Manolo says, it is Tuesday and you are back at your desk doing whatever it is you normally do, but very badly, as you are completely distracted by Thanksgiving, which is now barreling down upon you like the runaway freight train full of free-range turkeys.
Thanksgiving was not supposed to be crazy this year. It was going to be just you and Gary and the kids and your mother. But then your mother called two weeks ago, and said she’d invited your Uncle Bill to fly out from Buffalo for Thanksgiving.
“Okay,” you thought, “one more won’t hurt. Uncle Bill is an old school nut who will probably goad Gary into an argument about professional football. But one more won’t hurt.”
And then your mother informed you that Uncle Bill insisted on inviting his son, your layabout cousin Billy, to fly in from Hollywood to join you. Billy calls himself the “writer-director-actor-producer,” although what he really is is the 43-year-old, cut-rate playboy who subsists on the variety of menial jobs and handouts from your uncle. Although, to his credit, he did once appear as the non-speaking extra on Will and Grace, in the distant background, as the coffee shop patron.
Speaking of people subsisting on handouts, two days after your mother’s call, your daughter Jeannie, who is away at the college, called to say that she has invited some dorm friends home for Thanksgiving — three foreign girls and one Latvian boy — who have nowhere to go for the holiday.
“The more the merrier,” you think. And then the conversation takes the surreal turn.
“Mom,” says Jeannie, “one of the girls is from Africa, and in her culture the turkey is considered sacred.”
“We can’t have turkey, because Ki’x’il’ko,” the name included three clicks and the pop, “says her people consider the turkey to be a type of sacred spirit.”
Later, when you tell Gary that you’re going to have to order goose for Thanksgiving, his reply is succinct.
“Bull-crap. The turkey is sacred to my people, too, especially when served with sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce.”
“But we can’t be offending this girl.”
“Tell her it’s a really big chicken. Nobody thinks chickens are holy.”
And then five minutes after you get off the phone with the butcher, who informs you that you cannot order the 23-pound goose, so you’ll need three smaller birds, Jeannie calls back.
“Mom,” she says, “Ki’x’il’ko says it’s okay to have a turkey. She looked up the word. It’s ostrich that’s supposed to be sacred to her people.”
Luckily, you were able to call the butcher back and cancel the flock of geese.
And now, on Tuesday, with two days to go, you are frazzled and distracted from your work. And yet you are also filled with pride that everyone would consider your home and your family as being the good place to celebrate this important holiday.
Look, here is the Christian Louboutin Feticha Botta Platform Boots, simple, beautiful, dead sexy.
Red boot and bell,
Frida Kahlo straps on her wooden leg.
“Let the good people stare,
while I waltz through the Zócalo.”
The Manolo’s poem is occasioned by the new gallery show from the photographer Ishiuci Miyako]]>
Manolo says, many happy returns for the Día de San Valentín! May your day be filled with joy and chocolate hearts and trinkets made of pure love (and diamonds)!
And now, let us not forget the reason for the season…
Yes, those are indeed the boney remains of the San Valentín, or at the least one of the many relics that are claimed to exist.
This nearly complete set of bones, which is one of the lesser known, is in the Real Iglesia de San Anton, on the Calle Horteleza, very near to the place where the tiny Manolo first found employment, many decades ago, in the shoe shop of the Mercurio Albornoz y Bahmonde. Often were the times when the little Manolo would go into the church for mass, only to discover the lovers who bore the cross of stars kneeling in supplication before this reliquary.
As you may see in the picture above, however, the bones of the Saint Valentine are the not especially big deal to the priests who run parish of San Anton. When the Manolo last paid the visit, the reliquary was covered with the dust, sitting alone in the rarely-visited side chapel. (Please to make your own metaphor, personal or global, about the state of modern love.)
And, now, because the Manolo is the beneficent dictator, the shoes suitable for the day of San Valentine!
Here from the super fantastic Christin Louboutin is the Iriza Strass Crystal Pump, the most fabulous sort of shoe to wear to the mass of devotion to the Saint Valentine. And then, afterwards, to the muy romantico dinner tête-à-tête with that certain someone who has your heart locked up in their reliquary of love.]]>
Manolo says, for those friends of the Manolo who still sometimes cry out in the night, “why are we no longer being shown the shoes of super fantasticness,” who occasionally in the odd moment wonder what is happening with their old internet friend the Manolo, well, here is update.
For the next few months, the Manolo has forsaken his usual haunts for the muy dramático landscapes and muy dinámico cityscapes of Santiago de Chile. And, sadly, he must again report that the Chilenos are no more stylish than the last time the Manolo was here. The Chilenos, they are increasing everyday in the prosperity and stability, but they have disastrously adopted the worst elements of the American People of the Wal-Mart fashions, with the grotesque tatuajes, strange piercings, and ill-fitting clothing made in places where the tailoring is done with the small hatchet and duct tape.
Still, there are many compensations for enduring such affronts, such as this…
The meal of the bife de chorizo and the caldillo de congrio, accompanied by the fine wine of Chile.
And soon, the Manolo will again pay the visit to the Museo de Moda, which he considers the best fashion museum in the world.
In the meantime, here is the pair of shoes that the Manolo would put onto the feet of the Chilean ladies, if only they would consent to the Manolo making them over.
It is summer in the Hemisphere of Southerness! What better way to celebrate the quirky excitement of the Santiago de Chile, than with the chunky platform sandals with the embroidered flowery details from the Prada!]]>
It is hard to believe that it is already the year 2015! Who knew we would still be here after all of these many years?
And now, the Manolo hopes that this new year may for you be filed with the most super fantastic developments and the most super fantastic-est of the shoes!]]>
Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
Thanks to the congressional schedule my annual vacation will be arriving shortly. This year, my husband and I are going on a cruise to the Bahamas. Please recommend a pair of fun sandals I can wear on board and on shore.
Manolo says, August in the District of the Columbia is the best of the times and the worst of the times. On the one of the hands, all of the congress-beings are going “home” for the month, giving the residents of the District the brief respite from the antics of the elected class. On the other of the hands, it is August in the DC, with all of the climatological misery that implies. Thus, if one is able, running away to the sea voyage is the reasonable response.
Leave behind the sweltering heat of the nation’s capital and exchange it for the sweltering heat of the Caribbean! There, on board your pleasure barge, you will be plied with mountains of shrimp and buckets of rum-based drinks. Daily, you shall enjoy the touristic sights ashore, where you will be given the opportunity to purchase your weight in tchotchkes made from such exotic materials as coconut shells and coral beads. And, at night on the lido deck, your cruise director will bully you into participating in various “fun” events, such as the limbo contest and the pirate song sing-a-long.
Here is the Natty from the Stuart Weitzman, the raffia and leather sandal that will serve the needs of the most discriminating sailor.
Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
In three weeks, I’m turning 40 years old. Oddly, I’m not yet upset about passing this major milestone. although, I am worried that it’ll feel bad
on the big day itself. To forestall that can you please suggest some party shoes for the big day. My husband is planning a evening dinner
with friends at a nice restaurant, so something that will go with my little black dress.
Manolo says, do not despair, it is true what everyone is saying, 40 is the new 36 and three-quarters!
Indeed, thanks to the miraculous medical advances and our comparatively easy lives, the average 40, 50, or 60 year-old person today is more youthful and energetic than ever before in the history of the world. Things that in the past that would have been the untreatable chronic problems, such as the hernias and the gimpy knees, are now fixed via the minor outpatient surgery
Of course, the downside for the society is that we have extended adolescence into the very-late 20s, which in some cases may be defined as 56, with angsty teenaged behavior continuing in some cases into dotage.
Better to be the 40-year-old adult thinks the Old Man Manolo, when one is free to behave in the enjoyably adult ways: grown up cocktails, black coffee, and delightful conversation about meaningful books and movies with witty persons of substance. Forty should always be the best year.
Here is the Audrey Glitter Strappy Sandals from the Christian Louboutin, the super sophisticated evening sandal that meets the definition of grown-up pleasure.
I’m expecting a baby in September and although I’m planning on quitting my job after the baby arrives, I’m still obligated to look nice when I go
into the office every day. The problem is that my feet are swelling up like balloons. Do you have any suggestions for a good-looking, low-heeled
business shoe that will be comfortable enough for a pregnant woman?
Manolo says, the Manolo has so much sympathy for the working ladies who are pregnant, those mighty Heroines of Fecundity who must suffer through
both the joys of child production and the woes of industrial production.
Often, while out strolling, the Manolo encounters these heavily gravid ladies struggling down the sidewalk through the summer heat toward their
places of employment. If only the Manolo could snap his fingers in the dramatic way, instantaneously producing the palanquin toted by the four
young Fabios, in which our pregnant ladies could then be carried to the office in luxury like the Cleopatra arriving in Rome.
But, sadly, the Manolo does not possess such super fantastic magical powers, and so all he can usually do is to suggest to these uncomfortable
ladies of pregnancy that they “take it easy, deary”, the same advice provided by generations of the elderly Jewish grandmothers.
As for the shoes, the Manolo thinks that what would be best is the classic loafer, such as this one, the Bobolink from the Stuart Weitzman, shown here in the “Milli Velour” finish, which is the sort of greeny color.
Now that the Fourth of July is over and my two weeks of vacation are finished, I need some snazzy sandals to cheer me up. Something not too costly. Please help.
Manolo says, yes it is true, the saddest days of adulthood are those hot days of summer when your annual vacation has ended and you are stuck back inside at the place of the office, working for The Man. Your first morning back is tolerable because it is filled with the bustle of work and the entertainment of catching up on the office gossip. The second day, Tuesday, however, is when you realize the sadness begins.
For the first eighteen years of your existence your summers were filled with utopic months of freedom from responsibility and schoolwork. Your school and it’s disciplinarian, Mr. Wegnogson, the evil vice principal who was the bane of your youthful existence, and whom your current supervisor vaguely resembles, were weeks away in either direction.
Of the course, things were not so easy for your mother who, whenever the summers rolled around and you and your brothers were loosed from governmental supervision, seemed to always be pulling out the bottle of “cooking wine for pasta sauce”, usually just before she pushed all of you out into the backyard and locked the door, often for the full afternoon.
Look! Here is the Georgia from Sam Edelman. The snazzy golden sandals that are on the sale!
For the afternoon of the Fourth of July, my husband and I are doing a big family-and-friends picnic in our backyard, followed by the obligatory trip down to see the fireworks. Given the amount of time I’ll be on my feet, I know I should probably be wearing sneakers, but I’d prefer sandals. Please help.
Manolo says, ayyyy! The Manolo loves the Fourth of the July, with the fireworks and the picnics, and the friends, and the warm potato salad and the cold beers, but especially the fireworks. Many cheers and “good-job-well-dones” to the peoples who have invented and perfected the things that explode in the air but do not kill us.
The Manolo regards the fireworks as one of the pinnacles of human achievement, right up next to the indoor plumbing and the safety pin. Such genius to take the substance designed for destruction and convert it into the article of beauty and delight. Indeed, the fireworks displays are the one conspicuous and universal occasion when the adults are encouraged to express the childlike amazement at the world, when we profoundly wish to be surprised and awed by what comes next. And, because the fireworks are rarely exploded, only the Fourth of the July and other occasions of great joy, they retain their ability to delight us when so many other pleasures have become mundane and common.
As for the summery sandals of comfort, the Manolo recommends the Air Bria Thong Sandal from the Cole Haan, in the perfectly appropriate color known as “gunsmoke”.