Picos Gemeos

My six-day holiday has been perfect so far.  Yesterday morning I lounged around home then went to meet millionreasons for coffee. We have been LJ, Facebook, Twitter, God Knows What Else, friends for four years but only now did we meet in real life for the first time - and she lives just up the road! We had coffee in this nice little café North of Victoria Park and chatted away for two hours about books, the Royals, music and our families. She surprised me by bringing a copy of Atwood's Bluebeard's Egg, which she originally nicked from a B&B in Bath. I have to pass it on once I'm finished.

For lunch, I cooked myself a huge bacon and eggs fry up then got myself ready for the garden. On the bus ride there, I saw police running across Mile End Road, through screeching traffic like cops in a U.S. TV show, chasing five hooded boys. They pushed them all against a wall and started searching them. One of the boys reacted and a scuffle broke out. A few minutes later, I walked past police searching and interrogating more youths in a West Ham park. I wonder if it's related to those squat raids?

The garden was quiet, with just the garden leader, one of the regulars (George) and one of the people who live across the street. I planted five broccoli plants and weeded some of the pathways. At 6pm, I headed for the South Bank to see La Passion de Jeanne d'Arc (1928). Just before the film, wink_martindale and I bumped into denalyia . We had a glass of white wine on the Royal Festival Hall's balcony and chatted about the Expanding Mind podcast.

Jeanne d'Arc was accompanied by a live band and singers. Five guitars and basses, drums, harps, keyboards, and more. It was a mixture of Godspeed You Black Emperor, Barry Black, a dash of the Cocteau Twins and church coral songs. It was epic and marvelous. It made the film seem currant and brought out the intensity of Maria Falconetti's performance. I want to own that soundtrack.

Edit: Looking at info on yesterday's performance, I just realised that it was the guys from Portishead and Goldfrapp who created and led the score.  I should have known about this beforehand, shouldn't I?

"Jean Charles de Menezes, we will never forget. Never, never, never."

- Morrissey, Brixton Academy 22 July 2009

Leave a comment and I'll give you five topics to talk about in your journal. sushidog gave me these:

Boys
BOYS! Summa-summa-time love, summa-summa-time love. Boys, boys, boys. What can I say, I started liking boys as soon as puberty hit. Unfortunately, I was part of a large group of boys that only liked girls. Then I fell in love with a singer who seemed to like boys but chose instead to be celibate for the rest of his life - it seemed at the time like a good idea. Then someone took me to a gay club in Montreal and my mouth hit the floor at the quantity of gorgeous men filling up the rooms. I never looked back. And now I have a boy of my own. We wander the streets of London and when a cute boy goes by we sigh: *boys*.

Incidentally, if you ever need to move your office, look no further than Ward Thomas Removals. Not only are they brilliantly efficient, their team is made up of all those hot Ozzies and Kiwis that come over to England for work experience and find their rugby muscles and friendly smiles appreciated and needed. Diamonds are a girl's best friend; boys are a boy's.

Being a long way from home
Is tough. When I returned from Brasil in January, I tried to convince Kevin that we should live at the farm with my mom and brothers. Kevin didn't like the idea but, with each passing day, he's warming up to it. The latest plan is for us to leave Britain for one year - a sort of sabbatical - and stay with my family. He could dedicate himself to his illustration and I could help with the running of the guesthouse and sort out my legal situation in Brasil, which is a mess right now. London is a sort of home, but so is Brasil. And my uncles and aunts are like parents, my cousins like siblings. Years are speeding away and I'm losing all that time I could be spending with them. They ask after Kevin - they know about us. With Kevin there with me, I'd be less afraid of growing bored from their sedate pace of life. I could write a million books from the comfort of our hammock.

Gossip
Every writer is a gossip. Every longterm LJ user is a gossip - we are here because we enjoy sharing stories about ourselves and others. The ones that don't like that sort of thing gave up their journals a long time ago. Asking after someone's well being is gossip. Hanging out with a friend will eventually lead to gossip. We learn from the world through gossip. We can't resist a good story, an enthralling cliffhanger - we seek that from those closest to us, and we take pleasure when we find it unexpectedly. Thousands of years ago, when we were still picking fleas from each others hair after a long day of hunting, we developed language through gossip (I'm sure of it). Something dramatic had to be informed (so-and-so wasn't hunting tigers as they should; they were swimming in the river) and thus gossip was born.

Cooking
I should do more of this. I eat too many ready-made soups and sandwiches. I've developed a bad habit of bringing kebab home on Thursdays (Kevin loves it.) But I'm a great cook - I've got the patience and attention to detail down to a tee. I make the best burek in the world. Doubtful? Come over and try for yourself (especially if you are a *boy*).

The environment
Depresses me. I look at my brother and friends who have children and I worry for all the problems they'll have to deal with - the diminishing natural resources (bound to cause wars), the exploding population, the way people don't give a shit about anything. My tower block's elevator is a testament to our species' impending destruction - all that garbage thrown on the floor each day says a lot about what the people here think of their "environment". When I'm feeling more positive, I remember science and all its recent giant leaps. I place my poker chips on them and hope that the nerd shall overcome.

I'm doing two things today I've never done before:

1) working from home
2) visiting a police station to hand in criminal evidence of a robbery

My temporary office, located in a charming tower block that overlooks the East End, has run out of coffee and biscuits; a trip to the cornerstore may be in the cards. I've got All Flashback Alternatives playing on my iTunes, and it's currently The Chameleons' "Singing Rule Britannia". Now it's The Cure's "Push". It's a radio station that plays the contents of my head.

I heard The Chameleons for the first time while in Paris, a few weekends ago. Kevin and I were having an incredibly expensive pint of beer in a bar in Marais, and they were playing one of their albums in full. I was slightly outraged that I'd never heard of them before! It's like all my favourite bands and sounds wrapped into one package. See, just when you think life can't surprise you, something comes along and knocks you off your feet. Never presume you've seen (and heard) it all.

Fuck about... they are now playing Howard Jones' "Things Can Only Get Better". Didn't I tell you this radio station matched my brain?!

Ok, I better go and do some work. Be back soon. Upcoming topics: The Cure's latest singles; songs by The Chameleons; 80s nights in London; Joyce Carol Oates rocks my boat; and which biscuits go best with tea.

After my apartment's flooding on Friday, I thought it would be a nice, relaxing change to meet friends for drinks on Saturday night. In Camden. Most people, including the birthday-celebrators, were already sitting down with their cocktails when I arrived at 55 Bar. It was happy hour and the men behind the counter had beautiful arms and the kind of costumer service only seen in the U.S. of A.

We are sitting in the reserved corner, sipping away our fruity sobriety, under a barrage of classic rock, when someone returns from the outside hyperventilating: "there's a massive fire in Camden market. If you haven't seen it, go outside. The air is covered in smoke and people are being evacuated." One of the bartenders, who looks like the younger, fit brother of Paul Giamatti, starts a rumour that a junkie dropped a cigarette in a pile of newspaper (later, when we leave the bar, I'll catch him telling the bouncer that a freight train carrying oil collided with something just as it was going past Camden market.) As kixie said, a train goes through Camden market?!? And as moral_vacuum said, there goes London's supply of cheap PVC trousers.

For the rest of the night, we updated each other on the fire, showing the images we captured on our mobile phones, notifying family and friends that we were alive, and generally continuing our drinking as if we'd only leave the bar if forced by riot police. I didn't have my mobile phone on me, so I couldn't notify Kevin or anyone else that I was alive (Kevin, at that hour, was staying over his sister's and completely oblivious to my damsel-in-not-much-distress status.)

Other than this major event in London's history, I met some nice people, and had a good time with the old timers I always see in these gatherings. Some unfortunately left too early, leaving me in hope we'll have a better catch up next time around. Others didn't speak to me until the end of the night; they better make it up next time by lavishing me with plenty of attention. And drinks.

My most surreal memory of the night is standing by Camden Town tube station, police cars everywhere, streets deserted and cordonned off, a girl sobbing hysterically into her boyfriend's shoulder, TV cameras pointed at perky journalists (surrounded by your typical rubberneckers), and teqkiller and I, leaning against a police barrier, sharing hand moisturizer SPF 45.

Yesterday's March of the Dead was a complete success. In fact, I believe it was the beginning of something historic for London - the kind of parade that will grow each year until it becomes as celebrated and loved as the Notting Hill Festival. In 2006, about 100 people took part in the first March. Yesterday, the numbers were well over 300 - with police escorting us on bicycles up Kingsland Road as we stopped traffic with our music (the song Kingsland Road), banners, howls and screams.

I ended up not using my mask because it was too heavy and clunky; it got left behind in the warehouse where we met up at 6.30pm to get ready. I used one of Kevin's masks instead, plus leather gloves, a black suitjacket, and a black cape. woodsrule and her roomate J. joined us later, as Headless Men.

When we arrived, one of the organisers made a beeline for Kevin & I and asked if we wouldn't mind being at the front of the March, carrying black banners beside the King of Kingsland. It was a hard task - swinging a tall black banner while peaking through cardboard eyes and making sure to always be by the King's side - but well worth it just for the privilege of being at the front of 300+ people marching through Hackney & Dalston. I lost count of how many people took photos of me or with me. Perhaps they were actually trying to photograph the King - a giant marvel of costume design which awed adults and scared children wherever it went.

My words can't do justice to the parade and the party afterwards in Dalston (I can't wait to find photos online and show them to you). We amazed people in restaurants and buses as we went by, seduced partygoers into joining us, and generally brought the best Halloween party in London to the streets of the EastEnd.

Scene from Andy Warhol's The Velvet Underground and Nico

In 1966, Andy Warhol made two 16mm black and white films, 66 minutes long, featuring The Velvet Underground and Nico. The BFI, as part of its Total Warhol season, screened both of them last night, side by side. Bruno and I got tickets last week, because Bruno is an old time lover of their music, and I'm a new one. As soon as we sat down in the half-full cinema, Bruno fell into a half-slumber, joining the many mature men in the audience who were casually resting their chins on their necks.

The films are boring, but at the same time charming if viewed as study pieces of the period's art scene. Warhol was no great cineast. His style in these films consisted of, for example, zooming in an out of Nico's face to the rhythm of the music; blurring Maureen Tucker's face as John Cale tied her wrists; or lingering over Nico's (and Alain Delon's) young son as he shook a rattle - actually, the best part of the films were at the beginning, when the band's cacophony and Nico's beautiful face were suddenly replaced by Nico's son sitting at her feet. The last thing you expect at a Velvet Underground band practice is a little kid. Towards the end, New York's police arrive and stop the proceedings (probably called by an irritated neighbour). Nico picks up her purse and leaves Warhol's apartment with her son while the band and Warhol wander around in confusion.

Like Bruno, I think Warhol knew he was filming future icons. He didn't have to show any impressive skills with the camera; it was enough to have Lou Reed and Nico saved for eternity.

Last night was also Buttoned Down Disco's final summer boat party. Didn't have to pay to get in because we were on the guest list, and didn't pay for any drinks because people knew I was broke. Plenty of brasilians, plenty of space on the dancefloor, plenty of freedom by the bar, and plenty of promises to soon see people whom I never see.

Today, wandered around my neighbourhood with Bruno and had a coffee at Broadway Market. Helped Bruno carry his bags to the bus stop and waved goodbye (he flies back to Brasil at 10pm). Now I'm all alone... for the next two weeks. Alone, broke, unemployed, and not happy about summer being over. Maybe I should develop a heroin habit.

The FBI believes 85% of the world's serial killers are in the U.S.A., and that 20 to 50 of them are active at any given time. I wonder if any of them watch Dexter, and if they enjoy the show. Do they feel a unique connection with Dexter? Do they have pre-orders with Amazon for the series' boxset as soon as it's available?

I didn't think much of the show when I watched it with desayuno_ingles in Brasil. We watched the sixth episode and, despite most of the plot being explained to me, I still found the show convoluted, badly acted and somewhat hackneyed. When I returned to London, I learned that Kevin and Sissy Jen had gone through a Dexter marathon, thanks to the episodes being available for free, on demand. I decided to give the show a second chance, from its start, seeing that I was unemployed and had nothing better to do all day.

Dexter comes close to being great TV. It's not quite there yet for me, but it's almost there (I'm currenly on episode 8 of the first season). The premise is brilliant: Dexter is a blood splatter specialist with the Miami police who also happens to be a closeted serial killer. However, Dexter was raised by a foster father with Nietzschean ideals, who believed his son's psychopathy could be used as a force for good, i.e. he trains Dexter to direct his bloodlust at bad people. From there, the show constantly pits Dexter against notions of good and evil in modern life. If you are a nurse who poisons patients, you deserve to die in his hands. But if you killed a boy who raped you, then it's OK to retaliate; Dexter will let you get away with murder because you fit his view of what is acceptable.

The supporting actors are the main reason why this show isn't excellent. From Dexter's stilted cop sister, to the horribly miscast Lt. Maria Laguerta, the characters vary between downright bad acting to passable work. The show would benefit from new characters being introduced after an explosion that wipes out most of the old ones. However, the bad acting could be due to first-episodes-shakiness; I'm hoping they'll get better as the show grows. Right now, Michael C. Hall plays Dexter to perfection. He's all-American charm as well as enigmatic and camp. References to the novel American Psycho, as well as a host of other serial killers in pop culture, don't go amiss. You feel for Dexter when he finally gets his chance to confess to someone that he's a serial killer. And you can't help worrying for his relationship with the perenially fucked up single mother Rita as their relationship grows. To go from being a traumatised victim of domestic violence to lover of a serial killer has got to hurt!

My biggest worry right now is that the free episodes will end soon (it was a month-long promotion for FX channel) and I will have to wait until the boxset is available. I'd rather face Dexter's chopping board then wait a whole year for my fix to be satisfied.

So you know all that police activity and fire trucks I mentioned yesterday, near my home? It turns out a 50kg World War II bomb was found by workmen a couple of blocks away. More than a hundred people had to be evacuated, roads were closed off, and bomb especialists brought in. Full story.