Lunchtime Talk

So, brief update. Drag Queen on the payrol which was a small, if not painstaking victory; if you can even call it that. I sadly missed the private view for the exhibition I'd been working on for Diane Arbus and the Tobias twins. This was due to being in Spain for Benicassim where I finally succumbed to harem pants, enjoyed a select few musical acts (without Peter Hook, I might have demanded my money back), and got the closest to a tan I'm ever likely to get. More freckles, pink chest, less blindingly white legs.

Lots more exciting Public Programmes events coming up, including talks by Germaine Greer and Matthew Beresford. Not to mention Vampire Camp, which I am most looking forward to since this was my baby! (Well, I was the babysitter.)

Anyway, this coming Wednesday, in only two days time, I will be delivering one of the lunctime talks at the gallery. I keep convincing myself I am cool, calm and collected but honestly, I'm a little on the anxious side. What if people don't show? What if I get momentary tourettes? What if I actually shit my pants? Please feel free to come but try not to grimace if I nervously guffaw, snort or squeak. I have nightmares about such things.

'Why do you look so mardy arsed?'

Must stop listening to Jungle Love by Morris Day and the Time and get over the fact that the ex-drag queen extraordinaire I organised to contribute to the Public Programmes lunchtime talk might not be on the payroll after all.

Back to menial tasks and being undervalued in the workplace for me? - Not without a fight. Not after watching Dances with Wolves again and being reminded of the heart-warming story of 'Stands With A Fist'!

Personal Add

BiF seaks intelligent switch (pref. art b/ground) for intense study sessions with breaks of cathartic sex.

My personal ads were never that straight forward but if I wanted to cut the transparent showboating bullshit, that is probably what they would have said.

Desperately seeking good work/life balance

Because I want to do something with my life, I have no life. Friends suffer neglect and it's starting to wear thin, unlike the soles of my best clubbing shoes. Photos crop up of drunken nights, not nearly as debauched as might be liked. Case in point; surfin' bird dance during the art fundraiser. This seems to suggest that I actually have a social life. But the photos lie. These stolen moments are rarely fully enjoyed because the day after hangover impedes on a massive workload and therefore fun is always tainted.

Snippy Lips

I am aware for the most of my social faux pas, that really I might be making an error of judgement in say, giving this artist that is a pensioner the prosthetic penis and testicles I made when participating in her live art piece. Many looked on in horror while she laughed then kissed me on the cheek, though.

Homey home.

I came back to the North East for a few days respite (know how to spell that now - weird flashback). Sometimes this place sends me running and other times there's just no place like home. It's something of a love/hate relationship. Right now though, I really don't want to leave my little fishbowl. Click link for why.

Video Resizing Issues, but you get the point.

TG Interview