Tuesday, 30 October 2007

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.

Saturday, 27 October 2007

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?

Wednesday, 24 October 2007

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, clich├ęs, 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

Monday, 22 October 2007

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

Sunday, 21 October 2007

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.

Saturday, 20 October 2007

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?

Wednesday, 17 October 2007

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.

Tuesday, 16 October 2007

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. ;-)

Monday, 15 October 2007

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.

Thursday, 11 October 2007

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. ;-)

Wednesday, 10 October 2007

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.

Tuesday, 9 October 2007

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.

Sunday, 7 October 2007

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.

Saturday, 6 October 2007

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...

Friday, 5 October 2007

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...

Tuesday, 2 October 2007

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.


Cocky with the cup.


I wish there were some shirtless shots...