Have you noticed how often I'm going to the pictures (aw! Quaint) these days? Frankly, it's all I'm doing. No, I'm not going to moan again about my social life being dull. But it IS dammit! Anyway, after a slightly false start where I drove us to the wrong Multiplex (!) I finally got around to seeing WALL-E last night, a film I'd been looking forward to since I read the premise last summer.
So, was it any good? Indupitubly, yes. I loved every moment, and rather obviously ended up crying. (I looked around at everyone else, and yes, I was the only one in tears. Again). I'm having a bad few weeks, ok.
I won't bore you with the story, but the whole thing is a rather touching love story set against the back-drop of an abandoned Earth, after humans have managed to dump so much waste it has become uninhabitable. The female of the middle-aged couple sitting behind us was heard to comment (about 15 minutes in): "I think there's a message in here somewhere". Sheesh, do you think Lady?
I found the first 30 minutes incredibly touching, as we're introduced to our unspeaking titular hero and his world purely by the visuals and his actions. Being an overly romantic, slightly melodramatic gay, I felt his loneliness keenly within my soul. Jeez. I saw The Boyf look at me, "You're going to cry in a minute aren't you?". Apparently I'm all too obvious.
The second part of the film takes on a more obvious action slant, a la Toy Story, to keep the kids hooked, and it never really reaches the intelligent and moving heights of the first part. As a whole the film's very well paced, and short, the result being that it all seems to be over a bit too quickly.
I found it interesting that the humans are less detailed visually and have less emotional depth than any of the robots, and WALL-E in particular is beautifully rendered. He passes off as more life-like than almost anything in Spiderman 3. Yeah, yeah, here I go about Spidey3 again. The animation is really beautiful, and is perfectly set off with the score, which consists of a melding of new music and songs from "Hello Dolly!".
Criticisms? Yeah, I didn't want it to end. Apart from that the whole "Man is killing Earth" thing is shoved in our face at every available opportunity, but then I mustn't forget this is a kids film first and foremost.
On the whole it reminded me of why as a child one of the most moving films I remember is "Silent Running", which is the adult version of WALL-E when all is said and done. I'm just amazed that there's been no mention of a remake, in this day and age.
In two weeks I really think I've seen the best two films of this year, and I'd be very surprised if anything else comes close to this and "The Dark Knight".
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Brighton Pride
So, how are you today?
Good, good.
Yes, well that's all very well but you've neglected to ask me about Brighton Pride.
So, without further ado, I'll fill you in on the weekend's shenanigans, few and far between though they were.
The Boyf and I got up early on Saturday to catch an early train, but like all good gays we couldn't make up our minds what we wanted to wear, and thus left about an hour later than we wanted to and ended up missing the parade. It was just as well because it appeared that it had rained. We made our way straight to Preston Park, and it was fortunate that we'd had plenty of hot weather as it had stopped the place turning into a mud bath, although that might have been fun in retrospect.
The first thing that crossed our minds as we walked to the park was "What an ugly crowd", a sentiment echoed later on (more about that in a bit). Yes, not one pretty person in sight. I observed that, with the roads being closed off and people wandering up the middle of the streets, it all looked a bit post-apocalyptic. In fact, the way most people were dressed and were shambling about it all looked rather too "Dawn Of The Dead" for my liking. I did think about a little light looting, as it didn't look like anyone would notice, but thought better of it.
The park was great, as usual. Brighton really knows how to do Pride, and it makes you realise that London sorely misses having an event in a park at the end, although Trafalgar Square and Soho do admirable jobs. Rather obviously we hung out in the bear tent, which is always located right at the entrance next to a large bank of toilets and a decent array of burger vans. That way the bears don't have to move very much and can just eat, drink and lollop about.
On one of our little excursions around the park I was stopped by an "Oi!" from a group of older gentlemen sitting on a pink blanket (complete with picnic) who each resembled, in part, Quentin Crisp, like each couldn't manage the complete look so had divided it up between them to make things easier. A floppy hat here, a chiffon neck-scarf there. Actually, they were all a bit Hinge & Bracket without the wigs, and most came complete with half-rimmed glasses dangling from chains about their necks.
Quentin 1: "I'm terribly sorry about the "Oi". How very rude of me".
He reached up and took my right hand in both of his.
Quentin 1: "Now then deary - would you be so kind as to tell me where the fat people hang out?"
I raised one eyebrow. Then the other for emphasis.
Quentin: "Oh, good Lord, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that our friend has just sent us a text thingy to say he's 'hanging out with the fatties' and we don't know where he means. You look like you might know where that is. Oh, this isn't coming out very well. Damn it, and I think you're very sexy. You're very much my type you know dear."
He pats my hand.
OMO: "Thank you, that's very kind. I think."
Quentin 2: "Well, you're a bit of a bear and when our friend said "fatties" we figured that's what he meant."
Quentin 1: "Yes, quite. So, do you have any ideas? I mean, look as us sweetness, we need a bit of help finding anything"
OMO: "Well, the bear tent is that large one down the front that smells of cooking fat. You can't miss it, trust me"
Quentin 1: "Oh good, thank you deary. You are kind to some old gays. So, will you be there?"
OMO: "I should think so, yes"
Quentin 1: "Wonderful! You are my type you know. Like a hairy little bouncy castle. Come along girls, let's go and see the fatties"
Elsewhere I managed not to be insulted by anyone, and in fact The Boyf and I were crowned "Most Beautiful People At Pride" by a mildly drunk women from London in a rather lovely dress, who accosted us later in the evening to ask why everyone was so ugly in Brighton. We agreed that they were, but didn't know why. So we had a long chat about what it meant to be a bear - we get that from straight women a lot - and then she wandered off to catch a train home and "get away from all the ugliness". Bless.
We'd ended up spending most of the day with TPWWSC and R, and also with the sexy Iraqi and his partner, and as usual I ended up snogging TPWWSC and getting myself all worked up. I do wish that boy wasn't so damn sexy. Or married. Oops, probably shouldn’t say that. So, swiftly moving on…
In general we had a wonderful day, which wasn't even spoilt by the ridiculous queue to get on the train at the end of the night. Roll on next year.
Good, good.
Yes, well that's all very well but you've neglected to ask me about Brighton Pride.
So, without further ado, I'll fill you in on the weekend's shenanigans, few and far between though they were.
The Boyf and I got up early on Saturday to catch an early train, but like all good gays we couldn't make up our minds what we wanted to wear, and thus left about an hour later than we wanted to and ended up missing the parade. It was just as well because it appeared that it had rained. We made our way straight to Preston Park, and it was fortunate that we'd had plenty of hot weather as it had stopped the place turning into a mud bath, although that might have been fun in retrospect.
The first thing that crossed our minds as we walked to the park was "What an ugly crowd", a sentiment echoed later on (more about that in a bit). Yes, not one pretty person in sight. I observed that, with the roads being closed off and people wandering up the middle of the streets, it all looked a bit post-apocalyptic. In fact, the way most people were dressed and were shambling about it all looked rather too "Dawn Of The Dead" for my liking. I did think about a little light looting, as it didn't look like anyone would notice, but thought better of it.
The park was great, as usual. Brighton really knows how to do Pride, and it makes you realise that London sorely misses having an event in a park at the end, although Trafalgar Square and Soho do admirable jobs. Rather obviously we hung out in the bear tent, which is always located right at the entrance next to a large bank of toilets and a decent array of burger vans. That way the bears don't have to move very much and can just eat, drink and lollop about.
On one of our little excursions around the park I was stopped by an "Oi!" from a group of older gentlemen sitting on a pink blanket (complete with picnic) who each resembled, in part, Quentin Crisp, like each couldn't manage the complete look so had divided it up between them to make things easier. A floppy hat here, a chiffon neck-scarf there. Actually, they were all a bit Hinge & Bracket without the wigs, and most came complete with half-rimmed glasses dangling from chains about their necks.
Quentin 1: "I'm terribly sorry about the "Oi". How very rude of me".
He reached up and took my right hand in both of his.
Quentin 1: "Now then deary - would you be so kind as to tell me where the fat people hang out?"
I raised one eyebrow. Then the other for emphasis.
Quentin: "Oh, good Lord, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that our friend has just sent us a text thingy to say he's 'hanging out with the fatties' and we don't know where he means. You look like you might know where that is. Oh, this isn't coming out very well. Damn it, and I think you're very sexy. You're very much my type you know dear."
He pats my hand.
OMO: "Thank you, that's very kind. I think."
Quentin 2: "Well, you're a bit of a bear and when our friend said "fatties" we figured that's what he meant."
Quentin 1: "Yes, quite. So, do you have any ideas? I mean, look as us sweetness, we need a bit of help finding anything"
OMO: "Well, the bear tent is that large one down the front that smells of cooking fat. You can't miss it, trust me"
Quentin 1: "Oh good, thank you deary. You are kind to some old gays. So, will you be there?"
OMO: "I should think so, yes"
Quentin 1: "Wonderful! You are my type you know. Like a hairy little bouncy castle. Come along girls, let's go and see the fatties"
Elsewhere I managed not to be insulted by anyone, and in fact The Boyf and I were crowned "Most Beautiful People At Pride" by a mildly drunk women from London in a rather lovely dress, who accosted us later in the evening to ask why everyone was so ugly in Brighton. We agreed that they were, but didn't know why. So we had a long chat about what it meant to be a bear - we get that from straight women a lot - and then she wandered off to catch a train home and "get away from all the ugliness". Bless.
We'd ended up spending most of the day with TPWWSC and R, and also with the sexy Iraqi and his partner, and as usual I ended up snogging TPWWSC and getting myself all worked up. I do wish that boy wasn't so damn sexy. Or married. Oops, probably shouldn’t say that. So, swiftly moving on…
In general we had a wonderful day, which wasn't even spoilt by the ridiculous queue to get on the train at the end of the night. Roll on next year.
Friday, August 01, 2008
OMO's Gig Review: "KylieX2008"
So, on Tuesday night a little group of us gays (6 in all) went to see Miss Minogue the Elder at the O2, each of us obviously giving a reason for going which was quickly undermined by the fact that we all knew all of the words to all of the songs.
Before I give you a completely useless review I would just like to add that only in Gayland could 50% of our little group be made up of porn stars. It'd had been arranged by a friend of ours and we hadn't thought (oddly) to ask who was going, so were rather pleasantly surprised to find ourselves squeezed between some rather lovely, sexy men. Who were all, to a man, completely marvellous company.
Anyway, on with the show; Kylie was of course utterly fabulous. The set comprised most of her current album (surprise!), with a good sprinkling of older hits.
As usual with Kylie it's all about the show, and the resulting set pieces and costume changes were pretty wonderful. The stage itself was incredible - similar to George Michael's stage where the back screen scrolled across the stage itself - Kylie's entire stage was lit from below and matched the patterns of the movable back screens. The whole thing was an array of lights, and was used very very well.
The downside to all the costume changes are the fact that the show never really got into its stride. We'd have three or four songs and then everything would stop for a bit, so we never really got into a momentum until very close to the end. In fact, I'd say it was only the encore which really got everyone up on their feet. And I really don't care for singers who leave the stage part way through a song to change whilst leaving backing singers to finish it off.
Trying to promote the album meant that some of the song choices didn't really work ("Speakerphone" is not a good way to start a show, and was thus followed with "Can't Get You Out Of My Head"). The weaker songs were certainly current album tracks (hello "Nu-Di-Ty" and "Heart Beat Rock"), although "In My Arms" (which we rather obviously sung as "How does it feel in my arse?") stood up surprisingly well. Wasn't too sure about the cover of "Copa Cabana" either, but it was certainly interesting.
Highlights for me were "Shocked", "The One", "Flower" (a new song), "Kids" (always good for a sing-a-long), and "Slow", although the winner on the night had to be "Your Disco Needs You" (but perhaps that was just because we danced ourselves silly)
All in all a great show, topped off by the 6 of us ending up in a karaoke bar afterwards. Ah, porn stars and karaoke, what a surreal combination.
Before I give you a completely useless review I would just like to add that only in Gayland could 50% of our little group be made up of porn stars. It'd had been arranged by a friend of ours and we hadn't thought (oddly) to ask who was going, so were rather pleasantly surprised to find ourselves squeezed between some rather lovely, sexy men. Who were all, to a man, completely marvellous company.
Anyway, on with the show; Kylie was of course utterly fabulous. The set comprised most of her current album (surprise!), with a good sprinkling of older hits.
As usual with Kylie it's all about the show, and the resulting set pieces and costume changes were pretty wonderful. The stage itself was incredible - similar to George Michael's stage where the back screen scrolled across the stage itself - Kylie's entire stage was lit from below and matched the patterns of the movable back screens. The whole thing was an array of lights, and was used very very well.
The downside to all the costume changes are the fact that the show never really got into its stride. We'd have three or four songs and then everything would stop for a bit, so we never really got into a momentum until very close to the end. In fact, I'd say it was only the encore which really got everyone up on their feet. And I really don't care for singers who leave the stage part way through a song to change whilst leaving backing singers to finish it off.
Trying to promote the album meant that some of the song choices didn't really work ("Speakerphone" is not a good way to start a show, and was thus followed with "Can't Get You Out Of My Head"). The weaker songs were certainly current album tracks (hello "Nu-Di-Ty" and "Heart Beat Rock"), although "In My Arms" (which we rather obviously sung as "How does it feel in my arse?") stood up surprisingly well. Wasn't too sure about the cover of "Copa Cabana" either, but it was certainly interesting.
Highlights for me were "Shocked", "The One", "Flower" (a new song), "Kids" (always good for a sing-a-long), and "Slow", although the winner on the night had to be "Your Disco Needs You" (but perhaps that was just because we danced ourselves silly)
All in all a great show, topped off by the 6 of us ending up in a karaoke bar afterwards. Ah, porn stars and karaoke, what a surreal combination.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
OMO At The Movies: "The Dark Knight"
Now, if you want to see a dark movie this is the one for you. Considering the constraints of it being a superhero movie I think they've done a marvellous job of creating something with real depth and interest. Sure, you've got to have the chase scenes, and the explosions, and you've got to have lots of fighting, but it never feels like a film which is purely built around its set pieces. With so many films of this type you can see the ham-fisted ways of teeing up the fight scenes, but with this they feel properly integrated into the plot. It doesn't feel like a number of set pieces held together with flim-flam.
Believe everything you read about Heath Ledger as The Joker - he's truly outstanding. Utterly mesmerising, you find yourself drawn to him. He creates a Joker which is genuinely scary - a psychopath, totally unhinged but considered and reserved, he never camps it up or chews up the scenery, as so many actors would have done (hello, Jack Nicolson). He totally deserves an Oscar nom, if not the award itself. I really didn't rate him before, but then I'd not really watched many of his performances. In Brokeback Mountain I think he crossed over from being repressed to just looking a bit surly, but perhaps I need to reappraise that role, and that film in general, now that the hype's died down. Certainly he was evidently capable of far more than I ever gave him credit. Such an absolute shame.
The rest of the cast pale beside Heath, but Aaron Eckhardt holds his own, and the rest perform admirably. If anything one of the least interesting characters (aside from Maggie Gyllenhal's Rachel - who isn't really given anything to do) is Batman himself. His character is fleshed out more by what others say of him, but Christian Bale is always pretty watchable. He gets on with the job, mainly as the foil to Harvey Dent and The Joker, and he's certainly the best Batman to date, even if he does lack something. He seems a little bland, but then he would be up against The Joker, and that's one of the film's questionable issues.
What interests/bothers me is the films intentions regarding violence and the nature of terrorism. Sure, The Jokers actions are always stated as being reprehensible and wrong, but Heath manages to inject enough pathos into the character that you find yourself willing him on. Surely, out of every character in it he seems the most alive and true to himself. And there seems to be an overriding lesson in the inherant darkness of humankind, as if we need to be told that we're all evil and just need a little push.
The Boyf hated how unrelentingly dark the whole thing was, and in truth there was almost no let up from the depressing feeling that pervades it. Even the ending, which I won't give away (unusually) doesn't give even a glimmer of real hope, and sets us up nicely for a third instalment. I have to say that it looks like it will play out into a very good trilogy, but after that there are going to be problems.
Technically it's a marvel too. Wonderfully shot, with the CGI kept to a minimum where it would enhance rather than bludgeon the film to death. Oh, Spiderman 3, see how it's done?
Criticisms? It's too long, a common fault these days. They should start paying editors by the amount of stuff they cut out. Chop 30 minutes out of it (the visit to Hong Kong seems unnecessary) and it'd all be much punchier. As I've stated, The Boyf thinks it's all too grim, but in that we disagreed. It's certainly not The Fantastic Four, and thank fuck for that.
The overriding impression for me is that this is a real film, dealing (or at least highlighting) real issues, which just happens to have a man with a cape in it. If you go to see one film this year make it this one (but don't forget to take a cushion).
Why so serious?
Believe everything you read about Heath Ledger as The Joker - he's truly outstanding. Utterly mesmerising, you find yourself drawn to him. He creates a Joker which is genuinely scary - a psychopath, totally unhinged but considered and reserved, he never camps it up or chews up the scenery, as so many actors would have done (hello, Jack Nicolson). He totally deserves an Oscar nom, if not the award itself. I really didn't rate him before, but then I'd not really watched many of his performances. In Brokeback Mountain I think he crossed over from being repressed to just looking a bit surly, but perhaps I need to reappraise that role, and that film in general, now that the hype's died down. Certainly he was evidently capable of far more than I ever gave him credit. Such an absolute shame.
The rest of the cast pale beside Heath, but Aaron Eckhardt holds his own, and the rest perform admirably. If anything one of the least interesting characters (aside from Maggie Gyllenhal's Rachel - who isn't really given anything to do) is Batman himself. His character is fleshed out more by what others say of him, but Christian Bale is always pretty watchable. He gets on with the job, mainly as the foil to Harvey Dent and The Joker, and he's certainly the best Batman to date, even if he does lack something. He seems a little bland, but then he would be up against The Joker, and that's one of the film's questionable issues.
What interests/bothers me is the films intentions regarding violence and the nature of terrorism. Sure, The Jokers actions are always stated as being reprehensible and wrong, but Heath manages to inject enough pathos into the character that you find yourself willing him on. Surely, out of every character in it he seems the most alive and true to himself. And there seems to be an overriding lesson in the inherant darkness of humankind, as if we need to be told that we're all evil and just need a little push.
The Boyf hated how unrelentingly dark the whole thing was, and in truth there was almost no let up from the depressing feeling that pervades it. Even the ending, which I won't give away (unusually) doesn't give even a glimmer of real hope, and sets us up nicely for a third instalment. I have to say that it looks like it will play out into a very good trilogy, but after that there are going to be problems.
Technically it's a marvel too. Wonderfully shot, with the CGI kept to a minimum where it would enhance rather than bludgeon the film to death. Oh, Spiderman 3, see how it's done?
Criticisms? It's too long, a common fault these days. They should start paying editors by the amount of stuff they cut out. Chop 30 minutes out of it (the visit to Hong Kong seems unnecessary) and it'd all be much punchier. As I've stated, The Boyf thinks it's all too grim, but in that we disagreed. It's certainly not The Fantastic Four, and thank fuck for that.
The overriding impression for me is that this is a real film, dealing (or at least highlighting) real issues, which just happens to have a man with a cape in it. If you go to see one film this year make it this one (but don't forget to take a cushion).
Why so serious?
Friday, July 25, 2008
Urgh! Friday!
I'm feeling utterly used, and not in a good way. It's been one long, hard week and I can't see a light at the end of the tunnel until our holiday (which is now only three weeks away, granted). Oh, what's that quote about light at the end of the tunnel? Oh yeah "I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was just some fucker with a torch bringing me more work".
So, I've not told you about this years holiday plans yet, huh?
Well, we're "doing" America again. If you want to be pedantic we're actually "doing" New York again, but hopefully this time I won't look and sound like an extra from "Dawn Of The Dead". A terribly English zombie though I may have been. You know how us Brits like to talk loudly in a posh English accent to get more attention. I always end up sounding like Prince Charles - in fact I probably sound like Dame Judy Dench - except for last time when I sounded like the Elephant Man. I looked like him too, but then I should probably consider not wearing a potato sack over my head every time I go out. It's a bugger to accessorise with.
Yes, we're off to New York for a couple of weeks, but we're actually also squeezing in a long weekend in Fort Lauderdale, courtesy of some friends of ours who have a holiday home there. Like you do. Now, I've not been to Fort Lauderdale before but judging from the photos every single person who lives there is well-built, tanned and utterly gorgeous. The whole place looks a bit "Stepford Bears" for my liking. Quite what they're going to make of me I don't know. Perhaps they'll take pity on the pale, chubby English guy. Any from what I've heard NY is going to be unbearably hot, so that'll be fun for my over-active sweat glands.
I know, I sound like I'm complaining, when in actual fact I'm really looking forward to it.
Before then we have the British Motor Show to attend, which means I drag a bored-looking The Boyf round whilst I drape myself over various bits of machinery and get a bit over-excited. Then sometime next week we're going to see Kylie, and then we have Brighton Pride at the weekend. So all good fun for the next couple of weeks.
Have fun at the weekend, Dear Readers.
So, I've not told you about this years holiday plans yet, huh?
Well, we're "doing" America again. If you want to be pedantic we're actually "doing" New York again, but hopefully this time I won't look and sound like an extra from "Dawn Of The Dead". A terribly English zombie though I may have been. You know how us Brits like to talk loudly in a posh English accent to get more attention. I always end up sounding like Prince Charles - in fact I probably sound like Dame Judy Dench - except for last time when I sounded like the Elephant Man. I looked like him too, but then I should probably consider not wearing a potato sack over my head every time I go out. It's a bugger to accessorise with.
Yes, we're off to New York for a couple of weeks, but we're actually also squeezing in a long weekend in Fort Lauderdale, courtesy of some friends of ours who have a holiday home there. Like you do. Now, I've not been to Fort Lauderdale before but judging from the photos every single person who lives there is well-built, tanned and utterly gorgeous. The whole place looks a bit "Stepford Bears" for my liking. Quite what they're going to make of me I don't know. Perhaps they'll take pity on the pale, chubby English guy. Any from what I've heard NY is going to be unbearably hot, so that'll be fun for my over-active sweat glands.
I know, I sound like I'm complaining, when in actual fact I'm really looking forward to it.
Before then we have the British Motor Show to attend, which means I drag a bored-looking The Boyf round whilst I drape myself over various bits of machinery and get a bit over-excited. Then sometime next week we're going to see Kylie, and then we have Brighton Pride at the weekend. So all good fun for the next couple of weeks.
Have fun at the weekend, Dear Readers.
Monday, July 21, 2008
OMO At The Movies: "Mamma Mia!"
Yeah, so I was going to mention "Mamma Mia!". I do love it when they put an exclamation mark in the title of a film to remind us that we're all supposed to be having fun.
I'm going to go utterly against common public and critical feeling and say that this is one of the worst films I've ever had the misfortune to sit through.
Now, there are a lot of awful films out there. You know, the sort of thing that's shown on ITV on a Wednesday afternoon, invariably with a mother with a debilitating illness, or an athlete overcoming an accident to win a race. I don't count those as bad films because they know what they are - cheap. A bad film for me is one which has had a lot of money spent on it and then falls short of it's hype. Thus, "Sketch Artist II: Hands That See" is kinda watchable, whilst "Independence Day" is a load of old tripe.
So, "what's wrong with "Mamma Mia!" apart from the exclamation mark?", I hear you say. It's amateurish, for a start. Amateurish and lazy beyond belief. Where the stage version just about gets away with cornily shoe-horned in Abba songs because it's all a bit of a giggle and because you feel somewhat involved, the film version just comes across as ill-conceived and childish. And SO literal; "When the pretty birds have flown" (in "Take A Chance On Me") is accompanied by some doves taking off from a roof - I mean, COME ON! And the dance scene where the villagers join in just looks like a cheap Olivio advert.
The casting is awful. Only the daughter seems suitable for her part. It's oh so obvious that they've cast people for who they are, not for any discernible ability. "Oh, wouldn't it be nice to have Pierce Brosnan". "Can he sing?". "Who cares, it's Pierce Brosnan!". Even he admitted in an interview that he didn't realise he was going to have to sing. What, noone told him it was a musical when they cast him? He's the worst offender on the signing front, but Meryl Streep isn't far behind. She annihilates "The Winner Takes It All", and puts in an odd, manic performance in which she looks like the HRT has kicked in and she's forgotten her Tenna Lady.
Elsewhere, Julie Waters does exactly what it says on the tin. She puts on a Northern accent and stumbles about a lot, in a parody of every performance she's ever done before. I took to saying "Miss Babs" at the end of every line she uttered, and it fitted perfectly. Every other member of the cast appears ill at ease or seems to be phoning their performance in from the safety of their motorhome. Most of the song and dance routines have that same car crash feeling as when you're Mum and Dad get up to do "The Time Warp" at a wedding reception.
The whole thing looks cheap and childish, and the actors appear to just be mucking about in front of a camera whilst expecting us to enjoy it all. And no thought's gone into translating it from stage to screen - they obviously just found somewhere which looked like the stage scenery and plonked the whole lot there without any thought as to how to make it work on celluloid. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Oh, and the editing and sound are awful too.
Can you tell I didn't like it? It was only the second film I've nearly walked out of, the first being "Batman & Robin".
As a final indication of how bad it was, I can say one thing which I cannot forgive it for. I grew up listening to, and loving, Abba, but "Mamma Mia!" has crushed all that love and affection. I don't think I can stand listening to Abba for a while, and that angers me.
I'm going to go utterly against common public and critical feeling and say that this is one of the worst films I've ever had the misfortune to sit through.
Now, there are a lot of awful films out there. You know, the sort of thing that's shown on ITV on a Wednesday afternoon, invariably with a mother with a debilitating illness, or an athlete overcoming an accident to win a race. I don't count those as bad films because they know what they are - cheap. A bad film for me is one which has had a lot of money spent on it and then falls short of it's hype. Thus, "Sketch Artist II: Hands That See" is kinda watchable, whilst "Independence Day" is a load of old tripe.
So, "what's wrong with "Mamma Mia!" apart from the exclamation mark?", I hear you say. It's amateurish, for a start. Amateurish and lazy beyond belief. Where the stage version just about gets away with cornily shoe-horned in Abba songs because it's all a bit of a giggle and because you feel somewhat involved, the film version just comes across as ill-conceived and childish. And SO literal; "When the pretty birds have flown" (in "Take A Chance On Me") is accompanied by some doves taking off from a roof - I mean, COME ON! And the dance scene where the villagers join in just looks like a cheap Olivio advert.
The casting is awful. Only the daughter seems suitable for her part. It's oh so obvious that they've cast people for who they are, not for any discernible ability. "Oh, wouldn't it be nice to have Pierce Brosnan". "Can he sing?". "Who cares, it's Pierce Brosnan!". Even he admitted in an interview that he didn't realise he was going to have to sing. What, noone told him it was a musical when they cast him? He's the worst offender on the signing front, but Meryl Streep isn't far behind. She annihilates "The Winner Takes It All", and puts in an odd, manic performance in which she looks like the HRT has kicked in and she's forgotten her Tenna Lady.
Elsewhere, Julie Waters does exactly what it says on the tin. She puts on a Northern accent and stumbles about a lot, in a parody of every performance she's ever done before. I took to saying "Miss Babs" at the end of every line she uttered, and it fitted perfectly. Every other member of the cast appears ill at ease or seems to be phoning their performance in from the safety of their motorhome. Most of the song and dance routines have that same car crash feeling as when you're Mum and Dad get up to do "The Time Warp" at a wedding reception.
The whole thing looks cheap and childish, and the actors appear to just be mucking about in front of a camera whilst expecting us to enjoy it all. And no thought's gone into translating it from stage to screen - they obviously just found somewhere which looked like the stage scenery and plonked the whole lot there without any thought as to how to make it work on celluloid. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Oh, and the editing and sound are awful too.
Can you tell I didn't like it? It was only the second film I've nearly walked out of, the first being "Batman & Robin".
As a final indication of how bad it was, I can say one thing which I cannot forgive it for. I grew up listening to, and loving, Abba, but "Mamma Mia!" has crushed all that love and affection. I don't think I can stand listening to Abba for a while, and that angers me.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Little Suzy
The Boyf deals with stress by having sex.
I deal with stress by sleeping.
The two don't necessarily go together very well.
What with me having to sack one of my staff last week I was feeling rather stressed out, but unusually I opted for going out to get drunk, rather than locking myself away with some nice food and wine and then going to bed early. So, we went to Tonka, which is a great little Friday social event. You should try it. I'll be there again tonight should you feel like buying me a drink. You'll get a kiss for it, at the very least.
I got a text on Saturday from "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming (TPWWSC)" - also known as "The Groom I Slept With On His Wedding Night Before His New Husband" (The Boyf's been calling me "Little Suzy Home-Wrecker" ever since). Oops! They were just back from their honeymoon and wondered if we fancied a beer.
A few hours later all four of us were standing in a surprisingly busy Hoist. And there were actually a few very nice men hanging around. For those of you who haven't been to The Hoist I should explain.
The Hoist is located in a disused railway arch (what club in London isn't?), and consists of lots of black exposed brickwork and steel girders, and a pumping soundtrack which is supposed to be hard and dirty but seems to veer towards Abba or Madonna a little too often considering the nature of the place. Every Saturday they have a theme night (don't get exicted, the themes are never "My Little Princess" or "Mamma Mia!", although they probably should be), but in actual fact most people just turn up in leather. Black, natch. This years black is always black in Leatherland. Occasionally with a natty contrasting stripe. Last Saturday was rubber night, so naturally we wore jeans and leather waistcoats. The only people to actually wear rubber were those who really shouldn't have. Anyway, most people hang at the bar, and all groups send at least one member round every 15 minutes for a sortie through the "cruise maze" (anywhere else I believe this amount of scaffolding would be classed as a "jungle gym", the end result being largely the same, just darker and with nastier smells).
Eventually someone arrives already drunk and naked and proceeds to drape themselves all over everyone lasciviously, and this person isn't always me. By this time enough people are drunk that at least one person will be in a sling with a come-hither look on his face, whilst (and this seems to be an unwritten rule) the ugliest man in the building will invariably be standing on the balcony playing with himself at the assembled masses standing at the bar below. Again, this isn't always me. And there will always be a fisting video playing on a big screen, regardless of whether it's fisting night or not. My guess is that one of the staff is a big fan. Perhaps the one with the... no, I won't go there, you might be eating.
Just like spending a night in a forest there are the occasional screetches or roars from out of the darkness which makes you jump, and I always assume this means that someone's forgotten to trim their nails or something. You know that sound that cats make when they're mating...
By about 2am everyone in the building is having sex, or has had sex and is standing at the bar looking used and bragging to their friends whilst recovering enough for another go. Apart from me of course, as I'll be doing my Ice Maiden impression whilst propping up the bar and pretending it's all a bit beneath me. That's until someone gets me a tequila shot and then it all gets horribly messy.
Ok, so, last Saturday then. The four of us are stood at the bar. Newleywed R decides to go on a sortie, as does his husband (TPWWSC). The Boyf and I then notice that a rather stunning looking big hairy guy has wandered in and is standing at the bar looking at us. I flush and get the giggles and run off to the loo. When I return he's gone, but Newleywed R has returned looking rather worse for wear (already). I decide to wander through the jungle gym myself, ostensibly to look for the BigHairyGuy, but to be honest I'm hoping to bump into TPWWSC. And I do. We then spend the next 45 minutes doing nothing but snogging in a very dark corner whilst both his husband and The Boyf look for us. Finally The Boyf stumbles upon us - almost literally - and warns us that the husband is starting to get peeved. Again. We slink out of the shadows and take our place next to him at the bar, and are treated to disapproving looks. They then leave. Oops again.
The Boyf: "So… you had sex with him before his husband at his own wedding, and now you're the first person to have sex with him after the honeymoon. Hmmm."
OMO: "Oh look, there's that BigHairyGuy"
A nice deflection from the subject at hand, methinks.
As The Hoist is rather dark it's often easy to lose someone, and by the time we locate the BigHairyGuy he's already at it with someone else. Bugger! So we hang around to see what happens. We notice the other guy is wearing really bad underwear, and figure this alone should put BigHairyGuy off. It does, and they part. Then BigHairyGuys spots us and tips us a wink and we wander over and… well, you can guess the rest.
Afterwards at the bar we're all chatting and it turns out he's Greek (result! I love me some Greek) and seems rather smitten with us. I mean, who wouldn't be? (rolls eyes) So we'll be seeing him again when he's next over on business.
Just as we were about to leave another rather cute guy wanders past looking a bit forlorn. And hairy. Did I mention I like them hairy? He sits in a corner and starts to masturbate, whilst looking at us appreciatively. The Boyf comments that we should really help him as it's getting late and he doesn't have much time left, so we do our good deed for the night before finally heading off home.
A rather good night all round, I'm sure you'll agree. Now, I wonder if I can have sex with TPWWSC at Christmas, New Year and on his first wedding anniversary (I certainly wouldn't be complaining, although I'd rather not be cited when the divorce papers come through).
I deal with stress by sleeping.
The two don't necessarily go together very well.
What with me having to sack one of my staff last week I was feeling rather stressed out, but unusually I opted for going out to get drunk, rather than locking myself away with some nice food and wine and then going to bed early. So, we went to Tonka, which is a great little Friday social event. You should try it. I'll be there again tonight should you feel like buying me a drink. You'll get a kiss for it, at the very least.
I got a text on Saturday from "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming (TPWWSC)" - also known as "The Groom I Slept With On His Wedding Night Before His New Husband" (The Boyf's been calling me "Little Suzy Home-Wrecker" ever since). Oops! They were just back from their honeymoon and wondered if we fancied a beer.
A few hours later all four of us were standing in a surprisingly busy Hoist. And there were actually a few very nice men hanging around. For those of you who haven't been to The Hoist I should explain.
The Hoist is located in a disused railway arch (what club in London isn't?), and consists of lots of black exposed brickwork and steel girders, and a pumping soundtrack which is supposed to be hard and dirty but seems to veer towards Abba or Madonna a little too often considering the nature of the place. Every Saturday they have a theme night (don't get exicted, the themes are never "My Little Princess" or "Mamma Mia!", although they probably should be), but in actual fact most people just turn up in leather. Black, natch. This years black is always black in Leatherland. Occasionally with a natty contrasting stripe. Last Saturday was rubber night, so naturally we wore jeans and leather waistcoats. The only people to actually wear rubber were those who really shouldn't have. Anyway, most people hang at the bar, and all groups send at least one member round every 15 minutes for a sortie through the "cruise maze" (anywhere else I believe this amount of scaffolding would be classed as a "jungle gym", the end result being largely the same, just darker and with nastier smells).
Eventually someone arrives already drunk and naked and proceeds to drape themselves all over everyone lasciviously, and this person isn't always me. By this time enough people are drunk that at least one person will be in a sling with a come-hither look on his face, whilst (and this seems to be an unwritten rule) the ugliest man in the building will invariably be standing on the balcony playing with himself at the assembled masses standing at the bar below. Again, this isn't always me. And there will always be a fisting video playing on a big screen, regardless of whether it's fisting night or not. My guess is that one of the staff is a big fan. Perhaps the one with the... no, I won't go there, you might be eating.
Just like spending a night in a forest there are the occasional screetches or roars from out of the darkness which makes you jump, and I always assume this means that someone's forgotten to trim their nails or something. You know that sound that cats make when they're mating...
By about 2am everyone in the building is having sex, or has had sex and is standing at the bar looking used and bragging to their friends whilst recovering enough for another go. Apart from me of course, as I'll be doing my Ice Maiden impression whilst propping up the bar and pretending it's all a bit beneath me. That's until someone gets me a tequila shot and then it all gets horribly messy.
Ok, so, last Saturday then. The four of us are stood at the bar. Newleywed R decides to go on a sortie, as does his husband (TPWWSC). The Boyf and I then notice that a rather stunning looking big hairy guy has wandered in and is standing at the bar looking at us. I flush and get the giggles and run off to the loo. When I return he's gone, but Newleywed R has returned looking rather worse for wear (already). I decide to wander through the jungle gym myself, ostensibly to look for the BigHairyGuy, but to be honest I'm hoping to bump into TPWWSC. And I do. We then spend the next 45 minutes doing nothing but snogging in a very dark corner whilst both his husband and The Boyf look for us. Finally The Boyf stumbles upon us - almost literally - and warns us that the husband is starting to get peeved. Again. We slink out of the shadows and take our place next to him at the bar, and are treated to disapproving looks. They then leave. Oops again.
The Boyf: "So… you had sex with him before his husband at his own wedding, and now you're the first person to have sex with him after the honeymoon. Hmmm."
OMO: "Oh look, there's that BigHairyGuy"
A nice deflection from the subject at hand, methinks.
As The Hoist is rather dark it's often easy to lose someone, and by the time we locate the BigHairyGuy he's already at it with someone else. Bugger! So we hang around to see what happens. We notice the other guy is wearing really bad underwear, and figure this alone should put BigHairyGuy off. It does, and they part. Then BigHairyGuys spots us and tips us a wink and we wander over and… well, you can guess the rest.
Afterwards at the bar we're all chatting and it turns out he's Greek (result! I love me some Greek) and seems rather smitten with us. I mean, who wouldn't be? (rolls eyes) So we'll be seeing him again when he's next over on business.
Just as we were about to leave another rather cute guy wanders past looking a bit forlorn. And hairy. Did I mention I like them hairy? He sits in a corner and starts to masturbate, whilst looking at us appreciatively. The Boyf comments that we should really help him as it's getting late and he doesn't have much time left, so we do our good deed for the night before finally heading off home.
A rather good night all round, I'm sure you'll agree. Now, I wonder if I can have sex with TPWWSC at Christmas, New Year and on his first wedding anniversary (I certainly wouldn't be complaining, although I'd rather not be cited when the divorce papers come through).
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
London Pride (finally)
So, I'm gonna finally tell you about Pride.
The sun certainly shone on London Pride this year. Mostly. After a damp start to the day the clouds parted and the gays took most of their clothes off to parade through the West End. Who were we to disappoint the assembled masses?
We wandered up to the start of the march, near Baker Street (cue saxophone), to have a look at the assembled floats and the flamboyant Pride regulars. You know gays, they’re a bit like magpies - anything shiny they pick up and carry around - and there were certainly plenty of peacocks strutting their stuff. (Two bird analogies in one sentence. Get me today!).
We stood near to the front of the march so we could watch it go past, but as the drums started The Boyf and I suddenly found ourselves caught up in the drama and thrust onto the front line. So there we were, marching with the rest, in the front line of the walkers directly behind the giant rainbow flag. And it was lovely. The sun shone, people cheered, the gays pranced, and we blew kisses at hot guys in the crowd (including a load of builders hanging off scaffolding and cheering us, which was rather nice). However we had to stop a potential problem when it turned out that Selfridges had a sale on and everyone wanted to detour in to have a look around.
After the march we wandered over to Trafalgar Square for a while, where we rather randomly bumped into the hot Middle-Eastern guy that I'd seen - ok, fell in lust with - at the Black Party. For some reason The Boyf was feeling brave so we went over to say Hi, and of course he turned out to be lovely. The Boyf had to drag me away, dribbling, in case I embarrassed myself with a mis-timed "I love you", as is my way. In fact he had to drag me as far as Soho Square before I stopped begging to go back, and whilst there we had a little dance and perv before heading back to Old Compton Street, and then home for the season finale of Dr Who (crap, just so you know).
We couldn't make up our minds where to go for Pride night, so ended up in our local (XXL) with a couple of new friends of ours (the lovely Iraqi and his boyfriend), but it was, well, shit actually, so we all headed to Megawoof where I got very drunk and tried to make everyone suck my lollipop (not a euphemism, oddly).
And that was our Pride. A lovely day from start to finish. Looking forward to Brighton now...
The sun certainly shone on London Pride this year. Mostly. After a damp start to the day the clouds parted and the gays took most of their clothes off to parade through the West End. Who were we to disappoint the assembled masses?
We wandered up to the start of the march, near Baker Street (cue saxophone), to have a look at the assembled floats and the flamboyant Pride regulars. You know gays, they’re a bit like magpies - anything shiny they pick up and carry around - and there were certainly plenty of peacocks strutting their stuff. (Two bird analogies in one sentence. Get me today!).
We stood near to the front of the march so we could watch it go past, but as the drums started The Boyf and I suddenly found ourselves caught up in the drama and thrust onto the front line. So there we were, marching with the rest, in the front line of the walkers directly behind the giant rainbow flag. And it was lovely. The sun shone, people cheered, the gays pranced, and we blew kisses at hot guys in the crowd (including a load of builders hanging off scaffolding and cheering us, which was rather nice). However we had to stop a potential problem when it turned out that Selfridges had a sale on and everyone wanted to detour in to have a look around.
After the march we wandered over to Trafalgar Square for a while, where we rather randomly bumped into the hot Middle-Eastern guy that I'd seen - ok, fell in lust with - at the Black Party. For some reason The Boyf was feeling brave so we went over to say Hi, and of course he turned out to be lovely. The Boyf had to drag me away, dribbling, in case I embarrassed myself with a mis-timed "I love you", as is my way. In fact he had to drag me as far as Soho Square before I stopped begging to go back, and whilst there we had a little dance and perv before heading back to Old Compton Street, and then home for the season finale of Dr Who (crap, just so you know).
We couldn't make up our minds where to go for Pride night, so ended up in our local (XXL) with a couple of new friends of ours (the lovely Iraqi and his boyfriend), but it was, well, shit actually, so we all headed to Megawoof where I got very drunk and tried to make everyone suck my lollipop (not a euphemism, oddly).
And that was our Pride. A lovely day from start to finish. Looking forward to Brighton now...
Friday, July 11, 2008
A Quick Hello
Today is my second blogiversary. Amazing. I never thought I'd think of enough things to write about. In fact, I guess I haven't, what with my purely intermittent ramblings. Anyway, thank you to anyone who's actually been paying attention. You're too kind.
I've a post about last weeks London Pride to complete (so you'll probably get to read that in, oh, December I should think), and I'd like to tell you all about this years summer holiday.
This week's been rather tough, and I've had to terminate the employment of one of my staff today - not a pleasant job, especially for a softie like me - so things have been a little tense.
So, I hope you all have a nice weekend - if you see me I could really do with a cider. Until next week...
If you are, then continue to do so and don't even think of stopping.
Oh, before I forget; if you happen to fancy going to see a movie this weekend can I stress how important it is that you don't get lured in to see "Mamma Mia!". It's abysmal, truly. If you must, save up the money and see it on the stage. You'll regret it otherwise...
I've a post about last weeks London Pride to complete (so you'll probably get to read that in, oh, December I should think), and I'd like to tell you all about this years summer holiday.
This week's been rather tough, and I've had to terminate the employment of one of my staff today - not a pleasant job, especially for a softie like me - so things have been a little tense.
So, I hope you all have a nice weekend - if you see me I could really do with a cider. Until next week...
If you are, then continue to do so and don't even think of stopping.
Oh, before I forget; if you happen to fancy going to see a movie this weekend can I stress how important it is that you don't get lured in to see "Mamma Mia!". It's abysmal, truly. If you must, save up the money and see it on the stage. You'll regret it otherwise...
Friday, July 04, 2008
Do You Take This Man?
We attended our second gay wedding on Saturday. (I'm refusing to call it "civil ceremony" - to all intents and purposes it's a marriage, and thus I'm sticking to "wedding").
We had to travel into the wilds of Essex… hang on…sorry, a little bit of sick just came up into my mouth. I have to admit that our friends live in a particuarly nice part of that grotty little county, far away from the spray-tanned, peroxide-maned masses (I'm talking about the Essex Male, obviously). I've mentioned our friends before, and if you've paid any attention to this story you'll probably have an incling of what was on their mind when they decided to invite a small group of filthy-minded homosexuals to their wedding, forcing them to mingle with their families, and then getting them spectacularly drunk.
We were on the gay table (quite literally later on, but more of that in a bit), with an incredibly gregarious northerner who we'd see around once or twice before, and three other guys who we'd not met, including a "just out" 20 year old cousin who wanted deperately to mix with the "old queens". Harumph! The wedding itself was terribly proper, and very formal. In fact, it followed the typical straight model, apart from having two (hilarious) best man speeches.
After the food the disco started, and someone had obviously told the DJ it was a gay event as he wheeled out one cliched anthem after another. YMCA? Check. Dancing Queen? Check. The Time Warp? Check. The list goes on, trust me. In fact, it became apparent that he only had wedding reception music, as he brought out the big guns - the Grease Megamix, Saturday Night, and Love Shack. Kylie, Madonna and Cher also made at least one appearance each.
So, we got drunk, we danced, we mingled, and then the evening guests started to arrive, including a very tall, well-built Scot, who seemed to be some sort of octopus in disguise, judging by the roving hands.
Finally I got to the point where I needed a break from being sociable (being the natural born loner that I am), so I headed out into the quiet part of the garden on the other side of the house, found the furthest corner to be desserted, and sat in a garden chair looking at the stars. I was soon joined by one of the grooms (formerly known as "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming"). I consider him to be one of the sexiest guys I know, and one of the nicest. We spent a lovely 10 minutes chatting before being interrupted by the Gregacious Northerner, who said that My Favourite Groom's husband was looking for him. So off he went, but not before telling me I wasn't to go anywhere.
That left me in a quiet corner of the garden with the Gregarious Northerner, who promptly whipped out his (very excited looking) member and presented it to me. Well, what's a boy to do?
A short while later I wandered back in to the marquee that was home to the reception, to a knowing look from The Boyf. "Everyone's talking about you", he whispered. "I think word's got round". So I spent the next couple of hours being terribly well behaved.
Finally, the guests started to leave, until we were left with just both grooms, The Boyf and myself, the Gregarious Northerner, and the Scottish Octopus. And then it got really messy. My Favourite Groom and I made a quiet exit into the garden, but not before witnessing the Scottish Octopus being stripped and thrown onto a table, the decoration and assorted items crashing to the floor.
And then My Favourite Groom and I found ourselves back in our quiet corner of the garden, naked and intertwined, looking at the stars and at the first paling of the sky signalling the impending dawn. And a very lovely hour or so it was too. And do you know? Nothing happened between us, apart from the cuddling and the talking, and that suited us both just fine. It was one of those times I'll never forget.
We had to travel into the wilds of Essex… hang on…sorry, a little bit of sick just came up into my mouth. I have to admit that our friends live in a particuarly nice part of that grotty little county, far away from the spray-tanned, peroxide-maned masses (I'm talking about the Essex Male, obviously). I've mentioned our friends before, and if you've paid any attention to this story you'll probably have an incling of what was on their mind when they decided to invite a small group of filthy-minded homosexuals to their wedding, forcing them to mingle with their families, and then getting them spectacularly drunk.
We were on the gay table (quite literally later on, but more of that in a bit), with an incredibly gregarious northerner who we'd see around once or twice before, and three other guys who we'd not met, including a "just out" 20 year old cousin who wanted deperately to mix with the "old queens". Harumph! The wedding itself was terribly proper, and very formal. In fact, it followed the typical straight model, apart from having two (hilarious) best man speeches.
After the food the disco started, and someone had obviously told the DJ it was a gay event as he wheeled out one cliched anthem after another. YMCA? Check. Dancing Queen? Check. The Time Warp? Check. The list goes on, trust me. In fact, it became apparent that he only had wedding reception music, as he brought out the big guns - the Grease Megamix, Saturday Night, and Love Shack. Kylie, Madonna and Cher also made at least one appearance each.
So, we got drunk, we danced, we mingled, and then the evening guests started to arrive, including a very tall, well-built Scot, who seemed to be some sort of octopus in disguise, judging by the roving hands.
Finally I got to the point where I needed a break from being sociable (being the natural born loner that I am), so I headed out into the quiet part of the garden on the other side of the house, found the furthest corner to be desserted, and sat in a garden chair looking at the stars. I was soon joined by one of the grooms (formerly known as "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming"). I consider him to be one of the sexiest guys I know, and one of the nicest. We spent a lovely 10 minutes chatting before being interrupted by the Gregacious Northerner, who said that My Favourite Groom's husband was looking for him. So off he went, but not before telling me I wasn't to go anywhere.
That left me in a quiet corner of the garden with the Gregarious Northerner, who promptly whipped out his (very excited looking) member and presented it to me. Well, what's a boy to do?
A short while later I wandered back in to the marquee that was home to the reception, to a knowing look from The Boyf. "Everyone's talking about you", he whispered. "I think word's got round". So I spent the next couple of hours being terribly well behaved.
Finally, the guests started to leave, until we were left with just both grooms, The Boyf and myself, the Gregarious Northerner, and the Scottish Octopus. And then it got really messy. My Favourite Groom and I made a quiet exit into the garden, but not before witnessing the Scottish Octopus being stripped and thrown onto a table, the decoration and assorted items crashing to the floor.
And then My Favourite Groom and I found ourselves back in our quiet corner of the garden, naked and intertwined, looking at the stars and at the first paling of the sky signalling the impending dawn. And a very lovely hour or so it was too. And do you know? Nothing happened between us, apart from the cuddling and the talking, and that suited us both just fine. It was one of those times I'll never forget.
Monday, June 23, 2008
OMO At The Movies: "The Incredible Hulk"
Frankly, a pleasant surprise. I really wasn't expecting anything, and I guess therein lies the reason I enjoyed it so much.
I mean, I fucking hate the last Hulk film, and this one didn't look any better from the trailers. But actually it's better paced, nicer to look at and the CGI is better, although still not great (especially The Abomination, which looks like it was drawn on by a child, blind-folded. With Parkinson's Disease. Sitting on a washing machine during its spin-cycle).
Still, the Hulk is totally hot. I'd so do him, especially when he's sitting on that rock in the rain. And he's obviously a bottom. You can just tell. Those big Americans are all the same. All gruff and muscular when you meet and then as soon as you get them home they fall face first onto the bed and flutter their eye-lashes at you.
So, all in all, a surprising thumbs up. Again, don't go expecting to have to use your brain. You knew that already, right?
Oh, and make sure you watch Iron Man first, that's all I'm saying...
I mean, I fucking hate the last Hulk film, and this one didn't look any better from the trailers. But actually it's better paced, nicer to look at and the CGI is better, although still not great (especially The Abomination, which looks like it was drawn on by a child, blind-folded. With Parkinson's Disease. Sitting on a washing machine during its spin-cycle).
Still, the Hulk is totally hot. I'd so do him, especially when he's sitting on that rock in the rain. And he's obviously a bottom. You can just tell. Those big Americans are all the same. All gruff and muscular when you meet and then as soon as you get them home they fall face first onto the bed and flutter their eye-lashes at you.
So, all in all, a surprising thumbs up. Again, don't go expecting to have to use your brain. You knew that already, right?
Oh, and make sure you watch Iron Man first, that's all I'm saying...
Friday, June 20, 2008
Yazoo
Well, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be watching Yazoo in concert, but that's exactly what happened last night.They were marvellous, as I expected them to be. Alison has such an incredible voice, and you can't fail to fall in love with her. It was all like a little trip back to the 80's. Certainly some people in the audience looked like they were stuck in that particular decade. Oh, speaking of the audience; how gay was it?! And how sexy?! The Boyf and I both remarked that we'd never seen so many sexy guys at one gig before, and they were all very friendly. Unfortunately for The Boyf a girl a few seats away took a shine and wouldn't leave him alone, although she was very nice.
Anyway, back to the music. They played almost everything they'd recorded together. I flicked through both albums this morning on my iPod and think there are only about 4 songs missing from the gig. Plus we had a very odd little musical interlude whilst both went off to "have a fag". Alison also drank Cognac throughout, and had some witty banter with the audience. And danced really badly.
Highlights for me were "Goodbye 70's", "Situation", "Don't Go", "Nobody's Diary", "Ode To Boy", "Bring Your Love Down [Didn't I]", and of course "Only You", which was their encore, but to be honest it's a bit like picking your favourite child.
I wish I could see them again. Once is certainly not enough, and I wish we'd gone to Brighton last Sunday too (we actually had tickets and decided not to go as we were seeing them in London anyway). Fingers crossed they get together again sometime. If you have a chance to see them at one of their remaining gigs don't pass it up.
Oh, the London gigs have been recorded for a live CD to be released, so I'm rather looking forward to that.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Hustlaball
The Boyf and I had been looking forward to The Hustlaball for weeks, even though we didn't seem to know anyone that was going.
We've been having a quiet few weeks, and I'll admit that I've not been enjoying clubbing when we've been recently. It was no surprise then to find that I didn't really enjoy The Hustlaball. However, I was very much in the minority.
For reasons best known only to himself The Boyf had decided to fork out on VIP tickets, at £70 a pop. For that you got an exclusive 10pm start with a champagne reception to meet the pornstars etc, a VIP cloakroom, and a special reserved area when when it was all getting too much.
We arrived at 10 to make the most of that first hour, but then had to queue til nearly 10.30, and then had a further 10 minute wait for the VIP cloakroom. To say it was badly organised is to seriously underplay it. Then we were refused the free champagne as we didn't have a token, but we cajoled the barman enough that he finally relented anyway.
By this time the doors were opening to the general hoi-polloi, and the place was rapidly rammed. At least it would have been if the cloakrooms were organised enough. I don't know what it is with London club cloakrooms - they're almost universally shambolic.
So, let me tell you about the layout. Area's main floor was the usual long, very dark room, but with a stage built at the far end for the "performances", of which we saw none. The music was pretty dark, and leant towards what I consider to be circuit party music. The smaller room was more hands-in-the-air, and the from Embankment Bar was playing a mixture of commercial house and electro. It was also the busiest room and where we spent most of the night. Depot was taken over by Hard On, with the front bar acting as a mini-dancefloor, complete with dancers on podiums and the bar itself, and the back room (what used to be Crash's main dancefloor) was an interestingly decked out playroom (and was very popular).
As for the men, they were a very pleasant mixture of Megawoof! crowd, Hard On regulars and general club bunnies, and it was nice to see such disparate factions mixing and enjoying themselves together. Generally, there were some very hot men around, and not one of them - ok, perhaps one - was one of the much publicised porn stars.
A few hours in The Boyf pointed across the room and said "Oh my God! Look at that guy!". Yes, he was lovely. Very, very lovely. Egyptian, with piercing brown eyes and a perfect hairy chest. He was also heading our way. I turned back to The Boyf to wait for him to pass us by, but then suddenly found very large hairy arms encircling my waist. The Boyf's mouth had dropped open. Shit, no, it couldn't be. I felt lips on the back of my neck and then a whispered "Hello" in my ear. I turned, and it was indeed him. We pawed at each other and kissed, then started to dance, his hairy torso pressed against me, his eyes boaring into mine. (Sorry, this is turning into a Mills & Boon novel). Suddenly coming to my senses I thought I ought to introduce him to The Boyf - like, if I must! - and we all exchanged pleasantries. And then he danced with us for the rest of the night, which meant that as far as I was concerned I had the best view in the place.
So why didn't I enjoy myself? Well, thank you for asking. It was because it became very apparent that the Egyptian was doing a certain drug, one which The Boyf and I refuse to touch, and that made me worried. To be honest I'd have preferred it if we'd had a little grapple and then he'd moved on, but the longer he stayed with us the more I started to worry that we was going to drop at some point, and it was making me nervous. In the end he didn't, and by the time we made our way home (at 6am) he was still fine and dandy, so I'd worried for nothing. But still, I've seen this drug cause too many problems, and I'll always be wary of people who are on it.
So, all in all, it was actually a better evening in retrospect than it was at the time. I'd certainly go to another if they do one. Just don't bother with the VIP tickets.
We've been having a quiet few weeks, and I'll admit that I've not been enjoying clubbing when we've been recently. It was no surprise then to find that I didn't really enjoy The Hustlaball. However, I was very much in the minority.
For reasons best known only to himself The Boyf had decided to fork out on VIP tickets, at £70 a pop. For that you got an exclusive 10pm start with a champagne reception to meet the pornstars etc, a VIP cloakroom, and a special reserved area when when it was all getting too much.
We arrived at 10 to make the most of that first hour, but then had to queue til nearly 10.30, and then had a further 10 minute wait for the VIP cloakroom. To say it was badly organised is to seriously underplay it. Then we were refused the free champagne as we didn't have a token, but we cajoled the barman enough that he finally relented anyway.
By this time the doors were opening to the general hoi-polloi, and the place was rapidly rammed. At least it would have been if the cloakrooms were organised enough. I don't know what it is with London club cloakrooms - they're almost universally shambolic.
So, let me tell you about the layout. Area's main floor was the usual long, very dark room, but with a stage built at the far end for the "performances", of which we saw none. The music was pretty dark, and leant towards what I consider to be circuit party music. The smaller room was more hands-in-the-air, and the from Embankment Bar was playing a mixture of commercial house and electro. It was also the busiest room and where we spent most of the night. Depot was taken over by Hard On, with the front bar acting as a mini-dancefloor, complete with dancers on podiums and the bar itself, and the back room (what used to be Crash's main dancefloor) was an interestingly decked out playroom (and was very popular).
As for the men, they were a very pleasant mixture of Megawoof! crowd, Hard On regulars and general club bunnies, and it was nice to see such disparate factions mixing and enjoying themselves together. Generally, there were some very hot men around, and not one of them - ok, perhaps one - was one of the much publicised porn stars.
A few hours in The Boyf pointed across the room and said "Oh my God! Look at that guy!". Yes, he was lovely. Very, very lovely. Egyptian, with piercing brown eyes and a perfect hairy chest. He was also heading our way. I turned back to The Boyf to wait for him to pass us by, but then suddenly found very large hairy arms encircling my waist. The Boyf's mouth had dropped open. Shit, no, it couldn't be. I felt lips on the back of my neck and then a whispered "Hello" in my ear. I turned, and it was indeed him. We pawed at each other and kissed, then started to dance, his hairy torso pressed against me, his eyes boaring into mine. (Sorry, this is turning into a Mills & Boon novel). Suddenly coming to my senses I thought I ought to introduce him to The Boyf - like, if I must! - and we all exchanged pleasantries. And then he danced with us for the rest of the night, which meant that as far as I was concerned I had the best view in the place.
So why didn't I enjoy myself? Well, thank you for asking. It was because it became very apparent that the Egyptian was doing a certain drug, one which The Boyf and I refuse to touch, and that made me worried. To be honest I'd have preferred it if we'd had a little grapple and then he'd moved on, but the longer he stayed with us the more I started to worry that we was going to drop at some point, and it was making me nervous. In the end he didn't, and by the time we made our way home (at 6am) he was still fine and dandy, so I'd worried for nothing. But still, I've seen this drug cause too many problems, and I'll always be wary of people who are on it.
So, all in all, it was actually a better evening in retrospect than it was at the time. I'd certainly go to another if they do one. Just don't bother with the VIP tickets.
OMO At The Movies: "Iron Man"
The Boyf and I have been to see three films in quick succession, so I'm only going to do a very small review of each.
First up it's "Iron Man"...
Ok, so I have a "thing" for Robert Downey Jr and I don't know why! There, I said it. Again. I know he's not all that, but I like his cheeky charm, and even forcing myself to (partly) sit through "A Scanner Darkly" didn't detract from it. Never did manage to get all the way through that film...
I really enjoyed "Iron Man". And yes, I know I like superhero movies. Ok, ok, give me a break. When I go to the pictures - a phrase which sounds like the films could very well be in black and white and come accompanied by a guy rising from the floor on a Whirlitzer - I go to be entertained. I go to eat chocolate, suspend disbelief and relax for a couple of hours. I generally don't go to see films which are going to be hard work. Those I reserve for when I'm at home.
So, with that in mind; was I entertained? Unreservedly yes.
Was it all a bit ham-fisted? Oh yes.
Was the plot so thin it resembled Paris Hilton on hunger strike? Indeed.
Well thought out, three dimensional characters? Er... no.
Does Gwyneth Paltrow possess any discernible talent? Absolutely not.
If you like your movies fast-paced, fun to look and like to not have to think for 90 minutes at a time then you'll like it.
One question though. How on Earth did Tony Stark manage to build the original Iron Man suit whilst imprisoned a cave, using bits of old scrap, without anyone noticing even though he was under constant surveillance, and utilising technology he couldn't get to work in a lab? Oh, and why did he have the plans for the suit on him in the first place?
Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers...
First up it's "Iron Man"...
Ok, so I have a "thing" for Robert Downey Jr and I don't know why! There, I said it. Again. I know he's not all that, but I like his cheeky charm, and even forcing myself to (partly) sit through "A Scanner Darkly" didn't detract from it. Never did manage to get all the way through that film...
I really enjoyed "Iron Man". And yes, I know I like superhero movies. Ok, ok, give me a break. When I go to the pictures - a phrase which sounds like the films could very well be in black and white and come accompanied by a guy rising from the floor on a Whirlitzer - I go to be entertained. I go to eat chocolate, suspend disbelief and relax for a couple of hours. I generally don't go to see films which are going to be hard work. Those I reserve for when I'm at home.
So, with that in mind; was I entertained? Unreservedly yes.
Was it all a bit ham-fisted? Oh yes.
Was the plot so thin it resembled Paris Hilton on hunger strike? Indeed.
Well thought out, three dimensional characters? Er... no.
Does Gwyneth Paltrow possess any discernible talent? Absolutely not.
If you like your movies fast-paced, fun to look and like to not have to think for 90 minutes at a time then you'll like it.
One question though. How on Earth did Tony Stark manage to build the original Iron Man suit whilst imprisoned a cave, using bits of old scrap, without anyone noticing even though he was under constant surveillance, and utilising technology he couldn't get to work in a lab? Oh, and why did he have the plans for the suit on him in the first place?
Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers...
Thursday, June 12, 2008
OMO At The Movies: "Sex And The City"
Fuck me, this film seems to go on forever. Wouldn't they have been better just making a 2 part mini-series? Oh no, of course that wouldn't have made as much money. Silly me.
One good thing's come out though; I've now taken to flying to New York to hire a fabulously gauche new hand-bag every week rather than having to constantly buy them to keep up with the latest fad.
We went on a Thursday night, and I honestly can't remember the last time I saw our local cinema completely packed out mid-week. The only problem was that in an audience of a fair few hundred only 4 of us were men. The place resembled a massive hen-night. A cheap hen-night at that. You know, the sort of hen-night that attracts that type of girl you often see hanging out of a limo' sunroof near Piccadilly Circus - invariably wearing bunny-rabbit ears and/or angel-wings - screaming obscenities at unsuspecting men on the pavement, with the sound of 10 drunk girls within wailing along to "I've Had The Time Of My Life" from Dirty Dancing only barely muffled by the thankfully blacked-out windows.
In short, it was the type of hyped-up crowd which I imagine you get just before the Chippendales come on stage. You could quite literally smell the oestrogen in the air. A hush descended over the crowd as all heads swung round in our direction. I'd read about this with sharks; they could smell blood for miles and would come to investigate, circling the prey. As soon as one finally went for the kill a huge feeding frenzy would begin, with anything in the vicinity likely to be eaten. The Boyf and I eyed each other nervously. "Act camp", I whispered, "it's the only way we'll get out of here alive".
The Drag Queen - who we'd taken along as cover and body-guard - pushed us up the aisle and into some seats, where we had to scramble over discarded accessories. I don't think I've ever seen so many bags and coats and jumpers in my life before. What is it with women and having to have everything with them all the time? And shoes! Why had they all taken their shoes off?
The women talked all of the way through the trailers, so much so that I couldn't hear the trailer for The Dark Knight, which I'd been looking forward to. The Drag Queen also chatted throughout - to us and any girl in the vicinity, as girls have want to do. Apparently trailers are a boy thing.
Then the film started, which I thought would be a mercy until I began to realise how long it was going to be, and that the audience were going to cheer/sob/laugh/applaud etc at every unfolding event. I say "unfolding event" like it had a plot. Basically it's this (here come the spoilers); Carrie and Big are getting married, Steve cheats on Miranda and they split up, Big jilts Carrie at the altar, Carrie implores Miranda to learn the meaning of forgiveness thereby learning it herself and forgiving Big, Big and Carrie get married. Between these major events are Samantha's reluctance to get old (still), and Charlotte being pregnant, which apparently has had the same effect on her as a frontal lobotomy. The whole forgiveness thing is given a further push by Jennifer Hudson's character, which is shoe-horned into the proceedings with little to do other than labour the point, just in case the Miranda/Steve situation wasn't already obvious enough.
Interspersing the whole thing is a veritable cornucopia of hideous frocks, bags and shoes.
And was it even filmed in New York? We get to see precious little of the city they so love (apart from the steps up to Carrie's apartment). I guess the title doesn't actually state which city, so perhaps they thought they'd film any outdoor scene which didn't involve Central Park in Vancouver.
So, my conclusion? Yes, amazingly I did actually enjoy it, but only because I liked the series in the first place. Ok, Sex And The City never set the world alight, but it was always an easy watch, and the film's exactly the same. It's the movie equivalent of Heat magazine. No reason to catch it on the big screen, but if you are a fan then no doubt you'll want to see it at some point.
One good thing's come out though; I've now taken to flying to New York to hire a fabulously gauche new hand-bag every week rather than having to constantly buy them to keep up with the latest fad.
We went on a Thursday night, and I honestly can't remember the last time I saw our local cinema completely packed out mid-week. The only problem was that in an audience of a fair few hundred only 4 of us were men. The place resembled a massive hen-night. A cheap hen-night at that. You know, the sort of hen-night that attracts that type of girl you often see hanging out of a limo' sunroof near Piccadilly Circus - invariably wearing bunny-rabbit ears and/or angel-wings - screaming obscenities at unsuspecting men on the pavement, with the sound of 10 drunk girls within wailing along to "I've Had The Time Of My Life" from Dirty Dancing only barely muffled by the thankfully blacked-out windows.
In short, it was the type of hyped-up crowd which I imagine you get just before the Chippendales come on stage. You could quite literally smell the oestrogen in the air. A hush descended over the crowd as all heads swung round in our direction. I'd read about this with sharks; they could smell blood for miles and would come to investigate, circling the prey. As soon as one finally went for the kill a huge feeding frenzy would begin, with anything in the vicinity likely to be eaten. The Boyf and I eyed each other nervously. "Act camp", I whispered, "it's the only way we'll get out of here alive".
The Drag Queen - who we'd taken along as cover and body-guard - pushed us up the aisle and into some seats, where we had to scramble over discarded accessories. I don't think I've ever seen so many bags and coats and jumpers in my life before. What is it with women and having to have everything with them all the time? And shoes! Why had they all taken their shoes off?
The women talked all of the way through the trailers, so much so that I couldn't hear the trailer for The Dark Knight, which I'd been looking forward to. The Drag Queen also chatted throughout - to us and any girl in the vicinity, as girls have want to do. Apparently trailers are a boy thing.
Then the film started, which I thought would be a mercy until I began to realise how long it was going to be, and that the audience were going to cheer/sob/laugh/applaud etc at every unfolding event. I say "unfolding event" like it had a plot. Basically it's this (here come the spoilers); Carrie and Big are getting married, Steve cheats on Miranda and they split up, Big jilts Carrie at the altar, Carrie implores Miranda to learn the meaning of forgiveness thereby learning it herself and forgiving Big, Big and Carrie get married. Between these major events are Samantha's reluctance to get old (still), and Charlotte being pregnant, which apparently has had the same effect on her as a frontal lobotomy. The whole forgiveness thing is given a further push by Jennifer Hudson's character, which is shoe-horned into the proceedings with little to do other than labour the point, just in case the Miranda/Steve situation wasn't already obvious enough.
Interspersing the whole thing is a veritable cornucopia of hideous frocks, bags and shoes.
And was it even filmed in New York? We get to see precious little of the city they so love (apart from the steps up to Carrie's apartment). I guess the title doesn't actually state which city, so perhaps they thought they'd film any outdoor scene which didn't involve Central Park in Vancouver.
So, my conclusion? Yes, amazingly I did actually enjoy it, but only because I liked the series in the first place. Ok, Sex And The City never set the world alight, but it was always an easy watch, and the film's exactly the same. It's the movie equivalent of Heat magazine. No reason to catch it on the big screen, but if you are a fan then no doubt you'll want to see it at some point.
Friday, June 06, 2008
…Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?
We went to Hard On on Saturday, for the first time this year if I'm not very much mistaken.
Oh, hang on, I've not told you about Friday yet.
So, Friday evening I jumped on a train after work and met up with The Boyf in Brighton. Being a school holiday he'd gone down for the day to make the most of the nice weather they were suddenly having, and to meet up with an old college friend. I went straight to the friend's house and he and his boyfriend cooked us a light meal before we headed out to some bars.
I like Brighton. It has a more laid-back feel compared to London, but there's still plenty to do, although it all has that slight provincial feel to it. We started our evening in The Star (the local bear bar) but not much was happening, so we quickly moved to Legends. For a Friday - with good weather - it seemed a little quiet, so we moved to GBH (a club for "blokes"). It was dead, the only saving grace being a very cute doorman. But then a few people started to turn up and among them was a cute guy I'd spotted earlier in the evening. The drinks flowed, we dragged the table-cloths from the tables and ran about the place with them as capes, and at some point or other managed to get very drunk. Then the cute guy made a pass at us. He was incredibly forward and chatty, which I greatly admired (being the wall-flower that I am). It must get him laid pretty regularly, and it was certainly working tonight.
He dragged us to another bar, and The Boyf's friends called it a night, obviously realising what was in the offing. During the course of our chatting it transpired that we knew a lot of people in common (surprise, surprise), and the flirting got more and more intense, until The Boyf finally said "So, let's go to your house".
It turned out he lived only 100 yards away from The Boyf's friends, which was handy, and once we got back to his house he proceeded to show us (ok, bore us) with lots of things on his computer. Again The Boyf came to the rescue with an abrupt "Look, why don't you just get your cock out".
He did. And there was much rejoicing. Just for the record - for the voyeurs among you - it was almost as thick as a coke can, although not especially long, and came served with a matching pair of very large balls. As The Boyf would say "It's better to be stretched than probed". Luckily I have no gag reflex and often resemble a python dislocating its mouth to swallow something larger than itself. We finally dragged ourselves back to the friend's house at 6am, feeling rather worse for wear.
Amazingly we were up again at 10.30, and I felt fine. No hangover or anything. The four of us headed out for breakfast by the beach, by which time the sun was blazing, so we headed onto the beach for a few hours before The Boyf and I headed home. It was only when we got back to a very grey London that I realised how sun-burnt I was, just in time for Hard On...
The Boyf persuaded me to wear the rubber shorts, but I'm still very aware that I look like an over-cooked sausage in them. Still, I do actually like my legs and they were commented on (in a good way, I hasten to add) which made me feel a bit more relaxed.
As you may have noticed I'm not particularly into public displays of group sex. Huh? No, really, I'm not. Honest. Anyway, the drinks flowed (again) and I relaxed a bit more, and then the little muscley guy on the podium dancing with his cock out suddenly started to look more attractive. Certainly, his cock bobbing about at eye-level was having the same effect as when you dangle a ball of wool in front of a cat. Finally I pounced. And then it all started to escalate. I'm not going into details but it probably wasn't a pretty sight to be honest. To tell the truth there are a lot of not-pretty sights at Hard On anyway, so I'm sure we fitted right in.
We ended the night in Chariots Sauna (Vauxhall) - my first visit. I was just thankful for being able to finally peel the rubber shorts off, which contained what appeared to be enough sweat to fill a small paddling pool. Whoever first thought of wearing rubber for clubbing was obviously a mental.
Chariots was actually quite amusing, but then I usually think that about saunas. I have trouble taking most supposedly highly-charged sexual situations seriously - if you ever hear anyone with a fit of the giggles in a dark-room it's likely to be me. I mean, everyone takes it all so seriously. I just don’t get it. Yeah, yeah, I know that there are times when you get into a groove and it all gets heated, but generally I prefer to be able to smile or laugh when I'm enjoying myself, and sex is to be enjoyed, isn't it? Certainly the best nights sex I've had have all included interludes of uncontrollable giggling.
So, Chariots was ok for a chill-out, and The Boyf disappeared for a little while whilst I sat in the lounge watching Sky News. And therein lies the difference in how we relax.
All in all a fun Saturday night out. We're now building up to the Hustlaball. Who's coming?
Oh, hang on, I've not told you about Friday yet.
So, Friday evening I jumped on a train after work and met up with The Boyf in Brighton. Being a school holiday he'd gone down for the day to make the most of the nice weather they were suddenly having, and to meet up with an old college friend. I went straight to the friend's house and he and his boyfriend cooked us a light meal before we headed out to some bars.
I like Brighton. It has a more laid-back feel compared to London, but there's still plenty to do, although it all has that slight provincial feel to it. We started our evening in The Star (the local bear bar) but not much was happening, so we quickly moved to Legends. For a Friday - with good weather - it seemed a little quiet, so we moved to GBH (a club for "blokes"). It was dead, the only saving grace being a very cute doorman. But then a few people started to turn up and among them was a cute guy I'd spotted earlier in the evening. The drinks flowed, we dragged the table-cloths from the tables and ran about the place with them as capes, and at some point or other managed to get very drunk. Then the cute guy made a pass at us. He was incredibly forward and chatty, which I greatly admired (being the wall-flower that I am). It must get him laid pretty regularly, and it was certainly working tonight.
He dragged us to another bar, and The Boyf's friends called it a night, obviously realising what was in the offing. During the course of our chatting it transpired that we knew a lot of people in common (surprise, surprise), and the flirting got more and more intense, until The Boyf finally said "So, let's go to your house".
It turned out he lived only 100 yards away from The Boyf's friends, which was handy, and once we got back to his house he proceeded to show us (ok, bore us) with lots of things on his computer. Again The Boyf came to the rescue with an abrupt "Look, why don't you just get your cock out".
He did. And there was much rejoicing. Just for the record - for the voyeurs among you - it was almost as thick as a coke can, although not especially long, and came served with a matching pair of very large balls. As The Boyf would say "It's better to be stretched than probed". Luckily I have no gag reflex and often resemble a python dislocating its mouth to swallow something larger than itself. We finally dragged ourselves back to the friend's house at 6am, feeling rather worse for wear.
Amazingly we were up again at 10.30, and I felt fine. No hangover or anything. The four of us headed out for breakfast by the beach, by which time the sun was blazing, so we headed onto the beach for a few hours before The Boyf and I headed home. It was only when we got back to a very grey London that I realised how sun-burnt I was, just in time for Hard On...
The Boyf persuaded me to wear the rubber shorts, but I'm still very aware that I look like an over-cooked sausage in them. Still, I do actually like my legs and they were commented on (in a good way, I hasten to add) which made me feel a bit more relaxed.
As you may have noticed I'm not particularly into public displays of group sex. Huh? No, really, I'm not. Honest. Anyway, the drinks flowed (again) and I relaxed a bit more, and then the little muscley guy on the podium dancing with his cock out suddenly started to look more attractive. Certainly, his cock bobbing about at eye-level was having the same effect as when you dangle a ball of wool in front of a cat. Finally I pounced. And then it all started to escalate. I'm not going into details but it probably wasn't a pretty sight to be honest. To tell the truth there are a lot of not-pretty sights at Hard On anyway, so I'm sure we fitted right in.
We ended the night in Chariots Sauna (Vauxhall) - my first visit. I was just thankful for being able to finally peel the rubber shorts off, which contained what appeared to be enough sweat to fill a small paddling pool. Whoever first thought of wearing rubber for clubbing was obviously a mental.
Chariots was actually quite amusing, but then I usually think that about saunas. I have trouble taking most supposedly highly-charged sexual situations seriously - if you ever hear anyone with a fit of the giggles in a dark-room it's likely to be me. I mean, everyone takes it all so seriously. I just don’t get it. Yeah, yeah, I know that there are times when you get into a groove and it all gets heated, but generally I prefer to be able to smile or laugh when I'm enjoying myself, and sex is to be enjoyed, isn't it? Certainly the best nights sex I've had have all included interludes of uncontrollable giggling.
So, Chariots was ok for a chill-out, and The Boyf disappeared for a little while whilst I sat in the lounge watching Sky News. And therein lies the difference in how we relax.
All in all a fun Saturday night out. We're now building up to the Hustlaball. Who's coming?
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
The Bank Holiday Round Up (Finally)
Yet again I write something then forget to post it. So, what's been happening...
We had a lovely Bank Holiday weekend, as it turned out. The Boyf's back is well on the mend, so we made the most of it and went out.
Friday night was Tonka, which was quieter than we assumed it was going to be. Always a good social event though.
We went to the gym for the first time in I don't know how long on Saturday, then wandered along the South Bank to have lunch at Brown's (I can thoroughly recommend the Elderflower Mojito - absolutely gorgeous), and to have a look at the Telectroscope, which looks like a giant camera that has crash-landed outside of the Mayor's building. For those of you who don't know, the story goes that they've dug a top-secret tunnel through the Earth between London and New York, and then placed a magnifying device at both ends (the Telectroscope) which enables people to see straight through from either end. It's a lovely idea and had a huge queue of people vying for a look. Although I've not actually read how they've done it I'm assuming that there's simply a camera at either end transmitting images to the opposing city. This is what modern art should be about - something to get involved in and make people talk. Certainly I could hear people in the queue completely taken in by the tunnel story.
We went to the theatre on Saturday evening to see "Wicked", finally. Kerry Ellis (as Elphaba) is amazing. She has such a lovely, non-theatre, singing voice, and I can see why she's leaving to reprise the role on Broadway next month. Apparently she's back in the London production in December, and we're planning on going again to see her. On the whole I thoroughly enjoyed it, even (almost) managing to suspend disbelief. If you haven't seen it already I recommend it, but try to go before Kerry leaves.
Sunday was "I Love Vauxhall" - basically Vauxhall Pride, and thankfully it stopped raining and dried out for the duration. It was a good little event, and certainly a good starting place for an annual affair. We went with the inevitable Drag Queen and OBM's, and then bumped into My Big Little Sister and his lovely husband. And of course, we can't go to Vauxhall on a Sunday without stopping by at the Tavern, but on this occasion it was only a short interlude before we headed home to get ready for XXL Fusion.
We almost never made it. At our age we've started to feel the need for a disco-nap before venturing out, and I forgot to set the alarm. I woke up at 12.30am in a panic, and we jumped up, showered and arrived at XXL just in time for StoneBridge to start his set at 1. His set was patchy, at least to start, and he didn't seem to be able to decide whether to play tribal, electro or very hands-in-the-air stuff. I quite enjoyed the mixture, but the crowd were unsure. Certainly he played some blinding songs, many of which I'd not heard before. XXL was actually pretty quiet; I guess a lot of people had stayed away because of the crush last time. But also I'm guessing that the pull of StoneBridge wasn't as strong as the Freemasons and a lot of people just decided to stay in Vauxhall. A shame, cause it had all the ingrediants of a good night. You know, I was there!
The weather was awful on Monday so we spent most of it in bed, only venturing out to have lunch with The Drag Queen and a mutual friend (who The Boyf and I have always… admired) and who has just moved into a flat down the road from us. Fancy having him so close by? We're now diverting slightly past his place in case he's wandering around in his pants. Or naked, of course. Does that make us stalkers? Oh well...
And then I had Tuesday off work to finally get my car back on the road. As some of you may recall (by which I mean noone, obviously), some little shit broke into it back in 2006 and since then it's been parked at my Mum's house. What with The Boyf's car being a shit heap (technical term), I finally decided to get mine back home and prepare it for an MOT etc. And now I realise how much I missed it. Not that it's anything special, but it's mine, and that means alot. You will be seeing me roaring up to the Tavern with the stereo blaring, I can assure you.
We had a lovely Bank Holiday weekend, as it turned out. The Boyf's back is well on the mend, so we made the most of it and went out.
Friday night was Tonka, which was quieter than we assumed it was going to be. Always a good social event though.
We went to the gym for the first time in I don't know how long on Saturday, then wandered along the South Bank to have lunch at Brown's (I can thoroughly recommend the Elderflower Mojito - absolutely gorgeous), and to have a look at the Telectroscope, which looks like a giant camera that has crash-landed outside of the Mayor's building. For those of you who don't know, the story goes that they've dug a top-secret tunnel through the Earth between London and New York, and then placed a magnifying device at both ends (the Telectroscope) which enables people to see straight through from either end. It's a lovely idea and had a huge queue of people vying for a look. Although I've not actually read how they've done it I'm assuming that there's simply a camera at either end transmitting images to the opposing city. This is what modern art should be about - something to get involved in and make people talk. Certainly I could hear people in the queue completely taken in by the tunnel story.
We went to the theatre on Saturday evening to see "Wicked", finally. Kerry Ellis (as Elphaba) is amazing. She has such a lovely, non-theatre, singing voice, and I can see why she's leaving to reprise the role on Broadway next month. Apparently she's back in the London production in December, and we're planning on going again to see her. On the whole I thoroughly enjoyed it, even (almost) managing to suspend disbelief. If you haven't seen it already I recommend it, but try to go before Kerry leaves.
Sunday was "I Love Vauxhall" - basically Vauxhall Pride, and thankfully it stopped raining and dried out for the duration. It was a good little event, and certainly a good starting place for an annual affair. We went with the inevitable Drag Queen and OBM's, and then bumped into My Big Little Sister and his lovely husband. And of course, we can't go to Vauxhall on a Sunday without stopping by at the Tavern, but on this occasion it was only a short interlude before we headed home to get ready for XXL Fusion.
We almost never made it. At our age we've started to feel the need for a disco-nap before venturing out, and I forgot to set the alarm. I woke up at 12.30am in a panic, and we jumped up, showered and arrived at XXL just in time for StoneBridge to start his set at 1. His set was patchy, at least to start, and he didn't seem to be able to decide whether to play tribal, electro or very hands-in-the-air stuff. I quite enjoyed the mixture, but the crowd were unsure. Certainly he played some blinding songs, many of which I'd not heard before. XXL was actually pretty quiet; I guess a lot of people had stayed away because of the crush last time. But also I'm guessing that the pull of StoneBridge wasn't as strong as the Freemasons and a lot of people just decided to stay in Vauxhall. A shame, cause it had all the ingrediants of a good night. You know, I was there!
The weather was awful on Monday so we spent most of it in bed, only venturing out to have lunch with The Drag Queen and a mutual friend (who The Boyf and I have always… admired) and who has just moved into a flat down the road from us. Fancy having him so close by? We're now diverting slightly past his place in case he's wandering around in his pants. Or naked, of course. Does that make us stalkers? Oh well...
And then I had Tuesday off work to finally get my car back on the road. As some of you may recall (by which I mean noone, obviously), some little shit broke into it back in 2006 and since then it's been parked at my Mum's house. What with The Boyf's car being a shit heap (technical term), I finally decided to get mine back home and prepare it for an MOT etc. And now I realise how much I missed it. Not that it's anything special, but it's mine, and that means alot. You will be seeing me roaring up to the Tavern with the stereo blaring, I can assure you.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Who Is Idol?
So.... a "surprise" win by David Cook last night then. As Shirley Bassey would say "it's all just a little bit of history repeating"...
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Whose Idol?
Is anyone paying attention to 'American Idol' over here in England apart from me? When I say "attention" I mean I'll leave it on if I accidentally happen to have the tv on and can't find anything else to watch.
Is that David Archuleta not Gareth Gates after extensive surgery? Bland, soulless voice? Check. Apparently rabid fan-base from day one, making it seem impossible for anyone else to win? Check. Talent comprising mainly of being able to look cute on camera? Check. Slightly androgynous, soft speaking voice? Crying in all the right places? Oh, so modest and self-effacing? Check, Check, Check. Career not likely to last past the first album? Oh, I should think so.
I loved it when Gareth was beaten by Will Young, back in the day when tv's were still black and white and when we all listened to the BBC World Service to find out what was going on with the war. You know, when Wagon Wheels were named as such because they were the size of wheels off covered wagons. Before they got all tiny and bite-size, so you can get them in your mouth whole, as I can a jam doughnut. But not at the same time, although I can't say that I've tried. One to add to the list of things to do before I die, along with swimming with sharks, and marrying Sean Connery in the late 1960's. And then divorcing him and marrying Burt Reynolds in the 70's. And then divorcing him and marrying Tom Selleck in the 80's. Currently I'm still hoping to marry Bill Goldberg, but I'm not sure who I should have married in the 90's that I should now be divorcing him for. I had a bit of a hard spot for Bruce Willis, so perhaps we'll go for that.
So, Gareth Gates. What a great talent he turned out to be. I couldn't stand him from day one, with his insipid blandness perfectly calculated to make grannies moist. Those big brown I'm-so-innocent eyes. I still think there was some manipulating going on to allow Will Young to win, as Gareth seemingly already had a career in the bag anyway. Of course, the talent shone though in the end and whilst Gareth faded into a grey, dull-looking obsurity, Will went from ok first album to bloody excellent second, and still rather good third. Gareth's second album doesn't even appear in bargain bins it's so scarce.
So, will David Archaeopteryx "do a Gareth"? Will he come a surprise second, amid allegations of a conspiracy? Will he be miraculously taken under Simon Cowell's wing, only for the spell to suddenly be broken and for people to realise that's he's the sonic equivalent of a fridge - white goods at best?
Oh, to be taken under Simon Cowell's wing. Is it only me that thinks Simon Cowell's kinda hot? I totally would. He's the only reason I'm still watching 'American Idol'. I'm totally going to marry him, as soon as I've married and divorced Bill Goldberg.
'Britain's Got Talent' on the other hand is a marvel of light entertainment. But would someone please stop them wheeling out children to sing "Nessun Dorma"? Or "Ave Maria" for that matter. You'd think there were only two songs that angelic children could sing. What's the betting that the next time that chubby little blond kid is on he'll fucking sing "I'm Walking In The Air"?
Still, I'll sit through it no matter what, just for a look at Simon Cowell's hairy wrists. Is that so wrong?
Is that David Archuleta not Gareth Gates after extensive surgery? Bland, soulless voice? Check. Apparently rabid fan-base from day one, making it seem impossible for anyone else to win? Check. Talent comprising mainly of being able to look cute on camera? Check. Slightly androgynous, soft speaking voice? Crying in all the right places? Oh, so modest and self-effacing? Check, Check, Check. Career not likely to last past the first album? Oh, I should think so.
I loved it when Gareth was beaten by Will Young, back in the day when tv's were still black and white and when we all listened to the BBC World Service to find out what was going on with the war. You know, when Wagon Wheels were named as such because they were the size of wheels off covered wagons. Before they got all tiny and bite-size, so you can get them in your mouth whole, as I can a jam doughnut. But not at the same time, although I can't say that I've tried. One to add to the list of things to do before I die, along with swimming with sharks, and marrying Sean Connery in the late 1960's. And then divorcing him and marrying Burt Reynolds in the 70's. And then divorcing him and marrying Tom Selleck in the 80's. Currently I'm still hoping to marry Bill Goldberg, but I'm not sure who I should have married in the 90's that I should now be divorcing him for. I had a bit of a hard spot for Bruce Willis, so perhaps we'll go for that.
So, Gareth Gates. What a great talent he turned out to be. I couldn't stand him from day one, with his insipid blandness perfectly calculated to make grannies moist. Those big brown I'm-so-innocent eyes. I still think there was some manipulating going on to allow Will Young to win, as Gareth seemingly already had a career in the bag anyway. Of course, the talent shone though in the end and whilst Gareth faded into a grey, dull-looking obsurity, Will went from ok first album to bloody excellent second, and still rather good third. Gareth's second album doesn't even appear in bargain bins it's so scarce.
So, will David Archaeopteryx "do a Gareth"? Will he come a surprise second, amid allegations of a conspiracy? Will he be miraculously taken under Simon Cowell's wing, only for the spell to suddenly be broken and for people to realise that's he's the sonic equivalent of a fridge - white goods at best?
Oh, to be taken under Simon Cowell's wing. Is it only me that thinks Simon Cowell's kinda hot? I totally would. He's the only reason I'm still watching 'American Idol'. I'm totally going to marry him, as soon as I've married and divorced Bill Goldberg.
'Britain's Got Talent' on the other hand is a marvel of light entertainment. But would someone please stop them wheeling out children to sing "Nessun Dorma"? Or "Ave Maria" for that matter. You'd think there were only two songs that angelic children could sing. What's the betting that the next time that chubby little blond kid is on he'll fucking sing "I'm Walking In The Air"?
Still, I'll sit through it no matter what, just for a look at Simon Cowell's hairy wrists. Is that so wrong?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Social Life? Me?
The Boyf's bad back is, like, totally ruining my social life.
In the last couple of weeks we've barely ventured out of our home, and any clubbing has been done in short burst. Thusly we attended the opening of Beyond, for 2 hours, a couple of weeks back. Verdict; promising but nothing like the "proper" Beyond.
Over the Bank Holiday weekend we actually managed almost a whole Monday at the RVT, but that's only because the weather was good, allowing us to sit outside. We barely went inside and left quite early.
Last weekend we'd made big plans to go to Megawoof!, and The Boyf rested himself specially. However we actually only lasted about 3 hours before he was complaining, and I'd spent my whole time trying to stop people bumping into him (not an easy job in a packed Woof!) and basically fretting about his apparent... unenjoyment? Disenjoyment? Whatever.
Sunday was another unseasonably lovely day so I pressured The Boyf into going to the RVT again to sit outside, and in the end we never even ventured into the building, leaving very early to have food and go home, The Boyf complaining that he wasn't "into it".
Of course, this is all playing havoc with my sex life. I've not even snogged anyone since April, and you have to go back to early March for anything more than that. This is not good news.
So if you do happen to see me out over the next few weeks make sure you take photos and generally make a fuss of the fact that you've missed me. I'm OMO by the way, just in case you'd forgotten...
In the last couple of weeks we've barely ventured out of our home, and any clubbing has been done in short burst. Thusly we attended the opening of Beyond, for 2 hours, a couple of weeks back. Verdict; promising but nothing like the "proper" Beyond.
Over the Bank Holiday weekend we actually managed almost a whole Monday at the RVT, but that's only because the weather was good, allowing us to sit outside. We barely went inside and left quite early.
Last weekend we'd made big plans to go to Megawoof!, and The Boyf rested himself specially. However we actually only lasted about 3 hours before he was complaining, and I'd spent my whole time trying to stop people bumping into him (not an easy job in a packed Woof!) and basically fretting about his apparent... unenjoyment? Disenjoyment? Whatever.
Sunday was another unseasonably lovely day so I pressured The Boyf into going to the RVT again to sit outside, and in the end we never even ventured into the building, leaving very early to have food and go home, The Boyf complaining that he wasn't "into it".
Of course, this is all playing havoc with my sex life. I've not even snogged anyone since April, and you have to go back to early March for anything more than that. This is not good news.
So if you do happen to see me out over the next few weeks make sure you take photos and generally make a fuss of the fact that you've missed me. I'm OMO by the way, just in case you'd forgotten...
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