In Sickness and In Hell

The best friend to the American cold and flu.

DayQuil, nausea and sinus pressure mean little to no blog productivity. Sorry, friends.

FitC will resume its normal ramblings when I can breath again. Weekly Flâneur and Friday QuoteDay are a-go, but until the fever dreams revel something interesting, I'm on sick leave.

Here's David Bowie talking/singing to a 5-year-old. I love you all.

Friday QuoteDay

“People are uncomfortable with sexuality that’s not for male consumption.”

— Erykah Badu, recording artist, record producer, actress

Hello, Sunshine

Ready for the sun?

Heart-shaped aviator sunglasses, resting on my trusty notebook. Tricks of my trade.

With?

A glass of wine reflected in the lens.

Hell yeah. 

To Have and To Hold

I sleep too late, eat too little, and drink too much tea. I never remember to pay my bills on time and I'm fairly hopeless in the kitchen. When it comes to returning phone calls and emails I get ridiculously distracted and put it off for an embarrassing amount of time. If I'm not reading something online, I'm looking for something to read, and if I'm not reading online I'm reading a book or magazine or anything else that falls in front of me. I am incredibly self-centered, and have a hard time remembering birthdays. I have grandiose plans that never fully come to fruition, and am prone to running off to London when they do.

Despite all this, Mr. B loves me and together we are building a life. Come July, you'll find me in an off-white dress, barefoot in the grass. My announcement today, my blog friends, is this: We are getting married.

There will be no giving away of the bride, because I am my own to give. In truth, I lose nothing. The partnership we have built is one of deliberate jumping -- we did not fall in love, but trusted each other enough to grasp our hands and jump. We flew instead of fell, and we've been testing our wings ever since.

There will be no declaration of obedience, from either of us. I am my own person with my own whims and heart to obey, as is he. We'll compromise and choose, we'll take each step and fall with understanding and love.

It deeply saddens me how simple it is for us to declare we are going to be married because we have the state-approved combination of genitalia. Whether the person who Mr. B is inside -- a person of laughter, charisma, care, and unconditional love -- came to me in the form of a man or a woman, I would still love everything just the same. The right to marry the person you love should not be limited to gender or sexual orientation. I firmly believe that and will ally myself in the fight for equal marriage until we are all free to love openly and legally.

Flâneur in the City won't be turning into a wedding or bride blog; I've learned I haven't the knack for weddings. What interests me the most is starting a new phase in life with my partner by my side. The planning and preparation for the wedding day isn't as important as the life we have together.

You and I may never toast a drink together, dear reader, but I'm proud to share this news with you. Let's keep walking together, shall we?

As for me and Mr. B, we're halfway over the bridge. We'll cross into the new land united; fingers woven together, footfall in rhythm, partners side-by-side.

Weekly Flâneur: Fast and Furious

Image of traffic with Underground sign on a rainy night in London. Click to enlarge.

And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking   

back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,   

hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.

-- Marie Howe 

Westminster Abbey keeps watch over the rush of traffic, London.

The Real World: Homophobia City

Sit down, kiddos, Memaw Natalie is going to tell a story.

Once upon a time there was no World Wide Web. There was an Internet, but it was a tiny web; among its users the incredibly smart, the incredibly geeky, and the incredibly rich. Like most new technologies, early accessibility always for the smart (who invent it), the geeky (who can build it) and the rich (who needn't be smart nor creative, just wealthy enough to purchase the tools to convince people they are both. See for example: Family, Kardashian). So when young Natty was around age 14, the Internet was something spoken of but not yet seen in my household. Since I did not have the Interwebs, I did not have the pleasure of knowing much beyond the media of my time. And since I lived in the Bible Belt, my exposure to some aspects of the world were a bit lacking. For example? The first time I saw two men kiss was on MTV.

Even though we joke about MTV not showing music videos, the channel has been slowly weeding out the music for the past 20 years, and large chunks of time in the '90s were devoted to marathons of every season of The Real World.

The Real World is the original reality show; MTV could not afford to hire actors but wanted a soap opera. So they filmed a soap opera-ish show with camera-willing volunteers. The volunteers are called cast members, and use their real names. It's now a formulaic relic of reality television: seven strangers live together and are filmed. That's the hook. No surviving islands or eating bugs or being from Jersey Shore. Just the hi-jinks of seven people wanting to be on television.
 
For some, myself included, those early seasons were my first look into the strange world of twenty-something-hood. Reality TV provided one of my first encounters with beautiful men kissing on The Real World: Miami. It dispelled some myths I had of what gay men could look like (Village People clones) and caused a bit of perplexing thought as to what body part went where in the love making. (I had long since pieced together the hows of heterosexual intercourse, thanks to a copy of The Joy of Sex studied at a friend's sleepover and 6th grade gossip.) Both of these things were beneficial: I had not yet shaken my Bible Belt upbringing in regard to homosexuality, and following the storyline of a beautiful gay man, cast member Dan, dating in Miami during marathon MTV viewings added to the start of that shaking.

Dan looks a bit bored with all this. (Dan from RW: Miami, official MTV.com photo.)

Fast forward some 15 odd years later, and we have The Real World: Las Vegas. While inexplicably pretending RW: Las Vegas didn't already happen back in 2002, the new RW kids stay at posh Hard Rock hotel and dine at such elegant establishments as the Pink Taco.

Adulthood

Via Better Book Titles:  

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst and Ray Cruz.

But you do get to eat ice cream and potato chips for dinner, so there's that. 

 

Hammer it Home, Hollywood: A Feminist Look at Thor

AKA: Hottie with a hammer.

First and foremost: I enjoyed this movie.

Please keep that in mind as you read these words. One can like something and still critique it. But since this is the Internet, home of trolls and newbies to critical thinking, I feel it necessary to state right from the start that it was a fine, entertaining, enjoyable movie. I am not personally insulting anyone who enjoyed this movie, because I myself enjoyed it. Also necessary: I'm only talking about the movie, not the comic books.

While there may be other problematic elements to the film (race, mythology, an abundance of vaguely British accents for Norse gods), this is only focusing on the characters through a feminist lens. And if I've missed something in that respect, please join in and comment.

It's spoiler free. If you've seen the trailer, you know the plot. All the action mentioned below can be gleaned from the trailer. But if you're the type that doesn't want to know anything about at all about a film before seeing it, I suggest you step away now.

Shall we then?

All images via Marvel.com.

Awesome: The character Lady Sif, played by Jaimie Alexander, is an equal member of Thor's inner band of warriors.

Flaw: Lady Sif was the first to fall down in the first battle.

Redemption: Luckily, this is a minor flaw. Lady Sif is an equal member of Thor's inner band of warriors. She is the only warrior to hit a major Big Bad other than Thor. Lady Sif is also the speaker, and one could assume, de facto leader of group when Thor is on earth. When introduced, the companions of Thor are called Lady Sif and the Three Warriors.

(Click READ MORE below for the rest of this article.)

Long Overdue

Times Square, via The New York Times.

It's a strange feeling to sit in the exact same place, nearly ten years later, and see online that there is breaking news regarding Sept. 11, 2001.

On Sept. 11, 2001, I was 20 years old and living at my parents' house in an interim of my life. Now? May 1, 2011, I am 30 years old, and staying at my parents' home, affectionately called Casa de Chaos, as I prepare for the next race to begin.

On the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, I was late for ballet class. I danced every Tuesday and Thursday morning, from 9 until noon, but on that particular morning I was more concerned about writing an email to the person I was dating at the time. So, dressed in my standard ballet outfit -- rose coloured tights, black leotard, hair in a tight bun -- I curled up in my old armchair with my clunky laptop balanced on my knees and an open news tab to check celebrity gossip. That's where I saw the news the first plane crashed into the World Trade Center.

Tonight, the country road is quiet, the night is chilly, the house is still. I'm the only one awake, curled up in my sweatpants on an old green armchair, my laptop on perched knees. It's not the same laptop, my current much-loved Macbook replaced the clunky HP that rested under fingers that morning, but the room, the quiet, the sound of clicking keys and an open news tab are all here.

The news of Osama bin Laden's death has caused cheering in the streets in New York City and in front of the White House. London slumbers, but come morning the news will break; the 2005 tube attacks will certainly be on the collective mind.

For years, the US has been marred in wars that have no victory. There has been no V-Day, no justice nor resolve for the attacks on Sept. 11. What there has been is the needless, horrific Iraq war, the US divided into absolutes of "us" vs. "them" (with the "them" ranging from stranger to neighbor, colleague, family) by a hateful climate that penetrated every aspect of media, and a political movement that sought to use fear to manipulate the voting public.

Cheering in the streets is the one thing we haven't been able to do yet.

It's an emotional night, and one that will lead to questions in the morning. What happens next? What will the complications and retaliations be? Will something worse come along?
We can't know tonight. For now, some will cheer, some will sleep, some will shrug and could care less, some will cry.

For me, I'll shift the weight off my knees, turn off the television. Publish these words. And remember this muddled quote: "I've never wished a man dead, but I have read some obituaries with great satisfaction."

Friday QuoteDay

“We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely — at least, not all the time — but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness” 

— Hunter S. Thompson

Rule, Britannia

Image Via: fuckyeahweddingideas.tumblr.com

We all know I've got a bit of an Anglophile in me. (Even if it took me over a year living in London to figure out exactly what crumpets were. English muffins made with milk, y'all. Basically.) So even though I'm not huddled on the cold London pavement for a glimpse of Wills and Kate followed by a day of copious drinking, I'm still going to watch the hub-bub. May I say, saying up all night to watch this wedding shin-dig in the comfort of my bed? Delicious.

I've got my knock-off Kate Middleton engagement dress from Primark, my Marks & Spencer Earl Grey tea in my Asda teapot, and my Union Jack blankey. I'm an unemployed freelance writer. Live televised events from the hours of 4 a.m. to 7 a.m. were made for me. Bring it.

Weekly Flâneur: Regal

Image: Gates of Buckingham Palace, focus on stone unicorn. Click to enlarge.

Reason to marry a Prince:
Guest list includes gargoyles of lion, unicorn, and dragon as stately and silent witnesses.
Buckingham Palace, London. Wills and Kate, congrats!

The Freudianest of All Freudian Slips

Today, I was telling Mr. B about a dream I had last night, in which Johnny Depp and I were alone together in a fancy hotel room.

Johnny Depp decided that he wanted to marry me, and I was having conflicting feelings about this.
Mr. Depp suggested a bit of snogging to make his case, and I acquiesced.

But Mr. Depp had a bit of a kink, and asked me to wrap my lips around his tongue rather than press our lips together. 

Or as I said to Mr. B, "He didn't want to make-out normally. He wanted me to suck his tongue! So I sucked Johnny Cock's tongue. Depp! Johnny DEPP's tongue! DEPP. I said Depp."

Slip of the tongue, I swear.

Oh My

Greetings from my office, the local coffeehouse with free WiFi!

My home, Casa de Chaos, has suffered sporadic to zip Internet access this week, causing yours truly to go through serious celebrity gossip and blog withdrawal. On top of lack of Internet access (get it together, Time Warner!), my trusty companion, my MacBook, the lifeline of all my non-self-destructive vices and addictions, has run out of memory. I actually didn't know this was possible, but it's true. I suppose my hobbies of taking hundreds of pictures, writing novels and downloading movies has taken its toll on Sir McBook; there is no room for anything new until I either make room or upgrade. Which sucks. Today I was driving behind a car that boasted the slogan "I'd rather be Shaggin" right on the license plate. The slogan was accompanied by a pair of shoes, so I suppose it's some sort of dance? (Google says it is a Southern swing dance.) But! Shagging! On an official State plate! Shagging! Sadly, I could not capture this magical moment in time because I left my camera at home today with the knowledge that if I took any pictures, I couldn't load them. Oh, Sir McBook.

The Internet gave me this image, so it's not a total bust:

I'd Rather Be SHAGGIN.

All this also means I haven't been able to repeatedly listen (and analyze) Gaga's new single, "Judas," since I cannot connect long enough to download it or YouTube it, and even if I could, there is no room for it on my poor bloody McBook. I had plans to write about it, natch. Also in the works were half a dozen unfinished posts saved in drafts on my dashboard, just waiting to be loved and finished. My lovely, lonely FitC becomes a hollow ghost of last week's news, and not a single Bowie or cup of tea to warm its waiting pages.

Luckily, there is free WiFi and caffeine in this world. Settling in to my teen dream coffeehouse (yes, still with the kindertots), I am finally able to write on my beautiful FitC, and check up on my stats to see who has dropped by for a visit. And what do I find?

A new link to FitC!

Well, stroke my ego! I love it when I get linked to by other blogs and sites. My narcissism needs to be fed, and other links are my Seymour. Feed me, feed me!

I click, excited.

The site is ... well. Of an Adult Nature. A Site of Ill-Repute, as it were. And smack-dab in the middle of Starbucks, in full view of a table full of squealing teenagers behind me and louder than the melodic strums of Simon & Garfunkel playing on the coffeehouse speakers, my screen becomes filled with lady bits and man wands. With my volume turned on high. 

Whelp. They know I'm here, at least.

Today in Insulting Adverts

Image reads: Approach women like you do wild animals, with caution and a soothing voice.

Bonus points for a bit of visual racism (white guy with whip golf club? that looks like a riding crop? instructing the poor ethnics on how to behave.)

Guess I'll be sticking with Corona, since Dos Equis thinks I a.) need approach my fellow ladies as wild animals (they don't, obviously, since this ad is not directed at women at all), or b.) have the intellect of an undomesticated and unstable animal in the plains of some vaguely colonial wild.

Pass the Corona with a slice of lime, if you please.

Visual Reminder

Pro-choice image in Williamsburg, Brooklyn that reads:

“We are still asking you to keep you laws off of our bodies.”

Friday QuoteDay

"What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life; to strengthen each other in all labor, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent, unspeakable memories."

 — George Eliot (pen name of Victorian novelist Mary Anne Evans)
This one's for you, Mr. B.