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Sunday 5.10pm 31/12/2006
Xmas, as per, was a merry little shindig. A few sad moments were experienced, one being my Bonne Maman's sale of her cottage in Hurstpierpoint, the other: cousin Penny is back with the ex-boyfriend who, even though I've never met him, must be a right cunt. Asides from this, there was some delicious festive din-dins and the obligatory row over property swops in Monopoly. As for pressies, it was the same old crud, albeit a few gems: vodka, Private Eye almanac, an Amsterdam travel guide. But, the real party as always is New Years, where much can be drunk and the company savoured with that surrogate family known as, the circle of friends! I got a head start of sorts, as Nesquik arrived from Paris 2 days ago. Ronnie foolishly thought a night on the tiles chez godawful Fez club would be a good idea, but, madness! It was a brilliant night out! Nesquik, Ronnie and her cousin Naomi all pulled, although they shouldnt have been so chuffed, the oral thrush will be laughing on the other side of their faces soon enough. Tonight is Kerstin and Alex's party in Archway, which promises to be marvellous. Ive managed to convince Nesquik, kindergaten pal Alex and his sister Genia, Paris booze chums Beth and DJ and even Zara from NYC, to attend the monumental event. I've been saving my $3 cowboy outfit I bought at the Salvation Army Superstore in Virginia with Anneka 2 months ago for this very event. And it shall shine in all its glory. Oh yes, and is it just me or was I the only one to feel a little saddened at Saddam's execution? Surely not? Fess up, guys.
Friday 11.31pm 22/12/2006 
Merry Christmas everybody. And let us all look to initially dull (but actually rather brilliant) TV host Alice Beer for an example of what Xmas cheer is really about. Obviously, after a night out on the lash Alice thought a wish list confessional on Santa's knee was the order of the evening, but, in true British style, her utter pie-eyedness resulted in her confusing Santa for a traffic cone, resulting in this arse-over-boob gutter extravaganza (see above). I mean really, you can't fault the woman. If anyone questioned her claim to fame, or how clutching onto Anne Robinson's coat tails got her shoe-horned into the annals of BBC presenterdom, surely they can shut up now, for clearly this great dame of piss has earned her place in TV tit-up history. Bravo, Beer! PS: Have gotten really stupidly drunk this week, many fnny stories to tell, but it has come to the point where none of that is actually original any more, so current affairs (ie: Miss Beer) will suffice for now.
Tuesday 11.17pm 19/12/2006
Went to a party at a pub where The Clash used to hang out at in Camden, lots of 'industry' types were there. Free alcohol. Pulled baubles from the ceiling, inserted them into my mouth, and spat them across the room at various poseurs, one being Amy Winehouse. Bad behaviour! Must never ever do this again! It is getting increasingly difficult to suppress my dark Parisian side upon the excessive quaffing of wine. Perhaps, as Amy would no doubt agree, some rehab is due. In Paris. At Slimane's bar on Rue de la Roquette. SOON! In other news, something incredible happened on Saturday night involving the film 'Mimic' and a party that was kicking off opposite Anna's flat in Highgate. But at least 200 words would have to be typed in order to properly convey the significance of it all, and Im tired and can't be bothered.
Friday 10.34am 15/12/2006
GOOD NEWS: A DVD of the first season of 'The Book Group' arrived in the post today! BAD NEWS: Wednesday night's strip-tease at the New Oxford Street Barfly. GOOD NEWS: Free booze tonight at a PR party! BAD NEWS: There will probably be lots of wankers milling about. GOOD NEWS: 3 parties lined up for Saturday! BAD NEWS: Have work at 6am the next day. GOOD NEWS: I am going back to work at Millets this weekend, after a four month departure.
Er, that's it.
Wednesday 0.43am 13/12/2006
Well reader, I have officially hit the grog again, although you could argue that a five day hiatus in the form of gin and tonics by a swimming pool in Dubai is hardly a departure from the norm that needs to be declared. Obviously the DarkLord would want you to believe that I am resorting to alcohol simply because I can't get over what a fool I made of myself by betting money on the supposed fact that Temuera Morrison was in 'Deep Rising' and not Wes Studi. But no. I am enjoying excessive drinking for other reasons. Probably because there is so much work on my plate right now that any distraction, whether stoppered in a wine bottle or buried deep in the annals of Myspace, is worth indulging in. I have even taken to Ebay to sate this unhealthy appetite, oh yes. But what treasure has it yielded? Some surprising gems, as a matter of fact! The 'Anaconda' DVD box set, an inflatable guitar, a Polish cinema poster for 'Critters' and a pair of Ray Ban's, that are probably fake, but then that's the problem with Ebay. Everything you buy is shit.
Monday 5.01pm 9/12/2006
The past few days have been spent soaking up the sun, skyscrapers, halal and chlorinated water of the United Arab Emirates. I was invited by The DarkLord to stay with him and his charming parents in the nearby city of Sharjah. Alas, it was a 'dry' area, ie: no booze allowed! But this did not prove to be too much of a problem. The heat was just right, not too overpowering, and there were plenty of fast food outlets on hand to quench any thirst for Western treats, the discovery of a Hardee's being a highlight! We spent a day bussing it about Dubai, doing all the touristy things. However, most of our time was invested in doing excessively touristy things in the neighbouring Emirate - where there weren't any tourists: played a spot of golf, visited a traditional Souk, bought stuff (a rug, a burka dolly, a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt) and even watched a surprisingly excellent Jason Statham movie at the local cineplex. Here we are outside the Burj Al-Arab, and to put a spin on things, I did the inverse of what a burka should do, which also serves to erase all hint of any conviction behind the cheesy grins. The idiot we asked to take this snap was taking fucking ages. I had a fab time. Thanks James, I know you're reading. Doesn't he look fat in this picture? Ha ha!
Monday 4.39pm 4/11/2006 
A wonderful trip to Canterbury was experienced the other night: it was Becky's 24th birthday! A bar crawl across town was the plan, and we did a damn good job of it, just like the good old days! But nobody was to have foreseen the real humdinger of the evening, meeting Stingray from Neighbours in Allberry's! You should have heard Lynnie's screeching upon viewing him from the other end of the bar, rather much like a Beatles fan. He posed for photographs and smiled politely at our drunken waffling (about Janelle, if I remember correctly) like a true celeb. I have to say, getting to meet him in the flesh trumped my encounter with sex-on-legs Vincent Cassel at Eurostar on Wednesday. A feat to be reckoned with.
Friday 1.13pm 1/12/2006
Last night was hilarious. Went to the Peles in Bethnal Green with Lynnie and Claire. The Peles is a very pretty but rather farty underground bar which seems to have been taken over by Munich artistes. There was a tame gallery exhibition going on, and we basically went along and ruined the whole thing. Highlight was Lynnie, reeking of wine, stepping into an installation piece, grabbing a hula hoop, and attempting to spin it about her waist, in front of everybody. Then some snooty Kraut minces along and announces that his work has been ruined, and carefully sets about putting the crap back together. Ha ha ha! If someone had video-taped the whole fiasco it would have made a super piece to put in an actual exhibition.
Monday 10.25pm 28/11/2006
An exciting week has been had! Spent a few days with homo-erotic slasher maestro Dave De Coteau and a producer called Debi, location scouting for future productions. We had a mosey around Pinewood, Ealing Studios and even the old Hammer studios, visiting the mansion used in 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'. I couldnt resist taking them to Canterbury to see St.Edmunds school up on the hill by my old stomping ground, Kent University, an ideal location to shoot a frat boy vampire flick, I think. After a pub lunch at Simple Simon's (still serving the haemorrhaging Biddenden's) we bumped into Brechje, my old French literature pal. I do miss that about towns, the tight weave of community and familiar faces. Alas, Pipz has closed down, very saddening to see. I wonder what fruity chef Nikki is doing now? Dave wants to have me killed off in one of his movies - fuck artistic integrity, I'm game! Another funny thing, Debi is a frequent visitor to the Isle of Wight, and has even met my grandmother. Small world! Of course, she made a point of her notoriety when it came to sloe gins at the Bridge table. The Savory name lives on... Other hi-jinks indulged in were seeing the brilliant 'Assembly Now' and the kooky, Toto-esque 'Tiny Dancers' at the Barfly, spazzing out inside JC's DJ box at Heaven every time he put on a Rachel Stevens track, getting mashed with Ronnie at shite yuppy-magnet Neighbourhood in Notting Hill, cider guzzling in Angel for Elina's goodbye party (she's off to Egypt, lucky monkey), finishing off Daphne Du Maurier's charming 'Jamaica Inn', bagging a Zach Braff interview for Disorder, and filming pretentious silliness with Julia at Centre Point, which I'll reveal more about later.
Sunday 10.39pm 19/11/2006
Last night I went to the pleasant suburban town of Guildford for Naz's boyfriend Rob's birthday. It was rather nice to sit down with a bunch of strangers in an Italian restaurant, to enjoy plenty of white wine and blabber pleasant conversation. I must go back again during the day and see more of the place. Today my father proved just how far he is willing to go to enjoy a free slap-up meal, by inviting himself to food and drink at the Jewish Deaf Bingo Association. Now I know where my blagging skills come from. Also got to see 'Casino Royale' with Roberta (who now wants to give her baby girl an Indian name, ridiculous) and her friend Irene in Purley. I must say, it was brilliant, and I'm quite smitten with Daniel Craig's performance. One of the best Bond movies yet. I had no idea Mads Mikkelsen, who I met very briefly after a screening of 'Pusher 3' a few months back, was the baddie in this! Suffice to say he did a damn good job of it, as did the rest of the cast, it can't be faulted! The locations, the suits, the set-pieces and the soundtrack, the Bond sheen was unmistakeable. Lots of kids were in the cinema too, reminding me of a childhood reared on 007 movies. On the tram back to Wimbledon there was a chav sharing a bottle of vodka with a fellow oik, probably about twelve years of age, telling him to "drink it like it's Courvoisier". And indeed he did. There's a little bit of Bond in all of us, I think.
Friday 10.36pm 17/11/2006
Wandsworth council decided to change the locks in the stairwell outside my flat today. All very well, except having a deaf father (my 'flatmate') who tends to fall asleep in front of the telly, with a phone that doesnt work and neighbours who tend to ignore you, well, this all turns a simple little alteration in a daily routine into a fucking nightmare. An hour was spent pelting windows with pebbles and wet tissue paper, kicking the door in, harassing locals and even the crew at the fire station. Finally, I got inside, yelled at my poor Dad who really wasn't to blame, and decided that a bottle of wine was the ideal cure to soothe the temples and enjoy an evening in. But no, the vino is utterly foul. Being �2.99 and from the local offy, that's entirely my own fault. This and this cheered me up, though.
Tuesday 9.10pm 14/11/2006
Got trashed with Ruby in the Sherlock Holmes pub near Charing Cross last night. After bout 4 hours the rest of the chalet gang joined us (it was a reunion) but because I was so wasted I don't think I got to enjoy and savour their company with the respect and candour deserved of their presence. Was really nice to see them all, to see them nice, especially. Oh yes, and Rachel is getting married soon! In a place called Bicester. Odd.
Monday 9.24pm 13/11/2006 
Happy Birthday Whoopi Goldberg, who reached the grand old age of 51 today! And may she live for another half decade, let's just hope she stops trying to make television shows and concentrates harder on getting that 'Theodore Rex 2' script brushed up. Today I went to see a terrific little Glaswegian movie called 'Red Road' with Eve and a measly 4 other patrons at the Haymarket cinema. With Loach being lured by bling and budgets, it is nice to see a film from up North that breaks predicted narrative barriers. It also contains one of the most convincing sex scenes ever put on screen. Go and see it! Nobody else seems to be.
Saturday 9.29pm 11/11/2006
I'm drunk. What a surprise, you may be muttering, but I couldn't give a mere fuck for what you think (and a particularly awful, flaccid, embarrassing one at that). Yesterday I went to Paris with Julia to meet Laurent, an old friend of ours from Cannes who produces zombie movies. He has three projects on the go, all rather intriguing, and we have donated ourselves to the science of splatter cinema in the hope that our input will be of value to the final outcome - answers on a postcard please. Ended up at the Borderline club at 1am jabbering nonsense to recording legend Alan McGee. Today I received a lovely gift from Pippa, stylist to the stars; a pair of Diesel jeans worth �150. Alas, I got slaughtered in the awful Reef bar in Waterloo with Stef and Saber (2 bottles of red) and left them behind. I'm pretty sure some savvy skinflint scarpered with the denim, but, who cares, its not like I shelled out for them in the first place, right? Christ, I really need to quit the bottle. I can't remember the last time I felt my chapped-to-fuck lips actually brush against each other, which is a fairly common occurrence, considering mastication, ie: survival via the consummation of foodstuffs, would be an impossibility otherwise.
Tuesday 1.53pm 7/11/2006
What a funny week, it really couldnt have been better. The screening in Westminster on Wednesday night was about how environmentalists and NGO's are screwing up large mining firms' chances at digging up the Romanian countryside. The whole event was sponsored by a mining corporation (hmm, funny, that) and fronted by an Irish correspondent for the Financial Times who had a silly amount of make-up trowelled onto his face. You should have seen Ronnie rip into him at the drinks n' canapes afterwards. We were both giddy after rinsing the waitresses of their wine and couldn't wait to lay into the prat. He lasted half a minute before scurrying away. Other stuff: Saw Rooster at the Astoria and met lead singer Nick Atkinson who is totally sound, he even posed with his Dad for Pob-posing photographs (Beth was battered, and insisted they comply). Also went up to Norwich to get wasted with old uni pals, got obliterated, obviously. One more thing, something potentially very exciting might be happening, involving Juliette and the Licks and South Africa, but I'll keep quiet for now.
Wednesday 3.34pm 1/11/2006 
Matt Damon was at the Eurostar terminal yesterday, shooting for the third Bourne movie. There was quite a hububb about the place. If they hadn't stupidly killed off Franka Potente in the sequel then I would have had a nosey around. But on principle I refused. Last night's Halloween party at Kat's was terrific, and I even got to indulge in something naughty which I haven't done since the glory days of university. This morning I slithered up to Westbourne Park to see a lovely PR lady called Kas who loaded me with a pile of the latest albums, and put me on the list for the Rooster (who, contrary to popular belief, have not disappeared into the void: huzzah!) gig this Friday, guilty pleasures abound! Ronnie has invited me to a premiere/screening/free booze fest tonight, and she's keeping schtum about it, I wonder what it is? No doubt we shall get majorly fucked up.
Sunday 6.48pm 29/10/2006
I'll say it now, and she probably knows this, but Lynsey Holyomes is my favourite Christian. Why, had you been there on Friday night to see her crawling around Bethnal Green with a belly full of wine and a face like a squeezed lemon, you would have made the same gushing remark. Thank goodness there are holy folk like her, it just goes to show that 'The Faith' has not lost it's touch. On Saturday I joined Kat and her Al-Jazeera colleagues at a Halloween party in Fleet Street. Of course, there were plenty of tossers about, notably one who told me he was a 'bureau assistant' (ie: office monkey). Some oik, probably the aforementioned, suggested we go to a "wicked club on a boat". If I wasn't so mothered my foresight would have been a damn sight better. He was referring to the dreaded Tattershall Castle, and upon realising this (200 yards from the entrance), I hastily took my leave. Today Roberta and I went to see 'The Departed' in Purley Way. Superb film, and what with it being a Scorsese movie, you know you're going to get your shekels worth as they're all two hours plus in running time. Roberta's bump is now huge, just one more month until the birth of baby Alana!
Friday 2.35pm 25/10/2006
The interview with the 'Shortbus' folk yesterday went swimmingly. I chose Sook-Yin Lee and Jay Brannan (pictured) for the article because I felt they gave the most accessible performances. Plus, being photogenic and with musical talent helped. Afterwards I met up with uni chum Ellie Cook in a Soho pub, and as usual, we knocked our heads together and came up with hundreds of exciting ideas for future projects, which I won't spoil by revealing just yet. That evening I went with Sanna, a photographer, to the premiere party and got utterly legless on free booze. Before the tab ran out we made sure to hide six glasses under our table for later guzzling. We holed up in a corner on the top floor of the club, completely oblivious to the live sets down in the main atrium because we were too engrossed in a pissed conversation about the robot lady in 'Superman 3'. Will Young came up for a bit to traipse about in his trilby, which got us excited. I even got to chat to Patrick Wolf but was a bit inebriated so I didn't even realise who it was at the time. Eventually our wine stock depleted and we went downstairs to take some pictures of the cast before doing some downright apalling boogeying. The hangover today is surprisingly lax, so I was able to enjoy a full episode of 'Neighbours' with fresh eyes. Bree Timmins dolled up like a goth? Scrum-diddly-umptious, I say.
Tuesday 00.13am 23/10/2006
Each night since I've been back I have been sinking numerous pints of cider in the company of various London pals. You could blame it on the misery of returning home from New York, or the fact that they rarely serve apple booze in the bars over there. Aforementioned is the conclusion I'm siding with. Tonight I went drinking, again, with the Eurostar gang. Dalila came along this time, and as usual spouted revolting conversation. You wouldn't think a practising Muslim would have much to say about group sex, bukake and 'Cannibal Holocaust', but as usual Dalila is full of foul-mouthed surprises. Tomorrow I am going to interview the cast of John Cameron Mitchell's 'Shortbus' and attend the premiere after party. I really do hope the booze is free, especially as it is being held at lame-o Too2Much. Well, anyway, here I am bashing away to the sombre tunes of my 'Candyman' soundtrack. Clearly it is high time I made a greasy eggs on toast and revel in another few episodes of Family Guy. Good night!
Thursday 18.31pm 19/10/2006
Saw a fantastic Korean film on the plane back from NYC (bookended with episodes of 'Supernanny' and whisky on the rocks), I remember the billboards across Cannes being plastered with these beautiful posters getting the word of mouth out about it, and for good reason. It is called 'The Host', and despite some startling similarities to 'The Relic', it is just stunning. Imagine the Kothoga enrolling with the socialist party and Penelope Ann Miller getting chowed down in the first five minutes. That is what it is. So yes, what else? Coming back to London of course sucked, a plethora of credit card bills serving as an extra eiderdown on my bed wasn't quite the welcome I wanted. And amongst all the junk mail, a shock. Remember that granny, Hewajulisge Leelawathei I adopted back in April? Well she must have kicked the bucket because now I'm getting mail from someone called Fatuma, who probably thought her letter wasn't even going to be opened anyway and, I bet, is of the lazy and insulting assumption that English people think Sri Lankans all look the same. She is even churlish enough to announce that on occasion she goes out with other biddies to socialize! Pair this with a photocopied picture (at least Hewajulisge sent glossies) of a svelte Ceylon princess (an exagerration, but in comparison to the decrepit Hewajulisge it is justified) eating a paw-paw! Tomorrow my membership will be cancelled. Nice try Fatuma, but I don't granny-swop, thank you very much.
Monday 4.52pm 16/10/2006
Greetings from Fairfax, Virginia! I came here via Washington DC on the infamous Chinatown bus yesterday to visit Anneka and her new baby boy Dylan, who just turned one month old. It's rather nice, but also sickening, the effect babies will have on the average human being. Before I got here I made sure I checked out the Brooklyn Brewery and the new 'Evil Dead: The Musical', but I still haven't seen Central Park or experienced an ice hockey game. Time is running out, but then it has been soothing to take a break from the city. Tonight Anneka and Craig might take me to a haunted tour down in the woods nearby, or maybe we'll just go to the flicks. There is 'The Grudge 2' and 'The Marine' (starring a WWF meat head as action hero), which both seem rather scary, albeit for the wrong reasons.
Friday 1.30pm 13/10/2006
My New York stay is about to come to an end. It's true what they say about 'New York Minute' (and no I am not referring to that awful Olsen twins movie, apart from that what's said about that is unanimous: "bollocks"). I finally got to see Barbara (Sorbonne study pal and Atlantic City partner in crime) and her beautiful apartment in Brooklyn. We had quiche and cakes with excellent wine in the company of Adam, it seemed as though we had been transported back in time and into Paris. Of course, after a few glasses the discussion centred mostly around sex and gossip. Last night I went to see Drunky Brewster again in the East Village with Anna. Two bowls of Volcano cocktail later and I had seized the stage, ranting into the microphone about, uhm, I have no idea. Anna and Maria thought they knew what the audience wanted, and pulled my trousers down. Suffice to say, the punters regaled in horror. My hangover is terrible, and it sucks that the plane leaves for London next week. Still, things are already looking up. The Playgirl editors are taking me out to a diner for lunch because, sniff, it is my last day today. Happy Friday the 13th one and all!
Wednesday 12.10pm 11/10/2006 
I realise that this is all probably rather old hat by now, but whilst researching for celeb nudes for the next issue of Playgirl I discovered that Tom Sizemore had his sex tapes released last year. Now, despite the Fleiss flagellating and drug abuse, I stood by the man. I even stuck up for him when everybody slated 'Dreamcatcher' and 'Red Planet'. Why? Because he was the hero who aided the svelte and bespectacled Penelope Ann Miller in slaying the Kothoga in the best monster-in-a-museum movie ever made, 'The Relic'. But now the idolatry must stop, this is just too much. Why did you do it, Tom, and why the horrible cyclist's shirt? And don't you dare go blaming the priapism or the meth or 'Passenger 57'. You have only yourself to blame. It breaks my heart!
Monday 2.28pm 9/10/2006
Eileen's visit was, as expected, extremely damaging on both mind and body as silly amounts of booze was soaked up in and between her two night visitation. I haven't laughed so hard since the last time we got drunk together in Cannes. Only we could be so stupid as to get the Staten Island ferry thinking it would take us to the Statue of Liberty and not, er, Staten Island. We arrived at this rather unspectacular destination and ended up drowning our sorrows in the only bar we could find in the ghost town of St.John's, a drinking den called 'Cargo'. And there we stayed for the entire day, before getting cautioned by the cops on the subway for glugging Sparks and ending up at a film producer's party in TriBeCa. Apparently Freddie Prinze Jr was there, zowie! I really hope Eileen comes to Cannes next year. And what of evil moggy Calcetines? Well, since my moving in, the little shit has been caught pissing inside the cooker, tearing up all the loo roll, bathing in the toilet and shitting in the fridge. It has also become customary to abuse the critter upon arrival (the stench of the thing not deserving of a welcome gesture) such as hurling bunches of keys or the phone book by the front door at it. When drunk, we simply hold it by the tail and pour beer over it. Hey, if we're gonna live with the wretched thing we might as well get some giggles out of it.
Thursday 2.09pm 5/10/2006 Yesterday I decided to take a break from Playgirl and do some much needed exploring. Went to Chelsea, the art district, to see Millree Hughes' exhibitions (I met him at a breakfast bar in the East Village on my first day here), the most interesting being 'Lummox', a series of pieces and accompanying unfinished documentary depicting his ever-flailing attempts at creating a subject, a 70's substance-abusing glam rocker of the same name, and inserting him into the abstract art he has been making for the past ten years. Other exhibits of note were Chuck Agro's endearing collection of uglies and a wallpaper by Fred Tomaselli that resembled what you would probably see through a kaleidescope if you stuck it in your granny's jewellery box. Later I joined Julia, who is visitng NYC for a while before she jets off to work on Uwe Boll's new movie in Vancouver (apparently she gets to snog Verne Troyer, lucky gal!) and her friend Brady. We mosied around Union Square, up to Times Square for cheesy photo opportunities, spotted bratpack legend Andrew McCarthy, and ended up at the Troma building on 9th Avenue to see the rough cut of 'Poultrygeist', which is FUCKING AWESOME (Caps Lock abuse fully justified). This was followed by burritos and eventually jugs of Pabst at several bars. Funniest moment was when the cliche chubby fashionista and his assistant bum chum invited themselves to our table to gloat about how they had just shot Bon Jovi's new video (whipping out their i-pods to brandish the evidence) and were in Paris last week doing Sarah Jessica Parker's new perfume commercial. With excellent comic timing, Lisa whipped out a DVD copy of 'Tromeo and Juliet' and flung it across the table. "Yeah... That's what I do," she exclaimed triumphantly. The look on their faces was priceless. And to top it all off Gabe knocked a wine glass into the chubster's lap. They hurriedly took their leave.
Monday 1.42pm 2/10/2006
Last Friday didn't get off to a very promising start, what with a window cleaner falling off the skyscraper opposite the Playgirl offices (resulting in a terrible mess on the pavement) and the afternoon's White Castle meal shredding my stomach into mulch. Yet, from there on into the weekend, merriment was aplenty. How to sum up? Well I think waking up naked with Anna on a sofa surrounded by porn magazines, empty cans of PBR and a video camera on a tripod directed at us gave a pretty good idea as to how sickening the night before must have been. We still haven't watched the tapes... Saturday was Andy's karaoke birthday party with the Troma team, where Lisa insisted I sing Tina Turner's 'Goldeneye', which proved very popular in Cannes. Then it was Drunky Brewster night uptown somewhere in a punk rock club. Zoned out completely, the mixture of sambuca and Taco Bell having wrecked my innards. Sunday I moved into my new place in East East Wiliamsburg (aka Bushwick), a fantastic apartment (the famous and uber-hip McKibbin lofts) complete with a huge rooftop that is begging to be partied on. But there is one problem with the place. Its name is Calcetines. She is persistently yearning for affection, stinks the place up, smashed my mirror, scratches at the door and worst of all, she is black. Yes, ladies and gentleman, Calcetines is a CAT. Within minutes of meeting this critter my eyelids began to swell up, spots bubbling under my flesh. A very nasty allergic reaction was well under way. Thank goodness, then, that my two housemates arrived moments later. Hatti, a media student from Portland, marched through the front door, arms loaded with shopping bags. Noticing my red raw eyes, she hurled a pile of soup sachets at the petrified cat, direct hit, then, whipping out a sleeping pill, proceeded to crush it under a spoon. Teresa arrived shortly after, a take-no-shit Italian barmaid from the Bronx who quickly dragged the horrible Calcetines and threw her into the bathroom, slamming the door. She then offered me an enormous joint. I like my new housemates!
