Thursday, March 02, 2006


Hey, know what there is to do in Leicester? Nothing. There is absolutely nothing to do in Leicester. I now know what David Williams and Matt Lucas are satirizing in my beloved Little Britain, and Leicester is only 1.5hrs away from London. If you're American, then you just read that I have returned from a 'city' called Lie-kas-ter. If you're British, then you probably already know that in Leicester, everyone awake and out-n-about after 6pm is 21 or younger, as Leicester is a very studenty town. If you're Australian and thinking of traveling to Leicester for a mini-holiday during the two-year visa you've managed to score from the British Embassy, then please cancel your plans. If you're Canadian, I am so sorry for you.

My conference went well. Well, no, that's a lie. It was shit. Rather, my presentation went over very well, but the entire time I was there, I was thinking, What the fuck am I doing here? Have you ever gone somewhere for work and wondered how it was possibly relevant for you be in attendance? But then, weeks later, you realize that your presence at said function was actually beneficial to your career? Well, that's not going to happen to me with this conference. I felt like a different species of creature compared to those in attendance. In fact, I know I am. I am mortified to go into more detail for fear of the smelly conference attendees who might Google the conference topic, time and place. I might be lynched or magically turn into a witch. These are your only clues. Well, besides these keywords: Sci-Fi, lesbian virgins, anger, oppression, and obesity, none of which relate to me whatsoever. Instead, I gave a presentation on the work of writer JT Leroy/Laura Albert and male prostitutes/hustlers in literature and film, all of which relate to me completely. Wait. Now I've confused myself. I'm not for sale. Am I? Anyway, if you still think that JT Leroy is the male bitch of novelist Dennis Cooper, or have not been informed that young male author JT Leroy is really a suburban woman approaching 40, then surprise!

I'm not even making sense. Leicester has made me an idiot. (I know what you're all thinking: Oh, no, silly. You've always been an idiot.) To make matters worse, I am currently laptopless, which, for someone who works ALLLLL the damn time and is physically attached to his laptop 20 hours a day, feels like someone has chopped off my penis. Following the death of Iggy, my iPod (but the beautiful birth of my new iPod Ichabod), Luigi, my laptop, is in the hospital. He died Tuesday morning so I rushed him to the hospital before I rushed off to Leicester. Luigi will hopefully be released sometime tomorrow morning so I may resume my normal workaholic life. (At the present moment I am suffering through the afternoon on my flatmate's desktop, which of course has none of my highly important files, etc. Nor does it have my incredible surplus of photography files. Oh fuck. There are nekkid, highly sexual photos of Awesome and me stored in my laptop, all of which are easily accessible. No wonder why it's taking so damn long to fix. The computer technician is downloading them all to make pornographic posters to plaster all over Central London. I really am for sale! This stream-of-consciousness is now over.) Without Luigi, tonight I will eat sleeping pills and catch up on beauty sleep. Now that my cold is finally improving, I have vowed to no longer look like roadkill.

With all this said and done, though, my presence at this conference has granted me a spot in another upcoming publication. This means that I shall soon be published in four (4) upcoming book collections, with more in the works. Yay.

Just look at the Paris Hilton phenomenon and the way every other teenager looks like a prostitute. - Tom Ford