OMO At The Movies: "Zodiac"

Going to the movies alot recently, huh? We made the most of Orange Wednesday and dragged along OBM's to our local cinema. What we saved on the 2 for 1 offer we ended up spending on food - OBM#2 managed to get through a hotdog, large popcorn, nachos, drink and a large tub of Ben & Jerry's all by himself. He's a big lad though. I limited myself to only a large tub of Ben & Jerry's, which, true to form, I immediately threw down myself. Luckily OBM#2 also threw ice-cream down him, and then stepped in the nachos tray he left on the floor, catapulting salsa over his trainers and up his legs. We looked like we'd had a food fight. Hmmm, there's a thought....

Sigh.

Anyway, about the film. It's long. Very long. Like 2 hours 40 or something. Have all the Hollywood editors gone on holiday at the moment? Are they all on a beach somewhere laughing at their dastardly plan to bore everyone in the world to death with over-long movies?

It's a pretty good film, especially if you're into a ridiculous amount of details, in a way similar to JFK (although that film didn't hold my attention as well as Zodiac). I'd suggest taking a notepad. The central performances are good, even if Mark Ruffalo seems to be a cross between Columbo and Poncherello from CHiPs. As usual I found myself strangely drawn to Robert Downey Jr (who plays Paul Avery). He's SO not my type, but I SO would.

I'd suggest waiting til it's out on DVD rather than enduring a numb arse down the local Multiplex. Definitely worth a look though.

By the way, this is my 150th post. Who'da thought it?

OMO At The Movies: "28 Weeks Later"

I actually went to see this a few weeks ago, but completely forgot to tell you about it and spoil the plot for you. I say "plot" like it has one worth spoiling. I mean, in a nutshell, lots of people get eaten. The end.

So, what happens? Well, it goes a little something like this. Er, this contains the entire plot, so if you don't want it utterly ruined I'd stop reading.

Dad and Mum hide in house. The infected get in. Dad runs away and leaves Mum to get eaten. Charming. Some week later - 28 in fact - all of the infected have died of starvation so the Americans turn up to start the clean-up and re-population. With lots of guns, as per usual. They create a safe zone, and we are treated to aerial shots of Canary Wharf, which looks like the start of The Apprentice. We spot our home in one of the shots and point at the screen so that the whole audience know where we live.

(This is where I really start to spoil things)

The Dad's two Children are allowed back into the country to be re-united with him (they were away when the outbreak occurred). Dad tells Children that Mum was dead before he ran away. He lies. Children want keep-sake to remember Mum by so venture out of heavily guarded safe zone perimeter (have you noticed that guards NEVER pay enough attention in films) and go to their old home. Mum's there, clearly not as dead as everyone thought. Americans turn up and drag everyone back to base.

Mum turns out to be a carrier of the virus. Dad goes to see her to say sorry for leaving her to get eaten, like you do. She kisses him, he gets the virus and goes on a biting spree. Civilians are herded into a basement (apparently there are 15,000 people in the safe zone, although it looks like only a couple of hundred at most), where Dad breaks in and starts to chow down. The lights conveniently go into "strobe mode" - apparently this basement is normally used as a nightclub - so you don't get to see much of the action. Epileptics in the audience start to froth at the mouth. Civilians break free and flee, chased by a growing number of the infected. Americans decide to just kill everyone and be done with it. Like in Vietnam. A small group of civilians, including the Children, manage to flee into Central London, where they're picked off one by one in the most gory fashion that the film's makers could think up. There are lots of chases, and the Dad turns up in lots of improbably coincidental places. The shakey camera work is starting to make me want to puke. We get to see parts of London looking deserted that we didn't get to see in the first film. "Cabaret" is on in the West End, we note. The Boyf and I have a quick chat about how good it was whilst the characters continue to run around screaming.

Eventually everyone is dead apart from the two Children, who are finally rescued by an American with a helicopter. Apparently they let him into the army after he got out of Oz. And he can walk again! The Boyf hasn't seen Oz so didn't understand this reference at all. They fly to France where the Children, who are obviously carrying the virus, infect the locals. Clearly they've forgotten that they told us that mainland Europe was infected in the first film. For some reason France being infected results in a cheer from certain members of the audience. Those from Bermondsey in all likelihood.

The End.

So, is it any good? Well, what does it matter - I've just told you the entire plot so you don't have to see it.

Actually I did rather enjoy it. It's like the first film only with more killings, has more parts of London looking barren (which we like), and it doesn't turn crap 2/3rds of the way through like the first one did. And it's short, which is an oft-overlooked bonus. Please take note the makers of Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean et al.

Next up I spoil the plot of "Zodiac". Er...

OMO At The Movies: "Spiderman 3"

I finally got around to seeing it, and wished I hadn't bothered.

Here's my review, as informative as ever. I'll try not to spoil anything. Frankly, I don't need to - the movie spoils a perfectly good franchise all on it's own.

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Then there was a break where we find out that all French restaurants have to have a comedy Monty Python style Maitre'D, that Peter Parker's somehow managed to squeeze in piano and dance lessons (you think his schedule would be tight enough), and that the CGI is less convincing than the animated Spiderman tv series from the late 60's. Oh, and the audience is subjected to a plot hole big enough to land a plane in. A badly realised CGI plane though it may be.

Then it's back to...

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

Ow! Girder!

And then we get to the end where the final twists actually negate much of the movie you've just uncomfortably sat through, along with a large chunk of Spiderman 2 to boot.

Can you tell I wasn't impressed?

Asleep On The Job

So, what did I do at the weekend? Well, I fell asleep at an orgy.

The Boyf's Mum has just come back from a world tour - well, ok, Singapore, Fiji, New Zealand and Los Angeles - so we travelled up to the Midlands on Friday evening to spend the weekend looking at the inevitable photos. We avoided her Friday evening though, and then again all day on Saturday, during which time the cold I caught some time last week took hold, my sinuses blocked up and my eyes started to stream. Come Saturday night I didn't feel well at all, but The Boyf thought we ought to go out so we headed into Birmingham for a quiet drink in a bar. Unfortunately, said bar was packed and buzzing, but it did make me forget my aching head for a while. The upshot was that The Boyf decided I obviously felt well enough to decamp to a sex club with the group of guys we were talking to, and I couldn't be bothered to protest. I figured we'd spend an hour there, where I'd hide in a corner, and then we could head home and everyone would be happy.

By 4am (!) I was having trouble. I'd propped up a corner of the bar and drunk so much I could barely stand up, which is probably why I was reminded the next day that I'd ended up flopped over the pool table with my jeans round my ankles being rimmed by two guys in turn. Then the bar closed - hurrah! - only for The Boyf to suggest we all go back to a hotel room and shag. Boo! Could I feel any less sexy? So we wandered back to the hotel where we were refused entry (only 2 allowed per room key) - hurrah! - only for The Boyf, who's not easily swayed, to suggest we go to someone's house instead. Boo again! So off we went in cabs to some random guys house, and once there I immediately fell asleep in a chair. They quickly woke me up and ushered me into a bedroom, where I dropped straight off to sleep. The next time I awoke was to heed a call of nature. What confronted me in the other room wasn't a pretty sight. There was lots of nakedness - some of it not all that pleasant - toys and assorted paraphenalia. Someone shouted "He's awake!" and heads turned in my direction. I felt a bit like a Christian that was about to be thrown to the lions, so I mumbled something about needing sleep, and rushed back to the safety of the bedroom. The next time I woke up - still fully dressed I might add - I was surrounded by sleeping naked men. As a young boy this would have been the stuff of much fantasy. When did I lose my innocense? (No need to answer that, thanks. It was 1987 in a cemetary).

Later on, when we were alone, The Boyf said that everyone had been in to see me at some point or another and tried to wake me up, but to no avail. My stock has definitely fallen in Birmingham. I'm going to have to go back and have sex with everyone I meet just to try to claw some of my reputation back.

And then of course we had to head to The Boyf's Mum to be shown the holiday snaps. Deep joy.

Next week your intrepid OMO brings you reviews of various films and club nights he's slept through.

In Which Your OMO Says Something He's Probably Going To Regret Later

I was really upset yesterday morning when I turned on the news to find the Cutty Sark in flames. Greenwich is one of my favourite places, and I love that damn tea clipper. The police suspect arson. Er, like, duh! A wooden ship isn't going to catch alight in the middle of the night on its own. Ok, yeah, there's the chance of an electrical fire (cause someone could easily have left a Pop Tart in the ship's toaster!). Or perhaps the ghost of the old Captain came back drunk from a pub feeling peckish and put the chip pan on before nodding off to sleep. Please! Some little shit thought it would be funny to burn it. Well, I hope they catch him and make him walk the plank, preferably alight so he knows what it feels like. Compassionate, aren't I?

In other news, that Maddy girl is still missing. Has noone ever watched a decent thriller, or ever paid attention to these things in the past? The perpetrator is always the Dad. As an example, as you may have noticed, The Boyf and I have been watching Twin Peaks recently, from start to end. So, The Boyf says to me "Who do you think killed Laura Palmer?", and I'm like "Duh, it's always the Father".

So I reckon they ought to question Maddy's Dad a bit more carefully. Think about it; the family goes for a meal and leaves the kids alone (obviously the Dad's idea, Mums don't think like that). Every 30 minutes one of them goes to check, so when it's the Dad's turn he's already arranged for someone to be outside with a car. He carries Maddy out, who won't be crying cause it's her Dad (thus noone hears anything), and puts her in the car which speeds off with her. He then goes back to the restaurant and says that all the kids are fast asleep, giving the man in the car at least a 30 minute head start before the Mum goes to check, finds Maddy is missing and raises the alarm.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think the Dad means any harm. The reward is now £2.5million. So a third party calls up to say where she is, she's found safe and well and is returned to the parents, and behind the scenes the Dad gets his cut of the reward money (I'd want 75%). I know they're doctors or something but they obviously need the money. Have you seen those t-shirts and shorts the Dad's been wearing on tv?

Now you see why I don't usually comment on anything in the news.

It's Booked!

We've finally booked our flights for this years holiday. I'm taking The Boyf to San Francisco in August as he's always wanted to go (he's a big Tales Of The City fan), and I went in 2005 before I met him and loved the place so can't wait to get back and show him around. When I say "I'm taking him" I don't mean, like, in my luggage or something. He's not my pet, although I do wonder whether he shouldn't be quarantined before being let into the US. What I meant was that I booked the flights and surprised him with the tickets. I'm such a great boyfriend sometimes. Only sometimes, mind.

We've still got to sort out our accomodation and then save up our spending money, but with the exchange rate being what it is we'll be acting like millionaires by the time we change our money over. At least we can act like millionaires as long as noone notices we're flying economy. Shhhh! As Pam Ann would say (whilst tapping a champagne flute): *ting, ting, ting* "Listen economy, that's GLAAAAAASS!!!".

So, what are we gonna do when we get there? Well, all the usual I should imagine - get drunk and sleep with the locals. Oh, we'll probably visit Alcatraz too as I didn't manage to squeeze it in last time between all the beer busts and men. I jest of course. Those were the days before I was a cheap tramp - I actually didn't sleep with a single man on my last trip. I know, incredible isn't it? I'll have to make up for it this year.

So, what are we doing this weekend to celebrate the booking of our first proper holiday together? We're going to Birmingham. Sheesh!

Warning! Eurovision Blog Alert!

I'm utterly amazed that even the Irish and the Maltese (I do love the Maltese you know. If any are reading get in touch and we’ll do lunch. Or sex. Your choice) gave us any points at Eurovision, although I have to say that even the dreaded Scooch were no worse than most of the other dross inflicted on my already troubled eardrums (I'd been to see my Mum earlier in the day).

What's made me really laugh is the level of debate that's sprung up about this. Should we pull out? (We pay something like 1/4 of the cost of running Eurovision and then get a proverbial slap round the chops when it comes to the voting). Will any Western European country ever win again? Some twerp suggested we ban countries voting for their neighbours. I mean, how is this worked out? Technically the UK doesn't have an adjoining neighbour, whereas Moldova probably has like 5 or something (sorry, I can't be bothered to look it up). Oh, damn it, the perfectionist Scorpio that I am won't allow me not to know which countries adjoin Moldova. Hang on, I'm gonna have to look at a map...

(insert "on hold" music here)

Right, Moldova is only bordered by two countries; Ukraine and Romania. I should have used Slovakia as my example, it being bordered by the Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Romania, Hungary and Austria.

Sorry, where was I?

Oh yeah, I'm just amazed that The Boyf and I decided to stay in on Saturday night and watch it. Ok, I’m not THAT amazed – it was my suggestion after all. We were on our own too, although I did have both of OBM's on the phone throughout to appraise songs and outfits. Naturally they voted for Ukraine (the bacofoil-wrapped drag queen with the star on his head), whereas I'd found myself cavorting around our living room trailing a chiffon headscarf to the tribal drumming of the Bulgarian entry, so thought it might be worth the price of a text vote. When my phone bill comes in and I realise it cost me a fiver I'm not going to be impressed though.

In the end it was won by a Serbain lesbian. Who knew lesbianity was even legal over there? She looked like a "Who Ate All The Pies?" version of k.d. lang without the vocal ability, which, when you think about it, kind of equates to Meatloaf. And I don’t care what you read elsewhere, the song was dull, dull, dull.

Anyway, after all that excitement (!) The Boyf and I decided to go out. Yes, it was nearly midnight, and by the time we'd both showered, trimmed beards and decided what we were going to wear it was about 1am. At that time of the morning the easiest bet is XXL, and it wasn't too bad even though they had a Best of Eurovision CD on repeat in the back bar.

We had a dance, I got ignored by the South African again, and we went back home at 4am feeling better for getting out for a couple of hours.

The Monday Morning BlogBite - My Tarot

Inspired by one of my favourite blogs (The Farmboyz' Perge Modo) I took the "Which Tarot Card Are You?" test this morning, and this is the result. I even put 'Mellow' as my answer to one of the questions. Last Friday I also found out that my birthday falls on "National Occult Day". The Boyf is not surprised by any of this having noticed how scared animals are of me, and the fact that we can't go to a garden centre cause all the flowers die. Mother's Day is always a problem.

You are The Devil

Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession

The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.

Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Skank Alert!

One of my team - a girl from Essex, naturally - has just admitted that she likes to make pasta and then put gravy on it. When the derision started she stuck up for herself by saying that she puts tinned sweetcorn in it too. Oh, that's ok then!

I called her a skank, and now she's not talking to me.

Note to self; never take my team out for a meal.

Shy or Arrogant?

I must admit that I'm suffering from a bit of writer's block, which I'm actually kinda pleased about. I mean, who knew that I'd write enough to get a blockage?

The problem is that I decided early on not to comment on anything that's going on in the world. So may others do it so much better than I could, so what's the point in me joining in? The problem is that it only leaves my own life to comment on, and as you've noticed my life seems to simply involve going to bars, getting drunk and sleeping with men. Nothing wrong with that, but there's only so much you can say about it.

So, what now? Do I try to add some form of social commentary? Do I delve into politics? Or do I stick with what I'm good at - sleeping around and telling you the gory details? Answers on a postcard please...

In the meantime let me tell you about something that annoyed me at the weekend.

Now, at 5 feet 8 I'm kinda short, and hairy. I'm not slim, or overly fat, or very well muscled; rather, I'm just a bit chunky. So I fall into a camp (ahem) somewhere between Bears and MuscleBears. Most of my friends are pretty well built though, so I tend to hang around with guys who, under other circumstances, I would find rather intimidating (and I must admit to finding most of my friends rather sexy). As a result of who I hang out with I get to meet some pretty hot guys and - this is where the annoying bit comes in - I largely get ignored by them. It's like I just don't show up on their radar, like I'm flying too low or something.

A case in point; there's a certain guy, a South African, who's reasonably well known on the London MuscleBear scene and who The Boyf once had a little tryst with. They shagged, basically. As a result if we see him out The Boyf always goes over to say Hi. The first couple of times The Boyf made a point of introducing me - "You know my boyfriend, right?" - and the South African would kind of grunt and nod in my direction, and afterwards The Boyf and I would always disagree on whether he was shy or just plain arrogant.

So, how can you tell, if someone is a little stand-offish, whether they're shy or arrogant?

Last weekend we bumped into the South African in the RVT. The Boyf gave him a cheery "Hi!" as he walked past and got one back, and a hug. The South African looked me straight in the eyes so I gave him a big cheery "Hello !". And you know what he did? Looked me square in the eyes then turned his back on me.

As far as I'm concerned he's burned his final bridge with me. The Boyf's all like "Oh give him another chance. He's just shy. Maybe he didn't recognise you", and I'm all like "He DID recognise me. He's been introduced to me umpteen times over the last couple of years. He's just an arrogant twat".

So I've devised my revenge. I'm gonna get really muscley and he's gonna want to speak to me. And I shall take great delight in completely ignoring him.

Possibly.

A Little Sombre

Yesterday I attended my first gay funeral, rather incredibly. I guess I'm of the generation just behind the first AIDS generation, and as such I've been fortunate enough, because of the advances in medication, not to lose friends to the disease. But yesterday, as around 150 guys I knew filed into the chapel, I started to have an idea of what it must have felt like in those bad old days when peer-groups were literally decreasing in number by the week, when groups of friends were decimated.

The funeral was an odd experience. Most of us are only used to seeing each other in bars and clubs, possibly not looking our best, so it was strange seeing us all in suits and ties looking very respectable. And looking very similar too - a sea of dark suits, cropped hair and beards, we made quite an impression walking through parts of London in large groups, our numbers swelling the closer we got to the chapel, a little clone army out in the Spring sunshine.

Of course afterwards we went to a bar and got drunk, and then our little army split into groups to go our separate ways. Our way (The Boyf and I, plus OMB#1 & 2 and assorted others) was to a rib restaurant to eat loads of meat, then go back to OBM's place to drink some more and reminisce.

All I keep hoping is that this isn't just the start. That there will be no more deaths in my peer-group for a good long while. And I keep thinking that this little army of ours shouldn't be waiting for a death to come together like we did. There were so many things said about our dead friend in his eulogy that I never realised about him, fascinating things that I wished I'd asked him about. And now the chance has passed. We deserve to get to know one another better than we do.

Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.

G-Rated Round-Up

You may well have noticed, Dear Reader, that for the last couple of weeks I've not felt the need come Tuesday to detail my sex life. There's a simple reason for this - I don't have a sex life. Actually, that's not quite true, but I've not had any new conquests and I don't want to bore you with details about sleeping with people you've already heard of. I mean, how dull is that???

So today I thought I'd just share a couple of photos with you that I've taken on our recent travels.


Here's a picture of a baby ray, taken in Brighton SeaLife Centre, taken at a jaunty angle. He was ever so cute. Looked a bit like an embryonic human (with gills) trapped in a duvet cover.


Here's a picture of Warwick Castle, taken from The Mound (the original part of the Castle built by William The Conqueror in 1068). Almost everyone you can see are French. Not sure what else to say about that really.


And here's a photo of a building that isn't St Paul's Cathedral, taken last Sunday. I know, not terribly informative am I? Well, let's just say that this building is in Greenwich and has something to do with the military. I'll find out more and come back to you.

So there you go. Some lovely photos to show your Mum.