All posts tagged: Oxford Street

And So it Continues

For the last time, “No, 42 Year Old Bald Man with Four Children and a Beer Gut: I will NOT be your ‘Latina Barbie!’” It’s my own fault.  Having dated four perfectly lovely men and found myself rather enamored of three of them, you’d think I’d be content to leave it at that.  But I’m only eleven days into my three month match.com subscription.  Think of all the crazy stories I’ll miss, the outfits I’ll never get to wear, the restaurants I’ll never get to try if I call it quits now!  And so, for the sake of my morbid interest in cyber chemistry and what makes people click, I’ve thrown myself back into the games of “making connections” with renewed enthusiasm. After enduring more than a few awkward conversations on the subject of my blog with Dates #1-4, I’ve rewritten my match.com profile to inform any and all interesting parties of my ethnographic experiment.  As a result, my blog readership doubled (fabulous!) but my “wink” count plummeted (not so fabulous).  It would seem that …

Sublime Skin (Part 2)

Are you sitting down?  I hope so, because this is going to come as a complete shock: the L’Oreal Paris Body Expertise Sublime Skin Patch does not make your skin sublime.  At least not if you cut the sample patch in half, spend eight hours walking around with the “Concentrated Caffeine Cx Agent” stuck to your thighs and refuse to invest in the recommended day and night creams unless the Body Smoothing Complex does its thing.  Well folks, my thighs are not smooth.  In fact, they look the same as they did before.  Moral of the story?  There’s no quick fix to cellulite. I should have known.  I went through the same thing with stretch marks a few months ago when I was living in London.  My parents decided to take me on a cruise as my graduation gift and I dropped a day’s wages on Oxford Street for the necessary accoutrements: a new bikini and my first ever bottle of fake tan.  For the record, I had never done fake tan until then, but …

Eccentrics and Academics

I’ve always wondered why people—very smart people, with PhDs and professorships—wait until the night before they’re slotted to present their work to finish their PowerPoints.  Haven’t they learned a thing or two about time management over the years?  Don’t they know you shouldn’t leave those things to the last minute? Having submitted my abstract to the Society of Dance History Scholars last year (and having been notified of its acceptance back when snowbound Philadelphians were praying for a heat wave), I promised myself that I would arrive at the University of Surrey ready to go, PowerPoint in hand.  No last minute finagling.  No eleventh hour revisions.  I would be the very image of poise and professionalism. But then I attended my first panel. And I panicked. Unlike the majority of the graduate students, I slugged it out till the very end: three days of papers, key note speakers, performances, working groups and finally, the closing plenary.  Although I did pull out my laptop to check my email during said plenary (and zipped through British Airways …

Brussels 2010 058

Of Beer and Chocolate

Since when did urinating in public—in broad daylight—become okay?  If it seems that I’m a bit obsessed with the art of peeing in Belgium, it’s because the entire tourism industry hinges upon the Mannqen-Pis.  And because in Brussels, a public event (such as the free concert to celebrate Belgium’s assumption of the European Union’s rotating presidency) boasts not only portable toilets but portable urinals. Portable urinals. Who knew?  Unfortunately, there are some things in life that one should not photograph, and dozens of men gathered around miniature towers of gray plastic just outside of the European Parliament qualifies as one such thing. I don’t want to give the wrong impression.  Overall, Belgium is a very civilized country complete with buses, trams, a suitable metro and the Villo! (its answer to the Velo’V) although the last of these hasn’t really caught on yet.  Only in Brussels can you find a Neahaus, a Godiva and a Pierre Marcolini on the same corner (and only Marcolini would have a collection called “Ephemeral” and a line called “Conspiration” and …