kurt wenner has worked as a scientific space illustrator for nasa, has built processional art for the pope, has featured in absolut ads, but is most famous for his three-dimensional chalk masterpieces. he’s unable to work in london for the same reason that all british skateboarders suck… every piece of pavement in britain is cracked, uneven or missing altogether. mind the gap [in public works funding].
| A man and a pay phone were rushed to a hospital after he got his finger stuck in the coin return slot while trying to retrieve his 50 cents. Emergency room doctors gave Emanuel Fleming a painkiller and pried his middle finger loose using a wooden device and lubricant, ending the three-hour ordeal. “The bone in my finger felt like it was going to break. My finger was numb. It was very painful,” said Fleming, an elementary school janitor.
Fortunately for Fleming, he will avoid any major taunts and razzings from the schoolkids at the elementary school where he works, mostly because each and every one of them has a cell phone and has no idea what the hell a pay phone is. “Is that where you, like, get extra bonus minutes if you use the walkie-talkie feature of the Nokia 6245 after midnight to score some Twinkies and a bottle of your parent’s Nyquil from Enrique’s house?” asked Montana James, 12, snapping a digital photo of the AP reporter with his camera phone for later posting on his personal pre-teen blog “I Hate Everything Especially You”. “This interview blows I’m Audi 5000 who’s got some Mentos?” |
| mark morford |
as a pathetically small anti-bush protest parade chants past my office ["anti-bush, anti-blair, anti-war, everywhere" and "bush blair cia, how many kids did you kill today"] i feel a mixture of anger, shame, pride and apathy. anger because everybody now knows the iraq war has nothing to do with terrorirsm [although everyone is certainly glad that saddam is gone]. shame for being an american [technically my leaders are both ahnold and george w.]. pride that i’ve distanced myself from the fucked up usa, and that such massive protests have occurred and will occur in london, my home. and apathy because i feel that, at this point, there’s not much for the us and uk troops to do in iraq, aside from stick around, set up a government, restore society to some type of normality, and then get out. the damage is done, my friends.
i got my hair cut yesterday at the wacky barber in soho. as i sat down, my favorite cowboy andrew politely asked me if i was canadian… a great trick… american’s are never offended to be mistaken for canucks, but, in this day and age -anyone- would hate to be mistaken for american. we interspersed lighthearted political banter with his zingy off-color jokes. he pushes his texas cowboy image, as it’s a great gimmick for his salon, but it’s obvious that he, like myself, lives in this country for a very obvious reason—the state of affairs in america is so insanely hopeless.
i shared with andrew, the next time some brit demands you to justify george w. or his actions, pause, smile, and say, why don’t you justify your royal family, first?! we didn’t eleect him, we all just put up with him. i chose to run away, which i feel is an entirely honorable path of action.
oh how i do -love- that rui da silva track. as per usual, music is significantly weaving itself into my life, and i look back at the past week as a mtv-edited week-in-review.
where is the love?
well, blame canada. on thursday i met up with my three favorite canucks, mark, mitch and felix for drinkies at barcode, dinner at balans and more drinkies at friendly society. during dinner we gossiped, shared flatmate stories and the three took turns assuring me that my new project will be a success, and heaping entirely too much loving compliments on me. i nearly cried, and definitely blushed. amazingly supportive, those boys.
one time, two times…
still sporting my yellow and blue kill bill trainers [don't mess with me, lucy liu!], i tripped over to discotec with atif and the canadians where, for the first time i met laurent, the promoter for our favorite latin-flavored, r’n'b-meets-tribal-house, the-weekend-starts-on-thursday club. he was a star, ushered all of us drunken lot in and chatted briefly as we threw back bottle after bottle [after bottle] of champagne. i can breakdance whilst holding a champagne flute and not spill a drop [of champagne—guffaw].
push me, and then just touch me, so i can get my…
ran into, ran over, ran away from sid, the delicious pocket-sized latin-looking french boy i had met a few weeks prior at .popstarz. over the span of two evenings, i reckon we spent 3 hours dancing and snogging, and a grand total of 2 minutes chatting. after all of this quality time spent together, i still don’t know his age, where he lives, what he does, or, pretty much anything else.
i’m, spinning around, move outta my way
friday evening, i was at london bridge train station with greg, staring blankly up at the screens showing train times & platforms, along with the typical 300-person crowd of rush hour zombies commuters. suddenly this freaky hippy-looking guy to my right, listening to music on his headphones, starts bobbing his head. rock on, brothah!, i think to myself. then, the girl in front of me starts doing a little raver dance. then, this older bald guy at the back of the crowd starts pogo-ing, waving his ipod above his head. i look around, in bewildered amusement, as 30 or so people scattered throughout the crowd start independently dancing. maybe it was a flash mob, maybe some bored ravers, maybe a radio promotion. might seem lame and silly for trendy hipsters like you and me, but bizarre enough to cause your typical 60yo couple or 45yo businessman to re-examine society/trends/music/life.
q-b-o-y is just so fly / shamone, michael!
greg and i spent the evening at qboy marcos’ place. the boy knows how to cook, metaphorically, euphamistically, obviously, lyrically, sexually, socially and fer real. the three of us, to be honest, are such diversely different [backgrounds, careers, ages, style] yet last night we spent hours cracking each other up. saunas stories and broken hearts and music gossip and political debate, interspersed with strong cocktails, bo selecta and a stunning performance of marcos’ two latest tracks. his rhymes are intelligent, his beats thick and juicy, and the overall sound intelligent and sassy. i’m in love with quarter life crisis—which, as a single, constantly-befuddled, perpetually-reexamining gen-x-dropout i can certainly relate to. greg and i are completely signed-on to help him with his promotion, website and cd release. watch this space.
a-ha-ha-ha-ho he-he-he-he-ha-he
we giggled our way into town, taking a variety of busses, trains, hovercrafts, taxis and tubes to get up to .popstarz. en route, we fell down repeatedly, swang like monkeys from tube carriage to tube carriage, simulated sex with each other on the platform, marcos dropped trou at least twice, greg pretended to be a screaming retard, we loudly joined a private conversation between two spanish tourists, using our fluent knowledge of mexican restaurant menus to pretend comprehension. at one point on the tube, a white hippy raver chick sat down across from us, with giant dreadlocks, and i started singing the high-pitched techno opera song from fifth element and we all broke down into tears.
i really do love my mates, and this week has shown me that -maybe- i don’t need to be so strong, so independent, so self-centered with my life. -maybe- it’s okay to open up, just a bit, rather than living in a permanent i don’t need nothin’ from no one facade of independence.
1. scientists develop way to beam reflected solar energy from the moon to earth using so-called lazerrrs.
2. dependency on fossil fuels and even nuclear energy drops to nearly zero.
3. electricity costs plummet by 80%.
4. poor nations benefit by having electricity readily available: the average per capita income for families in developing nations increases from $2,000pa to $20,000pa.
5. the american economy benefits by losing dependence on foreign oil and the unskilled labor associated with the petrochemical industry. per capita income shifts from $35,000pa to $150,000pa.
6. some hard-core ravers hijack the concentrated light beam and shine it onto a disco ball the size of rhode island, turning the entire northern hemisphere into a giant dancefloor, for 12 hours each night.
7. giant stereo systems are installed in each major city, rumbling tectonic plates and causing giant earthquakes. we use those fossil fuels to make a giant smoke machine.
8. 97% of the population becomes dependant on ecstasy, with 78% of the population addicted to dancing and the other 22% just hanging out in cuddle puddles.
9. glowstick production becomes a huge industry, and converted oil tankers transport radioactive goo across the globe. 3 tankers simultaneously crash, and the goo kills all wildlife in and around that atlantic ocean.
please sign the petition now to save the world from this horrible fate. won’t somebody please think about the children?!?
thanks to poking and prodding by my mates, i’m making progress and getting more excited about my new project[s]. my trip to bristol really kicked me out of my social/career funk, and i’ve been rocking and rolling and staying refreshed.
been socialiing quite a bit [what's new, eric? who cares, eric?]
sunday was dtpm with atif, where we discussed the simple issue of wanting a boyfriend whilst single, and wanting freedom whilst coupled. we partied hard, but i tired of the ugly but muscled, cracked-out yet up-for-it crowd, and left pretty early around 3.
monday i met up with mark for the usual dinner and drinks, and got to exchange gossip about the dozens of boys, men and similar creatures circling in and out of our ridiculous lives. he attentively analyzed all of my bizarre plans, and gave it to me straight up, yo. got bored, went home.
tuesday was the triumphant homecoming of .gregiño, who’d been wandering around the deserts of arizona for a few weeks. our friendship is so ridiculously intimate, it took us hours to catch up on two weeks of gossip, and he passionately got me/us back on track with our project. like fat hairy mafiosos, we sat in the steam room with cigars hanging out of our mouths, planning on how to best conquer the world.
wednesday i nibbled some crepes with my colleague texas chad and his girlie eileen… i’ve been trying to dial-down the amount of told-you-so know-it-all london expatriate advice i’ve been spewing, but i feel the need to help every wayward american i come across.
darian has been calling my bluff recently, and trying to get me to stop my constant self-analysis and bitching. answering my call for new adventures and new people, he dragged me to the launch party cum [!!!] premiere of bad boys, a delicious new porn film. i could go into laborious sociological detail of what the party was like, but you could imagine. porn stars, industry peeps, media whores, friends, rent boys, sugardaddies, pimps, dealers—all subtly self-promoting, shmoozing, sucking down attention and free cocktails.
darian and i got into several friendly ego battles. his ego’s blossoming because he always pulls boys out from underneath me [or not from underneath me as the case may be], and of course is on cloud nine after getting a role in a porn film. last night, my ego got inflated by two different boys asking me if i was in porn films, and also torsten [no, not that one] recognizing me from xy… you did that article on the pet shop boys, right? torsten was absolutely delicious, and darian and i spent most of the evening fighting over him.
swam over to .heaven, where we ran into brendan and andrew [best friends that i never see] along with about 30 people who smiled.waved/said hi/shook hands/blew kisses/gossiped with, who, of course, i have no idea who the hell they are.
if i were straight, i’d still be a scene queen, i’d still be going to porn film launch parties, and my life wouldn’t be all that different. natch.
i’ve been plugging away at a very corporate day job for the past few months, located at the south bank at waterloo.
| i get to commute
south bank filled with skaterboyz i see big ben and the eye every day i make a fuck-load of money there are loads of places to eat lunch the waterloo sunsets are beautiful, and you get to sing that song… i conveniently end up in the west end each and every evening at exactly 615pm i’m well respected |
my commute takes an hour
that suck so poorly they can’t complete a single jump the bloody tourists make it tough to grab a sandwich the office environment is as dull as a box of rocks i eat lunch by myself cuz i have no friends almost every day that fucking abba song creeps into my head and i can’t get it out… bastard! i have to wake up and ungodly time of 8am [formerly my bedtime] i’m well bored |
i thoroughly enjoyed my weekend away to bristol… i really needed to get away from the distractions, the social pressures and the routines of london, and a mini break to this lovely hilly town of 400,000 was just what i needed.
problem: i’ve fallen into a social rut, and although i flutter around london clubs as the ultimate scene queen, it’s been a long long time since i’ve met someone new [not just to sleep with them].
solution: i tiptoed into pineapple [trashy gay bar] and queenshilling [trashy gay bar with dancefloor] meeting a few fun locals, namely simon [a cute hotel worker] and kate [a recently single dyke]. they took me under their wing, and—get this—with minimal effort, i made interesting deliberate smalltalk. we waxed about london life, american politics, why kate’s ex is a slag, joked about my innocence. it was great, and, sadly, the first time in a long time that i exercised those social muscles of mine.
problem: feeling a bit aimless after distancing myself from my job at the magazine. half-heartedly background thinking about different projects.
solution: a few days in a posh hotel, strolling a few miles around the hilly city each day, having countless huge autumn leaves actually fall on me as i enjoyed the peaceful tranquility of the sorta-hip, sorta-sleepy, sorta-touristy, sorta-studenty college town. sat in café after bookstore after park bench after bistro, i started to formulate my grand plans for my next project. i’ve told a few friends so far, and my wild plans seem to be greated by enthusiasm and excitement.
problem: i’ve become a little bit tired of the same london weekend routines.
solution: after meeting kate and simon at pineapple, we skipped over to queenshilling [q/—], where i met paul, the young, friendly owner. within moments we were having vodka cokes and tequilas, which in a parallel universe is precisely the recipe for disaster at .popstarz. eager to explain how friendly and cosy the gay scene is in bristol, paul drags me out of his own club at midnight, to take me to the other gay hotspots around town.
the next day, after tons of delicious sightseeing and pensive contemplation and swimming in the hotel pool, i skipped over to castros, a sorta hard-house afterhours club. i was eager to experience the infamous bristol sound [you know, massive attack and tricky and all that], but alas wasn’t really up for uv-light 4-on-the-floor mayhem. like any good gay boy, i raised the ariel, set myself to autopilot, and ended up in the middle of the dancefloor of vibes, presumably the biggest gay night in bristol.
my ego was boosted by boy after boy shamelessly hitting on me. standing right in front of me, starting. one after the other. eventually i had to go from being playful to just plain rude… what. the fuck. do you want?!?! psychos. wicked wicked tunes, friendly boys… in particular brian, a lad who, by all accounts, was a cute shy innocent young version of yours truly… circa 1998. the young eric liked the old eric, and the old eric certainly certainly certainly liked the young eric.
| are you neglecting your primal desires? when you stay home and you perfecting people… are you reflecting people… |
| desire—gusgus |
hi, can i please get the balance on my karma account? i want to make sure i’m not overdrawn, and check my interest rate…
had coffee and giggles with irish lee, who i still feel incredibly guilty for lamely breaking up with back in march. he just broke up with his latest boy last week, and needed someone to unload it all on… very awkward to listen to him analyze why his latest lad dumped him. an important new level to our post-boyfriends-friendship, and i did my best to cheer him up, as he is an absolutely lovely, adorable, special boy. there still is a zip zing sizzle between us.
+117 karma points
got stood up by posh jack, a boy i met last week in the sauna art gallery, and whom invited me out for dinner tonight. he was not only a no-show, but also a no-text and a no-call. cest la vie.
+33 karma points
whilst buying some train tickets this evening, i found £378 worth of train tickets in the machine… several open return tickets to throughout the uk, plus a credit card receipt showing the total purchase to be £378! i don’t even think the thought to use these tickets even entered my mind… good upbringing, years of being in the boy scouts and all that. i turned them into the ticket office, and the teller was shocked and pleased by my honesty… she assured me she’d be able to cancel the tickets and refund the credit card.
+516 karma points.
i’m off tomorrow [friday] for my grandiose soul-searching, plotting-and-scheming, top-sekrit trip. no computers, no email, no mobile phone—i will be absolutely unreachable. for once. back sunday, or maybe monday/tuesday if i’m really having fun.
i’ve lined up a small bit of recreation in b_________, but for the most part am planning on relaxing, recuperating, and putting together some plans for the next year or two of my life. the bits and pieces of what i want to do have been swimming around my head, i just need to sit down and sort through my myriad of ideas.
