Monday, February 28, 2005
  Club Reviews: Blue Moon, Stolkholm
The Blue Moon in Stolkholm is a 25 minute cab ride away from my friend Edison's house, which is itself a 15 minute ride away from the bar I was in before I went to see him.

Preparations prevents poor performance in all things, so one is recommended to take a variety of drinks at Edison's place before venturing to the Blue Moon. Beers should be used to wash down an excellent home cooked meal of steak and fries. Upon this solid foundation should be constructed a wonderful alcoholic igloo of Havanna Club mixed with ice cream sweetened with jam. And now, to the club.

Entry is advised before 11pm to those without connections. The fee is immaterial, which is not to say that it is imbued with an ephemeral or spiritual quality, just that one is aware that one's readers pay little heed to such matters. Suffice to say therefore that we are dealing with an immaterial matter.

No such paradoxes greet one at the cloak room where it is a clear case of depositing one's outer garmets in exchange for an eminently loseable little token. We all await the club that overturns this tired formula, perhaps requiring the exchange of inner garmets for exotic pets. Club owners and promoters please take note.

With the trivialities of entry consigned to the annals of history (and who writes history but the victors?) one proceeds to the bar area where the ordering of Vodka Red Bull 'sharpeners' is highly advised. Edison looks on expectantly as I hand him his drink. The next thing one is aware of is being manhandled from the club as the sun comes up. It is altogether a rather wonderful experience and I heartily commend everyone involved in the running of the Blue Moon, Stolkholm for their utter professionalism and uncanny ability of not only tapping the zeitgeist, but getting it into a glass and selling it at 15 euros a pop. Bravo! 

  Just Read
"Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens, dark humourist and psychologist. In which Pip reaches a sort of maturity through a series of disappointments and in which he does to Joe what I have done to those that loved me. Pip's realisation that his sense of Herbert's inaptitude was ever in himself and not in the other is a warning to my own self, who sometimes rides the underground and finds everyone ugly and revolting. The ugliness is but in me.
"Newton's Wake" by Ken McLeod, strange scottish sf writer. Derivative space opera with obscure glaswegian references and accents. Dont bother.
"Beyond the Great Indoors" by Ingvar Ambjornsen, Norwegian author of great comedic talent. The adventures of Elling (who's forgotten how to enjoy life, but is getting a bit better) and friends convincing me of the constancy of the human condition across cultures. Movie of the Norwegian original (called 'Elling') was made into a movie that almost won an oscar, or something. Being re-made by what's his name... guy who was mugged walking his dog... Kevin Spacey. Anyway, the Norwegians say 'there's a little bit of Elling in all of us'.. there bloody well is in me. 

Tales from Amsterdam, distorted by powerful magnets and deep fried until crispy.

02/01/2004 - 03/01/2004 / 03/01/2004 - 04/01/2004 / 04/01/2004 - 05/01/2004 / 05/01/2004 - 06/01/2004 / 07/01/2004 - 08/01/2004 / 08/01/2004 - 09/01/2004 / 10/01/2004 - 11/01/2004 / 02/01/2005 - 03/01/2005 / 04/01/2005 - 05/01/2005 / 07/01/2005 - 08/01/2005 / 09/01/2005 - 10/01/2005 /

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