The Net Dog Blog

Yesterday Blake and I saw one of my favorite shows: STOMP! While this was the fourth time I had seen the show, Blake was a STOMP virgin. I don't think he was as excited as I was to see it but I knew that once he saw it he would love it.
I ordered our tickets through Lastminute.com as part of a dinner and a show package. I love using Lastminute.com except for one thing: you don't get to pick where your seats are. I assume they just assign you the best seats available in your price range. Normally this isn't an issue. We typically buy the most expensive seats and have never been disappointed. This time, however, I was distracted like a magpie to a shiny object by the Dinner & show from £19.95. So I booked two tickets for the Sunday matinee which included lunch at Fire & Stone. I wanted to see STOMP anyway and I figured this was basically like getting a free meal.
According to the ad, "Fire & Stone takes Pizza to an exciting new level offering wood-fired, stone-baked pizzas, made from entirely fresh ingredients." Blake took one bite into his pizza and said "This is made with frozen crust." My pizza, while tasty, was lukewarm at best; however, my Rocket and Parmesan salad with a balsamic dressing was very good. Of course, how hard is it to throw some arugula and Parmesan cheese in a bowl and sprinkle it with oil and vinegar?
Anyway, on with the show. STOMP has resided at London's Vaudeville Theatre for the past four years give or take a few months. The Vaudeville isn't the largest theatre and I have to say I was a little disappointed when we hiked up to the top floor (the upper circle) and found our way to our seats. Suddenly I was reminded of my seats at the top row of the Kentucky Center for the Arts, affectionately referred to as "The Cloud Club". I'd like to pass on some sage advice. If you see STOMP at the Vaudeville Theatre, spend the extra money and get tickets in the dress circle. We were able to view about 95% of the show from where we were seated but we missed anything more than a few feet above the dancers. From the more expensive seats you will also most likely not be surrounded by children unwrapping candy every two minutes as we were.
Despite not being in the most ideal vantage point, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. There haven't been many (if any) changes to the show since I saw it last, but it was very interesting to see this cast's interpretation.

It is difficult to explain to someone who has never seen STOMP what the show is about. It's rhythm, finding the music in everyday things... even the kitchen sink. It's also very funny. I mean how can you not laugh at people digging through the garbage to make music?

I can't wait to see it again ... and again.

Today I started working out with a personal trainer. Before you think I've gone all 'la dee da' on you, you should know that it was a Christmas gift from Blake. I think he feels that if I feel better about my body then maybe I'll feel better about life in general. Maybe he's right. However, right now I feel like I'm gonna die.
Lord, you never realize how out of shape you are or how ineffective your current workout is until you've had a muscley little Arab trainer pushing you. After the first exercise my legs were jiggling like Jell-O. Mmmm Jell-O. Anyway, I swear he was getting me back for Abu Ghraib or something. I feel like that wimpy guy in the Charles Atlas ad. However I think it's gonna take more than 7 days to whip me into shape.
I'm also supposed to keep a diary this week of everything I eat or drink. I think that might have something to do with the fact that since I saw him for my free initial session a month ago I've only lost one pound and 1 percent of body fat. I think he knows my secret shame. Shhhh ... lean close and I'll tell you... I'm an eater. That's right! I love to eat. Ok, I know that's not really a big secret. I'm one of those people you see on Oprah who "lives to eat instead of eats to live." Oh well. At least I'm not on crack. Mmmmm crack.
Anyway, so now I'm so sore I'm not sure if I'll be able to type anymore. Talk amongst yourselves.

I thought you guys might like to take a gander at some of the photos we took on our little Valentine excursion. You can click them to make them bigger if you'd like.

Happy (Day After) Valentine's Day! I hope you all had a nice romantic day with your special someone. If you don't have a special someone I hope you took the time to play with yourself a bit.

Yesterday morning I thought I would surprise Blake with a nice Valentine's breakfast. I made pancakes (using the Bisquick that we brought over on our last visit home), sausages, strawberries, and mimosas using real champagne (not that cheap Ballatore I usually drink). Yummy!

In the afternoon Blake took me for a ride on The Cathedral Express, which is an old fashioned steam locomotive and not a euphemism for sex. It looked like The Hogwarts Express. We traveled from Kensington Olympia station around the Surrey Hills and back again while being served a catered lunch. After a glass of champagne, we had cream of asparagus soup (which made my pee stink something awful), a poached chicken breast (which was a little dry considering it was basically cooked in liquid), boiled and roasted potatoes, zucchini, and carrots. For dessert, we had a white chocolate and Jamaican rum torte which tasted something like a Little Debbie Swiss Roll only with booze in it. It was a very lovely ride through the countryside. We saw lots of sheep. I felt like I was on Brokeback Mountain without the dirt and sweaty man lovin'.
Later that evening, we went to a restaurant that Blake's colleague Ann recommended called About Thyme. Following our third glass of champagne of the day and our starters (cream of parsnip soup for me and stuffed roasted red peppers for Blake), we had a scrumptious little scoop of champagne and basil sorbet followed by a fillet (which was a little too charred for our tastes) and, finally, chocolate fondant with vanilla bean ice cream. The food was pretty good and the staff was very friendly. By friendly I mean the waiter touched our shoulders each and every time he spoke to us like he was trying to comfort us or something. Luckily he was cute. By cute I mean short.

So basically this Valentine's Day I did what I enjoy doing most... binge eating.

The other night Blake and I joined our new friend Wilson for a night of theater. We certainly do seem to have taken advantage of London's theatre scene, haven't we? This time, instead of the usual musical that Blake forces me to see (kidding, Blake), I suggested we see a drama. Now you know I love big, loud, boozy dames so I figured why not see Kathleen Turner in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
I have only seen bits and pieces of the movie which starred Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, George Segal, and Sandy Dennis so I think I was going into this thinking it would be similar to another favorite movie of mine, The Ref. In that particular film, Kevin Spacey and Judy Davis seem to be doing their best George and Martha impersonations, tearing each other apart for sport in front of their unsuspecting kidnapper. Of course, as with most films from the 1990s, everyone lives happily ever after... even the kidnapper. There are no happy endings at George and Martha's house.
You all probably have either read the play or seen the movie so I won't go into the details (if you haven't you can click here). I'll just tell you about the performance. This production reunites all the cast from a very successful, Tony-winning run on Broadway. I'm so glad I got to see this cast because everyone was wonderful.
I had my reservations about Bill Irwin playing George. The only thing I remember him from is playing a gangly clown in big pants on Bill Cosby. I just couldn't see him in the part. Boy, was I wrong! Imagine a really spiteful Niles Crane and you might start to get a picture of Bill Irwin as George. While flipping through the program I discovered that Mr. Irwin won a much deserved Tony for his performance on Broadway.
I hadn't heard of the two actors playing Nick and Honey but they too were perfect in their roles as the exasperated 6 foot blond adonis and his mousey wife who can't seem to be able to hold her liquor.
I have to say that Kathleen Turner was the main reason I had for wanting to see this show. I just love her. I love everything I have ever seen her in. I've even seen V.I. Warshawski probably a half dozen times and loved every minute of it. She definitely didn't disappoint me as Martha. She was just perfect as the gin soaked shrew and unfulfilled seductress of younger men. I'd hate to pick a fight with her after a few drinks. Man, is she a mean drunk!

Next week I'm shlepping Blake to see one of my favorite shows: STOMP! He's never seen it and this will be my fourth time. I can't wait! I love London theatre!

Move over, Kate Moss! You're about to have a little competition.

A couple weeks ago, I found myself imbibing my usual cider at XXL, when my friend Jason turned to me and said "Those guys over there are looking at you." I followed his gaze and saw two men, one with a camera and one holding a clipboard. It seemed that they were, indeed, looking at me. They made their way over to me and asked if I would like to be a part of something they were doing for Gay.com. I also swear I heard the word "bears" which caused me a bit of concern. Of course I made some self-deprecating remark about not being able to take a good picture. Clipboard's reply was "He has shot for Vogue. He can make anyone look good. Besides, I can see hidden potential." You just can't make up lines like this, folks.

Flash. Camera guy took a picture. They just wanted to take a test shot for now.

Needless to say, I was hesitant but before I could turn them down Jason was signing me up. This is the problem with being semi-sober when all your friends are shitfaced. During this exchange I pointed to Blake, who was wearing a leather harness of course, and said that he was my partner. They called him over and took a picture of both of us. The next thing I knew, they had signed him up as well promising to call us soon with details about the project.

Other than joking about being a Vogue model with my friends, I hadn't given "the project" much thought until my phone rang. Unknown number. Now, generally I don't answer those, but I guess it caught me off guard.

"Hello?"

I rarely get a signal in our tiny flat so I couldn't make out who was calling and hung up. However, my psychic voice told me who it was.

Blake called me minutes later and that Gay.com had called and wanted us for a photo shoot on Sunday. Apparently all we had to do is wear our "favorite belt and shoes" (Who has a favorite belt?!?) and they would provide the clothing. Immediately my response was "I don't think we should do it." I still really didn't understand what this project was about but my fears led me down a road where I was trussed up in a leather harness like an S&M Thanksgiving turkey and I wasn't having any of it. Blake tried to reassure me by telling me "They came to you first, you know." Flattery will get you nowhere when I'm being skeptical, but I told him that I guess I would just have to trust his judgment. I figured at best it would be like one of those childhood visits to Olan Mills or even better I would be right and could say I told you so.

So Sunday morning Blake and I journeyed to east London. As soon as we entered the restaurant where the shoot was taking place my possibly irrational fears were put to rest. As I now understand it, the project is an article on fashion for Gay.com and basically they would take some pictures of us in what I understood to be designer clothes. After having makeup applied and our hair done we were to be given our clothes. By the way, the makeup artist told me how I had such smooth complexion and great hands. "They hardly give away your age," she said. I think there was a complement in there somewhere.

Blake looked really nice in his brown houndstooth suit and blue sweater over a white Oxford shirt. I on the other hand was horrified when they dressed me in a green velvet suit over a red hoodie. I looked like the inside of a gangsta rapper's coffin!

Fortunately, the green really washed out my porcelain (read pasty) complexion and the green velvet monstrosity was exchanged for a nice blue polo with thin white stripes and a gray jacket. My luck being what it is though I managed to rip the back out of the green velvet pants while attempting to sit with my foot on the banquette where I was sitting with my arms around my knee. I was so embarrassed but my embarrassment did not seem to overshadow my relief when I was able to change those pants for my own jeans.

Anyway, after what seemed like a few dozen pictures later, the shoot was finished. They showed me a few of the photos they took of us. Blake's looked great. I thought the makeup made me look like a corpse. Here's hoping they are planning to do some Photo Shop magic!

Apparently the article will be on the site next week or something. You'll be the first to know when I hear something. In the meantime, I need to stock up on cocaine and cotton balls to snack on when I feel peckish. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.

Every now and then I like to pick up a tabloid and read up on my celebrity dirt. I mean who doesn't like to see Nicolette Sheridan without makeup or Kirstie Alley having one too many Krispy Kremes? And you know I love seeing washed up celebrities trying to lose weight or tasking ballroom dancing lessons on the TV. So last year for Christmas, my friends Paul and Jason thought it would be amusing to get me a subscription to OK!, the self proclaimed "First for Celebrity News." However the tag line should read "First for Jordan News!" Every week she is on the cover and on at least 10 pages, all boobs and teeth. After four issues, I had to ask "Who the hell is Jordan and why the hell should I care?"
The bottom line is Katie Price aka Jordan is a former page 3 girl who managed to parlay her surgically enhanced breasts into a career.

But why does Britain love her so much? She can't act (she couldn't even get on Baywatch for Christ's sake). She's not that bright. "Some mornings I wake up and hardly dare open my eyes in case all the wonderful things that have been happening to me turn out to be just a dream," she once said. "If that happens, the first thing I'll do is to check whether my boobs are still there." Classy.

The current issues seem to be all about her marriage to innocuous singer Peter Andre or how her fat, blind, mixed-race baby with former boyfriend soccer player Dwight Yorke is going to die soon because he weighs five and a half stone (about 77 pounds) at age three.

I know it sounds mean but I DON'T CARE. Please, OK!, enough with Jordan! Give me news about things I care about like bad celebrity plastic surgery, who is or isn't gay in Hollywood, and pictures of Brad and Angelina going grocery shopping with their third world babies.