Gentrification by dog breed; how to tell where your neighborhood stands

I live in a neighborhood that was formerly one of the most dangerous and impoverished in New York and now has art galleries, million dollar lofts, and a restaurant scene that gives the New York Times food critic a boner.  Bill and Hillary Clinton ate dinner around the corner from my house and crowds of German tourists take "graffiti tours" in their fanny packs. I've also witnessed heroin deals, hooker fights, and attended Maria's Divorce Party at the 1 percenter Latin biker bar across the street from my old apartment. I met Maria that night, she and I did several 2 dollar jello shots, and I assured her that she was better off than got a t shirt with rules for keeping my MC (motorcycle club) Sucka Free (not filled with poseurs.) For those who don't know what 1 percenters are, they are the "outlaw" faction of motorcycle enthusiasts, most famously the Hells Angels.  If you watch Sons of Anarchy these guys were like the Mayans on that show.  I know about this stuff. But I digress, point being my neighborhood is what they would call "rapidly gentrifying" but still maintaining some of its former character...or grit...or danger...whatever. The best way to tell how gentrified your hood is; the dogs.  If you see all malteses, shih tzus and pit bulls who still have their balls, your area is not yet gentrified.  The uncut pit is obvious, but small fluffy white dogs are also the status dog of the hood. I think it is kind of like in Freakonomics when after a decade names that had been "rich white girl" names became more popular in low income and minority populations. The little white fluffy status dog of the 80s went the same way as naming your daughter Tiffany, abandoned in white flight. Next, you start to see pugs, french bulldogs, shepherds and mixed breed rescue dogs and pits that no longer have their balls. Gentrifying hipster white people love to get rescue dogs (mine is a rescue.) They also love smooshed faces.  It's the same as their fashion sense; so ugly that they're cute. Lastly when your neighborhood is fully gentrified you see the BIG purebreds; the standard poodles, mastiffs, grand pyrenees, golden retrievers. To have any of those dogs you need a lot of space, and possibly a car. 

So now you can look around and gauge by dog how safe you feel taking the subway late at night.

It is now time to feed my purebred rescue shiba inu her organic artisanal dog treat.  Shut up.

The World's Ugliest Dog Contest and an Ode to Deformed Animals.

The first dog that I ever fell in love with and tried to adopt was a pit mix named Armstrong at Social Tees. He had a birth defect so one of his front legs and paws was shriveled and underdeveloped like a baby chicken wing. His other front leg and and shoulder had gotten super muscular and overdeveloped to compensate so every time he walked it looked like he was doing a push up, thus the name Armstrong.  He was the sweetest loveliest boy, and all the smaller breeds bullied him.  It was love at first awkward walk, but I already lived in a small apartment with two dogs so he could never be mine. A girl in my neighborhood adopted him and I would periodically see him galumphing around with his one big arm and one little baby arm.  His deformity made him that much cuter.  I read an article about Penelope Cruz that described her as "having that singular flaw, a too long nose, that makes one a great beauty rather than just very pretty." I believe the same applies for animals being just a little bit off.  My dog is a beautiful purebred shiba inu, and the love of my life. She is by universal standards a gorgeous dog.  I have never found her more endearing than when she had to wear a stupid cone around her head and would walk into walls and get stuck on things. Lil' Bub has become an internet sensation thanks to her birth defects.  She's the cat equivalent of a Chernobyl baby and damn is she cute. Kenny the Down Syndrome White Tiger, may he rest in peace, also got at least Myspace Celebrity level famous thanks to his ridiculous stupid fucked up cute face.  Thus this year's "World's Ugliest Dog" contest is a load of crap, see link http://jezebel.com/wtf-ugliest-dog-contest-winner-walle-is-actually-prett-540760596.  That thing is awkward and adorable. The judges justified their decision in crowning him ugliest with his "weird waddle." What could be cuter than a dog with a weird waddle?

It raises money for animal rescues so I guess it's ok...but whatever, screw you. Your baby is ugly.

The Best Parody Twitter Accounts (according to my very extensive minutes of research, in no particular order)

1. Feminist Taylor Swift, the little blonde singer who has just so many gosh darn feelings has been decried by the feminist community on the blogosphere (ew, I said blogosphere, please kick me in the face) for slut shaming, promoting female competition, and general complete failure at feminism. In interviews she makes it clear that she has, in fact, no idea what feminism means claiming she "never saw it as boys vs. girls." Neither did the women's movement, TayTay. Thus out of the internet ooze @FeministTaylorSwift was born.  Her lyrics realigned with feminist rhetoric

Some example tweets:

"But you're so confused/'Cause you don't feel pretty you just feel used/cause the media almost invariably objectifies women"

"It feels like a perfect night/for breakfast at midnight/To acknowledge that sex doesn't imply gender/ or vice-versa/ uh huh"

"Dim that spotlight/tell me things like/"I understand my male privelege and I want to work towards gender equality with you."

The rhymes need a little work, but nonetheless Kudos Feminist Taylor Swift.

2. Jaded Punk Hulk; The Incredible Hulk as a bitter aging punk.
No further explanation needed.
Example tweets:

"IF YOU GO SEE BLACK FLAG REUNION SHOW AND BRAG ABOUT SEEING BLACK FLAG, THAT LIKE EATING AT OLIVE GARDEN AND BRAGGING YOU BEEN TO ITALY."

"AT NEXT YEAR MET GALA, RECREATION OF ABC NO RIO IN MAIN ROOM, ONLY THIS TIME FLOOR ACTUALLY CAVE IN, THEN GOODBYE KATY PERRY FOREVER."

"WHEN HULK THINK ABOUT IT: WHEN EMO KIDS EVEN HAVE TIME TO GO ON DATE S WHEN THEY SO BUSY WRITING SHITTY SONGS ABOUT GOING ON DATES"

3. Drunk Girl Crying.
She has since deleted her account. But for name alone she makes the list.

4. Bronx Zoo Cobra, this one was only really good when he had gone missing and was checking in places on foursquare...subsequent posting has created a few chuckles but nothing could really reach the level of his early work.

5. WhiteFeminist, back to the feminists.  This one is so artfully done, some people weren't sure that it was parody. Those people are dumb.  She gets extra points for her excellent use of hashtags.

Example tweets:

"Recanting tweet about security after setting off alarm at #Forever21. Now understand the traumatizing implications of #StopAndFrisk"

"Had to suspend a #SisterofColor  from fem collective bc I found out her brother makes/distributes sexist #urban mixtapes. #Nicetrypatriarchy"

"#Tanning is evidence of why #colour shouldn't matter. I literally am two shades darker and don't feel anymore #oppressed than usual."


Now get of the interwebs and go play outside

Extra Lunch Money; Staying Amateur so you can do porn in the Olympics

Recently in my research on foot fetishes (more on that later, sometimes I write for money instead of giving it away for free) I found out about Extra Lunch Money. It is a website where users can submit "adult" requests for example; to videochat with a girl who will be wearing nothing but five inch stilettos and stepping on balloons.  They will say what they are willing to pay for it and other users known as "sellers" on the site will respond if they are willing to do it.  It's custom made, amateur private pornography.  The haute couture of porn.  Only in the sex industry is lack of experience, or "amateur status" considered an asset. "Virgin Seller" is the category for the first time seller on the site. They go up to seller, seller plus, and bronze seller.  The Virgin Seller is one of the most sought after. The illusion of innocence, purity and inexperience has high market value.  I had a girlfriend who worked as an escort.  She said her clients always asked her the same questions and she had the same stock answers. "How long have you been doing this?" giggles, turns head demurely "Oh not long! You're only my second date!"
"Well, how long do you plan on doing this for?"  Eyes widen "Oh gosh! Only until I get through school."  Tuition and school seem a valid reason for sex work so that the purchaser can maintain the belief that the girl he is paying isn't REALLY a porn star/stripper/escort, she's a sweet young student who just needs to pay for her books.  Really he's helping her out.  He doesn't want the highly experienced skilled one, who has become a master of her trade.  She has too much mileage on her. He wants the "virginal one." A few enterprising young women have even auctioned off their virginity in online auctions.  Which makes them the ultimate contradiction; the virgin prostitute.

At the end of the day equating a woman's sexual history with her inate worth is just another way the patriarchy tries to keep women down. However, seasoned sex workers presenting themselves as "virginal" are taking this idea, and exploiting it for their own prophet.  So good for them! Down with the patriarchy! Viva Extra Lunch Money!

I love you Maude Apatow; the cult of youth

When I was a kid I thought my babysitters were the coolest people in the world; they had drivers licenses, pierced ears, and boyfriends.  They talked about music and had cool outfits that my Mom would never let me wear.  I could not wait to grow up and be like them.  Then I was a teenager, and that stupid show Sex and The City was on.  Girls my age looked up to these women in their 30s and spent hours discussing whether they were a "Charlotte, Carrie, Miranda or Samantha."  (Sidenote; I know it has been said before but HOW THE HELL DID CARRIE AFFORD THAT APARTMENT?)

Now I'm almost thirty and I follow Maude Apatow on Twitter.  I'm captivated by her eighth grade witticisms.  The style icon of my late teens/early 20s was Chloe Sevigny. She turns 40 this year.  Now it is teenage Tavi Gevinson.  The fashion and entertainment industries present an "aspirational vision" but now instead of imagining a glamourous future adulthood, adults admire children.  Well, I didn't grow up to be Carrie Bradshaw, and I will never be fourteen again.  The chance to be a child prodigy has long since past.  As unlikely that it was that any of us would grow up to be Chloe Sevigny or Sarah Jessica Parkers, at least it involved growing up.  Now we must despair because according to popular culture our best years and the chance to be a cultural influencer have passed us by.  So excuse me while I go watch ABC Family, read Rookie and cry.

Google Kills Romance

Awhile ago I met a man at work, he was handsome and charming and asked for my number and gave me his card.  So I did what any reasonable person does and immediately pulled out my phone and started typing his name into Google search. Before I'd even finished spelling out his last name Google had prompted me with his net worth and his celebrity ex girlfriend.  Within five minutes I knew that he was much older than he looked, had a daughter nearly my age, had dated a notoriously insane former supermodel for five years and was worth 500 million dollars.  I was creeped out that he was only four years younger than my mom, and I was only seven years younger than his daughter, but I had already agreed to dinner so I went...and yes the net worth made me slightly more willing to attempt to overlook the age difference.  I had to feign surprise when he told me who his ex was.  Though in my head I had already figured that he had a high threshold for crazy and was wondering what he'd do if I ever set his house on fire ala Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez (RIP). During the date he talked like an R. Kelly song, and his daughter was texting him incessantly about her monthly allowance, so it was pretty much dead in the water.  However, I wonder if I had gone in not knowing all this information about him beforehand would things have gone differently.  I decided to chatter on about how I was looking to get married and have babies and that pretty much sealed the deal for no second date (this is a trusty method, I highly recommend using it when trying to wriggle out of an uncomfortable situation.) There was no mystery, no discovery, no excitement.  This is an extreme example of someone who has achieved at least an F list level of celebrity...but between Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, Google and Instagram a little sleuthing (stalking) can give you someone's life story before you've ever sat down for drinks with them...which can kind of kill the fun of getting to know them, and continually discovering things you like about them...but on the other hand it can also save you time.  You learn the things that creep you out, such as the fact that they are old enough to be your father, immediately.

In the end, much to my own frustration, it turns out I was born without the gold digger gene.  I don't go for Hedge Fund multimillionaires. I end up going for people like drummers.

What's the difference between a drummer and a pizza?  A pizza can feed a family of four.

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a man of slightly above average looks, and below average intelligence, a drinking problem and an English accent. He decided to move to America, because everyone else in England had an English accent too so he wasn't special. So he came to "The States" and all his dreams came true.  He started dating a model, joined a band that was "on the verge" that Pitchfork really liked.  He got a laptop and became a DJ, made friends with all the door guys, promoters, and bartenders around town...then one day he was walking down the street after an afterhours party smoking his American Spirit and he didn't notice the homeless guy sleeping on the corner when he flicked his cigarette he lit the man's blanket on fire. He awoke cursing.  "Sorry mate!" our hero said as he scurried away, no help to the burning man (the homeless guy, not the hippie drug fest in Nevada).  The next day he woke up in his model girlfriend's bed, AND HIS ACCENT WAS GONE.  HE COULD ONLY SPEAK LIKE WILLIAM H. MACY IN FARGO.  He opened his stupid leather man bag, and where his passport had been, now was an Ohio Driver's license.  His girlfriend stirred awake, he tried to say "Alo, darling" but it came out "Hey there, honeybunches!" She flew into a rage and kicked him out of her apartment, screaming that his entire life was a lie. He rushed to his practice space, his bandmates were all waiting looking morose.  His girlfriend had already called them, they had decided that they needed some "fresh blood" and his services were no longer needed.  He then received a text from his "DJ gig" that night saying "Sorry bro, we're going in a different direction, not gonna need you Thursdays anymore."

I'm not really sure what happens next, but I think it involves Kate Bush or maybe Madonna as the ghost of Boxing Day Past.

Moral of the story; have an English accent or no one will like you.