I'm a huge fan of the zoo. Over the summer I go there as often as I can convince other people to accompany me and never feel ashamed of being the only person there that's over five years old. For obvious reasons, however, the exhibit of animalistic Americans in the bathroom of a sweaty club near Santa Croce did not exactly appeal to me. The creatures were restless, frocked in visually captivating swatches of spandex and sequins, hoping to attract anyone from the pulsating throng of hungry males under the strobe light. I'm surprised there weren't any photographers from National Geographic snapping shots of the mess. As I was waiting in line for the bathroom, I could not help but observe them all, squawking about with their claws wrapped around assorted fruity cocktails. And it really was like an exhibit from the zoo. I felt as if I were watching a different species crashing to the bottom of the tiled floor and getting damp toilet paper stuck to their stilettos as they tromped around. I've been aware of the presence of the obnoxious American stereotype for years, but I've never had an experience so illuminating as this where I was totally ashamed of what I'm labeled as; for the first time I fully understood the reason for this stereotype and realized that it doesn't stem from misconstrued media images or Paris Hilton, but it comes from us. I hope that I've never acted as such but I'd be lying to myself to believe otherwise. Hopefully I will evolve, if I haven't some already.
Somewhat unrelated to the above diatribe, I've become interested in standards of beauty and their transformation over time. This fascination is the love-child of the classically beautiful statues that surround us and the outrageous fashion models imbedded in the window displays. Anyway, transience of the portrayal of the ideal human form, relative to time, Regan's lesson on perspective, we are movable, beauty is subject to change. More later.
Monica Foote
(also, more pictures to come - they're not uploading for some reason but I'm trying).
