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Tuesday, July 20
24 Year Party People
I decided some time ago that this summer would be the last power party period in my life because, by the time my birthday rolls around in October, I will have been going at it for a solid 24 years. 24 years. That's a long time. I feel like a Gay Keith Richards. I have incipient facial wrinkle-age. I'm developing concurrent phobias of both brightly lit rooms & overly demanding conversation. The last time I fell in love, it was because he had a nice apartment, the same waist size & slept less than I did. I involuntarily freeze in the presence of police officers, people who drive minivans, & devout christians. I have this sneaking suspicion that, once placed in an adult (grown-up - not porn) setting, I'll find I can't actually do anything....
Luckily, however, I still have 2 whole months to before I have to face that personal trauma drama!! So fuck the expected things-to-do-in-order-to-become-boring list. I'll post that when it's cut & paste time on the farm they're sending me to.
Here's how my weeknd went, instead ::
:: Arrived, baked at Lettieri, waited at Lettieri, got cruised at Lettieri, was interviewed at Lettieri (some gay rag from europe - they said I looked "typical") - all for the price of a medium iced coffee, which, btw, was rather good.
:: Decamped at Brodie's, after an unsettling orienteering episode which involved several import/exporters, a few friends, and alot of money. I'm fairly certain I'm not the one who fucked up. Well - that's my story & I'm sticking to it.
:: We got high & tried to go shopping at a volume discount store for clothes & such. Of course - it was 10:30pm, and said store was closed - as it had been since 6:30.
:: Tony, Martin, Danny, Omar.
:: Arrived at fly, good party (ohmygod) despite the preponderence of G'd-out muscleboys jumping up & down everywhere (listen for the beat, boys...it's the same as counting - get it?).
:: 8 hours later, arrive at Comfort Zone. Whoa. Talking to my friend Neil, feel something on my right hip - someone's trying to hump me laterally. This guy has pizza breath & follows me everywhere. I help this girl in a powder blue bikini fix her hair in the bathroom, which, apparently, bonds us for life. Great big bodybuilder has a MajorNellieBreakdown in the bathroom - he hides from us for the rest of the night. Testosterone doesn't stop you from being gay, Sweeheart - it just makes you bigger. Rebecca showed up, thank god.
:: 8 hours later, emerge from Comfort Zone...let's skip this part...
:: And this part...
:: Went to "Hung". I know - quel retarded, what an embarassing name for a club night - but, for the moment, it's de rigeur on Sunday Nights. Had no energy, hovered on the edge of conciousness, but I looked ok, made the appearance, formed discernible words & phrases. A sizable contingent had been to the Madonna concert, so the mood was very Vogue 90's Gay, which, of course, means drunken speaker dancing. Some traditions should die.
:: Accidently missed an entire day, sorta crashed an orgy (we think), definitely saw 2 police officers draw their guns at some poor unsuspecting wino at Yonge & Wellesley during rush hour. Last year, SARS devastated Toronto's tourism industry - this year, I'm certain it'll be the city's increasingly rabid cops.
Next blow-out will be Montreal Pride. You should come...
Jair and I were kvetching the other day about the current dearth of vocals to be found in house club music...ok, that does't include coke-drenched soliloquys about shoes, money or sex on your Gulfstream V...but actual over-the-top Martha Wash/Loleatta Halloway wailing seems to be have evaporated from the playlists of clubheads everywhere. So I wrote this - cause I really needed a fix ::
Summer House Away From It All or Gritty City July Heat? - I dunno....the best tan I ever had was the result of an afternoon spent on the roof of a Dunkin' Donuts right outside Boston.
Greece or Portugal? - Both. However, Athens is bound to become Primo Terrorist Heat Score of a city in a matter of weeks. And Fendi is heavily discounted in Lisbon (for real). Portugal.
Helen Mirrin or Maggie Smith? - Maggie, when she's doing her wandering eye snob thing. Ok - Maggie - all the time.
Donald in prints....or solids? - Ahhh - the debate that never ends. After having been chastised - severely - for having the temerity to suggest recently that our fave D.C. Doyenne of Design might want to branch out somewhat from his usual diet of Smith & Slimane, I can only cautiously suggest he re-visit the 2 basic fashion tenets which I know he knows so so well...colour & cut. Hear me, Donald - please hear me.
Britney - abort or not? - Like the world needs another example of mega-buck bad hair. Abort.
[here for you - always...]
Friday, July 2
The Morning After
More like the week, actually...here's a new song, borne of my sudden sobriety ::