My brother Esau..

Off to find the wizard

2005-08-21T08:47:29Z

I'm paid up, yo. And this blog is herstory!

http://londan.livejournal.com - 'aint that just better?

Please update your friends page - (Although it would apprear that you've all fallen into a deep sleep since the 18th) and check out the beauty of my new blog!

It's Better Than Your Friends Page!

Dan x

WTF is going on?!

2005-08-19T09:05:49Z

So, after having talked to ketchgirl about the possibility of moving into her place in September, while being surrounded by poo-smelling people in a shop, I got home to find that my situation has changed dramatically once again.

It all started when Luan (flatmate, friend from Texas, via Isle of Wight - don't ask) decided that she was going to move up to London early because she was so sure the she was going to get the grades to go to UCL or Kings that she didn't have to worry about things like that. Now - as you've probably guessed, she's living in my flat and didn't get in. So, what's she going to do? Move back to America, just like any normal person.

This means that, with the impending arrival of Daniel Mendoza, who needs a place to stay immediately, I will probably not be moving anywhere whatsoever. Now I feel like a dick for getting ketchgirl's hopes up.

Sorry love.

The worst thing is that this could change at any time, what with a potentially precarious situation between Ryan and me and me wanting to move into my own place... Frustrated. A lot.

Only in America

2005-08-18T15:22:47Z

Urine:unbeatable staying power
This is fawking funny! I especially enjoy:

"Blandine Alexander, 33, said one woman standing in front of her was so desperate to retain her place in line that she urinated on herself."

Wow!

Ahem..

2005-08-18T10:40:12Z

I deleted the last post because, frankly, it was starting to piss me off. There's no point in moping about about things not going your way because it's a waste of time. I do have to get this whole residence thing sorted out as soon as possible, though. The whole problem is not so much the rent aspect, because I have a good job, it's having to come up with a ridiculous sum of money for deposits/agents fees &c. Do you have a suggestion?

I'm disappointed that I didn't get to go to evensong at Corpus Christi last night. I was looking forward to seeing my shiny new friends. Alas, it wasn't to be. I did, however have a productive conversation with Ryan which was overdue. I'm not quite sure what the outcome was, though. Perhaps it wasn't as productive as I thought. Then we ate pizza and watched LOST and pretended that everything was okay.

Sunday was certainly the best day of the week. I met up with vervain_ and we went along to V&B at the Oratory. After having a moment to myself, we walked around in the rain and ate pizza. There was a decent string quartet playing Mozart which I appreciated. The rain cleared up, and we walked Kensington Gardens talking of all sorts until I realised that I was late for meeting up with Anthony, who turned out to be grumpy and tired and not wanting to go out. We bought vaguely healthy things, curled up in bed and watched American Psycho. Good ending to the week.

Monday in Hertfordshire for various reasons. Lovely and horrible - all at once. I've been feeling fairly down recently but putting a good face on it. Now is the time for action!

I listen to Slowdive and still think of you, jessicabeck .

danielgray @ 2005-08-09T15:44:00

2005-08-09T14:45:37Z

Proposed 'formal attire' for the
Knights of the Order of the Chintz Amoeba:

Again - Comments from all, please.
They're rough because I made them. MADE them, y'hear?

danielgray @ 2005-08-05T13:27:00

2005-08-05T12:28:21Z

"What did he call us?"

"Fat, I think. Let's kill him"

Mothers Superior: on the rampage.

Disturbing

2005-08-04T14:50:04Z

The recent 'binge-drinking' panic which has gripped the country has, I fear, slightly gripped me. All my friends know and joke about the fact that I can knock back a few, seemingly with no detriment to the next day. However, I've been thinking about a) my liver, which would probably taste delicious right now; b) my kidneys, which tend to hurt too frequently and, of course c) my bank balance, which has suffered to no end.

Well, I decided to run up some sums of how much alcohol I actually put away over, say, a month, and I've come up with the following figures, which scare. Over the last six months, I estimate, conservatively, that I've drunk just over one hundred and twenty bottles of wine, over two hundred pints of beer, five litres of gin, three bottles of ginger wine and about half a litre of miscellaneous spirits. Now, that totals at around £1,546. Which works out to £59.46/week just for my drinking. Now, if I include the rounds that I buy friends, I'm probably pushing around the £90/week on alcohol alone. That's £4680/annum. Now, if I add tobacco to this figure - I come to a grand total of £5366.40/annum on fags and booze alone. Shocked. Slightly.

Chavs

2005-08-04T12:17:18Z

Chavs: the new elite.

Chavs, Janners, Scallies, Pikeys, Wasters, Junkies, Jakeys, Fuckwits, Townies, Gyppos, Greebos, Charvettes, Grungers, Neds, Kevins, Gadgies, Beggoids, Charvers, Asbos, Kevs, Spicks, Spides, Steeks, Scrots, Dillholes, Hardos, Peter Andres, Leisurewearers, The Burberry Brigade..

I'm terribly bored. I was going to write something astute - but I just *can't be bothered*

Why can't I just buckle down and do some work?

My Weekend. (Belated)

2005-08-02T14:38:08Z

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to travel back in time; two hundred and fifty years, say. If I should return to our time, I would be sure to bring someone back with me; a lover or a friend, perhaps. I'd bring them back into my living room because there's nothing too shocking in there, and, after having recovered them with smelling salts (of course, brought back from the C18th),

Delorean: Not owned by me.

I'd sit them down, bring them a cup of tea and say "There are things out there that your mind cannot even begin to conceive. Such wondrous sights you will see and amazing experiences you will have when we leave this room. Your mind will boggle at the delight of it all.

And then, after my guest's first shower, we'll dress, ready ourselves and step out the front door. Of course - the first thing they would see is my bike chained against the rails.. Oh? What's this? There's no bike chained against the rails after all. Could that be because some fucking asshole snuck up during the night, severed a very thick metal cord like butter and 'stole' off into the night with my brand new bike? I have one word for people like that and you're not going to like it, so I'll refrain.

Apart from that my weekend was peachy, just about. Friday was Sir Anthony's birthday, which was pleasant until we got to retro bar, which was the essence of The Gay. I hear they all went to a sauna afterwards. See, I don't really like The Gay, all that much. I'm aware that this is trite, now - because we 'non-scene queens' have a united voice on the Internet, generally illiterated by the words 'straight acting'. Well, that's great - well done boys. Gay bars are intrinsically seedy. I have nothing in common with gay men in general, apart from the fact that we all love men.

I fear Hell. A lot. Not because of the pain or the loss of grace, but because of Matthew 13:41-42.

"The Son of man shall send forth his angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity; And shall cast them into a furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth"

Hell: aka "Heaven"

Listen up, yo - I'm not daft. GAY/Heaven/Ghetto = A furnace of flaming queens, gnashing their teeth on X and wailing Gloria Gaynor? Heaven? Hell more like. That Matthew geezer was up on his stuff and Retro Bar wasn't far off the mark.

I also met a lovely chap called Sam and saw what is potentially my new flat. More on this later.

Sunday - well, that's none of your damned business, frankly.

Last night I got drunk with Sir Anthony. Again. We had important discussions and took ourselves seriously. Then we giggled about meeting famous people and put flyers through doors on the way home. Drunken bastards, we are.

danielgray @ 2005-07-27T12:45:00

2005-07-27T11:46:43Z

Daily Express: tolerant

Daily Star: high-brow

Pub Quiz

2005-07-27T10:01:23Z

Last night I went with Ryan, Luan and Simon to the pub quiz at the Royal Inn on the Park, which is quite a delightful pub, in Victoria Park Village in South Hackney, which is quite a delightful area.

The Quiz Master, known by regulars as 'The Fat Controller', truly lives up to his name and is apparently quite prolific within the London quiz scene. He rolled around the room with sweat stains around his nipples before landing him bum on no fewer than two stools and, finally, started the quiz.

The Fat Controller: Scandalous

Do not fool yourself into thinking that these traits make him less of a quiz-master, for he surely reigns supreme in his court and after struggling with such fiendish questions as "Which 'AB', born in 1883, became master of the King's music in 1941?" (wtf?!), we finally cheated, out of sheer desperation, by swapping some answers with the girl on the table next to ours, sat back and confidently awaited our results.

Last! Last place, even with cheating! We embarrassingly got consolation After Eights. Nearly-at-eat-by-date After Eights, at that.

Oh, the shame..

Your Mother Superior..

2005-07-26T13:45:48Z

Being public-sector officers (and inherently lazy individuals), Sir Anthony and I suffer the shared experience of work-related boredom and usually end up conversing for multiples of hours per day. One product of this gloriously productive relationship is a quite formidable collection of 'Yo Mama' snaps, with a twist.

Now, never before seen, I have released a choice selection for your pleasure! Along with, of course, highly appropriate pictorial stimulation:

Your Mother Superior: fat; ugly; drunk

Asshole composers

2005-07-26T11:06:56Z

Shostakovich is highly overrated. As are many composers.

There are too many asshole composers on this planet. Really, I'm not quite sure what they get out of being asshole composers, but it must float their boat, somehow.

Oh, while we're on the subject, I've not spoken to Douglas for a week now; having left a message and an email and not receiving a reply I'm left slightly frustrated because I need to let him know that he's been dumped. I refuse to be dropped in silence!

Shostakovich: wore silly glasses.