The Out-of-Towners

Redmercury last night on the radio show was talking about this Vanity Fair article that chronicles a NYC fan tour for fans of Sex in the City.
We would like to do a Sookie tour ...would we be like this then ?

When a tour-bus load of would-be Carries, Charlottes, and Samanthas (nope, no Mirandas) go chasing that Sex and the City dream, is it comedy, tragedy, or cultural delusion? Shuttling from a certain sex shop to the Magnolia Bakery, the author ponders their quest.

by A. A. Gill January 2009

‘Now, ladies, there is a washroom on the bus, there is a toi-lette. It is, though, a toilet on a bus, you know what I’m saying? So … no twosies, if you’re with me. No twosies.” There is a murmur of sisterly understanding. Welcome to the Sex and the City bus tour of New York. “We’ve all seen the film? O.K.-ee!” Of course we have. The high humor point is a woman twosie-ing in her pants. So we’re all bonded over twosies. We’re getting the twosie motif. “O.K.! Let’s begin with who thinks they’re a Charlotte?” A few hands go up. “Yay, all right! O.K., who identifies with Miranda?” No hands go up. “O.K., who’s a Carrie?” There’s a collective sigh of doppelgänger-identification angst, and a yearning forest of arms. “O.K., who’s a Samantha?” There are giggles, and a couple of birds at the back raise their hands. They might just as well have spread their legs. “Ooh! Sluts! My sort of girls!” The tour guide breathes into the microphone suggestively, and this huge intercontinental tour bus pneumatically, and empathetically, jerks itself into the traffic. I watch the driver negotiate the loathing from the New York streets. He could be a special-rendition taxi driver.

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