commonpeople1: (Cabbie)

Originally uploaded by shotbygrant
[ profile] wink_martindale and I sat beside Carole from Big Brother 8 this weekend. She was with a friend at the same coffee shop as us and she sang along to one of the songs on the radio at one point. I bet most of you don't remenber that particular Big Brother: it was the one where the housemates were initially all-female and then slowly men were introduced in the next couple of weeks. It was ferocious.

We had gone to the coffee shop to do our NaNoWriMo and I thankfully ended up breaking through my problem of not knowing what my story was about. I've now got a direction and I'm excited about my characters. I followed Natalie Goldberg and Ian McEwan's method of writing: jot down anything and everything - even if it means pages and pages of random narrative - until something clicks. It really does work.

Last night, we got home in time to see the fireworks in Victoria Park. As my landlady/friend correctly pointed out, it was probably the last one the park would have (thanks to the government's cuts.) The theme was the death of dozens of people at Bethnal Green tube station during the Second World War - where many had panicked after hearing sirens and rushed down the stairs, causing a crush that killed 176 people on 3 March 1943.

Just before the fireworks began, Wink told me that Bethnal Green was supposedly the most haunted station in London, with a very high amount of ghost sightings. Suddenly, in the park's darkness, sirens began to roar and lights pointed up at the sky. Tower Hamlets' logo at centre stage exploded on fire and two voices began to sing: "London Town is on Fire, London Town is on Fire..." It was very haunting and macabre. The fireworks were accompanied by popular hits from the 1940s. The memory of those who lived and died during the Great War was never far away.

commonpeople1: (Jump)
If you watch this video - especially if you are [ profile] beeorkendurkey - your body will be filled with energy, your weekend will be marvelous, your eyes will nearly pop out of their sockets.

That's right... it's time for your power up!!
commonpeople1: (Jorge)

Humming Birds
Originally uploaded by olliefern
New Year's Day--
everything is in blossom!
I feel about average.

- Kobayashi Issa

We spent the turn over with our friend [ profile] woodsrule and her boyfriend T, who live just up the road from us in a studio overlooking East London. Their table spread included cheeses, bread, pâtés, vegan scottish eggs, cold cuts, grapes, tomato and mozzarella salad. We brought a chocolate cake, white wine and champagne.

Their balcony, just before midnight, had a view of nearby buildings like Hitchcock's Rear Window. There were hardly any fireworks and just as we popped the champagne it began to snow. People in other buildings shouted Happy New Year or peered at the sky from behind their curtains. We then noticed something tiny flicker above our heads, like a Chinese lantern. Then another. Then another. They were taking off from somewhere around Clapton and moving like UFOs towards the City.

We went back inside and shared our three new year resolutions while standing behind a music stand, heavy metal versions of Auld Lang Syne in the background. Around 2.30am, [ profile] wink_martindale and I walked home in silence and crashed for the next ten hours.

I hope 2010 brings you a lot of love, peace and success in whatever you choose to do.
commonpeople1: (Cris)
I want to go out dancing very, very soon...

commonpeople1: (Livia)
Feeling Gloomy played Umbrella-ela-ela last night.[1]

That is all.

[1] OK, so it was the Manic Street Preachers' cover. But it was still pretty cool. I danced all night, with a little help from my friends. And I left an important part of my brain in a field somewhere in Hampshire, alright.
commonpeople1: (Danielle)
There wasn't enough gay in The Big Combo for me. It was included in this year's London Lesbian & Gay Film Festival under the flimsiest of reasons: two of the main villain's henchmen appear to be a couple - American versions of Ronnie and Reggie Kray, those infamous Eastend twins.  They share a bedroom (separate beds though), plan on running away together and don't appear too keen on women, but nothing's ever explicitly said... it could just be that they are <b>really</b> good friends.  Sadly, they didn't appear very often in the film, leaving a ridiculous plotline the job to hold my attention. It's a classic noir though, with private detectives, loose brunettes, dumb blondes and lots of bad lines.

Again, so lovely to sit somewhere in the South Bank, surrounded by lesbians, gay men and trannies of all ages and back grounds, sipping on a pint of ale, before going into one of the BFI's comfy cinemas. I was invited by my neighbour [profile] blu_bear to see The Big Combo and afterwards we debated which of the two possibly-gay henchmen was the most fanciable (consensus in the end was Fanny, a sort of meaner version of Jude Law.) We also thought the film had some great quotable quotes and a decent soundtrack, but was otherwise pretty boring and not worth watching unless you are surrounded by an audience keen on laughing at it. Might also help to smoke a big spliff beforehand.

It put us in the mood to visit the Lady Luck Club soon.
commonpeople1: (James)
Last night, after a few hours spent with friends at Vagabonds (London's premier monthly night dedicated to 80s trad goth/alternative classics), Kevin and I hop on the No.8 bus, heading home. As the bus stops near Brick Lane, a hoard of drunk revellers push into the bus through the exit doors. Kevin and I move towards the back. The doors' alarms beep incessantly because there's not enough space to close them; I look at Kevin and predict we'll go nowhere (my experience in the past has been with drivers refusing to depart unless people pay their fare or leave the bus.)

The bus is crammed, except in the corridor where Kevin and I are standing. Suddenly, someone starts slamming the windows with their hand. I look and it's a guy outside calling my attention. He orders me to move back so he can get in. I ignore him (I'm drunk and, in any case, what difference does it make where I move if the people elsewhere in the bus aren't budging?) He continues to slam the windows and, after a minute, I look at him again. This time he looks at me as if he could rip my head off - he wants to get in the bus and apparently it's my fault he's not succeeding. He calls me a wanker by gesturing at me with his hand; I tell him to go to the driver and pay up. He hurries to the front of the bus.

Now, in the back of my drunken mind, I imagine the guy climbing on board and pushing his way to the back, where he'll confront me - perhaps even attack me (how dare I talk back at him?) The people near the exit finally force the doors shut, allowing the bus to continue its journey.

As the bus pulls away, I see the guy standing by the bus stop with other people that didn't make it inside. He's got that look of a petulant child that didn't get the toy he wanted. We make eye contact. I lift both my hands at him, shove two fingers up in the air repeatedly (that's two fingers on each hand, doing that ever so British V-sign), watch him scream with outrage and try to chase the bus, then feel a rush of excitement and satisfaction as we leave him behind (to hopefully remember the incident to the end of his life.)

Divine justice, Kevin called it.

And Then It Snowed in London Today... )
commonpeople1: (Ludovic)
photo by [ profile] araqnid

On Saturday I went to a goth night and wasn't barred at the door by the bouncer! Granted, she did give me a hard once-over while a suspicious grin played on her face, but she must have then been convinced by my gothic credentials thanks to [ profile] suzi and [ profile] alexander arriving at the same time. I don't blame her for being suspicious since I wasn't wearing any make up, stompy boots, tight black jeans, corset, piercings or frilly shirts. I wore whatever I could find in my wardrobe that was black, including shoes that I use for job interviews, and it served me well in that darkest of dark nights.

The gathering happens every month and is called Vagabonds. It takes place in a beautiful pub just by the river, near London Bridge; it has a grand chandelier, a decent-sized dancefloor, plenty of seating space distributed across two floors, and enough bar staff to attend to you (including one who was very easy on the eyes.)

[ profile] tina, who wore the gorgeous blue dress bought on our Brick Lane shopping expedition a month ago, had told me beforehand that I'd know plenty of people in the place - and she was right. She introduced me to her friends, many of which I'd met before in parties or seen on LJ photos. Others were people I'd chatted with before at the Dev. Conversation was easy wherever we were because the music was played for fun and not for the deaf.

DJs alternated between Trad Goth, Bleepy Stuff and Classic 80s. Suzi dragged me onto the dance floor when New Order reared its head and soon the whole pub was chanting along to it, followed by a-ha's "Take on Me" and O.M.D.'s "Enola Gay". Why don't those silly DJs get the hint that the crowd can never get enough of their 80s nostalgia? Then Suzi abandoned me because she wanted to talk football with [ profile] russ upstairs. Yasmin, one of Suzi's friends, decided she was too tired and needed to sit down. Up we went and interrupted Suzi and Russ's teenage kicks. Yasmin and I proceeded to shout abuse at Suzi and Russ: motherfucker, slut, slapper, cunt - you name it. There may have been some football chanting too. Suzi and Russ ignored/laughed at us. Then Suzi suddenly wanted Yasmin and I to snog, and that's when I knew it was time to return to the bar and watch people gleefully jump around to the Sister's "This Corrosion".

I drank too much on an empty stomach and felt ill by 3am, when we were all kicked out. Some I got to hug and say goodbye, some disappeared, some made me promise I'd go to Leipzig in June, some wanted me to stay in their Whitby cottages, some complained that they had no cock to suck because their boyfriends were up in Scotland and some crossed the cold city all alone and took a night bus home packed with drunkards. Next thing I remember, it's 6 am, I'm lying on the sofa just in my underwear, a cold cup of mint tea nearby. I'm so lucky I didn't catch pneumonia.

I had an excellent night despite losing my voice. 80s trip soon, please! Yasmin has already said yes. What about you?
commonpeople1: (Jasmin)

Planet Angels
Originally uploaded by Daisy Flame
When Kevin and I left the apartment yesterday evening, we thought we'd meet some friends in a downtown pub for a quiet night of beer, trays of nachos and chit chat. Never in our wildest dreams would we guess that by 5am we'd be wandering the empty streets of London, pupils so big they took up half of our faces, bodies still warm from dancing at Planet Angel.

We nearly didn't go, but [ profile] rosamicula is very good at changing people's minds and making them see the light. So, after a few hours of mellow pub conversation with the [ profile] patsy_social, we headed back to Rosamicula's - courtesy of [ profile] sarcaustick and [ profile] thirstypixel who were in town and willing to drive us - for some food, wine and outfit changes.

Planet Angel doesn't have a fixed address. Every month they throw a party in a different London location. Yesterday's was in Vauxhall, in a venue decorated like a 60s sci-fi film set smoked with hundreds of incense sticks. Bouncers and "carers" wandered around, through a mostly young crowd, smiling at everyone and making sure people were having a good time. Rooms played hard trance, drum and bass or happy house. The latter was my favourite, but it was played in a tiny room used as corridor for the other two main rooms, so one couldn't get lost in the music without someone pushing past on their way somewhere else.

The crowd was mostly young. Really young. As in, I saw groups of 14-year-olds and I wondered how the hell they'd got in. [ profile] rosamicula seems to think many were freshers, and she's probably right. I think it's very precocious of 6th form freshers to party like this these days!

Once in a while, in the sea of smooth torsos, pouty emo boys (oh, how [ profile] sushidog and [ profile] naturalbornkaos would have loved there) and tiny girls in angel outfits, you'd glimpse someone in their 60s, clearly making time there until the outdoors festivals return. A giant poster on one wall, with paint on the floor, encouraged revellers to scribble messages or decorate their own faces. And if anyone felt like getting some rest, there were couches in chill out rooms, videogames, lego and toys to lose oneself in. They even sold food and tea, and occasionally bar staff wandered around with trays of strawberries and grapes.

But despite all this, Kevin and I didn't have enough energy to dive head-first into the night. We tried our best in each room, finding briefly some fun in New Order's "Blue Monday" on the happy house dancefloor, but the feeling never remained. Men kept approaching Kevin and asking him for drugs or lighters. Rosamicula disappeared because she wanted tea and a podium to pound the night away (plus, she seemed to know half the people in there). I was still wearing my work clothes and didn't feel 100% comfortable. So, at 4am, Kevin asked if we could leave.

Outside, London slept and the streets were deserted. We walked past a silent House of Parliament, and it suddenly struck me that I was peaking. I asked Kevin if he felt anything and he jabbered for about 10 minutes on how he wasn't high at all, and how he really could do with some chips, and how there were various places we could catch the night bus, and how he wanted to do some drawing on Saturday, and how he might come to Sushidog and watch X Factor and on and on and on. So cute.

Today, we have been completely useless. We watched Beautiful Thing and Horrible People, and we ate easy fare like oven chips and fish fingers. My lower back has gone to pieces and I keep forgetting what I want to do. I'm surprised I managed to write this post. It must have taken me about two hours, but I can't be sure. What I do know is that the X Factor and some hearty winter food from Sushidog's kitchen will be the perfect way to ease me into the night.
commonpeople1: (Mr Stamp)
Despite attending a "lame" fetish night at Slimelight on Friday, then not getting any sleep, [ profile] tina found enough strength yesterday to get on a train from Walthamstow and come meet the actor who plays Kevin and I at Liverpool Street Station. Every Londoner was out and about after a smiley sun rose above the capital. She looked gorgeous as ever, although a little sleepy; we walked over to Brick Lane for the South African B-B-Q I'd promised earlier in the week, as well as a long-overdue catch up.

Afterwards, we grabbed some coffee and had a look at the stalls that sell overpriced crap by clueless Shoreditch designers. There seemed to be a vintage store every ten feet, which brought the shopper out of Tina and Kevin: soon he had a grey bag for his notebooks and pens, and she had a vest and a beautiful dark blue dress.

We visited Nog Gallery so Tina could check out their zines and art books; we ended up discovering a neat exhibition of darkly humourous etchings made by a Hackney artist called John M F Casey. They are quite beautiful - I believe he painted the wooden canvasses white, then black, then etched through them to create imagery of hellish horrors that would suit Tim Burton's living room.

Birthday Boy tired of treasure hunting London

We said our goodbyes to Tina around 4.30pm and went to Spitalfields Market to wait for [ profile] tom. His girlfriend [ profile] christa had planned for him a massive treasure hunt across London, and we were his almost-at-the-end-of-the-line stop. I had a pirate badge pinned to my bag which said "Happy Birthday to Me"; as soon as he found us, I removed it and he pinned it on his jacket. His task was to sing any of The Smiths' songs in their entirety, with no mistakes, so he could learn his next destination. He shocked me to the Moon and back by not knowing in full any of their lyrics. He stammered through "This Charming Man", failed at "Bigmouth Strikes Again", and was about to bomb on "Shoplifters of the World Unite" when Kevin told me to give him a break and suggest an easy one. So I suggested "How Soon Is Now?", which he murdered hurried through before making his escape. Remind me to never go karaoking with him.

We headed for Waterloo for a meeting with my old friend Kelly at the BFI Southbank. Juliette Binoche's paintings are being exhibited there as part of their "Binoche Season" and they are worth checking out if you are in the area. Her paintings are pairs that match her career's characters with the directors she has worked with. All of her self-portraits are infused with the personalities and physionomies of the directors that created them.

Kelly showed up with a gift for us, some french cheese, figs and lavender she collected from her house in France. We walked over to Soho's Curzon because the idea of watching a grim Icelandic thriller called Jar City on a beautiful September night seemed like a good idea. It was one of those films which could have easily been made for TV - a sort of Prime Suspect with detectives that eat goat heads for dinner and juggle their personal lives with their depressing work. The film had some wonderful aerial shots of Iceland but its main message seemed to be: DON'T LIVE IN THIS FUCKING MISERABLE ISLAND. Iceland's Ministry of Tourism should look into suing.

Party Bus on Charing Cross Road

Outside the cinema, past 11pm, London suddenly seemed overwhelmed by crowds of horny, drunken louts from the 'burbs. Everyone shouted over everyone else, and cars honked uselessly at a traffic that was going nowhere. A gang of women dressed as FBI agents, the leader wearing bridal headgear, stumbled past us. Even the neon lights seemed brighter than usual, intense enough to burn your retinas. A nightmarish sight rolled into view: a red double-decker bus crammed with people, blasting "YMCA". The bus carried girls wearing glittery tiaras who were having a right hoot rubbing their boobs against the windowpanes for the benefit of the men on the sidewalk, their hands banging in the air as if the Village People were the ultimate rave experience. Some girls on the street felt compelled to join the fun by rushing to the windows and doing their own YMCA moves back at the partygoers inside. It only dawned on me to take a photo of this modern horseman of the apocalypse once it was pulling away - thus the shaky photo above.

The Sickly Green Chest of Drawers

Today, we took our iPods and newspapers to Vicky Park, bought some bagels and coffee and lay on the grass in full view of the sun. On the way back, we found this chest of drawers sitting on the sidewalk, not too far from our tower block. There was nothing wrong with it apart from its green snot colour (debatable defect) and food stains (solved quickly with a soapy cloth). It's going to sit in the master bedroom after it failed to look alright in the hallway, the sitting room and the dining room.

The Squirrel Who Thought People Were Made of Carrot Cake

This little fellow approached us last week, when we were sitting on the lawn outside the Geffrye Museum enjoying coffee and slices of cakes bought at Broadway Market. [ profile] dawnkitten made the mistake of giving it some of her carrot cake, instantly creating a friend who thought she was made of cake. I never saw a squirrel this upclose before; he was actually slightly intimidating. It didn't even flinch away from Kevin's paparazzi-style photography. Just look at that mouth. It wants to eat you. Yes, YOU!
commonpeople1: (George O'Brien)
Nite Lite visit Broadway Road Market
D & D: a touch of magic

Nite Lite / Boomers Gone Wild! is a club night currently taking Toronto by storm. Its Canadian DJs, D(avid) & D(erek), visited London this weekend on the first leg of their European tour. Their goal is to uncover the continent's hidden saxophone solo gems and smooth dancefloor operators as they travel through Vienna, Berlin and Prague. It's a worthy goal, but nothing less than impossible: can they ever bring back to the masses the cool sounds of adult contemporary tracks that rocked many a nights in the 70s and 80s?

On Saturday, after a morning spent at Broadway Road Market and the British Museum, our intrepid duo returned to the Eastend for a visit to the Palm Tree, Mile End's jazz hub on Saturday nights. The pub was emptier than usual, thanks to the Lovebox Festival happening just up the road in Victoria Park. One of the waitresses joined the band for a few tracks and received an average grade point from us. The gentleman who sang after her fared slightly better. Once the performances were over, and everyone was nicely sloshed, we led the Canadian DJs back to our tower block for some Tina Turner smash hits and a big fat joint. Bags of Doritos were opened and dipped into a pot of red pepper houmous. The toilet's flush broke. Bottles of wine were consumed (and thankfully not spilled on the carpet.) And some discussion broke out on the League of Nations, possibly the best undiscovered band in Canada at the moment.

Our Canadian DJs flew away on Sunday, but will return in a week's time for another night of passionate drinking. Too soon they'll be back in the land of hockey hair and moose burgers. May the spirit of Stevie Nicks entertain their every move.
commonpeople1: (Rockasilly)
Be there, or be square.

This could either be really fun, or everyone's worst commuting nightmare come to life. Who else is going apart from [ profile] despina? I'm currently 82% sure I'll show up.
commonpeople1: (George O'Brien)
On my way to Feeling Gloomy last night, I noticed a couple looking at me and whispering. He seemed to lean close to her and ask "what does it say?" She looked at my T-shirt and whispered something back to him. When the tube train arrived at Angel station, they stood up to leave and, as they walked past me, he gestured his sunglasses towards me and said "that's a very cool T-shirt."

My T-shirt said "Kill 'Em All and Let God Sort 'Em Out", a perfectly reasonable motto for this day and age.

The night was, unsurprisingly, warm, wonderful and full of very boisterous, horny people. Before we went into Feeling Gloomy, we met at a nearby Wetherspoons pub. [ profile] suzi and I had a good hour to ourselves before the others arrived. We updated each other on potentially lucrative radio shows and exciting publishing deals. She'd been waiting all week to hear some salacious gossip from me, but in the end it wasn't big news anymore after someone's indiscretion the day before. The thing with gossip is that you very rarely have the pleasure these days of delivering it fresh and new. There's always someone, somewhere, with a big nose who knows - who trips you up and laughs when you fall.

[ profile] zara, [ profile] jane, [ profile] kevin, [ profile] cat and Ian arrived more or less at the same time. One of my brasilian friends ditched us for another club without even having the decency to let me know; another one showed up later in the night, then left early when he realized Feeling Gloomy wasn't very gay.

There wasn't enough misery and gloom to satiate me. No Sisters of Mercy. No Pet Shop Boys. No Siouxsie and the Banshees. After a solid hour of fairly good stuff the DJ started playing The Beatles and Bob Dylan, instantlyl killing my mojo. Highlight of the night was Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence", which made Suzi throw herself into my arms and brought our group of friends back to life. Special mention goes to the little waltz/lambada Jane and I did to Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart" and the hand butterflies I found myself doing with Zara to *I think* The Cure's "Lovecats". Dishonorable mention goes to Suzi and I mouthing every word to a Phil Collins song while Kevin laughed at us, when I don't even like Phil Collins! Kids, alcohol does bad things to you.

Unbeknownst to Kevin and I, the girls were popping outside every once in a while for a fag and a photograph. By 2 a.m., Kevin and I were tired and hungry (light weights!) so we decided to head home. We found Jane sitting on the bench outside, chatting to the singer from the indie band that was playing when we first arrived. We said our goodbyes and caught the 277 home. I fell asleep on the couch while watching a french drama about a woman who gives up on men and decides to become a lesbian, only to be woken up by Kevin hovering two slices of cheese pizza in my face. I did not dance my way to bed.
commonpeople1: (Rockasilly)
I think it's safe to say that my first trip to Slimelight was a success. What I thought would be a club filled with attitude and unfriendliness turned out to be a darker, campier version of Popstarz when it was housed at The Scala. I danced to The Cure's "Killing an Arab", Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" (EBM version) and a whole bunch of other stuff that I can't name; had a death metallist offer me his lap; bumped into various LJ people (even the kind I only know through icons); was offered drugs (which I declined - but won't next time); had boy-on-boy action with [ profile] dj_alexander in the toilets (with an audience); drank a lot of Red Bull and Vodka served by the very friendly bar staff; was wished a good night by the coatcheck people (who made a point to look for my lost scarf); and didn't take too long to reach home after a solitary wait in the freezing cold and two nightbuses.

I'd been craving a club night in ages, and things got off to a nice start at [ profile] sor_eye_ah and [ profile] fross's place, where we drank vodka and cokes, ate nachos and listened to Equinox (a Front Line Assembly side project which I'd never heard of before, and which was quite good). Once the girl was booted, corseted and ready to go, we took the No.43 bus and were deposited a few metres away from the club's entrance (which is just behind Angel tube station.) [ profile] sor_eye_ah was my side-kick for the night - passing on the job to others the few times she needed to venture into the foul-smelling toilets or grab a drink.

We were one of the first people to arrive (10.30pm) so she gave me a tour of the place. Immediately after the entrance is a little bar and a door to a room that plays trad goth all night (it's actually quite a boring room, with most of the songs being too slow and lacklustre to bring out the people standing in the sidelines to the dancefloor.) I heard my first recognizable song of the night in this room, The Creatures' "Gecko". From there, [ profile] sor_eye_ah walked me through the cinema (a freezing corridor with chairs, at the bottom of a staircase, facing a screen playing Bugs Bunny), up to the middle floor (where most people spend the whole night, and which plays EBM to a sea of weaving glow sticks.) On the third floor is where they supposedly play more industrial noise and experimental stuff but I actually didn't hear anything of the sort the few times I wandered through - it was pretty much the same type of music as the second floor, with some abstract variations. It was in the girls' third floor toilet that we spotted the night's first casualty - a pair of legs and boots stretched out on the floor, security surrounding him/her.

Back on the second floor, I found [ profile] bottled_cat, [ profile] kixie, [ profile] denalyia, [ profile] zenithed and Tom-who-turned-out-to-not-be-brasilian, sitting on one of the leather couches facing the bar. You know those American high school films where the nerd shows up to a houseparty thrown by the cool kids? It felt a bit like that when they recognised me underneath my neon dreadlocks, goggles, moon boots and PVC terminator suit. It was really good to see them and for the rest of the night we bumped into each other, discussed the club and its people, gossiped about LJ and so forth. Surreal moment of the night goes to the individual who showed up as a Star Wars stormtrooper, clearly confusing Slimelight with Torture Garden.

I forgot what it was like to be in a club filled with stick thin, pill-popping kids. It was a nice nostalgic trip, on a carriage lane I'm not used to taking. My biggest surprise of the night, however, was that you can bring your own drinks to Slimelight?!? I've never heard of such a thing, especially since the venue also sells alcohol. There was a high rate of good looking girls and not-so good looking boys (but all the girls are mentalists so it's not worth it, according to [ profile] dj_alexander). I lost track of the amount of girls with their asses hanging out, which certainly shatters my pre-conception of goth girls only wearing big frilly dresses. Some of the people dancing were so thin, they practically had no energy to turn their bodies. I thought about opening a hamburger stand outside, for the early morning survivors, then changed my mind when I remembered how cruel London's winter nights can be. Once in a while, I spotted older folk like myself in the crowd, enjoying some dancing, watching this younger scene they no longer belong to, some lurking in the shadows like sharks, waiting to pounce on the first nubile 18-year-old that wandered by. My heart goes out to the ones, like myself, who still want to go out once in a while for the sheer joy of dancing, drinking and judging other people's outfits - no strings attached. It's the same in every club, every city, actually. Cursed be the day I stop enjoying night life.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
[ profile] sor_eye_ah and I are going to Slimelight tonight. It seems like all of you have other plans, or are staying home; if you change your mind, or wish to go out dancing, you are very welcome to join us. Leave a comment, yo.

In case they don't let me in - eventhough I'm pulling all the stops when it comes to black clothing - we'll be at Feeling Gloomy, swaying to the The Cure.

Catch me on the trad floor doing the cat scratch dance!

commonpeople1: (Morrissey)
One of the reasons I stopped taking ecstasy was an article in The Face magazine, in 1998, that said ecstasy caused long-term brain damage plus depression (they claimed a drop in serotonin production over time for ecstasy users.) Even Pulp recorded a song around then, "Sorted for Eez and Whizz", which echoed that fear of "leaving your brain behind in a field".

But according to the last Horizon show, a group of scientists who have been studying the drug for over ten years have come to the conclusion that it's one of the most harmless out there - more so than marijuana, alcohol or cigarettes, for example, and just slightly more dangerous than poppers (you can only die from it if you dehydrate). All those past media claims turned out to be urban legends.

This calls for a celebration! :-)

Ecstasy has always been my favourite drug (especially when in its pure MDMA form - not mixed with speed, etc.) My best memories from Hong Kong and Sao Paulo's clubs were the ecstasy fuelled nights I shared with my friends. Sometimes, the party never left our own apartments. It may have affected negatively our taste in music (I seem to have a Renaissance compilation at home which I bought purely for getting high). We are all still alive today, blissfully free of Prozac or its derivatives.

The documentary had some damning evidence on alcohol and cigarettes (which everyone already knows), but it especially burst the marijuana bubble. Studies have already been published linking pot to gum and lung disease, but these scientists claim that new research shows a link between the appearance of psychosis and long-term cannabis use. I'm the first one to admit that I enjoy a joint once in a while, but to me it has always been a drug that should be used with other people - like sharing a bottle of wine - instead of smoking/ingesting it by yourself every day. A treat for the weekend, for that special get together, rather than a daily escape from reality. I was a pothead for a while in university - the wake & bake kind - and I experienced all the negative side-effects even when I wasn't smoking: paranoia, loss of memory, loss of concentration. In the end, I realized I was psychologically addicted to it and it wasn't fun any more.

This is not to say I'll be showing up tonight at Camden, looking for a bag of pills; but it makes me feel more excited about the possibilities in the future if I get the chance to purchase some MDMA (apparently, a pill goes for £1-5?!?!)

Meet me on the dancefloor.
commonpeople1: (Log Lady)
Remember The March of the Dead this last Halloween? Videos and photos are now online. There are some photos on Flickr as well as on the Strangeworks Collective MySpace.

Videos can be found on MySpace as well as on YouTube:

Starting from 2:45, there's a shot of the march heading towards the camera. I'm on the left-hand side of the screen, holding a black banner, with a white mask that has a very long nose.

I'll post soon the pictures of Kevin, [ profile] woodsrule and I in our costumes.
commonpeople1: (Gayer Kiss)
There's nothing stranger than being in a circle on the dancefloor, with LJ friends, dancing to your LJ username. I found myself in that position last night when Pulp's "Commonpeople" came on; I caught myself half-way through the song singing along as if I was performing a ritual. We were all into the swing of things by that stage, thanks to a Popstarz that never got full, and which gave us plenty of space to do fancy dance moves to The Cure, Depeche Mode, Kaiser Chiefs, The Killers, Yeah Yeah Yeahs and so forth.

Earlier, I met the LJ Gang at a pub near King's Cross. I brought along three brasilians, but only one of them chose to continue on to the club. I think the rain, plus Friday blues, kept a lot of people indoors - which sadly affected the club itself and made me wonder if Popstarz is heading for the same cemetery as B-Movie. I hope not! I got to meet new people as well as get sweaty with old acquaintances now on the fast track to good friends status. I even learned something about panda bears from [ profile] bluehelen, who is probably the only person in London who likes Suede more than I do.

[ profile] amberholic, who'd been threatening all week not to attend, downed a bottle of champagne at home, covered himself with glitter and showed up with his side-kick Finch. He's the one who spotted the singer from Right Said Fred at the Indie Room, staring at our group on the dancefloor; he also generously bought me a tequila shot, which I hadn't done in years - thank you! When the LJ Gang left, around 1 p.m. or so (I think?), my brasilian side-kick and I joined the two glitter queens at the Cheesy Pop room. Tunes from early in the night got repeated - Whitney Houston, Girls Aloud, Spice Girls - but by then I was too drunk to care.

The clock hit 3 p.m. and suddenly all the single men in the club were desperate to hook up with someone. An Indian guy wrapped his arm around me and asked if I had a boyfriend; a drunk dancer sidled to my face with a cheeky grin, then got shoed away by [ profile] amberholic in full security guard mode; and an intense-looking short boy mistook my approving glance for interest. There were lots of cute boys, I thought, but also a very worrying trend of overstyled Emo kids who wouldn't dance or show any enthusiasm in fear of messing their haircut. I'm so glad I'm from a generation that enjoys jumping around!

Must. Go. Clubbing. More. Often.
commonpeople1: (Gayer Kiss)

April 2017



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