I haven’t lived in London for three years, but the endlessly-emailed London Underground Song (a swear-tastic filled rant about London Underground to the tune of Going Underground) still brings a huge smile to my face. Maybe it’s the endless swearing, because I don’t ever rememeber being that frustrated with the underground.
Why didn’t anyone tell me that Margaret Cho – one of the funniest stand-up comedians on the planet (who happens to be Asian-American, my role-model if I actually thought I had any skills at stand-up) – is doing a London residency at the New Players Theatre this month ?!
When she’s on form and on topic, no-one can beat her and her comedy personas. Although I’m probably biased. She does do an uncanny impersonation of my (and most of my relatives’ mums). That is, if my mum ran a gay bookstore in San Francisco and was slightly more talkative than dry paint.
However, she sometimes mistakes her stage for a pulpit on non-liberal America and she’s politically pinker than Peter Tatchell. I saw her at the Edinburgh Festival one year and most of her references were US-centric and went way over the head of the audience. Interesting how she’ll go down in London – not very well by the looks of things so far.
If you’re in London, go. If you’re not in London, go to London and then go. Especially when you can get £10 off tickets, which brings it down to the bargain (!) price of £20.
Any Margaret Cho fans likely to be in London come 21 December?
It’s Karate, Kid the Musical! – only in New York.
When I was a kid, I (along with probably every other Western-Chinese kid) was tortured by school demons imitating Mr. Miyagi, and doing the whole wax-on/wax-off motif.
Now they’ve made a song out of it. Unsurprisingly, for a musical that plugs itself as being about “Honor. Friendship. Fisting.”, it’s amazingly camp-sounding.
Also unsurprisingly, there’s not a single Asian-American in the cast. I await the angry mobs of unemployed Asian-American actors with interest.
It’s stuff like this that just made me wish I lived in New York. (spotted via boing boing)
Whatever you do on the Internet tonight, now and forever, don’t use the name of the enema equipment company Bardex. Why? Their lawyers will track you down like the trademark-thieving dog that you are. Even on an erotic story forum.
ASCII by Jason Scott is a text repository, and hosts some ancient erotic stories from the backyears of the Internet. Some of them include erotic enema stories (as yer do) and some of them refer to enema stories. Which has got the company behind Bardex annoyed enough to send threatening letters. Which has got enema forums (Not Safe For Work) worried.
What I want is that job at Bardex HQ where a legal brain is spending all day reading through enema porn, just to ensure that no struggling writer is using that trademark in vain. because if one were to use the word Bardex in an unflattering context, those lawyers would come down on you like a ton of Bardex enemas, saying “Use of our client’s trademark to identify enema equipment in erotic fiction is likely to cause confusion”
Oh, and Bardex. Bardex. Bardex.
A craigslist post optimistically hopes that a blonde, blue eyed homeless man will respond to a missed connections post. There’s something about the sweetness, naivete and hilariousness of this post that makes me want to move out there. As if I didn’t before…
Lynndie England is the ironically-named US soldier who is the poster child for the abuses that US soldiers heaped on Iraqi prisoners at Baghdad’s Abu Ghraib jail.
Stealth Disco was a short-lived Chicago craze for doing silly disco poses behind unsuspecting work colleagues. While someone had a digital camera of course.
Put the two together, add a huge dash of British irreverant wit, and … voila!. A Web phenonmenon that is very unlikely to travel Stateside.
I’m deluding myself, but if nothing else this cartoon from the Guild of Ghostwriters brought a smile to my otherwise wasted day/week/month/year/lifetime.
would you get so many new ways to describe people’s sexualities. Forget homosexual, dyke, queer, gay – oh no. New ones apparently include boydyke, trannyboy, trannyfag, multigendered, queerboi, transboi, half-dyke, stem (what on earth does that mean ?!), omnisexual, Heteroflexible, hasbian…
Aside from the ridiculous spellings – I mean, boi! What’s wrong with a nice y at the end of a word? – it just seems rather silly for elements of a minority, gaining mainstream acceptance, to want to ghettoize themselves even more with narrower and narrower definitions. Unless of course, they’re all just having a royal pisstake at the expense of bored BBC News readers. And no-one actually uses these terms on the streets of glorious San Francisco. There’s probably a comedy sketch somewhere in ten sweating writers in a dark room somewhere, desperately trying to think of a new term to use.
I once met a flatmate of a friend of a friend in San Francisco, who I initially assumed was a short gay man. It eventually transpired that said flatmate was born a girl and came out as a lesbian at her high school prom. But that wasn’t enough, changed her sex (as yer do) to be male, and then decided to date men once she was a man. That San Francisco non-heterosexual (damn, just coined another one!) support structure must be a damn good support structure! Or a ghetto… Although I still want to live there…
Of course, they still haven’t invented a term for a heterosexual (or if you must, homofriendly) who seems to be surrounded by lesbians. Or is that just frustrated?
As anyone who’s had the great fortune to sleep in the same room as me can testify (although I will deny it to my dying day), I can snore and sleep through anything. If an aeroplane was to crash into the Millennium Stadium, you can pretty much bet that I’d sleep through it and wake up to realise there’s a massive crater outside my window. I’ve slept through alarm clocks, people tickling me, everything. When I slumber, I slumber.
But not, apparently through the sounds of lesbians mating. I was pretty much solidly asleep until at 3am, I was woken by the sounds of someone having a fitting cough. At least I thought it was whooping cough. Then the sound became curiously elongated, and rising in pitch. With some accompanying pants. Putting two and two together, and remembering who I’d left on the couch when I went to bed after another unsatisfactory night with my lesbian friends in a lesbian bar watching lesbian foreplay (which seems to involve lesbians grappling each other as if wrestling, or punching each other in the arm), it was them pesky lesbians again.
After a few breathy moans, a couple of “Oh YEAH!!!”‘s leading to high-pitched yelps, the sounds seemed to die down, and I was just left with the blissful white noise of the TV in the living room.
Then 5 minutes later, the moans started up again. For 10 minutes. Again, leading to the breathy moans and the high-pitched yelps. Then died down. Then started up again 5 minutes later. And so on.
So my sleep was rather fitful. When I emerged from my bedroom at 9am, the yelping lesbian emerged from her room, beaming from ear to ear. I mean, beaming. She was practically begging me to come and talk to her in the living room. And when she says “talk to me”, she means I should just sit back and listen while she luxuriously launches into a dramatic sunny monologue about just how beautiful life is today. All because she got a sodding shag. Admittedly a shag I’ve been encouraging for months, if only to give some people some happiness. Little did I know it’d stop me sleeping.
So I declined her unkind invitation, and tried to get back to sleep. Which didn’t work. So I decided to go into town for some “me” time. Whereupon the lesbians kept texting me with various invitations to go back and join them in lunch, dinner, food, and cinema. Which isn’t that unusual, aside from it happening 4 times over 3 hours. And women just need to understand that No sometimes means No!
Women just need to understand. Sometimes, we prefer to be alone when we shop for shoes and computer gadgets.