* 200 articles. Two years. Whelk. The best of Upsideclown. Might be reprinted.

I Want I Want I Want

4 April 2002
Jamie's nothing if not ambitious

I want to be Sinatra. I want to wear a suit and a hat in Las Vegas, I want to pal around with Sammy and Dean and Joey and Peter. I want Betty and Ava and Mia, I want to rub shoulders with gangsters and presidents. I want to sing Songs for Swingin' Lovers, I want to be remembered in the same breath as romance and excitement and passion and cool.

I want to be Robbie, playing at being Frank now. I want to be in the position where I have a good idea and it turns to reality because I want it to, where I have the power to choose my new direction. I want to fill the Albert Hall with friends, family and fans in black tie, duet with anyone I happen to fancy at the time. I want to be the only person in the world who could pull it off, I want to shrug off the comparisons from stuck-up journalists with Harry Connick Jr and do it my way. And I want Nicole Kidman while I'm at it.

I want to be Sean. Not Pertwee, not Young, the real man, the Connery. I want women who throw themselves at me, women who play it cool but are won over, women I have to kiss hard and hold down before they yield to their true feelings. I want to be able to get away with telling a woman that any hair colour's fine as long as the cuffs and collars match, with handing her a pair of strappy sandals as she asks for something to put on when getting out of the bath, with treating her rough and then moving on to her sister. I want the whole lack of responsibility that comes with knowing every woman you sleep with is either going to end up dead or in some other way out of your life forever by the time the next one comes along. Then I want to end up getting Tommy-gunned by Frank Nitti as I chase a Wop who brought a knife to a gunfight out of my front door.

Surely it's not too much to ask. A bit of glamour, a bit of excitement, a chance to transfer my deep-buried sense of style and cool into the real world. I can picture myself in their place, garnering the accolades, the applause, the love, if only someone would take a chance on me. I know I can do it; I know I'd suit it down to the ground. I could be Clooney in Out of Sight, I can carry off the charm and the cheek; I'm tempted to go and rob a bank without a gun, right now, just to prove it.

The thing is, life's a lot better when you've got your individual style consultants, scriptwriters and soundtrack. OK, I look pretty cool walking down the street in my suit and shades as it is, but imagine me doing that with the whole outfit on unlimited budget, with extras looking round in awe and desire, nifty edits and a David Holmes soundtrack in the background: no contest.

So, with this in mind, I've commissioned some screenwriters to spice things up a bit. I've given them the outline, some picture boards and a generous budget. If all goes well, you'll be seeing a few changes round here...

THE PITCH: Jamie is a good-looking, funny, intelligent young guy (think Tom in Top Gun, only with Steve Guttenberg's sense of humour and a bit taller) looking for love - in all the wrong places! His luck changes when he meets the beautiful Sandrine (can we get Cameron?), who he marries after a brief yet passionate affair (get some scenery involved here - mountains for the honeymoon? Maybe some dramatic sporting sequences?); however, when her past comes calling it's time for Jamie to face up to reality, throw in his part-time singing career (couple of set-pieces in bars should put us in the Comedy/Musical category for the Globes) and protect Sandrine from her dark history.

Great crossover hit potential - rom-com meets thriller (we can play the trailer either way), plenty of nice eye candy for both sexes (reminder: make an NC-17 cut as well as the R and we'll release it straight to video in a couple of years) and a downbeat ending for the 'serious' filmgoer. Bit of wish-fulfilment (normal guy, fish-out-of-water stuff) for the impressionable blokes as well. Should rope the suckers in.


This is the fucking archive

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
13 October 2003. Jamie writes: The Persistence of Memory
22 September 2003. Jamie writes: The Email Eunuch
1 September 2003. Jamie writes: Credo
11 August 2003. Jamie writes: Brad and Jennifer and Me
21 July 2003. Jamie writes: Interruption
30 June 2003. Jamie writes: Do you remember the first time?
12 June 2003. Jamie writes: Forthcoming Attractions
19 May 2003. Jamie writes: Stupid Mistake
28 April 2003. Jamie writes: Hoping and Praying
7 April 2003. Jamie writes: Strangers on a Plane
17 March 2003. Jamie writes: Q&A
24 February 2003. Jamie writes: Altered States
3 February 2003. Jamie writes: How to say goodbye
13 January 2003. Jamie writes: In A League Of Their Own
23 December 2002. Jamie writes: What's in a name?
2 December 2002. Jamie writes: Lies, Damned Lies and Spastics
11 November 2002. Jamie writes: Memoirs of a Gaysian: A Preface
21 October 2002. Jamie writes: Love is blindness
30 September 2002. Jamie writes: Time for bed
9 September 2002. Jamie writes: Angry Exchanges Can Be Puzzling [10]
19 August 2002. Jamie writes: High Speed
29 July 2002. Jamie writes: Firkin Hell
8 July 2002. Jamie writes: Do you, er... haiku?
13 June 2002. Jamie writes: Unnatural Porn Thrillers
20 May 2002. Jamie writes: The Triumphant Return of the Septic Fiveskins
25 April 2002. Jamie writes: Meeting People is Easy
4 April 2002. Jamie writes: I Want I Want I Want
7 March 2002. Jamie writes: The Player of Games
11 February 2002. Jamie writes: Fat Man Walking
17 January 2002. Jamie writes: Passive/Aggressive
3 January 2002. Jamie writes: Love (classified)
29 November 2001. Jamie writes: A Lil' Nite Muzak
5 November 2001. Jamie writes: Natural born liar
11 October 2001. Jamie writes: All I need
17 September 2001. Jamie writes: Postcards From The Edge (of the pool)
23 August 2001. Jamie writes: Class act
30 July 2001. Jamie writes: Ritchie Neville is dead
5 July 2001. Jamie writes: A Letter from God
11 June 2001. Jamie writes: "If it's in French, it must be deep"
17 May 2001. Jamie writes: Reportage
23 April 2001. Jamie writes: Show me the Logos
29 March 2001. Jamie writes: Sobering Thoughts
8 March 2001. Jamie writes: Stupid, Stupid, Stupid
8 February 2001. Jamie writes: Spent
15 January 2001. Jamie writes: Full to the brim
21 December 2000. Jamie writes: fuck xmas
27 November 2000. Jamie writes: Eye Candy
2 November 2000. Jamie writes: World-wide-web?
9 October 2000. Jamie writes: Kids' stuff
14 September 2000. Jamie writes: Scatological Warfare
21 August 2000. Jamie writes: I can't stand up (for falling clowns)
10 July 2000. Jamie writes: The Etymology of Greatness

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