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."