Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Oh, London!



"This is a Piccadilly Line Service to ... "

Cracks me up every. Single. Time. Without exception.

I filmed this today, while renewing my vow that some day I will ride the Piccadilly line all the way to Cockfosters (Cockfosters!) and have my picture taken next to the station sign. Some day!

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Flâneur in the City's Theme Song


(Veruca Salt: With David Bowie)

My heart skips around
when I hear the sound.
I'm never alone cause
you're following me home.
I'm falling in love,
my walkman and me,
with David Bowie.


Oldies But Goodies 3: Comic Book Girl

Still feeling lazy, my loves, so here's another oldie-but-goodie from the vault. Did you know I used to work at a comic book store in Wilmington, NC? 

November 11, 2002
Truth, Justice and the American Way

I encounter a variety of customers working at the comic book store. The majority of them are men, the comic industry plays into the male psyche beautifully. The common hero is the underdog male, mundane in existence by day, cape wearing vigilante by night. A classic reflection of one's secret self, the longing to be something other than what one is. The second aspect played is that of approachable female. Comics are entertainment, fantasy. And given to pen, women in the comic world can perform impossible contortions while wearing the least amount of clothing and still have a personality. Even feminist icon Wonder Woman skips around in a near bikini. Obviously, your "real life" woman isn't going to fight crime and the forces of evil in high heels. The combination of underdog hero and stunning femme fatale make a delightful afternoon read.

That being said, the customers have a variety of tastes, some that would make an eyebrow raise.

Such as: The man who cleaned out our adult-only box of 75 cent porn. 75 cent porn is really just a pamphlet, the size and style like the opening of a centerfold. They are for promotional use, previews for magazines, with all the features and nudity involved. This man came in and bought $20 worth of 75 cent porn.
As I was adding up his amount, I had to clear my throat and say, "You know, we carry most of these magazines" and point him in the right direction.
But, nope. He just wanted the promos. Whatever floats your boat.

Then, there is the sweetest old man that comes in before his night shift. Apparently, just across the river is one of the largest computer-something factories in the Southeast. Mr. Work-boots starts his day at 7pm, and ends somewhere in the early morning hours. He is always polite, remembers my name, and wears the same scuffed work-boots everyday. He first came into the store on a slow Tuesday afternoon, looking at me with surprise and an exclamation of,
"Well, hello there new gal!"

I immediately smile. It's a treat to spoken to so kindly and comfortably. 
After some chatting, he asks,
"Do you go to church young lady?"

Me: "I...well, I haven't really found one I'm comfortable with here in Wilmington."
Him: "When you do, make sure it's Baptist."
Me: "Um, yes sir."
(I'm itching to ask him why, the inner religion scholar preparing to burst through, but I keep my mouth shut for once.)
Him, pointing to a truck in the parking lot: "That there is my wife. She is the finest lady in the world."
Me, smile and nod. His wife sits patiently in a pink cardigan, the image of grandmothers and baking comes to mind.

I am filled with lovely thoughts at that moment, this sweet old couple sitting in rocking chairs by pictures of grandchildren. Mr. Work-boots in the comic book store to buy the hero comics that he grew up with. A nostalgic visit to his childhood, when 10 cents would provide a world of fantasy.
I gather his comics from his box (customers list the comics of their choice and we collect them in their box -- a service that ensures the comic of choice is not sold out, and if one collects a large amount, saves time from having to search. Plus, we get to know what genre the customers like, so we can recommend others they may enjoy). I find his box to be overflowing with a large stack of comics, which I assume will be the latest Superman issues.

Much to my surprise I glance down at the cover to see an illustrated naked woman mooning me.
I am taken aback as I go through the stack at the register. Every comic was from the "bad girl" section; scantly clad women blasting aliens or grotesque monsters while still managing not to smear their lipstick. Compared to these girls, Lara Croft is a nun.

Mr. Work-boots pays, and scopes up his comics with a smile.
"Now, you remember to find yourself a nice church, ya hear?"
"Yes, sir." I reply with another smile.
As you can see, he is my favorite customer.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Whew.

Hello, dear ones. You know what? I'm a bit more burned out than anticipated. The dissertation was bound and turned in last Friday at noon, and since then just looking at the computer makes me tired. Y'all, that's been days now.  If my MacBook* could talk, it would be whining from neglect.**

"Natalie! Play with me! Natalie! Type on me! Natalie! Scream at me while you fight your dissertation word count! Natalie! Cry salty tears over my keyboard while you question your life choices and ponder if it's too late to become a potato farmer or rocket scientist or any other career that can actually generate an income!"

In short, I took a little writing break and may continue it. I'm not sure. I have a few thoughts and posts planned, but after that I may keep it light for the rest of the week. We'll see. But please know I'm not abandoning you. I love y'all too much to leave for too long!


*I always pronounce it in a faux-Scottish accent, like I'm Lady freaking Macbeth. Mach-Boook! Always with an exclamation point.

** Give it time. Talking Mach-Boooks! are just around the corner.
They'll probably use the voice of Justin Long, since he's a Mac, not a PC. (In the States, Justin Long stars in commercials as the cool embodiment of a Mach-Boook!; not too sure how far those ads reach!) But not, like, chain-smoking, Drew Barrymore-dating Justin Long; wholesome, Disney-movie Justin Long. He'll probably sound like that stoner guy I made out with in the 9th grade, the one who spoke slowly and clearly and profoundly about the shape of stars, while we both wore our baggy corduroy pants and flannel shirts. And not the cute flannel shirts that the girls are wearing now, but the baggy over-sized Kurt Cobain inspired shirts stolen from a perplexed dad's closet and that made a 14-year-old body look like that of an anorexic lumber jack, along with Converse sneakers and peace sign jewelry, because who wouldn't get all hot and bothered by red flannel and some peace sign earrings? 

Flannel today:
Adorable. 

Flannel in the '90s:

Artistic representation of yours truly.