2006-08-17 Straight Men, Gay Eyes
Mood:  amorous
Topic: Flickr

I've decded to start posting interesting stuff from Flickr on my blog.  I sometimes write junk on Flickr that I usually would have blogged, but I can't share it with the Blogging World because it's all on security protected private Flickr pages.  So, we had an interesting chat recently where someone asked:

"Do you think str8 dudes mind if guys watch them or look at them?"

and that got a variety of replies.  The most interesting of which was OF COURSE mine, which I've copied for your reading pleasure here, along with one that I mentioned: 

Pacey369 said: "MOST males like to be looked at if they know how hot tehy are. We are vain creatures- to say the least. You don't have to always flaunt it, but any guy that doesn't like to be looked at is either insecure, or have some other type of problem."

Noz said: "It's hard to generalise but I'd agree with Pacey369 that basically, men like to be looked at by anyone who might find them attractive. In my experience out in straight clubs, I've had men - especially younger more insecure ones - be very interested to know if I find them attractive, because they feel it validates them and gives a more "honest" answer then they could ever get from a woman.

One once asked me if I fancied him, and I told him that unfortunately he wasn't really my type and he was visibily upset. He didn't fancy a man but he really liked the idea of being fancied, regardless. I think also, with women, there's a lot of distrust from straight men. i.e., they feel that women may fancy their social status, or their clothes, or their money or their connections, or their job, or whatever isn't really "them". With men, they know we're after their ass and their tongue and their cock and don't really care what kind of car they drive, and as long as they don't look like slobs, our main priority with their clothing is that they remove it.

This kind of honesty and pure sexual interest attracts straight men to our opinions, if not our bodies."

 

2006-07-18 Those birthday things are always right for me
Mood:  a-ok
Topic: Net Junk

What's interesting is when they're not generic stuff like "You like cookies and don't enjoy it when people splash cold water on you while you're sleeping".

The ones that actually say something that reflects part of what makes you individual are kind of freaky and I love them.

This one in particular I liked, and there's some personality test I have to find for you guys that actually scared me.

"Strummin' my pain with his fingers..."

Your Birthdate: May 30

You have the type of personality that people either love or hate. You're opinionated, dramatic, intense, and very outspoken. And some people can't get enough of you - they're totally addicted. Others, well, they wish you were a little more reserved. Your strength: Your flair Your weakness: If you think it, you say it Your power color: Scarlet red Your power symbol: Inverted triangle Your power month: March

Heat Magazine Helps Out Normal Gals
Mood:  caffeinated
Topic: Rant

This is a little Nozish rant about an article I read which categorically proved to me that men are obviously NOT involved in setting “society's standards of beauty” anymore. It is the sole domain of the insane to set images of beauty. When I was a kid, a size 6 (US size six is like a UK size 8?) was “perfect” apparently now it?s half that. I?ve had woman talk to my face about the pressure that the world puts on them to be thinner than thin, and have had my share of friends and acquaintances that?ve gone to extreme measures to measure up. This was a bit traumatic. From my own aesthetic point of view, the exposure of bone structures usually denied a public viewing apparent on many a top model give me a discomfort - if not make me spasm and retch - like a police tazer to the perineum.

That said, I have an admittedly narrow top threshold as well... However, all of the woman mentioned below are well within their carrying capacity as far as even I am concerned.

Many of you will know my hate-love-hate relationship with a little snot-rag of a tabloid travesty called “Heat”. It?s the periodical responsible for distributing hard-hitting articles such as “Celebrity Sneezes” - a full-size photo spread of about 6 pages of celebrities about to, just having, or in the process of, sneezing; and “Stars Bundle Up” - a similar pictorial smorgasbord showcasing the bold and the beautiful in hats and scarves. Nothing particularly high-fashion was featured, and no designers were named, it was just a rare peek at Ben Affleck and his ilk wearing toques and gloves. Fascinating stuff. I couldn?t put (or keep) either article down. Riveting.

I?ve got the November issue handy, and one of the cover stories is called “We Love Our Curvy Bodies: Stars Tell Us Why”. The premise being that “imperfect” celebrities with non-Hollywood-standard, “rounder” bodies give regular gals some insight into how they cope in such a high-pressure environment. How do they deal with having bodies that don?t measure up to what “society” deems to be ideal? A big issue for Heat to tackle. Let?s see how they handled it.

So, Grrrls, who are the spokeswomen? Who are the proud, plus-sizers? Who are the attainable beauties, that offer hope outside the ridiculous super-woman images that the evil, chauvinistic, patriarchal, demanding, glass-ceiling installing, unrealistic boyfriends insist that you torture and surgically alter yourselves to become? Who is there to show them they should be satisfied, and love you as you are? Who are the sisters in the struggle?

Let?s run down the list of some of the curvy gals, shall we:

Rachel Stevens - “I think it?s great that curvy girls like myself, Beyoncé, and Jennifer Lopez can be role models for young girls. I saw Beyoncé in concert not too long ago, and I just find it so inspiring to see her shake her ass even though she?s not the tiniest girl in the world.”

Wait for it...

And… now, you may now return your jaws to the fully upright positions.

***

Salma Hayek - “I refuse to become part of this perfect body syndrome. I like my body. It looks good on screen, and not because it?s perfect. ... One guy I dated said, ‘You?re beautiful, but you?re soft.?... I?m against living your life around the concept of having a perfect body.”

Wow. Thank god that normal-shaped gals like Salma are around speaking up for everyone else, eh? 90% of the men I know would have probably made that same comment about Ms. Hayek. I?d guess most would say she?s not “kick-out-of-bed” porkie, but that she?s really got to watch it. But hey, guys are jerks. God knows men don?t like a woman?s body unless they can play her ribcage like a hammer dulcimer. Guys are all bile-gargling, diarrhoea-spitting monsters who won?t give an imperfect girl like Salma Hayek a break in life. “I like my body”; Hey, at least someone does, Softie. Most guys wouldn?t take you out of the house in case their friends caught sight of them.

***

Beyoncé - “If you?re smaller, that?s great – small is beautiful too – but I think if you?ve got some curves, there?s nothing wrong with that. I don?t like to see girls trying to starve themselves so they can be what society says is beautiful.”

Proof: Beyoncé is an inspiring role model for young girls. Yes, my expanding young feminists, the noose isn?t your only option. If you can?t be really thin and sexy like Victoria Beckham, Paris Hilton or that archetype of famine sexuality, sorry feminine sexuality, Kate Moss, you can always settle at the half-measure of Beyoncé and know you haven?t let yourself go completely to hell. Phew. I can feel the relief coming through from y?all across the internet.

Beyoncé, you go, Grrl! Fight the power! You?re Gravy in Love, child!

***

Kelly Brook - “I?m different in Hollywood because I?m not one of those skinny girls. I refuse to get like that. ...Halle Berrry?s got a very sexy body - she's so womanly. And Beyoncé, too”

Great to hear you?re taking a stand, Love. I hope this article got shoved in front of Ms. Berry in time for her to get her head from the oven and shut off the gas. Also nice that it?s not just Ms. Stevens cutting Beyoncé some slack. Throw the poor thing a low-cal tofu bone!

***

Others in on the Dessert Trolley to Curve Town that I thought were particularly rich:

Scarlett Johansson - “I?m never going to look at a picture of Uma Thurman and think I could have her body”

***

Jennier Lopez - “I?m not a tall, thin, size-three actress, which is good. I think that?s a positive message.”

***

There were three others of whom I?ve never heard. Some even looked noticeably larger than the XXL Scarlett Johansson! Overall, the article did deliver J-Lo?s positive message: there are alternatives besides self-immolation for those who, like her, are unable to fit their round pegs into society?s square holes. If you?re only as attractive as this humble crew of frumps, then you too can have self-respect, a career, vote, use public washrooms and do all manner of other things we once thought reserved only for “the beautiful people”.

Take two steps back from the window-ledge all you depressive Halle-Berries! Yes, maybe most men would take some sinew and gristle stretched across a wire coat hanger rather than you, but thanks to these plump celebrities and Heat?s relentless attack on body fascism, we can all feel more comfortable in ourselves and in the knowledge we live in a more accepting, level-headed world.

NozUpdate - Dad, Lo, and I - en route to Mechelen, Belgium
Mood:  down
Topic: Noz Update

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Hello Nozfans,

I’ve been neglecting you as of late. I’m sorry about this. It’s been a very difficult last few months for me. I’d have to flip through my blogs to even remember how I was doing before about 6 weeks ago, but in retrospect, I see it as the rosy days of my youth compared to the last few weeks.

I didn’t blog about it at the time because I didn’t know what I wanted to say, but my father had a serious stroke earlier this summer and I spent a week in Toronto visiting him and my family. It was a difficult week, and has been a very difficult period since around that time. I still don’t know exactly what to feel – there’s a potent impotence of being the one remote in a situation like this. I can’t really do much other than ask any of my friends in Toronto who can, to please drop by the hospital to visit him when you are able. What he is really lacking is human contact that isn’t a nurse or a doctor, or a rehab person. His persona has returned and is snared in a broken shell, and it is very frustrating for him. He’s been very appreciative of Roxanne’s visits, and I think that if anyone of the home-crew can go by to just say hi, even for 15 minutes, it would brighten his day significantly.

I can’t really bring myself to write much about my feelings about my father’s situation. I’ll avoid the question – hey, I’ve been in Britain 5 years, I’ve learned all the tricks – by talking around the issue: It’s a very difficult situation for my family. Logistically and emotionally we’re pushed to work together in ways that, like most families, we’re not especially good at. I myself am thinking often that I have for 10 years been avoiding any emotional interaction with my father, due to the rift that grew between us in my adolescence, and now, when I would like to connect with him, I find I no longer know how. The funny part is that I knew this would happen, but at the time, I didn’t think I would care so much.

Basically my Dad’s always been a big nut-job, and now he’s a nut-job that is suffering, and that’s very different. Also, the fact he’s being regularly medicated means that he’s in many psychological ways, being restored to being the man he was before the diabetes made him such a morose cantankerous old curmudgeon. He’s interactive and funny again, and tragically, has a certain vibrance that he’d been lacking, but it’s a vibrance that’s confined to a bed or if he’s lucky, a wheelchair.

I’m torn by the fact that this man, who so disappointed, failed, and in my mind, betrayed me as a father, is now in need, and I am driven to help and support him. After 10 years of anger, and 5 years of ambivalence, now I’m trying to reconnect with feelings of love. The ironic bit is that he doesn’t seem to have a clue that this rift has existed. My family is similarly torn by varying levels of drive and availability. Everyone feels justified in their position, and in these situations there’s little ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ and so everyone has a constant sense of righteous indignation combined with bitterness, tempered with the underlying reality that our individual concerns and squabbling have to be set aside occasionally to check on my dad in the hospital. It’s a bit of a mess really, so it’s both frustrating and relieving to be five or six timezones away from the whole situation. I’m left to feel guilty that I’m not able to do more, and guilty that I’m happy about not being able to do more.

I guess I talked a bit about my feelings. I’ve learned the theory of the stiff upper lip, but I’m pretty shit at maintaining it. Gotsta keep keepin’ it real, I guess.

Work continues to suck like a cavernous shotgun wound to the chest. They have finally, after nearly 18 months, gotten around to calculating our commission payments for 2005. (God knows what happened with 2004). Lo and behold, they’ve figured out that not only do I get no commission, I owe them several thousand dollars. How this happened I won’t detail here, but I want to add it to the stack of hideous travesties perpetrated at this monkey-house chicken-shit outfit. I’m starting to realize that it’s simply the case that no one agrees with what I think, and to “define my own destiny” as it were, I would have to “step up to the plate” on a lot of “challenges”.

Frankly, I’m freaking tired of stepping up to the plate. I have been pushing through ridiculous workloads, laughable objectives, and clueless management for a very very long time, and I just don’t care to help anymore. I’m tired of fighting against a company just to get the chance to help it. Everyone I talk to fundamentally disagrees with me, but says that if I set aside even more of my evenings and weekends to put together the business context and supporting arguments, then they’ll at least hear me out. Fuck it. I’m exhausted, bitter, disgustingly underpaid and undervalued, unsupported in an infrastructure or personnel investment sense, and constantly treated as if I’m lucky to even be employed. Screw that. Whatever happens, send me an email. I’ll be in the john masturbating to gay porn. Business Develop that, bitch.

What’s freaky is that I thought it was a departmental thing, but since I’ve started to be more vocal about my frustrations, it seems I’m a carbon copy whiner. Everyone I speak to, regardless of role, has all the same complaints: no one listens to me, those who do can’t get any momentum behind their words, and the companies internal workings are a shambles so pathetic, if there was a license to employ people, it would be revoked. And through it all there’s this atmosphere that if you’re not happy you A) are a trouble maker spreading lies and will get your boss in trouble with their boss, so shut up B) are a greedy lazy failure of an employee, and want get paid seven figures to lay in the sun all day masturbating to gay porn C) are an ungrateful bastard who just doesn’t ‘get’ why you’re lucky and should seek professional help to remedy your inherent stupidity. It’s like everyone has their fingers in their ears and is playing the Flintstones theme song on 11 while great employees resign and projects spiral into disaster so that they don’t look like ‘a downer’.

If it weren’t for the staggeringly wicked teams that we all work in, I think everyone would’ve just walked. We love each other, hate our company. Such a waste of personnel bursting with potential the world has truly never seen. It disgusts me to the deepest recesses of my soul.

What keeps me here is the relationships I’ve developed with my coworkers and the various partners around Europe. Internally, we are a great team, and I love the people I work with. Externally, we have people I’ve developed both personal and professional relationships with, and furthermore, to whom I have made promises. I have said “We’re going to do X and Y - together” and now they expect me to keep my word. I take that very seriously. I see it as an obligation that I’m not quick to walk away from and I am to a great extent honour-bound to work through our internal “challenges” to make good on what I’ve promised to deliver. They have earned a hell of a lot more of my loyalty than my company has. They have invested in me.

Thank god very few people from work read my blogs…

And my teeth are rotting out of my head! I’ve needed a root canal for a month, and it’s so painful that I am having constant headaches and have to take painkillers just to sleep and get through the days. I went to the dentist in Canada, he said he couldn't do anything that day because I was leaving. I went to the dentist as soon as I could when I returned from Canada, and they opened up the worst of the three endangered teeth, told me the problem, and then said they couldn’t do anything until the next time I came to see them. That was a week ago. It’s going to be another week at least before I can get it looked at, as I’m in on the road in Germany all week immediately after I leave the Netherlands.

And I don’t do any music anymore... I will, but I haven't in ages.

And then there’s my back, which caused my mother to swoon with woe over msn describing my “curved spine”, “hunched shoulders”, and “hanging rib cage”. “What’s it all about?” Jesus Christ. There’s nothing I need more as I rush on towards thirty and spend my 5000th day bent in front of a computer screen than to be described as if I’m the hunchback of Notre Dame. Everything except Lo is going to hell in a hand-basket, and I’m supposed to find additional time in my gapless schedule to search out and then take Pilates classes in Amsterdam, Welwyn, London and Paris. Christ. Everyone wants me to do everything all at once, and with a bright smile on my face while I do it.

My saving grace, if somehow still stressful: Elodie is now less than two weeks from moving to the UK on an indefinite basis. This is great. This is also scary. I want to be more excited for us, and I want to be upbeat and supportive, but everything else in my life is so difficult right now, that it’s hard for me to have the attitude I’d like. I am excited, and I’m of course scared to crap at the same time. Elodie is able to be a lot less anxious than I am, and she’s lucky. I am in a sense the passive one in all this. I am committed to our plans, and I am looking forward to living them out, but in the end, she’s quitting her job, has left her house, and is couch-surfing so that she can come live with me in my country, where she would never otherwise live. That’s hard to live with without feeling fear and guilt. Lo’s sweetness, patience and support is making it easier, and really, I think if it was anyone else in the world, I’d have given this whole thing up long ago. Wish us luck. With finding a job, and a home, and moving, and taxes, and all the rest, we’re in for a lot in the next few months. We’re very lucky to have found each other, and I think with the strength in our relationship, we will do fine. We balance each other’s insanity nicely. That’s everything that I could want in a partner.

It's been very hard for her for me to be so totally embroiled in my own dramas when we're just two weeks from moving in together. When you're at a distance, when things are bad it is the most stressful. I have been absent and distant and not as supportive as I would've like to be these last weeks. It's an awful thing to love someone but be too weak to show it. I'm trying to give my share into things, but I have been failing. Although periodically she can lay a guilt trip so good sometimes I think she's a closet jew, I can only thank her for putting up with me. In the end, when we really need each other, we come through.

My Dad is at the Baycrest Hospital
Floor 3W
Room 28, bed D
Hiis telephone number is
416 785 2500 extension 3876 (better to call him after 8 in the evening as he usually is away from his bed

Like the Damned
Mood:  amorous
Topic: Poetry

"Make love to me like the damned," she said, as she clamped his eyes with hers.
She gripped his neck and pulled. She kissed him -- hard. Little bruises-to-be stung his lips.
She gasped. "Fuck me like you're trying to kill me".
So he did.
There was much screaming and weeping and sweating and smiling.
They panted in decelerating stereo.
She sighed and tickled his ears with her nails.
He rolled his head around her chest and kissed whatever flesh was nearest.
She giggled.
When he woke,
She was gone.

The Latest Episode in my War with God
Mood:  caffeinated
Now Playing: Depeche Mode Personal Jesus (remix)

Dear Reader: This blog may offend you deeply, and for that I am sorry. Read on if you wish.

I’m in a hotel in Amsterdam, and someone has left a CD in the player. It ranges 20 years and an array of genres. Songs I love, songs I didn’t know by artists I like, and songs I didn’t know, by artists I didn’t know, but that it turns out I like too.

When I decided to write this, I had no idea that the song just starting was a remix of Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode. Spookey, eh?

Sure. But meaningless.

I am sitting in this hotel doing nothing today. I tried texting and phoning people, but no one wanted to hang. I read the blog of a guy from work. Two entries struck me as having resonance with each other. I doubt he intended this at the time. The first was more directly about what I’ll be talking about in this entry. It’s about our ability – need even – to imperfectly represent an infinitely complex world, and our endless efforts to try to get our outside world to match as closely and have as many relationships as possible with our inside worlds.

The second kicked off a bunch of thoughts in me about the nature of thought and communication. How can we convey so much in a few words? Such intense understanding and fluid communication as we see in poetry and other great writing? Because we are in fact not saying it, but simply cross-referencing an experience that the other person also has. The skill is a stroke of luck that we can select, and find pleasure in doing so, the words that will stimulate the relevant feelings in the audience. It’s like some sort of encryption, or lock and key system, where we both have the safe full of goodies in our minds, but you can’t access yours until I duplicate my key and give it to you. The experience, or even the idea, isn’t shared, but two actually separate ideas/experiences trigger each other such that a comparable feeling is felt by two distinct individuals. The actual exchange is infinitesimal compared to the result that it kicks off.

As so many things tend to, this brought me to thinking of a girl. This one is one that I recently (a few years ago) nearly fell for. If you’ve read the comments I wrote on my colleagues’ blog, no, not that girl. I wasn’t into this girl until after highschool. Anyway, since I was originally into this girl, she has become quite religious (by my extremely strict standards), and we’ve had endless argument about inherent meaning in things. Endless, that is, until I ended it by “agreeing to disagree”. Or in other words, by me agreeing to think she was just crazy. I still love her as a dear friend, and respect her as an intellectual and as a person, but just less than I would otherwise. She’s lucky she’s got a good religion with tonnes of value above and beyond the theological aspects. If she was into one of the really dumb ones we’d have a serious problem.

Now, I have other friends who believe in God, or are somewhat or somehow religious, but this person hit a triple whammy of: a) I give a shit what she thinks (and still do) b) she takes it pretty damn seriously c) she invests a huge amount of her time into persuing her faith. Eventually it hurt our relationship because we both felt so strongly that it was difficult for us (i.e., me) to refrain from going 20 rounds about it every single time we sat down to talk. It causes me pain that she is sleeping with the enemy.

God is my sworn enemy because I really object to the idea that everything around me has meaning.

But why “object”, Noz?

It’s just a bit too convenient. As organisms, we’re hard-wired to find meaning in everything anyway, and what everyone is saying is, luckily, everything doeshave meaning! Everything has a purpose! Phew! Doesn’t that work well for us? It sure does. I see belief in God like finding a wallet full of money on a deserted beach when you’re dying broke and thinking it was left there for you. What really makes my skin crawl is that there are so many people who would think exactly that. It was left there for them. “I had a great need, it was unexpectedly satisfied in way that is beyond my insight, QED, there is a god.” I can’t avoid the conclusion that the wallet was found because broke people have nothing better to do than wander around lonely beaches, n’est-ce pa?

But seriously, we take our internal world and we project it outwards; we take complex and/or meaningless phenomenon, mark it up with all sorts of meaningful information and tuck it safely away for cross-referencing later based on what it means to us. Such is the human. All things we do are like this, and this behaviour (would) perfectly and seamlessly explain(s) our having created a god. Simultaneous with our continually learning to master and understand the stuff that previously we were told only god was able to understand and control, this implies to me there’s a damn good chance we made the whole thing up. God seems to be beating a steady retreat everyday as people look at all our different behaviours, and all the other times and ways we make junk up to make ourselves feel more safe and less alone, and realise that god fits the modus operandi of an imaginary friend – perfectly.

But still, Noz, why “object”?

Because, we’re supposed to grow out of having imaginary friends, and move on to real ones. Because we’re not supposed to wage wars over whose imaginary friend is the biggest and best on the block. Because when thinking about a problem, as a real person, I object to having to review the opinions of imaginary people. Because everything having anthropocentric meaning seems to me a childish and needless get-out-plan to avoid embracing a world that wasn’t designed for the joy and proliferation of little ol’ you. Because I love the world as it is, and don’t need nor like to attribute all its wonders and joys to something that’s supposedly even bigger and better than the precious, gorgeous and fulfilling world already around me. And more pettily, because it just irks me all to shit when two adults are having a perfectly good discussion and one retreats back into the middle ages, taps their nose, winks, and instantly imbues everything they say with some 3rd party authority that can never be questioned. Everything they say suddenly means more.

So anyway, I’m thinking about all this after I read these two blogs by this guy who wrote them about unrelated subjects he’s never discussed with me even once, all because I happen to be bored and whiling away a Sunday on my PC. Coincidently, on the side of his blog are links to a photo sharing website. I see a neat photo on his area and clicking on it leads me to what’s called a “pool”. A photo pool is where all sorts of people throw in photos about a certain topic. This particular pool is on the subject of “pareidolia”. “What in sweet, sweet, fuck does that mean? “ Noz asks himself, blithely…. A quick Google later and I find:

“pareidolia (payr.eye.DOH.lee.uh) n. The erroneous or fanciful perception of a pattern or meaning in something that is actually ambiguous or random. ”

I.e., The meaning in the inkblots, the animal shapes in the clouds, the man in the moon, the fate in the tea leaves, orrr…. The Judeo-Christian god…? WOW! A whole word dedicated to explaining our tendency to take crap that means nothing, and make it mean something. Why do we do this? Because the meaning is there? Because if you are looking at a fire hydrant, or an electric outlet, or the spots on a potato from the right angle, you can see a real face that’s actually there in front of your eyes, not one that your mind is synthesizing from within its own bank of images and symbols? Because if in 1978, 8000 people did a pilgrimage to see Jesus’ face in the bottom of Mario Rubio’s tortilla pan, they can’t all be idiots? Because someone somewhere actually finds Paris Hilton physically attractive and isn’t just swept up in the hype?

Or is it just because it’s a basic primitive instinct we all share to see what we know, and see what we want to see. Maybe there’s a simpler explanation as to why so much of the time God appears to those that need him most: Because the ones who really want him will create him no matter what anyone says, and no one can really stop anyone else from putting together the puzzles pieces however they want.

So, the CD, no one getting back to me, the two random blogs, my friend of the endless war, the photo site, the photo pool… All these things seem to be falling into places so oddly today, with no logical reason that they should be such. It’s so eerie. And so, the epiphany hits me: God is trying to convince me he doesn’t exist.

Tra-LA!

I have to see this as a sort of personal victory. Two possibilities: 1) God doesn’t exist and this is all just random crap 2) God exists and he’s so sick of my shit that he’s actually wilfully steering me as far from him as he can. Either sick of me or scared he’s going to have to put up with me sitting next to him for all eternity poking him with a stick going, “Is that really you? I don’t know if I buy it…”

I have to end now with my usual disclaimer to separate myself from all the other atheists who somehow think “science” has shown them there’s no god, or those with even more preposterous nonsensical reasonings like, “If there’s a god, then why do bad things happen to good people?”. Nothing has shown me there’s no god. That’s impossible. God is by his very nature un-findable by humans (again, convenient, eh?). So I have only as much evidence against god as any theist has for him: none. BUT, what I do have is humans. I have lots of them, and I have lots opportunity to study, how, when, and why – currently and historically – they manipulate facts for their own comfort. Who do I find smiling back at me like the kid with hand-in-cookie-jar when I chase down the winding roads of man’s self-indulgent make-believe? You guessed it: Santa Claus in a white robe.

See now, to prevent coming across as a bitter and shallow individual that feels life is "meaningless", or is counter-implying that it somehow has less value that these people think, I'll have to do a similar monologue on the wonders of the world, and it's many beautiful mysteries. I'll - when I get to it - dive into the many great other reasons we have to do everything that small-minded theists say we're supposed to do because if not, god will spank us, and large-minded theists think were put there for us to do for some reason that will get cleared up later... Like when we're all getting rewarded for doing things we don't understand.

“Feeling unknown
And you’re all alone
Flesh and bone
By the telephone
Lift up the receiver
I’ll make you a believer”

As always - response posting's invited: how to post. Or email to noznoznoz@hotmail.com with subject line "Waiting for Blogot"

Poem - Not for Naught (for Elodie)
Now Playing: Lamb (Fear of Fours), in Le Havre, France
Topic: Poetry
Bliss
My life is about this.
Oft trite, but with true insight,
One can see that I'm right.
At least in my attempts to,
For sake of we two,
Release my stuttering heart
To the anxious experience,
The chest-tickling tightness,
That constricts and intensifies the strange lightness
That I feel.
When I open for just an eyelash bat,
Or open an ear to a hear a heartbeat,
Or my lips such that we might meet,
I feel a horrid heat flash through.

Fight through!
Through the fear I might be happy
I might be more
That would be so different, that
That I dread the thought

Push, push, push?.
Breathe.
Let the birth happen.
Let the moment stretch and break you,
And let out the new you.
Reach out a hand, and grasp another.
Jump.
Look down and love the site of the ground,
Rushing closer.
Rush at me. Hit and split me and make more of me,
So that I can do the same for you.
So we can finally be free
Free
Freedom
Bliss
Just bliss
It's all about this

Casuarinas
Topic: Dream

For the first time – I think in my life – it was staged in Casuarinas, Peru, in my Grandmother’s house. I think I was just a bit younger – say, 23. I was with my uncles, who were only slightly older than I, say, 27, 28 (the age that I am now).

We were three in the house, my uncle Jimmy, and one more who was a bit anonymous, but I know he was family. I suppose by process of elimination it was my uncle Cesar. The house was otherwise empty. My memory of the dream only goes halfway back into it. I had already made a big Chinese stir-fry. It was a sweet/sour orange and black pepper sauce, and I used lost of different brightly coloured vegetables. I remember most clearly the green and red peppers.

We were quite hungry. Since it was just the three men in the house, and my uncles didn’t cook, I was given the duty. I went to the fridge and it was a chaotic pile of pots and pans and barely plastic-covered leftovers. The stir-fry I had made the day before was piled into some 4 or 5 different containers and stacked into the fridge such that it looked like a heap. My perspective was so tight on the food it almost seemed I was in the fridge with it and it stretched on for ages, like a mountain range.

I said I would make the leftovers, and add meat. My sister Joanna was there too during this discussion, and she had already made herself a big bowl of Chef Boyardee Ravioli, so I was just cooking for tree. I had to keep returning to the fridge during the conversation to check the possibilities

There were two frozen pieces of meat, and I remember that Jimmy was very sceptical they’d be defrosted in time. I had to write something with my finger in the frost on the side of one piece (both were wedge-cut, like pieces of cake, or cheese). I wrote 3 letters on one side of the wedge, and three on the other. I can’t remember what I wrote! S a o l k … dunno. I think it was something personal like a name. When I wrote it, I was able to come back and say we’d eat the two pieces, and I’d use a bunch of the vegetables from the day before. I brought two pots from the fridge to put on the table so they could check the sauce for quality.

This whole discussion was happening on a kitchen table, the layout wasn’t quite right. There was the table, then the kitchen, then the offices, and there was no hallway like in my grandmother’s house before you got to the offices.

When I brought the food, there was rice in it that had dried to being nearly inedible. I apologized for this and remembered the rice my father would leave in the fridge until it dried out. I asked them to eat the least dry bits. They eat with their fingers, and approved the sauce. We agreed we’d share the two wedges of meat (one was chicken and one fish I think) although it wouldn’t be much. This is when I asked Jo if she wanted any and she said she was ok. I was relieved.

I got to work, and loaded a wok with the meat and just a few vegetables. I was to add more later for some reason. At this point, the other men were in the offices working, and somehow 3 Peruvian girls showed up on the scene. I think they were the three girls I went dancing with in Iquitos. They were definitely love-interests, and I spent a long time with them chatting in different parts of the house. It’s a bit of a blur, but I remember I returned with them to the kitchen and the oil had burned black, and the food was still cooking away in it.

The food was relatively undamaged, but the smell wasn’t great, and news somehow got to my uncles. They began to chastise me with that brand of venom that my eldest brother and other Peruvians use to let you know you’re an idiot. If you’ve not experienced it it’s an essay in itself to explain...

Then my alarm went off; Time to get everyone up and make them banana-chocolate pancakes. I hope I don’t burn them!

Stupid Freaking Internet Things
Mood:  loud
Topic: Net Junk

How the HELL do these things work!?!?!!

Test

Oops - URL Redirect
Mood:  energetic
Topic: Net Junk

1. This poor guy put a redirect on his website, so any URL off the main domain goes to the home page. Seems sensible, but in effect, it means you can type in:
   http://digitalsplendor.com/cunt.html
   and it goes straight to pics of his wedding, honeymoon, orchids, etc.. My first reaction before realising the issue was, "I can't believe he called his page that! What does his wife think?

My Goals as a Musician
This is what I want my songs to make people do:

pump

Noz's First Film
Mood:  celebratory
Now Playing: SlapStickin' by The Solution (aka Me)
Topic: Movies
15:44 28/03/2005

Feelin' like Martin Scorenoze...

I'm really getting into this movie thing! I've been playing with Microsoft Movie Maker for the last couple nights and it's a blast!

I put together some of my photos, my videos from the last Noz Update, and some of my music that I made with Tim Nutman, and I've made my first film!

How cool is that?

I know everyone else has been making movies for a million years on their PC, but this if my first, so I'm quite amused with myself. A special thanks to all the warm generous and giving souls at Microsoft - that confederation of selfless philanthropists!

Here's my first finished product:

Noz's First Flick

As always - response posting's invited: how to post

Fashionasties
Mood:  sharp
10:56 25/03/2005

Ok. I'm going to indulge in a little self-mockery. A few of these only make sense if you know the labels involved, but it's my blog, so screw you.

Most people know I'm basically on the cast of Will and Grace when it comes to fashion. ("Honey, I thought we'd talked about that suit.") Like Jack, I talk the talk and usually walk the walk, but catch me on a lazy Tuesday and I might be wearing a chic ensemble of potato sack with kleenex boxes on my feet.

Nevertheless, I've been called Zoolander and been hard pressed to argue. Things like lack of attention to necklines or accessories, running shoes (trainers) with dress pants, or jogging pants on a weekday scrape at my eyes like salty nail files. Cotton-poly blends, and sports-trademark clothes (worn without jest) wound me to my very soul. I wear Zara, but I'm slightly embrassed about it. I forgive myself because their price+build quality combo basically makes them disposable clothing. One of my Friends (of Dorothy) once said, "Who wants clothes to last more than a year anyway?"

A solid point.

Still, the world of designer fashion - like most other old institutions - needs a perodic battering.

I'm moved to take action because:

• I recently moved to central London
• February is "sale season" in Paris, and I was staying just off the Champs-Elysees. Thank Fahri I'm saving up for my Canada trip, or the friction would've melted my credit card...
• Even one weekend in Geneva always makes one label-concious. That city makes you feel bad for not driving a Ferrari and carrying a vertu
• Dare I count Amsterdam as a fashion hub? Last month's KLM in-flight Magazine was a fashion-focus, and this month's did a spread on Amsterdam's little pocket of boutiques.

Below is a list of "Nozzed" taglines for a few of the labels I love (or love to hate). I think taglines are supposed to answer the question "Why should I buy your product?" so I went for a L'Oreal Paris "Because you're worth it!" motif. Most of these lables don't actually have taglines, because, does anyone need a reason to buy Armani? No. What a stupid question!

I love the irony of doing this while wearing a Dior shirt...

Fashionasties:

• Dior - Not always that dull
• Salvatore Ferragamo - My name is more interesting than my clothes
• Yves Saint Laurent - Skin-tight and pink isn't just for ladies
• Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche - Indiana Jones: the Jungle Queen
• Hugo Boss - Meh...we don't know either...
• Gucci - You have just too much money
• Dolce & Gabana - You're gay
• Valentino - These clothes will get you blown
• Chanel - Hey, maybe this cut will come back in someday!
• Armani - Put the plebs in their place
• Kenzo - Not really so expensive, it's the import taxes! Tokyo's FAR, Dude!
• Louis Vuitton (Women's) - You'll show that bitch
• Louis Vuitton (Men's) - Your Sugar-Momma dresses you
• Burberry - Approachability's overrated
• Roberto Cavalli - You might need to go to Mardi Gras someday...
• Diesel - Taking out a loan to buy casual-wear is totally reasonable
• Lacoste - Because her Daddy's cuter than she is (and he signs off the trust fund anyway...)
• Calvin Klein (or Guess) - Hey! Fuck you! We deserve to be in this magazine just as much as Diesel or D&G! Elitest cunts... eat our shit, Fuck-sore!
• Prada - Hello, like, we're Prada? DUH!
• Jean-Paul Gautier - Deep down, you're a French homosexual too
• Nicole Fahri - It's not that itchy, you wuss! I blended in some cashmere!
• Ralph Lauren - Hey, basic is good. We're more interesting than Dior!

As always - response posting's invited: how to post

Chocolate Rimming Sugar
Mood:  celebratory
http://www.urbanaccents.com/products/product_detail.asp?c=0&p=120

Roots Bloody Roots
Mood:  chillin'
Now Playing: the hum of elodie's 'hummer' laptop
Topic: Language
I'm in Le Havre staying with Elodie. We were talking, and she said she was having trouble remembering how to spell 'Wednesday'. I had similar trouble not so long ago, and I fixed it by linking the spelling to the etymology of the word in my head. Wednesday = Wodnesdaeg, or "Woden's Day". Or "Odin's day", depending on the dialect. Since then, I don't screw it up. It would have been much easier if they'd simply explained that when we were in school instead of saying, "This is how it's spelled. Live with it!" Anyway, I took it upon myself to learn the rest of the days, and I found both the Latin and Germanic day-name roots! Bonus!

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In A.D. 321 Constantine the Great grafted the Hellenistic astrological system onto the Roman calendar, making the first day of the week a day of rest and worship and imposing the following sequence of names on the days: Diēs Sōlis, "Sun's Day"; Diēs Lūnae, "Moon's Day"; Diēs Martis, "Mars's Day"; Diēs Mercuriī, "Mercury's Day"; Diēs Jovis, "Jove's Day" or "Jupiter's Day"; Diēs Veneris, "Venus's Day"; and Diēs Saturnī, "Saturn's Day". This new Roman system was adopted with modifications throughout most of western Europe.

In the Germanic languages, such as Old English, the names of four of the Roman gods were converted into those of the corresponding Germanic gods. Therefore in Old English we have the following names (with their Modern English developments): Sunnandaeg, Sunday; Mōnandaeg, Monday; Tīwesdaeg, Tuesday (Tiu, like Mars, was a god of war); Wōdnesdaeg, Wednesday (Woden, like Mercury, was quick and eloquent); Thunresdaeg, Thursday (Thunor in Old English or Thor in Old Norse, like Jupiter, was lord of the sky; Old Norse Thōrsdagr influenced the English form); Frīgedaeg, Friday (Frigg, like Venus, was the goddess of love); and Saeternesdaeg, Saturday.
http://www.answers.com/topic/wednesday

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Lo loves the beauty of this choice for the names of our days, and feels it demonstrates the need to connect with the universe. I think it's interesting that we so much need to have meaning. We hate things to be meaningless, so to communicate something unvisersally, we choose things that have a connection to universal things, like the planets and stars.