Finally he came to one that I'd kept. I was relieved; I could show him something! But I had to tell him 'This is the painting I've kept because my accountant advised me to a keep a painting from each series for my superannuation'." "Then I looked at Elton and he had the blank look of Edina from Ab Fab on his face and I thought 'Ross, he doesn't understand anything about superannuation!' But he heard what I said and seemed to respect it. http://www.theage.com.au/news/entertain... |
 | The walking dead Men's StyleDecember 2008 Many a lost and lonely soul has departed this mortal coil by committing suicide, figuring, as Kurt Cobain did when he quoted Neil Young in the world’s most over-analyzed suicide note that it’s better to burn out than fade away. But self-annihilation at its most literal is not the only way to put an end to it all - there is also fake death, an increasingly popular coping mechanism for those that have not so much made a go of life as turned it into a festering pile of self destructive shite. Both are tinged with an unhealthy dose of desperation, but if suicide is for the pained and cowardly pessimist, fake death is for the brave and cunning daredevil optimist. Provided you really mean it, it’s not that hard to kill yourself. But getting away with faking your own death? Now that takes smarts. |
 | Cutting remarks Men's StyleSeptember 2008 Never one to mince words, I recently asked some baby making friends if they would be putting their wee man under the knife. Slicing his salami, chopping his sausage, paring his package. They looked at me with incredulity, as though I had the very same part of the male appendage growing out of my forehead, before patiently explaining that circumcision is a cruel and barbaric practice akin to grating your eyeball then dressing it with a squeeze of lemon. Except worse. The Royal Australasian College of Physicians’ official stance backs them up, stating that "there is no medical indication for routine neonatal circumcision." I take their point. It is a tad barbaric. But I worry for him. Or, more precisely, for his future self, the one that wants to use his penis for more than pre sexual self gratification and whizzing all over the place as soon as his nappies come off. I prefer my men cut. Surely his future women will feel the same? I asked twenty female friends what, if any, preference they have for penises of the cut or uncut variety. |
 | The swingers' scene The AgeJuly 2008 Melbourne is a cyclist’s city. With its flat, well made streets and extensive network of on and off road bike paths, there’s always something on the go. For the past six months or so Sunday afternoons at the Carlton gardens has seen an ever expanding bunch of bike enthusiasts, also known as the Melbourne Bicycle Polo Club, going head to head with chicken runs and shoulder charges. They’re playing hard court bicycle polo, the fastest growing urban bike sport around. Bicycle polo has been wheeling its way around the world since an enterprising Irishman by the name of Mecredy invented it in 1890. Not long after, it was being played by the British army and the Maharajas in Imperial India, and England was losing the first international to Ireland 5-10 at the Crystal Palace in London. Played this way, on grass and in uniforms it’s similar to horse polo, and it’s an internationally competitive sport. |
 | Bend it like Bikram Inside SportFebruary 2008 Darren Ma is feeling a bit nervous. This seems an understatement from a man who is tied up like a sheet bend knot - his torso between his legs, his shoulders hooked behind his knees, and his head dangerously close to his backside. On the other side of the room, Ma’s main rival Dave Reid is being manipulated. One foot planted firmly on the ground, the other slices through the air and hovers impossibly above head height. His head, just for the record, is facing in the wrong direction, turning away from his body in a spine crunching twist. “Nice legs Dave,” calls 44 year-old Ma from firefly, the term for the yoga pose he is practicing. Reid grins and throws a relaxed comment back. Elsewhere in the room, 5 yogis (male practitioners of yoga) and 22 yoginis (female practitioners of yoga) stretch and flex, putting themselves through their paces in preparation for three crucial minutes on stage in competition for the ultimate prize – not enlightenment, but the title of Australian Men's or Women's Bikram Yoga Champion. |
 | Full circle Nova MagazineOctober 2007 Indigenous people comprise two per cent of the total Australian population. But in 2006 they made up 24 per cent of the prison population, and are, on average, 12 times more likely to be imprisoned than their non-Indigenous counterparts. In some states, such as South and Western Australia, the figures are far higher. Most serve sentences of five years or fewer, and more than three quarters - well above the national average of 58 per cent - can be expected to re-offend. Such gross over-representation of Indigenous people in prisons is not unique to Australia. In New Zealand, Maori make up 15 per cent of the populace and 50 per cent of the prison population, while in Canada, 3.3 per cent identify as Indian, Inuit or Metis, yet comprise 22 per cent of people behind bars. http://www.novamagazine.com.au/article_... |
 | Full tilt Inside SportAugust 2007 For most of us, pinball is a machine tucked away in the corner down at the local, a whiz-bang-pop reminder of a youth spent in gaming arcades. For others, it’s a home-based hobby of machine collecting, maintenance and loving restoration. American based organising body the International Flipper Pinball Association (IFPA) has a database of 960+ players from all over – the United States and United Kingdom, Germany, Japan, Sweden, and Brazil, to name a few - who compete at one or more of 70+ annual tournaments for the prestigious title of World's Greatest Pinball Player. Current IFPA President (and world no.6) Josh Sharpe says that on any given weekend, there is usually at least one tournament being held somewhere in the world where people can compete. The IFPA oversees the World Pinball Player Rankings (WPPR), which issues monthly rankings based on the results of the previous month’s tournaments, and at year’s end determines who will be crowned the year’s reigning pinball king – or queen – although most of the pinball hardcore are men, women are welcome to compete. |
 | Journey to monsoon India Nova MagazineJanuary 2007 Monsoon season is in full, wet swing when I arrive in India one hot Keralan night. As I descend from the plane the darkness wraps around me like a warm, wet blanket, and a distinctive scent - part animal, part vegetable, part mineral - pervades my nostrils. I am here for a month to journey up India's South West coast, from Trivandrum to Mumbai. This is my first visit to India, and I have received so many different pieces of advice that my idea of this ancient land and what lies ahead for me is a melting pot of excitement, fear, anticipation and dread. Coupled with this is my awareness that all travel is ultimately a journey of self-discovery, and that India is the travel destination of self transformation par excellence. "It's not a holiday," I was sagely told more than once, "it's an experience." My first impressions of India are madly multi-sensory. Men shouting and horns blaring, traffic roaring everywhere. The feel of monsoon rain on my skin, moving from gentle patter to whirling assault in seconds. Hot creamy chai and sweet lassi slipping over my tongue and down my throat like liquid velvet. The smell of fresh curry simmering on a cooking stove. And the sights - women in brightly coloured saris making their morning puja, sprinkling mandalas of white camphor powder over cow dung swept hearths. Porters at the train station dressed in bright red lungis, weaving their way through the crowds with towers of luggage atop their sturdy heads. A field of pink lotuses, rising from the mud. Cows lazing in the middle of the road, diverting the traffic and adding to the ordered chaos that is life in India. |
 | Totally zen Australian TravellerOctober 2006 Lorne, the third major stop outside Melbourne on the Great Ocean Road, is a huge drawcard in the summer months. Its beachfront shopping strip, al fresco restaurants and stunning scenery charm locals and visitors alike. Camping grounds fill with families indulging in the great Australian summer, hotels are booked to capacity and the entire town stays up late, relaxing in the wakefulness that comes with a hot Victorian night. I had a tip-off a few months ago that makes Lorne worth visiting year round - one from a local, too, the kind that shouldn’t be ignored: “You must go to Qdos,” the woman said as her husband busied himself behind his newspaper in a cafe on Lorne’s Mountjoy Parade. “It’s an art gallery set in a sculpture garden. And cake!” she said, her eyes meeting mine. “They have wonderful cake.” So we followed her directions up into the hills to Allenvale Road. And what a tip-off. Qdos was more than the satisfaction of a sweet tooth – it was the highlight of our trip down the Great Ocean Road. |