Oldies But Goodies 2: Skinny Dipping

Since I am still working on my dissertation (due Friday!), it's Oldies But Goodies week at Flâneur in the City. Here's another wee Natty adventure, recycled from one of my old Blogger blogs. I've had various blogs on Blogger for about 9 years, and will most likely continue. Blogger is the site I have used the longest in my Internet life. Wonder what will come next?

May 28, 2002 
Skinny Dipping

I'm a 21-year-old co-ed, living in a mixed-gender dorm at a major University, that just so happens to be on the beach. Attending classes during the summer.
This said, the worse thing I could do would be to hop naked into the ocean during a full moon, on a deserted beach.
Haven't you seen "Jaws"?
Have I learned nothing from years of horror movie openings?
The naked co-ed is the first to go.
Perfect shark bait.

This also said, what is the it that I do my second weekend at college?
Hop in the Atlantic ocean, naked as a jay bird.

My partner-in-crime and I were walking the beach in the moonlight, which in its strange perfection resembled a movie set, dream yet reality. The yellow moon was bright and beckoning; I couldn't resist her pull. She made a silver path to our feet. Calling.
There were fireworks in the distance, stars by the dozens, the Moon -- she as bright as her brother Sun.
We stood in her pull, wandering closer.
The ocean licked the hem of my sundress, and suddenly I am to my knees in tear-tasting waters.
I want more ...
"I want to go in," I say.
My partner-in-crime answers, "Will you? I'll go if you do."

We move up the beach, towards dry sand.
It only takes one swift movement to yank my sundress over my head.
My bra unsnaps, I was barefoot to begin with. Bracelets, rings fall to the sand.
Everything off?
Might as well do it right.

Naked, naked, naked I run.
The Moon is my path, lights my feet to the sea.

So cold ... 
The waves crash, an icy shock down my body.
Yet I laugh.

My partner-in-crime is a few feet away, we wave to each other, we dive, the waves overtake us both.

I taste salt, I become salt.
There no tears left in me.
They lay cast into the moon and sea.

Oldies But Goodies

This week will be filled with deep breaths, endless nights, copious amounts of tea and coffee, and a heaping sense of bravery that rests somewhere dormant in my soul. After this week, I will no longer be a student. This week, my MA dissertation will be complete, and with it, my first book. I need your good thoughts, my friends, and prayers if you have them to spare. God knows that I didn't make it this far on my own; I do get by with a little (enormous) help from my friends.  
Looking forward has made me a bit introspective, so I thought I'd dig up an oldie but goodie for tonight's post. 

June/08/2003
As it goes
Location: Wilmington, N.C.

I was fascinated by the nightly fires outside my third-floor bedroom window the first week in my new apartment. I don't know if there were no cops at that hour, or if fireworks were not considered enough of a disturbance to bother with, but at 1:00 a.m. the picnic tables by the pond sparked a popping orange. It scared me, that first night, I who claim an unease near uncontrolled fire. By Saturday I had made my peace with the firebringers, the young couple that silently appeared, and with beer bottles in hand, lit the pond. By morning there was no sign of the lighted fireworks, not even a trace of ash.

I shut the blinds and turned off the bedroom light. The pair huddled a few feet away from their pyro fantasy. It was a damp May night that I kneeled in an old men's shirt cast off to Goodwill and propped my chin on the windowsill to spy. The scheduled spontaneity of this event gave me a strange sense of comfort. This random celebration of costly fireworks wasted on a Tuesday night; the silent couples' silhouette revealing fingers intertwined in the reflection of the sparkling lights.

What private holiday was I witnessing? Was this a lovers ritual, to snap a lighter and create colored fire from tubes of packed chemicals? Was this something of the mundane, of boredom, or simply just because? The frogs paused in their cantos at the sudden sounds, the ducks long flown to quiet. I picked at the threads of my beige carpet and watched this mini-celebration, content to be a voyeur to another's joy.

Show and Tell

Two of my dear friends have started blogs. Both of them are busy bees, but they still find the time to write and post, motivating my lazy bum to get to writing.

Pink Spatula blogs over at A Cup and A Spoonful. Blending South African cuisine with UK fare, Miss Pink Spatula whips up recipes with ingredients that can be found anywhere. And, she's an excellent photographer, so expect yummy looking food photos.

Ash Cloud tackles the media over at Jimmy Jet and I's TV Set. The title is based on a Shel Silverstein poem about a child who turns into a television. Luckily, Ash Cloud protects the innocent from such a fate by watching TV for you. Ash Cloud analyzes your favorite TV shows and gives a heads-up on what's good. Hint: There is True Blood love galore at JJ's TV Set. I expect Alexander Skarsgard nude pictures over there soon. (No complaints about that!)

In other news, if you were lucky enough to see Inception this weekend, you may be interested in Matt Brunson's inspired review of the film. And if you were one of the unlucky ones (ahem, me) the review is spoiler-free, so breathe easy checking it out.

As for me? I'm working on the ol' dissertation (due next week! Whimper!) and strengthening my addiction to Marks and Spencer's Earl Grey Tea. I hope that there is a support group for Americans with insatiable British tea addictions in the States, or I'll just have to stay here forever.

(The tea bags aren't really that green. I'm just too lazy/busy to take my own photo. Thanks flickr!)

Hope and Dreams

It's a Saturday night in London. What's a hot young thing like me doing?

If you answered: YouTube, studying dissertation notes, and wishing to ditch said dissertation notes for a late screening of Inception, you are correct! (And quite possibly hiding in my room, which is creepy. Get your own room.)

For tonight, here's to hope – hope that next week is better, that we all sleep well, and hope that my dissertation will be completed without me losing my sanity.

Dream well, my dears.

 (Joan Baez, The Dream Song, via the lovely and wonderful Mr. B, who saw Inception and posted this song in response.)

Facebook Censors Call For Gender Equality In Religion

Lest we forget that being female is a horrible genetic disorder that should be shunned and condemned by God and God's representatives on earth – mighty, mighty men – Facebook has decided to remind us.

One year ago, former US President Jimmy Carter penned an excellent, thought-provoking opinion piece for Australian newspaper The Age. Titled Losing my religion for equality, Carter stated the logical argument that religion has been used as a means to oppress, rape, mutilate and torture women for centuries. All religions are guilty of this. Carter recognized that this backwards thinking and oppression is contrary to the teachings of Christ and that the cherry-picking of scripture to support oppression was indeed anti-Christian. He called for change.

STFU, Conservatives linked to it today. I read it, wept at the content, and linked to it on my Facebook wall.

Facebook flagged it as abusive content and would not allow those seeing it on my wall to follow the link. A pop-up read: "The link you are trying to visit has been reported as abusive by Facebook users."

Here's what Facebook and certain Facebook users deem abusive content:

This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or belief. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths. Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque, synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority, has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women's equal rights across the world for centuries.

At its most repugnant, the belief that women must be subjugated to the wishes of men excuses slavery, violence, forced prostitution, genital mutilation and national laws that omit rape as a crime. But it also costs many millions of girls and women control over their own bodies and lives, and continues to deny them fair access to education, health, employment and influence within their own communities.

The impact of these religious beliefs touches every aspect of our lives. They help explain why in many countries boys are educated before girls; why girls are told when and whom they must marry; and why many face enormous and unacceptable risks in pregnancy and childbirth because their basic health needs are not met.

Since learning it was blocked, I was able to post this as my status update, allowing my friends to still find the article:

"Natalie LAST NAME Facebook objects the notion women are people and blocks this link. Add www.theage.com before the following to read a really excellent opinion piece by former US President Jimmy Carter. .au//opinion/losing-my-religion-for-equality-20090714-dk0v.html?page=-1"

I have also been searching Facebook's Help and Abuse FAQ to contact those in charge and perhaps remove the block. Since it has already been reported, I am not holding onto hope that it will be changed.

But I can encourage what few readers I have to not allow Facebook censorship to hinder the promotion of an intelligent and thoughtful read. Read it. Pass it on. Keep fighting.

Here is the link:
http://www.theage.com.au//opinion/losing-my-religion-for-equality-20090714-dk0v.html?page=-1

Sleep Deprivation Day

A bout of sleeplessness means I have this opening song playing on repeat in my head and I have no idea why.

 

(In case this video does not play where you live, the vid is "Stop the Planet of the Apes I Want to Get Off!" Starring Actor Troy McClure, from The Simpsons.)

"Dr. Zaius, Dr. Zaius! Dr. Zaius, Dr. Zaius! Ooo, Dr. Zaius!"

Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones, But ...

In my London flat, my Greek flatmate has me saying, "Yasu!" and I've got her saying, "Y'all" on a daily basis. All of this said in our mingled English accents.

Take note, United Nations.

OK, well, she has me saying, "Yasu Putana!" which isn't exactly United Nations friendly, but meant in an endearing, reclaiming-the-word way. I've also learned how to say a number of dirty words in Greek, which will come in handy if I ever stub my toe in Athens.

Saying, "Yasu Putana" among friends is one of those things that make the world a little bit easier. It's taking the sting of the word away, and making it into something positive.

I was thinking about it earlier this week, when I woke up after a night of weird dreams. (No, no, keep reading –- this isn't turning into an online dream journal, I swear!) I had a dream about a guy I knew in high school; we'll call him Lawrence. 

Lawrence was a harasser. Not a bully, because that word holds a quaint innocence and nostalgia. This dude was constantly harassing those who were weak or quiet, or those who just happened to be in the same place at the same time when he felt like being a dick. Me? I was a bit of all three. Quiet, shy, and in at least two classes with this charmer. 

I hadn't thought about Lawrence in years. One of the best parts about being a grown-up –- other than having potato chips and ice cream for dinner whenever you want –- is that those annoyances from high school that were so drastically life-changing and important and "OmiGod, I'm going to die, I swear it!" fade to some distant spot on the horizon. When you happen to think about it or glance at it, it takes some squinting and eye-shielding to really see it way off from the course of your daily life. In short: It's awesome.

The last time Lawrence popped up on my radar was when I joined Facebook. Unlike MySpace, which I was addicted to (you were too, don't lie), FB had the brilliant option of allowing other users to be blocked. My blocked list is a long one, and old Lawrence is on there. But apparently my sleeping brain didn't get the message, and up pops Lawrence like some demented groundhog.

Around London Town

• I was a very good girl last night.

You'll be proud to know, dear ones, that I did not sit in front of Southbank with a sign that read "Bret Easton Ellis is an asshat!" Even though the noted asshat (and my archenemy) was there last night, an ugly blemish on the London Literature Festival's smiling face.

(UPDATE: If you are visiting from another blog (it has come to my attention that I've been linked in  this regard), please read my initial posts on Bret Easton Ellis here, and the follow-up thoughts here for background on why I would hang out in front of Southbank with a picket sign. Thank you kindly.)

Why no protest? Because I'm like Gandhi. (If Gandhi was a whiskey drinking, cursing-like-a-drunken-sailor, feminist, Bowie-lovin', gladiator-sandal-wearin' grad student.*) And Gandhi wouldn't sit in front of Southbank with a protest sign. No sir-ree. He would finish his book and work very hard and not waste his time or money skipping off to see Emo SparkleVamps at the Odeon. Well, maybe. **

• London teenagers are cute. When they aren't screaming "Woooo!" at 3 in the morning.

Today I saw two young girls walk by my kitchen window in matching "I ♥ London" jumpers, hoodies up, and sharing one iPod, the headphones cord binding them together as they walked in unison. It was pretty adorable, and kind of made me want a matching jumper set to wear with a friend. 

• Royal Rumble!

Prince Harry challenges BOWIE for the prestigious title of "Hot Man Who Looks Like A Puppy" on Flâneur in the City!

Check it:

 (When choosing a puppy-look-alike, true contenders go for the matching hair colour look.)

But! The Brits do have a well-established history of looking like puppies. 

And then there's this anthropomorphic feat:

(Awww! Puppy thinks he's an independent colony from Britain! How cute!)

Bonus points if this pup was named Prince.

But, as always, Bowie wins with this shot:

Can you dance with wolves like Bowie***, young Prince Hotness? I think not.


* He very well may have been, before, you know, peaceful enlightenment and all. Bowie is rather transcendent.

** Gandhi would not be Team Jacob.

*** Bowie is Team The Hunger.
And the only living man allowed to sparkle.

This Week

• Hey! Guess who's not getting paid? 

You!
And your mom!
And your sister!
And your aunt!
And every other woman you know in the USA!*
 
Granted, the wage gap for younger women is smaller: Women under 35 who work full time earn around 90% of what their male counterparts earn. But it drops to 75% after age 35.

90% is not good enough. It should be 100% without question or hesitation.

2010: Still not getting equal pay for equal work. 

• Remember this charmer?

This week, we learn that continuing to be a white, rich, celebrity dude means the sanest and most rational of people will decide that it's totally OK to drug and rape a 13-year-old girl and avoid any kind of jail time. Because rich artistes are above silly things like law. But only if you're a dude.

To counter this, a look back at the great rebuttals of Amanda Hess over at the Washington City Paper, an alt weekly newspaper that allows a woman write about sexism, rather than perpetuate it. (Which is the point of alternative news and progressive viewpoints. Sadly, it is a rarity.) Amanda Hess deftly outlines and counters the myriad apologists who believe that because they like Polanski's The Pianist, Polanski is thereby an alright guy and totally deserves a break. Know who deserves a break? Amanda Hess, me, and everyone who else who fights such ignorant bullshit.

• Mel Gibson hates everyone. 

That, the rich bigwigs of Hollywood have decided, is one step too far. Oh! they lament, if only he could have stuck to hating women! Like Charlie Sheen! And that lovable Mike Tyson! We could still make money off of him! But no. He goes and hates on actual people, on different races, who would have totally paid good money to see him in Lethal Weapon 17 and Braveheart 2: Braveheartier!

Y'all. It's only Tuesday.

I'm going to have to start Googling "Cute Puppies!" like mad.

* Don't know any women in the States? Well, don't worry. It's not just America. You and your mom aren't getting paid all over the world for your hard work.

Also: Hi. I'm Natalie. It's very nice to meet you. I'm from the States, and I owe the States an exorbitant amount of money because of grad school. These may be just words on your screen, but you and I? We are acquainted. In fact: you, dear reader, are very important to me. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Make Me Jump Into The Air

A sample of my Writing Playlist:

1. Rainy Night in Georgia  Otis Redding
2. America  Simon & Garfunkel   
3. Lovefool  The Cardigans  
4. Wish You Were Here  Incubus
5. Adiemus  Adiemus   
6. What It Is About Men  Amy Winehouse 
7. Moonage Daydream  David Bowie  
8. So Happy I Could Die  Lady GaGa   
9. Between The Lines  Sara Bareilles   
10. Circle in the Sand  Belinda Carlisle  
11. Olsen Olsen  Sigur Ros   

"Circle in the Sand" and "Moonage Daydream" are two of my favorite songs for any occasion.

And Otis Redding? His voice brings the swoon.

What do you listen to when you write? Silence? Sounds? Favorite tunes?

Saturn's Return

 (Pride Week on Saturn! Whoo-hoo!)

The Saturn Return. It's new to me.

At 29.5, an astrological destiny declares the threshold to adulthood open and tumultuous* changes occur. Not 18, so stfu, teenagers. 29.5. Which, despite celebrating my 21st birthday for years now, means right around, oh (glance at non-existence watch on arm), right the fuck now.

I think I've already done this. 27 seemed to be my year of upheaval, of quarter-life crisis, of panic and pain. I've got the worry-induced wrinkles and pre-mature grey hair to prove it. Now I just feel peaceful. Even when faced with the uncertainties of the future, of where I will live, and how I will survive and where I will work, I feel a calm sense that it will all work out for the best.**

So come on, Saturn.*** I'm ready. Hit me with your best shot. I got this.

* Tumultuous. I love that word. It's a say-out-loud word. Tumultuous. It sounds delicious.

** Even for my dissertation, which is due in 19 days and counting. 

*** Saturn is a planet.
Like Mars.
Mars, you say? Why, yes, I will use this opportunity to post gratuitous shots of Ziggy Stardust, front man of the Spiders of Mars. And puppies. Is this going to be a trend? I don't know.

I do know that BOWIE and puppies that look like BOWIE make me happy.

And, lest we think I'm biased, a kitty:

See what just happened there? My brain found a way to tie everything back to DAVID BOWIE. If only I could do that in my real life.