Friday, June 25, 2010

Things I Have Been Doing Instead Of Blogging

 - Wimbledon!

At which, I saw the freakin' Queen of England emerge on a balcony like some elderly and sensibly dressed Evita.


 ("Wimbledon welcomes Her Majesty The Queen." Like they were going to turn her away.)

Sadly, I have yet to see Harry or William.

But, I did take a nap in Green Park, adjacent to Buckingham Palace, which is close enough to say I slept next to Harry and Will. Contain your jealousy.

- Elephants!

(Bye-bye, Ellies. I'll miss you.)

The elephant artwork is leaving London. I've been snapping pics like crazy. Y'all wanna see them? Tell me. I'll post. I can't say no to y'all.

- Covent Garden!

 (Covent Garden had a birthday! The banners read: 1830 - 2010) 

 Oysters! Tea! Toy shop! Completely distracting and wonderful!

- Dissertation!

(Actually, don't ask. I'm so tired of thinking about it.)

Oh, yeah. That.
It's due in a month.
Yeah.
You'll forgive me for using my writing time on it instead of bloggin', right, my loves? After all, it's summer. You shouldn't be in front of the computer. Go frolic in the sun. Chase butterflies. Drink booze. I give you permission. We don't always have to be responsible adults. Sometimes, we just need to frolic.

To make up for neglecting my blogging duties, here are some pictures of puppies and DAVID BOWIE. I still love each and every one of you, dear readers. I swear it. No one can be mad at someone who gives them puppies and BOWIE, can they?

BONUS: Puppies that LOOK like BOWIE. Yeah. I said it.

You're welcome.*


 * Sad thing is? I didn't have to look more than 5 minutes for these. I have that many BOWIE and puppy pictures stored on my computer that finding pictures of BOWIE looking like a puppy was the easiest thing I have done all week. And I brush my teeth and scratch my butt** everyday. This was easier.

** No, I don't. But I do brush my teeth everyday. So if my dentist is reading: Told ya so! The Internet now says it's true. And the Internet never lies. Unless the Internet is insulting DAVID BOWIE. Then the Internet is a damned, dirty liar.

Won't Somebody Please Think of the Dudes?

This is my hometown, Charlotte, North Carolina.

(Independence Boulevard, holla!)

It has just been named America's Manliest City, by the makers of pretzels and artificial cheese snacks.

And so, my sweetly named hometown will now host DudeFest, because dudes are not represented enough in today's society.

After all, when was the last time you saw dudes earn more money than women, a dude star in and be represented by a movie, a dude write a book about dudes, or a dude having any kind of power in the US? Clearly, the time is now for a DudeFest.

Monday, June 14, 2010

True Story: Pick-ups

Real life pick-up lines I have experienced:

Carolina Beach, Age 16

Random teen dude in parking lot by beach: “Hey, girl. I think you’re fat. Hot and Tempting!”

Me: “You mean Phat? Pretty, Hot, And Tempting?”

RTD: “Um. Yeah. Wanna go out?”

Wilmington Bar, Age 21

Random dude on barstool: “I bet you have a beautiful pussy.”

Me: “Yeah, and you’re not seeing it.”

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I Couldn't Help But Wonder...

This here bloggity-blog is called Flâneur in the City. As it is called "Something" in the City, that must mean I am a high-heeled wearing, Carrie Bradshaw wanna-be, typing my little heart out on my laptop whilst running through life on impossibly expensive, teeter-totter shoes.


(Pictured: Not me. My laptop is too small for this shot.) 
 
Not so much.

The name comes from Sharon Mesmer, who read one of my stories, and wrote in the margin in sprawling blue ink, "You're the flâneur in the city." And if Sharon Mesmer gives you an awesome fucking moniker like that, you not only name your blog after it, but consider laminating it, framing it, and buying a mantel to hang it over. 

True, I was in New York City at the time of the naming, tromping about in the rain in brown leather boots that reminded me of a storm trooper, with my requisite skinny jeans and lugging around my much-loved, beaten-up, red faux-leather tote from Target that still serves as my book bag. I even stomped down to Magnolia Bakery on a lazy Sunday, but the queue was too long to stand in and I opted for a bakery on Bleecker Street instead. But all that? That's not Carrie Bradshaw. I don't think Carrie even owned a pair of boots.

It's not to say I don't like Sex and the City. I do. I was barely 17 when it first came on, and caught episodes on my parents HBO without them knowing. It had little hype or grandeur then. I told the "Christian" guy that I mistakenly on-again, off-again dated during high school about this new show I liked and he told me I shouldn't watch it, because it was porn. I'm sure he went home to pray for my soul, while I went home and watched Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda banter out the details of anal sex.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

In Which I May Have Gained an Archnemesis

Consider this an update on last week's post on Bret Easton Ellis, noted for such accomplishments as wearing his ass for a hat, being a run-of-the-mill misogynist and he-so-dumb-he-stares-at-the-orange-juice-bottle-cause-it-says-concentrate*.

I've had one of those crazy busy weeks, but in the midst of the havoc I looked up the schedule for the London Literature Festival, hoping to budget my time and money to visit a few events.
(Books excite me. Authors excite me. My nerdiness has long been established.)

Guess who's speaking at the Festival in July?

None other than Bret Easton Ellis.

Bret. Easton. Ellis. I shake my fist at you!

Dude's becoming the Joker to my Batman! Or, well, maybe he's the Batman to my Joker. Because he's the rich white dude who's all about the status quo, and I'm the one screaming for change and upheaval in society for it to be inclusive for everyone**, not just the rich white dudes.

And case in point, I couldn't think of a single woman superhero to compare this to, since Hollywood doesn't make movies about female superheroes. ("But ... who would they save? They can't save men. That's what women are for. And they can't save other ladies. That's gay. Unless they're hot co-ed ladies. Then it's OK as long as men are watching.") The last superhero movie I can think of starring a woman (not in an ensemble, X-Men fans) is Catwoman. Catwoman sucked***. It didn't suck because it starred a woman, it sucked because it starred a CGI version of Halle Berry, and when it called for non-CGI (actors, I think they're called), the people in charge figured all it needed was Halle Berry looking hot with that-guy-Julia-Roberts-used-to-date, and there was no need for a plot. Like, not even a cameo by a plot.

When I told Mr. B that Bret Easton Ellis (I say his name like a curse word now) was coming to the Festival, he said I should print out my blog post and have Ellis autograph it.

A moment later, he changed his mind.

"You'd be pissed off for a week if you did that and couldn't say anything to him," Mr. B wisely noted.

True. And I do have a little dissertation to finish. I can't really afford a week of mind-numbing rage.

Though it would be interesting to ask him a few questions, particularly about his flawed understanding of the male gaze, there's no way I'm paying £10 (and the price of my sanity) to do it.



* That's a dusty one! Pulled it out of 1988, gave it a shine, wiped off the insulting "Yo Mama" off the beginning and voila! A joke that was popular when Bret Easton Ellis, noted this-joke-is-played, was relevant!

** Everyone. And I mean everyone. Every gender, race and sexuality.

Speaking of, the sad part about all this is that Bret Easton Ellis may very well be actively trying avoid being part of marginalized society himself by bashing women (in his speech and to pieces in his books). According to Wikipedia, Ellis has stated that he had a lover for six years, Michael Wade Kaplan, who passed away in 2004. Ellis does not claim to be bisexual, hetero, or homosexual, but instead says that he was not "interested in the [gay] lifestyle."

This is problematic, because there really isn't a gay "lifestyle" any more than there is a heterosexual one. Being gay isn't a choice. Calling it a lifestyle is much like calling gang life a lifestyle, or a drug user's life a lifestyle: It opens the door for those who believe being gay is a choice to come in and "correct" that lifestyle. You can get off drugs. You can be removed from a gang. But you can never stop being gay.

Whether or not Ellis comes out is not as issue for me either – heterosexual people never have to come out and say that they are straight. If he wants to keep that private, he has every right. But it is a missed opportunity to speak up for those who are not privileged, who are oppressed, and may never have the means nor opportunity to be who they are. Possibly to continue to be widely read by mainstream audiences, who enjoy misogyny, in an increasingly troubled book market. By sticking to the status quo, Ellis changes nothing, for men or women. He writes words about men who hack up women. There is nothing special or edgy or literary about that.

*** Catwoman sucked.
This is the second movie review ever run on Flâneur in the City. (The first was here.)
For real reviews, read Matt Brunson's Rotten Tomatoes page, linked on the side. For feminism and flâneuring and David Bowie, read me.