And here we go for that one post in the week where I make a complete fool of myself.

There has been (at least in France, maybe abroad too) an Adidas commercial using Ella Fitzgerald’s It’s Too Darn Hot for a while. And everytime I heard it I felt like she was singing off-key, a bit flat or something, even though she is Google-famous for singing particularly on tune. And I have the same feeling about another commerical tune (for the Toyota Corolla, and I suspect that one is only shown in France). So I wonder. Have years of hearing real-tv candidates sing completely blown off my ears? Have old recordings (both pieces seem to date back to the fifties or sixties) been deformed by exposure to excessive heat? Have I been spoiled by modern electronics, generating exact notes by the hertz (or even more precisely than that, I suppose), into being disturbed by old recordings from the time when instruments were hand-tuned with a (necessarily imperfect) diapason? Or am I just a lame listener?

And is this really a good time to ask why nobody reacted when I begged to be dragged into a karaoke bar?

If something incredibly positive doesn’t happen tomorrow, I’ll have to contemplate the possibility of not buying a public transporation pass for July. Well, contemplate it for two seconds. At least I should. I’ve been pretty much out of my mind for ten days now, and I don’t really know what can put my neurons back in place. Maybe winter will. Or maybe they never have been. Yeah. Might be that.

Pff, as if it had the most remote chance of working out with him. (It’s not the same him as late last year—and you may have no idea what, uh, who I’m talking about, because the blog wasn’t bilingual at the time—but he’s got the same birth sign so it’s not gonna be that much easier. More information? Nahhh.)

Ok, so I should be writing a very long post about yesterday’s Gay Pride, all the more as I haven’t posted anything all day. But I haven’t got much to say. I took pictures so I didn’t feel like I was wasting my time, but they’re not quite interesting, because, basically, there wasn’t much to be pictured. The thing lacked some party—I think it was on purpose, so it would look more political, and I even think I wrote the exact same thing last year, but it’s still true. (Maybe I shouldn’t have arrived late and missed the first two or three hours: it always becomes more dull towards the end.) And there wasn’t enough sun because of the itinerary they had been given this year. And I didn’t find my soulmate! (Well, we were 500,000, so it’s understandable he could have missed me.)

Soon, maybe, a few pictures from that session, but, well, there’s not much to be done with them, so I’m not sure there’s any point. There weren’t even many nude men on the floats (and there weren’t many festive floats at all, as I already told) so, really, there’s not much to be done.

Oh, I forgot the after gay pride: the whole Marais open all night long, and the night spent with two Belgians including a renowned blogger, and thanks to that I didn’t come home as depressed as I usually do after a gay pride.

I too want a black baby retriever, so cute, so playful, so nice, jumping around and on me with its big dirty paws. She was so cute, and her master seemed not to care (I don’t know about you, but if I were walking my puppy I wouldn’t let it jump all over people or get eaten by another dog, but maybe that’s just me, I don’t know). I need someone to offer me a retriever. And a house to go with it, otherwise the poor thing will be so sad. I’ll call it Pinky, and I’ll teach it not to disturb daddy in the room when there are guests (yes, guests, because there’s no point of having a house if you’re not taking advantage of the space) and I’ll bring it with me when I go cruising on the river banks and we’ll go ride the bumper cars together and we’ll eat spaghetti and… uh… ok, what I want is not a retriever but a husband. But I’d still like to have the house, too, you know.

Oh, I forgot: motivated by yesterday’s revelation that everybody looks nicer on pictures than in reality, I made some pictures of myself when I came home. Thinking back about it, I have to say I’m not so sure about the relationships between the two, but then it was two in the morning.

           

What’s that you say? It’s too small, you can’t see a thing? Yeah, I know.

www.garoo.net — version 1859.1

There.

You’ll have to agree it’s nicer this way, with a few pink touches and a nice 49.4 KB background! Now I like it.

In fact, I just can’t redesign both the structure and the graphics at the same time: on Thursday I did the latter, adding daily in short articles to the blog and implementing my 32-hour days (which is not so trivial); yesterday I managed to make nice design around it all. Pretty, heavy and full of tables within tables: all of garoo in one layout!

Unfit

I had a good night out (again? again!). And, now, I’m depressed and upset. Happens a bit too often, methinks. So, for the sake of this post, I’ll try to get back into my past state of mind and pretend I wrote this post six hours ago.

First of all, thanks to XIII for giving me an invitation to the gay pride night at the Tuileries: free party, free fair, free food (with restrictions; I’ll get back to that later). Since the guy who was originally supposed to give me one had disappeared, I was that close to missing the whole thing.

So that’s done. What else did I want to say? That I think too much. I should focus on the good memories, look at the bright side of things like an Aquarius is supposed to do (or so I heard), and instead, well… I’ve said it and asked for it before: lobotomy!

Anyway. I’m not easily influenced, it’s just that I need someone to push me into doing things that I’d like to, but don’t dare. (Don’t even think of using that sentence against me regarding work. It’s not the same thing. At all.) Why am I saying that? Because I’ve been feeling sick for 45 minutes after I went onto a ride I would never have contemplated trying just a couple of years ago. I only needed an excuse, someone in the group who’d insist on doing it. So… clubbing, rides… the only thing that’s missing now on my list is karaoke. If I ever do that one, I can promise you that chances are I won’t tell you. Ever. But that would be the peak of my career as a living person.

What else… Thing is, I spent four hours there (by the way, midnight is a bit early for closing; it should have started earlier, or ended later), so I have to translate that into a long and uninteresting post. Did I say uninteresting? Yeah, that’s what I meant. (You have no idea how comfortable it feels to have removed the commenting system: whatever I write, I don’t need to worry about reading stuff more stupid than mine tomorrow afternoon, as I wake up).

Oh, right, I remember (actually, I don’t, I took some notes, but they’re as much of a mess as my brain, it’s four in the morning now). I’d really like to know how the stall keepers are paid back for this. Calculating the compensation for rides is easy, but how about food and drinks? I wonder, is the remuneration so small that they have to make it last long and only serve four wafers an hour (with extra-light dough and only a few grams of sugar on the side), or are they making a huge profit by getting large earnings from the gay pride sponsors?

Last item on that messy post: what’s nice about a gathering of all gay people in the area is, you get to see people you know but, more importantly, dozens of faces already seen in chatrooms. And I’ll only say this: when I see how 99% of those guys look ugly as compared to their pictures, I feel that much less guilty for slightly improving my pictures (very slightly: I could do a lot worse). Out of the, say, thirty faces I recognized, there’s only one that looked as good in real life as on pictures. Wow.

So. Party. In short: a gay-only free party in a fun fair at night, how much more romantic can you get? That’s such a fantastic place to… spend the night alone. (Well, not alone, but with online acquaintances. But that doesn’t count as romance.)

So I did manage to write, and translate, this horrible post. Did you manage to read it all?

I missed my anniversary because of this redesign. Yesterday (or the day before, I’m not sure, and precision is of little importance in my book), there were 1993 posts in my database (or something close, I’m too lazy to check my ICQ logs). Today, right now, before I publish this text that I’m typing and you’re reading thanks to the magic of time relativity, the count is up to 2098. Obviously: the purpose of this redesign was to merge minilog and blog, implying that everything that was in the minilog has been transferred to the main database. Since that was the purpose. Which means I missed my postiversary. And a postiversary like this one only happens every, what, eight months? (Quick and unchecked calculation that I won’t discuss.) (Well, it would be easy to guess, but the thing is I’m so tired right now that I’m not sure of my division, so I’d better not elaborate.) Besides, the next one will happen in the middle of Christmas and New Year and my birthday; I would have liked the opportunity of a great (virtual, necessarily virtual) celebration in June, just before… Oh, right, there’s the fête de la musique and the gay pride during the next ten days, so it’s okay, I’ll have the party anyway. Tomorrow I’ll be going to the pre-gay pride night in the Tuileries park with a party hat and the whole apparel.

Or maybe I’m just bluffing.

Quand je vois ce que Nicola Sirkis est devenu (ou plutôt, ce qu’il n’est pas devenu, à savoir : vieux), je me dis que le complexe de Peter Pan en général, et le mien en particulier, a de beaux jours devant lui. Je sais bien que ce n’est qu’un exemple parmi de nombreux autres, mais il se trouve qu’il me touche particulièrement pour plusieurs raisons distinctes. Toujours est-il qu’à son âge moi aussi je serai couvert de blanc de clown et je cacherai mes rides avec mes cheveux pour bouger dans la télé.

www.garoo.net — version 1859.0

So, now, there, redesign done. It’s not quite pretty, it’s even almost not nice, I don’t know why I did that, but I wanted to change the site’s structure, make some kind of a calendar, something not so cute and not so interesting but integrating the minilog more naturally.

And you should consider yourself lucky I didn’t go as far as the idea I had for the home page.

And when I want to I’ll post something interesting. I just don’t want to.

Yesterday’s factoid is that unstable brick piles are unstable. And that falling from atop an unstable brick pile unto bricks scattered by the unstable brick pile’s fall, well, that hurts. My middle finger has doubled in volume through the night, but apart from that everything’s fine, as long as I can still type. Is there something you’re supposed to do in order to get a minor wrench to stop swelling, or do you just have to wait?

Well, when I say that everything’s fine apart from that, it’s not quite right. I also completely wasted my diet in a cafeteria. I guess the mille-feuilles was the finishing touch I should definitely have avoided. On the other hand, it’s nice to see that I felt like I was gonna die of asphyxia afterwards, whereas a couple of months earlier I would have felt just fine after eating all that stuff. So I’ve trained my stomach a bit.

I have installed a Miranda plugin that associates individual sounds to messages received from your contacts, and I’m now facing a metaphysical dilemma: what sounds am I gonna find for each of them? And then I got the idea: I’m officially asking each of my ICQ contacts to send me (through ICQ or by mail, but you know I don’t like heavy mail attachments, don’t you?) a .wav file in which they go uh-oh with their mouth, à la ICQ’s default sound. There. I’ll remix all of it in Dolby surround and edit a CD and DVD you’ll find in your local record store very soon. Uh, nah. I’ll just use the sounds in Miranda for a couple hours, until I grow out of it.

Fuck… it’s the first time since I changed banks that a payment is rejected—and not only it costs seven euros that I already didn’t have, but I haven’t got any income planned for the next few days. Or weeks. Or decades, actually. I should close down this account and go sleep under a bridge. The weather’s so sweet right now. Or I could sell all my computer equipment, shut down all my subscriptions except TV, and spend all my time in front of it until I’m brain-dead. There may be quicker solutions, though. Such as lying down on a railway to protest against SARS, or make a website for money. But I’ve got that feeling it would be easier for me to climb the barriers around high-speed railways than to find clients.

No matter what, I need to do the former or the latter before Thursday, so I have a good reason not to spend 36 hours working on the renovation of a crappy countryside house. Gotta remember to play the lottery next Wednesday.

Comments are sent back where they belong: in a popup, because they’re not really a part of this site (it’s my blog here, comments shouldn’t be emphasized). I also added a configuration variable that allows me to activate or deactivate comments in a few seconds depending on my mood, so don’t be surprised if they disappear and reappear from one day to the next.