What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive! Am I right? Ok, I'll elaborate a little...This week I refreshed my memory on why telling a little pork pie here and there can cause much unrest. Not just in my tummy but also in the very fabric of modern society. So I have a little sideline from the comics, writing silly poems at work which get posted into a networked poetry folder - we had an offshoot here at roastytoasty called 'Auntie Agatha's Shallow Grave of Poetry' which I will be bringing back as soon as I work out how to display it online. Anyways, the theme for the week was pride so I wrote a poem called 'Gay Pride' which went as follows: In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lions play Belgian trance and go antiquing.' Silly really...but certainly not what I would call offensive. The post was removed the day of its posting which really ground my gears. So I wrote a complaint to the folder moderators. To press the point home, I told them that as a gay man, I found this to be fairly discriminatory; and in my defence, as a gay man, I'm sure I would find it discriminatory. I'm not gay as far as sexual orientation goes but I am more comfortable with the idea of the “gay” lifestyle than I am with the “Alpha male drink-scratch-monstertruck-football” lifestyle; but I don't feel that sexuality really has much bearing on whether a fairly lightweight poem should or should not be censored. To elaborate further, I'm not sure if you know, but Xbox live has been causing a stir recently by removing any username containing the word gay or lesbian. Microsoft have refused to move on this point; essentially ruling that gay and lesbian are dirty words. Back to the white lie...So there was a retraction of the retraction and I was advised that there had been some rather unfortunate poems coming through to the folder in the light of the recent Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras so to keep from offending, gay themed posts were removed; but after reading my email, it was allowed to be re-submitted. Now I felt bad enough for my deception and I guess for somehow cheapening my reasoning for getting all up in their business so I apologised for being snappy and made a flimsy excuse about not having enough morning coffee but felt justified in standing up against any broad-sweep censorship being undertaken. What followed was some rather serious damage control on their part and as each new email came through (establishing their lack of sexual discrimination), I sank further and further into a malaise of my own creation. I was way in over my head. I felt dirty and ashamed for what I had done but was too far in to admit the lie and clear the air. After about ten emails placating my moral outrage, the moderators commented in the folder on the commendable poem that I had written. One had gone so far as to liken my poems to a poetic version of The Far Side – which got me onto the subject of the website (I now promote without even thinking about it). So I gave them the web address, only realising later that there are a few blogs that I've written which describe my amorous misadventures - all quite clearly describing which team I bat for. So what I had ultimately achieved by standing up for those who didn't request it, was a small victory against censorship and discrimination, some possible hurt feelings on behalf of the moderators, a weight of concern for my moral fibre, and the additional concern that my poetry will now be received like the emperors new clothes. “It doesn't matter what the content is, because it's the emperor, and isn't it great that he is out amongst the people!” Not the desired effect, but machinations have a tendency to get out of hand. So is that what this blog is about? That we sink so far into our own deceptions that it becomes harder and harder to redeem ourselves? Or is it that whilst a little censorship is probably a good thing, a lot is certainly a travesty? Or perhaps it is that we significantly shape our own lives based on the perceptions we let others make. It could just be yet another anecdote of the B-grade situational comedy of errors I continue to let myself get into. Yep. Probably that one... So to finish, I would like to apologise for my misdirection – happy though I am with another blog to post. Even if it does cause me to be “in'd” by any folder moderators that may be reading this. Oh, it is also worth mentioning that because I had been allowed to re-post my poem, the following day somebody else posted a reasonably offensive gay related poem – referencing mine which made me sad. As a gay man, I was seriously offended but thought better than to get back on my high horse. To quote the great Kenny Rogers, "You've got to know when to hold 'em." So I cut my losses and walked away. The moderators removed the post later that day. Yours sincerely, Dave

So I was thinking about exercising this week - which is half the battle; and when you consider that God is always on the side of half of the battlers I felt that in many ways I was already a winner and celebrated my moral victory with a couple of pizzas and a few beers. A victory not shared with my Wii fit. Surely the most hurtful of all the plastic boards I've ever stood on. I thought that I could justify buying a console if it would get me doing some exercise but it turned out that it is really hard to take health pointers from a glorified scale with a voice like a member of the Lollypop Guild. It knows how old I am and yet every time I stand on it, it says the most hurtful things. If I balance like a 50 year old and exercise like a 50 year old, that doesn't make me a 50 year old. It just makes me angry. It tells me I'm the perfect weight for my age and height, so it seems like the only reason it plays this little game is to hurt me. I had been backed into a corner and was tired of being abused by the Wii so I started looking elsewhere for my exercise. I happened to find a workout DVD that appealed to me more than the Wii could. I like old Kung Fu movies and I approve of the concept of exercise, so when I found a Shaolin Workout DVD I thought, “finally – a system that works for me.” I was impressed to see that the trainer was Asian with a broken English accent (a must have for anyone on the path to true enlightenment in body, mind and soul – although in a pinch, a strong English accent demands a certain level of respect also). He was even wearing a traditional orange dressing-gown like they do on TV so I was pretty much sold. He explained in his softly spoken voice that throughout the first of three one hour long workouts we'd be establishing correct breathing – which was great for me because I have always suspected that I've been breathing wrong up until now but was too embarrassed to ask anyone to compare techniques. We pretty much have to hit the floor running on that one and I am surprised more people haven't questioned their form. Anyways, on we continued with our breathing and like the mighty ocean our lungs ebbed and flowed and I caught a glimpse of what it must be like to transcend. Then after five minutes, he explained that our training could begin. I thought that our training had already begun – I'd worked up a sweat and thought I was in a pretty good place, but I was wrong. He wanted to do some stamina training and I accepted. I'd aced the breathing so sure, why not - any apprentice must struggle if he is to ever defeat his master and battle the rival dojo. It wasn't long before I noticed an alarming similarity between my master and the Wii. His soft slow voice was now a fury of wind and fire and his words of bending reeds had snapped and now lashed at my tender bits. Ten minutes into the workout I collapsed, a broken man. I watched on for another five minutes just in case this was one of those tests where the master must break you to make you whole again, but he didn't; he just kept on trying to break me. I skipped ahead to the third hour and saw some pretty neat punching and kicking but realised this was way out of my league. I realised then that it is not my body that requires exercise just yet – it's my ego. I need to be patted on the back every step of the way. I want a high five for taking the stairs. A thumbs up for running for the bus. I want a gold star for watching Monday morning Aerobics on the television. Only then will I be ready to continue my training. Only then will I be able to shape my destiny. So until that day I will dress in my regular old dressing-gown, put my feet up on the Wii fit and watch my soap operas like every other self-disrespecting male out there. Yours sincerely, Dave