Monthly archive: December 2002

Me, New York and a 5th Floor Walkup has been renamed as Carpe Manana (URL unchanged at http://whosbetterthan.blogspot.com). Good luck with your move and new life Michael!

New York City Major Bloomberg is shortly expected to sign the anti-smoking bill approved by the City Council (via the Yankee Blogger). I am totally in favour. I am the kind of smoker who asks people at nearby tables in a restaurant if they mind me smoking, and does not think twice about stepping outside if they do mind. (Do not think of me as an extremely considerate and polite man. I appear to be, but it all stems from being unable to cope with being told off, and therefore wanting to avoid that at all costs.)

Has anyone else ever noticed that if someone is smoking in the open air (or in a drafty room) next to a non-smoker, the wind always blows towards the non-smoker? And there's no use swapping places, the wind will change accordingly.

I remember reading a while ago somewhere that statisticians have been unsuccessfully trying for ages to come up with some mathematical theories about traffic patterns, in order to be able to foresee and prevent the occurence of traffic jams.

When I go out, I am always fascinated by how a gay club can be busy one week and filled to capacity with a totally different crowd the week after. I am often able to come up with plausible explanations (bank holidays coming up, Kylie in concert at a stadium nearby, or The Wizard of Oz on the telly).

I tried to do the same yesterday, when I went to the RVT and I saw absolutely nobody I knew there. Now, one of the appeals of the RVT to me is that on any given Sunday I can go there on my own if I want, and be guaranteed to have a good time and a friendly (albeit uncomprehensible due to the loud music) short chat with at least half a dozen people.
Yesterday it was a different story. A long queue to get in and no room to swing a cat, and yet hardly anyone to say hallo to apart from Dave. My flatmate G. said hallo to a couple of guys that I'm only sligtly acquainted with, but that was all.

G. came up with a theory to explain it, saying that people were just back from Christmas with their families, had Monday off work and desperately wanted to go out, and those were people who do not normally go out on a Sunday, while people who go out all the time and spent Christmas clubbing in London were saving themselves for a wild night out on NYE. He also added that there weren't more people than usual, it only felt like that because there was a higher percentage of larger guys (it's amazing what a couple of days of skipping the gym and being force-fed by your mother can do to your physique).

Moreover, everybody seemed to be there with their boyfriend. It looked like it and I certainly had some proof myself, considering that within half an hour I was invited to join a couple for a threesome, another told me I was gorgeous but that unfortunately his boyfriend was there (and kept staring at me for four hours), and a third one slipped his phone number into my pocket while dramatically making a very sorry face and pointing at his boyfriend next to him. Is anyone in a faithful relationship these days? I guess there is, but they stay home on a Sunday afternoon or do something intellectually more stimulating together.

RVT was followed by LA3. Forty people in the queue to get in (never saw that there). Once inside, unsurprisingly, a similar queue for the coatcheck, and very hot. Scorching hot and humid. So damp that I had to sit and remove my t-shirt, and sweat immediately started rolling down my chest while I was sitting absolutely still.

I tried lighting a cigarette but my lighter did not work. I asked G. for a light, but his lighter was not working either. Neither were those belonging to the persons on my left and right. I luckily spent most of the night chatting with my friend M., who seemed to own the only functioning lighter in such a damp environment. Boy was he popular that night.

I need to change my views on Hope. I ended up there on Saturday night and had a fantastic time (so much so that I completely forgot to join my friends at Crash and Beyond later on). The previous time I checked out the club, we arrived early and saw the empty place (not exactly a bijou of a venue, and that's an euphemism), then sat around with friends for a couple of hours before getting into the swing of things, which was delightful but probably put me in more of a chill-out mood.

This time I was simply popping in briefly to say hallo to a few friends, after taking out my friend P. in Clapham to help him drink away his broken-hearted blues, so I had no expectations at all.

8 scary designs – collect them all! (click on thumbnail for full view)

I'd heard about this but I hadn't seen it yet, until today when I received a carton of cigarettes from G. who's just back from Christmas in Ireland. New EU regulation on health warnings on the front and back of cigarette packs. Bigger, bolder, scarier. Will it make me stop? Let's talk about it in the new year (it's high on my list of new year resolutions – it has been for the last 17 years unfortunately).

Hallo? Secret Santa? Don't you want to step forward? The Angie Stone CD you've sent me has been on repeat on the stereo since yesterday, and I'd like to thank you properly, unless you wish to remain anonymous, which is fine with me.

Oh come on, I won't bite – unless you want me to ;-)

Had a lovely Christmas thank you very much.

All the elements for it to make me depressed were there, lurking in the background for me to give in: flatmate away to see his family, most friends with their families too, jobless, boyfriendless and foodless (eight years abroad had made me forget that in the UK all shops close between 4 and 6pm on Christmas eve). Only one present under the tree (from my Secret Santa), only one present already opened during my trip to Italy two weeks ago (my family once more "did not have time" to get me anything and once again said "you get what you need and we'll reimburse you" – but this year I lovingly gave them my presents and I smiled my way through a "It does not really matter, I know this is not important to you, it's OK").

I did not give in. I counted my blessings instead. I am in good health, still relatively young and, I am told, not a horror to look at. I live in the best city in the whole wide world (for me at least). I get enough temporary contract jobs to get by. I am learning to adjust to being single without feeling panic and fear. I have a handful of very good friends in Italy, Iceland, the USA and France, and over the last seven months here I have met many people I am becoming friends with. My flatmate is my best friend here, and my chaperon and accomplice during our weekend escapades through London gay life.

I spent the evening over at Marcus for Christmas dinner with him, his flatmates, David and friends; the meal, the company, the after-dinner games made it one of the best Christmases of the past few years. I know Marcus put in a lot of work for this (he collapsed on his bed before midnight), and I want to thank him for inviting me over. You really made it happen for me this year – yours was the best present ever.

UNNGHH*

*stifled sound as I try to speak through self-inflicted gag

(Click on thumbnail for full view)

I may now also reveal who the recipient of my own stint as a Secret Santa was. So please meet Dave – it has been a pleasure to discover and read his weblog, and an early Christmas present in itself, for I do not think that I would ever have come across his website, had the elves not matched our names on Dec. 10th.

I am such a kid.

It is 5:19 am on Christmas morning. I just got up for a wee and then ran to the Politically Correct Christmas Tree (two pound forty-nine pence, Cancer Research UK charity shop, Clapham High Street) to unwrap my presents present. As happy and excited as if I were four years old, even though I am turning thirty-six in a little over a month, and I already knew what the present was, as it was the only one purchased from my Amazon wishlist.

So, I am now listening to my new Angie Stone CD right now, and my flatmate's cat is playing with the packaging it came in. Everybody's happy. And it's not over yet: the best part is that I still do not know who my Secret Santa is, and I am dying to find out. I hope she / he / they will step forward and reveal themselves soon. Thank you!

I wish I will never lose this excitement.

reporting.

worth

much

Nothing

Done! All my Christmas cards are on their way. I know I've missed the last posting date for most of them to be delivered in time for Christmas, but that's much better than two years ago (I sent them in January) and last year (I threw them away, unwritten, at around Easter time). I'm making progress.

One last "cheeky post" then I'll stop, cross my heart:

The Cheeky Girls headline Glastonbury 2003!

They may as well, since Glastonbury Festivals license application has been refused.

The Russians are Coming, or From Russia with (probably made up by their marketing department) Lesbian Love

I spotted three mentions of Tatu in the UK media this week: last Saturday on CD:UK, a long feature and photoshoot in the January issue of The Face magazine, and today on Popbitch. Their video is currently playing on The Box and their single All The Things She Said is being released in the UK at the end of January. Remember, you saw it here first.

Still, I can't get over how repetitive the song is, and it just does not grow on me. Funny, because other repetitive songs seem to haunt my waking hours (Come and join the cheeky club / This is what you want!)

Ha – I knew it! According to Popbitch, Brian Higgins co-wrote both the Sugababes' Round round and Girls Aloud's Sound of the Underground. (Actually, I think his studio Xenomania only produced the latter). I had a definite feeling about it.

Nag Nag Nag @ Ghetto is FAN-BLOODY-TASTIC !!!

A friend of mine, well, "nagged" me for ages about going there, and we finally did last night. If you are not averse to clubbing, can afford to go out on a school night and are in London, do not miss this. Oh, and being into electro music certainly helps! It was so brilliant that I did not even realize almost everyone there was under 25.

If you plan to go, make sure you get there early. I had luckily bumped into David and Marcus in the late afternoon, who advised me to be there before 10:30 (opening time), and so we did, but there was already such a long queue that we did not get in until way past eleven.

"THEY'RE TRYING TO STEAL OUR CHRISTMAS NUMBER ONE…

…BUT IT'S NOT TOO LATE TO STEAL IT BACK!!"

From The Campaign For A Real Christmas Number One (via Guy)

Bye boys – Bah girls – Buy cheeky!

Which piercing are you?

At last! One of those "which ___ are you?" quizzes that speaks the truth. Not too sure about being "spunky" in large crowds though. (*checks meaning at Merriam-Webster Online*) Ooh, they mean "spunky" as "lively, spirited"? I guess I am then (cf. last Sunday afternoon at the RVT)

(via Parallax View)

While busy ironing shirts from his apparently neverending pile, multi-tasking Mike was already concocting his new exciting project-cum-final prize. So you think you're a Blogaholic? Enter the Troubled Diva competition to find out, then feel free to join the Blogaholics Anonymous chapter that my own score compels me to open shortly.

I have just received a CD-shaped packet from Amazon.co.uk. It must be from my Secret Santa (either that, or somebody else equally sweet has been thinking of me lately). Whoever you are, and if you are reading this, thank you for making my day. And Merry Christmas to you too. May you feel just like I am feeling now.

Now, shall I open it? No, thou shall wait for Christmas. But I already know what it is as it's not on the wishlist anymore. No, thou shall wait for Christmas, and besides, you do not know who it is from, so try and keep at least that part of the surprise. But I haven't got a tree to put in under! Then go out and get yourself an effing tree, and wait for Christmas Day already! You're not five years old anymore, sunshine!

<FLASHBACK>
Picture it: Italy, 1972. A young beautiful boy, during one of his usual evening rummaging expeditions through his parents' bedroom while they thought he was fast asleep, finds a gift-wrapped parcel with his name on it. He very carefully unwraps and opens it to find out it was a toy! He plays and plays with it for the few remaining nights leading to Christmas, making sure he perfectly wraps it back every time. Come Christmas, he has no choice but to feign surprise and interest in what is already an old toy.

</FLASHBACK>

Morals of the story:

1. I found out very early on that it's actually your parent(s) who put the Christmas presents under the tree. It made perfect sense, as I know perfectly well Santa cannot physically deliver presents to every single (good) person in the world on the same day at the same time (give and take a few hours' difference owing to different time zones. So instead he needs to do his rounds in advance and parents/friends/flatmates/partners have to hide the presents for a while before putting them under the tree.
2. I have developed amazing gift-wrapping skills
3. Were I a woman, I could fake the perfect pretend orgasm like a pro.

Sigmund Freud / Analyze this / Analyze this / Analyze this

I normally would not reveal the content of my dreams here, for I like to trick my readers into thinking that I have some sort of sanity left.

I am making no exception today, I'll just mention that I dreamt of a fellow blogger that I've never met and that I used to have a virtual crush on. The crush vanished in a puff (a poof?) of smoke when he ungratefully failed to acknowledge the birthday present I'd sent him, so why the hell did he make a brief appearance in my dream last night looking mighty hunky? Is my subconscious trying to tell me there is a chance that the postal system and / or Amazon fucked up and he never received my present and secretly loves me instead, in order to shelter me from the painful reality that I am so out of his league?

Repeat after me: one yottabyte equals 2,417,851,639,229,258,349,412,352 nibbles.

Neglectable Saturday was balanced out by Memorable Sunday. Nothing worth mentioning before 5:30pm, when the day truly started with a fantastic RVT where everyone seemed to be in great form. Or maybe it was just because of my early "White Christmas" present to myself (TM Dave). I probably made a fool of myself by wearing around my neck my childhood glow-in-the-dark rosary that I brought back from Italy lask week, but I do not give a toss about that since it provoked a wide range of comments by friends and strangers, ranging from "does that thing glow in the dark or is it something I've taken?" to "lovely pearls, dahling" via "I can not stand looking at you dancing with that naked luminiscent man on a string, I do not care about religion but I am Irish and I can't help feeling there's something wrong with that".

I took the 11:30 minibus to LA3 from the RVT for the first time and I totally recommend it. It costs three pounds and grants you a three pound discount on entry at the LA3, but you get a free beer, camp music and 18 like-minded travelling companions. Beats the tube anytime.

I did not stay long at LA3 but the night did not end there. It would not be appropriate to elaborate on what ensued on these here kilobytes, I need to shelter the eyes of the underage and innocent from unsuitable material.

Saturday: a completely neglectable day, with a late start due to having got home at 9am from A:M and consequent half-snooze on the couch waking up every now and then to find scary images on the telly of the Cheeky Girls strapped on a wheel with eggs being thrown at them, and performing a ballet dressed as ballerinas (a friend later reassured me that I was not hallucinating). Woke up in a shaky rotten state and had to drive – on the wrong left side of the road, of all things. I did surprisingly well, considering it was the third time in my life that I was doing that; my theory is that the braincells that had survived the Friday night massacre were already working backwards, and helped me reverse my coordination and reflexes for proper UK driving.

I decided to give the Final Fist a miss. No particular reason, I just was not in the mood to go there on my own (none of my friends was going there). I later learned that there were people going around the club with torches (as in "flashlights" not "sticks on fire" – although with Fist, you never know) to make sure nobody was being naughty in any dark corners. Just as well I did not go then, my memories of the few times I went there last summer will remain unspoiled.

Friday then. Drinks at Sanctuary Soho with the usual crowd for what seems to have become a habit these days – "sanctuary" / "habit": please forgive my cheap puns, and keep in mind I am not writing in my first language (although friends tell me I am not funnier in Italian). I then failed to show up at Waterloo station for Gabriel's arrival from Paris, and proved once more to be kind of dyslexic with numbers (his train arrived at 8:09 pm and I was about to go and meet him at 9:08). He joined us at Sanctuary, then we continued *Gab's Big Night Out In London* via the Village, the Shadow Lounge, Substation and A:M, then went back to mine for breakfast and to get back in touch with our roots by listening to Italian camp music from a brilliant CD that he brought over from Paris for me.

I wish he moved back to London. I might have succeeded in convincing him to come back for new year's eve – I did not feel I had to twist his arm though.

Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain

The internet seems to be broken at the moment. I just went to BBCi it on to find out who won Fame Academy, and it incorrectly announces David's victory. How do you fix the internet?

Oh wait, David really won. Gaaad. Can't wait to see David's cameo role in a Holliwood Movie (as part of the prize). May I suggest an appearance in Scream 4 as "victim # 22 – brutally murdered by having his vocal cords ripped out?"

In related news, I finally got to hear the girls' and the boys' singles from Popstars: the Rivals.

Sacred Trust – One True Voice: is it really a Bee Gees song? Sounds more like a Jason Donovan b-side cover of a Cliff Richard song. Uninspired, forgettable, it sounds old but not in a retro-vintage kind of way, just moldy. Bland, unoriginal video as well (the boys walking around London's Docklands being stalked by girls). Good voices though.

Sound of the Underground – Girls Aloud: it start like "The Beat Goes On", with guitar riffs from Pulp Fiction's "Pumpkin And Honey Bunny" and a catchy minor refrain with tortuous semitone variations straight from traditional arabic compositions. The perfect post-modern pop pastiche. And they look lovely in the video – classy gals with raunchy moves in a dirty warehouse. True minxes (the working title for "Girls Aloud", as yesterday documentary unintentionally revealed – it was on the provisional cover art for the single – was "MINX5"). Their voices? Right, as if I cared.

Ok, I might have got a bit carried away, but the truth is that I've been dancing around on that song all afternoon. Come on the girls! Bye boys – buy girls.

Windows RG (= Really Good): the OS with an attitude – had me in stitches for the past ten minutes (requires Flash plug-in)

The timing could not have been any better. As Popstars: The Rivals Extra ended last night at 11:30pm on ITV, Pam Ann's Mile High Club started on Channel 4.

Unfortunately, I went to bed at 9 (which I believe I have not done since I was eight years old) with a backache after slouching over the computer for 11 hours.

If I had TiVo, the satanic machine would have sensed my intrinsic homosexualism and recorded them both (along with goodness knows what else it thinks gay people are into these days).

Without TiVo, I actually have a life (and so I went to bed at 9, my point being…?)