WHERE _S HYPERACT_VE?

IF THERE EVER WAS A TIME THAT EVERY MOLECULE OF MY BODY

HAD TO EXEMPLIFY HYPERACTIVE,

THIS IS IT.

_  BREATHE HYPERACT_VE.

_  MOVE HYPERACT_VE.

_  L_VE HYPERACT_VE.

! AM THE HYPERACT!VE GAY BOY™

HOLLA
HOLLA
HOLLA
C'MON, C'MON...

#GETHYPERACTIVE!

ASIA'S PR PRINCESS

I'm in the process of updating the Mr Gay HK media kit for 2013-2014. It's mostly tedious - re-looking at numbers, lay-out, new success stories, trends to watch out for, etc, etc - all in the name of grabbing potential brand partners by the balls and shaking them from side-to-side, until they relent and sign over precious sponsorship dollars for me to see my pet project through another year.

2013 is Mr Gay HK, Year 5.

I'm having a bit of a moment, reminiscing about what has been the past four years. How stories were created, how they were shaped, where I found fertile ground to plant the seeds of a campaign, and then watch it grow and intensify...

I used to enjoy this. I was really good at it, too. It's incredible, looking back at what you've done and realizing that you've accomplished some super-fucking-human feats. If I had met myself five years ago, I would have said:

Holy shit, princess - where'd you find time to get all of these done, plus manage a social persona, maintain friendships and a meaningful relationship with Chris, keep in constant touch with family, do drag, and blog??!

I was of course a lot more persistent when I was younger. These days, I wouldn't deem waste anybody's time. I'd move on as soon as I hear a No, because, I tell myself, it's not the end of the world. There are other things in life which will be a Yes, and they're just straight ahead, so keep on walking! But looking back at what I've been able to accomplish, armed with nothing more than youth and persistence and naivete, I'd say:

You fucking wore people out with your enthusiasm, until they just said Yes so you would go away!

I would have liked to be friends with that guy - that penniless, Hyperactive gay boy. He made things happen without knowing, fully, how he made them happen. He simply jumped into the deep end - and he'd ask questions later. But only if he absolutely had to. He was self sufficient and independent and driven and bullheaded and positive.

He was happy and energetic.

He was free.

Sometimes we need to force ourselves to look back, to inspire ourselves in the present, for what we need to get done tomorrow. That's just what happened to me.




POST-SCRIPT

Looking back on it, pondering, writing about it and congratulating yourself isn't enough. Pause for a moment and thank the universe for always making sure you see the redemption after every conflict she throws at you.

-Ryeness

WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS PREOCCUPIED WITH BEN AFFLECK PLAYING BATMAN, LET'S OGLE THE BUMTASTIC WENTWORTH MILLER.

HIT THAT QUARTER POSE,
BABES!

BOOTY TOOCH!

AND BOOTY TOOCH,
PERFECTED.

MY HERO!
I HEART YOU,
WENTWORTH MILLER!

// HE CAN PLOT 

A DAMN GOOD PRISON BREAK -

THAT'S FOR SURE.

BUT HE AIN'T PUTTIN' UP

WITH NO WHITE (OR BLACK)

RUSSIANS, 

UH-UH. //

THIS IS WHY I LOVE BEAUTY PAGEANTS.

Been frighteningly busy with pageants lately, being that we're preparing for Mr Gay HK Year 5 and we've just launched Mr Gay Singapore. Another Mr Gay pageant in a major Asian powerhouse is in the works, which we're keeping under wraps until we're ready with all the bits and pieces. We're determined to produce mega-glamtastic Asian representation at the 2014 Mr Gay World finals in Rome, just 'coz gay Asian men are so damn phyne! (Just ask Norm Yip.)

SO.

Life has been a dizzying stream of beauty queens (literally - queens!!!) lately. I'm thankful for the occasional, humorous relief.

Seen the vid?

Priceless reaction.

She was only 16, the little sweetheart, when she won the title.

Hell, I'd pass out, too, if ~I~ were proclaimed Miss France!

Thanks to Geraldine of the Pageant Happy Hour for sharing this awesome vid!  

AN UPDATE ON CHRIS

CHRIS SAYS HELLO TO EVERYONE!

CHRIS' AUSTRALIA.

FUCKING BEAUTIFUL.

"Typhoon 8 in HK," I typed into my and Chris' Whatsapp window.

"Oooh... day off work?" he asked. He would have been up for hours already. Canberra is three hours ahead of Hong Kong, besides. And he bikes to work every day. He's always been an early riser, a creature I often consider alien-esque: The Morning Person.

"Only if T8 warning is still up by 2pm," I replied. "Would have been nice to have you here so we can sleep in together... I'd go right back to sleep to dream about you."

OK, so that last bit felt particularly sappy, even I wanted to bitch slap myself.

"Sweet" is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think about Chris. He's sweet in his own way, sure, but he's not all about warm, fuzzy words or grand gestures. He's a rock who lets you know, every day, through consistent and predictable actions, that he loves you and cares about you. I inadvertently regret being too sweet with Chris because he's kinda gruff and and, I suspect, a bit embarrassed about the very public ways I show and proclaim my love for him.

His reply:

"Mwah! Too long between snuggles xxx"

I was stunned.

Has some sappy spirit inhabited Chris' body?! Did he really manage to squeeze a bit of sweetness out for me?

Maybe it's the distance.

Maybe it's Australia.

When you're surrounded by nature's majestic beauty, wouldn't it just suck to have nobody to share it with?

"Love you!!!" I typed furiously. I wasn't about to let go of the moment. "A typhoon fuck would have been so nice! Miss you so bad!!!! Guess I'll have to wait 'til we see each other again at the end of September!"

"Yes, please!"

ALANIS MORISSETTE // YOU OUGHTA KNOW (LIVE 1996)

THE HYPERACTIVE GAY BOY™

We were supposed to go to Taipei.

It was Peter's birthday weekend, Tyler is in town for an internship and hadn't yet been to Taiwan, Greg deserved a little celebratory trip after closing a major deal, I was event-ed out of my skull... We were all eager for a bit of a break from our Hyperactive lives - we all needed it.

But Hong Kong has a funny way of clawing itself into any effort to try and leave it behind. As the date of our weekend getaway loomed ever closer, people's commitment to the trip also became more and more nebulous. Taipei suddenly seemed like such a massive commitment, we threw our hands up in collective exasperation until Greg said, "Let's just do Macau."

Emma immediately took control of travel arrangements (by default), trawling through a mind boggling array of bundled experiences in search of the best deal. She found a package that included return ferry, show tickets to House of Dancing Water, dessert at some newly opened sweets shop, and casino credits. Ems quickly figured out it would take a lifetime to get everyone's sign-off and simply booked for people who could commit right there and then.

I volunteered to sort out rooms at the Westin, remembering that it was tucked away from everything else. I didn't have Emma's take-the-bull-by-the-horns approach, though, and so was exchanging emails with Ada Chan, The Westin Macau's Director of Communications, up until the night before we were due to leave Hong Kong. It was hectic. I breathed a sigh of resignation after I clicked "Send" on the final email, keeping my fingers crossed we wouldn't have problems with checking in the next day.

I set three alarm clocks to ensure I'd be at the ferry terminal by 9am. I arrived on the dot.

I found Emma veritably draped across the entire length of the couch at Starbucks, holding space for the coterie of men who had deigned to keep her waiting. She rightly assumed we'd all be desperate for a caffeine fix. Peter was last to arrive, giving Greg, Allen and Ty just a second to bag their bagels to go before we made a mad dash towards Immigrations.

"You're soaked, babe," Emma frowned as she touched my sweater.

"Rain," I explained unnecessarily. "Didn't have an umbrella while I was waiting for a cab to get here; left my brolly at a shoot last night."

"Do you want to borrow a shirt?" Peter offered.

"Nah," I declined. "I planned my outfit carefully; changing my top would ruin the entire effect! Thanks anyway."

"You silly bugger," Emma scolded, "you don't wanna get sick. Get out of that sweater right now!"

Meekly, I did as I was told. I rejoined the gang just as passengers were being herded into the ferry. It was lurching on its berth from side to side.

"It's less bumpy in front," Greg promised. The ferry vibrated with the shrieks and shouts of hundreds of mainland Chinese tourists. We muscled our way towards our assigned seats on the second and third rows. Emma promptly popped a motion sickness tablet. I clapped my Zik by Phillippe Starck headphones on. Greg started reading. Peter had a bite of Allen's bagel. And we were off.

"Please keep the blinds down," an attendant admonished Peter, "it's not safe."

"How is it not safe?" Peter persisted. "I don't see how it makes a difference, whether or not the blinds are up."

"Actually," the attendant sidled closer, conspiratorially, "it's the mainland Chinese... they get all excited when the blinds are up. They leave their seats so they can take pics from the windows. They block the aisles. That's what makes it unsafe."

Peter then turned his attention elsewhere, asking me about my Sergio Mendes remixes.

The boat lurched even harder once we we were firmly in open waters, sending many passengers rushing towards vomit bags. It was better than a roller coaster ride. I took Magalenha's hand and disappeared into an electric sambadrome.

"Everything was silent all of a sudden," Emma recounted once we were in a cab towards Coloane. "All I could hear was the rustle of plastic. I opened my eyes to peek at what could possibly be making that noise while everyone struggled just to hold on to their seats. It was a woman... She was collecting vomit bags, cleaning up after everyone's mess."

"Protein spills," I smiled. "That's what we called it in Disney," I explained, "so parents needn't feel bad about their kids throwing up all over the place. We'd say 'Please mind the protein spill.'"

"What a job," Peter shook his head. "I can't imagine doing what that woman does for a living."

"More so, that someone has to do it," Emma pointed out.

We were quiet the rest of the way towards the Westin. It took a woman who cleans up after other people's vomit to put our weekend getaway into perspective. No matter how exhausted, exasperated or aggravated we get - no matter how hectic or rough life gets - it can't possibly be worse than what the ferry's cleaning lady has to endure on a daily basis.

Our cab finally rolled onto the Westin's driveway a few minutes later, giving us a sweeping view of Hac Sa Beach. Bellhops rushed to assist and greet us a sunshiny "Welcome to The Westin Macau!" - in decidedly Filipino accents, of course.

Yes.

Macau.

That's right - that's where we are.

We have arrived.

***

Hong Kong is a clingy, crazy, jealous, infectious, dangerous and ultimately irresistible lover. Kinda like the singer's persona in this song. I swear I saw some of my companions surreptitiously check their email even while we were surrounded, distracted, entertained and humored by the best Macau has to offer.

I love that Alanis Morissette understands the role of performance in a singer-songwriter's bag of tricks. This rendition is a dramatic departure from the recorded version, which is pumped with more angst than an entire commune of starving artists can ever muster.

For the Grammy's, she humanizes the song's angry bitch by underscoring loss, denial, pain, suffering, and - up to the very end - her somewhat tragic plea for things to return to how they were before. 

You can't let go of Hong Kong.

And Hong Kong is never letting go of you.

You oughta know.

// And I'm here to remind you 

Of the mess you left when you went away 

It's not fair to deny me 

Of the cross I bear that you gave to me 

You, you, you oughta know! //

THE CARDIGANS // YOU'RE THE STORM

If I were to compile my coming-of-age soundtrack, it'd have Simply Red's Fairground, George Michael and Mary J Blige's As, Janet Jackson's Together Again, the Spice Girls' Say You'll Be There, and The Cardigans' Lovefool.

The Cardigans,  a Swedish band formed in 1992, skyrocketed to fame when director Baz Luhrmann picked Lovefool for the soundtrack of William Shakespeare's Romeo + Juliet. I  instantly took to the song's chorus - Love me, love me! Say that you love me! - because it captured my own need for constant affirmation. I lived for moments when the music video would come out on MTV or when the DJ at my local radio station would finally respond to my endless requests to play it again.

I haven't heard anything from The Cardigans since then.

I woke up today with a craving for music I grew up with, which led me to Long Gone Before Daylight (2003), The Cardigans' comeback album after a five-year hiatus. You're the Storm is the first track. I can only describe it as mellow Europop / rock / country. It has a haunting quality to it - a soaring melody coupled with an undercurrent of malevolent strumming.

SORSOGON

 // CHRIS. //

OLIVIA NEWTON JOHN & CLIFF RICHARD // SUDDENLY

I MISS...

SAI KUNG

// CHRIS. //

MORNING IN CHEUNG SHA, HONG KONG'S GAY HAMPTONS

Cheung Sha is a different beach in the morning. Quieter, but also more volatile. No shrieks from obnoxious tourists; just the sound of waves crashing at a higher tide. No beefcakes and babes replicating the Wyndham nightlife corridor mating ritual; just babies and mums and dads and dogs out for a peaceful, playful morning walk. 

Emma, Chris and I enjoyed a little, morning dip. The waves were Hyperactive (natch), pulling my shorts off of my waist a couple of times. And then another wave would whip them right off again before I could pull them back up. I hope my bumbling efforts to stay decent at least made adequate entertainment for the bored lifeguards.

Hi, guys! Save me!

Squeee!!!

 

// THE HYPERACTIVE GAY BOY™ //

MY SEOUL BENDER

// IT WAS THE ONLY WAY TO ENSURE 

I WAS AWAKE FOR MY 4.30AM PICK-UP 

FOR MY FLIGHT. //

THANKS TO RONNIE FOR DRIVING ME ALL THE WAY TO THE AIRPORT.

THANKS TO TERI FOR THE NEVERENDING PHONE CALLS  TO SEE WHETHER OR NOT I WAS STILL ALIVE.

THANKS TO ROBIN FOR THE GOOD VIBES, IN GENERAL!

HOMO HILL

YES, PLEASE.
I LIKE THIS PLACE ALREADY.

DON'T YOU MEAN "BEARS," HUN?

FROCKS FOR HOOKERS AND/OR DRAG QUEENS, APPARENTLY.

WHY WOULD I BUY AN AUSSIE MEAT PIE
WHEN I ALREADY HAVE ONE?

PINOYS WILL CONQUER THE WORLD
ONE KITCHEN AT A TIME.

SELF-PORTRAIT AT CLUB CIRCUIT.

LOOK AT THAT MERMAID WITH THE FUNNY HAIR.
GIRL, GET TO WERQ!

THAT'S WHAT I SAID.

WHO, ME?

OK.
WHERE'S THE FORK?

YOU CAN BE SURE ABOUT THAT.

AND DOES 'TMB' STAND FOR 'TOO MANY BOTTOMS' ?

THIS ONE LOOKS LIKE IT COULD BE FUN.

IS THIS WHERE ALL OF SEOUL'S TOPS HANG OUT?
OR IS THIS JUST A CLEVER PLOY TO GET THE BOTTOMS IN?

Itaewon is apparently considered seedy. I could have been fooled. I felt right at home. But maybe that's coz I'm a trash bag.

The neighbourhood is home to many of Seoul's Muslims, its hookers and the homos. Why and how the three groups came together in that specific area, I can only guess.

A row of old, cement buildings line the main drag. The structures are clearly ancient, but the shops that now occupy them have made the effort to spruce things up a bit. Fake Goyards are sold on the pavement in front of an expensive French bakery. Koreans have a flawless sense of irony.

There are cafes of course, the obligatory Irish pub, a German beer bar, a couple of restaurants by gay Korean celeb Hong Seok-cheon (more about that on another entry) and a few kebab-erias. I walked along all these with little notice because my destination was Homo Hill.  

It was dead.

There was no sign of life, except a guy peeing against an electrical post. How... primitive! I instantly fell in love. I had the entire gay village all to myself.

Homo Hill is a steep and narrow alley that's parallel to Hooker Hill. You'll know Hooker Hill immediately; the biggest night club is called Rio but the hookers inside are Russian, not Brazilian. This is all made clear on the club's signage.

At 5pm, none of the bars have so much as moved a stool or switched on a light bulb. Why is Happy Hour not de rigeur here?!

I can only imagine how this place heaves when the homos and the hookers finally get their lazy asses off the bed to do some real werq on the meanest streets of Seoul. The Muslims - they were awake.