Sunday, January 27, 2008

goldfinger, meet mr. universe.

Just when you thought it was safe to stay home in a small town on a Saturday night, reading by the light of your Rogan lamp on the bedside table...

[Addendum: There seems to be a bit of confusion about this photo, which is not actually me, but a film still from "Goldfinger." It sort of makes me wonder what you guys thought the young Sean Connery was doing here in his bathrobe, but that's another story.]

Gary Anderson, Cromwell's local stereo slanger, the man who brought Bose to New Zealand, had his fortieth birthday party last weekend--a James Bond theme. No, that's not my real hair--the sun here is strong, and chlorine is damaging, but come on. It's not Sara's real hair either, which Nicolette observed was, "very Brighton Beach." I styled it, by the way. That gold suit was a last minute wardrobe move. I inherited it from someone wiser who chickened out and wore hotpants and fishnets instead.

It was just your average theme party--blood-spattered women, white eyeshadow and men in drag with impressive legs, until...

Gary gave a speech thanking everyone for coming and then called his brother on stage.
Who is Mr. Universe, literally. It's a good thing that the crowd was pretty well-watered at this stage or it could have been seriously awkward when he got up on stage and did his flexing and posing to Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus." Here's a video of that, just to prove I was there.

In just one month now I have seen competitive bull-riders, stock-car racers and bodybuilders in action. This must be what people mean by "expanding my horizons."

Even Robert Plant didn't quite know what to do with that.
But really, Gary had a great party. Sara danced the night away in her scarlet dress, I added yet another jumpsuit to my repertoire and Doug made it home missing only his jandals.

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