Manolo asked, whose shoes?
Manolo answers, it is the Jennifer Garner!
Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend Rach, who for the second week in the row, was the first person to correctly identify the weekly personage of note.
Manolo says, like the Queen of England, the Manolo carries no identification. (He is the Manolo! What more is required?) And because of this, his garments do not have the unsightly male wallet bulge.
Manolo says, it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is….
This article in the Slate magazine, by Ron Rosenbaum, it sent the Manolo back to the Nabokov to reread the poetry of Pale Fire. And now, the Manolo cannot but agree that the” John Shade” poem “Pale Fire” is the superior work of poetry, something that should be regarded as one of the greater works of post-war versifying.
But, even before this reevaluation, the Manolo had always considered the opening stanza of “Pale Fire” to be among his favorites.
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff — and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside, too, I’d duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall of snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!
And, likewise, It is that shockingly ridiculous juxtaposition between the beauty of John Shade’s poetry and the prosaic lunacy of Charles Kinbote’s commentary that never fails to make the Manolo laugh.
Without doubt, this book is the work of genius.
Manolo says, your mission, Ms. Vionnet, should you decide to accept it, is to embarrass the middle aged starlet using only the dinner napkin and the plastic bin liner.
Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk doing that thing that you do for that money that you need.
Normally, this would be the cause of mild discomfort and soul-weariness, as who would not prefer to be away from grindstone?
However, given how roastingly hot it is out of the doors, you do not mind being in the air conditioning during these most Doggish Days of Summer. And, even the better, your boss, along with two or three of the office troublemakers, are away on their vacations, allowing all of the remaining worker mice to play, or at the least to somewhat chillax.
And so, you will spend much of the morning locked in conversation with your cubemate/frenemy Dina, whom you like/dislike in that way peculiarly reserved for the co-workers.
“Did you see what Snooki was wearing yesterday,” begins Dina’s conversational gambit. (She is obsessed with the reality shows.)
“I don’t watch that,” you lie, trying to maintain your image of aloof intellectualism.
“Oh, don’t fib. I saw you friending the Situation last week.”
“It was not the Situation,” you fib, “it was Jonathan Safran Foer.”
“Honey, Jonathan Safran Foer’s pectoral muscles do not look like that.”
And so it goes, exhaustingly inconsequential tittle-tattle conversations about minor celebrities and their doings. It is almost enough to make you wish for the untimely return of your boss-lady…almost.
Look! Beautiful shoes from Christian Louboutin.
The Pique Prive Patent Leather Pumps from Christian Louboutin are more than enough to remind you that, in general, life can be pretty good.
Manolo says, Krispie Kreams and…Cherrwine?
Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
Dear Manolo,
I have a question about shoe etiquette. I recently attended a funeral for a work acquaintance, and was shocked to see that many of the younger women present were wearing sandals. I’ve always assumed that this was inappropriate. Your thoughts?
Helen
Manolo says, frankly, the ways of the modern world continue to disappoint and frighten the Manolo, and nothing moreso than the casual manner in which we now treat all of the most important events in our lives.
All except for the weddings, that is, which are now routinely celebrated with bumptiously grandiose ceremonies worthy of the Mughal emperors. Unfortunately, everything else, from the weekly worship services, to the christenings, to the funerals, is attended by gangs of people dressed as if they were heading out for the day at the theme park, in khaki shorts, novelty t-shirts, sandals and fanny packs.
And although it is now no longer strictly necessary to wear the black clothing to the funerals, one should still always dress in the respectful manner, in modest clothing and muted colors, and with the closed-toe shoes on the feets. Leave the cleavage, both bosom and toe, for your next trip the disco. It is important to remember that you are not the focus of this event.
Here is the Court from Stuart Weitzman, the simple, respectful shoe, suitable for this solemn occasion.
Manolo says, frankly, the Manolo is suffering from the summer doldrums, and has need to spice it up the bit with something fun, something like these calf-hair, leopard print, ankle boots from the Brian Atwood.
Is it perhaps too literal that the Manolo thinks of pairing these with something light khaki and safari-inspired? Hatari!
Manolo asked, whose shoes?
Manolo answers, it is the Mira Sorvino!
Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend, Rach, who was the first person to correctly identify this week’s personage of note.
