I could totes do ballet in these shoes. True Story.
Before you ask, I don’t like The Wizard of Oz much. I didn’t find it a magical, transformative childhood event, the way so many people seemed to. But I do remember thinking that Dorothy’s glittery red pumps were the bee’s knees. With a slightly more adult palate, I discovered the subtle layers that underpin the film, and still came away with one vital life lesson: Red Shoes Rock.
Hola, kids! Remember back in June, when I cast a fond eye over the search terms that various Internet devotees had employed before ending up on this blog? No? See here. By now, you’ve probably guessed what this post is about. Yes, in the manner of a breathy music chart countdown, let’s see a search term round-up from June to October!
I was at my hairdresser’s the other week for a retouch appointment. That’s right, I gave in to the relaxer ‘cult’ as a child dammit, and so any longer than nine weeks between treaments and my hair starts to feel insecure. This manifests itself as bad behaviour i.e. disregarding my every request and sitting petulantly in its room, writing awful, angsty poetry. It’s a hard learned lesson, and I don’t play like that. Well, not any more…
As I sat under the dryer, my hair wrapped in some kind of silkening treatment, I perused my magazine stash. In Look magazine, I found a gem.
No caption necessary. Really.
This pair of gold, sequinned leggings had across it, in bold black letters:
Missguided, £18.99
Sometimes, these things really do write themselves…
Of course, if this item of clothing is right up your sartorial alley, you can purchase them, from missguided.co.uk, here.
This blog is 100 posts old today. Now let me refer to the lovely and oft-misquoted Sally Field: “You like me! Right now, you like me!”
Seriously though, at the risk of sounding like cutprice Oscarbait/crappy Alanis Morrisette, thank you. I can scarcely believe things have been going for this amount of posts. Particularly as when my sister proposed my starting this blog, I recall wailing plaintively, “But whatever will I write about?!” Truthfully, I haven’t quite figured that out yet, but thanks for taking the time to read, comment on and generally validate my (sometimes spotty) efforts. Thanks also for inviting other people to join in - whether by linking from your blog or just telling people about it the old fashioned talky way. When the time comes, I will blame each and everyone of you for compounding my Narcissus Complex.
A toast then, to the next 100 posts, and on me, here’s a little somethin’ somethin’. That’s right. Where I come from, we toast with cake. Yummy red velvet cake. Bake or buy some, and then send it over, please. Nom.
I don't know what makes this cake so delicious. I wouldn't be surprised if it was crack. Honestly. Image via Moth Soup Stories
Hi everyone! I seem to have exclamation fever! See?!
Just wanted to let you know to expect a new Blog Feature, capital B, cpaital F. Slightly older readers may remember a column that used to live in The Guardian’s g2 many years ago, called Why I Love… Everyday, a writer would expound their (sometimes) irrational love for an object, activity, or person in around 300 words. The column came to an end with a refurbish of the newspaper, and now, only four short years later, I’m bringing it back. In a similar fashion to Justin Timberlake and the sexy. Yeah, I said it.
New Feature, Gift Wrapped For You
I’ve already done one on The Princess Bride, which you can read here. So keep your eyes peeled for more in the series. I hope you’ll enjoy them. And if you think I love something and would like to see me explain that love, suggest them in the comments!
I remember watching Robin Hood: Men in Tights, aged about 12, while on holiday from boarding school, and falling head over heels in love with Robin Hood himself, actor Cary Elwes. Shortly afterwards, I watched The Princess Bride and the focus of my crush shifted – I fell in love with a movie, and I haven’t looked back since.
Via A Softer Word
A while back, maybe a couple of years ago, in the cartoon slot of Friday’s g2 news magazine, in The Guardian, I saw something that made me laugh out loud on a crowded Tube carriage. It was a comic, featuring the photograph of a toddler holding a phone and looking into the middle distance. Over three panels, the photograph is cropped or zoomed to form a new image each time, the dialogue went:
“Operator, put God on. Yes, I’ll hold.”
“Mmmm mm mmmm mmm”
“God? You’re next.”
I spent a disproportionate amount of time last week looking for Christmas gifts. No, I’m not completely cray-cray for Crimbo – it was for work, compiling a gift guide to rival all gift guides, for all budgets, for all personalities. It was exhausting looking at all manner of pretty, quirky or cool things – the constant euphoria followed by the crashing letdown as I realised that some items had been made with no regard for the limitations of the average salary and/or the possibility of a global recession.
So there I was, a few weeks ago, trying to find a DVD (Zoolander, since you ask) to lend a friend when I realised it wasn’t on my DVD shelf. Wha’? Where’d it go? Who has been raiding my DVD ‘collection’? (I’ve put it in quotes because I’m not sure that 97 DVDs makes what one would call a ‘collection’. It’s like calling a room with three paintings in it a gallery. Anyway, I digress.) After texting my friend to let her know, I sat down and began rifling through my movies – what else was missing? As I searched I noticed something alarming – about ten per cent of my ‘collection’ was unopened. Some even still had the neon-coloured price stickers on them. Why were so many of my DVDs still wrapped? Especially since I claim that at least four of them are among my favourites? Let’s investigate!
In the end, there was really only one subject today’s Black Friday segment was going to be about. You knew it, I knew it, the interwebz herself knew it. I could talk about how how employers discriminate against jobseekers with Asian and African-sounding names, or I could talk about how Mattel launched new Black Barbies which came with activator and a weave. But no. Some frog-lizard-racist hybrid asswipe stole those poor stories’ thunder.
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