Manolo says, it is the Day of San Valentine and you are back at your desk thinking it is the no big deal. Although, as you say this to yourself, you know perfectly well that if your man fails to come across with the goods this evening the day will end on the note of sourness.

And what are these “goods” of which you speak?

If you were honest with yourself, you would say the absolute best would be the hand-written letter of love, in which your husband of many years produces poetry which will rival that of the Robert Herrick.

But, it seems unlikely that the same man who yesterday changed the oil on your car and then spent six hours on the couch in the basement watching college basketball, would be suddenly graced with greatness by the immortal muses.

Indeed, somewhere in the attic, secreted away in your chest of treasures, reside the examples of Gary’s previous poetic efforts, written when you were both young and in the first flush of love. As you recall, the word “forsooth” figures prominently in them.

And so, as the years have progressed, you have readjusted the definition of the “goods” downward, in inverse proportion to gifts required for the anniversary of the wedding. In anniversary terms, the first year is paper, the fiftieth is gold. In Valentine’s Day terms, the first is florid original poetry hand-written on parchment, the fiftieth is that he remembers your name as he gums his heart-shaped bowl of tapioca.

You are now at the stage midway between these two poles, which means that if Gary wishes to remain in good odor, he will fork over the large card into which he has handwritten the words “I Love You”, along with the box of decent chocolate and/or the bouquet of roses. He will then complete the evening with the dinner at the House of the Outback Steak, where he not wait for dessert to express his undying love to you, but will utter such words no latter than the moment when the remains of the Blooming Onion are cleared away.

And so it is written, and so it shall be.

Look!

Beautiful sexy red shoes from the Christian Louboutin!

It is the Pigalle Plato Patent Leather Platform Pumps. Red shoes to impress the crowd at the Red Lobster!

Manolo says, it is the Monday, and you are back at your office fighting the good fight, although it is difficult to concentrate on good-fighting, when you are suffering the ill effects of your neighbors, Jimmy and Joan’s Annual Super Bowl Blowout.

Each culture has hedonistic practices specific to itself. Some, like the French, are hedonistic in matters of fine wine, and elegant pastries, and the affairs with the wives of governmental ministers. Others, such as the Germans are hedonistic in matters of sausage and beer and the oom-pah music.

Unfortunately, for the Americans, the American version of hedonism is now mostly all about the nachos.

Oh, perhaps you may also include the bratwurst and the barbeque and the mass produced lager in your festival of hedonistic Super Bowl partying, but really it is all about the nachos.

The more elaborate and ridiculous the nachos, the more likely we are to judge the Super Bowl party successful.

The next day, around the water cooler, no one will talk about the how nicely your home was decorated, or how elegant the gathering was, or how charming you were as the hostess …. but if you take thirty pounds of corn chips, and smother them in the artistic checkerboard pattern of melted Velveeta, guacamole, refried beans, pico de gallo, sour cream, and hot salsa, which are then topped with ten pounds of pork carnitas, and ten pounds of buffalo chicken wings, then you will have the peoples talking.

You will have achieved the sort of American hedonistic apotheosis.

And so it was that your neighbors, Jimmy and Joan, upped the ante in the race to the achieve the most memorably hedonistic Super Bowl Party nachos. This year, to the heap of chips, wings, carnitas, Velveeta, etc, etc, Jimmy and Joan added the fence of barbequed ribs around the outside.

That crowning touch– Ribs! Barbequed! Fence! — lifted the entire celebratory pile to the nachos hall of fame.

Of the course, you could not help yourself faced with such achievement, you ate and ate, and today you are feeling not so good.

Look! Unusual platform sandals which the Manolo finds strangely attractive, in the sort of fun and intellectual way.

The Colorblock Platform Slingback Sandals from Fendi

Manolo says, the Manolo cannot say exactly why, but the Manolo finds these leather and suede Burberry ankle booties oddly compelling.

Perhaps it is the au courant, militaristic, puttees-and-combat-boots look that the Manolo is responding to. On the one of the hands, the five inch heel is outrageous, but, on the other of the hands, the khaki leather with the straps and buckles is familiar and Burberryish, something that would certainly go with the iconic trench coat.

Meanwhile, the black version of this shoe does not particularly move the Manolo to appreciation.

Yea, or nay, dear internet friends, yea or nay?

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are frankly stressing out over the impending Thanksgiving-o-pocalypse which is now barreling toward you like the runaway trainload of the free-range heirloom turkeys.

Normally, Thanksgiving does not cause such excessive stress, but then, normally, you do the Thanksgiving at your home. Normally, you do not agree to get on the plane and travel to your in-laws on the other side of the country for the long weekend of family togetherness.

Of the course, you are not worried about the weekend, as it will undoubtedly be pleasant enough, filled with turkey, football, and the ordinary frictions of family visits.

No, what is worrying you is the strong potential for disaster as you pass through the security checkpoint at the airport, because your husband Gary, the normally level-headed person, has vowed that his junk shall go untouched.

“You’ve been listening to talk radio again, haven’t you?”

“Only Michael Savage,” he answers, the strange glint in his eye, “but I heard Amy Goodman say the same things this morning on Pacifica Radio.”

“You were listening to Pacifica Radio?”

“Fight the power, honey,” he says, as he gives you the clenched fist salute, whether ironically or not, you cannot tell.

And so now you are worried that your man will do something stupid at the TSA checkpoint, like making the offensive wisecracking about amateur proctology or not getting the romantic dinner before going to third base with the screener.

Worse, last night you woke up in the sweat picturing the airport crowds cheering as your husband is led away in handcuffs, wearing nothing but his underclothing, shouting loudly about the “intrusive fingers of the federal government”.

So this morning at breakfast, you confronted him over the cornflakes.

“Gary, promise me you won’t act up at the airport on Wednesday.”

“What do you mean by ‘act-up’?”

This evasiveness is not the good sign. What you need now are shoes…

Look! Elegant suede platform sandals from Prada!

Not even the knowledge that your husband might be intent on becoming the folk hero of resistance can reduce the sublime beauty of such shoes.

Manolo says, these calligraphically-inspired platform pumps from the Jordanian designer Aennis Eunis are indeed both super fantastic and wonderfully original. They are like nothing the Manolo has seen before.

As for what the shoes say, the Manolo is no Hans Wehr, but from what he can tell, these letters do not form the recognizable words, but are just the Arabic letters, which avoids the sort of problem encountered by the Nike peoples the few years back.

Of the course, these will be the enormous hit in Dubai and Qatar and Riyad.

Manolo says, from our friends at NET-A-PORTER (who provided us with the delightful Giuseppe Zanotti interview) comes this most amusing interview with Christian Louboutin.

The first thing I really wanted to do was to design shoes for showgirls, because at the end of the day, you know, a showgirl is…is like a bird of paradise. It’s a woman, but it’s a representation of a bird, basically.

At the end of my school, I did a big internship at Folies Bergère, and it was very interesting because, you know, if you like high heels, the showgirls are the best to actually show how to walk, how to manage, how to practice, but also they know great tricks about things, because not only they need to look, and to be good, but also they have to not to think about it. So, it has to be very comfortable, they don’t have to think about their feet. And, you know, at the first moment when I really thought up this stupid sentence, which is ‘suffering to be beautiful’, doesn’t work. You know, showgirls cannot suffer to be beautiful.

The Folies Bergère has interns?

Of the course, you would be like the statuesque and colorful Bird of Paradise in these Christian Louboutin Ulona 140 platform sandals

Although it would likely take several months of interning at the Folies Bergère to walk properly in them.

Manolo says, one of the Manolo’s internet friends has asked the Manolo the question.

Dearest Manolo,

I have discovered the cleverly concealed portal to shoe paradise….Zappos Couture

My question is, can I wear these shoes and not fall over?

Besos,

Beth

Ayyyyy! The real question is not “could you”, but “should you”!

On the one of the hands, this shoe is so wonderfully hilarious and unusual that you would feel bouyant all day long.

On the other of the hands, small children and drunken men would point and laugh at you, which you may, or may not enjoy.

On the third of the hands, this is not the elegant or understated shoe, indeed, it is comical and lighthearted.

On the fourth of the hands: “Would the Jackie O. wear these?” asks the Manolo. “Who?” replies the girl who would consider wearing them.

On the fifth of the hands, the Manolo prefers the white version to the black, because the marbling effect shows up so much better.

On the sixth of the hands, if you were to attempt these shoes, you would have to carefully examine your wardrobe and self. These are such particular examples of the VIvienne Westwoodian world. Obviously the girl who wears Vivienne Westwood is the sort of girl who wears Vivienne Westwood.

(more…)

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk working like the galley slave pulling at the oar while the boss-man “manages”, using his “motivational” cat-o-nine-tails.

Sigh.

Well at least there is the internet where your mind can run free, frolicking in the flowery fields of celebrity news!

Look! Rene Zelleweger is dating Anderson Cooper! And you think you have problems? Girlfriend has never been the same since the whole debacle with Kenny Chesney, who now admits he put his life into his closet, er box, whatever.

And then you cruise to the next site, and the next, and the next, and the mere fifteen minutes later you feel you are wallowing in tawdry gossip, indeed, you feel you need the long hot shower.

Or, perhaps, what you really need is…Shoes!

Sweet, simple, pure, innocent shoes, the container of goodness and beauty.

Look here from Miu Miu is the Specatator Peep-Toe Mary Janes.

And now, all is well.

Manolo says, behold! Beautiful and unusual platform sandals from Burberry in the handsome dark nickel color, but that name? What does it mean? Tonal…Check…Perspex?

It sounds less like something you would wear on your feets and more like the DARPA super secret squirrel project.

Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.

Dear Manolo,

I need some shoes for my big Valentine’s Day night out with my beau. The problem is that I’m a poor college girl and don’t have money to buy the sort of shoes I’d really like to own. Please help.

Nicole

Manolo says, frankly, the Manolo is surprised to learn that the college girls still have the boyfriends who are willing to escort them out for the Dia de San Valentino’s night on the town.

Recently, while travelling, the Manolo dined at the moderately expensive restaurant in the large Midwestern college town. While there, he could not help but notice that nearly all of the other tables were occupied by groups of well-dressed college girls, with nary the man to be seen. Meanwhile, outside the windows of the restaurant, the endless parade of college boys schlumped by in their blue jeans and novelty t-shirts, baseball caps jammed backwards onto their heads.

The Manolo’s dining companions assured him that this was the new paradigm, that young people no longer date in the old manner. In the stead, the girls get dressed up, and the boys do not, then they go out for the night in their gendered packs. Sometime later in the evening, fueled by cheap beer and flaming Jagermeister shots, the various groups collide to the pulsatingly inane rhythms of Lady Gaga.

So, congratulations to the Manolo’s friend on maintaining the more pleasant and enjoyable romantic tradition.

Look! Here is the Prive from Calvin Klein, the elegant, black suede, platform sandal that will look appropriately sophisticated at the reasonable price.

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.”

“What?”

“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.

Manolo says, the Manolo is feelings slightly down in the dumps this afternoon. And so, what better way to cheery oneself up then with the beautiful pair of the bright red shoes?

Here is the gorgeous patent leather peep-toe pump from Valentino, exactly the sort of shoe that would convert any day into the living-on-sunshine festival of good humor.