plasticbag.org

A sudden moment of collapse at 2.30am: “Yes. I am blind. No. I can’t see. There must be something horribly wrong with me. Love’s young dream. Aren’t you sorry for what you’ve done? Well, you’re not the only one.”

In America it’s all over. Done and dusted. But in the UK, even on satellite and cable, Buffy still has one episode to go – the 100th, and the season finale. In “Buffy’s leap of faith” (Salon) Joyce Millman described a lot of the events of the episode and looked forward to what might happen next. I didn’t want to read it, but I did. I read it fast though, so it didn’t really sink in and I’m sure I’ll still be surprised. Tell me that’s how it works. Lie to me.

Which of these 300 albums do you think most represent the spirit of Barbelith? Think carefully – this is not about your favourite albums…

Election becomes farce becomes comedy and suddenly it’s interesting again. And purely because of Mad, Bad and Dangerous-to-have-your-party-associated-with Thatch. The most amusing part of the whole article is the photography, which is designed to make everyone look as ridiculous as is humanly possible – which would be entertaining if only it were possible to make Hague seem more absurd. For god’s sake – get Portillo in. We all know he’s evil, but at least he’s plausible.

Davo has put up the guide to the Big Gay Blogmeet this evening. And he’s chosen a charming shade of pink. How pleasant. This is an open call to any of the people who read this site and who happen to be gay, as well as those people who maintain their own weblogs – come along, meet some new people. And you know, they’ll all be gay, so it won’t be like when you came last time and the only person you fancied was Matt Interconnected who’s been going out with some woman since dinosaurs roamed the earth. Cool?

I was visited by my mother and brother yesterday. We met at 11 at the British Museum so I could have a look at the new Central Court, then went shopping down Oxford Street, had Italian for lunch and ended up at Selfridges. I got to explain the Acropolis and the Rosetta Stone to my brother. He seemed interested. At least that is how I chose to interpret his sighs and eye-rolling.

There is a gay webloggers meet this evening. What I don’t understand is why it’s not listed on meets.gblogs.org.uk. Mostly likely no one informed the person concerned. I think it’s upstairs at Comptons tonight from seven. Why it’s at Comptons I don’t think I’ll ever understand. I hate that place. I’ve only been there three times, but I’ve hated it every time.

My head is full of zine at the moment. It’s all I can think about. I’ve been up until three in the morning three nights in a row now, trying to assemble something that works – trying to make absolutely the best use of my free time in order that I should be able to assemble a functioning, elegant content management system for Barbelith. I’m stunned by how intelligently put together Greymatter is. Every time I think I’ve hit an omission and will have to fudge something together, I discover a neat way to do it. I can only hope that after all this effort someone decides to write for the damn thing.

Reverse correlation Mentioned in Guardian one day, next day can’t think of anything to talk about. That can’t be right.

You know, days when you are not in the paper are way less fun than days when you are. I should point this out to my MP. Then maybe we could all be in the paper every day.