Friday QuoteDay

“At thirteen desperately watching TV, curling my long legs under me, desperately reading books, callow adolescent that I was, trying (desperately!) to find someone in books, in movies, in life, in history, to tell me it was O. K. to be ambitious, O. K. to be loud, O. K. to be Humphrey Bogart (smart and rudeness), O. K. to be James Bond (arrogance), O. K. to be Superman (power), O. K. to be Douglas Fairbanks (swashbuckling), to tell me self-love was all right, to tell me I could love God and Art and Myself better than anything on earth and still have orgasms...

Alas, it was never meant for us to hear. It was never meant for us to know. We ought never be taught to read. We fight through the constant male refractoriness of our surroundings; our souls are torn out of us with such shock that there isn’t even any blood. 

Remember: I didn’t and don’t want to be a 'feminine' version or a diluted version or a special version or a subsidiary version or an ancillary version, or an adapted version of the heroes I admire. 

I want to be the heroes themselves.”

—  Joanna Russ, sci-fi, fantasy, and feminist theory writer, quote from The Female Man

Weekly Flâneur: Sweet Savannah

Where was Weekly Flâneur last week? Gearing up for today's mega-post!

Mr. B and I headed south to Savannah, Georgia for the Savannah Film Festival hosted by the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD). The city was beautiful and the festival was a blast. Ready for some southern comfort? Treats below the jump! 

Opening night and the Savannah Film Fest Marquee

Anchors away!

River front living

Vote Vote Vote

Tomorrow is the big day for voting in the USA. Are you ready? Here's a couple of reminders before you head to your polling station:

Click to enlarge. Via Think Progress.

Click to enlarge. Via demnewswire.

FitC is supporting this awesome fellow. Babies love the 'Bama. See you at the polls!

Obama! Yes we can kiss babies. Via BarackObama.

In Which There Is A Lazy Post

A short one from my Draft Folder, which has over 40 unpublished blog posts waiting to see the light of day. I would like to post them all, but most are incomplete or snippets, like this one from the spring of 2011! Check this one off the list:

Just got whistled at while walking down the sidewalk. How did the dude know that I always dreamed my Prince Charming would be wearing a backwards ballcap and smoking a cig in his huge pick-up truck, whistling at any girl who happens to walk by? Dream. Date.

Back off ladies, this one's mine!

(Seriously, dudes, don't do this. It's very creepy. No exceptions.)

Weekly Flâneur: Bottled

Click to enlarge.

Bottoms up!

Glass bottles in the window sill of Fuel Pizza. Photo taken by this charming fellow.

Plaza Midwood, Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Friday QuoteDay

Click to enlarge. Found via ModCloth.

"If you're making mistakes it means you're out there doing something." — Neil Gaiman

Weekly Flâneur: Go

Click to enlarge.

What are you waiting for? 

Today. Today is the day. 

If you were looking for a sign, this is it. 

 Go.

Green light, crossed wires, Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Weird Facebook Ads, Part One

Today we're talking Facebook ad fails. Do you ever pay attention to the little ads on the side of your newsfeed? While my husband receives ads for political candidates and charities, I get ads for maid services and baby clothes. No matter how much I spam my poor blighted newsfeed with petitions and debate updates, the algorithms state that a 31-year-old married lady must be given babies and maids. Another little moment of small daily sexism to ponder. But luckily for you dear readers, it means that I can collect a few of the worst offenders for your amusement and that is my silver lining. 

I've written about a previous Facebook sexist ad fail here (along with a local ad fail and these two Craigslist ad posts. Also: Hat beard.) Today's weird Facebook ads come from the world of babies.


1.) Uncomfortable Product Placement

"Sell Kids Clothes With Other Parents Like You," "YAZ birth control lawsuit," and "Tie Your Tubes."

 It's like the life cycle of a parent. All that's missing is a wine home delivery service.

 2.) That Is Not What You Think It Is

I will gladly counsel your Cabbage-Patch doll. In fact, if you have any other inanimate objects, such as Blu-rays or couches, that need intimate and professional counseling, I will happily step up the task. According to this ad, all it takes is one year for me to be a Cabbage-Patch counselor in North Carolina, but I'm sure I can tack on a night class or two for pillow counseling, blanket group therapy, and teddy bear one-on-ones. My future is so bright!

 3.) Your Client Hates You

This child does not want your designer clothes. This child hates your conformist unoriginality. This child has no neck and you want to put him in Designer duds with bow ties, you sadist. This child is judging your life choices and has found you wanting. Don't you see you are torturing this small, Charlie Brown shaped child? This child is equally horrified and inconsolable over your small-minded sartorial discounts. This child's potato body will actively seek to destroy any and all Designer fabric placed upon his skin by any means necessary. Look at that face. That is a face that doesn't play. Stop it.

 4.) That's Better

Oh. Whew. Looky there. No designer clothes. A stupid headband, but at least it's a real baby in this counselor ad and not a doll. Maybe becoming a counselor or social worker through an online course has some validity after all, right?
 
 5.) Right?

Now you're just fucking with me.

Friday QuoteDay

“Feminists have always been accused of hating men because it is a very effective way of silencing a very threatening movement. In a society where women’s value is based on our ability to please men, and where men hold almost all the cards, the worst possible thing we can do is hate them. So when feminists point out and object to the oppression, abuse and discrimination perpetuated by men against women, this is framed as man hating in an attempt to silence us, in an attempt to ensure that we are vilified and ignored by the rest of society, so that male oppression of women and male privilege can continue unchecked. 

 No matter how we frame our arguments and no matter what kind of image we seek to project, as long as we highlight, object to and fight misogyny, feminists are going to be called man haters. 

So I’m not going to waste my time trying to prove that I’m not.”

 — “Man haters?” by Laura on The F Word blog

Weekly Flâneur: West Side Story

Click to enlarge.

This beautiful mural on the side of Charlotte's Primary Health Care was created by local students working with The MLK - Moving the Lives of Kids - Community Mural Project. Students earned $200 to $1,000 to explore their artistic vision and bring the vivid painting to life. 

 Queen City Mural on Beatties Ford Road, West Charlotte, N.C.

City Beauty: Sugar Scrub Shave

Don't run away. We're going to do a little experiment. Let's add some beauty and pampering to our flaneuring. Oscar Wilde would approve. My straight male readers? You've seen the title. Don't let your eyes glaze over. This is for you, too. You have ladies in your life who you would like to woo, correct? Then pay attention. You can use the following info as a woo-tactic in the tub with your naked lady friend. And if you make to the end of this blog post, there's a judgmental cock as your reward. (Cock as in rooster, my dear gutter-minded loves.)

This is a tried and true recipe for creating the perfect sugar scrub that makes your legs smoother than a classic jazz melody. Use it in the tub or shower.

You will need:

1 Cup of Sugar
1/2 Cup of Olive Oil
3 tablespoon of lemon juice
1 tablespoon of honey

And a bowl to mix it all in. (I use a rubber-bottomed mixing bowl because setting it on the side of the bathtub can be slippery. A plastic container would work just as well.)

Step One: Pour in your sugar.

Other online recipes will tell you that 1 1/2 to 2 cups of sugar are required. Save it for your tea. Half a cup is fine; even after scrubbing your legs and feet, there will be enough left over for your arms. I've got 5 feet 10 inches of body to cover and the 1 cup is plenty.

Bloggity-Blog Notes

Hello, my darlings! A few things today:

 1.) No more anonymous comments. I've been getting a ton of anons lately and it's mostly spam cluttering up my inbox. For now, you'll have to leave a name to leave a comment, in hopes of keeping the anon-o-bots away. I do hope that this isn't an inconvenience to anyone.

2.) I am going to be trying something new on the blog this week! I don't know if it will be a regular feature like Friday QuoteDay, but I hope you like it. Stay tuned!

 3.) It's come to my attention through Google that someone likes FitC so much, they decided to take a piece home with them.

This is just a friendly reminder that if I have written something on here that you love, please do not plagiarize it. And if you discover something that moves you and wish to elaborate on it, please give me credit for the original text.

Credit is currency on the Internet. There are no ads on FitC, and the sad donation button has gotten only one donation (thanks for the cuppa tea, you-know-who-you-are!) since going live over a year ago. And that's OK! FitC is my blog baby and I love writing here.

But! Please, please, please take into consideration that the photos and words here take time and effort, and respect that they belong to me unless stated otherwise. I still love all of you in ways that make my husband clear his throat and tap his wedding ring on the table. But please don't steal from me.

4.) Requisite David Bowie:

Hippie Bowie of peace and love and no-plagiarizing. Image found here, because that's how it works.

Friday QuoteDay

“Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it’s personal. And the world won’t end.

And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had. And you will lose some friends and lovers, and realize you don’t miss them. And new ones will find you and cherish you.

And you will still flirt and paint your nails, dress up and party, because, as I think Emma Goldman said, 'If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be part of your revolution.' And at last you’ll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.”

— Audre Lorde, writer, poet, theorist, activist

Weekly Flâneur: Beauty

Click to enlarge.

“It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.” Leo Tolstoy

From the fantastic art exhibit America Now at the McColl Center for Visual Art.

Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Friday QuoteDay

“You don’t have to get a job that makes others feel comfortable about what they perceive as your success. You don’t have to explain what you plan to do with your life. You don’t have to justify your education by demonstrating its financial rewards. You don’t have to maintain an impeccable credit score. Anyone who expects you to do any of those things has no sense of history or economics or science or the arts. You have to pay your own electric bill. You have to be kind. You have to give it all you got. You have to find people who love you truly and love them back with the same truth. But that’s all.”

— Advice Columnist Dear Sugar, The Rumpus

Weekly Flâneur: Glow

Click to enlarge.

A certain shine. 

 

Interior of Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Cathedral

 Charlotte, N.C., 2012

Small Reminders

My hairbrush is full.

A few years ago, I was in a car accident. Coupled with the jaw fracture and TMD that resulted from my chin becoming instantly and intimately acquainted with the steering wheel, were a host of emotional hurdles with my job at the alt weekly. The stress of missing work, anxiety over the whole ordeal, and an undiagnosed stomach issue on top of post-accident pain meant my body wasn't in the best shape. And exactly six months after this traumatic period, my hair started falling out. My kind doctor informed that for some people, stress and body trauma causes hair follicles to die. A few months later, new follicles grow enough to push the old ones out completely. It happens to women after pregnancy. Hormones make their hair shiny, and post-birth it starts to shed. I wasn't bald by any means, but my first gray hairs grew in place of the brunette strands that decided that the body they were growing on wasn't worth the stress anymore and peaced out.

I started shedding like a molting bird earlier this month, leaving long strands tangled in the shower drain and pillowcases, dropped on the kitchen counter and weaved on the sofa fabric. A joy for Mr. B to live with, I'm sure.

I pick them up in confusion and frustration. What's up, Hair? Why the sudden exodus? There's been no stress, no broken bones, no bodily harm. Freelancing isn't a gold mine, and unemployment isn't all roses and sunshine, but it's all an easy affair compared to my previous work experiences. My marriage is lovely. Mr. B is a prince.

It wasn't until I remembered to count back to six months prior that I realized the source of my hair loss. Oh. Stig's death. My biopsy. Of course. Bodily and emotional trauma, all in one fell swoop. (I wrote about it here, if you are a new reader to the blog.)

Like the seemingly innocent Facebook reminder that popped up telling me that Stig had a birthday, my hair is clogging my brush, is swishing down in my face to remind me. To make me stop. To give a pause in the early moments of my day and remember a dear friend.

You aren't forgotten, friend. I promise you that. My glass is forever raised to you.

S & N, toga party style.