Going straight

We're going to a straight club tomorrow. How od. I can figure going to straight bars, but a straight club>? Last time I went to a straight club, I got a ring of bouncers protecting me. I was oblivious of course, but my friends told me the next day that I had been guarded all evening. What nice chaps. Anyway, that's the plan, it'll be a change, and interesting to see who leaves with black eye for looking too faggy. Welcome to England - we are a 'tolerant' society. Of course, we hate outsiders, but will tolerate them, not accept them. Being in a minority makes one notice dumbass politicians even more than before, I find.
Later!

I got home last night and...

And did the dirty - went to bed. Got to sleep by 9:30 and subsequently had over 9 hours sleep, waking after 6. Superb. Though I did wake up around three o'clock in the morning to take this photo, amongst others, of the falling snow.
The snow was coming down fast, and I took the shots in the blur of half sleep, knowing that when I would arise later in the day, the peaceful undisturbed snow would have already been spoilt by footfalls. There was no-one around and the snow-deaded sound of the city was like it so rarely is - silent. I love this about snow - that whatever remains underneath, the snow makes the surface beautiful and white. That is, until the first taxi comes along to throw exhaust fumes all over it, leaving a dull yellow colour.

That didn't happen here - I just couldn't be bothered to edit out the yellow tinge that occured here. Plus, the light then was looking rather yellow, I'm presuming from all the sodium based street lamps' light being reflected from the surface of the roads back into the sky. This image comes straight from the skylight in my bathroom, a high vantage point, hence the view over my neighbour's houses.

Luckily for me, the snow hasn't really melted today, it's been so cold that there's been little slush created, just lots of salty floors from where the city has laid salt down, people walk through it, pick it up on their shoes, walk it inside. The floor eventually dries leaving you with a salty crush of white on the top of your formerly clean surface. Thanks for that! Let's pray for more snow tomorrow/ tonight. Weather forecast According to the BBC we'll have a minus three and sun! Yah! Oh, and snow! Yah!

I love George Bush

I mean to say
Bush backs ban on gay marriage

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - U.S. President George W. Bush has called on Congress to approve a constitutional amendment that would ban gay marriage as he leaped into a divisive issue that could bolster his support among conservatives in the November election.

The decision on Tuesday was immediately condemned by gay rights groups and many Democrats. Even some Republicans cast doubt about the move, which would likely take years to bring to fruition.

The Republican president expressed alarm at events in San Francisco, where thousands of marriage licenses have been issued to gays and lesbians, and in Massachusetts, where the state's highest court ruled gay couples have the right to wed.

Bush denounced "some activist judges and local officials" for attempting to "redefine marriage."

If divorces and Britney Spears length marriages possible in 'stop off' marriage 'parlours' don't devalue marriage, I'm sure it's going to be wrecked by the additi on of same-sex couples who love each other and are attempting to - despite all government efforts - make their lives together work. I can't stand his hypocrisy.

Japan deals with Iranian oil

Japan and Iran have agreed to a two billion dollar deal to extract oil from a field believed to be one of the largest reserves in the Middle East. It is estimated that the Azadegan field contains up to 26 billion barrels of oil.
The United States says it is "deeply concerned" about Japan's deal with the Islamic Republic, which is under a U-S economic embargo.
Shocking! That's what the US is supposed to do - break embargoes. I suppose Bush is annoyed because it messes up the 'war on terror' which had been going so well until now.

link

From yesterday's Trendsetters email

"Speaking of the “C” word, now that we’ve all said goodbye to Sex and the City, we’ll miss Samantha uttering that most dastardly of anatomical descriptions. While it was said stateside on cable, in the UK, more than 10 million watching I’m a Celebrity — Get Me Out of Here! heard John Lydon use the “C” word on network TV, and fewer than 100 peeps complained!"

Yes, talking on the most dire of all reality TV shows, populated by faded popstars only famous for their sixpack, a 'glamour' model with bigger balloon breasts than a NASA re-entry shuttle, and further wannabes that no-one really cares about but will pretend might 'just' make a career revival out of the show. The reason no-one got worked up about the event was that - only people who were prepared for bad language would have been watching - after all they see this topless model rolling around in mud with boys all the time in the show. Is that thought to be comparatively tame?

My boss left today

She cried as we parted. I'm going to use her as a cover to go gay clubbing in Manchester in a few weekends time so when we were saying our goodbyes she told me I'd have to visit her soon and REALLY be there that time. Odd to think that I'll miss my boss, as she's my boss and if all goes well in the world of work you're supposed to hate your boss. She was great though - one of the most kind, bitchy, sincere, self effacing and loud people I've ever met. I can't think of a bad thing about her. I know this is boring to read, I know it sounds stupid, but I'll really miss her. As we did our gay French kiss/kiss on both cheeks I wiped the tears from her eyes and she said told me she didn't know why she was crying; she'd had an exhausting and overwhelming time in the store and for most of the time she was with us, was looking forward to leaving. And yet, she also didn't want to go, enjoyed the eccentric staff's personalities, and had a great time. All the best eh!

The Balanchine was fun even though he’s dead

The dance was a bit mad - really massive leaps by the principals in the performance of Prodigal Son, but a superb collection. What was just as interesting was seeing all the middle classes corralled together to nibble on tit-bits of common gossip, appear important, and drop lots of cash on expensive entertainment. It's not a cheap hobby but is one that garners one a bit of awe amongst friends. Though all the columnists in papers spout about ballet and other activities being available to the masses, to many people it's still too expensive. I'm not sure there's a lot that can be done about this anyway though - there's already huge subsidy going to performing arts groups so making greater contributions would be seen as poor electoral priorities. Also, those on low incomes don't want to be treated as though they're receiving charity when purchasing a ticket which for them is normally completely out of reach. It's patronising. I'm lucky that a friend of mine could buy my ticket for me - otherwise I wouldn't have spent £55 on the palaver. And the getting there, meals and co.

Off to the ballet tomorrow

And it's not just to check out the hot boys. Covent Garden here we come - we're going to see the Balanchine.
"In celebration of the centenary of the birth of the choreographer, educator and showman George Balanchine, a seminal figure of 20th-century classical ballet, The Royal Ballet presents three works to display his extraordinary stylistic range, technical mastery and poetic vision."
My sugarmommy and I are hitting London! Woot Woot!

Farting camels are on the top of the Lycos Viral Chart.

That's sad.
On a related note, I'm free from the 12 hour days. The exhaustion is over and I had a saturday night of staying in, drinking wine, and burning food for a dinner party.
At P's house on Saturday night we shopped and catered for the party where two of the guests called in sick roughly an hour before 'kick-off'. I'd agonised over what to cook for ages, then settled on a dish from Jill Dupleix's newest book "Very Simple Food". It was great, although the parmesan biscuits we'd .made were burnt to a crisp by the oven. We only then found out that the thermostat was faulty. Oops. The rolled oats, raspberry and pear loaf was superb though.
We didn't finish it all last night, so I ate the rest this morning.

It's the Janet Jackson Megamix

What's the big thing about these mixes at the moment - the style, made most popular by the megamixes of Madonna tracks shown at her most recent tour - they've been absorbed by the pop establishment as a vector for pushing the 'brand' of a star. They show the whole image of the star - tracking them through styles and times. Jackson's just had one done, and it's actually rather good. I've never been a fan of hers really, but she does pleasant music which is rather inoffensive, so it's worth a look:
link

Piss off.

Anyway. I’ve been grouchy all day because i’ve been so exhausted. Normally, for example, in the morning I’ll bound up and down the stairs of my house to eat breakfast etc even though it’s still 6:30 in the morning. Today I was lumbering along as though the effort needed to move my leg down a step was some extreme sort of torture – which of course it was really. Then when people were being fake ‘funny’ at work today I couldn’t even be bothered to do my normal false interested laugh and stuff – just look down, blink my eyes to try and make them less tired, and yawn internally. What is an internal yawn by the way>?
One of my favourite lines from today was when my friend Vici brought in some angel cakes to our staff room for everyone to eat. One of the lowly management serfs called out ‘did you make one for everyone?’ as though she was only allowed to bring in cakes if she made one for each and every person who wasn’t there at the moment she arrived. She replied, right on cue “I don’t have to be a socialist when I’m baking.”
I love that – SMACK YOU IN THE FACE!
I laughed at that, then went back to hating the place.

I worked twelve hours today

And as a result, all the emails I write come out complete gibberish - meaning I have to type each line about four times to make the spelling make sense, the ideas flow and the brain understand. I'm getting the impression that loads of sugar isn't as bad a thing as everyone says it is. To manage to stay alive over the last few days with the manic amount of overtime I'm putting in I've been having to increase my calorific intake by about 1000 calories a day - mostly done by eating candy bars chosed by looking at the ingredients list and seeing which ones have the MOST calories in them. It's a novel approach, but it appears to be working. Sugary, but bearable...
Over the next few weeks I'll be finding ravines in my teeth from the battering they're taking - a smooth ride this 'work' lark is not!

Checking me out

We’re in the middle of making a big mess at work, bitching over how hard we’re working, how little we’re being paid and how life isn’t funny when you’ve been working for ten hours already with two to go. We were standing around and a friend of mine looks at me distractedly – as though from afar – eyes lingering, and then says to my colleague:

“Patrick’s looking particularly sexy today isn’t he!”

I’ve been wrestling with the idea over the last few days. I’ve been tumbled by the realisation and the consequences. I don’t know what I’m trying to get. That was the first time I’ve ever been complimented on looking sexy by another guy. I can’t think of another instance of when I guy thought I looked hot or at least expressed the idea to me. I’m not the kind of person to fish for compliments or to approach people much so that’s, I’m sure, been a ‘limiting factor’ to use technical jargon.
What’s funny is that I didn’t look really any different to how I normally do – it was a standard kind of day with the standard kind of casual work clothes that I do.

Jet

"Never used your head
To find out what this whole thing meant

It's not what it seems
But it is
Timothy where have you been?
Timothy where have you been?"

I can't work out what this song is about, but a friend played the album at work today and the song captivated me. It’s melancholy and yet hopeful, lamenting without wailing. The song appears to be about a boy who's either left his girl or has been let down and run away from the problems. You're left wanting to know the problems of the erstwhile companion - to discover why he's disappeared and where he's now 'at'. The lyrics and vocals are simple but clean - rendering the song ideal for quietly singing under one's breath - the kind of sad song that can peculiarly be uplifting on a dark and cold night like tonight.
Sadly, Jet were proclaimed by the NME to the rulers of 2003. NME. It's like a slap in the face - the magazine that all make fun of for hailing a new band each week and honestly loving none of them. NME - what no-one trusts but some still buy for the nostalgia. I'd more likely believe the New York Post on music than the NME. At least with a tabloid you know when you're being bought out. Perhaps Jet would have made more of an impact in the UK if the mag had stayed away. Their website however, still boasts the quote along with a multitude of others from the publication. Poor things - they clearly need new PR management. Great music though.

Audio link of Timothy from the official site.
Jet Official site
Timothy Lyrics

A queer life

The other day my friend called me and I was sketching out prospective designs for interiors of my family's house which we're renovating.
The next day she called and I was on my hands and knees cleaning my bathroom.
Following this she rang and I was replacing some stitching on trousers which had broken.

She texts me the next day:

"You're so GAY!"

I love it when I get such nice compliments. It's from the heart.

My older sister just phoned me

She only does this when she feels that she owes me something - whether that be in her time or that she's just realised that we haven't 'talked' in ages. It's a situation that doesn't disagree with me - when she's around we never really talk properly but squabble and make asides to one-another. She is, I'm sure, a really fun person to be friends with, but to me she is always an older sister; one who thinks they know better than you, can direct you, and needs to take care of you. When we were struggling for things to talk about mentioned that it had been over a month since we'd last talked. I didn't know this and yet it still didn't mean anything to me. I'm sure if she were to come back to visit we could easily not have a proper 'talk' for over a month. Of course we can skirt around the issues that she might want to talk about and we could deride dreary music - but would still not bond. We've never been close - not talking for a month doesn't make me feel that we should be.

The most hilarious true blog entry ever.

It starts out simple and bordering on mundane. Keep on reading - it's worth the wait - the whole situation gets a whole lot more complicated!
From the wonderful Dirty Feet & Lily White Intentions:
"Every time I meet a blogger I haven’t met before, there’s a bit of a blind date quality to it. How will I know him? What if she stands me up? What if they’ve brought a fistfull of friends to stand and point and laugh at me? So when I went to Pescadero to meet Jill of Jaded Ju last Sunday, I was a little edgy, not knowing what to expect."

link

let's make fun of mac

Flashy video. For people who like macs - for people who don't.
Via Adrants. link

Didn't realise Justin was in the heat.

Newsday is saying that Timberlake was rather hasty to distance himself from the saga of Jackson's breasts - something the urban music audience has taken to heart none too well. I've heard nothing of this so far, so it's a controversy that is yet to show its face on the UK scene. Of course we don't get the exposure to US television that would really bring about a reaction, but the attitude of the article reminds me of how easy it could be for Justin to slip back into boyband obscurity. He was derided for so long whilst in the *N sync (sp?!) group, if his tightly honed image was not maintained to the utmost perfection in a more consistent way, he could loose the style credits now being lavished upon him. link

Have only just returned from the play...

"A Doll's House" by Henrik Ibsen performed at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre:

Nora is everything a man could desire; a loving, loyal wife and wonderful mother. Her husband has just landed a job finally giving the family financial security. Nora couldn´t be happier.

Yet, as characters from the past enter the cheerful family home, cracks gradually appear on its facade. And as the brutal outside world finally bears down, an intense struggle develops between love and truth, honour and betrayal, and finally, between a desperate husband and his once innocent wife.

Rep page

The play warms up in this production through the actors appearing to find their roles in the latter two thirds where they had previously been simply working the stage. The tone of the work is a harsh and accusatory one - an aspect I was surprised by, for the play allows for a relatively gentle adaptation. The actors in leading roles are prefectly suited though - Tara Fitzgerald is a stunning Nora, bringing across the almost schizophrenic nature of the character - jumping around as her moral torturers tease her to near destruction. Torvald is acted superbly as well - showing fully the controlling nature the husband had over wife - like a puppet master manipulating manequins, he was dominating her life so much she didn't realise it was happening.
The set also complements the arrangement and subject - with furniture dressing of the doll's house style, whilst the whole stage is framed in a large bevel - giving the appearance of a framed work of art, or a domestic scene.

According to The Times:
“The Norwegian title is Et Dukkehjem, which translates as ‘a doll home’,” she explains. “Ibsen deliberately chose not to use the normal term, dukkehus, meaning doll’s house, but created a new compound word. This means that it is Torvald’s home that is a doll home and that Nora is simply one of the dolls that live in it.”Late found accents in tone make the play a more lilting experience rather than the initial continual level of excitement that makes on wish for the interval to come - simply to stop the shoutingly loud voice of Mr Krogstad.

Genius babies - Nobel prize winning jacks.

"Twenty years ago, on an outbuilding of his Southern California estate, tycoon Robert K. Graham began a most remarkable project: the Repository for Germinal Choice, a sperm bank for Nobel Prize winners. Part altruism, part social engineering, part science experiment, the repository was supposed to help reverse the genetic decay Graham saw all around him by preserving and multiplying the best genes of his generation. By the time Graham's repository closed in 1999, his genius sperm had been responsible for more than 200 children."

link

Back from the hockey tournament

And on returning from this event which my sister was playing in - in the numbing wind I might add - we go online to try and check out the photos taken there. There was a professional photography company there taking shots of the games and of the players. Whilst looking for this site we come across a page of musings by team-members of Slough Ladies Hockey Club. It's hilarious. link



New phrase = "I feel as fresh as a daisy at the height of summer during a hose-pipe ban".

Never go to this club

Mainly because it's BORING! I went out with the rest if the crowd last night in a vain attempt to have a good time. We went to our usual haunt, DV8 for a thursday night out. However, having waited 45 minutes in the line outside we decided (on downpour of rain) to skip the idiotic idea and go somewhere else. We'd moved half the length of a car during the wait - not worth it. As a result we headed off to Subway City - a club out in the middle of nowhere, removed from the rest of the scene, completely on its own. Don't go. It wasn't worth it; though the alcohol cheap, that was little use to me - I wasn't drinking. The atmosphere was languid, the DJ pathetic (playing Jamelia up against 80's Jackson), the crowd geriatric. Subway City - somewhere to avoid at all costs.

A couple of us went back to Richie's after for a drink. His spinning skills were more advanced than those I'd paid good money to listen to - and less ear-shatteringly loud! DV8 is forgiven - next time, just deal with the blasted line faster!

There was the £100 cheque

Having returned from helping my grandparents over the weekend I was kind of thrown in my timing of life. Things weren't happening when I expected them to and I couldn't get into the swing of things. Partly as a result of this I didn't bother to empty the bag I'd taken with me until yesterday - removing all the old books, clothes and general nicknacks that I'd brought down with me 'just in case'. In a side pocket of the bag I discover an envelope addressed to me. On opening, I find a cheque made out for £100 in my name from my Grandfather. I don't know but at the time I couldn't decide whether that was completely inappropriate or just misguided. In a way though I felt bad that he thought that it was the right thing to do - something that I'd want. There's nothing more pleasing than to help someone out when they really need it. It was clear to me that they valued my being there, doing the simple tasks that would have simply been overwhelming otherwise.
I ripped it up and today have phoned them to tell them so. It was the best thing to do - I didn't need the money anyway!

blah/

The week is turning out well because I'm sleeping. People don't sleep enough. One thing I've found though - if you don't eat - you'll just wake up in the middle of the night, plauged by hunger. That's worse than not going to sleep early at all. Good for the eyes too - less bloodshot when you've got more sleep.
Another thing - Alaina's a star.

It was like cook, clean, cook, clean.

Which was

• exhausting - because I had to do everything and yet
• rewarding - because they appreciated it so much.

I think it was worth it because they got so much use out of my being there - just being able to do the things that they can't do and I'll do in the blink of an eye. Can't carry a bowl of water - what could be easier for me but impossible for someone on crutches.