Kevin the Cat

This weekend I bought a copy of Elle UK. For one, my style icon MK Olsen was on the cover, but mainly because I lack self control in the magazine isle. (I entered Borders to buy a book and left with three magazines...and a book). While reading it, I forgot it was printed in the UK until every once in a while I came across funny terms and phrases like "high factor sunscreen, for a fair or Celtic complexion." or "bits" in place of just about any word or "quiff" instead of "coif". Suddenly everything I read was in a dead pan dryly witty British accent, and thus normal sentences became hilarious. America loves it, because we're narcissists who love our own culture and looking at Britain is like looking at a classier, wittier, vespa driving, castle dotted, more grammatically correct romanticized version of ourselves. British culture is like ours but it's not. It's foreign and yet familiar. It's like those "what's wrong with this picture" games. The pictures are exactly the same but in one donald duck has on a red sailor suit.

This is similar to the ongoing turf war between my cat Diana and her arch nemesis, Kevin. Diana and Kevin look nearly identical in that they are both completely black, except that Kevin ugly and Diana is cute. They hate each other so much that when Diana even thinks she sees him, she wails like a wounded yeti. For the longest time I thought she was just crazy for making these noises at her own reflection in the sliding glass door, until one day I was looking into her reflection and suddenly my eyes focused and it was her ugly twin Kevin! I screamed. It was like a horror movie camera trick where the reflection in the mirror suddenly turns from the naive heroine into Dracula, or Freddy Krueger or Chucky. Somehow it seems this is what happens when we encounter Britishness, for a minute we only see our reflection, but when our eyes focus in, we find it's actually Kevin the cat lurking behind the glass.

So I Wrecked the Volvo...

So...I wrecked the volvo. I was turning right and looking left and a rear ended a lady and her indestructible suburban (unfortunately the volvo was not so lucky). I've been known to dole out a harmless bumper kiss from time to time, so I was horrified when in my latest scuffle, the hood of my volvo was crushed like a discarded coke can (On the upside, i can now survey the inside of my car with out bothering to pop the hood). Now my engine and carburetor can ride with the wind in their hair. The front half of the volvo is a metal teepee. The worst part was driving the ghettomobile around for a week. It ran just fine, but it looked well, like a car wreck and everyone in the city of Columbus had the chance to rubberneck without the traffic implications. You're welcome. Anyway another plus side is that a rental is covered by my insurance. Little did I know when Jeff the recent college grad led me to my vehicle it would be a 2009 chevrolet with XM radio. Aw yeah...

I love latinos and...boots of course

As some of you know, I work in customer service. At times it is trying to deal with angry customers, but the sunshine in my sometimes gloomy work day is the hispanic population I encounter. I don't know what it is about America, but somehow we just don't spread the love like the Latinos do. (Myself included, I'm not latino, though sort of...ish...). After one frustrating exchange today, to my surprise the spanish speaker I was helping was overcome with gratitude after my attempts to answer his questions. "Gracias,! Gracias mi amor! You've done a wonderful job! Blessings on you and all your family!". I really think it is a latino thing, to be able to spout angry rantings one minute and heartfelt appreciation the next. I love it. Muy Amable! Muy Amable! They always end calls this way, regardless of what was said. While many english speakers will barely mutter a disgruntled thank you.

In other news, my boot obsession lives on. I think obsession may be too soft a word for the crazed hunger that drives me to scour stores and websites relentlessly. I wonder if there is some kind of treatment for bootmania. I feel that might include excessive calf excercises that would make it impossible to fit into a boot. I realize it's getting out of hand but I justify it by telling myself I'm the Brangelina of boots and I'm saving the world by adopting a pair in every color. I found another pair on Etsy, and although they serve a different function than dream boots I & II, they trump both in all ways. I can't even begin to express it, let me start by thanking 1982 for saving the ideal pair of boots for me. These not only rank highly in aesthetics but in function! They're fleece lined, with rubber soles! So basically they're perfect for hiking the Andes (with my hispanic amigos), traipsing from the metro stop to my flat in soho (or really from denney hall to the institute building), and dancing the napoleon dynamite dance with my sweatpants tucked into them (which I actually did early this evening-to test them for quality of course). So while there are many things for which I thank the 80s, at present I am most thankful for my newest boots. Hopefully my appetite is satisfied for now.

The Elusive Striped Tee

Why is is so hard to find the perfect black and white nautical tee, I ask you? Why? This seemingly ubiquitous item is sold by every retailer at every price point from target to jcrew, yet is impossible to find. You see these everywhere. On everyone from french waifs, Kurt Cobain, sailors, pirates, waldo (my red and white stripe tee has gotten me lots of waldo comments, arg), mimes and pretty much any hollywood hipster (including but not limited to the Olsen twins). Is everyone part of some exclusive black and white tee club that I am not aware of? Apparently so. This one from ebay fits the bill only it looks a little bit big, and with ebay there's no gurantees I'll win.

Chinese Boot Ghosts

The highlight of my week was coming home from Sacramento to find a tiny package sent to me from Shanghai, China. I had been wondering when the international olympic committee was going to get wise to the mix up in Beijing and send me my golds already, but instead of bling, I opened my teensy package to find what appeared to be the little plastic bootshapers I had ordered on ebay! After my lengthy boot saga I couldn't bear the thought of ruining my dream boots parts I and II with closet crumple-age. The bootshapers are like little boot ghosts. They're small and white and inhabit the body of the boot keeping them alive, not to mention they can walk through walls, and make erie noises at night. oooo. Your boots can now maintain their shape. ooooo