Falling off a log

Germany 1 - Croatia 2

2008-06-12T22:15:00.003+02:00

Heh!

And boy, was Ballack useless... :-P

Tomorrow, Holland vs France!

Orange Madness

2008-06-06T23:23:00.005+02:00

Since my mate K, in an uncharacteristic expression of EXTREMELY BAD TASTE, decided to praise the German national squad, I feel forced to retaliate.

OK, what's wrong with Germany?

The country itself, nothing much. They're a bit keen on authority and uniforms and fat female customs officials... but I digress. They're a comical bunch abroad, hesitant to speak a foreign language and dead insecure. On the upside, a lot of them mistook me for a native New Yorker even though I did not have a clue where "ze muzeum of ze modern arts" was. God bless them.

There is another battlefield though. And that means it's war! World war 32 or something by now, but anyway, we don't care. As long as they lose.

The dispiriting thing is, they don't really do that. They have no style, hardly any qualities, maybe only one or two star players and a truly frightening goal keeper who recently decided to retire, but they more than make up for that in fighting spirit.

And Germany losing bravely in a squeaker is not really satisfying either. We want to see total humiliation. The Dutch and our friends from across the channel are in total agreement on this. But the facts are horrid: the Germans qualified easily, whereas the four UK nations are sadly missing...

So I'll put this in terms K will understand and dread: the Germans are the Hillary Clintons of international football. Totally dedicated, and they'll never give up. And it usually works, though at Euro 2000 and 2004 they didn't make it past the group phase, partly because no-one can stand losing to them even if winning doesn't really matter.

Problem is, I see no Obama among the other 15 squads. But the Italians, with an average age of about 250, are credible candidates to do a John McCain and take the trophy home. ;-)

I need to finish this in style, so I think I'll need some non-German Euro 2008 eye candy. Shouldn't be too difficult. ;-)

My darling Klaas Jan Huntelaar, who'll probably be spending a lot of time on the bench... :-( Move over, Van Nistelrooy!

An acquired taste, Liverpool's Fernando Torres... but he might become Spain's much-needed powerhouse.

Switzerland's Degen brothers, David and Philipp.

Oranje boven!

Pollution of the Mind

2008-04-26T00:30:00.002+02:00

Sorry for the hiatus, guys.

Here's what I've been up to lately.

Change in style, change in attitude, less random sluttiness, more focus on personality.

1. Maastricht Boy

Love or hate this town, best known as the site where the 1992 EU treaty was drawn up, I do both. It's the capital of camp and OTT, but somehow me and it's inhabitants don't get along. I'm not one of them, but from a village nearby; I don't belong, and never will. It's a weird enclave of fierce self-centeredness that is somehow isolated from the rest of the world. Anyway, I got the place out of my system, moved North to play on bigger fields ;-) and Maastricht remained, well, it's crazy ol' self. And me? I've been known to shout: "No-one from Maastricht! Never."

So when, during a night on the town, a hot young boy approached me and asked my opinion on a relationship, alarm bells should have gone off but he was trying to hide his distinctive accent. Eventually the truth came out, but I was already smitten. Silly old me.

We met up the next night, and things were good. Conversation turned more and more to the list of things he demanded from a boyfriend, but he was good company and we went out for a drink at the local gay hangout. This, like most things Maastricht, was an anachronism: an old, tiny little bar, with pink triangles and rainbow flags, an empty dancefloor and a stereotypical patron, who was actually born in my village (yikes!). The boy too, made me feel strangely young and modern: he was into VW Beetles, and had no computer.

Heads turned as I walked in: I felt like fresh meat. This was the entire local scene. I felt a bout of claustrophobia coming on, but after all, the boy was hot, the town is weird and an occasional change of scenery is cool.

At one stage he asked me if I liked going out in drag - he did.

After the second date, we had sex at his place. He expressed his desire for a relationship. A few days later, he came up with a weird story about having to go to Belgium, and eventually declined to pick up the phone. Oh well, such is life.

But Maastricht? No thanks.

2. Male nurse jinx

Two weird weeks followed - I was wondering where to take things from here. I was introduced to a male nurse, had an online chat with another male nurse and ended up one Friday night kissing and fondling yet another male nurse on the Strip. That was just a bit of fun, but I was left wondering out of which woodwork these nurses had suddenly crawled.

3. Suburb boy

For want of a better word - he lives in a village nearby. He ended the male nurse jinx, even though I somehow expected him to be one too - it's the queer way he dresses.

We met last Saturday, spent all our spare time chatting and texting, and we had an OK date last night. OK, because there was nothing much to do in town, even though it's usually packed on a Thursday night, with all the students out. But conversation flowed easily and we had a nice, grown-up sort of date.

He's a bit young for my taste (19) but looks significantly older. We're probably meeting up tomorrow night for what promises to be a boozy night out. He seems to have some acceptance issues but in public looks and behaves like the gay he really is. He appears to be a pretty direct sort of guy so we'll see where this goes. My level of comfort talking about everything in the straight pub we eventually ended up in was amazing. I'm focusing on the person, not the body, even though there's nothing wrong with the way he looks, it's not the primary cause of my interest in him.

Now I've written off part of my smallish country, I should make the most out of the parts I have left...

The butchest Lesbian I ever saw

2008-03-19T22:41:00.005+01:00

Well, there's a new addition to the freak show also known as "work". And she's instantly become the talk of the ~~town~~, well site.

First time I saw her, I just thought: weird guy. Second time: surprisingly little facial hair. Third time: sort-of gay swagger. Fourth time: fat ass.

Then it hit me: the "guy", tattoos, Adidas, G-Star Che-style army cap and voice deeper than Rod Stewart's, is a woman. *Shock* *Awe*

A few days later. I overheard one of the managers gossip from a distance. The only phrase that was sufficiently clearly articulated was "hot new bull dyke". My co-worker and I just couldn't contain our laughter.

A few days later, the following story hits the internal news cycle.

Close to the end of the shift, she apparently placed her butt on a desk, started scratching her privates, and remarked, once she noticed quite a few people were staring:

My pussy's itching!

This simple statement has become the scandal of the year so far, and I guess she's quite capable of improving on it. Yes, there's more than a whiff of trailer park about her.

When told to work harder, she apparently answered:

Hey, I still need to have energy to finger tonight!

We're not quite used to this kind of in-your-face female sexuality, I guess.

But the best remark of all was made by closeted freak, when the subject of lesbians came up:

[Bull dyke co-worker] is also a lesbian, and she has no problem admitting it!

This weekend: Dr Lektroluv!

You know what to expect...

2008-03-16T02:11:00.003+01:00

While I'm suffering through a boring phase in my life, and a terrible writer's block to boot, I just have to share the tune that I have been obsessing about since the album was released in, well October:

It's kind of cheesy, very Eighties somehow, but I love it, and I can't wait for the mixes. The video is kind of disappointing and schizophrenic, but I can live with that.

Next weekend will be mega party time...

Do you think you're immune to cheating girlfriends?

2008-02-22T22:11:00.005+01:00

She walked up to me and asked me this question. I pondered this for a while, and a multitude of answers went through my head, from truthful to non-committal to downright rude. I looked up, noticed the stiff, wooden swaying on the dancefloor again and decided to go for non-committal.

No, why are you asking?

It turned out to be an informal survey, with almost 100% of respondents going for "no". I had probably appeared arrogant, aloof and overdressed.

All this highlighted the fact that this night was the end of student life as I knew it, and that I wasn't going to be missing out on anything much.

First of all, only beer was served. The clothing was cheap, generic straight-boy-without-style stuff. The hair was often longish and unwashed, no bonus points in my book. Once in a while, an attempt at fashion sense would be spotted, in the form of outdated pink shirts and Chasin' longsleeves. The DJ was awful, working without order or flow and being aided by a yuppie type who would emit saxophone frenzies whenever he felt like it, completely spoiling the tunes he was attempting to improve. I stood out and knew it, wishing I was somewhere else.

Rewind to the morning. The day had started out better, but not much. I had arrived early, as the conference location was close to my house, picked up all the necessary materials and attended the first lecture, by a Dutch bank. Friends who had promised to go, failed to show up. I moved on to the next lecture, which, thankfully, was a lot more interesting.

I somehow knew I was going to bump into someone I knew from the "scene", which happened during the cocktail hour. The waiters for the dinner party walked in, the way an army platoon captures a bridge. Queens galore, and of course I knew one of them... boy was I enjoying this... not.

Just after the cocktail hour, a lecturer from the London School of Economics would talk about "the history of economics in the workplace". This turned out not to be the case. It was much better, a half-hour diatribe combining jabs at the Dutch railways ("NS stands for No Service"), the French, the Germans, Charlemagne (don't ask) and women ("I prefer my pc to my girlfriend: I can add more memory and take the sound card out"). It was hilarious, just what everyone needed after drinks and he got a standing ovation. The Germans in the audience were, of course, miffed.

So, after the politically incorrect Brit, dinner, as a guest of the Dutch central bank. I was hoping to be served by the guy I knew, but he had been allotted the next table.

Dinner was cool: the food was wonderful, wine flowed copiously and conversation was cool, considering none of us knew each other. It consisted mostly of the Southerners in the group, being me, the kid next to me and the recruiter of the bank convincing the Northerners at the table of the merits of carnival. This was followed by a hilarious anecdote about a sober, early twenties first-timer being propositioned by a woman in her fifties during the first five minutes. This story matches some of my own experiences. ;-)

Anyway, as I went back home to change for the party I bumped into the serving queen. I said hi, but if looks could kill, I wouldn't be sitting here typing this...

Don't blog from the bog!

2008-02-19T20:42:00.001+01:00

A Flushed Tory Candidate is Incommunicado
Iain Dale 2:16 PM

Blogging Tory candidate Tracey Crouch has been "off line" for the last 18 hours having dropped her Blackberry down the lavatory. What is worse - she heard the "splash" but unaware what caused the noise (stop it!), she then flushed the loo, only realising far too late as her precious Blackberry disappeared around the u-bend. She is now back on-line having spent £250 on new machine. Lesson to us all: don't blog from the bog!

LOL. I guess it's a little too addictive.

Hat tip: Iain Dale.

Back with an update later.

Five days, five nights

2008-02-07T17:48:00.000+01:00

Five days of everything in excess... yes, it's carnival again. The south closes down for two days, spends Ash Wednesday hungover and depressed, and work only really takes off again next week. I wasn't planning to this, but circumstances changed and I let fate walk me though this. The first four days were a doddle, but I'm only now recovering from the fifth night. I'm on a self-prescribed detox adventure now, and I really need it.

So here goes.

Day 1: Friday [cue 24-style clock ticking]

I leave work at four, and pick up a mate who's gone to a job interview in the area. Turns out the place has been entirely broken up and I can't seem to get where I need to be. I arrive horrendously late, we drive back to mine where I discover the magnetic strip of my debit card's had it. Unpleasant surprise #1.

We leg into town, and drink a lot of Hoegaarden at an Australian pub full of undies, lingerie and condoms filled with an unknown white substance hanging from the ceiling. My friend's never seen anything like it before, and I'm left thinking: this is the nation that produced Aussiebum and Speedo.

After that, he decides to head home, and I grab Burger King (I never do that) and hit home.

There, get bored and decide to dip my toe into the gay side of carnival. Not impressive at all. Everyone's in drag, everyone looks awful and I get bored.

To boot, a snowstorm passes (unpleasant surprise #2) and it's incredibly cold, wet and windy out. On my way home, I find a bike with a flat (I really needed a bike and didn't feel like paying for one) and I decide to shorten the suffering by cycling my way home in it.

Day 2: Saturday [more 24-style clock ticking]

Having no debit card means walking to the central station miles away to buy a ticket so my original plan to escape carnival and go to Amsterdam, in the carnival-free north, has to be abandoned. Besides, the schedule back is lousy.

I spend the day fixing the bike and am really pleased with it.

Instead, I decide to wear something outrageous and go for it. I haven't done this in years, and remembering the last night not something I expected much of.

Instead, it was a blast.

One thing I'd forgotten about carnival is how sex-driven it all is. In the gay scene, this is obviously... worse. And it involves dressing up, with fairies and angels being obvious favourites this year.

In the end, I must have shopped around a little inspecting around five guys, made my choice and taken him home. My memory is a little hazy, but fun times.

Day 3: Sunday [tick-tock]

Saturday Night Boy decides to leave early, so I change the sheets and head back to bed. Decide this would be the obligatory carnival sex, but determined to check out the Sunday night action for once.

I did not expect the hormone level to have risen further. I don't think I have been chatted up or fondled so much in one evening, ever. A bar tender tries to have a go and this means free beer. I spot a friend from long ago at another place, and let my inner smile go. Another one. He didn't recognise me, and I didn't feel like talking to him.

Somewhere during the night, I fall off the stage and hurt my knee. The music was pretty good though, not the standard carnival fodder. At closing time, I head back on my newly fixed pride and joy.

The bar tender slips me his number on a beer mat. I toss it.

Day 4: Monday [no commercial break yet]

I first watch the Natalee Holloway breakthrough on TV before bravely venturing into the world of wine.

By now I'm really into it. Monday night is a sort of turbo-charged copy of Sunday night, but even better. And yes, I guess there must have been some desperation popping up in some guys because the horny and hotness meter was off the scales.

I've lost count of the number of attractive guys I kissed that night, but in each and every case the other guy took the initiative. I wasn't planning on anything, and enjoying myself thoroughly this way.

I try to cut down on the drinking by limiting myself to beer but fail miserably.

One more incident stands out: on my way to the bathroom, a cute young guy with a Phantom of the Opera mask decides he needs to kiss and grope me. So we do this, against the bathroom door which sweeps backwards, with people wanting to leave the bathroom as well. LOL. He is out there with a bunch of female friends, some of which find it amazing to watch and others who don't want to see it. So they all leave pretty quickly, which was a bit of a disappointment.

I sorta get kicked out at closing time and discover my coordination is shot. I feel stupid, because I think I've only had four beers. I fall off my bike at one point, slowly sliding into a lamp post and hurt my knee some more (injury #2). At home I forget my flat mate's home, somehow stumble in and throw up loudly into the bog before passing out.

Those four beers turned out to be twelve, and a bottle of wine.

Day 5: Monday [tick-tock tick-tock boom!]

On Monday I feel like shit, clean house and bog, do a lot of laundry and generally do everything to avoid my flat mate.

But I was determined to take this thing to the end, but forgot Ash Wednesday is not a public holiday in Holland. Everything closes early, so I went a little earlier, and found the music was shit, and everyone was basically exhausted. I felt fine, danced a bit, drank a little, but a lot less then the previous night, before leaving at closing time.

An attractive boy looks at me on the way out, but I had decided to lay off on that sort of thing.

I talk to some people, as closing time is the only moment without loud music, and then step outside, on my way to my new best friend.

I hear a voice behind me.

"You got any plans for the rest of the night?"

It's him. Yikes! This is gutsy, and way past direct.

"I guess I don't" [Translation: I guess I do now]

"We're heading to a friend's place. Wanna join up?"

I sure do. Most of us know each other vaguely, from around, and this was the kind of ad hoc party I always liked. After getting the entire group together, which takes ages, we drive a silly four blocks to find the friend's place.

We talk, laugh, even do some of the most disgusting shots with the boy on my lap, almost the entire night. At about five-thirty, most of the group decides to leave and he presses me: "stay behind". I just nod.

"Do you have to work tomorrow?" he asks, when everyone's left.

I don't... I am such a slut.

Before the door slams shut our mouths meet.

This is what anyone would do, right?

2008-02-04T17:59:00.001+01:00

Imagine living in a Caribbean backwater of the great (ahum) Dutch nation. Imagine being comfortably well-off, young, bored with school and a developing addiction to blackjack or something. Imagine boatloads of rich, blonde and generally OK-looking American tourists reaching the shores of your Happy Island every day.

Imagine those tourists emerging themselves in the laid-back attitude to drugs, drink and sex that prevails in such a place. You would take advantage of that, wouldn't you?

So you pick up one of those tourists girls, do shots with her and get her wasted. Tell her where she can obtain cocaine. Then take her out to the waterfront to have the full sex on the beach experience (imagine sand in places where you didn't know you had places). You find out her family's loaded but unfortunately you don't discover her family has a hotline to the Bush White House.

You have some vaguely defined form of sex with the girl, and she ends up convulsing in spasms during the experience. She passes out and becomes non-responsive, or, in your own words, she suddenly didn't work any more, like an ancient television set.

So you hide the body in the bushes, run to a pay phone and call a "buddy" with a boat. He takes the body, says he'll dump it somewhere in the sea and tells you to go home.

Once home, you establish your alibi on the internet and go to sleep.

This is normal behaviour, right? Anybody would do this. I always end up having to dispose of bodies after sex, and let me tell you, it's a damn sight harder out here, with no ocean nearby.

So tell us the full story, Joran. You ghb'd her, and some coke dealers on the island made sure she sleeps with the fishes, right?

Seven million people - that's almost half the country - watched this "confession" on TV last night.

Why would...

2008-01-29T00:26:00.000+01:00

...a guy grab you by the waist, drag you off the dancefloor, walk over to the bar, grab two Tequila shots, do the shots with you, and then ignore you altogether?

What's the fucking point of that?

I've been wondering for two days now and I still don't get it. Any ideas?

And why would said guy bite into the lemon before taking the shot?

TV3 does porn???

2008-01-28T18:21:00.000+01:00

Public broadcaster BNN have just announced they will run that Godfather of porn, Deep Throat, on a Saturday night in February.

The usual excuses are lined up whenever BNN ventures into the area of sex: blabla, kids should know about sex, educational value, and now, the case is made that this is a historic movie, kind of like an R-rated Casablanca.

It's not. These excuses are all lined up to hide what this really is: a well-deserved provocation aimed at that most annoying of political parties, that odd mixture of condescending socialism, Christianism, nanny staters and gay-bashers known as the Christian Union, which is at the heart of our awful government and runs the newly created Ministry of Families and Children, something that reminds me of the 1930's.

And, of course, it works. The CU has a habit of dressing up Christianist talking points in left-wing language, so the argument they use against this is, you guessed it, feminism. Deep Throat shouldn't be on TV because Linda Lovelace claims she was abused during production. BNN should air a documentary on her life instead of the movie.

This is blatantly dishonest. The CU doesn't care about porn stars, just wants to ban the stuff. This, from the same party that uses former prostitute Yvette Lont as gay-basher-in-chief to try to capture the vote in gospel churches in Amsterdam South-East.

BNN should just go ahead with this. People can change channels or switch off the TV, and a dishonest extremist fringe has no business telling others what should be on TV.

Might I suggest Gaytanamo for the next attempt to drive the CU up the wall?

Come on baby, so we can dance this groove...

2008-01-26T15:02:00.000+01:00

Even a socialist backwater can produce sexy lounge tunes. Here are Sweden's Plej, with "You".

Four Hookups and a Funeral

2008-01-22T18:02:00.000+01:00

Just joking. Relax, I'm not that bad. Just couldn't resist this title. But what a crazy day it was.

My mom had decided to go to the funeral after all, and so we decided to travel together.

Waking up early, getting into my formal dress, I discovered it was pouring outside. This always seems to happen at funerals: curtains of rain, and shivering under an umbrella as the casket is lowered into its final resting place. I was thinking of Guns 'n Roses' November Rain, without Slash, that is.

And the rain kept on coming: driving towards Amsterdam, it got so bad I had to slow down sometimes as vision declined. Then, finally, we got lost in the posh suburb that surrounds the cemetery as the roads were broken up and cars were directed onto bike paths. We arrived a few minutes late, but it turned out my cousin and his new Russian girlfriend had run out of petrol, much to his father's anger. LOL. He then got lost as well, and in the end couldn't find a place to park.

And it kept on pouring. We were shepherded into the chamber for the ceremony, where eulogies were held that made me reach for the sick bag. I mean, the deceased wasn't a saint, so why do we posthumously have to pretend it was the case? I know a funeral is no place to be truthful or critical, but in these speeches an unrealistic fantasy creature was sketched that in no way resembled reality.

So after the ceremony, the casket was carried outside, into the pouring rain and dropped into the family slot beneath the beautiful pines. It really is an amazing spot.

Afterwards, we all met up for drinks at a quaint old restaurant near a dune, a place I have fond memories of. My sleazy Swiss relatives, friends of my grandma and a nasty old queen who used to go to school with my uncle were all there. The old homo was definitely checking me out. Gross.

We left rather early, pleading distance. My mom dropped me of at my place, and I went back to casual clothing. Then prepared myself for a night on the town. I was in predator mode, which usually means I'll do something stupid.

Getting tanked on wine, cocktails and the occasional brewski, bored by the club, the music and all those guys I have seen too many times before, even though there was some cool eye contact with the boy I have been eyeing for weeks, I moved in on a cute Indian exchange student, and we spent the night together.

No, he wasn't as good as Barbie.

PS. I have decided not to get my tongue pierced. For now. Reason? Too scary.

Primary Colours, a European view

2008-01-22T01:44:00.001+01:00

Barack Obama's the greatest political talent in the USA today.

Now watch them nominate Hillary.

Come on, you old soldier. You can win this thing.

I don't like plastic, not even in flip-flops.

Confessions on a Cell Phone

2008-01-18T22:05:00.000+01:00

A little episode from last weekend.

Quick snog on dance floor.

Longer snog in street.

"I want your number," he says.

Hesitantly, I give it to him.

Walk home. Mobile beeps.

Am in the car on the way home, really want to meet you again soon XXX

My reply:

Fine, tell me when it suits you

[I must say I hid my enthusiasm well... NOT. LOL]

This is what I get back:

OK have a headache going to sleep please text tomorrow XXX

[Complaining about headaches? Diva alert...]

But the next day I do decide to text, just for the heck of it (OK, I was bored):

Headache gone? ;-)

Yeah, yeah, was up at three splitting headache and still had to see my bf

Well, fuck you too. Learn to trust your instinct...

RIP My Grandma

2008-01-16T21:10:00.000+01:00

Just heard my grandmother passed away last Monday night, a few day short of her 97th birthday. We weren't really close, since my mother and her haven't been on speaking terms since about 1991. In the Eighties she was a great grandmother to me though.

I have mixed feelings about it, she was old, couldn't walk, deaf, and could hardly speak any more. She passed away peacefully in her sleep, so in a sense it must be a blessing: I wouldn't have wanted to continue living much longer in that state.

She was the last true protestant in my family: she had grown up in a cold, hard-hearted Calvinist environment, with a family who wouldn't accept my grandfather, who was an atheist of Jewish descent from the slums of pre-war Amsterdam. She always stayed devoutly religious, even though she changed over to the more relaxed Dutch Reformed Church, in a way I, with my southern Catholic ways could never really understand.

The funeral is on Saturday, there will be family bickering (probably about inheritances) and it won't be pretty. My family is absolutely dysfunctional, and my mom refuses to go: "they'll all just have a go at me".

So I'll be representing my side of the family, even though it's a long drive. It's the least I can do.

I'll be wearing my ring on the other hand that day. My one concession to protestantism.

Return of The Diva!

2008-01-15T22:30:00.000+01:00

She's back! The woman everyone's copying, the epitome of cool. Alison Goldfrapp returns with a quiet, introspective album, totally unlike her two previous efforts. But the new single, A&E, is so nice... even though it is a bit of a grower. Stuck on repeat all day.

Even the forest leaves are going down on their knees for her...

Thinking out loud...

2008-01-15T14:15:00.000+01:00

I think piercings are hot. In the right places, I mean.

Diamond studs look great on a young guy. It is the ultimate expression of polished metrosexuality at the moment, and I kind of like that. This is not, however, something that looks good on older guys. I have plenty of older co-workers who wear this sort of thing, hopefully remainders of an earlier age, and it just looks a little pathetic, desperate.

The Prince Albert is the most disgusting thing on this planet I can think of at the moment. I'm wincing as I write this. Apparently it is quite safe, as urine seems to disinfect it, and it has to be produced in such a way that it is condom-safe. That is the legal theory, at least, in hyper-regulated Europe. I'm not convinced; the logistics of wrapping that up in a condom look dodgy to me. And I have actually seen one in real life: not appealing.

Pierced bellybuttons. Come on. Even on girls this type looks trashy. They tend to be much too young, slightly overweight and wear tops that are way to small to cover what needs to be covered. On men, it is not only the gayest thing around, but it screams STD. I can't rationalise that last statement, but it probably has to do with the fact that I associate this piercing with rent boys. To make things worse, Bobby (love the blog by the way, you wild Sefrican!) has seen an even more camp version out in the wild. Excruciating.

The tongue piercing... now that one I like. It adds a dimension to kissing and BJs that you would otherwise lack. It adds a focal point to Frenching, that is just very hot.

In fact, I like it so much I have been thinking of getting one myself. There's a tattoo studio around the corner from my house that has them on special offer this month. Tempting. They're fully licensed and appear to be professional, so I'm not really worried about the quality of the work done.

Pros?

1. It's hot
2. It's hot
3. Nobody would expect me to have one
4. It's hot
5. You can hide it quite easily
6. You can pull it out and the tongue will heal fully, quickly.
7. It's hot

Cons?

1. Am I just being ridiculous?
2. Is this the famous quarter-life crisis grad students are always talking about?
3. If they hit a muscle... ouch
4. The vision of a skewer going through my tongue is not very pretty
5. I'd have to rinse after every meal for weeks... I don't think I can handle it. And I haven't even asked about alcohol yet.
6. I might have to visit some companies for my thesis soon and it might be wise to appear conservatively dressed and accessorized.
7. I have a habit of passing out at the dentist's
8. I don't want to slur for the next week or so

I just have to consider this carefully for the next week or so... It would fit in very well with the new me, who does whatever the fuck he wants.

I know how you'll feel...

2008-01-12T23:28:00.001+01:00

They say there's no proper American dance scene... well, there is, and BT is at the centre of it.

Jan Johnston is a truly great singer. A little-known solo artist in the eighties, BT pulled one of her CDs out of a bargain bin somewhere in Maryland and went on to sample one of her tracks for "Calling your Name", well-known as it featured in the first American Pie movie (yes, the stripper scene). They later met up in real life and recorded a number of tracks together for BT's second album, ESCM. "Remember" is one of the stand out tracks. Enjoy.

Braindump

2008-01-05T23:13:00.002+01:00

Well, 2007 was an interesting year, to say the least. I went in sorta straight and came out as a player on the gay strip. Food for Freud.

What's been going through my mind over the last couple of days was the question: how do you improve on this experience? I am honestly clueless. We're still in contact, which is quite a good thing I guess. And I think I really do like him as a person. But he's very young and lives miles away. So not much is going to happen, realistically. Still, it's hard to accept this fact and move on, because any experience after this is likely to be disappointing.

So for the moment I'm chatting and texting away without really chasing and that's it. Not even going out this week.

A really sick thought entered my mind the other day about my local scene. It's the sort of deep insight that hits you at that lucid stage of tipsiness that preludes a good night out. It's a wonderfully insightful feeling, but impossible to maintain for long. Well, this is it:

There are three types of men out there: men you've had, men you won't or can't have and men you're gonna have sometime.

This could have come directly from QaF's Stuart's mouth.

This thought occurred to me earlier on New Year's Eve, before meeting Barbie, as a boy I had been eyeing for weeks suddenly decided to stick his tongue in my mouth. I was halfway through swallowing the last of my beer so a little advance warning would have been nice. Still, I got the oral logistics right and remained cool and collected, which I somehow managed to remain the entire night. But my overall feeling was: this is inevitable, right? I think it's time to broaden my horizon a little.

The idea of a good hotel, champagne and a hot boy have impacted on a different front as well. I should do this more often; the additional glam provides a hell of a kick. Splurge out, enjoy yourself by adding some chic once in a while. It's worth it.

RE: my appearance. This is sort of grating. I have been noticing that I get more attention when I dress less conscientiously. Maybe I'm trying too hard, or maybe it intimidates people. It's a credible expression of high maintenance, which I might well be but don't want to convey. My messed-up hair, old shoes, H&M belt (yes, white, I wanted to be a little camp) and fairly standard discounted Diesel longsleeve work much better than Armani and friends.

Well, the comments to my last post were revealing: there's a future for my highly successful ex-gay programme, with five out of six "cured", including Charlton Heston. ;-) As for my one failure... well, DJ’s spinning up my favorite song, hurry up and get a grove on.

As for Abba - you got me there, Steve. Grumble!

Wow, wow, wow,...wow!

2008-01-01T22:12:00.000+01:00

A couple of days ago I was contacted by a guy from out of town who was planning to spend New Year's Eve over here. Actually, I was contacted by a number of guys but only this one intrigued me.

Read my lips, I'm into you,
I'm into you,
I can't resist,
You're so hot (get me under the shade)
The spotlight's on
You creep into it,
You like it and,
Just the way that you dance,
Just the way that you dance.

We got to chat about partying options over here and I shared my ideas with him. We agreed to share a drink if we bumped into each other, something I was sure would happen.

Yeah, he was a little nelly even for European standards (I know Erik and K will agree) but I have no problem with that.

(Yeah yeah) Is enough to love me baby,
(Yeah yeah yeah) Is enough to send me crazy,
(Yeah yeah) Such angelic motion,
(Yeah yeah yeah) You know you're made in heaven.

So he arrived, and I recognized him immediately. In real life, he was stunning. I wasn't: I was wearing old shoes because of the dirt outside and my hair was a mess, as it had been raining. I introduced myself and we got drinks. And we really hit it off. He was smoking my favourite brand of cigarettes, which really made my heart melt.

The way you walk, the rythmn when you're dancing,
Every inch of you spells out desire,
You're such a rush,(rush)the rush is never ending,
Now,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow.

Now up to this point, I wasn't seriously contemplating sex: we'd have a couple of drinks, I would show him my town's hot spots and that would be it, partly because I felt rather washed out. He, however, quickly made it abundantly clear he was up for it. We drank, made out and we danced a little, and people were staring.

The more I try, I try to stop,
The more I can feel my antenna just sensing you up,
and what can I do? I'm into you,
I'm into you,
Love the way that you move,
Just love the way that you move.

After about an hour, he wanted to go. How could I refuse? Would I contemplate refusing? Of course not. It turned out he had a room in the best hotel in town, complete with champagne (which we drank) in an ice bucket. The young night guard stared at as as we walked in, amused. There was no deniability with this guy.

He had the most wonderful body I've ever had the pleasure of touching, and let's say I got to enjoy every bit of it.

(Yeah yeah) Such angelic motion,
(Yeah yaeh yeah) you know you're made in heaven.

The way you walk, the rythmn when you're dancing,
Every inch of you spells out desire,
You're such a rush,(rush) the rush is never ending,
Now,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow,
You got it, you're wow wow wow wow.

Those who don't know this track will have their homo membership card revoked, subito! ;-)

So this is how it works...

2007-12-31T16:59:00.000+01:00

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!

2007-12-28T21:29:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-21T23:41:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-21T20:09:00.000+01:00

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!

2007-12-19T20:13:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-12-17T16:59:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-14T22:29:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-14T21:15:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-11T00:48:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-10T00:35:00.000+01:00

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...

2007-12-08T22:58:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-08T22:34:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-03T21:12:00.000+01:00

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

2007-12-01T22:03:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-27T13:01:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-26T22:01:00.000+01:00

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?

2007-11-25T22:38:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-24T22:11:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-24T18:29:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-22T20:15:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-19T00:09:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-18T20:44:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-09T21:17:00.000+01:00

[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

2007-11-08T19:29:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-06T18:47:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-03T22:42:00.000+01:00

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

2007-11-02T23:49:00.000+01:00

Fuck you, you christian socialist homophobic bastards!

November 2, 2004

2007-11-02T18:21:00.000+01:00

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

2007-10-30T07:14:00.000+01:00

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

2007-10-27T23:12:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-27T14:04:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-27T00:58:00.000+02:00

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?

2007-10-24T19:30:00.000+02:00

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?

2007-10-24T19:20:00.000+02:00

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

Boris Dlugosch feat. Roisin Murphy - Never Enough

Holding the Moth

2007-10-22T19:28:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-21T19:29:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-20T17:39:00.001+02:00

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!

2007-10-17T15:32:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-16T17:52:00.001+02:00

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

2007-10-15T19:18:00.000+02:00

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!

2007-10-11T19:23:00.001+02:00

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?

2007-10-10T21:23:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-09T20:04:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-07T22:55:00.000+02:00

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

2007-10-06T16:46:00.001+02:00

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

2007-10-05T20:37:00.000+02:00

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?

2007-10-02T00:42:00.000+02:00

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

Instead, we get this:

Life's not fair!

More KJH

2007-10-02T00:09:00.000+02:00

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!

2007-09-29T21:14:00.000+02:00

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?

2007-09-29T16:37:00.000+02:00

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

2007-09-27T19:56:00.001+02:00

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

2007-09-26T16:17:00.000+02:00

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

2007-09-24T20:15:00.000+02:00

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

2007-09-24T10:31:00.000+02:00

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!

2007-09-22T23:56:00.001+02:00

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...

Fucking horoscopes :-(

2007-09-21T19:02:00.000+02:00

Scorpio: Haven't you hurt yourself enough by going for sex immediately? Then try again tonight.

What to do, what to do

2007-09-20T19:56:00.000+02:00

I'm in a bit of a rut, I'm afraid. I don't know where to take it from here.

I was a little depressed after the last weekend. I have honestly little to complain about: OK job, grad school is almost done, I am apparently capable of scoring good-looking guys. It gives me confidence, and experience which I could always use, but little true satisfaction.

I think it's because I'm more into romance, cuddling and kissing, then the harder, more physical stuff. Sure, I'd like to do that with someone I'm really into, but it's not my main goal when I go out. On the other hand, being desired by someone cool is a wonderful feeling, the biggest confidence booster one can imagine.

And it's a two way street, isn't it? You gotta please yourself but also take the other person into account, but not that much, because it's not a relationship. It's hard to stop at kissing and cuddling, even though I'd sometimes like to. And, I have to admit, I'm still curious about some aspects of the sex.

Do I want a date? Not sure. Dinner, a bottle of wine and a movie appeal to me, but a first date is really just a close compatibility inspection. I'm not sure that's better than being on the meat market, where inspections are fleeting, and conclusions not reached during after dinner awkwardness, and strange, unspoken rituals that have to be performed in order to pass each other's tests.

Do I want a relationship? It will have to be a loose one. I don't want someone around me all of the time, definitely don't want to contemplate moving in with someone. I'd like to have someone I could call though, and spend nice, quiet, romantic evenings with. Have dinner with. But where do I find such a person? Someone who understands my need to have some serious space?

In the somewhat dirty club that's mostly just a place to hook up? Unlikely, but possible. It's huge fun to be there though; it's nihilism and decadence at their best. That's what truly living should be about, in my most vapid fantasy: music, dancing, alcohol and sex, all within easy reach. Ripe for the picking, like a buffet of pleasure.

The other, more civilized place? More probable, I think. Maybe I should just focus on that, getting to know people, making friends, taking things where they go. Hooking up is far to self-centred an activity to combine with making friends, and I have been neglecting that part of my new life. I was well on my way there last Friday, except I got stalked and lost the plot.

I have since the weekend shopped myself out of depression, added a new secret weapon to my collection of partying clothes. For the first time, I bought something I doubt I would ever dare to wear in Straightland. Yes, my new Armani shirt is a very, very tight fit. And owning it does make me feel better, even though it's a very superficial thing, possessing goods.

What about Friday night? I'm gonna dance all the doubt away... staying in is just too depressing at the moment. Gotta move a bit, and I guess it's fairly healthy too ;-).

All these things... in me

2007-09-18T17:34:00.001+02:00

I love Crocodile, the new Underworld single, and the lyrics are just so appropriate to how I'm feeling right now.

Just had to share it - it's a big occasion you know.

My weekend, part 2

2007-09-18T12:02:00.000+02:00

So I went home feeling a little confused after Friday night. I was immediately bombarded with texts, which rattled me even more. Feeling depressed, I showered and went to bed, having decided to take it really easy on Saturday night.

I had decided to meet up with last week's guy on Saturday night, but I didn't really feel up to it. A couple of glasses of wine calmed me down sufficiently to make it to town, but later than usual.

Here I met ex-crush and last week's guy, but I didn't really feel comfortable about staying. I had enough of that place, so I decided to have a drink at the other place which is a bit less in-your-face about everything.

Suddenly Friday's guy's started texting me that he was gonna be back in town soon. His birthday party was over a little earlier than expected, and he asked me if I wanted him to come over. I wasn't sure what to answer so I just replied: "if you feel like it".

In the mean time I just danced on the stage, next to a group of what I thought were lesbians. The DJ, whom I'd met on Friday night, was kicking the place with some nice trancy tunes but few people got really into it. It was, however, exactly what I needed at that time. He later switched to some standard disco fare, and I noticed he himself wasn't into it: the mixing got a bit sloppy.

Friday night guy came in exactly at the time he predicted, and he introduced me to one of the "lesbians". His niece. Awkward. I asked him what the hell they were doing there, and he said: "well, no-one hassles them here. They come here quite often". I suppose that's a secret I should keep to myself, to prevent a flood of horny straight guys coming over to score girls. LOL. Then he tells me her brother is really hot.

We sat at the bar, met up with some people we both knew and basically drank beer till closing time. I started developing a crush on the tall, slender, hot bartender. I think there's an opening there too.

After closing time we were unceremoniously dumped into the street so we went to his place and had the sex we probably should have been having on Friday night. It was pretty good honestly, and now I know what topping is really like.

He's still texting. Next week I'm staying in, I think.

My weekend

2007-09-17T00:34:00.000+02:00

One time didn´t do it
Two times didn´t feel quite right
I didn´t know where I was going
I just knew that I would be alright

I woke up in a drunken haze
The sun shone through my window pane
I said that I´d never do it again
What kind of fool do you think i am?

It happens
It always seems to happen
Morning night and day
I just want some action
Give me satisfaction
Send me to my fate
Morning night and day

New Order - Morning Night and Day

Well, basically it is all one interconnected event. I'm not too proud of some of it but I guess it ended up being OK.

On Friday I hit town as I have been doing for a few weeks. It's still quiet and there's nothing much going on at my base so I hit another place which was more of a bar-like setting. Here I have a few too many drinks and end up talking to a group of friends, just nice, normal guys. One of them looks a little like Daniel Craig and it turns out he's the standard Saturday night DJ. Real cool guy.

Another guy joins the circle, and immediately he starts hitting on me. He's nerdy, nervous and more than a little creepy. I'd seen him before at my base; he was ogling me in the most pathetic "come on over and seduce me way" which I ignore anyway.

It just goes downhill from there. I get more drunk, he gets more creepy. I try to be polite but find no way of shaking him off. He's freaking out the friends too, keeps telling everyone who'll listen that he's 40 years old but looks much younger, closer to thirty, and hey, he was born in 1967. It's true he doesn't look like forty but that doesn't make him attractive. I've had enough, there's no dancing here so to escape I have to leave. I pay my tab but he follows me out the door.

The base is a bit more sexually charged and has a dance floor, so that's where I go. I hope to find a way of getting rid of this guy but by now I'm horrendously sloshed. Dancing does not help; the dance floor is small and he just follows me around, stands behind me at the edge. I'm even dancing to Mika. Boozy logic takes over: surely if I pull someone, he'd get the message?

I start grinding some guy and eventually we kiss. He breaks it off, with the following comment: "you're much too drunk". Hilarious really, and oh so true. I can't even remember what he looks like. All the time, creep is still there, watching. I don't even look at him any more, but he tries to make light conversation again, failing horribly. Leaning over a table a foot or so away I spot someone I know. He's a regular from the other place, a nice-looking guy even though he wears glasses. He notices me and instantly I know there's a way in.

By now, booze, too little to eat, lack of sleep, irritation with the creep and general horniness take over. I can't describe the feeling, but it's closely related to desperation. My facial expression must have been "someone help me out here", because that was what I was feeling. Breaking my own rules, I move in. Creep is still there, behind me.

Things move quickly from here. I can barely stand on my own two feet, but we kiss and grope like mad. He lives close by and we decide to go to his place. He's really into me, I see that already, through my drunken haze. Creep is nowhere to be found (at last).

We have sex and I'm really awful at it. At one point, I interrupt him to throw up in the bathroom, only liquids coming out. He doesn't care; we go on like nothing has happened. He wants me to top him but my coordination is shot and finally I just chuck in the condom and pass out.

On Saturday morning, he gets up way too early to go to work and a birthday party afterwards. We sit on the couch, drinking coffee for a while, talking about life in general. I get dressed and leave, he's adamant about having my number. Within half an hour, he's texting already.

I'll finish the story tomorrow. I'm definitely gonna taking it easier for a while now.

Weird night

2007-09-15T21:32:00.000+02:00

It's official: I have a stalker. And not a hot one. Details to follow in my weekend round-up tomorrow.

Not feeling too good about it.

I need my own place

2007-09-14T18:03:00.000+02:00

I'm sick of living like a monk. I'm sick of sharing a bathroom with someone who leaves gobs of everything on floors, mirrors and taps (I keep on hoping it's not sperm). I'm sick of my neighbour's horrible, listless soft rock. I'm sick of the place smelling like a chemical plant whenever someone's cooking something vegetarian. I'm sick of not being able to have a proper private conversation or sex without the whole house hearing everything. I'm sick of my street, so full of intolerant headscarf and burqa worshippers no gay boy wants to come visit. Don't blame them.

I need my own place. Own kitchenette, shower and toilet, and I'll be happy. I would have room for a double bed, and maybe have a proper sitting area for once in my life. Preferably closer to the action, because, hey, you only live once. Above all, I need my own place because then, and only then, can I do whatever the fuck I want to, when I want to. Without having to suffer straight first-years and their awful granny rock or socially immature guys who can't deal with hair products and tooth paste.

So I'm giving a guy I know a call on Monday. He rents out apartments and student rooms throughout town, and he knows me and has set me up before. He knows I'm not very noisy (thank you Apple!) and that I'm clean, responsible and pay promptly. I hope he will be able to find something for me.

I'm just too old for this crap.

Girls and gaydar

2007-09-13T20:34:00.000+02:00

I have been wondering about this issue for a while now. Is there some mechanism that draws girls to gays, sexually I mean? I'm not talking about going shopping with them here.

Is it the thrill of the unobtainable? Or the challenge of testing one's ability to draw attention of people who are evidently not interested? Are they wondering if they are pretty enough to flip the guy? I remember a Seinfeld episode where Elaine tried to do exactly that. Without success, obviously, but I'm sure there are women out there who believe it can be done. Of course, it reflects on the bisexuality of the guy too, but the woman probably views it as her own accomplishment.

Or is it a biological defence mechanism, to ensure the human gene pool does not become too shallow? The more practising breeders, the more diversity in genes I guess.

Anyway, since I've pretty much decided to give this man love thing a try, I've had more female attention than in the entire year before. I'm basking in the irony of it all. It's mostly just innocent flirting, but that hardly used to happen before.

Maybe it's just me. I'm feeling more at peace with myself, confident, I often feel I'm radiating security and that I certainly never used to do. I'm more open, better at carrying a conversation, and generally a whole lot more talkative and willing to take the initiative. Basically, I'm becoming less introverted and developing the balls needed to do this thing.

So I guess this version of me is much more attractive than insecure old me. I've got more money to spend, so I'm dressing better. I've changed my hairstyle at the beginning of the year. I'm losing a little weight. I never used to be chubby or anything close to fat, but the package is improving every day.

I'm no Adonis, so what's up? It's probably that old confidence thing again.

My guidelines to successful clubbing

2007-09-11T20:02:00.000+02:00

Stumbling and sometimes falling, I guess that's how I'm learning the terms of the trade. Also, in order to save some dignity, I have some basic rules for myself. This should save drama later on as you're likely to meet everyone again in this town.

Of course, I'm still inexperienced and don't pretend to write the definitive work on this. Points of view could vary. I'd love you guys to disagree.

1. Be confident if not outright cocky at all times. If it takes alcohol to get there, so be it. Everyone else drinks like a fish anyway.

2. Don't make a move unless he absolutely blows your mind. People gossip, and watch much more closely than you can ever imagine. Keep it mysterious, keep them guessing. Making a move on someone sub-par defines you to the entire club, the last thing you want.

3. Always be friendly, talkative and polite. You're not making many moves, so you still have to appear open, willing, confident and not aloof if you want others to make them. Besides, making enemies in a small community like the one I'm in could be dangerous.

4. Get to know owners/proprietors of places if you can. They can be sources of incredibly useful information and offer a form of protection: no-one will fuck with a friend of the owner.

5. Dance. It's relaxing, it gives you a chance to show off and people watch the dance floor anyway. Besides, a lot can happen on the dance floor and it's always a plausible escape route. Get some canned heat in your heels tonight, baby. ;-)

6. Be prepared. Bring contact lens boxes if you're willing to go home with someone. Have condoms in stock, whether at home or on you. Cut your nails and check your body for open wounds.

7. Confidence and cockiness will make it easy to maintain control. Keep that control. Don't rush, take the time to consider proposals. Everything has to happen on your terms. Eager is bad.

8. Don't underestimate the depths others will sink to to get what they want. I know of one guy in his fifties chasing a kid of 15. I've been followed to the bathroom to check out my goods. Choose a stall if you don't feel comfortable with staring. Remember, for a lot of people it's just a meat market.

9. Correct your partner in the bedroom if necessary. If you don't like to go too quickly, tell him to slow down. Of course you're here to both have fun, but hey, it's probably a hook-up and you have to think about your own pleasure. Besides, it's another way of exercising control.

10. Forget "out of my league". You don't have a league and shouldn't allow yourself to be boxed in like that. Allow yourself to be surprised. Twenty year-old hottie might not be into twinks his age, even though you were at that stage. Let "not my type" be an individual qualification and not a way to judge whole groups. You might generally not have a thing for type X, but this one guy could be Mr Right.

11. Determine what you don't like at all quickly and don't lead guys on.

12. There's safety in numbers, especially if you're younger and/or somewhat apprehensive about the entire enterprise. Go with friends if you can and look after one another.

I think this will be a running thread, something to update if needed. Any comments are, of course, more than welcome, especially from more experienced people than me.

UPDATE September 12th

13. If I'm not good enough to take home, you're not good enough for me. No parks, garages etc (any more). Determine your destination before walking out the door.

14. Older men have their own particularities. If this is your weakness, you'll have to deal with it. Otherwise, see 11 (I'm glad it's not mine). They will try to manipulate you, wind you around their finger. Only the younger person is entitled to do that, IMHO, and only if all other control mechanisms fail. The good news is: age is their weakness and they know it. Make light-hearted jokes about Viagra, walking sticks and senile dementia if all else fails, always with a smile and a wink though. Needling him is the way to restore control, and he's probably way too excited about closing the deal to care much about what you say. Bonus: drinks are on him.

15. This is an open problem: exchanging numbers. In general, only do this if you wouldn't mind speaking to the person again, but it can raise expectations. I think my position will be "you only get my number if you are actually planning to dial it". There's no point exchanging numbers out of politeness, you might as well make that clear as soon as it comes up. Besides, I don't want my name to be in everyone's cell phone.

Why did a friend of mine...

2007-09-11T17:37:00.000+02:00

...just join THIS Facebook group?

Please, God, not another one...

Alligator Waters

2007-09-10T00:29:00.000+02:00

Round-up of my Saturday night. I had a vague date with an older guy, would meet Crush (now an ex-crush) so for the first time ever I had a schedule. So I dressed up, had some wine and hit the town.

I arrived quite late, shortly before one, but still nothing much was happening. I moved over to the other club... which was even worse. Ex-crush was there, and it was just... boring. I really get on well with the owners though, so I hated to leave, but the other place just has so much more sexual tension.

I walk in, and suddenly the bitch at the counter talks to me! She's thawing up nicely, but quite suddenly and it's somehow weird. Anyway, I have to keep her on my side so it's a good development because she appears to own the place.

I have the promised beer with the date and it is beyond awkward. We run out of things to say within three minutes. I'm relieved when I finally empty my glass. I move over to the dance floor just to relax a little and get away from this guy.

Suddenly someone touches my shoulder. I turn around, see a face I don't recognise. Asks me if I've found ex-crush. What the fuck? It's his weird live-in ex. I still can't get a grip on ex-crush. Is he into me, playing hard to get, or just too confused to go for it? Whatever it may be, I've had enough of his shit. I'll file him under "friends" for the time being, he's nice enough to talk to.

I see him again at the second club, we talk for a little bit. He points out someone's eyeing me. I hadn't even noticed.

When the hook-up hour starts at three, I find myself talking to an Indonesian guy. A little shorter than me, with a couple of hard rock-style long-haired friends in tow. Both gay. LOL. You find it everywhere you don't expect it to be.

Over a beer we seal the deal. He gives me a cigarette (could I have a non-smoker for once?) and suddenly I notice ex-crush has been circling the whole time (I'm really bad at spotting guys). Awkward, and getting quite annoying. What's up with that behaviour?

Hook-up's not my usual type but then again I surprise myself time and again. He's real easy to talk to, runs his own business with the two friends and is still following a course at uni. All the time we talk what Matt would call an ankle biter hangs around trying to get his attention. It doesn't impress either of us, and we barely pay attention.

At one point we leave, and we have real stereotypical rushed, drunken sex at his apartment: a trail of clothes leading from the front door to his couch and finally to his bed. We cuddle, spoon together and a few hours later have sex again. More sober, hotter. Beautiful brown skin.

We finally get up quite early and talk all morning over coffee. He has to go somewhere professionally, so I leave at about one but don't know where I am. Turns out I'm just down the street from the club.

We exchanged numbers, on his request. I might just call him.

Two Months Off

2007-09-09T14:37:00.000+02:00

you bring light in...

cool wind following
following after you
rising for you
your skin beautiful
everything comes natural
fantastic fan
rocking rocking floating

Underworld - Two Months Off.

Hunter and prey

2007-09-08T13:20:00.000+02:00

I snogged the hottest guy in the club last night. Twice.

The evening started off real slow. I went to pay off my tab, but that place was a little quiet. It was more of a bar setting: just talk. I wanted to dance, so I left after a while, went to the place that's slowly becoming my base.

That was pretty quiet too, but the people were different. It was, well, to put it succinctly, apparently the night of the limp wrists. But to be honest, I can live with that, because I know how to handle those guys.

The place filled up slowly, and more normal looking people started coming in. I hit the beer, can't remember why. Somehow I ended up on the dance floor.

Suddenly our bodies are grinding together to Kylie Minogue's Slow. I had seen him before, one of four very hot, young friends, but now he was alone. Very lean, tight body; diamond studs, my weakness; short brown hair; leather bracelet. I've hit the jackpot. I wasn't real good, because I was in shock he was doing this to me, of al people. But I grabbed him and held him real close. So nice to hold by the hips.

The song ends and I'm turbocharged. He moves off to dance with some girl, but the next song isn't very erotic anyway and I decide to get more beer.

Later, at the edge of the dance floor, I see him again. We must have talked for a bit, but I can't remember a word of it. He gives me the look that melts all ice. I've seen the look before, all the fems seem to master it. So, on cue, I move in and we kiss. I'm willing to bet it was the first make-out in the club that night.

It was controlled, a little chaste, but there were hints of more to follow. A little tongue, but not all out. Real good: the suggestion is often more exciting than the open, all-out grappling.

He moves off to the bathroom and immediately an even younger kid moves in. We get to talk, he's nice-looking with an eyebrow piercing (not my favourite) and a fag hag in tow which is slightly disconcerting. If he wants to make out with her smiling at us, he chose the wrong person.

He tells me he just came out of a relationship of two and half years (internal groan, another rebounder) and is clearly waiting for me to move in. The girl, who's huge by the way, just stands there and smiles like a goof.

But my mind is on Hottie, who could return from the bathroom at any moment. There really was nothing wrong physically with Eyebrow Piercing, but Hottie was my prey and I wasn't looking for a replacement.

I find Hottie at the bar, which is two steps away anyway. This time, we really talk. He's 22 (yeah!), from the next sizeable town due South (Yes! From my province!) and we exchange names, but honestly I forgot his. I move in and we kiss again, again very tender but with a little more tongue. He asks me if I live nearby (hell yes!) and suddenly the logistics of what could happen all race through my mind: cabs, lack of condoms, single bed.

Then his friends return and it is all over. He rejoins them, then ends up dancing very sensually on the stage, facing me. I suspect Hottie has a boyfriend, LOL. But Eyebrow Piercing and Fag Hag are back with a vengeance.

I can't remember the conversation that follows because my eyes and mind are all focused on the stage. To boot, an older Belgian guy decides this is the time to move in and tell me I'm "real good looking" (I'm not, good-looking is mind fucking me on the stage). He's nervous and not doing a good job, and the timing honestly stinks.

Seeing Hottie and friends preparing to leave, I decide to call it a night too and head home at around four. Even the bitch at the counter smiles at me when I leave.

I'm pretty sure he only kissed me last night. This little fact excites me no end.

I think Gay Banker is right about the confidence mirror.

Leave Jody Foster alone, fuckers!

2007-09-07T17:07:00.001+02:00

So they have opened the pack hunt on Jody Foster. Just great. They're looking for another figurehead, and guess what? Jody ain't biting.

I know she's had a relationship with Cydney Bernard for at least 14 years. Good for her! I know she gives loads to the Trevor Project , a fact that speaks volumes about her kindness. But she has no obligation to come out to the world at large.

Apparently she's "functionally out", meaning friends and family all know. This is the stage us mere mortals only hope to reach sometime in the future, hopefully sooner rather than later. Announcing it to the world in some magazine is probably not on the cards in our case.

For one of my favourite actresses, it can only be different. I know people have curiosities to satisfy, but this is different: it's pressure from people from her own community who should know better and could respect privacy a little more. Mind you, she doesn't deny anything, she just refuses to talk about it. I wonder if it's this little detail that infuriates so many.

Anyway, this little outing hype is making me sick. Malevolent senators are one thing, but don't touch Jody Foster.

Why don't you ever stop...

2007-09-06T18:46:00.000+02:00

A pretty sight I may not be,
not always right but I mean well
Something's wrong so come on and
tell me what it is you need
Don't pick a fight, not in the mood,
it's not the time or the place well
What's got in you? You seem to
make it up to bring me down

And I know you can't let go
but let's make the most of the weekend
You pretend the clock's gone back again,
I'll pretend it's nothing if you just stop

Just stop
Why don't you ever stop?

Yeah, still addicted to the Ghosts album.

I guess I have a date on Saturday. No, not with Crush. I haven't closed that door, but the hurricanes in his mind are a little too much for me. Do keep him away from me though.

I met this guy through the internet, the local queer "listings". Seriously, if you meet someone new in this country, that's what you do: trace him on gay.nl. I didn't want to date through the internet, but Crush encouraged me to register and chat through it. So why not?

My inbox flooded within minutes. So I got to talk to a local boy, one with his own apartment in the centre (check!), close to the strip (double check!), his own business (triple check but requiring double checking) and calling me cute (oh-oh).

He's a little older (double oh-oh), but looks real good (for his age) and I'm winding him around my finger already (I know, Lolita syndrome). But I need that level of control, it wouldn't work any other way.

Technically we only agreed to have a beer together (in my case a Bacardi cola, without a straw, please, I might be gay but am quite capable of drinking from a glass) but he would have liked me to come around last night (hell no) and it will be at Crush's favourite joint, to which I have been enough lately and I have a tab to pay off at another place anyway, so that could be interesting or at least mildly awkward (alcohol will prevent that feeling). And he keeps on sending little... well, almost love notes, wishing me a good day etc.

He has a little bit of the gay self-hatred I sense a lot in my local community (the joint we're going to meet is too queer for his taste but he visits every week) but seems at least educated. Oh yeah, he "isn't looking for anything"... right. I made fun of that search strategy straight away.

I also chatted with a really cute, 22 year old kid of Indonesian descent (so hot), but it makes me kind of feel like a dirty old perv. Even so, he approached me. I'll keep in touch with him anyway: he really is eminently fuckable.

Coming out on Facebook

2007-09-04T21:38:00.000+02:00

Following the example of one of my high school gay buddies, I flipped the switch. Yes, I'm now listed on Facebook as single and interested in men.

To pre-empt what I was sure would be a coming shit storm, I decided to go out on Sunday. It got pretty wild actually, in a platonic way. Shots of some awful green stuff, drinking games, local gossip and when an older straight couple entered the bar and after some time had to be explained what type it was, the woman, amazed, asked the lot of us:

Are you gays then?

So, amused, we screamed "yes", all at once. Great fun, a little out and somewhat proud. And all of us looked normal, inconspicuous.

Back to Facebook. My profile changes were on the mini feed. 48 Hours and counting, not one reaction, zilch. I have a sneaking suspicion some of the girls might be actively messaging each other about this (normally they would) but there has been no public response at all.

So either it was obvious all along or nobody really cares.

Either way, it has a somewhat relaxing effect. The closet makes us think the whole world is interested in our sexuality and everyone is trying to get at our innermost, darkest secrets. This is likely to be nonsense. And it makes sense: do you really care what most of your platonic friends get up to in bed?

It gives me courage to take the next step. Not sure who the victim will be or how I will frame it, but I'm committed to taking it.

Still, placating my mother's probable worries will be hardest.

Ghosts - The World is Outside

2007-09-03T17:56:00.000+02:00

A guilty pleasure. Happy, danceable, eighties-flavoured pop music. Synths. I'm a sucker for synths.

I had heard this song on the radio at work a lot, but never caught the title or band. Every time it was played the news would come on afterwards. I thought it sounded like Nelly Furtado. I only discovered today the singer is a guy who's perfectly capable of moaning in the same, sexy way.

Then, yesterday, sitting in a gay bar in town, it came on. I just had to know. This was my chance.

So I asked the owner about it and explained about the jinx preventing me from getting this tune. Turns out he had heard it himself on the radio, loved it, and decided he had to add it to the play list, which he normally doesn't do. So I guess with my taste in music I fit right in.

The album's brilliant too. Get it if you can, it makes the sun shine in your head.

I have only just started recovering from taking shots of some filthy green stuff I'm betting was absinthe.

Keeping your parents afloat

2007-09-02T21:01:00.001+02:00

Head over to Big Guy Lost in the World: I can so relate to this post. I've been here myself, but it was by no means my mom's fault. My dad quit his job intentionally to cut off our money.

I guess I'm lucky that the situation resolved itself. Still, it's good to find someone with the same experience, and the same sexual issues too.

Disappointing "date"

2007-09-02T13:09:00.000+02:00

So my crush texts me he'll be back from a holiday (what?) on Saturday and probably go to one of the clubs if he's not too tired. I had decided to go anyway, so I'm already there when he texts me that he's on his way.

He walks in, goes straight over to me and it's immediately clear he's had a rough time. Apparently he had met someone back in April and they decided to go on that trip together but he didn't want to tell me about this. The trip was, according to him, a major disappointment. We talk about it a little bit but he's clearly very tired and not overtly interested in small talk.

We talk, I make a move but I get no response. Fine, I understand he might not be in the mood. He tells me I'm obviously trying to move on with my life. Interesting observation. We talk some more and finally I, buzzed as I am, ask him if I can kiss him.

Silence.

I then tell him I like him. I'm shocked about this myself, so I start blabbering to compensate for my own stupidity.

He says he's had a tough time recently. He's not looking for a relationship (rebound alert!), and makes a few other comments which prove how confused he is about life.

I tell him I understand. Hell, I've been there. After a short, awkward silence he moves off to talk to the lady that sells the drinks tokens. This I read as rejection, but I'm not so sure about that now.

I go back to the dance floor, notice someone is giving me "the look", but my heart's not in it and I decide to call it a night.

I'm not one to give up easily, but this is just a little too much of the mixed signals game. Moving on would probably be easiest, but I recognise he needs a lot of time. I'm bound to bump into him again anyway.

What to do?

Don't call a cop "gay"...

2007-08-31T21:39:00.000+02:00

...but you might get away with it. Interesting developments in the deranged heads of judges of this country.

1. In town A, gay is not insult, according to a local police court judge. A sexual orientation cannot be insulting, a view I prefer to agree with.

2. In town B, a police court judge argued the opposite: the expression was clearly meant to insult the cop in question, therefore a conviction would be in order.

The remarkable thing is that the cases were almost exactly the same. We don't have a federal structure, so the same law is applicable.

A High Council (the closest thing we have to a supreme court) ruling tends to agree with the judge from B, so on appeal the verdict from A will probably be overturned. And yes, the cop in question is appealing. Makes me wonder if he doesn't have anything better to do.

Then there's another little thing: they now have gay police patrolling the infamous Reguliersdwarsstraat in Amsterdam as a response to the recent epidemic of homophobe beatings. Are we allowed to call them gay?

Still, the idea that a sexual preference is an insult bothers me, but I should regard this in context, I guess.

On the personal front, it looks like we have a date tomorrow night... Not the "dinner and a movie" kind though. ;-)

Progress

2007-08-30T21:16:00.001+02:00

I had a nice chat with my Facebook buddy who is, I guess, once again a friend. And I found out much, much more interesting stuff that occurred after I left that particular school.

My three closest friends from that period all came out.

*Gasp* *Shock* *Joy*

I have gay friends! Mind you, still unlikely club buddies, but one lives in London, so who knows. The idea of Soho appeals to me.

So I came out to my former ex-buddy (the first, without much thought, easy as it goes), talked about his life and preferences a little bit.

Then I contacted another buddy. I was much closer to this guy, because we'd also been to the same primary school together. And he was surprised I knew about him. *Yes! Got that one right at least!* And I guess he did not suspect about me *that's two down folks!*. A walk in the park.

So I'm feeling quite upbeat about all of this. So excited I could hardly sleep. Easy progress, but nice. I'll see where I'll take it from here, but it feels much less lonely already: I have my own little Facebook gaybourhood now.

College town friends will be much harder, with the hard-core closeted guy and all.

Total and absolute gaydar failure

2007-08-29T14:09:00.001+02:00

I'm flabbergasted. Amazed, my jaw is still on the floor but I can't seem to pick it up.

Admittedly I have not seen this guy in 13 years. And his profession should have rung a bell. I mean, he's two steps away from Perez Hilton.

We were real close buds back in the day, first year in high school. Looking back at it, it may have been a little like a teenage crush, but come on, I was thirteen, looked like hell and even at that early stage the most sexually repressed human being in the southern hemisphere. And I was not in the least interested in him sexually.

Suddenly it was over. He'd found a new friend to hang out with, and he didn't want to have anything to do with me. Again, a bell should have gone off. He turned quite nasty really, and when I first found him on Facebook, I strove to ignore him. No hard feelings or anything, but no reason to be in touch either. A total ex-friend, a friend that was, a former friend.

Then suddenly he wants to be my friend. I approve him, think nothing of it, still not looking for contact. Don't look at his profile either. Just don't care.

Today I discover he's left a message on my wall. Now I am interested.

I check out his profile and there it is: interested in men. Single. Looking for pretty much everything box you can tick.

I'm slightly buzzed, but still sceptical. Until I see the daily hunk in his profile, that is (is that a FB feature?). Read his wall: total queen, fag hags galore.

I did not see this coming. And I was so proud earlier on! I picked up on a classmate the moment I saw him. Cute, but a bit too young-looking. Needs a touch of glam. Still, better keep him away from me.

So it's back to square one. Now I have to think up a little suggestive hint-hint nudge-nudge note for his wall...

The Deep

2007-08-28T11:27:00.000+02:00

Just to take this blog out of the gutter, and maybe say something useful for once, some final words on the previous week of gay clubbing.

Would I recommend it? Yes, I would. Will I go again? Sure. I'm a clubber at heart, so the combination of alcohol, house music and sexual tension is fine for me. But I also need to consider the alternatives.

One, the internet. Not for me, I'm afraid. Writing profiles, getting raunchy pictures together and negotiating over the mail with potential tricks. Then, and this would really get me down, meeting up in some public place, which in my town would probably mean a lunch room or a fast food joint (no Starbucks, grrr) followed by an awkward walk to someone's place to do the deed. I'm sure others prefer this option, but I'm just to tense and nervous for it, and there's not even a hint of romance involved.

Two, real life. This requires gaydar, which I hope to develop, or the endless riddle "is he or is he not?" I like the concept of collective gaydar, but I have no-one in real life I can do that with. So I'm out on my own here. Besides, hooking up with colleagues or class mates carries risks. No problem bumping into them in a gay joint, but hooking up at work/uni is not an option.

Three, straight-boy crushes. I'm not one to give up easily, but this is a no-hoper. More than some hopeful fumbling and kissing one drunken night is unlikely to happen. Believe me, I've tried.

So the clubs are my places of choice. Still, they're not for the squeamish.

They are sexually hypercharged places, and you need to be selective. I need to remember that there are people out there much more horny and perverted than I can ever be. Men follow you to the bathroom to try to inspect your goods. You need to be strong and confident. When you enter, chances are you will be on someone's radar instantaneously. I like to get a drink, settle down, dance a bit and then look around to see what's on offer. I reached this stage only once in three visits.

I'm quite good at turning down girls, but I need to find a way that works in this environment without ruining the atmosphere. I also need to have some sort of handbrake I can pull to get no further than some kissing, to which I'm seriously addicted.

The answer is, of course, friends. And that's the main issue I have with the clubs: I haven't been able to have a decent, non-sexual conversation in them. I need to work on this. And the other issue: I'm looking for romance, I'm sure I will find it one day, but here? Sorting out the potential hookups from the potential boyfriends will be another major challenge.

In the mean time, I will be raising the pressure on Crush a little to see where I can go with him. Poor kid, he's probably rebounding and he doesn't know who he's dealing with here. ;-)

The Deep is a track by 20-year old producer and DJ Joris Voorn, who makes tracks like the old Detroit masters used to do. It's uplifting and profound at the same time.

Regret, pt 2

2007-08-27T22:12:00.000+02:00

OK, here goes.

So we're leaving the bar together, even though my heart isn't in it, I'm slightly curious.

He owns up that we can't go to his place. The relationship with his bf is apparently over, but they had a deal to take no-one home. Or something. Riiiiiiight.

I'm starting to feel more and more apprehensive about this entire endeavour. We walk around the corner, and make out in a garage. I hate it, but I feel like needling him so I tell him I prefer my sex in an actual bed.

Then the strangest thing happens. He says he knows a nice park, but doesn't want to go to the nearest one, even though we'd fit right in. This park has a reputation for wanton gay sex and is well-known nationally for a recent sex scandal involving a director of the local football club. Just to needle him a bit more I tell him I'm no fan of the local club anyway.

So we walk to the other park, he finds a tree and tells me to lean against it, unbuttons my shirt. I swear there is a Brent Corrigan shot looking exactly like that. I'm still not sure whether that's hot or not. ;-)

We make out a little and he blows me. I'm not really enjoying it, but he manages to jerk himself off successfully. He comes, we both button up and walk out. A business transaction really: beer for a bj (I think I got the better deal). We split; he tells me the wrong way to the centre but I figure it out pretty quickly. I don't know that part of town too well.

I'm not doing this again. Let's leave it at that.