Saint Narcissus in London

I met the lovely saint_narcissus for the first time yesterday. I was sitting by myself at the National Film Theatre's canteen when a 3-metre-tall man walked in. I gave him a hug (as far up as I could reach) and asked why he was wearing just a T-shirt. He asked me to hold his warm hand and told me our chilly and rainy London wasn't cold enough for him.

We walked down the South Bank and he gave me a copy of Killing Me Softly: Morir Amando, by Francisco Ibáñez-Carrasco, a collection of short-stories he read on his way to London from San Francisco (which I already started reading). We ate lunch at Benjy's then perused a gay porn shop for Raging Stallion films (he wanted to show me the film he had a walk-on part as Ron Jeremy, as well as his friend Michael Soldier). We grabbed free gay listings and found a table outside a cafe on Old Compton Street; I ordered for him a latte with a double expresso shot and a cappuccino for myself. We talked about his life in San Francisco and Minneapolis, as well as my life here in London -- interrupting ourselves whenever a good-looking guy walked by.

At 4pm, we met Kevin and Natalia at the ICA, for the Alien Nation exhibition. The pieces dealt with science fiction and the state of "otherness". We participated in a badly-prepared talk called "Imaging Other Worlds: Mythopoesis and Art Practice", which could have been interesting if the guy hadn't spent the whole time reading from his essay and throwing obscure academic jargon at us. About this time, I realized I'd lost the phone number of a brasilian guy in London -- friend of a friend -- who I was supposed to meet. Much panic ensued as I dug through my bag and pockets -- nada.

From the exhibition, my favourite piece was by Ellen Gallagher & Edgar Cleijne. They projected five films in a dark room ("reminds me of a club's backroom" said Saint Narcissus), the soundtrack a song reminiscent of Balinese music. Four of the projections were tiny, showing morphing figures or flickering graphitti depicting sci-fi heroes and Bruce Lee lookalikes. The fifth projection was of a 50s sci-fi B-movie, with flashing hair and eyes added onto the characters representing aliens. Very creepy and beautiful.

Later, we sat outside a pub on Old Compton street, took photos of each other, drank and talked about books and the Scissor Sisters (Saint Narcissus had V.I.P. tickets for their show at Wembley Arena, thanks to knowing them when they were unknown performers in San Francisco). Said goodbye to him at Tottenham Court Road and rushed home to e-mail the brasilian guy and beg his forgiveness for not calling him. I hope he's not too pissed off with me.

Kevin prepared cous-cous with vegetables and friend fried sausages for dinner, which we then downed with a bottle of red wine and ice-cream. We ended the night watching a lame episode of Law and Order: Special Victims Unit.