Thank you, Norway!

The lovely Norwegians have sent us a lovely big tree, as they always do, that sits proudly in the middle of Trafalgar Square.

Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum...

Wie grün sind Deine Blätter...

My lovely partner, Queer Royale, likes a Christmas tree, so we have one. He has done a good job. It's a handsome tree, in a commanding position on top of the dining table, and he has only half of the decorations appended yet.

The fact that I split up with my last partner - of many years - whilst decorating our tree and that my mother has been given all my life to Christmas hypomania and Boxing Day depression (culminating in proper suicide attempt and emergency hospital admission on the 26th a few years back) make me suspicious of the whole kitten caboodle. The buying and "trimming" of the tree can be a time of George & Martha Plimpton high drama chez nous.

I cite this video evidence in support of my contention that Christmas trees are untrustworthy:




Here's a pic that includes the pointy top bit too. We used to have a lovely treetop fairy but, for some reason, I gave it away to my sister. Then we got a really fabulous arab chap in a big floaty djellaba that did perfectly (very reminiscent of Madonna in the Frozen video) but we seem to have lost him in transit from one home to another. So now we have just the pointy red thing. It's not like there's a shortage of fairies in my life but somehow I haven't got round to finding one for the top of the tree.


I am undecided about Christmas trees. Once my partner has put one up, I must say that it adds to the general merriment of the Christmas thing. I cannot pretend that I would ever buy and decorate one, if left entirely to my own devices. However, I may very well be a curmudgeonly Scrooge-like figure who should be very grateful to those normal people who surround him for forcing him to connect with the real world, where Santa comes down chimneys and eats mince pies in your kitchen.

Tears for Fears Revisited

Hibern8rz

Danger! Danger! High Voltage!

see more pwn and owned pictures

Remember me as a sunny day

According to the gay blog patriarch (he is The Daddy): Joe.My.God, today is the International Transgender Day of Remembrance.

From the TDOR site:
The Transgender Day of Remembrance was set aside to memorialize those who were killed due to anti-transgender hatred or prejudice. The event is held in November to honor Rita Hester, whose murder on November 28th, 1998 kicked off the “Remembering Our Dead” web project and a San Francisco candlelight vigil in 1999. Rita Hester’s murder — like most anti-transgender murder cases — has yet to be solved.

Although not every person represented during the Day of Remembrance self-identified as transgender — that is, as a transsexual, crossdresser, or otherwise gender-variant — each was a victim of violence based on bias against transgender people. We live in times more sensitive than ever to hatred based violence, especially since the events of September 11th. Yet even now, the deaths of those based on anti-transgender hatred or prejudice are largely ignored. Over the last decade, more than one person per month has died due to transgender-based hate or prejudice, regardless of any other factors in their lives. This trend shows no sign of abating.

Musclebound

I like my gym. I go there every day. I am looking rather MuscleBear in consequence. It's big, so that you don't have to wait about to get on any of the machines. The staff are all quite lovely - there are two in particular, well three in fact, whom I like to take home in a doggie bag. It's not one of the super duper expensive gyms full of muscleboys, so I fit in pretty well with all the Halt, the Blind and the Lame. In fact, it's has been all a bit shabby and down-at-heel heretofore. I'm happy there, even although it has been a bit of a building site for several months as they make improvements.

So far the improvements have amounted to losing the row of plasma screens temporarily and all the cardio equipment moving to another part of the main gym floor for a while. BUT - today! New male changing rooms open for our use! Gone are the cramped ranks of wooden bench and metal locker. Gone are the old open showers with chaps soaping their genitals for thirty minutes at a time.



Instead, gorgeous, chic, dark wood lockers spread all round the large, airy changing room, arranged to face N, S, E, and W, instead of the old stratified rows. It affords you more privacy than the old bunched up arrangement. Not a bad thing but not 100% positive. I quite liked the being (more or less) innocently naked in public with lots of other naked men thing. Flashback to High School and 70s orgies :-))

Similar deal with the showers. Everybody has their own shower cubicle but they are all grey slate and frosted glass screens and really rather handsome. Very reminiscent of the smart boutique hotel in which we stayed this past Summer. Bit awkward to be towelling down in the cublicle though, rather than in an open common space as before. I'm not that high and mighty but I was having to concentrate on not banging up against things as I flounced my towel around.

Still, very pretty. Just a bit concerned now that the whole gym will be transformed into your standard central London gym, designed for people who only exist in GQ and they will decide I don't fit with the new décor.