ROBBLOG#547

A Hot Summer Day on Bleeker Street

1:30 in the afternoon. Jane’s looking out the window at the young stud next door, who is stripped to the waist and pushing a lawnmower. Blanche is flipping through the pages of the July issue of Chatelaine. 

Blanche: A very nice article about Mark Tewkesbury in Chatelaine Jane- a charming photo of him too clad in a royal blue Speedo. My, he has kept his lovely shape- hasn’t he? She looks to Jane standing by the window Jane! Jane! What are you doing? 

Jane: I’m just looking out the window! ~puff~ 

 

 

Blanche: Honestly Jane, you are doing way more than that. Will you please stop staring at that young man cutting Mr. Rickert’s lawn! The neighbours are going to start talking about you. 

Jane: ~puff~ puff~ As if they don’t already Blanche! Anyway, Why... is there some kinda law about gazing at young, naked flesh?

Blanche: Not really. Unless it’s like harassment or something. 

Jane: Oh! Look at those muscles. I’d like to harass him ~drag, puff, drag~ 

Blanche: Jane Dear, you are terrible and that young man is less than half your age. 

Jane: Don’t ya think I know that Blanche. Don’t ya think I know that!! ~puff, puff~ 

Blanche: All I’m saying is… 

Jane: All you’re saying is! All you’re saying is! Blanche there is nothing in the Canadian Constitution or Charter of Rights that says I am doing anything wrong. ~drag~ leer~puff~puff~. 

Blanche wheels her chair closer to the window and looks out 

Blanche: Oh My! ~blush~ He is quite an attractive young man- isn’t he? 

 

 

Jane: What the %&## did I tell ya Blanche? He’s a beauty all right! ~puff, puff~ 

Blanche: Oh Jane he’s looking right at us! He’s wiping his brown! Look at those muscles flexing! 

Jane: ~drag~ drag~ puff~puff~ PUFF~ Holy Mary Mother of…. 

Blanche: Oh Jane, he’s pouring that bottle of water all over his chest. ~pant~ It’s dribbling right down into his shorts. Oh Jane! 

Jane: ~puff~puff~ Five minutes with that in the toolshed and I’d give up smoking! 

Blanche: Five minutes of you with that young man and you’d turn him Gay! ~smirk~  

Jane: Now you just hush your mouth Blanche! 

Blanche: Well Jane, if I could only get out of this chair, I’d swing my legs up and over his head and tickle his… 

Jane: But ya are in that chair Blanche. BUT YOU ARE! 

ROBBLOG #546

Just when you thought it was safe to belt out "The Hills are Alive With the Sound of Music" anywhere at any time, along comes the City of Winnipeg with a new rule.

Now, I've never been to Winnipeg- really. Once a couple of decades ago I stopped enroute to Hawaii but I never had to get off the plane. Winnipeg passengers simple got on the plane and off we flew to Honolulu. So, impressions of Winnipeg are sketchy since I only saw a jet bridge, the terminal and other planes but if I ever do go back to Winnipeg I'll have to keep my lips tightly pursed if I climb onboard Winnipeg Transit.

A new bylaw says if you sing you can be fined $100.
If you decide to play a musical instrument you may also face the same fine.
If you try to ride a unicycle on a bus- as if, or on transit property the same rule applies.
I don't know what would happen if you rode the unicycle playing a musical instrument while
attempting to sing.
A triple whammy, I suppose.

Simply stated, the City of Winnipeg - famous for having Canada's first Gay Mayor (at least I think Glen Murray was first), wants you to keep your flap closed.
Shut your trap.
Seal the pie hole.
Twist the lips and lock them with a key, then throw it away.
Tick Tock double lock!

Now it's not that I often belt out a tune in public but one never knows when the feeling might move one and if one gets moved on a Winnipeg bus- one will pay.
It's like getting a bad review before you get the chance to prove yourself.
The hook before you've finished your first chorus.
You open and close in mere minutes.
That would be a record even for Broadway!

I imagine one of the reasons for this new bylaw- besides the fact there are obviously a bunch of lousy singers travelling on Winnipeg Transit, are the young people who wear headphones in public and sing at the top of their lungs.
I hear- and see, these kids walk past the house all the time.
In defence of this draconian, Winnipegian Law, I must tell you that I haven't heard one good voice or one voice in tune.
Flat notes and unreachable high c's abound.
Maybe the law isn't so draconian after all. Maybe it's saving our ears and sanity from those who "think they can sing" and let's face it, there are many of us out there!

So, if you are travelling to that Manitoban City of Winnipeg this summer- button it.
If you don't when you ride transit, it may be a very expensive ride.

ROBBLOG #545

HOLY FYCK!

I just attended Toronto's World Pride Parade  on Sunday.
I wasn't on a float.
I didn't march with Kathleen and Justin this year but I did see a lot of hot men.
Very Hot Men.
However, I must repeat my opening remark:

H O L Y   FYCK!!!!

 

Joe Killoran is HOT ! HOT! HOT!

If you've been hiding in the shade of a maple, sipping lemonade and vodka martinis this past while, let me tell you that "Shirtless Jogger" a.k.a. Joe Killoran, gave old Robbie Ford the one-two-three verbal punch as he was walking in an East York Canada Day Parade on Tuesday.
He called our Robbie a "racist, a homophobe and a liar".

TRUE! TRUE!TRUE!

Finally someone said it and it just happened to be a hot, hunky, hirsute, handsome, homme who teaches Secondary School for a living. Good God, I don't remember my High School teachers looking like Joe!

Look at that handsome face.
Those pecs.
Those arms.
That chest!

He makes me damp.

Now, someone should give that boy an underwear ad contract.
Treat him like the piece of meat he is.
He deserves it.
Whip ~snap~ him into shape!
Let's see him posing in a photographer's studio in speedos, black underwear, a bit of leather or absolutely nothing at all.
A dozen 8x10's s'il vous plait.

You would think after seeing all those boys in various states of undress at Pride on the weekend, that my needs would be numbed...and they were- until Joe- The "shirtless jogger".

Is Joe single?
Is he Gay?
What streets does one normally see Joe jog along. Oh, no particular reason but if I was in the neighbourhood...

I don't jog but I would if Joe asked me to accompany him.
Oh, sooner or later along the way, I'd feign a sore ankle and he'd have to swoop me up in his beefy arms, cradling me to his hot, hairy, sweaty chest and jog me to safety.
I could wipe him down with a cool, damp towel.

I hope he does a personal appearance tour.
There are so many questions I need to pursue.
I wonder if he can make his titties jump when he flexes?
Does he sculpt his hair?
What size shoes does he wear or does Joey jog barefoot as well as barechested?

I am sure the answers to these questions- and more, are forthcoming.

In the meantime- enjoy. Holy FYCK! and I mean that. I really do.

ROBBLOG #544

Sometimes, I wish I was a Woman.
~ahem~
~pause~
Okay, maybe if I could sing and look a bit like like Conchita Wurst.
Conchita won last month's Eurovision Song Contest in Copenhagen. I'm not one for the Eurovison contest. Not many Canadians are.
It's a different feel.
A different mood.
Just different from what we are used to.
It's so European.
ABBA came from the contest many years ago. That's about the best example of a famous group I can think of. Now Conchita may change all that. Here's a photo of Conchita below.

 

 

Yikes I hear you say!
What's with the "bearded lady?"
Totally her idea.
Her schtick but it works.
Conchita- otherwise known as Tom Neurwirth- with those same splendid eyes, grew up Gay and he had a rough time of it- like many of us do.
You can read more about Conchita and Tom for yourself. Just do a search but needless to say he struggled and now it looks like he has won the battle. Here's a pic of Tom.
Cute eh?...and those eyes.

More than 30 countries competed. There were 27 countries in the Eurovision final- after two nights of semi-finals.

I watched it all on Out TV- our National Gay Channel here in Canada. Don't go looking for it among your Rogers channels. You have to pay a couple of bucks extra each month to watch. The show was co-hosted by Adam and Tommy D. from Homorazzi- a hit Out TV Show.
Over 3 nights and 10 plus hours, it was a total Canadian Bitchfest.
It was terribly funny and many of the performers needed a good, swift tug stage left or right.
You might be able to watch the show on the Out TV website. Certainly You Tube has tons of clips- maybe the show in its entirety.

Anyway, suddenly, on the first semi-final evening, in a blaze of gold, glory and European pyro-technical splendour Conchita Wurst- rose like a Phoenix.
Here have a look. Double-Click on the video for Full Screen.



I know. For a Drag Queen the beard is a bit frightening but look at those eyes.
Look at that talent.
Listen to the voice.
I was smitten.
Throw me in a golden gown.
Slap on some long, luscious eyelashes and....
Nevermind...
I couldn't pull it off but I have been having night dreams about doing it.

She was pure talent from start to finish. Kind of "Shirley Bassey"-like.
Long arms.
Soft movements.
Big voice.

I've added two of three of her songs on Swisssh Radio.

"Rise Like a Phoenix" the song she performed 3 times throughout the contest is a winner.
The contest after all is supposed to be about the song.
All original songs.
Some good.
Some crap.
Some left you saying WTF?
Conchita? She gave me chills. The You Tube clip above is her rendition of the song- after she won.

Conchita is awesome to be sure.
Confident.
Assured.
Beautiful. (...forget about the beard but it grows on you ~grin~)

Now, if I could lose about 50 pounds and find some brown contacts...

ROBBLOG #543

I was about to write a little something about Religion again and how ridiculous it is in this the 21st Century to hang on to stories and fables from a time when folks thought the earth was flat and the only footwear was sandals.
I hate sandals.
It was a time when new "Messiahs" were a dime a dozen...and that would have been paying too much. A time when a man could hang out with 12 men and a "fag hag" and still get served in restaurants and get invited to weddings. Those were the heady, early days of "fagdom".

Of course today at many restaurants, cafes and wedding, Gays are the hit of the party.
It's a heavy load to carry but it's a cross we must bear!
How things change.

But as usual- I digress.

I had a bunch of stuff I was going to blog about today but I neglected to write any points down. At this time in my life if I don't write things down, I don't remember. Now, as I sit at my keyboard I am drawing a blank.
"So why are you even trying to write?"- you may well ask.
Well, I am hoping inspiration will eventually come...

Wait a minute.
Bear with me.....something is coming to me.
Ah yes....

A few nights ago, I had a dream about a friend who passed last year on Labour Day Monday.
In the dream I was in a white room.
It had a door.
No furniture.
No window.
No pictures on the walls.
Just the door with a gold doorknob.
I opened the door.
It opened onto a wide hallway- like a corridor in a school. In this hallway hundreds of people were
aimlessly walking along- with seemingly no purpose.

Suddenly in front of me I saw my friend walking by.
"Sienny!"- I cried.
I stepped into the hallway and placed a hand on each of her shoulders as I turned her towards me.
At first she seemed in a daze and completely unaware that I was talking to her, what she was doing or where she was going.
"Sienny."- I repeated, "What are you doing here?"
Wherever here was.

You see, I can't remember where I was before I realized I was standing in that white room. Dreams are like that-aren't they?

Suddenly, she seemed to snap out of the daze she had been in. Looking up into my face, she gently hugged my cheeks with her tanned hands and her perfect nails and asked-
"Hello Darling, how are you?"
I'm fine!"- I told her.
I was over the moon with happiness that once again I could look into her eyes and feel her warm touch. She was wearing a rose-coloured dress and she had a fur stole- let's say "fake" fur stole, draped around her shoulders. I didn't say anything about the stole but it was not the first time I had seen Sienny wear fur- fake or otherwise.

Once, a few years ago when Sienny, Tom and I were going out to dinner, Sienny chose to wear a real fur coat. She had had the coat for decades.
"Aren't you afraid that someone will throw a can of paint on that while you're wearing it?"- I said, as I pointed to the coat.
"Not to worry Darling. I didn't kill it. It was dead when I bought it!"

Now, here she was in front of me wearing- not the full fur coat as she had all those years ago but a stole casually flung around her shoulders.

As she held my face in her hands I asked how she was.
"I don't really know Darling, I am not sure what to do or why I am here."

At that moment I woke up.
There was nothing else about the dream I could remember but I will never forget her voice or the feel of her touch.

We miss you "Mrs. P" and don't worry, sooner or later you'll figure it out.
That we are sure about.

ROBBLOG #542

 

O N T A R I O   Provincial Election June 12, 2014

 

 

Y E A H !!

First elected Woman Premier of Ontario Kathleen Wynne-

Plus a Majority in the June 12th Ontario election!

Kathleen is also the first elected Gay Premier.

Congrats to both her and her Partner Jane.

 

I met them both last summer in Toronto at Pride and marched in the Pride Parade

with them and Justin Trudeau too! All wonderful, nice people- no matter their political colouring. It means a bright future for Canada and Ontario! I didn't want to play the "Gay" card but I have to.

I am proud that our province has a Gay Premier and proud too that it wasn't mentioned in the campaign- even by the other parties.

 

As we were lucky to have a man such as Jack Layton in Ottawa as the leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition for such a short time before his passing from cancer, Ontario is very lucky to have Kathleen as our Premier and just in time for World Pride on June 29th! So, for the next four years the Liberals are in the driver's seat and hopefully by the next Ontario election, Justin Trudeau with be in the Prime Minister's Office on Parliament Hill in Ottawa.

 

I couldn't be happier.

 

However, here where I live in Simcoe North the "Den of the Conservative Party", Garfield Dunlop was re-elected for his fifth consecutive time. Yes folks, more pancake breakfasts populated by tons of old folks and Garf's smiling face at every local event and parade throughout the year. I can smell those pancakes on the griddle right now- and I'm an "old folk" myself!

 

Of course if one looks at the Liberals with Fred Larsen they did amazingly well locally and if the Libs and the NDP (led by Doris Middleton in Simcoe North) formed a new party together they would have beaten Garfield handily.

 

Actually, If one adds up all those Liberal (16,412), NDP (7,851) and Green Party Votes (4,031 of them "green folks" ) it would total 28, 294, a 6 thousand vote lead over Mr. Dunlop and with only 51% of us bothering to vote, I'd say Mr. Dunlop doesn't have a particularly "popular" win, just the same old Tory win that has happened in Simcoe North since Jesus was a choirboy.

 

Gee, those "lucky" folks in Barrie. 136 thousand people- many from the GTA. who move up the 400 for cleaner skies and cheaper housing. They bring along their "liberal" views that translates into Liberal votes making Barrie a Liberal fortress all the way from Penetanguishene Road to Innisfil Beach Road.

 

So, overall a good day.

Good election results and I am thankful that I live in a  Liberal province- soon to be without the threat of a Tim Hudak.

 

Yes, it was a disappointing- yet not surprising, Simcoe North result but there's an excitement building inside of me. I can hardly wait to shake Kathleen Wynne's hand again this year at World Pride in Toronto, only this time as an elected "Premier of Ontario"!

Nota Bene

I have been reminded that Garfield- as our local rep, no matter the colour of one's political stripes- even mine, has been supportive of my endeavours.
|
Garfield was a special guest on a Hank Christmas Show a few years back.  He was quite funny and kept up with Hank's shenanigans. He has sent greetings/advertised in several Garage Door Players' programmes. As well, he wrote a congratulatory letter in the programme that celebrated last year's 10th Anniversary for the Garage Door Players. He also sent Swisssh Radio a plaque recognizing five years on the internet airwaves.

For all this and more I am grateful.

To be fair I should also mention Premier Kathleen Wynn also sent a congratulatory letter (Orillia Mayor Angelo Orsi too) which was  included in our programme for "Sadie Flynn Comes to Big Oak"- our GDP's 10th Anniversary Show!

R*

 

 

 

 

 

ROBBLOG #541

I was out roller blading today.

My second attempt this summer. I have had the blades for years but it always takes some time to get used to blading. To simply be able to strap 'em on and not feel the pain in one's foot as one is roller blading requires a period of adjustment.

So, as I was on my way along the trail, I decided after a few blocks to have a seat on a bench to allow my ankles and feet to stop screaming at me. I sat having a sip of water when I saw a demure , older man come off the trail and walk in my direction.

Is demure the right adjective to use for a man? Is it correct? I'll text Jonah Hill. He always knows the right thing to say!

Anyway, I could see this man in a navy blue jacket, pants and sandals, coming towards me slowly, albeit a bit hesitantly.

"Can I help you?"- I asked.

"I am looking for Tiff Rd."- he said quietly.

"This is Tiff Road." - I say. "Do you live on Tiff Road?"
Obviously he was having a problem. He wasn't quite sure where he was.

"Where do you live?"- I continued.

"On Lake Street."- he says.

He started reaching in is pocket.
"Do you have it written down?" I stood up off the bench.
He took out an old brown wallet, flipped it open and showed me his driver's licence. The man in the photo looked nothing like the man standing in front of me.
"Your name is Robert?"
"Yes, it is. Robert Cleavley."

I checked the address.
"You live on Lake Street not Tiff Road."
He didn't seem to know for sure. He did know there was a park nearby. A small park. I pointed across the road to the small park called "MacArthur Park".

At this point I knew I couldn't leave him alone but I was towering over him in my roller blades.
"I can't really walk you home with these blades on."- I said.
I didn't know what to do and there was no one else about. I guess I would have to call the police for help.

Then, at that moment along comes an officer in a police car and stops at the corner. I waved to him in a Yoo-Hoo manner. You know, like an old farm wife calling the men in for supper, right hand held high, flinging a  tea towel frantically in circles as I waved my hand.
What a queen!

"Excuse me. Excuse me. Officer!"- I yelled as I waved my imaginary tea towel.

He was a huge man, amply filling the driver's seat behind the steering wheel. He had a big bald head and was wearing- what I guessed was, police-issue sunglasses. You know the kind.
His name could have been Bubba or Frank or Tiny even.
I didn't ask.
He stopped and looked up at me through the open passenger side window.
I am sure he was thinking- What the Hell does this Fag want?

I use Fag here in the way it is meant to be used not the half-baked way that Jonah Hill tried to explain to the media his unfortunate use of the word last week along with the additional words "suck my cock". In this circumstance, I didn't feel I needed to say those words to the officer, nor did he intimate he wanted to say those words to me- unless of course a fine bottle of my favourite white wine was a part of the deal...
But I digress...
Anyway, I couldn't see his eyes, what with the sunglasses and all.

Back to the story.
At this point I looked down and realized I was clutching my chest with my right hand, fingers stretched wide, while bending down trying not to topple over in my roller blades. I'll bet the officer could smell "The Gay". I explained the situation and eventually he got our of the cruiser and came around to my side and spoke with the gentleman, asking for his ID.

He helped the man into the back seat and said he'd see him safely home.
He just totally practically ignored me.
See if I care- I thought.

A lady walking her dog who had stopped to watch as the latter part of my story was unfolding, looks to me and says:
"Good Job!"
"Yes, my Good Deed for the day!" I say as I head in the direction of the paved trail.

I'll bet the cop didn't give me a second look.
Too bad.
My ass- in particular, was looking incredibly firm and nice today.