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Friday, December 05, 2003

The which recreational substance am I on? project. Part 2.

(Read the introduction.)

Slight problem today: we're going to London tonight for a party, which would obviously be an IDEAL setting for Part 2 of the Project, except that there won't be any web access...

...so I've decided to jump the gun a bit, and have a bit of a cheeky pre-party in my lunch break. Because with this particular rec.sub, They'll Never Know. It's something of a Performance Enhancer, this one - and many top executives like me find that it helps them through a busy day verrry nicely, thank you.

You see? No typos, no dodgy stray punctuation marks, not like last night's ramble at all in fact. Because I'm in control here. I'm focused. Focused on success, achievement, goals, moving on up, reaching the higher ground baby. (It's kicking in nicely now - ah, the clarity.)

Some rec.subs are strictly for losers. But I'm no loser; I'm a WINNER. Play to win; even better, play WHILE you're winning. They'll Never Know.

Anyway, I've got better things to do with my valuable time than sit around blogging (that sad little word!). It's just a staging post, anyway, this blog thing. Oh yes. Because I've got plans; big plans. When you're as gifted a writer as I am, then you need to keep progressing - and I'll be leaving this sad little blogging thing waaaaay behind, just you wait and see. All I need is to be noticed - and that's just a matter of time, isn't it?

There will be a lot of important people at tonight's party - useful people - and I'm going to work that room good and proper. Use all my charm, flash them that smile, play them like I play that old guitar, gonna use my fingers, I'm gonna make you, make you, make you notice. Because that's what it's all about. And I understand that, and I'm going to be FANTASTIC tonight. Because, let's not pretend otherwise, false modesty is for losers and someone's got to say it...I AM FANTASTIC.

Message ends.

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Thursday, December 04, 2003

The which recreational substance am I on? project. Part 1.

(What's this?)

So yeah, I'm off my face on...whoops, almost gave the game away before I started...anyway, not sure if I like "off my face" because that implies that somehow I'm NOT BEING ME when in fact I'M STILL ME, I'm just MORE ME or ME IN A DIFFERENT WAY or, I know, ME REMIXED. Yes, that's it...I'm REMIXED. But this is STILL ME and all the stuff that's in my head, or should I say in my SOUL, is just the same, OK so it's not so easy to stick with one thought all the time but that's GOOD, we should cast our minds adrift some times, slip loose the knots and just, well, go with the flow, and maybe make new connections that will stay with us long after we're baclk to "normal", whatever that means. :-)

Let's look at that smiley again.

:0)

(That;s better, I like the flat nose, the hyphen looks too pinched, the zero is more expansive, warmer somehow. I think I'm going to start doing my smileys that way from now on. In fact, let;s ALL do our smileys that way from now on.

What's that? You don't use smileys? Not cool enough?

Well, I want you to think about that again. Just cast off all the baggage about what you think is "cool", I mean what sort of desirable human quality is that anyway, "cool", how does that add to the total sum of human happiness? It's a restriction you put upon yourself. You should question it.

So just think about all the smileys that all the "uncool" people have put all over the internet. Every one representing a grain of simple unalloyed joy and happiness, however small, but you put them all together in your mind, and you can see this VAST field of smileys - and they're all out there, recorded, frozen in time, a vast testament of positivity...and it's beautiful, and I don't mind being "uncool" and telling yiou that now, because you need to hear.So what I want you all to do now is this. Make a smiley. :0) That's right, everyone, make a smiley and put it on the internet somewhere and let's add to the balance of happiness in our own small way. It's good. It;'s all good. I'm good. We're good. You're good. And there's so much more I want to do now, but not at a keyboard because backspaces are bad karma :0) So goodnight, happy smiley people, and NO GUESSING IN THE COMMENTS because IT'S A GAME and let;s keep it open for everyone OK?

Last smiley.

:0)

Your turn.

xxx

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Bits.

1. I've updated the We listen chart on the sidebar at long last. As always, hover over the album titles for pithy reviewlets.

2. There's an interesting-discussion-stroke-heated-debate about gay ageism in one of the comments boxes below. Rough précis; anti-gay discrimination is alive and well, except that now it's practised by young queens against old queens; oh no it isn't; oh yes it is; isn't; is; etc. etc. (except with considerably more eloquence and feeling).

3. From the same comments box: I had no idea that our Xmas photos had already become something of a hotly anticipated seasonal institution. (Here's last year's photo, and here's the photo from 2001.) Oh dear; that's another performance anxiety to add to the list, then! (Actually, K and I came up with this year's concept only yesterday evening. It should work nicely.)

4. Spammers: the last standard bearers of a lost movement? I chuckled throatily at this. Following Vaughan's discovery of surrealist spam in his Inbox last week, I have actually started opening (shriek!) some of mine, to see whether I'm getting the same thing. It's arresting stuff, isn't it? Why, with a few judicious line-breaks and punctuation marks, it could almost pass as poetry...

cant austere: epa confocal leningrad chrome congressman brandon breach cavort yip wainscot CONVULSE denotative gosling: darling cannibal TORRENT copeland: barren deprivation fall benton: scoreboard swing archbishop forgetful delouse aides descendant compensable rubicund orangeroot deprive... ...territorial.

No? You think not? Very well, suit yourselves...

5. Although not posting much this week, I have had a couple of thankfully rare stabs at Serious Political Debate in other people's comments boxes - revealing a set of political views that seem to have been set in stone around 1985. Dinosaur, me! (Dave at Clear Blue Skies defended university tuition fees; Alan at Oddverse argued the case in favour of transferring call centre work to offshore sites.)

6. Hearty congratulations to qB of Frizzy Logic, who has landed a regular blog-related writing gig on The Independent newspaper, no less. Her first column is a superb encapsulation of just what "personal" blogging can be, and does a first class job of explaining the medium to Normal People. We like it when our favourite bloggers become successful!

7. Oh, the excitement: this week, I discovered that The Scissor Sisters, my favourite new band of the year and close personal friends, (*) are playing The Social in Nottigham next Thursday (December 11th). Highly, highly recommended, if their gig at The Cock Live in London over the summer is anything to go by. Tickets are only a fiver. Go on, give 'em a chance! (Their twisted disco-rock cover version of Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb is being re-released as a single in January, and they should be massive in six months' time - and you'll have seen them first!)

(*) OK, so one of the band found my gig review and sent me a nice "thank you" e-mail...which is as close a friendship as I'm ever likely to form with a pop group...

8. Right then, what's my poison for tonight; powder, pills, puff...or a drop of the hard stuff? The journey to the dark night of the soul commenceth...

'More! I want to see MORE!'

See also...

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The which recreational substance am I on? project.

Yes, it's yet another super competition, right here on Troubled Diva: The Blog That Likes To Give!

Over the next few days - and since the party season is now upon us - I shall be ingesting a variety of recreational substances (top quality gear, mind; no skanky cut-up shit for this blogger). Whilst under their influence, I shall then make a posting to this site. No subsequent re-edits will be allowed; the post will stay exactly as it was first written.

Using your skill and judgement, your task will be to match each posting to the correct recreational substance. The first person to e-mail me with the correct solution at the end of the project will win something relevant to the subject matter. (No, not the remains of my stash. Hands off!)

Troubled Diva: risking its physical and mental health for your vicarious pleasure!

See also...

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Wednesday, December 03, 2003

Oh, NOW I get it...

Last Friday, I said...

Sorry, I should have said: I've been Cologne for most of this week, suffering the privations of having no Internet access whatsoever.

...and received what were, to me at least, a couple of slightly baffling comments.

The penny has just dropped. I missed a word out there, didn't I? Hahahaha!

You see? You see? I'm so work-stressed that even my proof-reading skills are shot to shit.

Anyway. A certain PB Curtis of a delightful new(ish) blog, It's Funny Because It's Shit, ~~flagrantly comment-whored himself~~ was good enough to leave an amusing related permalink. I commend it, and him, to the group.

See also...

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Monday, December 01, 2003

...through the bad times and the good...

In the autumn of 1987, I attended a book reading given by Armistead Maupin, author of the Tales Of The City novels. After the reading, whilst taking questions from the audience, Maupin made the standard "everybody should come out of the closet now pitch" - as was customary in those dark days of overt establishment homopobia (Clause 28 was mere weeks away from kicking off) and tabloid-fuelled AIDS-scare paranoia. We all nodded approvingly.

The next questioner stood up. Considering it something of a public duty to be open about his sexuality, he had come out of the closet at work - only to lose his job as a direct consequence. Undeterred, he came out once again in his next job - only to be fired for the exact same reason. Since then, unwilling to jeopardise his livelihood any further, he had decided merely to equivocate about being gay, carefully skirting round any difficult subjects, while maintaining a suitably liberal "I think there's nothing wrong with it myself" line where called for. A quiet flutter of pained winces and sympathetic headshakes passed around the room, our ideological bravado momentarily checked by the depressing reality of his situation.

For most gay people of my generation - born before decriminalisation, reaching puberty during an age where being gay was viewed as either sinister or ridiculous, coming out against the background of the emerging AIDS epidemic - this kind of artful semantic equivocation was learnt at an early age, and quickly became second nature. For me at least, coming out to workmates always felt like a deliberate kick against this instinctive urge for self-preservation. It always carried a vague sense of risk. It never came easily.

Just over two months ago, the unequivocally homophobic Section 28 was finally repealed by royal assent, the law no longer treating homosexuality as something that could be "promoted" to vulnerable young people, and no longer regarding gay partnerships as "pretended family relationships". At last week's state opening of parliament, the Queen's speech announced that new legislation will give legal recognition to registered gay partnerships. And from today, it will no longer be legal for employers to discriminate against workers for being lesbian, gay, bisexual - or even heterosexual, for that matter.

I cannot remember that last time that I felt the need to be equivocal about my sexuality. I will say "partner" and "he" in the same sentence, in any situation, with no more than the slightest "so now they know" flutter in my stomach. I no longer watch what I say on the street, in shops, or in bars. I greet gay friends with a kiss in public places, without first checking around for potential trouble. OK, so I don't actually skip down the street with my hand in K's, but I'm not altogether sure that either of us would ever want to; some behavioural patterns are so established that it would feel false to attempt to change them. In short: we've come a long, long way, baby.

See also...

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Hur Hur.

I've just found out the name of the person I'm meeting in Zurich next week, and I can't stop sniggering like a ~~schoolboy~~ typical gay man every time I think about it. To get round Google, I'm sticking his name in the comments.

See also...

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Who's the w@nker? - results.

Let's cast our eye over the entries, then...

1. Zbornak's story. A steamy tale of lust, fickleness and betrayal, worthy of one of Zbornak's favourite afternoon soaps. Not a bad start, in other words. However, the overall effect was more entertaining than truly wince-inducing (it's the way he tells 'em, you see).

2. Mercurial's story. "Obnoxious, arrogant, hateful, selfish, spiteful." Now this is more like it: Mercurial's story actually did made me physically wince while reading it. A good sign!

3. Debster's story. Temporarily withholding important information in order to enjoy a dirty weekend. Not so much w@nker-ish as, well, pragmatic. Disqualified!

4. Sarah's story. A veritable Master Class in treating your girlfriend like shit. Impressive!

5. Dave's story. Premature use of the Three Little Words, leading to inevitable heartbreak. Uncomfortably similar to the way I treated my own first boyfriend - but still falling some way short of out-and-out w@nkerdom (well, I would say that, wouldn't I?)

6. Alan's story. In one sense, the most deserving of all the entries. But, alas, not in a "serious contender for winning the competition" sense.

We're down to two contenders, then: Sarah and Mercurial, or Capriciousness versus Spite. Ooh, close call.

Let's look again at the last sentence of each story.

Mercurial: "And now here I am, two decades later, trying to win a CD with the memory. Oh my, how I've grown."

Sarah: "We got back together a year and a bit later, allowing her to exact revenge. Lesson learnt."

In the final analysis, it all comes down to Karmic Justice: Sarah has already had hers, whereas Mercurial has been torturing himself for years with the guilt. In which case, the kindest thing that we can do for Mercurial is to punish him now, by not sending him the CD. Because, as surely as day follows night, punishment will be followed by redemption and rehabilitation. Mercurial: I am setting you free. You'll thank me for it in the long run. No, I think you will.

Sarah, will you please step forward. You are hereby crowned Troubled Diva's Biggest W@nker. A humbled blogosphere salutes you. Please contact me by e-mail to collect your fabulous prize.

Sarah, everybody! You can read her winning entry here.

See also...

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World AIDS Day.

Why not celebrate the day with this fun competition?

See also...

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Capsule gig reviews.

David Bowie, Birmingham NEC:
Iconic. Sexy, even. (I've never found him particularly shaggable before, but ooh yes, I could now. Tight jeans! I don't even care much if he's had work done; he's a Rock Star, he's supposed to look impossibly perfect.) Apparently, he has finally given up the cigs; perhaps that's part of the reason why he has never, ever sounded better vocally.

Best bits: as you would expect, Life On Mars and Heroes, both utterly transcendent. Beautiful, stripped-down renditions of Who Wants To Be The Disco King and The Loneliest Guy (both from Reality). Storming cover of The Pixies' Cactus.

Criticisms: Loving The Alien was one funereally paced plodder too many; a dreadful cheesy synth solo in the middle of Ashes To Ashes; not enough from the last two albums (Everyone Says Hi in particular).

Surprises: I've always thought that Under Pressure was a bit naff, but (with Gail Ann Dorsey doing the Freddie Mercury parts) it sounded strong and affecting. Performed from a raised walkway in front of a video screen, Hallo Spaceboy was transformed from OK-ish half-forgotten single to Major Performance Moment. Three numbers in a row from Ziggy Stardust at the end of the encore - woo hoo!

My Morning Jacket, Nottingham Rescue Rooms:
Hairy. Kings Of Leon without the concise pop suss; Lynyrd Skynyrd without the good-time boogie. Dull simplicity frequently disguised by "passionate" hair-flinging. Like their most recent (and interminable) album, most of the enjoyment came in the first twenty minutes.

Radiohead, Nottingham Arena:
Majestic. And, in a strange and unexpected sort of way, sinuously funky. This rhythmic inventiveness alone stops them from being merely a Pink Floyd for the 21st century. Too much material from Hail To The Thief for my liking; otherwise flawless. People call it gloomy and miserable; I call it emotionally intense. People call it self-indulgently experimental; I call it imaginatively (um, well) progressive. Stunning musicianship; nice retina-burning lighting effects on the back wall.

See also...

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