Monthly Archives: August 2005

Happy Vamp


keeping the side upI like to keep tabs on my boy Vamp “every so often” and was overly excited today to find photographic evidence that he is alive and kicking (or at least was on the 16th of July) courtesy of FCW. Actually, I don’t worry for his survival as he is more than capable, I worry more that when I come across a picture of him on my trawls he will be looking terrible. Letting me down. Like, duh.

I follow how he’s been getting on recently wherever he happens to be plying his trade, I take an interest in his welfare- No breaks, tears or concussions, drug-related episodes etc. Why, he’s just the type of man I go for! I’ve spent years doing exactly that with people I can actually kiss. Oh hooray.

He’s looking quite fetching in this 16/07 pic. Fetching in a Vampiro way. I like his messy hair, shredded top and the way that the tat on his neck looks like a love bite. The disheveled look is a good look.

What you can’t see (thanks to a nice bit of cropping) is that he’s wearing black tights with red lacing up the outside of his legs and over his crotch. Not such a good fashion choice, Sir. And don’t tell me you don’t care.

Excellent coverage of all things Lucha: CMLLBlog

Sigh. Vamp is making me miss the intimacies of men. Not meaning the intercourse, but being able to squish close and feel safe and secure. Even with all the excitement on offer from MW#2, I think that’s what I miss the most and it hurts all the more when you’ve no-one to give good hug.
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Flaming Hell


So… Saturday night I was sicker than I have been in my entire life. A day and a half on and I’m just about recovered…

I went dahn tahn with Leia Ewok Village to toast her hitting 2 and 6. After trying and failing to tempt out The Monster (he’s always “washing his hair”) I managed (quite easily) to lure out Man Whore #2 for “one or two drinks” and a chat. So one or two progressed to four or five and evening was starting to go very nicely. MW#2 was particularly taken with a buxom piece of trash in the public house we were frequenting and we spent the rest of our time in said pub critiquing her attire, behaviour and MW#2’s hypocrisy in slagging her choice of bra.

She was outfitted in stilettos with heels that were at a perculiar angle, perhaps due to the weight they were supporting; a short denim skirt and white satin bra which poked out over the top and sides of the low cut top she was just about wearing. Apparently she should have been wearing a black bra as it would have blended in better with her top, but I disagreed that MW#2 could make any such suggestion because if you’re going to criticise then you’ve got to slag off the entirity of her (like I was doing) and not just pick up on one part of the horribleness. She kept pulling it over her bra cups (so modest) and then proceed to stick her rack out and pull the fabric back in a sad attempt at seduction. Her seduction was working well on one man in particular, but this may have been partly due to inebriation, as he seemed to be having similar difficulties as the seductress in staying upright.

MW#2 was sure treating me, as I saw a display of sluttishness that my goodness, I have never seen before. BuxomSlut was leaning up against the bar with the drunken target of her “affections” and every so often she would sway into him and start to stroke his crotch. Then she would unzip him and go to work. At the bar. In front of a pub full of people. And she wasn’t doing too good a job at covering up her actions. I was gobsmacked. The look on the target’s face was so, so grim. Me and MW#2 kept staring and turning away- I don’t know why, it’s not like they cared anyone was looking at them; MW#2 doing running commentary when I was away being disgusted. It was enjoyable in that it was car crash behaviour. Just unbelieveable. Thank you MW#2 for exposing me to a slice of life on your side of the tracks.

So, I finished my drink and dragged myself away from the shameless activity in the pub and went on to a club. It was dark and the alcohol was flowing courtesy of MW#2… Things started to get erm, hot and heavy in that I was giving MW#2’s moobs a good feel, for some ulterior purpose that I just cannot remember right now but not an erotic purpose, that much I can say. I also did my usual thing of analyzing MW#2 and his relationship contradiction, talked about wrestling, talked about dirty dirty things. Tongue-ing of bellybuttons. He showed me a webcam shot on his phone of a gal he knows enjoying a thick black dildo her hand in some anal play. Hmm.

Then he got it in his overly concussed head that I should be drinking a Flaming Lamborghini. Now, it’s only a day and a half later that I can write those words down without feeling nausous. I was concerned that my face would be burnt off (the alcohol content never crossed my mind) and that I might get 3rd degree burns. I hate anything tasting of aniseed so after the barman had looked up the recipe on t’internet and explained what all the colourful shots were as he paraded them in front of me, I sucked it up and sucked it down. In one go. Kinda. All the barstaff stopped what they were doing to watch me. At the time it didn’t seem too bad. Little did I know what the consequences of this drink were to be…

Post Flaming Lambo I still had two drinks lined up and I proceeded to valiantly finish them off. By this stage MW#2 was doing this thing where he’d sidle up behind me and slide his hand round my waist with a sly caress of my bellybutton (he’s got a thing about that part of human anatomy); then start running a finger up my shoulder to the back of my neck. It was terrible. If I thought I was going to die before my cocktail I felt sure I was going to die now.

I thought it might be an idea to attend the birthday table and decided that MW#2 would make an appropriate panacea against gravity and alcohol by resting myself against him and doing this hugging, grasping, caressing thing that I stopped when I realised how it might be construed across the table. See, three sheets to the wind and still my sense of shame is well intact. Dammit. I worked on my intimacy issues however, things were moving into very dangerous waters.

It’s horribly self-centred but it’s nice to have an aquaintance that pays some attention to me, even if he is not any sort of significant other. I know that if I had a serious problem I could go to him and he would be reliable and efficient in sorting it out as best he could, albeit in a detatched manner, but at least I would get help. I like it when he drops £13 on a single drink, or pays for my drinks or meals. Shameful. I can justify it (yeah) in that in my previous non-relationship I felt that I was definitely getting the raw end of the deal, in both monetary and emotional ways.

I think I’m worth some attention, investment and consideration (dammit), and arrogantly think I am more deserving of it that most. I put my whole heart into the non-relationship and I feel received very little in return. I don’t give to receive, but there is such a thing as being a decent human being and not being selfish, being reliable, giving a little so I don’t feel like I am being used. Then again, this is the problem with MW#2- It is not going to be a relationship, nor will it ever be, and I have just too good a time with him, which leads to attatchment. Which is very bad.

Anyway…

I kissed Leia Ewok Village goodbye (I was swaying somewhat according to independent observers) and hot pirate-booted it to Subway where I purchased some roll-related item for MW#2 after deciding that it might not be the best thing to go for the meatball sub I had previously been hoop-la-ing about. Back to his, almost fell over taking the boots off, TNA PPV on the tv, me not paying a hell of a lot of attention. I get woken up by a gentle poke (yeah, not like that) “Want to go to bed?” to which I reply “No, I think I want to go puke…” and hot-barefoot it to the toilet where I spent a good deal of time throwing up in the sink. Felt so. bad. Eventually MW#2 made a suggestion that I perhaps sleep on the floor, so I spent a nice night on the bathroom floor, waking up every so often to puke my guts out. I did have a blanket- That MW#2- such the gentleman. Even though it was he that made me so very ill. Yeah, I have no free will, that’s right.

Next morning i’m now on the sofa. I phone work and say I shan’t be gracing them today (so ill) and MW#2 comes in (man fur ahoy) with a cheery: “How are we feeling today?” “So fucking bad…” He then starts to scratch my head, which I object to with a “Stop it, i’m not a child!” He scratches more with a “Aww, look at her little fuzzy head, she is so sick-ly.” Grrr. Then I hear him telling his housemate how he fed me a Flaming Lambo and that he’s never seen anyone react as I did, and how i’ve been puking all night. His housemate then comes down to take a look at me, for entertainment purposes, and then his girlfriend comes to take a look at the freak show on the sofa. Hello? Not an exhibit.

Anyway, I extract myself from my sick(sofa)bed and have to leave as MW#2 is heading out to kick some american footballers or something to that effect. I hear the familiar noises of nylon against foam and velcro being strapped and MW#2 reappears looking bulky and red and yellow. I exit into blinding sunlight and gingerly wander off through town via a regular Sprite and a half-hour stop at a bus stop before a taxi and home to my nest. I did the clear fluids routine for the entire day but it took a while I can tell you for me to progress on to fish fingers.

I did come away with The Rise and Fall of ECW and Beyond the Mat. Now I have three wrestling dvds hoorah! Albeit temporarily.

So I once again had a great time courtesy of MW#2 (independent observers said I looked really happy) and if I can steer clear of certain drinks offers I think I’ll manage to keep myself together. God, I have never felt so ill. MW#2 is so very evil.

International Talk Like A Pirate Day is fast approaching and I’ve invited MW#2 aboard my good ship sailing around town… I think there may be upcoming reports of shenanegans in the vicinity. I shall have to think up a name for my ship. Hmmm.
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Real Alternative


Mwah mwah mwahhh… Thanks to Real Alternative I can now watch (almost) crystal clear Impact! with stereo that doesn’t sound like it is being broadcast from inside Oscar’s can. Bonus. Wrestling fix… gahhh….
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Evil Interiors


 Hey what's goin' on? Can you hear that?


“EVIL INTERIORS (2003-) are reconstructions of feature films sets from movies like Psycho, Reservoir Dogs and Scarface.”

Fantastic, interesting, right-up-my-street art by Palle Torsson

Reservoir Dogs as acted by balloons.
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Willow


What are you looking at?
Your leg. I’d like to break it.


Willow. I had forgotten how funny it is. The French Brownies are quite genius. Eugh, and the mutant blob things that erupt after they are zapped with the wand are gross and something I definitely remember being freaked out by when small. And the Rancor-like two-headed monster. Ak! First appearance of ILM morphing too. Warwick Davis is super-great also and it’s a shame he hasn’t been in anything high profile since (no, Flitwick does not count).

Something I didn’t “appreciate” when I was a mere peck was the horrible hotness of Val Kilmer. I must admit I have a soft spot for the arrogant bastard and find him rather attractive running around dressed in a bright pink loincloth with an healthy accessorizing of grime. He looks good in braids and with a messy topknot. Gah. One of the more unfortunate men on rotation in my stable. Damn it, there’s just something about his performances that I like. Oh yeah, and he looks like a dirty neanderthal hockey player/wrestler so that’s right up my alley.
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Tee


bloody


Portion of work-in-progress. Yeah, so at least i’m not stalking.
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Wally Design


Smashing


A very beautiful piece of maritime design: The Wallypower 118. It’s appearance in The Island was the best thing about that film. Oh but the Scarlett/Calvin in-joke was quite brilliant. Although not as jaw dropping as the 118. Chameleon paint? Yes please.

For the top-end model (with 3 jet turbines) I’d be looking to be set back about $25million. With the exchange rate that is just so reasonable. Maybe I could get it in Jersey or Monaco and avoid paying the tax on it. Yeah. Idea. Remind me to take my savings book to the bank tomorrow.
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MOT Musa Cyperus


spunky


Rather too happy to receive a phone call informing me that my car had passed it’s annual exam. No work required of any sort, which is a rare occurrance.

Bought myself two new friends in the form of a dwarf banana and a dwarf papyrus. I am determined to keep these alive- I have a love of plants but I am expert at killing them through neglect. The Banana will probably grow too large for my room but the look of it and the idea of having a banana plant was too interesting to turn down. The papyrus looks interesting and was cheap (like the Budgie).

I’ve never named a plant. Pets yes, plants no. The banana gained the title “Mr” within 10 minutes of me owning it, so maybe that should be made official by my referring to it as such from now on. My universal good pet name of Bob does not entirely seem to suit it’s squat form. The papyrus does not seem to warrant a name. Maybe I am discriminating?

On that subject, last week a customer came to the Help Desk. I was not manning said desk thank fuck…

Biker: “I would like to return all of these please” (hands over everything he had bought 20 minutes earlier)
HD: “No problem. Do you have your receipt? Why would you like to return them?”
Biker: “I have the receipt. I would like a refund because your store discriminates against me.”
HD: “Discriminates?”
Biker: “Well, i’ve just gone out to find i’ve been given a parking ticket”
HD: “Oh, well, were you there over the allotted time?”
Biker: “No. I was parked in a disabled parking bay.”
HD: “Riiight.”
Biker: “I have been discriminated against because I am able-bodied.”
HD: “I’ll just call the duty manager…”

The prick continued to argue that he had been discriminated against and that all the parking slots in the car park should be for everyone, and that the slots at the front of the store for disabled patrons should be removed. This went on for 10 minutes until the duty manager told him that he was wrong and that his point was idiotic and then he walked off. The biker asked for his name and the number for head office. Heh.
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handbook woes


I received my course handbook today. Upon reading it I am even more apprehensive; everything is so intellectual. I am feeling very doubtful of my abilities and my ability to last the course. That is why i’m working on a Vampiro stencil for a t-shirt. But of course.
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A Soldier’s Viewpoint on Surviving Nuclear, Chemical and Biological Attacks


A Soldier’s Viewpoint on Surviving Nuclear, Chemical and Biological Attacks
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LJ Mash Up


Here is a trawl of the last 40 images to be posted to various Live Journal accounts (NSFW):

LJ Images

I keep refreshing the page every so often for all the random goodness on there, a nice mix of people, bad manga, cats, webcam shots, bands and geeks geeks geeks. Yay.

PostSecret rocks once again.
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wfmu and ayers and ART


Lots of interesting sounds, sounds and opinions to be heard on WFMU, an independent, Clear Channel-free zone of greatness. In the small selection I have sampled so far, Antique Phonograph Music Program alt. w/ Thomas Edison’s Attic is highly reccommended as is Radio Thrift Shop with Laura Cantrell. Also Music to Spazz By with Dave the Spazz. An abundance of variety and weirdness. Tropical fruit review? Wondrous.

Sara Ayers ambient work is also very good. I particularly like Cumber from A Million Stories; Broad, sweeping sound that swirls about you as you listen. I’m not a big one for ambient but I do enjoy sound installations where I can let the sounds wash over myself so I am isolated from the rest of the world (well, at least the gallery-goers). I remember Stephen Vitiello‘s piece World Trade Center Recordings: Winds After Hurricane Floyd… the sounds the World Trade Centre towers made as they moved back and forth in the wind, the creaks and groans, sounds of traffic far below, the noise that would otherwise be unnoticed.

Oh, and the best parts of the Millenium Dome: Longplayer and Ryoji Ikeda‘s installation matrix (for acoustic dislocation) in a darkened, angled filled room. So maybe I do like ambient, but in an up-it’s-own-arse-arty-type a way. Aaand Douglas Gordon‘s Feature Film. Okay, so that has visuals, but I was transfixed for over an hour; sitting alone in the black space in the Pompidu, staring at the screen and feeling just wonderfully swept away.

On that tangent- One of my all-time-favourite works of art is Win, Place or Show by Stan Douglas. Two men inside a small flat talk about the weather, the horses and then fight. They then talk about the horses, the weather, the state of the building and then fight. And so on. Six minutes per loop, computer-controlled so that 12 different camera angles are randomly mixed per loop so that you would have to watch the work for two years to see a repeated scene. I sat for about and hour in front of that split screen. I never got bored. My love of art and cinema neatly colliding in a darkened room.

Those darkened rooms. They lead to trouble.

Hmmm… more art: I saw Simon Patterson at the Ikon Birmingham recently. I was much taken with his fucking with classification systems, J.P.233 in C.S.O. Blue and Escape Routine. I am into classification so appreciated his love of detail and then the rampant destruction of order so time-consumingly created.

I’ve also been giving some attention to my book on Kent Rush. The “luminous darkness” of his work is beautiful. Makes me feel like doing some artwork. Argh.

Posting about art… What the fuck is wrong with me?
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Poi Bowl Fun


This is a work-safe work of genius: Poi-Boy-With-Bowl.jpg

Isn’t Hawaiian culture great?
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PHP fun


Index.php. Made it work. My dates include saves me all of 5 minutes. Took me about 6 months to work out. Hell yeah.
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Vampiro Comfort


Surprise!!!! The Vampiro obsession continues anew…

So he’s moved to AAA Mexico and also works in Italy for Nu Wrestling… He got divorced and has lost custody of his daughter (which he said crushed him)… He has 13 screws and a 9 inch metal plate in his leg after breaking it turning around whilst in Japan… He said Brian Pillman was a rapist… And then apologised (and said he shouldn’t do interviews whilst high)… Then credits his ex-wife and daughter with being the reason for cleaning himself up… And he doesn’t really like wearing the Misfits makeup… He’s a survivor of child abuse…

Maybe it’s reading and listening to the honesty of someone I have hever met (never mind even see wrestle) that touches me. Somehow Vamp provides interest and comfort at the same time, with the vivid descriptions of his life and opinions writ large in my head. Like other wrestlers I take an interest in I care what happens to him given that life seems to be so easily lost in “sports entertainment”- It can be so bleak. Maybe this is why my Vamp interest feels different from previous obsessional figures. More substance to the crush so to speak.

Of course, it could just be me needing some mental and emotional stimulation, given my job and relationships. Obsessing over the details giving my life some meaning. Christ, how depressing.

Now that would be a present to end all presents: Save up enough cash, book Vamp through Nu Wrestling and employ him as personal storyteller for an evening. Maybe tape the stories and write them up. Or maybe just a few drinks down town. Hey, he’d even be an appropriate escort down the local dive. Huzzah.

One of these years i’m going to stop writing about Ol’ Panda Eyes…

… and move on to Lost
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Wedding Crushers


The family wedding was so-so. The ceremonies were great, but the tormenting about my tattoo and my lack of a sigificant other was rather hard to take. I spent my time talking to cousins I hadn’t seen in 10 years or so (good) and drinking so I could somehow invent some fun (bad). Unsuprisingly, fun was not forthcoming.

I spent the slow periods (ie a lot of time) thinking up scenarios involving Ol’ Panda Eyes and methods of fabricating myself a fake one for “entertainment” purposes.

Dammit.

It has been pointed out by Leia Ewok Village that I am not over my man fur fear. Until I have run my fingers through some fuzz and rested my tired Monkyish head upon a fur bedecked chest, I am in no way cured. You are correct in your assertion Leia.

Sigh.
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Vampiro Continued


So I have continued with my hunt for Vampiro information. It gives me pleasure having gone through 50 galleries of Scott Levy photos to manage to dig up 10 pictures of Ol’ Panda Eyes himself in a Blood Gallows of Retribution match- Vampiro loses by being hanged ’til he passes out. Great. I would recommend reading Raven’s Journal- A debate on the pros and cons of crucifixion as wrestling setpiece, which of course is always an interesting topic.

Have also updated the To Do List.

Off to a wedding for the week. Away from the evils of work and I am relieved. Sigh. Away from Vampiro for a week?! How oh how will I survive?

Smuggle “101 Reasons” with me perhaps…
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