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The picture above is of a man’s linen stocking dated circa 1660-1670 on display at the V&A Museum in London. According to the placard, “Plain hose was worn under silk hose to create a smooth line over hairy legs.” OK, that is fucking brilliant. No need to shave one’s legs! Just wear an extra pair of hose! I suspect that an extra layer of hose would also keep women warmer in the winter by allowing us to retain our body hair and to wear an extra layer to trap body heat. Plus, I’m guessing that two pairs of hose work even better than one in terms of holding in one’s gut. (Please note: the “two layers is better than one” concept does NOT work for condoms, as the latex rubs against each other and causes breakage.) For smooth and sexy legs, though, you gotta admit that the idea is very, very clever.

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>It occurred to me a few minutes ago that there might, in fact, be a very good reason for trimmed and maintained snatch. Let’s suppose there was a woman who scorned the removal of crotch hair on woman. Let’s also suppose for a moment that the same woman got her period and used a tampon. Hypothetically, this woman could go to yank the tampon string to get it out, and since there are pubes hanging all over the place and she is not careful, she could also accidentally grab a tuft o’ hairs and pull them all out with said tampon. Ouch.

I’m not saying this happened to anyone I know. I’m just saying it could, and I could see how such fear could lead women to keep the bush pruned.

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>While I did not take pictures at Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens on Saturday night, I was able to download a picture from the fan site Glitterboots. It is also possible to download music from the show. I warn you that the theme song, “Glitter Boots Saved My Life,” does not leave your head easily.
I think this picture captured the insanity of the show quite nicely, although the audience in this picture seems to be more complacent than the one I was part of.

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>What is London without the theatre? Husband had done some research before we left, and unfortunately our favorite ridiculous musical ever, Return to the Return to the Forbidden Planet, which we saw in some London suburb in August 2001, was not playing. (RTTRTTFP, I shit you not, is based on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, featuring the same dialogue but updated to the future and set on a spaceship. The soundtrack is 1960s Motown and Girl Group hits and all the actors, including the guy who plays the robot on roller skates, rotate playing all of the instruments and singing. At the end, the audience began batting around giant inflated beach balls.) Worse, it is re-opening in March, so we were just missing it. Husband was disappointed, but found an acceptable substitute: Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens.

Synopsis: “At Saucy Jack’s Cabaret Bar in the dark reaches of the Planet Frottage 3, the evil shadow of the ‘Slingback Killer’ looms. Cabaret artists are being picked of one by one – the heel of a sequined slingback stiletto plunged into their youthful chests. Will the Space Vixens arrive in time to halt the blood-lust and save the day by the power of disco? There’s only one way to find out…” Time Out called it, “A wild and wacky night of plasticry razzmatazz!” (I’m not entirely sure if that is a compliment or an insult, but it is quoted on their ads.)

With characters like Willhelm von Whackoff, Sammy Sacks, Chesty Prospects, Jubilee Climax (played by pop diva Faye Tozer, formerly of Steps – no, I have never heard of that group, but they supposedly had 18 #1 hits and 4 multi-platinum albums in Europe), and Bunny Lingus, how could we go wrong with Saucy Jack? It was almost sold out when we got our tickets before the show. To be honest, I was hopeful, but not expecting much. Then we learned that not only was Saucy Jack a disco musical, but it was also a magic show! How exciting is that!?!?

So the first act did not feature very much magic, and quite frankly, was rather disappointing despite the high level of interaction with/humiliation of audience members. The second act was much improved, and by then the groupies in the audience were completely wasted and heckling Saucy Jack, who highly enjoyed mocking them. Also, the theme sone, “Glitter Boots Saved My Life,” somehow managed to become even catchier the second and third times it was sung. Plus there was much more magic and male stripping, so I would say that it ended on a positive note.

If you are heading to London any time soon, I’m not sure that I could fairly recommend dropping £30 per ticket (like $47!!!!) on it, but Husband and I agreed that Saucy Jack and the Space Vixens was a gazillion times better than We Will Rock You, the painful Queen musical that husband insisted we see in London while we were in London in Sept. 2004. At the least, it is definitely worth writing home about.

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>Sunday in London, Husband and I met up with friends and spent a day walking around. Eventually we met up with other friends for tea. I love afternoon tea in England, especially because of all the yummy tea cakes and scones. Scones really do taste better with clotted cream and strawberry jam smeared all over them. Just saying clotted cream actually sickens me a bit, as I picture clogged arteries and sink pipes with big globs of crud blocking them. (It’s undoubtedly the word clotted that does it for me.) My friend’s husband, who is from New Zealand, warned me that if I ever saw clotted cream in the grocery store, I should not look at the nutritional information. Ever. Seriously, though. That shit is good.

Another delightfully unhealthy item I consumed was Cadbury Mini Creme Eggs. I do so love Cadbury Creme Eggs and was thus pleased to notice that packs of mini creme eggs were sold in the candy machines at every Underground station. (That they even have candy machines on every Underground platform is also amazing.) I bought three packs over the course of my trip so that I could bring home this 8th wonder of the world to share with my New York friends.

Not everything that is good to eat over there is unhealthy, though. London has the best fucking yogurt ever. I was able to enjoy Zingy Rhubarb, Peach & Maracuay (although I have no idea what maracuay is, it is damn tasty), and some sort of Cranberry & other fruit that I can’t remember. I love yogurt, so all the variety – and low fat to boot – is super exciting.

Finally, we bought sandwiches and other items from the convenience store in the Knightsbridge Underground stationfor dinner. Is it sad that I have enjoyed my £1 sandwiches as much as the other (more expensive) things?

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>Saturday, Husband and I checked into our fancy hotel.  (I love when he travels for business.)  We then ran off to meet Husband’s friend for lunch and to take in the Victoria and Albert (V&A) Museum.  For those of you unfamiliar with the V&A, it is a fabulous museum filled with completely random crap.  Not crap in the sense that it is like a museum that I would curate in my apartment, but crap in the sense that it is stuffed to the gills with strange odds and ends.  I saw three things of particular note to CUSS, two of which I took pictures of and will each be posted separately.

Item 1 for discussion is the reproduction of Michelangelo’s David.  This fine statue was copied in plaster and in a large room of other famous sculptures, statues, and architectural pieces that were also reproduced in plaster.  All were done in Victorian times.  In general, I found this completely hysterical, but in some sense, I suppose it made sense, as your average Brit was not going to travel to all of these places in 1875 to see the originals, so this brought the work to the people.  Sort of clever, really.  It was just a bit odd having everything in the same two rooms with no rhyme or reason on display.

Anyway, back to David.  As I walked past David, I could not help but observe that he had an extremely large tuft of pubic hair carved above his dick.  (I also thought it looked like he was circumcised, but I thought that didn’t really make sense for Renaissance times to have a circumcised statue – despite the character’s Jewish faith – as non-Jews did not get circumcised back then, and it is not like sculptors based their work on historically accuracy.  I mean, Michelangelo also carved Moses with horns, which was also reproduced in plaster and on display at the V&A.)  It occurred to me that I had never seen pubes on a statue before, especially not on female nude statues.  

How annoying is that?  To begin with, there are very few nude male statues.  Then, to add insult to injury, the one famous nude male statue fucking gets to have pubic hair, just like a normal human male.  Female statues get their marble pubic hair shaved off by the chisel.  Even in art, grown ladies can’t win.  This tempts me to get a permanent marker and scribble pubes on any naked lady statues I see.  That would be great fun and hilarious.  Who’s with me?

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>Good evening from London!  We stopped back at our hotel room for a bit so that Husband can do some work in preparation for his meeting tomorrow morning (the whole reason he came to London in the first place), so I thought I might write up a bit about the trip so far.

As I previously noted, Husband planned to fly business class while I sat in coach, which was fine by me.  However, he was able to use one of his VIP System Wide Upgrades for me when we arrived at JFK on Friday evening, so I wound up sitting next to him in business class.  I have never flown business class internationally (he has been able to upgrade me domestically a few times), and let me tell you, it is fucking amazing!

To begin, I was given a fucking menu with which to order my dinner.  It started with a dish of warm nuts (ha ha) and then we got salad and “Grilled Citrus Scallops served with a marinated Cucumber salad” appetizer.  (I considered avoiding the scallops as it seemed like a good way to get food poisoning, business class or not, but I couldn’t resist.)  The salad came with an adorable tiny glass bottle of balsamic vinaigrette, which I was dismayed to discover after I ate it that it had 9 grams of fat.  Oh well.  Normal people began their wine consumption with the appetizer course, but I had a diet Sierra Mist.  Warm bread was also doled out.  The wheat roll was super tasty.

For dinner I could choose:

Beef Fillet: Fillet of Beef featured with a Red Wine Onion Sauce, accompanied by roasted Butternut Squash, Haricots Verts, and Mushroom Risotto

Barbeque Chicken: Breast of Chicken flavored by a Barbeque Marinade served with mild Jalapeño Mashed Potatoes and Creamed Corn

Fillet of Cod: Fillet of Cod enhanced by a Corn and Butter Sauce, offered with Haricots Verts, Mushrooms, and Chive Mashed Potatoes

Pasta Duo: Cheese Ravioli and Cheese Tortellini complemented by a Pesto Alfredo Sauce and a Marinara Sauce

Vegetable Plate: Seasonal selection including Cremini Mushrooms, sautéed Asparagus, Cherry Tomatoes and Whipped Potatoes

Quite frankly, the pasta duo sounded best but I really wanted to avoid all that fatty sauce, so I went with the BBQ chicken.  I was quite pleased and not really surprised to discover that the food was just as bad in business class as it is in steerage.  Chicken was rubbery and the mashed potatoes were scary.  Not that I would have eaten them anyway, as I don’t like jalapeño (too hot).

Unlike the main entrée, dessert choices were amazing:

Saga Blue and Jarlsberg Cheese accompanied by seasonal Grapes, Walnuts and selected crackers.

Breyers Chocolate Ice Cream with Blackberry Sauce topped with White Chocolate and Raspberry Brulee Squares

Husband ordered the cheese and I ordered the ice cream and we shared.  I don’t have any idea what the fuck “White Chocolate and Raspberry Brulee Squares” are, but they tasted like mini cheesecake chunks and were yummy.  I love Jarlsberg cheese and moldy blues cheeses, so that was good too.

After dessert, special Bose headphones that block noise were distributed and I curled up in my recliner – I mean, airline seat – with two pillows and drifted off for the remaining three hours before landing.  So it was a pretty fucking awesome flight to get out here.  I was slightly refreshed and up for a full day’s adventure, which I happily got.

Cheers for now!

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>I suspect that I would be 4% more intriguing if I had a British accent. Not a fake British accent like Madonna, but a real one from growing up there. (To be honest, I’d even settle for a return of my slight Chicago accent, which seems to have faded in the 11 years I’ve been living in New York.) A British accent would rock.

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>One of the best things about the 1973 Disney animated version of Robin Hood is the song “The Phony King of England” about Prince John’s illegitimate rule.  For a song in an animated musical, it’s pretty political.  (I guess it would be hard to not be political in a movie about a tyrant who taxes the poor and a hero who steals from the rich.)   What utterly delights me is that it is SO applicable to our situation in America today.  Some verses don’t even need to be changed!  Follow along:

The Phony King of England
Oh the world will sing of an English king
A thousand years from now
And not because he passed some laws
Or had that lofty brow
While bonny good King Richard leads
The great crusade he’s on
We’ll all have to slave away
For that good-for-nothin’ John
[Substitute: US Pres for English king; liberals for King Richard (OK it’s not perfect, but good enough); Bush for John]

Incredible as he is inept
Whenever the history books are kept
They’ll call him the phony king of England
A pox on the phony king of England
[Substitute: President of the US for king of England, otherwise totally accurate!]

He sits alone on a giant throne
Pretendin’ he’s the king
A little tyke who’s rather like
A puppet on a string
And he throws an angry tantrum
If he cannot have his way
And then he calls for Mum while he’s suckin’ his thumb
You see, he doesn’t want to play
[No substitutions needed!]

Too late to be known as John the First
He’s sure to be known as John the worst
A pox on the phony king of England
[Substitute: Bush for John (too perfect, isn’t it?!?!)]

While he taxes us to pieces
And he robs us of our bread
King Richard’s crown keeps slippin’ down
Upon that pointed head
Ah! But while there is a merry man
In Robin’s wily pack
We’ll find a way to make him pay
And steal our money back
[Substitute: Democracy for King Richard; I wish like fuck he had something to substitute for Robin’s wily pack, but unfortunately no one tries succeeds against the Bush tyranny]

The minute before he knows we’re there
Ol’ Rob will snatch his underwear
The breezy and uneasy king of England
The snivellin’ grovellin’
Measly weasely
Blabberin’ jabberin’
Gibberin’ plunderin’
Wheelin’ dealin’
Prince John, that Phony King of England
Yeah!
[Substitute: sadly, there’s no one who gets the better of the Bushies, so nothing to change there; George Bush for Prince John; President of the US for King of England]

It’s good stuff, I tell you.

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>A few weekends ago, I convinced Husband to join me in watching the best Robin Hood movie ever. That would be the 1973 Disney animated version of the story. I mean, don’t get me wrong: I loved the Kevin Costner version from the ‘90s as much as anyone else. (I freakin’ saw it three times in the movie theater!!!) I’m sure that the Errol Flynn film from the 1938 was also delightful, although I never saw it and quite frankly never intend to.

There are many reasons that the Disney version kicks the asses of all the other Robin Hood flicks. First, movies with nutty animals getting poked repeatedly in the butts with sharp objects are funny as fuck, especially when said animals are rhinoceroses. Second, it uses the term “ooh-de-lally” frequently. Just saying “ooh-de-lally” cheers me up immensely. Third, it has some wonderful little insults that would be great fun to hurl at people without senses of humor, such as:

• “You eel in snake’s clothing!” (Prince John the lion yelled this at his snake advisor Sir Hiss after one of their dastardly plans went wrong.)
• “Old bushel britches.” (Lady Cluck, Maid Marian’s chicken lady in waiting refers to the Sheriff of Nottingham, a wolf, this way. Big John the bear also uses it for the Sherrif. I have no idea what it means, but I like it.)
• “Scalveneer.” (Another Lady Cluck slur. Not only do I have no idea what it means, but I also am clueless on how to spell it. Maybe it is French?)

There are also two fantastic songs, one featuring the phrase “oo-de-lally,” and one a highly political song that is very applicable today. (More on that later.) I highly recommend a viewing to lift the spirits.

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