plasticbag.org

“Not every boy thrown to the wolves becomes a hero.” (J. Barth)

Presenting (for a short time only): Billy Exorcist – the fusion of two astonishing works of cinematic genius. This flash movie was produced by Sean Nadeau (one of my LA hosts) and has never before been seen on the web. Feel free to distribute it as much as you like – he’s after the exposure. [Be warned – it’s not going to be up for long because it’s quite a substantial file (900k) and I have bandwidth considerations to deal with. If you wish to contact Sean, please e-mail billyexorcist@hotmail.com]

They are both fascinating and disturbing, and now Amazon’s Honor Program’s soon-to-be ubiquitous nature is being satirised over at ‹ber: Filler Friday: Micropayments Are Stupid.

This is not time or place for dream-talk:

But nonetheless, here I go: First of all, Pacey from Dawson’s Creek was looking for an apartment and I think I was helping, except he couldn’t find anywhere. Eventually he decided to live in this flat with this ex-girlfriend of his, with whom he’d had this torrid affair. Anyway – he was coming into the building at night with a group of people, when suddenly the ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend (whom Pacey was still friends with – in a kind of indulgent way), and I had to try to signal to him that the ex-girlfriend was waiting for him in his bed and that he had to find some way to ditch the new boyfriend otherwise all hell would break loose. So I distract the new boyfriend and Pacey wanders upstairs, but when he approaches the door he suddenly realises that not only is his ex-girlfriend waiting for him in his bedroom, but so is her mother (or another ex-girlfriend of his, or both – I forget which). He get’s a bit freaked out and ducks into the next door room, which is where I find him when I come up the stairs a couple of minutes later.

So then I take him for a walk in the square outside the building, which looks like New York only more open, so we can talk about stuff, at which point he turns into Matt, except he’s in a wheelchair like Professor X. He says that he’s asthmatic, which he says means that while I want to have a snack and a chat, he can’t eat chocolate and meat – only fruit. So we go to Sainsbury’s where I start getting over-excited by the thought of eating. Someone asks Matt what his waist-size is, and he says that he thinks he’s got a 24 inch waist. I say he must have a 27 inch waist at least, we have a discussion about how many pears I need to buy, I run off and grab a whole cooked chicken for me (he waits in the queue in his wheelchair) and when I come to pay they ask me which of the three possible Buffy A Summer’s I am (one of them is Buffy Arthur Summers) and when I say none I suddenly realise that there is some kind of government conspiracy that currently has needles in the head of one of my best friends in an endless series of cubicles in a vast underground base.

What do you think it means?

And I quote: “WindowsÆ XP brings a new look to the familiar Windows user interface. Here’s a first look at what the next generation has in store.” It can’t just be me that thinks that the interface looks childish, ugly and garish? Here’s to Mac OSX.

A mixture of horror and delight at being back in London swiftly turns to glee when I see the Buffy and Angel box-sets waiting for me, alongside a couple of books bought for me by Ganesh from the Underground. I’m soaking in a metaphorical media hot-tub and letting my mind unwind.

So this evening I return to London and have to face up to my life, find a job, do some washing and think about “the future”. As I’m sure you can all imagine, returning to rain and responsibility is something that I look forward to with all my heart, and without the slightest trace of resentment or depression. I’d like to thank Sean, Kerry, Anna, Ralph and everyone else I’ve bumped into while in LA for a lovely time. See you all soon…

The most popular super-hero team in the world (and stars of their own recent movie) are now to be written by Grant Morrison, a drug-crazed magician-abductee from Scotland and writer of the seminal Invisibles. See what they will look like: here.

Just in case you’re having difficulty tracing the time-lines of what I’m getting up to here, bear in mind that while plasticbag.org is currently working on GMT, I am not. Hence two posts in one day saying “Last night I did this….”

Last night I went to this LA gay bar called ‘Rage’ where there was an event called ‘Varsity’ where anyone over the age of eighteen can get in (although clearly they can’t drink). In England, of course, this wouldn’t be an issue. And as I pointed out to someone, it’s no use having new people around if you aren’t allowed to get them drunk enough to have sex with you. Still – at least they looked pretty.

People here seem fascinated by my accent, by which I suppose I mean my lack of accent. Last time I was in LA a waiter asked me, “Is that an accent?”. I replied of course, “No”. Last night this bloke said that he, “really liked foreigners” (a strange thing to say at the best of times), to which I replied, “you should – you are one”. I’m more than aware that this is why English people are cast as the evil people in movies, but nonetheless it’s very entertaining.

So here am I – 28, crumbly and creased – untanned, ageing and flatulent, in a city of ten thousand million buff bodies and perfect smiles. What’s a boy to do?