Friday, June 30, 2006


Our New Age Spiritual Leader Faith Healer Magician Yanni (i.e. our Manhattan broker) may have already found us an apartment. I should not say more at this point in time because I don't want to curse anything. Awesome and I have asked Yanni to play hopeful, motivational sounds on her synthesizing keyboard to secure this place.

I repeat: While in a state of ultimate poverty, it is absolutely impossible to have a social life without spending too much money. At least in cities like London or New York. At least when you go out with groups of friends, all of whom have more money than you because you spent all your money traveling all over Europe while they were working 9-5 jobs. This financial pinching is especially difficult when all of your wonderful friends are also wonderful alcoholics. Tonight I've somehow been roped into going to friend's birthday dinner (which is thankfully in relatively less-expensive Stoke Newington instead of, say, Chelsea or Kensington), and then to another friend's birthday party later this evening. Why must people still have birthdays when I am this poor? Yesterday I had to spend more money for two expensive birthday phone calls for more friends, one in the States, one in Germany. Selfish bastards; they should all be able to skip a year.

Also, it is EuroPride weekend in London. Regular readers of this website know damn well that normally during Pride weekend, I hide underneath my duvet in my flat, watching bad action blockbuster movies, and wondering when it's okay for us to go back to being Ashamed. But my good friend Dexter is coming down from Manchester for the weekend, and he's really active with EuroPride, including walking in the parade and performing in Trafalgar Square. He eats fire and eleven-inch swords while stripping. He also makes me go to clubs and drink excessively.

In another strategic move, this morning I sent out a mass email to all my London friends, springing upon them the semi-surprising information that I am moving back to New York in a little over three weeks. Within one (1) hour, five (5) of them sent sad emails, all offering to purchase me countless drinks all weekend. See? I have alcohol strategy. Hopefully this very depressing streak of my leaving will continue until July 26 so I can continue taking advantage of my British friends. What? I'm not ashamed. It's not like I'm begging; I am simply accepting friendly offers. Every night. I am, however, lying, as Dexter does not eat eleven-inch swords and fire while stripping, but rather, he sings in a choir. Same difference.

Also, it is too fucking hot.

I'm leaving because the weather is too good. I hate London when it's not raining. - Groucho Marx