So this is how it works...

Yes, back to the subject of women. I think I just destroyed my reputation the other night, in the process of what must have been one of the strangest sexual exchanges in the history of men.

I was all over the place, or should I say the sexes?

1. Weird Asian Dude

Weird Asian Dude (WAD) saw me come in, and looked kind of interested. We bumped into each other again at the bar, and hit it off. Never mind that somebody else was busy working him at the same time, and had been for a while. Suffice it to say, the way WAD lost interest in him was good for my ego. Gotta show them who's the boss! LOL. WAD obtained his moniker by maintaining he was not South Asian at all but from Hungary or some such place. This story was totally beyond belief and he had the most excruciatingly gay articulation, even in his accented Dutch. We kissed (mostly just to stick it to the other guy) but after a while he decided to head home. Pity, because WAD was kind of cute, as long as he didn't speak.

2. Overdressed Woman

Near closing time, I was begging for a drink at the bar. Didn't get it. Flirty, sexy, way over-the-top girl standing next to me offered me hers and we got to talk. Apparently she was only there to get cigarettes but his wasn't very credible either, unless it's normal to get out the furs and Chopard before a quick hop to the neighbourhood cigs dispenser.

This got real flirty, with talk of taking it somewhere else. I was up for it. I realized suddenly that being gay or similar raises my value among women by about a hundredfold. You're an accessory, a status symbol, a hook up with an interesting story. It could end up being very confusing for the girl but I'm up to exploiting this strategy further. It shows lots of promise. Or maybe everyone just has the fantasy of "turning" someone. Again, something to be exploited.

But then I lost sight of her when everyone was shooed out. Pity.

3. Random make-out in the streets with guy waiting for a cab

I guess this was just an amusing way of killing time.

Other interesting bit and pieces:

I had a Richard Hammond moment. I was asked if I had had my teeth whitened. Nice compliment, but I haven't.

Shouted loudly "maybe I am bisexual!" in the middle of the street. Response: "yuck, women!". Funny.

Got reproached for not being there over Christmas. Come on, I'm not that desperate, am I? I still pretend I have a life.

Bloke's wearing Gucci!

Well, Christmas is once again done, and the world's starting up again. Thank God, Christmas is not my favourite holiday. It has just been exploited too much, I guess.

Well, my shoes have finally arrived, and even though they're still quite stiff, they look awesome. I feel like a million bucks wearing them.

Night before Christmas turned into an impromptu drinking session with... my mom. I stopped counting after four bottles of great Spanish Rioja, but it looked like we had a glass farm going. Conversation was consequently good, even though topics were covered comfortably that I usually shirk... like her sex life, or to be precise, lack of desire for one. In all of this, MY sex life wasn't even mentioned, even though I was quite prepared to be honest and truthful - my guess is she doesn't want confirmation. Prefers the safety of not knowing. Oh well, Christmas is not the right moment for revelations.

Day after was rapidly rescheduled to accommodate resultant splitting headache - my mom only showed signs of life after about 4 pm. LOL.

Work. Well, being closeted at work is getting more challenging by the day. And the closeted freak in my team is the cause of that.

One day last week, the subject matter open to general discussion was - anal penetration. Freak went all red while the subject was covered. LOL. My boss had to make things worse by proclaiming loudly Freak needn't worry: "you just have to do the penetrating, no need to bend over". I remained strictly neutral and laughed the episode off. Freak's now discussing women with an alarming sudden increase in frequency.

Freak's decided he wants to be my friend. I'm not sure I want to know the reasoning behind that, but the guy's so weird it could really mean anything. Anyway, I found a new white-belted co-worker to crush and spy on, so who cares about Freak?

On the subject of "homosexuality on the work floor", another new guy at work almost makes my gaydar explode. There's an almost audible massive beeper going off in my head whenever I see his face. It's the effeminate way he holds his stationery that's most interesting, I think.

Music? I've been listening to Dannii Minogue's "Greatest Hits" album most of last week. No snickering, please! ;-)

Pilot guy? Didn't call him. I'm hoping his crush will gradually fade away.

"Perfection" gives a good impression of what I'm looking for.

Love the boat.

Bagging a sraight guy

Procrastinating aimlessly on the internet, I came across this lil gem. ;-)

Now, I'm not really interested in actually getting a straight guy, and once I get my hands on him he wouldn't really be straight, would he?

I guess I'm sort-of professionally interested, but let's call my interest "scientific". Sounds so much better, innit?

Anyway, this guy "Alex Deacon" is using this site to peddle a book, of course, of around $50. No way I'm getting that. But he's also pushing some nice and cheap spam, and with Mr Google's help I'm up for that.

And boy, is he active. The first email was a bit boring, talking about the percentage of married males living on the down low getting some man action anyway (ten, for those who care). More useless statistics accompanied that not so juicy bit of information.

The second email was more interesting. This is a lesson in body language, something that could always be useful. And Roisin keeps on telling me to learn it, so he could I refuse?

Well, the email lists six points that might be worth repeating.

1. Plant Yourself When Standing Still

Put your feet slightly wider apart than is natural,
don't shift your weight. Notice how your feet feel planted.
You can stay like this for long periods of time.
This is how martial artists stand, it is a solid base.
Falling

2. Don't Fidget, Fiddle, Or Touch Your Face

What do you normally do with your hands?
Twitching and fidgeting is very unattractive,
look around and see it in other people. It makes you look
nervous. Keep your hands by your sides. Place the thump
on the index and middle fingers,
this removes the natural need for the fingers to
constantly be doing something.

3. Don't Look Down

Keep your head up. If you need to look away, look up,
never look down, it's a sign of weakness and also looks
unattractive. You can observe this in others.
Looking down even has been proven to have a bad
effect on your mental state.

4. Make Slow Head Movements

High status males everywhere, on film, in business,
and in your social circle have certain things in common.
One of which is slow, smooth movements.
Look around slowly and smoothly, don't dart around and jolt
your head around like you have been drinking espressos
all day long.

Think smooth, think James Bond. James Bond has very attractive body language, and smoothness and lack of fidgety movements are the main elements.

5. Walk Slowly And Smoothly

This is more high-status behaviour.
By being smooth and comfortable you give off a sense of
quiet confidence. You stand out from the people rushing around.
In a bar or club, slow it down even more, you will stand out,
in a good way.

6. Hold Your Drink By Your Side

When you have a drink, hold it by your side.
It is a blocking action to hold a drink in front of your chest.

Do these things and you will make a better first impression
and stand out from the other men in a room. If you are ever
internally uncomfortable, you can still appear confident and composed by following the above rules.

And Your Hot To Trot

I think I'm kinda unconsciously aware of all of this anyway, apart from the point about the drink. Mostly I just try to look suave and a little arrogant on the dancefloor, with good results so far. But the message is the same, just translated to a different setting.

Email number three is evidently composed of seriously bad advice. This email consists of the sort of pick up lines that wouldn't be good enough to get David Beckham laid, let alone tempt someone to change teams.

A small sample of this cartload of verbal diarrhoea:

You, me, here...this couldn't be better
if I programmed the holodeck myself.

Remember me from group therapy? I'm the lonely guy.

Anyways, if such cheese does work for you, drop me a mail. Send a pic too, so I can repeat this experiment in a controlled environment using stand-ins of similar hotness.

I'll be watching my spam closely for the time to come, hoping for more nuggets of brilliant insight.

Don't buy the book just yet.

Winter

Global warming?

It has been freezing non-stop for about three days, I have been battling with iced up windscreens and little bits of snow for too long already and God, I wish it was summer already, but I just managed to stumble onto the perfect soundtrack for the moment. It was originally released about a year ago, but the album only just came out.

Here are the DT8 Project and Andrea Britton, with "Winter". For when it's cold outside.

Yikes! He wants a relationship!

I had a little affair with a pilot last weekend. Nothing I took very seriously, casual, nothing special, sex of the disposable type. The French would call it "three minutes, with shower", except it lasted a bit longer than that. It wasn't bad but it wasn't super either.

We exchanged numbers, and I went on my way for a party up north, feeling all haggered and a little dirty. Usually, that would be it and in this case, that was fine with me.

But now he calls, sort of out of the blue. He's back in town. And not only does he want to hang out, he wants to be my boyfriend.

He's nervous, and I think I took it well, but I recoil at the thought. He ticks most of the right boxes: age, employment, looks, but I still don't think there's anything there. Or is just my nature, chickening out when things get serious? I never had that before, so I don't think so.

Looking back, he said a couple of things that should have been a little alarming. He had only been with four boys before, something I laughed off, but now think could well be true. And he had mentioned the word "relationship" before. To which I remained silent.

How do I get him off my back without being rude? I don't want to hurt his feelings, but don't feel like seeing him again.

Emotional Technology?

I'm done with internet contacts. Even though I never got into it in the first place.

I don't want to judge, but sometimes it just appears so tacky, so contrived, so... fake. I understand there is a constituency for this, and it the anonymity and perceived security of it all allows guys to make moves they would never be able to make in real life. I also understand that this is the way to meet people if you live in a small town or somewhere out in the remote countryside.

And I must admit I've made use of this feature as well. In my mom's tiny village, I couldn't help but wonder where the nearest gay lived. I just had to find out, and did: 4.5 km away. I was just curious, the out life in the country is by no means impossible but very hard to imagine, even though the countryside's increasing tolerance make it ever more fashionable a place to settle down in, especially with the increasing aggression in places like Amsterdam.

But once you have had a taste of the real thing, of actually going out there, and meeting people without electronic help, I feel there's no more need for internet dating, even though I'm always willing to meet interesting new people, in any possible way.

I've started to remove people from my contacts list. However, this little convo I had on Friday night really cemented my decision.

Him: Hi there.
Me: Hi.
Him: Man, are you as horny as I am?
Me: [Considering I was about to go out] Only a little.
Him: I'm sitting here with a huge boner. [This I did not want to contemplate]
Him: Do you have a web cam?
Me: No, I'm not really into internet jerk-offs and such. :-)
[No response to that one]

This from a highly-qualified postgraduate with a well-paid job, but also a guy too scared to join me for a beer in town. I've had it with this tacky crap: I'm willing to talk to almost anyone, but I'm not going to jerk off in front of a camera. I never have and never will.

Homoflexibility vs heterorigidity

So another couple of fashionable terms from that beacon in a sea of darkness (copyright Theo van Gogh), the shining city on the hill, have reached these shores. And even though they seem to have originated at crazy loony-left campus colleges where they have nothing better to do all day than think up new politically correct vocabulary or go far-out on the dope with the faculty, I think they're quite brilliant.

Not only do they decriminalize homosexuality, they praise flexibility and experimentation. Also, the word "rigid" is generally negative and sounds remarkably similar to "frigid".

In short, when using "heterorigidity", we're sticking it to the buggers. It makes them sound dull, bourgeois, prejudiced even. No eye for deviance, no will to experiment, just two minutes in missionary position followed by a shower.

"Heteroflexibility" and "homoflexibility" will make all sorts of pressure groups foam at the mouth. Good. Here we have a group of people with a certain sexual preference, but willing to take a chance with the other sex, willing to step out of the limits set by bourgeois society, and capable of judging each individual at his or her own sexual merit. It's not the same as bisexuality, because the basic choice has been made, but left open to exceptions.

I'll embrace these terms, because they reflect my desire to step out of the box quite accurately. From now on, please call me "homoflexible".

With thanks to Laurie Essig of Slate.

Back with another one of those block-rocking beats

Well, not quite. Exam time is over, for the moment. I'm sipping the first wine of the evening, planning to hit the town, and that means anything can happen. Well, I'm prepared, and up for it.

Over the last week or so, I basically isolated myself to get all the studying done. In need of discipline, I discovered locking myself up like a monk works quite well. It does mean there's an excess of energy that needs to be released when the job's done.

Which is now.

Locking yourself up leaves one vulnerable to one particular area of modern procrastination: the internet. And internet shopping in particular. This combines the asset of not having to go out into the cold, being able to get what you want and the particularly Dutch penchant of getting the best deal. So I got myself some shoes, saved €200 in the process, and already feel stylish, even though they have to come from the UK and will take some time to arrive.

Yeah, I'm a fashion queen. Sue me. ;-)

So that's basically all I've been up to the last week or so. It sure ain't much, so head over to my mate K, who's been having a wild time of late!

Mr Haider got caught

Joerg Haider is an infamous name in European politics. The son of a Hitler Youth member, he gained notoriety in Austria by kind-of, sort-of, but indirectly, well, not quite sticking up for former Nazis, who form a significant part of the electorate.

Well, his Freedom Party kept growing, his notoriety increased and when the conservative Austrian People's Party decided to govern with them in 1999, an international boycott of the Austrian government started. This government collapsed after a year, there was a falling out between Haider and his ministers, and he scuttled off back to his native Carinthia, where he remains governor to this day, even though he split off to form a new party, BZOe.

Haider's quite a good-looking guy, in a slimy, skiing instructor sort of way, and there have always been rumours about his sexuality. Apparently there is a Mrs Haider, but she's kept carefully out of the spotlights.

Well, here's Joerg in action.

Mind you, the first shot looks quite innocent, but the others leave little to the imagination. There's no official denial or anything, but there never was one. There's no open record of anti-gay legislation, but then the People's Party used to take care of that.

The official BZOe excuse? "Haider proves once again he is much better at connecting with today's youths than any of the other parties". Well, they have a point there.

This is no Larry Craig affair, and not half as amusing, but I'm sure his former Hitler Youth supporters are not too happy with this behaviour.

Heterosexual Male Bonding

The anarcho-libertarian tendency in the movie Demolition Man is something I enjoy so much I watch the movie every time it's on TV. That, and the brilliant Nigel Hawthorne's appearance. Every time I see it, I discover a new, brilliant yet amusing insight.

Here's a little quote that struck me today:

Cop 1: They seem to be friends, yet...
he speaks to him
in the most profane manner.

Lenina Huxley: If you'd read my study, you'd know
this is how insecure heterosexual men bonded.

Cop 1: I knew that.

So true!

I have gay hands...

Wikipedia is a great source of not-quite procrastination. You're not doing what you should be doing, but you're still discovering interesting stuff. I've become addicted to Wiki's LGBT Portal.

And I'm reading up on the (empirical) science of it all. Interesting, but mostly just statistical evidence, with limited value in real life. If you dig long enough, and run enough regressions, you'll always find some correlation. This "hit or miss" approach is the basis of fields like empirical finance, which is then subsequently used by investment banks to fiddle around with you hard-earned.

But reading this article from NYMag, I was struck by the following picture:



And the accompanying text:

The relative lengths of our fingers offer another hint: The index fingers of most straight men are shorter than their ring fingers, while for most women they are closer in length, or even reversed in ratio. But some researchers have noted that gay men are likely to have finger-length ratios more in line with those of straight women, and a study of self-described “butch” lesbians showed significantly masculinized ratios.

The masculine hand is the one on the left, the feminine/gay hand the one on the right. Of course, I had to check this theory out on my own hands. And, I happen to have gay hands.

This is interesting, I think I will try to do my own, secret, empirical research on this now. Check hands, and record sexual preferences. Can't be hard. I wonder if I reach the same conclusion: a study of this in Europe might give completely different results...

Everything you can get, you can fix

Well, opening the student newspaper can be a pleasant surprise.

This week's topic: sex in fraternities.

Now, my uni is not known for it's fraternities - it's not a traditional university, being founded only in the twenties to meet demands for a catholic university in a country known for repression of the catholic South. Then, during the sixties, leftism hit badly: it was the first university to be occupied by sit-ins and was briefly renamed "Karl Marx University" by the student body. The days of catholic higher education were definitely over. This was followed by the loss of the predicate "catholic" in the nineties and the recent move of the Vatican-sanctioned theological faculty to bigger Utrecht.

But the guys in the fraternities apparently have a pretty raucous sex life.

The rules are simple: obviously, you are a member of a class. But not of the traditional type. To make class of 2007, you would have to be pretty busy... Seriously, your class number equals the number of girls you screwed.

If you don't get laid for a year, you have to walk around town wearing a chicken suit... and make sure you score wearing it. No opting out of that one.

The boys readily admit that high quantities mean loss of quality. Drink and drugs obviously play a big role here: 56% of students admit frequent cannabis use, and 10% use stronger stuff. Waking up, and seeing the girl often turns out to be a nasty shock. But they also admit that picking up pretty girls is too much hard work. These plain girls like it and are readily available. And they are promiscuous: some girls are known to keep Excel sheets with names, dates and final grades. This is something I recognise from the gay world.

Now comes the nasty shock: condoms are out of fashion. No-one uses them.

Apparently, the fraternities form a pretty much closed loop of sexual activity and not many STDs get in. Doctors apparently only test for chlamydia and common stuff like that. Not for HIV. "Everything you can get, you can fix", says one boy. But that's not quite true, is it?

This is highly dangerous, and it's beyond comprehension. Only one HIV+ person has to somehow get involved and the whole lot might readily be infected.

The conclusion is inescapable: this particular fraternity is a whole lot more immature and irresponsible about safe sex than the shallow, supposedly generally uneducated gay scene in my town.

Busy, busy, busy

Well, the semester's drawing to a close and things start to get seriously hectic.

Today I finished off a project with a presentation, and passed with flying colours. That means I have a grand total of five subjects down, and two more to go before I can start work on my thesis. It also means that this week is theoretically my last week of lectures ever. And let me tell you, that feels bloody good. I should be popping champagne over the next weekend.

Scheduling is tight: I have an exam coming up quite soon, but I don't need to prepare too much for that, half of the subject has been completed by writing a paper. After that, I have a little more time as the second and hopefully final exam ever takes place in January.

This means my weekends are organised well into the new new year and I'm not used to that, I usually go with the flow and see where I can get the necessary credits. For this degree though, I'm trying to be more mature, by setting goals and actually trying to complete everything on time, so I can hopefully start on my thesis in February.

So the only time I've had to go out lately was last Saturday night, and what a night it was. I had ended up in town, fairly late and fairly drunk, in a nice sort of buzz. I danced, talked and drank, had a great time overall. A former trick was all over me, but I decided not to pursue that route.

In the end I hooked up and we had sex at his place. Good sex, we had great compatibility going and we were still going at it at noon. At about three PM, I decided I had to go home and get some work done. I was exhausted but satisfied; this is what sex should be like.

The weather was nasty outside, wet and windy but the town was crawling with shoppers as it was the last Sunday before St Nicholas. A perfect day to spend in bed.

I love the House of Commons/Mr Bean

The rowdiness, the Speaker trying to gain control over his noisy pupils, the gags, one-liners, nodding on the front benches, the catcalls from the opposition benches... This is a real parliament, this is real politics. Hard, rough and tumble, Punch and Judy. But what a form of entertainment.

Watch David Cameron wipe the floor with Gordon Brown, and then enjoy Vince Cable sticking it to the PM.



Fast forward through Brown's lame responses.

Crazy Penis

I know, I know, I know, it's a regrettable if slightly naughty name for a band. They have even sold out, changed their name to "Crazy P" for release in sensitive countries.

I still love this British-Aussie combination though. Here's Lady T, all back to the disco!

Forum buddies take care of my needs

I'm a member of a huge Dutch bulletin board where a group of oldbies come together and discuss, well basically everything, even though the topic is supposed to be politics.

Over the years, a lot of us have become good mates, but others have descended into feuds. I belch my right-wing propaganda, and try to position myself to the right of everybody else (impossible), but mainly we post off-topic stuff, as Dutch politics is about as eventful as watching paint dry.

Which means a lot of nude pictures see the light of day.

Usually, this means a lot of Monica Belluci, Laetitia Casta or some random porn star.

Today, they thought of me. The topic: Moroccans are hot and sexy!

So just to please me, this was posted:


Thanks, guys! Really appreciate it.

Not queer enough for D&G?

On my way back to town from work I ended up in a mall in an awful town on the German border. My reason for being there? It had a D&G store, as well as an Armani shop.

I was looking for a shirt, some shoes and maybe a belt, and was hoping to find something good over there.

It was cold and wet, a generally nasty day to spend outside. The town looked grim, the mall was practically deserted, only a few of those work-shy Germans enjoying one of their huge number of days off.

First of all, I was pissed off to find it was paid parking. At a mall. On an industrial estate. I had no change, so I drove off and parked somewhere else. Of course, the moment I got out it started drizzling. This is the story of Dutch autumns; neither warm nor very cold, overcast and constant drizzle.

So what was supposed to be enjoyable wasn't at all. I found the D&G store, and instantly discovered two things. For one, I was in homo heaven. Secondly, I was the least gay guy there, and boy did the queens make me feel inferior.

A quick gaydar sweep returned the following results:

Fashion queens, species Dutch: 3, including the manager
Fashion queens, German: 2
Overdressed, bitchy women: 2

In the end, I selected a t-shirt and went to pay. This is where they tried to put me in my place. I was found wanting, the "straight" invader in a superior gay culture, an alien buying just a t-shirt and not a complete outfit.

Thy made me wait, and helped the German queens before me, even though I was first in line.

I considered ditching my t-shirt and walking out, but as a matter of fact I was laughing inside. The situation was hilarious: I was the victim of homo solidarity.

I considered a loud coming out, but finally decided against it. Too theatrical. I paid up, speaking in my southern dialect, to make it clear I was not German, and being decidedly unfriendly, I walked out.

Still gotta go back for some shoes though.

Bike shed-gate

Want to have a laugh at the hets?

Well, we have a little sex scandal that makes Bill Clinton look classy. At least the oval office is an exclusive place to have oral sex.

None of the people involved are particularly highly placed, but the whole affair sheds some light onto the political culture in this country. It is, well, let's say incestuous. A friend in The Hague tells me "This kind of behaviour is normal. By the way, do you want to know about that Liberal MP that gets a BJ every week in the House's parking garage?"

I sure do, and am once again glad I quit the Liberal Party. Even though the others are apparently just as bad, we don't get to hear about it.

Well, Nijmegen, a mid-size college town also known as Havana on the River Waal due to its left-wing politics, has this week discovered it's deputy mayor (Labour) was caught on security cameras being blown in the council's bike shed. It's a wonderful story, the rancid little details are stunning, but the identity of the sucker makes it even juicier.

A Liberal member of the town council. Nijmegen is not a liberal stronghold, so they only have a small caucus, and consequently only one woman on the council. So we quickly discovered the sucker's identity. And the Libs are, as usual, in opposition in Nijmegen. So a member of the opposition is blowing a coalition leader.

This was too much even for the Liberal Party, so they quickly threw her out. This makes her the first person in about 30 years to lose her position due to a sex scandal in Dutch politics.

Now, on to the suckee. Paul Depla may only be a deputy mayor in a mid-size town, but Nijmegen is important to the left and he is a close confidant of embattled national Labour leader Wouter Bos. For years, he has been named as a likely minister in a Labour government, and when the present (awful) cabinet was named people were surprised to find he was not a member of it.

It has now been revealed the secret service had advised the prime minister against his appointment. His personal life made him too susceptible to blackmail, according to the secret service. For probably the same reason, he also lost a mayorship in another mid-sized town. A former aide sued him, for apparently being fired after she turned down a proposal to have sex. It is now rumoured she was paid off with public cash. And yes, the deputy mayor is married and has three young children.

Nijmegen has a culture of lawlessness and corruption: its former mayor, currently interior minister, was caught on a DUI, but the council didn't care. This is a woman who is currently in charge of national security. What is most revealing, is the fact that the sex in the bike shed took place in June. The whole council was aware of the affairs, but decided to keep quiet. This is disturbing; politicians of all parties are most interested in covering each other's asses and the opposition is not doing much opposing.

The tabloids are having a field day, and so they should. The details are just too cool (come on, a grown man with a good income being blown in a bike shed? By a member of the opposition?), and it has now finally been decided the whole sordid affair justifies a debate in council. This will now take place next week, even though the coalition tried to block it.

I wonder if he will resign.

Forever More

Well, the Roisin concert was brilliant - and not the way I expected it to be.

But first, the context.

I had started the day at a mall in an industrial backwater of a town near the German border, because that was the nearest place with a D&G store. I have a post coming about that - a totally hilarious experience. Anyway, the weather was shite and I was glad to get back to my town, even though it's D&G-free.

After the usual Friday cleaning and food shopping, it was time to booze up and prepare for Roisin. After much deliberation, I decided not to be another one of the fashion queens I expected to dominate and dressed conservatively - Hugo always does the trick.

Then I found out my straight friends were bailing out - which in a way was a relief because I had a feeling this concert would not go down well with them. So I went on my own. No problem, as the festival site is only 500 yards away, around the corner from my place.

Discovering that the cloakroom would cost five bloody euros, I headed back home to ditch my coat. Beer was expensive too: 11 euros for five. Otherwise, the organisation was perfect and they had managed to dress up the old Philips factory building they were using really well - it had the look and feel of a club.

Well, I went into the main hall, and it was indeed Fashion Queen City. We have an internationally-acclaimed Design Academy in town, which is closely involved with the organisation, so I guess that was the source. Got myself some beer, and then the mc introduced Roisin, ten minutes before she actually got on stage.

Well, the band came on - and I was expecting this to be fairly acoustic, as there were drums and guitars on stage - but to my surprise they started playing the pumping electro of Cry Baby. Two minutes in, two background singers appeared on stage, and then, finally, Roisin herself, wearing the same white top as in the Let Me Know video and something that looked like a pink bowler hat. She's actually quite diminutive herself, but I was standing close to the stage, so it once again became very clear she has small tits.

Cry Baby was a huge success, and the crowd at the stage itself was surprisingly gay-lite: lots of women though. She followed up with You Know Me Better, a killer eighties-style dance track which the crowd didn't like as much as the previous song. I loved it though.

Then came Checkin On Me, Primitive and Dear Miami, all tracks that are surprisingly better live, and all with pumping electronics with some guitar thrown in for good measure. I have a suspicion that not all singing was live though. Never mind, the show was fantastic. Movie Star was performed with Roisin sitting on a chair, a bit strange for such a hard-ass dance track.

Then came a track I didn't recognise - it eventually evolved into an old Moloko track, Forever More - the last Moloko single, I think. Since her and Mark Brydon are no longer on speaking terms, I guess she can sing whatever she likes from the old times. It fit in remarkably well with the new material, and the entire hall was dancing wildly by that stage.



Then she changed - she changed jackets and hats all the time, but not annoyingly so: she didn't go Kylie - and she came out wearing the outfit from the Let Me Know video - cape and hat and all, to sing that track. A bit of a disappointment, because the band had stripped most of the electronics, including that wonderful acid line, and what was left was not very inspiring.

She finished of her set with Overpowered, with even more beat to the squelches. It was a wonderful way to finish off, leaving me wanting more, much more.

I did take pictures with my phone but they're really to blurry to mean anything.

Afterwards, I ran into some acquaintances, one of which is involved with the organisation, who did not enjoy it at all and were also disappointed about the Chemical Brothers set the previous night. Oh well. Grabbing a final beer and ignoring local alcohol legislation, I walked home. There I decided to do what I had promised myself not to do: drink more and hit the town. After changing into a less conservative top, of course.

There, I spent four hours on the dance floor with a boy in my arms who did not want to kiss (wtf? I usually get what I want!) and finally went home completely wasted, deciding I was only really attracted to his belt anyway, and having to get up much too early to work on a project.

Needless to say, this morning was a little painful, but well worth it.

100

I guess this centennial should be memorable, something special. And I do have something to celebrate.

I have a day off tomorrow and I'm going shopping. Yeah! Later I have the Roisin Murphy concert to go to, and I'm really looking forward to that. But then I have to be back pretty early to do some work on Saturday morning. Yikes.

That's about as exciting as my life is right now. No complaints though, I'm progressing both in my education and professionally, and the Christmas break is not very far away, even though Christmas is dull as ditch water in this country.

Well, after Christmas comes the new year... definitely a time for decadent debauchery. Options are limitless, and that's just in my town. Basically, the country shuts down long enough for a good bender and a significant hangover, and some people blow their body parts to Mars with fireworks.

And there's lots o'kissing. Good.

Well, I'll end the post in style with a random number of "interesting" (ahem) facts about me:

1. I despise avocado.
2. I think the Bush administration would be an improvement on our current government
3. I'm a junky for warm weather, but I still love the winter for skiing
4. I think Eva Green is hot
5. And I love the newish Bond movie
6. I can't stand PSV Eindhoven, even though I love the town
7. And consequently have a love-hate relationship with Philips products
8. I am ambivalent about Apple, though I love my iPod
9. My taste in music is totally gay. I'm a sucker for Diva House
10. And I kinda like Madonna. (That's a secret)
11. I keep on wondering what people think of my sexuality
12. But prefer not to tell people I'm not close to
13. I'm an Alfa Romeo addict and wouldn't buy a non-Italian car
14. Even though I think Mario should work on the electrics
15. I hate the Euro
16. I think the German football team is God's way of having fun at our expense
17. But then remember He also created the English team
18. I think John Edwards is a John Grisham character
19. And Hillary Clinton should go get herself some principles
20. I want to see California
21. Finding lots of facts about me is too much hard work.

Mixed Up World

I've become addicted to Sophie Ellis Bextor's old Shoot From The Hips album. She looks awful in blonde, but the first single of the album is quite cool. "Making Music" is a better track, but I couldn't find a video of it.

Toggling three men/sweet revenge

To be honest, I've experienced nothing particularly blogworthy the last two weeks or so. I went to classes and work, worked on assignments and visited some friends in the west. Dull, respectable and no homosexuality involved.

Even so, the subject did come up with my friend. He had recently visited the states during the Larry Craig fiasco, and was full of jokes about it. He knows about me, but usually carefully avoids the subject. I think his reticence has more to do with his own personal issues than mine, but it would be nice if he'd express an interest in my sex life once in a while. I don't need to shout out all the details, but the topic now appears to be troubled water we cannot cross.

So I took a gayness time-out. I felt the need to chill out a little, drink less, and see different people. Moreover, in order to perform reasonably well on Saturdays I needed to avoid hangovers. I decided to dip my toe back into that territory a little last night.

So I put on my new D&G longshirt, Hugo Boss cologne and some nice G-Star jeans, hit back two vodkas, listening to Sophie Ellis Bextor's wonderful "Making Music". Then I hit the strip.

First of all, it was damn cold outside. It was nice to arrive and finally go in. I got some extra tokens (didn't use them), got myself a beer and got hit on instantaneously on the dance floor. Latin-ish guy, a bit shorter than me, V-neck longshirt and a very nice body. A bit of a flamer, and at 20 much too young really, and I was hesitant. But his interest was genuine and he kept on coming back, trying again and again as I acted disinterested but was gradually just playing hard to get, because that works best and I appear to be able to pull it off. We fool around a bit but I lose track of him later on. Darn. What a chest though.

I must have had two or three more beers because my memory gets hazy after that.

I suspect I spent the next two and a half hours or so snogging another guy, who was quite hot but didn't really do it for me. He was really into me, but at one point I just felt tired and decided my bed and I would spend the night together. I got my coat and walked towards the exit...

And bumped into Lame Dumper, in full "I need to get laid mode". "Wait for me", he says. And I do, even though he suspects I'm gonna walk away. He was right about that, but I decide to be friendly so I wait. All the time, I'm thinking longingly of my bed.

He comes back out, says he needs to talk to someone, takes me back inside. I'm standing there, at the bar, in my coat, and this wonderful little scene plays out.

Snogger sneaks up on me from behind, grabs me by the waste and snogs me, just as I'm talking to the dumper. The look on his face was absolutely priceless. He hadn't expected that.

After that, I called it a night. Lame Dumper then texted me and later even tried to phone. Knowing him, that was an act of desperation.

I still haven't read those messages.

Co-worker convos from the closet

[cw1]: It was his birthday last week!
[closet]: How old are you now?
[me]: 28.
[cw1]: Hey, don't hit on him! He's straight! [walks off, laughing]

[Shit! How do I deal with this little situation?]
[closet]: That would be gross man.
[Decide to keep quiet. But it sure would be gross!]

Fast forward, about 24 hours

[cw1]: Heard what I said to [closet] yesterday?
[me]: Yeah. That was harsh man.
[How do I explain how hurtful this was?]
[boss]: He's talking about women a lot lately, but I figure he's gay.
[me]: Oh yeah, no doubt about that.
[boss]: Maybe he's "questioning his sexuality" [makes quotation marks in air]
[me]: No, he's just not ready yet.
[cw1]: Don't want anything to do with those pervs.
[If you only knew... we're great mates]

OK, new policy

No more exchanging of phone numbers unless it's serious.

It appears to be part of hook up etiquette: exchange numbers before walking out the door. This is more of a polite way of saying goodbye than an actual plan to communicate, so I'm planning to be all nonconformist and throw the rule book out the window. Control, not etiquette will be my norm.

You'll get my number if you're planning to dial it. And only if I want you to.

Texting: no problem, same rule applies. And I will spell this out clearly, promise.

E-mail: behave or you'll join the penis extensions in the spam folder.

So friendship, drinks or dinner, or even proposals to have sex: all are OK, but I'm not filling up my address book because that's what you're supposed to do before leaving.

This "one night stand, in your face" attitude will probably go down quite badly, but that's the only way I'll have it. Spell it out boy, I won't led you lead me on.

And choke on your hypocrisy.

CSI: Birthday

I'll have to piece this one together from the evidence found at the crime scene the morning after.

Booze: wine bottle, empty; vodka bottle, empty (how did I do that?), condom wrapper (you guessed it).

Fridge: cranberry juice, Coca Cola Zero, both half filled.

Clothes: in a mess, on the floor, smelling of Hugo Boss and smoke.

Puke: negative.

Head: hurting like hell, as were various other body parts.

Objective: college, to work on a project.

Result: drink beer with a Russian and watch Arsenal - Man U instead.

Later: drink beer with said Russian in a PSV pub and watch them lose to Heerenveen (Yeah! Love you crazy Friesians!).

Difficulty: not cheering when Heerenveen score.

Memory: largely gone, remember shaking hands with my boss and having yet another "talk" with lame dumper. Afterwards? A flash of walking down a street, with a boy...

Financial forensics: found EUR 30 in my wallet. Also, three drinks tokens. This implies at least seven beers or a few beers in combination with hard liquor, in addition to the stuff I emptied at home.

Hook up archaeology: hopeless. John Doe, source unknown.

Sex: definitely had some, remember a nice, smooth body. A nice apartment downtown. Cuddling, kissing and bottoming. Ouch.

Contacts: found them wrapped up in some toilet paper in my wallet. Quite an achievement, given the state I was in.

People I talked to: must have been a number. Met a lot of strangers later on who knew all about me.

Conclusion: probably enjoyed myself, should cut down on the booze a little.

No A'dam for me

Because I met someone last night (and had a very busy day after drinking way too much last night). This guy looks promising, and I hope to meet up with him again soon. He could well be the one...

Among other things, my alcohol tolerance is worrying me a little... or are vodka bottles getting smaller?

A'dam will have to wait until December, then I will have more time and there will be night trains back to mine.

Fuck the CU

Fuck you, you christian socialist homophobic bastards!

November 2, 2004

Was probably the most depressing day of my life. It also happened to be my birthday, but that wasn't the reason I was depressed.

Something died in me that day, and I haven't recovered. I doubt I ever will, but I hope it will happen. All hope about this country turning out fine slipped away that day, and it hasn't come back so far.

I doubt it ever will.

The event of that day wasn't exactly surprising, but to see it actually happen is a whole different thing. It's like knowing about the apocalypse and actually seeing it.

The country was in turmoil, for weeks, politicians were unable to respond, mosques, schools and churches were attacked. My local muslim school (why do these things get tax payer money anyway?), 200 yards away, was actually bombed, although damage was minor.

People suddenly realised the enemy was among us. Born here, educated here, unlike the 19 of 911, local produce. But just as crazy, intolerant and backward, stuck in the Arabian desert of 14 centuries ago, with an all consuming hatred for someone who didn't do anything but express his opinion.

He had been threatened before, called a pig, a fascist and a racist, but he laughed it all off, saying that nobody would ever attack the town fool. Citing a fatwa by ayatollah Khomeini, he called his enemies a "fifth column of goat fuckers", rude but so fitting to their view of life.

On the second of November, 2004, a young son was robbed of his father, because the father expressed what he believed in: freedom, a certain decadence and a disdain towards mass movements and their instinctive intolerance towards those who disagree.

He has left a legacy of movies, for that was what he really was: not just a man with an opinion, but a prolific director. He left his website, an oasis of liberty in a country that is suspicious of dissent and has no First Amendment right to free speech. And he left his books, compilations of rants, columns and whatever he had to get off his chest, published in various newspapers and for his website, for he was routinely fired for not conforming to the level of newspaper political correctness. He was one of the first to express, that the emperor, multiculturalism, was not only nude but highly dangerous to a society that values cohesion.

And he left Submission, a scathing attack on the treatment of women in Islamic societies, a short, written by Ayaan Hirsi Ali, so controversial it hasn't been aired since.


On the second of November, 2004, Theo van Gogh, relative of the great artist, was shot and killed, as he cycled to his studio to finish his movie about that other murdered Dutch polemicist, Pim Fortuyn.

I'll talk about the depressing aftermath later.

Young Boy Issues

Or why I didn't go for this guy.

This has been bothering me for a while now. I think I should stick to people my age. Not just a matter of principle, but also because you are more likely to fit together: life experience and position in society are likely to be similar, or at least comparable. And you can at least talk about early nineties hit singles, the 1988 European Cup and the time Richard Krajicek won Wimbledon. I'd like to have stuff in common.

Younger guys are a little nicer to look at, it's true. And some of them honestly seem to like me, even though I wouldn't, in their position. It's something I hardly understand, but it probably has something to do with experience and maturity.

I have been approached several times now by boys of about 18 years old. Nothing was particularly wrong with them, the last one was pretty damn hot, but I just can't go for it.

The reason? It feels wrong, on every level.

I don't want to be a sugar daddy, and I definitely don't want to be some semi-paedophile who's preying on the younger kids, feeling them up whenever they get half a chance. Even though they're surely legal, it feels like jail bait.

We don't have anything in common, apart from maybe lust. Nothing wrong with that; I can't see a relationship working out, and they're definitely just looking for a bit of fun. This is where you have to keep your feelings in check. And I'm not sure I could pull it off.

So my credo has been: let them keep to themselves, even though some might want to have a little fling. They're better off with people their own age. And so am I, really, until I see what most people my age look like... ageing. Yes, it's superficial, but it counts. How can you fancy somebody you think is ugly?

This gets me to the root cause of my discomfort: I'm starting to realise I look a bit younger than my age. So even if there is an age gap, it's size is not immediately clear. I have a huge mental barrier labelled "27" that other people don't see. And when they think 23 or 24, it just feels a lot smaller, and it's not really an issue any more.

So that's why I didn't pounce on Hottie when I saw him again.

Ride a White Horse

Everything about Alison Goldfrapp is weird, including her show at Pinkpop 2004, when she appeared on stage as a fully equipped dominatrix, so I'm surprised she manages to restrain herself a little when it comes to music videos.

Anyway, somehow I like the cheese factor of it all.

Ups and downs

On the upside, I just got dumped... by TEXT MESSAGE. And we're even in the same bar.

On the downside, I was on the receiving end of the worst pick up line ever:

Are you straight?

He's really hot so I decided to forgive him.

UPDATE: Lame dumper now wants to talk. He says he doesn't know what he's feeling right now. Well, I do.

Baby, we're done.

Heaven knows what we're gonna do

Another great blast from a disco past.

Ian Pooley feat. Jade and Danielle - Heaven.


Who says Germans can't rock?

When will we reach the pinnacle of trash TV?

After inventing the genre with "products" like Big Brother, the Golden Cage and the Big Donor Show, which at least was a well-meaning hoax, I think we should be the ones to kill it off. Thankfully, an idea for a sperm donor show was cancelled after protests from politicians and religious leaders. But we still manage to hit rock bottom at a smaller scale.

MTV's childish Dutch-language sister channel TMF has a segment called "Out of the closet!" Yes, with the silly exclamation mark. You can probably guess where this is going...

"Have a friend who needs to come out of the closet? Then write to us!" Note the word "needs".

First off, an interview with the bastard who arranged it all. Why he suspects, and all. Smug asshole who should cut down on the beer and lose some weight.

The poor victim, gay or straight, will then be ambushed. Preferably with lots of people around, such as his place of work. Camera in tow, clichés, such as rainbow flags and curly pink wigs, everywhere.

"He's gay!" says the friend who's watching this with me, at first glimpse. Absolutely nothing tickles my gaydar; I'm just watching the disaster unfold, in total disbelief at the callousness of it all.

First, the bitch presenting the show asks all sorts of impertinent questions about the victim's experiences with the opposite sex. She oozes hints about his preferring the same sex, leading up to the inevitable question. The presenter and victim are then joined by the "friend" who arranged this lower form of torture in the first place.

Then comes the big moment. Will he or won't he? Is he or isn't he? Tell and kiss?

The guy first answers yes, then starts a confused line of reasoning about coming out when you're unsure about your sexuality (didn't quite get this) and then denies it all. The whole thing had an aura of "yes, but not on camera" about it. Nothing wrong with that, after being put on the spot by some damn TV channel.

I sure hope he throttled his "mate" after the producers left...

Is it ever enough?

Dedicated to all the Scorpios out there. Wonderful track from times past.

Boris Dlugosch feat. Roisin Murphy - Never Enough

Holding the Moth

This is just such a great track. As there's no video, I'll just post the somewhat weird lyrics.

Underworld - Holding The Moth lyrics
Artist: Underworld
Album: Oblivion With Bells
Year: 2007

With a glass eye on you
with a glass eye on you
electric eye on you
who loves to be touched
with a glass eye on you
electric eye on you
who could dance like you, dance like you, pleasure
dance like you, delay
keep it simple, one foot goes down, keep it simple
one foot in front of the other
keep it simple, one, to repeat
never to part the sky
one, to repeat
can you feel the darkness
on you like a dog?

with a glass eye on you
electric eye on you
who loves to be touched
with a glass eye on you
who could dance like you, pleasure all day
can you feel it?

i'm holding the moth, moth
i'm holding the moth
floating under the net
fall down to my knees, kiss off, kiss off.
in the rain, stain, to embrace the mouth of every day
every car that never came
you walked away, you walked away
you took me home, you took me in, you left me.
when do we get out of here, this perfect skin

with a glass eye on you
electric eye on you
who loves to be touched
who could dance like you, dance all day
keep it simple, keep it
one foot goes down in front of the other
one foot in front of the other
never part this sky
real thing.

is this your version?
only a copy
leap on, leap off
but i don't know you
and i don't remember you
I need a light on
in matted soul and disconnected
why didn't you call
why didn't I call, to laugh with you
bouncing, bouncing
is it play town? is it play town?
roll the ball with the blue slush cup
date line, be my
cell phone connection

with a glass eye on you
electric eye on you
who loves to be touched
who could dance like you, pleasure all day
keep it simple
one foot goes down in front of the other
one foot in front of the other
one, to ever part this sky
you feel

you walked away, you walked away
you took me home, you took me in, you left me.
you walked away, you walked away
you took me home, you took me in, you left me.
you walked away, you walked away
you took me home, you took me in, you left me.
when do we get out of here
this perfect skin (repeating)

you walked away, you walked away
you took me home, you took me in, you left me.
when do we get out of here, this perfect skin
with a glass eye on you
electric eye on you
who loves to be touched
who could dance like you, dance all day
keep it simple
one foot goes down in front of the other
one foot in front of the other
never part this sky
real thing

A Little Run-In with Closet-case Sex

Don't worry. I didn't do anything. Except stare, even though everyone around me thought the situation was perfectly normal. Or did everyone just ignore it out of embarrassment, the way you're supposed to when the queen farts at a state banquet?

The closest place to park your car for free when going to the centre of town is in a posh villa district. This is where the electronics giant that made my city big used to keep it's executives. To get to town, all you need to do is walk through a small park and cross a road.

Now, the park's infamous nationally for a sex scandal that combined the juiciest of everything: football, a betrayed wife, HIV, Moroccan rent boys and outdoor sex. Basically, it's where someone will bend over for you for a couple of bucks. Or so the papers say.

It was early on a Friday night, the sun had just set and there were plenty of people walking through. Innocent people, on their way to pubs or stores, not cruising. I would have walked around the perimeter if the vibe wasn't good.

I see someone I know walking the opposite direction, on his way to his car. We stop, and chat for a while, both agreeing the day had been dreadful.

Suddenly some rustling right in front of me. A kid, around 20 years old, suddenly jumps out of the bushes, still fastening his belt. Nice looking kid too, no need for him to be in a place as sick as this.

And everyone around me behaves as if it's perfectly normal.

Hooking up is an international language

This is another one out of the "oh my God, how could you do that?" category.

OK, Friday night. Bad night, next to no people out at all, clubs are almost deserted. But I'm there, somehow determined to enjoy myself, even though I was feeling a bit down.

The drink flows, as does my judgement, meaning right down the drain.

I bump into someone who has made his interest in me more than crystal clear. As in blindingly obvious, in an almost silly way. Not much of a looker, but probably a nice guy.

I feel the need to kiss someone, anyone. Given the limited choice, he would have to do. As I said, common sense was gone for the night. There was, somehow, a deep-felt need to hook up. Not good.

And we do. On the dance floor, wasted as I am. We kiss, probably for hours.

At closing time, we leave. Then comes the shocker: he doesn't speak any Dutch at all. He's British, and lives close to my place. Proper gentleman though.

We go there, cuddle and sleep, sleep and cuddle. I wake up feeling pathetic, dirty and stupid. Turns out he's really into me, I just want to go home.

We exchange email addresses and that will be the end of it as far as I'm concerned.

This way my inevitable "oh no!" moment. I'm staying off the booze tonight, and totally feel the urge for a lifestyle u-turn.

Could Mr Right please give me a call?

Get your own style, dammit!

Up until a week or two ago, all was well.

White belt = gay. Simple. See one, listen to gaydar going "ping", and move on, with a knowing smile.


I won a bet like that: a friend and I, doing some Hyves stalking, discovered a questionable guy. I was the first to find proof: the white belt. The matter was settled; we high-fived and moved on.

I even bought one myself. Just to be a little more provocative, to broadcast a little. It made me feel rather uncomfortable at the local supermarket, but I still felt good for wearing it.

Suddenly, starting last week, they're everywhere. My womanising co-worker appeared at work wearing one. I just stared, thought it was maybe time to have a little chat with the guy, all hint-hint nudge-nudge you know. I chickened out; not the type of convo I'd like to have at work at all.

Last weekend, on one night, I saw about twenty of them. Worn by guys with girlfriends, undeniably straight guys. Then this week, they're everywhere at school, even though I swear one of the guys wearing one was a homo. Maybe he's just a little behind fashion, his car had Belgian registration after all. Suddenly, it became abundantly clear it was time to move on from the white belt.

The bad thing of course is that I now have to go back to the uncertain "is he or isn't he" game until some new give-away attribute has been found. The best possible tell has been ruined by unimaginative straight guys who are unable to develop their own style.

"Happened to the shoulder bags and pink shirts too" says my friend. Quite right, but fucking annoying.

So please guys, leave something for us, and let it not be the annoying ties every shop assistant seems to wear lately.

Annoying tie, in sickening pink

In the mean time, I might try out my white belt at work... it doesn't seem to mean anything any more.

My Dirty Little Plan

I have a birthday coming up. Not a happy occasion, for who wants to celebrate an advance in years, after turning 18, that is?

I have, however, decided to give myself a little present. My birthday itself, for reasons political, has in recent years become a scarred date. I'll blog about this event when the time comes, but it's a bit like having your birthday on 9/11. It's on a Friday, which I plan to spend in my home town of Eindhoven.

The Saturday, however, will be special. By decree. No discussion possible. I will be spending it in the town I was born in: Amsterdam.

I have friends there, there are people I could bring along, but I'm not planning to. This is just for me. And whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

So I have been planning a little itinerary. There are no night trains back as yet, that service starts in December (but boy am I glad to get it). So I will have to think of something to get through the hours after closing time, which luckily is at five...

I will probably start at Soho. Probably not my type of place, but still the most famous gay bar in the country. I just have to visit. And I have never been out before in the infamous Reguliersdwarsstraat, so it would be quite an experience just to be there.

Being more of a clubber than a barfly, a club will be up next. I have a choice: Exit, which is large, and is reputed to be full of VIPs, out and closeted. It has a whiff of being faintly gross though. Darkroom on the top floor, no thanks... Still, three other floors, hopefully being fairly normal. I'm not into the shirtless muscle thing, so I hope there will not be too much of that.

The other option is YouII. I have to get over images of Bono and his men in the Discotheque video... Still, this place sounds promising. Audience somewhat younger, hopefully fully dressed as well.

Which would you guys choose?

No, I will not go to the Cockring. ;-)

Women in gay bars

I see them a lot. At first, I just thought they were lesbians. Mostly, they're not. The lesbians are generally a quiet bunch, come in small groups and keep to themselves.

No, much more annoying are the other, straight women who visit.

Generally, they seem to fit in four different categories:

1. The fag hag.

The fag hag is more of an accessory than an actual human being. She's more like a piece of expensive jewellery. She'll follow her fag around like a loyal spaniel, never saying very much, smiling but coming across as being totally vacuous even though she might be working on string theory. Also, she will accompany her friend even as he's trying to pick you up. Quite disconcerting. Ignore, but be nice.

2. The drunk.

She's also accompanying a friend, or a group of friends, to the venue. Beware of fashion houses on a binge; they are the worst. She'll invariably have a "cute, single" friend she'd like you to meet who looks most like the hunchback of Notre Dame. If that fails, she'll invariably tell you you're cute, use a lame pick up line like "you could be my son" and invariably go for it herself. In that case, only a run for the lifeboats will save you. Find the nearest male mouth and kiss.

The drunk always carries around a glass of wine.

3. The tease.

My least favourite category. This is the type of girl that's only there to pick up a gay boy, most likely in order to balloon her ego. She'll be a good kisser, but will kiss anything. Provocatively dressed, her emphasis is on showing her boobs. The poor dear is largely unaware that nobody much cares about them. Even though the most likely winner of any snog-a-thon, she'll invariably go home early, alone and disappointed, much to the relief of everyone else.

4. The quiet, pretty type.

These are the refugees of Partyland. Sick and tired of being approached by all horny, heterosexual and often under-age males around, the girls flee en masse to the gay strip. They are generally well behaved, though tend to relax so much they end up moderately to extremely pissed. They will keep telling you how nice it is to be left alone for once. Be understanding and commiserate, but don't rediscover your inner straight guy.

OK, trannies. Will bust your balls if you're rude. Can be huge and powerful. Think mother in law from hell. Always remember their plumbing.

Roisin is a disco goddess!

Hell yeah. Even if she can't dance.

I really really love the "Overpowered" album already, even though I own it for about five minutes. Ha! This is just perfect housy, funky, discoish, making out, groping, love-making, wild screwin' music. It really gets me going.

If this album flops, it just shows the world has no taste any more.

And just for fun, I will add the video to Overpowered.

We have a date in November... she's welcome to sleep over. ;-)

Anyone up for explaining homo jargon on TV?

Due to the success of awfully campy ahem "boy band" Bearforce1, which unfortunately made international media, someone at RTL Holland has decided it's time to explain subgroups in the gay world to a wider (read: heterosexual) audience. Even though the meaning of the word "bear" appears obvious to me, perhaps some people do require an explanation.

So I found this request on the net today:

RTL Holland's Edition NL is planning on broadcasting a mini course on gay subgroups. For this reason, we are looking for twinks, preppies, bears, dandies and so on. Would you like to explain in front of the camera which subgroup you belong to and its significance to you? Then drop us an email.

Much as the idea appeals to me, I don't particularly feel part of any such subgroup nor do I know where others would file me. I don't particularly feel the need to be labelled and most people I know would be extremely hard to categorise. So this whole educational exercise is likely to just create new stereotypes people will have difficulty dealing with, even though the idea is supposedly to open up people's eyes to other forms of homosexuality.

If I had some balls, I wouldn't mind explaining on TV what I like, but I'm definitely not up for helping to create new stereotypes that will make it harder for people to leave the closet in the end.

"Young, gay? Ah, must be a twink then!" No need for that sort of nonsense from people who barely understand.

And I also have a feeling this is gonna be one of those "tongue in cheek" items. I understand the cause of this segment - Bearforce1 - does not deserve serious journalism. However, subdividing the gay community, if it needs to be done at all, does.

No thanks, I'll pass. I might watch though.

I have to admit it

I am hunting. It's a hard thing to admit, but there you go.

I am actively looking for someone, and am preparing a mental check list of what that person should be like. This is what I have so far, because I want to be a little open-minded:

1. Similar age.
2. Similar education.
3. And, of course, good looks.

It may sound superficial, but I think they are vital. You need to have some form of attraction and some common ground, longer term relationships don't work without them. Too young makes me feel dirty, too old just doesn't fit me.

So I was excited to be contacted by a 26 year old student from my local town, at my Alma mater. Maybe a little too excited; we have been chatting but not much else.

He's severely closeted; it took a long time before he revealed his name. His profile is without pictures, he calls himself bi but admits to move towards men and says he has experience but it's not very convincing. Also, he says he hardly ever visited the gay strip, so I wonder if he has ever really been.

But I think there could be something here. I am prepared to keep on chatting, to see if any developments could be realistic. Maybe even meet up for drinks or coffee or something. This will never develop into a hook up, and I don't want it to.

Because this guy appears to be all or nothing: a serious date, or nothing at all. Fine with me: it could be a healthy development.

Homophobic incidents

I guess I've had my fair share already, but have been lucky enough not to get into beatings and other forms of physical violence. A couple of cat calls, a few run ins with drunks, someone shouting in the street in front of a club.

But I need to be more careful in future, because I have a big mouth and after a few drinks, I find it difficult to avoid confrontations.

All incidents have one thing in common: the heterosexuals don't understand at all.
Shouting out "homos!" in front of a gay club might be a huge insult in the eyes of the speaker, but to the homos in question it is just a matter of stating the obvious.

After a number of similar incidents, I wouldn't mind hearing an original insult, if somebody really feels the need to insult. Honestly, "homo!" is not very impressive.

Last night, I was in a little incident involving... ahem teenagers and their girlfriends. In fact, it wasn't threatening, just funny, with hindsight.

"Hey you! What's up with that?" I hear a drunk, youthful voice behind me as a friend, totally wasted, and I, relatively sober, walk home after closing time.

The word is left unspoken but the implication is hanging in the air.

I would have preferred to just continue walking, as I didn't have a great night and wanted to go to bed (yes, my own), but my friend has a different idea.

He turns around, confronts them. I'm not someone to avoid a confrontation, but I'd had enough drama for the night, including another scene out in the street where someone proclaimed his love to me in front of some dodgy strangers.

So with an internal sigh, I turn around and see... two teenagers, at most 16 years old and a couple of girls who would probably be girlfriends.

"What do you two do together?" asks one. A blonde loud mouth, he was clearly gonna be the spokesman for the group. Again, the word is not mentioned, but the implication was clear.

"Sleep" says my friend, or something to that effect. Again, no direct links to sex.

I close my eyes, and hope the ground will open up and swallow me whole. The dark-haired guy next to Blonde breaks out in a vicious grin. This seems to encourage Blonde even more. The girls decide to move behind the guys, not liking this at all. The mood is curious-aggressive.

With the look of someone about to discuss the most disgusting subject in the entire history of this planet, Blonde asks his next question.

"Do you shove dildos up each other's asses?"

I so don't want to be there. I start to think about my own line of verbal attack, even though I had been mostly silent up to then. My usual strategy is to pick one off (that would be Blonde, of course), and in front of all of his friends tell him he gives off a distinctly gay vibe, that I understand his interest in matters of anal sex and maybe even offer him to join us for a threesome. Group dynamics would ensure a rapid end to this convo. If nobody gets violent, of course.

So, of course my friend has to answer the question with:

"We do that all the time."

Instead of just walking off, or saying that I can't imagine enjoying penetration with plastic, I nod like a fool.

The girls are getting more and more restless, start pulling on the guys and telling them to move on. After a few more words on the wonders of anal sex, with both boys having fascinated, dirty grins on their faces, they move off.

Then comes the punchline.

"I thought they were going to beat us up."

I'm still looking for my jaw.

Give up yourself onto the moment

Yes - I have a ticket for Roisin Murphy next month! And she's performing around the corner too!

I really love this song, it's from her time with Moloko. It's such a great track, and not standard dance fodder either. It's really a kind of acoustic House.

So a bit of an oldie to prepare myself for her concert. She's a crazy performer, really wild on stage and I love what Moloko did at Glastonbury in 2000. So I hope she can do some of that magic solo, since Moloko's on hold since the couple broke up.

I'll probably post more Roisin in the run up to the concert...

Boy, boy, boy

OK, this is a tough one for me to write. In fact, I've been avoiding this topic for a number of weeks now. To be honest, I've been tiptoeing around the issue on this blog by filling it up with lame shit and just avoiding the blog altogether.

I'm seeing this guy. To me, he's a serial hook up, a friend with benefits. He knows people, he's fun to be around with, he's taught me a lot but the feeling's just not there. In fact, I went into this planning to just have a one night stand, the result of drinking too much, sleeping too little and not thinking clearly.

He texts all the time, throughout the night after getting home for work. It's sweet, but a little suffocating. People think we are having a relationship. They are referring to me as his boyfriend. I'm not, and neither do I want to be.

Apart from the lack of feelings, there are other issues. There's quite an education gap, which is starting to become a little annoying. I guess it's one of the things you only notice after spending prolonged time together, those little nuisances that gradually start to grind. I don't like his job either, I'm ashamed to admit.

He's a little older too. It doesn't show, he looks like he's in his late twenties and he's got a great body for his age. It's what I try to focus on and use to rationalise this thing. However, he's still nine years older than me and I don't want to be a boy toy. Worse, I worry what friends and family will think of this: I don't expect anyone to approve and I can't blame them.

You might say, who cares about their approval? Well, I admit I'm superficial enough to do. One of my requirements in a boyfriend is someone who will amaze people, at least in the looks department, but there has to be some great personality too. Regardless to say, that person's far off the radar, but I'm not willing to compromise quite yet, if ever.

So I am planning to move this into the friendship zone. It's only fair to everyone really, because carrying on this charade is a form of betrayal. It's where I want to be; he's a great person to hang out with, he's good in bed but he just doesn't turn me on. I want to be able to have a beer with him regularly, to take shots or do whatever socially. I just don't want to have a relationship or something that resembles it with him.

Yes, it's quite simple: all I really want is a hot young stud. I would care less about education, personality and friends and family in that case because of his appearance. So I guess, if you want something that badly, you have to go out and get it...

Could we have a PM who looks like this, please?

Yulia Timoshenko will probably be the new prime minister of the Ukraine. Lucky them!



Instead, we get this:


Life's not fair!

More KJH

Just to illustrate how bad my crush is, a few more pics.

Scoring for the national team.

Sexy!

Cocky with the cup.

Swoon.

I wish there were some shirtless shots...

Disgusting!

Hi,

I see you have some older [there's a huge gap between your age and theirs, do the fucking maths!] gys [sic, gays or guys?] in your friends list [that's because they're FRIENDS], that's why I'm giving it a try! I'm around 60 years old [don't lie to me, 66 is your age], a big [you certainly have a pot belly] strong [fat ain't muscle, you know] bear living 12 km from College Town [this doesn't match your profile] and I want to get to know you! [is the exclamation mark supposed to make me feel special?]

I'm single with a relationship [I love this one], 24 years old but he's not the one [I wonder if I know him]. I live in a village, have my own business [you're drawing a pension, dude] am romantic (cancer), have integrity [haven't seen any sign of that] if you want to mail me with picture [very romantic... NOT], then please do. Chat? Hope to talk to you soon, kisses, J [gross].

PS. Refer to my mail otherwise I don't know who you are [let me guess: you're mailing every younger guy in the entire province, aren't you?]

Could it be true?

Lots of rumours about my favourite football player. Klaas-Jan Huntelaar has, allegedly, been spotted at a gay club in Amsterdam's Reguliersdwarsstraat.

Three different, independent sources have told me this. I've been told he's a regular in one particular place. He is, I've been told, at the top of the list of players who should come out.


Much as I want him to be one of us, I don't buy it. According to much of the gay community, everyone's closeted, in denial or at least bisexual with a preference to men. It's an obsession to some to link celebrities to homosexuality.

And it just doesn't make sense. Football is probably the hardest place for a gay guy to survive, I'll acknowledge that, and to my knowledge only one active player has ever come out, I think in England. It ended in suicide.

So unless you're brilliant (which Klaas-Jan in my admittedly biased opinion is) and too good to be ostracised, coming out in that world is no option. Unless a group of players from different teams does it simultaneously, I guess. The player would be fodder for rival teams' cat calls, and arch rivals Feyenoord Rotterdam have some vicious fans.

There must be gay professional players out there, and there are lots of rumours like this one as a result. The hotshots running the league are superficially supportive and tolerant of homosexuality, but trainers, players and fans often are not. Former Ajax coach Ronald Koeman even went on TV a few years ago to deny rumours about two unspecified players. Still, I have a feeling a star wouldn't suffer at the hands of his team's own supporters. If and when homosexuality and football are no longer abstract concepts or subjects of rumour, but have names and faces attached to them, sentiments could well change.

In the mean time, the closet will be the only place for players to survive. I've heard stories of Italian giants AC Milan's closet program. Allegedly, they're well experienced with this problem and take care of everything: a girlfriend, secret visits to clubs, houses etc. Much as it is despicable, it is a very pragmatic way of dealing with one of life's realities whilst keeping the player active and on your payroll.

So if you're a closeted football player, a star, a celebrity in your own right and a sometime member of the national team (move over, Van Nistelrooij!), I don't think you'd visit gay bars in your own damn town. But then again, I don't know what it's like to be famous and closeted.

*By the way, even though we screwed up in the run up to the Champions League, had a hard UEFA Cup match in Zagreb (0-1), are plagued by injuries and barely managed to win for the National Cup against an amateur team in extra time (1-2, shameful!), we're back at the top of the league, partly thanks to Klaas-Jan's classy touch. It will be a tough season, because there's just no way to replace midfielder Wesley Sneijder, who now does his brilliant stuff for Real Madrid.

Let Me Know When You're Lonely, Baby

She's back! With a great tune! I love Roisin Murphy, including her crazy outfits and her awful dancing. Can't wait till the end of November, when she'll be in town. Can't wait for the album, coming out the day before Underworld's (what a crazy music week that's gonna be!).

Roisin, let me know when you're lonely, baby...

(Yes, I know she has small tits.)

The Fem Taboo

Being effeminate is, in my local community, apart from liking women, probably the worst thing that can happen to you. If you take what they're saying seriously, about each other in particular. (Don't.)

Why? Because the ones that are most likely to be complaining about somebody else's characteristics are likely to be the most effeminate of all.

Don't get me wrong, I actually don't mind it if the guy's hot. It makes things very clear: if you hook up with one of those guys, your role and his are predefined. There's no uncertainty about what's going to happen and who's going to do what.

I must admit that having somebody prancing about the house like that all the time must be one of those nuisances that gets gradually worse. An irritation that eats at you. But again, I never think ahead that far and few others probably do.

And the fact that the guy's effeminate, doesn't mean he won't chase. Neither does it mean that he'll be subtle about it. It just means you'll have to read the body language and do all the hard work. It's easier than it sounds, because, hey, there is little subtlety involved in it all. If you don't react to it, you're likely to find somebody standing or sitting next to you trying to get at you with one of their "looks". They seem to like the eye thing. And they manage to stick around for a long time, and the shortest ones are often the most determined.

I'm not the most masculine person around. I hate getting my hands dirty, don't leave the house without looking at least somewhat close to immaculate (IMHO of course) and I enjoy a touch of glamour. Still, I'm fairly good at fixing things and using power tools. I don't mind carrying heavy loads. Maybe I'm just average, in a eurometro kind of way, on the straight scale.

On the gay scale, I'm one of the most masculine around. I think it's because I don't act the out-and-about gay guy, possibly because I'm not quite that out, but more likely because I don't like superficial acts.

Because that's what it is: an act. If a guy comes to tell you he just came out last month and "shocked" his friends, flopping arm, limp wrist and over-excited tone of voice and all, his friends must either be fools or he must have changed his behaviour since. Which means he's either acting or just not suppressing it any more.

I don't buy the suppression thing. I don't suppress anything in a gay environment, and still don't feel the need to match my body language to the stereotype and get all "floppy" with my right arm.

They're not doing it to be more attractive, because everyone around is busy declaring undying hatred of all things effeminate. Besides, they're often not looking to score.

It could be gaydar fodder, but what's the point of that when you're assumed to be gay in a particular place, a place where the straight have some explaining to do? And they're all perfectly capable of turning it down a little out in the street, where a little more dignified behaviour is expected.

So when a guy like that rejects someone because the he's too effeminate, I find it hard not to say: take a look in the mirror. But to keep a straight face during a situation like that is probably hardest.

Still, best to approach it like an episode of Ab Fab, with a lot of Eddies around. ;-)

Fucking Fridays

Encouraged by my horoscope, as well as a concentrated bombardment of text messages, I was a little drunk by about 8:30. This is what a full working day, lack of sleep and an empty stomach do to a man.

Appreciating the joy of inebriated cooking, I did just that: iPod in my pocket, earphones plugged in, the Shapeshifters album on, volume: high. Pre-partying music at it's best, with me dancing behind the stove. I was feeling tired, but good. My flatmates, usually absent on Friday nights, had never seen me like this, and were probably a little shocked. That night, Lola's Theme was my theme.

I had my dinner, polished off a bottle and a half and walked into town. I had a destination: Text Guy would be waiting for me. I found him at the bar, sitting next to his best friend, who I find, you guessed it, quite attractive.

Progressively, the three of us got hammered. At a certain stage, when none of us was capable of intelligent speech any more, it was decided all three of us should go to Text Guy's place nearby to sleep.

On the way, we talked to two more guys, probably unaware of what was going on but none of us could remember what we talked about. Text Guy and Best Mate were discussing the best way to arrange the sleeping; I got a bit annoyed and told them the bed was large enough for the three of us.

We all undressed, Text Guy went out like a light and Best Mate and I made love. I can't remember the details, but he had a real nice body.

I woke up hoping it was all a bad dream, but Best Mate had wisely disappeared early in the morning.

I feel quite good about it now, after apologizing to everyone around (even though nobody seems to care much). It was honestly just hot, and why feel bad about that?

Conversations on a dancefloor

Him: [Taps me on shoulder] That's a woman! Wo-man! [Makes international tits sign]
Me: Thank God. Not a drag queen.

Fem 1: Darling, he's much too effeminate for me! [Moves right arm along with exclamation, limp wrist included]
Me: [Struggling not to laugh] He's just a little emo. Nice eyes, too.

Him: [about Fem 1]: He's only just out, you know.
Me: It must have been a paper closet.

Fem 2: [featuring 28 inch waist] I don't have a relationship! I'm only 20, 22 is much too old for me. [shakes butt]
Me: I wish I could say that.
Him: His boyfriend's a little older than that.
Fem 2: I'm going back to [insert name of gay bar frequented almost exclusively by old men].

Fem 2: [to Him] I would go for you but your almost-boyfriend's here.
[turns to me] What kind of relationship do you two have?
Me: [shocked] Hell, I don't know.

Hot young bartender: Stop kissing so sensually, you're turning me on!
Me: [sly smile]

Nice!

Meet Jesse Huta Galung, the current number 353 of the world. Jesse and Peter Wessels today won the men's doubles to beat the Davis Cup challenge by... Portugal.

He looks even better in orange...