How are you today?
I’m really well, thank you. I’ve not smoked for over five weeks and I have so much more energy. A poisonous fog has been lifted.
Do you like your job?
Yes I do. When I got back from Ibiza nearly two months ago I was the poorest I have ever been. I was paying for my lunch with 5 pence coins that I’d saved up when loose 5 pence coins were annoying (cue me with an overly cheery voice at the Tesco checkout “I hope you need change!”) And then I won the job as a copywriter. It’s hard not to like something that allows you to shop with dignity.
I’m working with words and although it’s sometimes repetitive, sometimes repetitive its project based so my famously short attention span is not spanned. The small company is based in a shabby office in Hendon Central (I commute nearly 3 hours each day) and I’m not exactly splashing out on Faberge Eggs but as a foot in the “my other less interesting” career ladder – something to fall back on if the modeling/writing/acting/promoting doesn’t take off – it’s a winner.
Is it possible to get to know God?
Um, I think so. When I imagine God & the Universe my brain goes on a tour of dark regions of space and along lush forests and inside neurons and it all seems too vast to have been defined by human beings. I tend to think that we create our own gods as a reflection of ourselves (and not the other way around) and so the more we understand ourselves and humanity in general the closer we come to appreciating (if not understanding) the vastness.
What kind of meat is this?
I’m hoping it’s a vegetarian substitute masquerading as meat otherwise I’m not eating it.
What are the best methods of teaching reading?
I’m a firm believer in talking books at bedtime and babies being read to in the womb. No really, I am.
Where were you born, and where do you live now?
I was born in Edgeware, London and I know live in Clapham Junction, London. In between I traveled to the other ends of the Earth.
What does your mom refer to you by?
She calls me Drew. (My full name is Andrew James Davies but I was nearly called Max).
What makes someone a “sell-out”?
Appearing in a Gap Ad when they’re already world famous. Small time actors like Martin Henderson
I can forgive.
If the World was ending tomorrow, who would you kick it with tonight?
Does “kick it” mean have sex with? If so it would have to be Jake Gyllenhaal
from the film Donnie Darko. If “kick it” means play in a band with then I’d choose homo musician Rufus Wainwright
. Actually I’d shag him too an’ all.
What book is your Bible? And you can’t pick the Bible.
Then the dictionary, followed closely by the thesaurus, followed by the collected work of Shakespeare that my Grandfather bought me but I had to leave in New Zealand.
If you ate pasta and antipasta, would you still be hungry?
Um, can I buy a vowel?
If someone opens fire at a busy McDonalds, which would save more lives -- phoning the police quickly or a couple of armed customers?
That’s such a hard question. I think the real solution is not to eat at McDonalds. I say police, the gunman is probably only doing it for a violent cry of attention and by getting other untrained gunmen involved is only going to get bloodier.
People keep writing that in a small group, Al Gore can be charming, natural and witty. How small does the group have to be?
I really got into the American Presidency race and watched the debates with interest. Not knowing much about him I found Gore to be calm, articulate and commanding. George Bush had trouble understanding the questions. The rest, as they say, is the War Against Iraq.
A tiger, its left eye is blind, now, on its left side and right side, each has a pile of grasses, so, which side it will choose?
It doesn’t eat grass! Ha ha!
Do you know any restaurants in London that will serve a vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner?
Ask the Vegetarian Tiger! These are easy, next!
Do they have potato chips in Europe? Do they taste the same as ours?
They have crisps in Europe but instead of Walkers they’re called Lays. You can get yummy feta flavoured ones. I think all the flavours taste similar in each country. Crisps unite.
Do you sing along to ad jingles?
They don’t really do jingles anymore do they? Maybe there’ll be a renaissance. I can still remember jingles from when I was a child. And I would sing along with future jingles.
What Can You Do for Us That Other Candidates Can't?
I have a very long tongue but I can’t touch my nose with it. I have almost perfect vision and I can read the number on a bus from miles away. I have incredible arches when I point my feet (validated by a ballerina). I can grow a beard in about 7 days.
What are you wearing?
‘Day of the week socks’ I bought in a five pack. I’m wearing ‘Monday’ but its Friday today. Knackered old Gola clown shoes. Jo’s hand-me-down jeans. Ugly pair of blue y-front pants (underwear for non UK citizens) that I bought in bulk when last in New Zealand. A red t-shirt with someone who is wearing a Mexican wrestling mask rollerskating that I bought along the Castro in San Francisco. And finally a red wool jumper that makes me look like a CBBC presenter.
You know you always have to know the answers to those six famous questions
I keep six honest serving men (They taught me all I knew).
Their names are what and why and when and how and where and who.
Firstly, thankyou Matt
for creating my brilliant new less shouty more space rockety title bar. I will cover you in gold and make you my queen.
Am beginning to feel like an actual club promoter what with text messages from friends asking if "PJ can get on the list". I'm trying to be firm with the guestlist - it's easy to panic and let everyone in free because you're afraid that no one will show up. I'm not only excited about this Saturday but also about future Nova nights. I recieved an email today from an electro band who are interested in performing live (very cool). I also have a plethora of quirky club related hijinks that I want to release on unsuspecting party goers (say that 10 times quick.)
Two more sleeps...
I've just finished a phone call with him so it seems only fitting that he is going to be the first Scooby to get roasted. Ladies & Gentlemen...
used to pull my hair when we first met. Well not literally - it was quite short and he probably couldn't get a hold especially with the slippery hair product I used to wear back in those days - but metaphorically
speaking, he was
a little mean. He's since explained that he was maybe a wee bit uncompromising with new people. This all changed one fateful weekend when Jo, Olly (more about him another time) and I stayed over for a long weekend and planted the seeds of friendship. Ew, that sounds gross - well we bonded and now we're as thick as thieves who don't steal any more but just hang out a lot.
Jo is a master of extremes. His ultimate happiness would be to meet Kylie Minogue yet pop him in a zip-up Parka and you'd mistake him for a breeder. He'll happily party for five days, literally, but I know Jo will end up very content with a nice little home and if not a picket fence than perhaps some shrubbery.
The thing I love most about him is his self depreciating and irreverent humour. When someone asked him, straight faced, if he was the Coco-pops monkey (there are, it has to be said, some similarities) he dutifully retold the story to us in all its glory. And the silliness! Not one silly voice is spared!
He worries that he's not like one of those empty muscle boys that are, for some reason, revered so highly by our people. But he's popular with the unfairer sex and (I've heard stories told) a bit kinky in the sack. That's me boy!
Enough now. Don't want my blog to start being all about other
And in other news: feeling better, mouth still has tiny paper cuts all over for some reason but I think I've avoided a cold. Finalised the DJ line-up for Nova. Left a message for my sister Holly in New Zealand (happy birthday!) Watched half of Brazil
until I thought I was getting a Terry Gilliam induced fever and turned it quickly off.
This is what popped into my head just as I was falling asleep last night –
My darling sways to the beat of a fancy polka. He doesn’t mean to but his hips have a mind of their own. They’re thinking “dance for us monkey boy.”
Sometimes I wonder why I want to do so many things. It’s a shit for the curriculum vitae, makes me look like I have A.D.D. - especially when I’m applying for a very dry job where they don't quite know how to take “playwright” next to “porn writer” on the old resume. But thankfully I have an answer to why. Received an email from my Mum yesterday and I quote…
“Have you seen American Splendor yet? Interesting film, in format as well as content... The thing is, it prompted me to make a suggestion to you... have you every thought about writing and illustrating a comic??”
The funny thing is that I’ve just discovered comics again. After joining the local Clapham Junction library I self-consciously flicked through the graphic novels section, finally deciding on a Tank Girl omnibus (dear God, did I just say omnibus? All hope for me is lost!) It’s logical really as I feel I’m discovering my inner geek of late. But it wasn’t until I finished the achingly beautiful Ghost World
that comics took on a whole new tenor. Now I’m hooked. In the past few days alone I’ve devoured “David Boring” by Daniel Clowes
” and something called “Maus
”, a black and white comic about a concentration camp during the WW2 played out by mice instead of men (just this second found out that it won the Pulitzer Prize!)
As predicted I stayed home Friday night, kicked back and watched all manner of light entertainment on the box. When I woke up at the next morning there was a text message from Charlotte and the Scooby’s recounting that they’d all had a great time at the club thankyou very much and would I be interested in in joining them at the chill out at Sam’s. The text message was sent at 5.32am. By the time I called back at 11am they were all either comatose or staring at the ceiling in a vague attempt at sleep. Bless.
After breakfast I quickly changed into my “Promoter Man” tights and cape and flew round the corner to the arts supply shop to buy paint for the Nova t-shirt I wanted to give out flyers in. An art supply shop in the morning makes you feel very wholesome I’ve decided. Next I went to the party shop opposite (some weird ley lines have converged to make Clapham Junction the party capital of Wandsworth) where I become over excited about helium balloons and had the great idea of giving out animal masks at Nova. Because there’s a horse on the flyer, get it? It also gives the night a thematic link (and there was me thinking it was all very random). Let’s just hope now that’s it’s not all a pile of pony. Tee hee.
It was with all the adrenalin gone from the buying and the purchasing that I realised I was getting a sore throat. Damn. Still hurts now but every time I think about it I stick my fingers in my ears and hum loudly.
After making a half decent t-shirt I rushed into town to have a pint with the lovely Tash (50% of my favourite lesbian couple) before hoaring my ass on Soho’s Old Compton Street, armed only with 600 flyers, a sore throat and my boyish charm. Have to say it went pretty well, people chuckled at the My Little Pony and afterwards there were only a few flyers scattered on the pavement. If 3 months in Ibiza promoting clubs taught me anything it was how to successfully hand someone a rectangular piece of glossy card goddammit!
I then hot footed it to the Aquarium for Carwash
. I’ve been working there Saturday nights since I came back from Ibiza, getting email addresses, introducing the shows and generally being the Carwash dogsbody with fellow Scooby Jo(seph). Except tonight I was feeling grotty, Joe was at some mad Aunt’s 60th and the Carwash clientele was g.r.i.m. It was a good opportunity to scope out Room 2 though and plan how many helium balloons I’ll need.
One more week. Hooray!
After an opening like that anything I write now can only sound twee. Thanks Drew from four hours ago. Way to go. Making it difficult on us all with your poignant quotes!
I'm supposed to go and celebrate Charlie's 24th birthday tonight at Fiction with the other Scooby's but I've decided I'm too broke and have too much organising of my own club to do (yeah, yeah, I've noticed the irony).
I think we're going to run into problems, gentle reader, if I don't define a few terms that will keep popping up every now and then:
Scoobys > The name of my group of friends. Basically they'll become characters in their own right so I wont introduce them straight away, suffice to say that they're all quite kooky in their own bewitching ways. The term Scooby was stolen by me from Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) where it's used as a post modern reference in-joke thingy to the fact that they go around "solving mysteries" in a similar fashion to the original Scooby gang in the cartoon, you got it, "Scooby Doo". Although we don't technically solve mysteries, we are a gang, and we have seen some pretty strange things between us. Anyhoo, the name has stuck.
Where was I? Oh yes, so instead I'm going to drop round and see Charlie before they go out to give her my regards (She's a girl b.t.w. real name: Charlotte). I'll probably sing happy birthday and moan about how I want to go out with them (sigh). The things we do for clubbing - like not going out clubbing. But the preparations are going really well, I always know one of my projects on the river of success when it creates its own momentum. Click here to see the eflyer
I’m not sure what my main motivation for starting a blog is. The idea struck me after reading a story in the Guardian about an Iraqi blogger who was hailed as a unique voice in the continuing climate of spin and propaganda. However the blog had very humble beginnings, it was simply created to keep in touch with a friend who was terrible at replying to emails. As most of mine are infrequent, overlong and have faux newspaper column desires (my emails, not my friends) it feels like a logical step to “publish” them online. As well as this I’m physically distant from my family and many other people I love, and it’s about time that they were forced to take some interest in my day to day life again.
Then of course there’s my ego. I fancy myself a writer – a queer blend of Bridget Jones, Alistair Cooke and those people that send you unsolicited Viagra ads. If you find yourself reaching for the dictionary feel more than confident that I’ve been using a thesaurus.
But enough of me talking about me... oh, wait, actually I guess that’s the whole point. As Robbie from the play Shopping & Fucking explains, "We all need stories, we make up stories so that we can get by. And I think a long time ago there were big stories. Stories so big you could live your whole life in them. The Powerful Hands of the Gods and Fate. The Journey to Enlightenment. The March of Socialism. But they all died, or the world grew up or grew senile or forgot them, so now we're all making up our own stories. Little stories. But we've each got one."
This is mine.