Oh, Paul Weller. They don't make men like they used to. I've always had this thing for quasi-mod style, particularly when peacocked by dark-haired young men. Hedi Slimane does too, to an extent that perhaps Paul deserved a royalty check from Dior.
I love how dorky Tony Wilson is here, too.
I love how dorky Tony Wilson is here, too.
Labels: men i would have dated, Paul Weller
In high school, I had two great record-store crushes. The first has become a music writer, and when I looked him up a few years ago, I was disappointed to learn that his flirtation with becoming a cad had mutated into a full-blown love affair. He was condescending toward me in a way that amused me more than anything else. So I'm happy to keep him filed away in the mental box of happy teenage memories.
And then there is Derek, who everyone called DVG. He was one of my favorite people back in Kalamazoo; he was always drawing on scraps of paper, and I still have a tiny post-it note with one of his scrawls on it. Some drunk guy had come into the store where I worked, and as I told him the story, he drew a hilarious caricature of the man. I loved it. And so I was so happy to open the New York Times and see his work next to letters about Wagner's ring cycle. (Which, of course, reminds me of Marc, and brings two good people together in one happy thought.)
And then there is Derek, who everyone called DVG. He was one of my favorite people back in Kalamazoo; he was always drawing on scraps of paper, and I still have a tiny post-it note with one of his scrawls on it. Some drunk guy had come into the store where I worked, and as I told him the story, he drew a hilarious caricature of the man. I loved it. And so I was so happy to open the New York Times and see his work next to letters about Wagner's ring cycle. (Which, of course, reminds me of Marc, and brings two good people together in one happy thought.)
After watching the new Madonna video, all I could think is, "Ugh, I have got to go to a gym." The woman is 20 years my senior, and she could probably knock me down just by flicking her pinky at me. Strong woman. Still, there's something sad about Madonna's claim that she works out for three hours a day. It's not that I don't believe her; it's that she's one of the world's most powerful women outside of government, she's dripping with money, she can do whatever she wants to, and yet she spends an eighth of her day exercising. Were I in her position, I would not do this, but maybe she likes it.
Lately I'm worried that I should be exercising more. My doctor says my blood pressure is "below normal," which makes me think it's only a matter of time before my heart stops completely. Which, of course, it is, but I'd hoped to have at least four more decades before that happens. And I could really do without people telling me that I have "meat on my bones," which then makes me think that I look doughy or something.
I feel OK with my body for the most part, and I feel healthy, so what reason is there to go to a gym? Even if I did wind up looking cut like Madonna, I wouldn't really get credit for it because I'm not pushing 50. My plan, instead, is to start working out around age 45, so then people will marvel at my flexibility. I'll be like Jean Brodie, a woman in her prime.
Lately I'm worried that I should be exercising more. My doctor says my blood pressure is "below normal," which makes me think it's only a matter of time before my heart stops completely. Which, of course, it is, but I'd hoped to have at least four more decades before that happens. And I could really do without people telling me that I have "meat on my bones," which then makes me think that I look doughy or something.
I feel OK with my body for the most part, and I feel healthy, so what reason is there to go to a gym? Even if I did wind up looking cut like Madonna, I wouldn't really get credit for it because I'm not pushing 50. My plan, instead, is to start working out around age 45, so then people will marvel at my flexibility. I'll be like Jean Brodie, a woman in her prime.
Personally, I might take this story about Pete Wentz with a grain of salt, especially because it was published on April 1, has terrible Photoshop work, includes the phrase "cosmetic derring-do," and has a link to a picture of a certain short-legged Munchkin cat announcing April Fool's Day. But amusingly enough, a few legitimate magazine blogs have reported it as fact. Oh, sweet triumph.
Labels: nemeses
