31 May, 2006 | 1 Comment

If you have a blog, click here to see how much it’s worth.

Those of you who comment on this blog will notice that I am now using comment moderation. I know it’s a pain, but comment spam is starting to get through the filter. It’s bad enough that the e-mail account associated with this blog is filled with spam advertisements for penis enlargement (could come in handy at Christmas, though). Also, some people who know me personally sometimes accidentally reveal my name in their comments. The longer I have this blog, the more protective I am becoming of my identity. I realize this is like trying to un-ring a bell at this point, but a girl’s gotta try.

On the subject of comment moderation, feminist superblogger Bitch Ph.D. posted yesterday that she is cranking moderation up a notch. She wrote: “…don’t take it too personally if I decide to delete comments that seem to me quarrelsome (or merely flattering, though being only human I’m probably less likely to kill those). It’s really not personal; I like quarrels and flattery both. It’s more that I think I’m ready to move on to more thoughtful, cooperative seminar-style discussion, if we can manage it.” I read her blog regularly but I don’t comment on it because there’s a groupie-like mentality amongst her readers that creeps me out. Perhaps she’s trying to steer her blog away from this, but still, I’m not sure how I feel about this level of comment moderation.

31 May, 2006 | 4 Comments

There’s an interesting essay by John Stoltenberg posted over on Real Men Are Not. The essay is called “Why I Stopped Trying to Be a Real Man.” He discusses how masculinity is constructed in our culture — often in a very destructive, misogynist way — and argues that “manhood” doesn’t even exist at all. Once he saw through these manly myths, he discovered a more authentic sense of self. It’s worth a read.

30 May, 2006 | 7 Comments

Thanks to one of my readers who just now sent me a PayPal donation so I can buy “a sexy new pair of knickers without tulip print on them.” And thanks also to my friends who are e-mailing me to make fun of this reference, which I will probably never live down. Hey, tulip undies can be sexy! The guy in the laundry room didn’t seem to mind…

30 May, 2006 | 8 Comments

People have recently asked me (and by “people” I mean one of my sex-crazed American friends) whether it’s easy to meet men while living in student housing. After all, I live with literally hundreds of single blokes. I’m sure this sounds like a big swingin’ party, but really, it’s not. The guys in my building seem to fall into three categories:

First, many of them are really young. If they lived in America they could fight in Iraq but not drink. That’s young. And I must admit the young ones just don’t do it for me. I mean, okay, they’re cute in a fresh-faced I just left the farm and I secretly miss my mummy and please give me a hug way, but enough already. If you’ve never plucked a gray hair from your body, I’m not interested.

Second, many of the men living here are from faraway lands. They don’t speak English very well and I suspect a certain percentage of them secretly would like to whisk an English-speaking lass away to their homeland, where they can lock her up in the cellar with their other wives. Um, sounds like a thrill, but I’ll pass.

And last but not least, the guys who look normal but who are actually crazy. And not crazy in a good way. I like guys who are eccentric and quirky and who could have been Edward Scissorhands in a previous life, but not crazy wacko, not “I want to carve your name into my flesh” insane. I know all about this category. This winter I had my own pseudo-stalker in the form of an emotionally unstable PhD student (a redundant description if there ever was one). He has since taken up residence on another continent and was probably escorted there by officials from the Home Office, but really, let’s not dwell on this unpleasant episode. Let’s not!

I’m willing to consider the possibility that there is a fourth, yet uncharted category, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t the kind of place to meet a mate. When you live in an environment like this, it’s not possible to cultivate an air of mystery, to pique someone’s interest and leave them curious. And unless you work in the sex industry, that’s how things should unfold. But chez moi, it all hangs out. They see you with your shopping and know what kind of toilet paper you buy. Because of the fire drills at odd hours, nearly everyone in this building has seen me in my pajamas with major bedhead. (And I’ve seen them and it wasn’t pleasant.) And just this morning I was doing laundry when the sorta cute and mysterious guy from the third floor suddenly appeared – just in time to see me pulling my purple, tulip-printed underwear from the dryer. And he didn’t even pretend not to see. So now he has seen my underwear but he doesn’t even know my name. This is all backwards. This is wrong! I will never be able to look at him again. Ever. A long hot summer of averted glances has commenced.

On the bright side, only three months left until I leave student housing and become a real adult again…

29 May, 2006 | 4 Comments

Shut down. Reboot.

The bad news is that I have information overload. My head is so full of codes and passwords and numbers that there is no more memory left. My brain has crashed.

The overload first manifested itself last week at the ATM. I had to wait in the queue forever and when it was finally my turn, I could not for the life of me remember my code. My mind went blank. I could feel a million sets of eyes burning into me, so I entered a random code that popped into my head. I think it might have been my ATM code from five banks ago when I lived in New York. Obviously, it didn’t work.

Then on Saturday night I came home and wanted to check my voicemail, but I could not remember how to check it. Total blank. Which buttons do I push? What’s the code? I haven’t a clue in the world. If you left me a message, I haven’t gotten it yet. I’ll have to go to reception soon and ask for a tutorial if it doesn’t come back to me. How utterly embarrassing.

The good news is that I eventually remembered the ATM code, so I’m confident the information is stored in my head somewhere. I’m just having difficulty accessing it.

27 May, 2006 | 1 Comment

The Evening Standard reported yesterday that May 2006 is on track to become Britain’s wettest May since 1773. So you see, I am not having a totally hysterical overreaction to the weather – something freaky is going on! They are dubbing it the “May Monsoon.” [Some “experts” are claiming there’s a drought, but they’re obviously high.] London may soon be submerged Atlantis-like underwater, so these blog dispatches could become valuable historical evidence. Print them out!

Just like in the good ol’ U.S.A, we are having a long holiday weekend over here. While everyone else is complaining that it’s ruined because of the weather, I have surrendered to my fate. I love rain! Earlier this week I was threatening to check myself into a mental hospital, but now I realize that a positive attitude is more effective than electroshock therapy. I’m just worried I won’t be able to adjust to dry life again – if that ever becomes necessary.

Why is rain so great? Well, my fingertips are always puckered and pink – how cute! My toes make a fun squishing sound inside my shoes when I walk – yippee! And I get to wring out my socks when I get home, which keeps me humble. My hair looks like a frizzy tumbleweed, but on the plus side, I don’t have to blow-dry it or brush it (hell, I don’t even have to wash it). I roll out of bed and head right for the door. Outfit? Who cares! After all, I’ll surely be splashed by a double-decker bus accelerating through a puddle of water. Mascara? Nope. My eyes are already sunken and dark, thanks. It’s liberating! I look dreadful and I don’t care. The creepy foreign guy at the reception desk doesn’t even hit on me anymore. Hurrah! And the best part is that everyone looks terrible. We all look like we’ve just emerged from the shower, making even the most hardened and pushy city dweller appear achingly vulnerable. There is no pretense, no posing, no trying to impress. We’re just keepin’ it real, man. This is life without vanity. This is Waterworld.

26 May, 2006 | 12 Comments

One of the iconic images of London is of course the red phone booth. If you walk around the touristy areas of London, you will almost always stumble upon visitors having their photos taken while pretending to make a call. It’s lame and embarrassing, but also a requirement. [You may not be aware that when you arrive at the international terminals at Heathrow and Gatwick, one of the conditions of entry is to swear an oath that you’ll humiliate yourself in such a way.]

While these phone booths may look charming and quaint from the outside, many of them harbour a dirty little secret: They are filled with pornographic images in the form of advertisements for prostitutes. Many phone booths in London are plastered with these ads, called “tart cards.” I have travelled fairly extensively and I have never seen this phenomenon in any other city.

The majority of these tart cards feature extremely graphic and vulgar images of women. In 2001 they were banned and anyone caught distributing them can be put in prison for up to 6 months or fined £5000, but it’s obviously not enforced. Nearly 40,000 of these cards are distributed throughout the city each day and you see them everywhere.

As someone who does not have a mobile phone (I know, I suck) I often use public phones, though I wish I had a hazmat suit when doing so. While some people believe these cards are just harmless kitsch, I refuse to be that apathetic. I think these cards create a climate of coarseness and degradation. People should be able to make a phone call without having to stare at graphic ads for underage school girls, “hot Asians” and the like. I think they also contribute to antisocial behaviour. I once saw a guy exiting a phone booth in Russell Square while zipping up his trousers – in broad daylight. There are plenty of sexual predators roaming around and I don’t think they need any more encouragement or validation.

Lest you think I am all talk and no action, I remove these tart cards and throw them into the rubbish bin whenever I can. You can just imagine me doing this, can’t you?

Phone booth in Russell Square before Anglofille arrives:

…and after she departs:

You can thank me later. I need to go wash my hands now.

Tags: Tart Cards, Prostitution, London

25 May, 2006 | 4 Comments

We had one at 4:30 this morning. It’s really quite fun to be roused from a deep sleep by the piercing wail of a fire alarm. Unless you have a heart problem or sleep with a gun next to your bed, give it a try. Alarm clocks are over-rated.

So it turns out that one of the residents in this building is responsible for pulling the fire alarm at these weird hours. Apparently they haven’t caught the little bugger yet. My money is on one of the undergrads, probably some quiet brainy type who will do us all proud by one day becoming the British version of the Unabomber.

While this person has caused me a lot of aggravation and disturbed my very delicate sleep cycle, I guess I pity them in some ways. It’s the final exam period and clearly, they’ve cracked under the pressure. They are slowly going crazy. You see, no good can come from living with 20-year-olds!

24 May, 2006 | 1 Comment

You’ll be pleased to know that Miss Grouchy Pants (that’s me) finally went out for a nice long 5-mile walk this afternoon. It drizzled on and off, but I just needed to get outside for an extended period, rain be damned. The walk helped me feel worlds better, though now I’m a bit sad. On the way home, I walked as I always do through Holborn. I passed the site of the bus wreckage I saw a few days ago and there was a makeshift memorial there. I had assumed that someone died, given that the roads in the area and the tube station were shut down when I walked through just after the accident. When I got home today I found an article about it in the Camden Gazette and the details were even more horrific than I could have imagined. The intersection of High Holborn and Kingsway/Southampton Row is very scary because of all the buses, the hordes of commuters from the tube station and the many pedestrian islands they have set up. Despite this inherent danger, buses speed right through and pedestrians like me cross on red lights. I think until something like this happens, it’s easy to forget how dangerous it can be to walk around a city. It’s a wake-up call to be more vigilant.

24 May, 2006 | 5 Comments

Yesterday’s whine-a-thon on the rain was so riveting that I decided it needed its own video commentary.

Enjoy. Or not.

[gv data="http://www.youtube.com/v/ENvRCinTqZY" width="425" height="350"][/gv]

23 May, 2006 | 5 Comments

I know it’s a major faux pas to complain about the English weather, but I’m feeling reckless tonight. Here goes…

It has been raining here every single day for almost two weeks! It is dark and overcast almost all day long – like constant dusk. And it is freeeezing!!! I ventured outside today without a coat and spent most of my time shivering. I’ve taken to wearing a jacket in my flat because there is no heat in the building. Right now my teeth are chattering. Somebody stop the madness!!!

I’ve written before that I like to take mental health breaks at least once a week to recharge my brain, whether it’s to a museum or other cultural place of interest. Well, if the weather doesn’t shape up soon I’m going to need a mental health break inside an actual mental hospital.

I don’t think I’m the only person this is affecting. Besides the outbreak of violence witnessed yesterday, within the past few days I have also seen a pedestrian hit by a bicyclist, a pedestrian hit and knocked down by a psycho driving a motorized wheelchair and then this past weekend, the wreckage of two double-decker buses and a demolished motorcycle right outside the Holborn tube station (a horrific, chilling sight). If it were sunny and warm like it’s supposed to be at the end of May, everyone would be happy and smiling and skipping along merrily.

I weep for the sun.

22 May, 2006 | 5 Comments

After the trauma of the mutant eggs this afternoon, I could not face making dinner so I went to the Chinese takeaway. It’s on a leafy, normally pleasant street nearby. As I sat waiting for my food, two guys right in front of the restaurant got into a screaming match. After one of them slammed the other into the window, the young woman who works in the restaurant ran and locked the front door. She said “You stay in here! You can’t go out there!” Not that I planned on it. The street was eerily quiet except for the repugnant sound of fists hitting flesh. The whole scene was repulsive. I’m not sure why the woman in the restaurant didn’t call the police, but a Jewish rabbi and the man from the fish and chips shop next door suddenly appeared and broke things up. Finally everyone dispersed except for the guy who started the whole thing. He turned and saw me and the Chinese woman staring at him and he said “Don’t be afraid, I’m not a violent person.” This after he beat up a guy and knocked over a string of parked motorcycles. The picture of self-restraint, I’d say.

22 May, 2006 | 4 Comments

I am a total egg addict. Seriously. This morning I skipped breakfast (deadline fog) and so for lunch I needed my fix. But when I pulled one of the two remaining eggs out of the carton, it felt furry. And when I turned it over I discovered it had a giant feather stuck to it. My eggs often have tiny feather remnants stuck to them, but nothing like this. It was a little bizarre. Who really needs to be reminded that their egg came out of a chicken’s butt?

So I crack open the egg and it has two yolks in it and that just freaked me out to no end. I didn’t know if could eat a set of twins. I cracked open my last egg – my only hope – and it also had two yolks in it. So now I’m convinced this poor overworked Sainsbury’s hen was trying to send me a message. Help me! How very upsetting.

Tags: eggs

22 May, 2006 | 1 Comment

…on Shortcut or SFGate in lieu of original content.

22 May, 2006 | Comments

My ‘word of the day’ entries for the past weekish:

#1

Britspeak:

sweets

Amerispeak:

candy

(more…)

21 May, 2006 | Comments

For those keeping track, the fire alarm went off four times last night between 12:00 and 1:00 a.m. The first time it went off, I schlepped all the way downstairs. The vast majority of residents were home on a Saturday night and wearing their pajamas, thus confirming my suspicions that this is the residence of choice for shut-ins and eccentric recluses. (Ah, home sweet home.) After it was announced that the alarm was false, people stomped off angrily – really, enough is enough! The next three times it went off, I took my chances and stayed in my room. And my laziness didn’t result in a fiery death, so all is well.

21 May, 2006 | 2 Comments

There is an internet campaign going on right now to save Nazanin, an 18-year-old Iranian woman, from execution. She stabbed a man to death after he attempted to rape her and her niece in a public park. Her case will be reviewed by the Supreme Court in Iran this week and if they rule against her, she will be hanged shortly thereafter.

I first read about this case on Bitch Ph.D., where a few of the commenters seem to think the U.S. State Department is secretly promoting this story to help turn public opinion against Iran. While I don’t know why this woman’s case has suddenly reached the global spotlight, she still deserves any help she can get. Here are a few links if you want to get involved:

Save Nazanin

Sign the petition

Amnesty International

Tags: Nazanin

20 May, 2006 | 5 Comments

I snapped this photo in Trafalgar Square the other day. Nelson’s Column is covered in scaffolding and will be for the next few months while they clean it and check for damage (only the third time in its history this has been done, apparently). London Mayor Ken Livingstone has allowed three sides of the column to be covered in advertising during the project. How American, Ken.

While your photos of Trafalgar Square will indeed be spoiled, try not to be too disappointed my London-bound friends. One of my recent visitors (you know who you are, missy!) decided to climb up onto the base of the column, where the cuddly iron lions sit. But then she was too afraid to climb back to earth, thus requiring me to ask a complete stranger (in the form of a burly Italian tourist) to lift her down. I’d rather not relive this trauma, thank you very much.

Check out this great photo of Nelson at the top of the column (not taken by me, obviously):

Tags: Trafalgar Square

19 May, 2006 | 4 Comments

Pardon my French, but the critics can go screw themselves. Given the savage reviews this film has gotten, I expected it to be unwatchable. It wasn’t. It’s no better or worse than the rest of the crap that Hollywood produces. I think the media piling-on is in many ways a childish reaction to the lack of pre-release press screenings. I mean, yes, this film is overly long and super talky and very hokey, but I was still entertained (until my ass turned numb). And given that this is a mainstream Hollywood film with a feminist, heretical message that dares to show members of the clergy behaving like thugs in an inner-city street gang, I must give it two thumbs up.
Tags: The Da Vinci Code

19 May, 2006 | 3 Comments

I’ve written on this blog before that I have not read The Da Vinci Code, but I am pleased that its themes of female exclusion and suppression within organized Christianity have struck a nerve with millions of people. This is one of my big issues and the fact that people are actually talking about it thrills me.

I would probably go see the movie version (opening worldwide today) no matter what, but the fact that the Vatican, US evangelicals and religious groups around the world are condemning and/or banning this film means that I will definitely see it. The critics who’ve seen the film have not been kind, but I really don’t care if it’s as boring as watching snow melt. That’s not the point. (And really, who had faith in Ron Howard’s abilities? Not me.)

Via Feministing, I’ve discovered a new website called HerCode.org. Sponsored by the organization Faith and Feminism and inspired by The Da Vinci Code phenomenon, the site encourages women to share their stories of struggling with religious faith. The stories are very poignant. One of the site’s creators, Helen LaKelly Hunt, writes in her introductory letter:

(more…)