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Hello readers, I've just returned from a busy Easter weekend so thoguht I should report before it disappears into the ether of my mind.

Things began on Thursday (the 20th) with a job at a club on Las Ramblas called Fellini. Because everyone has off on Friday- and Monday- the Easter weeknd is one of the busiest for parties. They love to start Thursday and walk out of the sauna tuesday mornign and go into the office. So I've heard. ANYway, Fellini was a blast especially since my Friend Shanti who some of you probably know was in town and stopped by the club for a dance or two. It's her birthday week and she came to BCN with a bunch of friends to hang out. She looked amazing and it was really nice to see a home face. And she was gagging at my picture being in all these lightboxes in the club. I explained how, "yeah, things are quite different for me here." I would love to post a bunch of photos of that lovely evening but like an idiot I forgot my camera. Still not used to dragging it along with me everywhere. Will try and work on that.

Well, fortunately I remembered to bring along the old megapixels and chain to my jobs on Saturday and Sunday nights. Saturday night I played at this club literally in the middle of nowhere in the south of Italy. It was this small chateau transformed into a nightclub near the town of Bari (the heel of the boot). The space is great and it's actually outdoors covered by a gigantic tent. See...


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Oh but wait I FORGOT! So of course because the promoter waited till the last minute I have the worst flight schedule to Italy. I leave BCN at 12:30am Saturday (Friday night) arriving in Bari at 2:30am. Obviously the flight is delayed because gee there's so much air traffic at that hour. Whatever. So I'm at the cafe at the gate and there's a group of young Icelandic schoolgirls giggling and carrying on. Then another one of them joins the group and I see she is sucking on a lollipop that can only be described as, well, excuse my french but, a large black dildo. I am so not joking and have the images to prove it. I almost screamed when I saw it and was trying to be subtle while photographing it but then just said fuck it. If anyone were to ask me what the hell I was doing all I would have to do is point at the damn thing and they'd understand. And probably pull out their camera too. The thing is a monster. How any candy company could actually persuade a shop to sell this thing...


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And this was inside a 13 year old girls mouth...while she's walking around the airport!

So I arrive in Bari and true to southern italian form the driver is nowhere in sight. A few phone text messages and I find out "He'll be there-a any minuta!" 45 minutes later some guy pulls up and takes my bag without saying anything but Mavu! Mavu! which is the club I'm supposed to play at. Fine, I know this is how they roll so it's hard to get upset. Well, it's easy to get upset but pointless. W e go to the hotel and I slam down for a good 7 hours. The next day I spend wandering around the hotel which would be great if it were summer but in the winter it's a bit grim...and scary. Here's the view from the pool deck...


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At night I am picked up out of the blue by some other guy, Angelo. He just shows up at the hotel at 10 and says let's go, dinner at the club. Okaaaay, a call would have been nice but hey it's the south. We head off to the club with a quick pitstop at Angelo's house so he can roll a fattie and get moved in the car on the way to Mavu. A quick 20 minutes and up a dark almost dirt driveway and we arrive at the club. As I mentioned it looks really cool and we sit and eat dinner in the tent and are treated to a divine show by these guys...


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Oh yes dear readers, the Italian Bee Gee's. That is their name. A full on cover band. For an hour we are given an interesting, yet unimaginative, interpretation of the songbook of the 3 brothers from Oz. Mind you the outfits are not electric they are just white satin reflecting the light. I am seated at a table with no one who works at the club and who barely know the promoter. One out of the 4 of them speaks a little english but his hot girfriend and I sort out a friendship through the international language of smoking. This is a pic of them...


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At 3am it's time for me to go on. The club is wall to wall guineas and I throw down a thumping electro set that goes over much better than I'd thought it would. I find Italians to be really good audiences cause they will dance to anything they think has a good beat or killer sound. They don't wait for the tracks they know to enjoy themselves. Much appreciated.

Now, around 5:45am the club is winding down and I'm playing my last song. Angelo, who drove me to the club, is practically falling down drunk. Throughout my set he's been warbling on the mic, "moosica, moosica, moosica...". Not sure what he means. Oh well, the south. So I ask him who's taking me back to the hotel and he says "I am." Bursting out laughing I tell him I am not getting in his car and neither should he. He swears he is fine (I know he's not), and I swear I need a taxi (which I don't get- stupid stupid me). We get in his car and I am literally texting people saying I may not make it through this. Several near collisions and a close encounter with some trees lining the road and I realize this guy doesn't know where he's going. He's so shitfaced he can't remember where he picked me up 7 hours earlier; and it's near his house! Here's what it's like- this is the guy that picked me up at 9:30...


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Finally he pulls into a cafe and tells me to hang on a second. He runs inside for a minute then comes back out waving me to come in. WTF? So I go in and he's ordered coffee and wants me to sit and have a coffee with him. My head is about to explode. By now it is 7am, I have 2 hours until I am being picked up at the hotel to drive 3 hours to the Naples airport to fly to Geneva for my next job. I walk outside and explode at him. Anyone that knows me knows that I am the last to throw a fit, but I just lost it on this guy. He agrees to not finish his coffe and then at snail's pace drives me back to the hotel that he mysteriously knows how to get to now. I have 1 hour to sleep. Oh the south.
DISCLAIMER: Ok just in case anyone reading this is from the south of Italy and getting their panties in a wad I want you to know that I have nothing against southern Italy. However, in the world of nightlife they are notoriously disorganized. It is not just something I am making up. I had been told about it and have experienced it firsthand on several occasions.
At 2pm I blissfully board the flight to Geneva not having slept in the car. I nod out for the quick ride and arrive in Geneva met by a charming guy named Nicolas and we hop a train for Lausanne where the club is. It's a beautiful ride along the Lake and I try to grab a scenic photo but every time the camera comes out it's buildings, buildings, trees, trees, trees, buildings, etc... Lausanne is just 30 mins by train and soon I am in my hotel room grabbing as much sleep as possible before dinner. 2 hours.

I get to the club around 9:30 and there's a staff dinner with drags, gogos, promoters, friends, and other djs. I meet the dj who is playing the main floor with me, a frenchman named Antoine. Excuse me, a crazy silver-eyed hunky frenchman named Antoine. Check out the color of those babies...


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The party is fierce and I get to play for a room full of sweaty men. This is kind of a novelty for me since most of my jobs over here are at straight places. This is like one of the biggest gay parties in Switzerland (I know, I know but still) and the crowd is a fab mixture of muscles, snakes, women, men, shirtless, bear, you name it. And they don't all seem to be drugfucked which is refreshing. After my set I head up to the pop/disco lounge to hear Nicolas and Luca play ping pong style (1 track per dj back and forth). They are rocking it with the biggest moment being "I've Had the Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing. I know, barf, but when you have a room of 300 people going absolutely bonkers singing the chorus I have to admit it takes on a whole other effect. I don't know how to express it other than true jubilation. Everyone was so happy and having (the time of their life?) the best time I too got caught up in it. I was thinking how the weekend had been a mixture of ups and downs and exhaustion and inebriation and looking around at this room full of strangers I see that universal expression of "I can't believe how much fun life is". It was just a really cool moment.
Actually when I called Angelo's boss to have her yell at him about not knowing where my hotel was she got on the phone with him and I could hear him calling me a "drag queen" over and over. I assume he meant drama queen. Thing is, it became rather apparent over the evening that Angelo was a little light in the loafers himself. BAH!

Re: flesh colored body's not me it's photoshop. I'll cry Kristin Davis. Oh wait.
Saved by the Swiss. So compulsively prompt, organized, efficient, obsessively on, and sooo middleclass, - its the German/French thing- they need to have as much 'time of thier life' as possible. Be glad you didn't have to gig in Ticino someplace, like Locarno, then it would be the Italian mess again. Its a chuckle sometimes how Europeans seem to live up to their stereotypes.

As for the car ride, I think someone in the industry needs to market a kind of life preserver/body armor for DJs specifically for these drunken-host-airportshuttles. No one here likes to think of Pickles getting turned into relish.
Oh please...
we've all made out that with that guy.

I'm in San Francisco with the wife.
Doing a show with Joey Arias tomorrow so will probably have similar pics.

And speaking of wives...
your ex is on her way to Barcelona to visit you. Get ready for trouble.

My wife is yelling at me to come (and we all know not to make the Empress wait) And there is no smoking in the hotel so I REALLY better get off the lap top quick.
I'll read your blog later.
(I just looked at the pics)
sail trip was VERY white woman,
VERY riche, VERY straight...
it's a trip to be taken with a limitless budget.
don't ask how i got there.

not another faggot ANYWHERE.
didn't pull trade, but got some shade.
last night out we all dressed as pirates - i looked FIERCE!! - and i saw some a-hole's doing the limp wrist motion and talking about me.
my sister had to get me out of there before i pushed one of them over the railing into the water.
was fantasizing of a pirate brawl (a la saloon night in portland - remember dadz and momz??!?)
but alas, 'twas not to be.

will also just say that living on a boat
with ten people for ten daze is challenging
no matter how lovely they are. yet no love was lost in this group. we're all still friends!

if i did it again it would be in the mediterranean where we could hit the french riviera, italy, and/or greek islands.
at least there i would see some fellow fagz.
Last edited by goblin73
That's good you all made it out still friends and it didn't became the remake of 10 Little Indians.

Here with Justin and Nathan getting ready to do a tranny bar crawl tonight with the horses. Yesterday we wnt to the Picasso museum and Sagrada Familia (sand drip church). Today we took the train to Figueres to Dali's museum/teatro. I have to say I was a tad underwhelmed. SOme of the art was fierce but it wasn't hung well (stop snickering!). Lighting was bad and there was no rhyme or reason. Perhaps they intended it to be that way but that combined with all the groups of high school tours sort of did my head in. The decorated rooms were better than the paintings I thought. There's also a slight smell of manure everywhere and, since I'm not travelling with Jackie Bigalow, that seemed odd. It's been great having home faces around and I think I've convinced them how wonderful Barcelona is.

I hate to say it Boo, but you really should have gone into debt (further...BAH!) and bought a ticket. It's not touching the void sweetie, but it's just as fun. And way more crowned heads you don't have to see through ski pants.

Yeah I made out with that guy. And he was dressed like a GUY if you can believe it.
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So the ex-wife and her new wife are sleeping in so I thought I'd do a little update while I have my afternoon cuppa. I left off previously about to embark on a tranny bar crawl with my friend Reuben. So we go to meet Reuben who is at his friend's apt for a birthday party. He says, "They are a bit like the get-along-gang so just come scoop me up and we'll go." Love her. Don't know what the get-along-gang is but somehow I understand. One drink at the party and we pile into a taxi to our first stop, a bar called La Bata. I have been dying to go to this place because I came here 3 years ago with Texxx on one of my first trips to BCN. It's a shitty hole in the wall bar with great music, hustlers, faeries, punks, and cool chicks. Often at the door someone will peek through before they let you in to make sure it is not the accost of the Lacoste. Nathan and I are featuring suspenders and Justin is giving fierce face. People are kinda gagging, very "Who just walked in?" The place is packed and it's so narrow you are either standing at the bar or you are against the wall. We shuffle along the wall to the back where fortunately a big group has just vacated the back salon. Ok so salon is way too fancy a word to describe it, it's just a room witha fluourescent light and some wood chairs and a table with a hubcap ashtray. Get the picture? This place is the BCN version of say the Cock or Phoenix. As we sit down to drink and smoke (INSIDE!) a mulleted young faerie from Portugal sits with us and looking at Justin his jaw drops. He says almost joking, "I loved you in your movie Shortbus." All of us are a bit surprised and Justin thanks him at which point the kid flips out screaming "I was not serious, is it really you? What the fuck are you doing here? Oh my god you're fabulous what are you doing here?".
Last edited by Pickles2
So we adopt this portuguese faerie for the rest of the night as he takes us around the Raval (district of BCN that's like the L.E.S.) trying to get into squatter's after hours. But no one seems to be answering the door at either place we try. Oh well, no worries cause we end up hanging out in an alley outside some club just drinking beers and smoking hash with the sharp smell of piss in the air. Justin has fallen in love with Barcelona by this time. Next nothing but sleep and eat. Tonight we're going back out on the tranny crawl. Who knows....
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