Blog – Page 309

A Series Of Unfortunate Injuries

How to have a good time after returning from a tiring holiday and even more tiring return journey:

Return home delighted to see that Paul has tidied up your entire house.
Relaxed and refreshed, throw yourself backwards into a soft, comfy chair.
Talk to a friend about a sensitive issue in a safe, relaxed environment, making use of a whiteboard as an aid to discussion, knowing that it’s easy to remove the evidence afterwards with a bit of paper towel or a board wiper.

How to fuck up the above plan:

Throw yourself backwards into a soft, comfy chair that’s just a few inches to the right of where you remembered it was, banging the back of your head quite painfully against the wall.
Accidently write all of the most sensitive details of your discussion on the whiteboard in a permanent marker, because during the house tidy up, all of the permanent markers have been mixed in with the whiteboard markers.
Scamble to find a solvent with which to remove the data from the whiteboard before somebody sees it who shouldn’t.
Find paraffin. Accidently get it in your eye and have to wash it out.
Have to scrub hard at the whiteboard to remove the rapidly-setting permanent marker lines, working hard to ensure that the information is removed in order from most to least incriminating/embarassing.
Push the whiteboard too hard, dislodging a large metal sign mounted above it, causing said sign to plummet down into an empty pint glass (which shatters). The sign’s fall is broken slightly by your head, which is cut and begins to swell.
While applying first aid to your head (now injured front and back and somewhat grazed by it’s collision with the sign), hurt yourself by swinging your elbow into a door handle.

I’m convinced that my house doesn’t like me right now.

Dan as Mr. Bump

In other news: if anybody fancies a post-BiCon, post-Edinburgh catch-up natter session, get your arse around to The Cottage!

Jiggerty Jig

Claire and I are back in Aberystwyth. We’re exhausted and hungry, so don’t expect this to be a long post.

In fact, that’s almost it.

Will write more when I’m somewhat more recovered.

How Not To Watch Comedy

We failed quite miserably to see any live comedy yesterday (although the day before was good). I blame the wine.

Y’see, we thought: you know what would be nice before we go out this afternoon? A quick bottle or two of wine.

Six bottles of wine later, the plan to go and watch some shows somehow mutated into a different plan – and I use the word “plan” in it’s loosest possible interpretation – involving:

– Board games
– Partial nudity
– Talking bollocks
– Chatting to an ex-bodybuilder who got hit by a car and now runs a kebaberie
– Swimming
– Saunaing
– Watching films

Today we’re all sleepy and confused.

Really Bad Erotica For Dummies

In a recent post (The Magic Of BiCon) I mentioned that some new friends and I had spent some time reading bad erotica (store-bought, would you believe it, not home-made) to one another. I just thought I’d take a moment to share with you exactly how awful some of this literary pornography was.

It was almost as though the creative process the author – based on the writing style, almost inevitably a man – had taken could be summed up as this:

1. Okay, I’m writing a short story. Let’s call it The Oilman, ‘cos that sounds saucy already. Ooh, and let’s make the oilman’s name Roger. Roger the Oilman. Hee hee, I made an innuendo.

2. Okay, now a plot: I saw Roger. We fucked. Then some woman arrived. Then we all fucked. Brilliant!

3. Hmm, that’s pretty good as-is. I don’t really see the need to put any effort into describing, well, anything. Guess I’ll just try to cram in AS MANY SWEARWORDS AS POSSIBLE into it. That’ll sell. That’s the measure of good porn, right? How many times the reader cringes per paragraph?

This really does feel like the process undergone. Who reads this crap? Just to really help you understand the quality of writing we’re talking about, here’s a snippet (from memory, might be slightly off but the overarching concepts are there):

Precum dribbled from his wet piss slit. His hairy cream sacks suddenly exploded.

Hairy cream sacks?!?! What the fuck?

Really ought to get up now.

Edinburgh Fringe

Well, we made it to Edinburgh. After scooping up (well, not literally, although that could have been funny) Ruth and JTA from Maulds Meaburn we zipped off up the motorway and soon were completely lost in Edinburgh. Now I don’t want to point a finger of blame here, but I’ll say this: if Ruth’s contribution to finding the flat we’re staying in wasn’t a hand drawn map with only three road names and a “here be dragons”note in the corner, we might have found it a little easier. Thankfully the GPS unit in my mobile phone was able to show us the correct route, despite a few early hiccups in it not sufficiently distinguishing between a bridge and a junction, leading to dialogue like this:

Dan (staring at phone): Turn left.
Claire: At the roundabout ahead?
Dan: No, now! Oh, you’ve missed it.
Claire: We’re on a bridge, Dan.

Anyway, we somehow finally reached the flat. It’s a little less spacious that last year’s, and a little further away from the city centre, but it’s nice and it has a garage to put the car in.

[pause in typing to have sex]

We’ve been to a handful of shows yesterday and the night of the day before. We’re basically following the formula we settled on last year of Peter Buckley Hill’s Free Fringe all the way. We’re also taking every opportunity to evangelise against this year’s new rival, the Laughing Horse Free Festival. You ever seen an argument between advocates of different Free Software licenses? Same thing, really: we feel that Laughing Horse is providing the Wrong Thing [TM] to it’s comics. Anyway, that’s a debate for when I’m not blogging from my phone.

It’s nice to spend time with Ruth and JTA, anyway, because I always forget how much I end up missing them in Aber.

Oh, and I AM checking my friends’ blogs, too, but posting comments is challenging, so: congratulations to Paul on his new upcoming job, to Andy for getting Radio One airplay (wish I’d heard it!), and to Faye for finally learning to take time off. And to those of you who’ve commented on my recent posts or e-mailed me: thanks, I’ll reply eventually!

Suppose it’s time I got up and had a shower.

Preston

Claire and I are in Preston, and I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to get hold of real internet access, characterised by the fact that, as you’ll see, I’ve put links in (it’s a pain in the arse to do while posting from my phone, as I have been). I can’t post long, as we’re soon about to head off to Maulds Meaburn to pick up Ruth and JTA and then on to Edinburgh, in accordance with the plan, but I’ll say a few words about how things are going and how I’m feeling.

BiCon was mind-blowingly fabulous. I really enjoyed it. In fact, I cried with happiness on the car ride up to Preston (after we’d finally escaped from the crowd of people trying to hug everybody goodbye at the end of the conference). The workshops were interesting and mind-expanding, the entertainments were fabulous (oh, by the way, I’m so going to get a copy of Killer Bunnies for the Geek Night crew in Aber – it’s brilliant – big thanks to Alex and Lucky for introducing me to it), and the people were, almost without exception, amazing. I’ve come away from the event with contact details for loads of cool and interesting people I’m hoping to get in touch with soon (if I’ve given you a QCard, send me an e-mail!). Notably missing from my list is contact information for Dirk – if you happen to read this, you crazy hat-wearing beast, get in touch! Also, apologies to Suzy for not managing to say goodbye before we left – it wasn’t on purpose: we just couldn’t find you.

Wow, the BiCon LiveJournal community just exploded with activity.

Anyway: now we’re in Preston. My sister Becky has brought back a hammock from her recent trip to Thailand, and – with the help of my mum, her boyfriend, my other sister, her boyfriend, and Claire, we managed to finally attach it between the tree in the garden and a study fence post. I’ve got some pretty good photos which I’ll have to share with you at some other time (imagine a human pyramid, on a slope, with a pair of bolt cutters, reaching up to lop off part of a tree which is being weighted down by a man jumping on top of it, and you’re headed in the right direction).

We’re running a little late, because my mum’s tumble dryer seems to be taking about a lifetime and a half to finish drying our clothes so we can get on the road, but we’ll get moving eventually. No doubt I’ll make a post or two from Edinburgh, and then a wrap-up or two when I get back to Aber on Tuesday 28th. I hope everything’s going well back home (I haven’t heard anything from Paul so I’m guessing that Troma Night went without a hitch); somebody drop me a text or an e-mail or something to let me know you’re all still alive and well.

The Magic Of BiCon

Three sit on the damp grass. One reads out a bad example of a good erotic story, stopping from time to time to turn the book around and show the pictures to the others, who laugh.

Five cuddle up in each others’ arms, in some sort of exclusive party for those they love – or might like to love – the most. It’s past 3am now, and the quiet skies are punctuated by occasional, beautiful flashes as meteorites strike the atmosphere. “I’ve never seen a shooting star,” one says. “Then just watch,” says another, adjusting his arm to better cup her icy hands, “And maybe you’ll see one tonight.”

Suddenly, low on the horizon, there is a bright green flash and a long white trail. “I saw it!” she says, excitedly. They all have. Their extremities, damp and cold, are beginning to numb, but they’re beyond caring. The rest of the party has started to disperse. A few couples cuddle or chat or share a drink nearby. One or two have curled up under blankets or duvets or towels. But these five stay where they are, wrapped around each other in peaceful comfort. Now and then an arm or a leg will move, or a hand will adjust it’s grip on another, and it is good. Sometimes, not quite by accident, two pairs of eyes will hold a stare for a little longer than necessary, or two faces brush against one another.

One leaves. Then another. Then another. The remaining two, still untired, chat on, watching the skies, until exhaustion takes hold and a sudden drop in temperature threatens hypothermia, and they call it a night.

It all started with a midnight picnic, and it all finished with the deepening of a new friendship. Almost nobody said anything, because nothing needed to be said. Time, and trust, and a little bit of love.

Magic.

BiCon Ball

Wow. Last night’s costume ball was amazing. Claire’s “Lara Croft” outfit went really well, and our efforts in the Costume Workshop earlier in the day to convert my picnic rug into a great kilt (for my William Wallace costume) paid off. Unfortunately at midnight the spell was broken and my kilt turned unexpectedly back into a rug while I was dancing, but a quick scavenge for safety pins (thanks, everybody on the information desk) proved sufficient to keep me decent.

Not that it would have mattered much, of course, judging by a couple of the other costumes! One young lady wore just a chainmail bra and knickers (leaving little to the imagination), which also doubled as a sheath for two long sharp knives. Another wore a leather skirt completely devoid of sides, a spiked bra, and am enormous pair of demonic wings. A young man appeared at first to be dressed as Robin Hood, but this costume later turned out to consist only of body paint and a strategically-placed handkerchief. Another came wrapped somewhat less-than-completely in tubular bandages, which exaggerated, rather than hid, those parts that he might normally hide.

The costumes weren’t all excessively revealing, of course (although some, like those above and the Lelu [The Fifth Element] costume, really did expose quite a lot). I was particularly impressed with the effort taken by the wearer of the stunning HAL 9000 costume.

Got to go and help run a BiCon Geek Night now. Will post more as and when.

First Day At BiCon

Yesterday, of course, was our first “full day” at BiCon, and it made the difference in terms of feeling welcome and “at home.”

Claire and I went to a couple of welcome-y workshops: Start Here! and Getting To Know You! The timetable’s pretty well organised because despite there being up to 6 activities on at any given time, few people seem to have “clashes” in the things they want to attend: the organisers have taken care to put, for example, crafty things in different slots and BDSM things in different slots and poly things in different slots and so on so that your interests can be satisfied, whatever those interests may be.

There’s a fascinating mix of people here, too: a real mix of age, gender, sexuality (no, not everybody is bi, though it’s a majority), background, religion, ethnic group, etc. I’m not sure what I was expecting but I’m surprised anyway.

I’ve been to a variety of workshops on polyamory, time management,bisexuality, and the labels people use to define themselves. I’ve net a number of strange and wonderful people, and I’ve made full use of the SU bar. So far, so great.

Elementary Flogging

Looking through the windowed doors of the workshop room next to me I see a group of topless people whipping one another. It’s apparently the workshop on Elementary Flogging, and it looks… different. Some of them seen be stripping even further, now, and somebody’s getting a riding crop.

Down the corridor the tamer workshops are in full swing, too. The Storytelling group have pens and paper and they’re all jotting away. The Bi History group are getting some kind of lecture. Claire’s chatting away in the Transgender Identity room-

Me? I’m taking a quick break to check my e-mail and read some blogs. The atmosphere is amazing. Guess I’ll share more as it comes to me.

First Night At BiCon

We’re in Glamorgan University, staying in a hall of residence. It’s a little like living in Penbryn but the rooms are en suite and the microwave ovens don’t cook people that stand too close to them. It turns out that WiFi is off the menu so I’m posting over GPRS, hence the lack of photos: might try to get some uploaded at some point.

In the meantime, pretend I’m showing you a picture of my name badge, which is basically a laminated badge with my name on, decorated with half a dozen or more stickers of various shares and colours that serve to identify me to anybody who’s taken the time to remember what they all mean. One says this is my first BiCon, another says I like board games, and so on. Already people have started inventing their own, and I’ve got a unique one that instructs people not to feed me chocolate.

We’ve enjoyed a pub quiz (our team, Dim Parcio, came eighth out of thirteen) and met all kinds of interesting people, and now we’re taking a somewhat early might in anticipation of a busy day tomorrow!

More as it happens.

How Not To Wake Up Claire

Yesterday, before I went in to work (yes, on my day off, I know – it’s always when I’m about to go on holiday that everything breaks and I’m needed), I woke Claire, to remind her that, while I was at work, she needed to dye a pair of shorts brown in order to use them as part of a costume that she’ll be wearing at the BiCon Ball. Unfortunately, I didn’t think carefully enough about my choice of words.

I woke her and said, "Okay; I’m off to work. See you about lunchtime. And don’t forget your dying."

Which it turns out can be easily misheard as "…don’t forget you’re dying."

Needless to say; in her post-waking sleepy state, this caused some distress. It was only a minute or so later that things made sense again to her, when she was down a train of thought a little like: "Dying? I can’t die… I’ve just put all this work into making a costume that I’ll never get to wear… I didn’t even finish dying the… ohh."

We’re off this afternoon on our grand tour of the UK. We’ll be in Glamorgan today, Preston on Monday, Edinburgh on Tuesday (via a quirky little village), Oxford a week on Tuesday, and back in Aberystwyth a week on Wednesday. I’ll try to make a post or two here about what we’ve been up to, so that I don’t have to make such a huge post as I did about my mum’s engagement party and the Edinburgh Fringe this time last year (hey, why is it that we always end up at a fancy dress party right before the Edinburgh Fringe Festival?

Dumping for Dummies

This is a reply to a post published elsewhere. Its content might be duplicated as a traditional comment at the original source.

Ruth wrote:

Wow, it’s been nearly a month since I put finger to key for the sake of this old thing. In case anyone’s wondering, I was feeling hurt and a bit isolated due to the total lack of concern you all showed when I had my first taste of bereavement (with the notable exception of Bryn). I’m over it now though, so no hard feelings, huh?

Anyway, the very briefest of updates: Back from the Cropredy festival, tired, sunburnt and quite ill, but the music was fab and the company fabber. It was especially good to see Bryn and Heather again.

And so to the reason for breaking my silence. I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the best way to dump someone. Obviously, ending a relationship is often going to be pretty hard on the other person, but I think there must be some ways of doing so which are more considerate than others. Here’s an example of a way which seems a bit bastardy:

A young couple have been together for just shy of two years. For reasons which we will assume to be sound, the girl decides to end it. She calls her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend and tells him “I don’t know if I love you as a boyfriend or as a person”. He tells her to cut the crap and just dump him if that’s what she’s going to do. She gets pissed off and hangs up. The next day, he logs in to facebook to update their relationship status, and discovers a message from a friend on her wall which says “Congrats! You and [guy she met on a latin course] were meant to be!”. He calls her and tells her he wishes they’d never gone out, then goes to a club with his cousin, gets drunk, causes a nuisance and gets beaten to a bloody pulp by four bouncers. He goes home, calls his sister in tears to say he thinks he must be cursed and his life is worthless, and falls asleep, bleeding, miserable and alone.

This, I think, would be a prime example in the how-not-to-do-it column, even if the dumpee in question wasn’t my little brother. It’s left me wondering if there is a way to do it that’s just a bit less selfish?

I haven’t often been involved in dumping scenarios, most of my relationships having fizzled out without the need for The Talk, and hopefully I’ll never have to get good at them. However, from my inexperienced position, it seems to me that the onus ought to be on the dumper to try and be honest, in so far as this is necessary to prevent the dumpee from making the same mistakes again, and to be as unhurtful as possible. They also ought to resist the urge to use bullshit lines, even if there is some truth in them. Cliches may be cliches for a reason, but you could at least do the person you’re telling isn’t good enough the courtesy of saying so in your own words. Finally, I think the dumpee needs to be willing to take it. Dumping isn’t – or shouldn’t be – easy, so if someone has taken the plunge, chances are that the decision isn’t up for discussion.

It seems to me that this is an area which is woefully under-represented in traditional etiquette. Given how many relationships end in one or both parties deciding to move on, perhaps it’s time that ‘Good Manners’ came to include how to tell someone to get lost in a polite way?

Part The Widget

Sorry I wasn’t able to offer you any support after your last post and during your bereavement. I’m disappointed in others for not helping, of course, but I’m more disappointed in myself. I hope you got the emotional assistance you needed.

Genuinely really sorry. Could post excuses, but I’m sure they’re not very good ones, so shan’t bother.

Part The Brother

In the cases where my relationships haven’t just “fizzled out,” I’ve more often been the dumpee than the dumper – in fact, I’ve only been on the “giving” end of a break-up once. In my experience at least, it’s harder to be the initiator of a break-up than to be dumped, although that’s possibly more to do with the circumstances than anything else (in the case where I was the dumper, I cared more about my partner than at any time that I was the dumpee).

In any case; at that time, I – like your brother’s ex- – lied. Not so well as she did: I explained that I was leaving her for somebody else (Claire), but I didn’t at that point expose that I’d been cheating on her. Why? Because I’d already upset her (and me) and I didn’t want to upset her further or risk sounding like I was gloating (“hey, and look what I got away with!”). Instead, I planned to talk to her about that later (which went a bit shitty for other reasons, but that’s beside the scope of the story).

The bottom line is that, in my opinion, your brother’s ex- was unethical, but I can possibly see why she chose to do it the way that she did. I’d hope that in her position I’d do better (in fact, I’m pretty sure I would – I’ve learned a lot about relationships in the last five-and-a-half years). Moreover – in my mind – it’s not her fault that he got drunk and beaten up; that’s a detail that (while sad and upsetting) doesn’t actually change the moral validity (or, rather, invalidity) of her actions.

Still, I do feel sorry for your brother. I hope he’s getting by.

Part The Ways

Perhaps you’re right about relationships and etiquette, but it’s hard to say for certain. Every relationship is unique, and – even during the break-up – what is right for one is not necessarily right for another. It’s impossible to lay down a rule that says “when you break up with somebody, tell them exactly why and how long you’ve felt that way” because in the end there are relationships that will end better (cleaner break, happier parties, better ethics) if they are done in a different way (drift apart, white lie, outright lie, whatever). Unfortunately, at the point of the break-up the dumping party may well not care so much as they might once have what’s best for *both* parties, and may well be thinking more selfishly (“how do *I* want to feel out of this break up?”). And sadly, unethical as this may be, it’s their right to feel however they want, and it’s hard to tell them that they can’t…

…it’s a big emotional minefield.

I’d like to think that if Claire and I were to split up, we’d make a good job of it. We’ve laid the groundwork, and talked about it, and we’re pretty good at talking about the status of our relationship with one another anyway. Moreover, we’ve got a healthy grip on the frequently-transitory nature of romantic relationships, and – while it sounds a little pessimistic – we find it’s a great way of keeping things in perspective. Of course, it’s impossible to say. Time – perhaps – will tell.

Ultimately, I’d just like to see people communicate better with their partners: feeling capable to talk about how they feel and able to be honest about what they think. It *should* be okay to say “I love somebody else more than you. How do you feel about that?” It *should* be okay to say “I’m only with you for the sex. But the sex is good.” It *should* be okay to say “I’d like to spend more time alone, but I’m not ready to commit to breaking up.” And it should be okay to say “No, that doesn’t work for me. Can we find a compromise? Or shall we call it a day?”

[sighs]

I’ll fix the world some other day. Far too much going on right now. If you want to debate any of this, drop me an e-mail or call me (haven’t heard your voice in too long anyway).

Love and hugs.

Excited

I’m really quite excited about Claire and I’s upcoming round trip of the UK. In case you’re not “in the know,” here’s what we’re planning:

BiCon

On Thursday afternoon we’re off to BiCon, the National Bisexual Conference, in Glamorgan. To think, this event’s been running for a almost as long as I’ve been alive and I’d never heard about it before this year. Evidently they were advertising in all the wrong places. And then, after all of that, the first one I hear about is just “down the road” (well, so much as anything is just down the road from Aberystwyth) in Glamorgan.

Anyway, it sounds like a good event; I’ve spoken online to a couple of dozen people about it and it sounds fabulous with a capital FAB. The workshops list is certainly… unusual: Teddy Bears & Whips? Time Management And Non-Monogamy? Writing Erotica To Share? There’ll be Wi-Fi there, so I’ll do what I can to post bits and pieces of my experience back here. I’d love to say that I’m sure Claire will do the same, but it’s a little optimistic, considering her blog update rate.

Fringe Festival

Then a week on Monday (20th August), after the event finishes, we’re driving up North – perhaps with a visit to Preston on the way – to meet with Ruth and JTA and head on up to Edinburgh for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival! A whole week of live comedy, drinking to excess, eating haggis, and loving the Edinburgh Fringe party atmosphere. For a handful of reasons, I won’t be performing this year (probably): still, there’s always next year. My mum and my sisters, Becky and Sarah, are going to the Fringe as well and our visit will overlap theirs by a day or two, and it’ll be good to see them. We’re also informed that Kit and Fiona might drop in on us for a day or so, too.

Nonetheless, it’ll be a great opportunity to see the Free Fringe performers yet again and spend all of our time drunk and laughing. And if Claire manages to get through the week without flashing any old ladies, all the better.

I’ll be on GPRS by this point, rather than Wi-Fi, so weblog updates are less likely, but I’ll see what I can do.

Oxford, back to Aberystwyth

Post-Fringe, we’ll be delivering Ruth & JTA to Oxford, and staying over briefly ourselves before coming back to Aber on Tuesday 28th August. Yes, this means I’m working for about 13 days this entire month. Sweet.

And of course, when we get back, it’ll only be 11 days until QParty, so we’ll be spending the most part of our time fretting and making last-minute arrangements for that. There are those that have suggested that this party-fortnight – and in particular BiCon – should be seen as a “stag night.” Which is a nice idea, but doesn’t really reflect what QParty’s actually about. I’ll write more about what QParty actually means, to me at least, and all that… at some other point. Watch this space.

Meanwhile…

In the meantime, life in Aber will, I’m sure, go on pretty much as normal. Paul will be making arrangements for the intervening Troma Nights, so keep an eye on Abnib Events for them, and he’ll be looking after Mario and Luigi in Claire’s absence. I gather that Sian (no, not that one, the other one) is getting married on the weekend of BiCon; would somebody who’s going to her wedding pass on my regards and best wishes.

Looking For Jen

Jen has gone missing. We gather she hasn’t got a phone right now, but nonetheless, she’s not responding to e-mail, Facebook wall posts, or even postal mail. If you’re Jen – get in touch with me (use the contact form link on my blog if you can’t think of any better way). If not, shout at Jen too. We’ve been trying for a few weeks with no luck now and it’s starting to get a little worrying.