I went to London a few weeks ago because I was tired of holding my life together in the confusion of being a Grown Up. In London I am not a grown up. I am perpetually 22 years old and fabulous. I can walk around the city and eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm thirsty and sit on benches and write and look at beautiful nteresting things. In London I don't worry about the next thing I have to accomplish, and I feel like the best possible version of myself.

I told Suz I thought men should be more like London, but she said:

If men were London, we would have never had women's lib.

If men were London, we would take the orgasm for granted.

Unless there were two men who were London, you and I could not be friends.

If a man could be London, he would only be London for a second or two and
then he would realize he was London and then he would become a dick about
his Londonosity.

And then London would begin to suck.

And civilization would, obviously, have to crumble.

There would be anarchy.

Screws would fall out all of the time.

In our quest to escape the sheer Londonishishness of our existence, we would
run to whatever was different from the man who was London.

We would run to the Weaselboys and the Head Cases and the Guy From Control Who Talks
About Banging Girls And Holding It Over Their Heads just to escape the
original sucky man.

And we'd be right back where we started.

With men who suck.

But this time there would be no London to run to.

And we would go to Paris.

Parlez vous francais?