the.applied.process.

wit. honesty. everyday ramblings.

Tag: nightlife

Where are my ruby slippers?

The thing about human beings is that, unlike most animals, we have an uncanny ability to adapt to our environment. Beasts, on the other hand, have this defense mechanism that psychologically shuts them down when they feel pain and ‘numbs’ them to cope with whatever is outside their control.

In this regard, I’ve often related to our less intelligent fellow life forms. While I am very adaptable, and it is known that us Pisces are amongst the, if not THE, most adaptable zodiac sign, I’ve also read that we are the most intuitive and pick up on all the energy and mood around us to the point where it can be overwhelming. Hence, the shutdown.

Last night, after some predrinking at my mate’s flat, I was out and about in Vauxhall. It was four of us. One of us, ‘no-boro’, I had just met. Nice guy. Somewhat into me.

Upon arriving at the club (the eagle), we ran into three friends of them. A short, spunky, somewhat attractive half spaniard; a sexy, tattooed, somewhat dirty looking ‘my type’; and a plain, blue-shirt wearing, somewhat forgettable whatshisface. We processed to grab drinks, smoke, and dance when I was made aware ‘no-boro’ was into me. He was a handsome man, however, and not that this changes much of my usual modus operandi, I was also made aware of some info that enhanced my usual m.o. I wasn’t an asshole, I just had a slight freak out, and started to watch my drinking. I wanted to be clear headed enough to act along my m.o. and not against it. Then I was told that ‘my type’, ‘no-socks brit’, was also inquiring about me. Again, not that I strayed from my usual m.o. but I suddenly felt twice as concerned with keeping a quasi-sober mind. And the thing here is that recently, I’d say in the past 3-4 months, I’ve seriously reconsidered what it means to get drunk, go out, and wake up next to a random stranger. I was never very into it, much to the shock of my fellow dick craving homosexuals, but especially in the past few months, after a stupid incident with a bit too much drinking, a stranger, and a ripped condom (I’m completely fine and healthy btw), I’ve just gotten significantly more paranoid/careful, and am not willing to risk another incident like that, because even if it feels ‘right’ and is completely safe, I can’t necessarily deal with the anxiety my own self creates post-coitum.

So I monitored my alcohol intake, something I should be doing regardless, and focused on controlling my anxiety. Tricky thing here is that usually I drink to control it but also drinking makes it worse. Tried to relax and just have fun, which I eventually managed to do, and enjoyed the rest of my night. I talked to ‘no-boro’ about his dogs, two beautiful schnauzers. Again, lovely guy. I had a couple more drinks, and we headed home, me and my two hosts.

On the way home I was asked why I wouldn’t go for either. Like I said, to be honest, despite anything good or bad about them, it’s just not my m.o. I don’t just ‘go home’ with whoever shows me some ‘love’, even if I might be attracted or interested in them. Is that too bizarre to comprehend? The combination of alcohol, anxiety, and my own damn crazy head started to shut me down. I wanted my ruby slippers to tap them three times and wake up back at the corner of Driggs and North 7th next to ‘Toto’ (my dog). Don’t get me wrong, I’m having fun, my friends are pleasant, but us Pisces sometimes just need to retract to our safe haven. We need some time alone. We need to escape the world, and when that can’t be done physically, we create our own little panic room in our head and go there. Sorry if I seem rude, I’m just refueling and trying to keep my sanity. Cheers.

it’s a small gay world.

So after a somewhat pleasant flight (other than the landing/takeoff/landing again incident) I’ve arrived to London. I promptly got off the plane and after a scrutinous moment with customs I was legally allowed to enter the Queen’s land (note to self: the beard is coming off soon). I rushed to the exit to smoke a fag, bought a sim card, paid for an hour of internet, contacted my friends, and boarded the train towards Holborn.

As soon as I stepped out of the station I felt the same homey familiar feeling I’m used to feeling whenever I come here. It truly does feel like home, which reiterates my desire to one day live here… possibly as soon as I need a break from New York.

I met my friend Geordie-Mo and walked a few blocks back to his place. His boyfriend (Gina-Ho) greeted me nicely with some food and a nice tub ready for me to bathe in. It felt nice. My social media addiction had me logged in to facebook, grindr, and the like… it’s always good to make new friends. We later headed out to a few pubs for a couple of beers before going out that night. All familiar places my uncanny pigeon-like sense of direction recognised. What I like about London is the ambiance of people just having a drink out in public, something you never see in the US of A.

We walked back to Geordie’s flat to meet up with his beau and his friend, downed a few drinks, smoked a few more ciggys, and headed out to a night called ‘Popstarz’. To be honest, nights like this are not usually my cup of tea. I do enjoy my Britney and my Beyonce, but the selection of meat was too tender for my taste. Regardless, I had fun. I am quite versatile (not in bed), and as long as I have a drink and a friend, I can have a great time anywhere. We ended the night at around 2:30 and returned to their abode. Gina-Ho made us some food, and we chit chatted about boys. About how every single gay man in this world seems to know each other, and how you can play ‘six degrees of separation’ with your friends from across the Atlantic, and still find a connection (sometimes in even less than 6 steps). Also, I was asked about my dating life. I’m starting to become increasingly annoyed at the fact that everyone keeps asking me if there are any boys in my life. Yes. I know. This is a very common question, but what bothers me is not the question itself… I have no qualms answering it. It’s more the fact that society feels the need to keep reminding you that having a partner, or even just some sort of lay, is the norm! What’s wrong with being single and enjoying it? I do like my singleness! I’m not in denial, and it’s not like I can’t get some if I wanted to… which brings me to my last point: the 50 blind dates.

A few months ago, I intended to start the 50 blind date project. You can read my previous entry about it, but to summarise, I planned on going on 50 blind dates and writing about them. The biggest problem I encountered is getting such dates. I thought I had the logistics down, but I obviously can’t set myself up on blind dates. It wouldn’t be technically blind because I would at least have seen a picture of the guy. My friends have mostly failed to help me on my quest. So far I’ve had one date, and while I have a couple more lined up, it’s going very slow, and I don’t think it’s looking very promising. Therefore, I’ve decided to embark on another project: the 50 grind dates. Taking advantage of today’s technology and trends, I’m planning on going on 50 dates with guys off grindr. I’m still figuring out what exactly the terms of these dates, since grindr is mostly used for sex, and I’m not about to go and fuck 50 guys… but I figure it might be interesting. So far, I believe I have one tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes, and if all flows nicely, I might actually go through with this. Let’s call tomorrow evening ‘the pilot’ to my new show. Stay tuned.

Blind date #1: Double-dipper.

And we’re off. Wednesday April 6th, 2011 was my first official blind date of the “process”, and in fact, ever.

It was set up by a friend of mine from work. A week prior to the date, at about 5 in the morning, I had just woken up for some reason, and I headed to the toilet, sat, and logged on to facebook. He IM’d me saying he had a date for me, and in my half sleep mental state I said: “yes! send him my way”. I went back to bed.

The next day I checked my inbox and I had a name and a number. That was basically all I knew about this guy, and all I would know until I met him. I replied asking what I was supposed to do, surely I wasn’t just going to text a complete stranger and say: “hey! you don’t know me, but wanna go on a blind date?” My friend then asked for my schedule and set the date up.

On that fateful Wednesday, I woke up, met a friend to get our nails done, walked around soho for a bit, and then headed to work. I was at the gallery obsessive-compulsively hanging some art work when I realized the time, I was running late! I rushed to the bathroom, changed into my carefully predetermined outfit (black pants, black Sperry’s, a black Neil Barrett sleeveless tee, and a grey Band of Outsiders blazer), downed a mini bottle of liquid balls (a.k.a. J & B) I had purchased earlier, opened my umbrella (to bring in the good luck), and with the blessing of my peers, headed out the door. Then I received a text from my date saying he was running a bit late. No biggie. I arrived at the spot we agreed on, a somewhat cute thai restaurant in soho with a witty name, and waited outside. Another text came. He was running even more late.

I went inside and sat at the bar. The bartender, a beautiful, model-esque (like most people who work at restaurants in trendy New York neighborhoods), black girl with a sultry accent, and an alluring personality, asked me what I wanted. I asked for her suggestion. I ended up with a tamarind martini. As I sipped on the deliciously tangy concoction, we made small talk. I was slightly nervous for my date to arrive and introduce himself in a cliche: “Hi are you my (insert my name here)?” manner. I didn’t want her to know I was on a blind date. Sure enough, he walked through the door and did as I had prophesied.

First impression: if there was a romantic comedy where two guys meet for a blind date, he would’ve been exactly what I’d expect to see in such film. A couple inches taller than me, blond hair, blue (maybe green) eyes, wearing brown shoes, dark jeans, a Ralph Lauren sweater over a polo shirt, and a puff jacket, all in “safe” colors (navy, green, brown). I’d say he was moderately handsome, yes. Read the rest of this entry »

Oh Land. Cut/Copy. LCD soundsystem.

So it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. Been very busy, been sort of ill, been sleeping little, been writing nothing… but that changes today… or at least today I decided to take a break, sleep some more, let my stomach rest, and update the blog. Tomorrow we can go back to “normal”.

Also, I’ve been thinking about the blog, and the direction I want to take with it. Let’s just say I’m making it more cohesive. But enough about this… let’s get on to the actual content.

It all started the night of March 29th, the first of 4 intimately beautiful evenings with Danish talent juggernaut couple Nana Øland Fabricius and Eske Kath during their residency at Charles Bank Gallery (or what I like to call work). The previously dark and quiet white cube was now turned into an equally dark, yet radiantly colorful pays des rêves, where industry people, as well as elated fans gathered to listen to Oh Land’s 30 minute “picnic setup” (as she dubbed it) music sets. Oh Land, accompanied by a string quartet, played 6 to 7 of her debut album’s songs, in a more toned down manner that made it feel more personal and cozy.

At first I thought of writing about a specific night, but since I figured plenty of bloggers would take that approach, I decided to take my own approach, and write about the experience as a whole. Each evening was essentially the same, but the slight differences made each night feel fresh, and equally intimate. I truly enjoyed listening to Oh Land’s captivating hymns slowed down and sang in a way that, to me, it felt one-on-one. Melodies like “White Nights” and “Rainbow” have been gleefully stuck in my head since. However, her latest single, “son of a gun”, was especially memorable, since it was the one song that was the most different from it’s original version.

The entire experience came together flawlessly. The welcoming music, along with the cheery art installations (courtesy of Kath), and Oh Land’s incredible stage persona and forward outfits, brought an all together positive feel-good feeling to my slightly ill self (the weekend prior, I had indulged myself in oysters and ended up with a severe case of unsexy food poisoning). to tommelfingre op!!

Read the rest of this entry »

The Black Party

Slightly intrigued and wanting to check something else off my imaginary bucket list, I decided to look into attending the legendary Black Party, a yearly gathering of NYC’s gay men at the Roseland Ballroom for a night of techno music, dark rooms, and little to no clothes.

I talked to a friend about it, and he was equally, if not more excited than I was. We convinced two more to venture on our adventure. We had our minds set. Come the night of Saturday, March 19th, 2011 we would march our way to West 52nd Street and see what the whole hoopla was about. As the day approached, I heard and read more and more about the event. It was as if I kept getting turned off and on simultaneously. “anonymous sex everywhere”, “people peeing on people”, “ecstasy”, “aggressive groping”, where they for real? I had to check it out.

As soon as I left work, and with the blessing of my coworkers, I rushed home to figure what I was going to wear. Originally, we had planned on wearing nice tuxedos and masks, but with the possibility of getting peed on in the horizon, I decided to ditch the tuxedo and go for something perhaps more “appropriate”. I pointlessly packed a bunch of clothes in my duffle bag, since I already resolved what I was going to wear, and headed to my friend’s apartment.

Earlier that night, I had decided I wasn’t going to get terribly drunk. Instead I would opt for beer here and there and keep it chill. I wanted to both remember the night, and have a fair judgment.

Upon arriving at my friend’s. I had a drink and we got dressed. I wore faux leather pants (as a side note, I had bought these pants a while ago in Paris, and had never worn them but I knew they would come in handy), combat boots, and black suspenders. As a final touch, I chose to wear a white t-shirt with a Robert Mapplethorpe-esque image of a bullwhip. Always better to overdress than underdress right?

At about midnight we headed to the venue. It was only a few blocks away. There was a long line of significantly older men lots of who were dressed in leather gear. I have to admit, I’m a sucker for a mature guy who’s rough around the edges. My eye wondered. The line moved steadily and quickly. We were inside in about 15 minutes. We were instructed to drop off our cellphones, and go downstairs if we needed to check in our garments. Indeed I was overdressed. A leather harness and a jockstrap would’ve sufficed.

We headed straight to the bar, picked up a beer each, and proceeded to explore. It was not very crowded. I had heard the party didn’t really get going till about 2 a.m. There was some contortionist show on one stage, then some slightly unimpressive aerial acrobats, and hideous techno music, which I’m sure I would’ve enjoyed had I not been sober unlike the rest of the attendees.

Earlier that day I had talked to a friend who mentioned he was going to DJ a side room. Since I was getting antsy and needed to pee, I went to relief my bladder and try and find him. Indeed it was a side room, right next to the dark room, through which I had to walk to get to where he was. I said hi, chit chatted for a bit, and told him I’d go find my friends and come back. He was playing way better music anyway.

I journeyed back through the dark room, which was getting more crowded, and loud with moans and grunts, and into the main room. One of my friends decided to leave. The rest of us walked back to where my friend was djing.

From there on, we pretty much stayed in that room, taking quick trips to buy more beer or water. I danced for about 4 hours. Saw men having sex with men having sex with men, porn stars, familiar faces, drugs (both legal and illegal), more sex, buckets and buckets of condoms and lube, even more sex, a light show, people into all kinds of fetishes, and even a room where you could get tested for STDs (because if we’re going to fuck senselessly we have to be responsible, right?).

Towards 4:30 a.m. I was getting tired. I hadn’t slept much the night before, and again, I wasn’t on drugs, or drunk for that matter, and I hadn’t nor was planning on participating in any of the “activities” there. Another one of my friends had already left, and the two of us who were still there decided that maybe it was time for bed. We stayed for about another hour, and then proceeded to pick up our jackets and cellphones. We were asked if we wanted a wristband to come back, as the event kept going till, and I quote the flyer, “Sunday afternoon”. No thank you. I need a few hours of sleep, and maybe some yoga to feel clean again.

I left the place with mixed feelings. Warm yet bitter, much like the alleged urine I was promised to have splashed on my pant leg. Will I be back? It’s not something that I’ll be waiting for next year, but if there are ulterior motives or a specific incentive, why not?