Although I won’t be wearing boots for another 5 weeks,  it hasn’t stopped me from taking a spin on the internets to plan my fall/ winter couture.   I was rather astounded when I came upon some quite …..let’s say unique boots.

Remember how sweet momma taught us, “If you can’t say something nice, say nothing at all.”    The following boots have left me …well, for momma’s sake,  speechless.    If nothing else,  these boots will definitely give you a good laugh.   I’ll do my best to say something nice…

First up,  The Edythe Boot in Alabaster.   It’s white.  It’s a boot.  After Labor Day.

The only time I can imagine wearing this boot is with my All White Ski Chalet outfit when I am in my super sleuth spy cave in Antarctica planning world domination.

Hmmmmm.   Very Int-er-esting.

This might be the perfect boot for those dead set on wearing boots right now.

Because, it is still technically summer and this is the South, rest assured we’ll be back to mid 90 temperatures by mid month.

This will give your toes a little air conditioning.

When the winter time comes,  The Onisutku -Tiger may be the perfect boot for running a race…in the snow.

Is that a sport?  Snow marathons?

If so, you’re in luck.  And they are patriotic… to boot.  ha!   Get it – to boot.

Everyone LOVES a mash-up when it comes to music.  What about movie mash-ups?

What would happen if  Saving Private Ryan and Pretty Woman were re-made together. That would be interesting for wardrobe.

Luckily we have these over the knee hiking boots.

Oh and they are a bargain at $1520.   It’s a good thing Edward has money.

Speaking of movies,  Didn’t you adore star wars?  Wasn’t Chewbacca the best?

Well,  guess what, you can look like him from your knee down.

Thanks, Prada.

More Space favorites. “Mork calling Orson, come in Orson.   Mork calling Orson.   Hey, Orson,  I want to thank you for these boots you sent Mindy.

We don’t have things like this on Earth.  Well, we didn’t until our little 70′s tv show inspired Marc Jacobs.”

Oh, and back to the mash-up madness  ( This seems to be adistrubring trend I’ve discovered).

If you ever need the perfect shoe to sail your Yellow submarine down Penny Lane.  Your are in luck.

I once saw a news story about this poor soul who has a virus that causes his body to grow bark like growths which make him look like a tree.

( I will spare you a picture for the weak-stomached.   Google “tree man” if you dare).

That is exactly what I thought about when I first saw these shoes.   I know momma said to say something nice.  Here goes.

At least these are only shoes that can easily be removed and not a bark skin virus.

As I said,  this mash-up trend is rampant.   I’ve saved the most offensive ones for last. I wish they were urban shoe myths. But they are real, my friends.

Oh look, it’s a Mary Jane and Fall’s hottest snakeskin trend as one.   (Say something nice.  Say Something nice…  ok here goes)

It’s Prada.

And lastly,  good ol Prada.   This season they really cover all the bases – Whether you want to look like Chewbaca,  a snake wearing a boot,

or maybe –  just maybe you want to look like  a white person wearing an ankle wrap shoe.

Oh and one more thing the least expensive boots pictured above are $198.  The Most Expensive $2500 – all are available via Neiman Marcus or Yoox.com just in case you want to verify this uniqueness exists.

Well, I know fall is in the air, but hunker down and wait until October 15 to bring out your favorite boots …or at least until the Autumanal Equinox.     And for heaven’s sake,  don’t you dare wear an ugly boot and don’t let your friends wear ugly boots.   There’s just no excuse.  You can’t even blame that on the moon.

Wishing you lots of love and Laughter this week,

Boots

xxoo

I couldn’t agree with Mr. Foxman anymore.   I adore the word “hunker”.   I suppose since I grew up in the South, I have heard the word used in numerous non disaster situations.  My dad used it all the time. ( still does)

To tell me to be patient:  ”Now you’re just going to have to hunker down, hoss”   ( He often called me “hoss”.  I don’t think he meant to, but after two sons it’s hard to change. He calls my niece by my name now).

To describe the poor posture of a person:   “She came in all hunkered over  with her hair flat as a flitter and I said, ‘who is this crazy lady?’”

The most vivid memory of my dad’s word was in regard to our neighbor across the street.  He was a tall lean man -probably one of those guys his parents assured him would fill out when he grew older, but as he grew older he became more gaunt and string-beanish.  He was married and had two kids who I baby sat occasionally.   He was a nice guy from what I can remember. Every night, Stringbean would walk down the hill of his driveway and stoop beneath his mailbox and sit in squat position for hours. My dad would drive in from his office, walk in the door and  say,   “The kook is out there hunkering again”

I’ve now learned and think Stringbean was doing it for sport, possibly remembering his grand ol college days.    You see, “Hunkerin’” was actually a phenomenon that spread across Southern universities in the late 1950′s….and it was a fad that was started by some clever Sigma Chi’s at the University of Arkansas. ( Can I get a woo pig soooie?)

the outside study hunker

The grand ole Frat house had a chair shortage and these college boys took to imitating their Ozark forefathers during house meetings.  The college hunks made hunkering cool.  Soon everyone was  hunkering’

while studying…

in groups,

on dates,

the hamburger hunker

while entertaining the crowds

on rooftops

The nuances of hunkering spawned sophisticates of the art form and a myriad of styles.

Life magazine even featured the craze in their November 1959 issue.    The magazine referred to it “sociable squatting”.   According to wikipedia one hunker-er was quoted as saying, ”

“A respite from a world of turmoil. The main purpose of hunkerin’ is to get down and hunker together. It’s a friendship thing: get your friends to hunker with you. The man you don’t know is the man you haven’t hunkered with.”

 

In fact,  hankerers urged  President Eisenhower and Kruschev to hunker at their summit sure this would bring world Peace.  That’s not a terrible idea.

 

Maybe those Hogs were on to something.   Perhaps all we need to do to resolve economic budget disputes, employment woes, and healthcare issues in congress is take all the seats out of the Capitol building.  Tell our congress to hunker down….maybe then we’d see some results.  And that’s all I got to say about that.

 

Well, sweet friends, I hope you have a fabulous long weekend ahead of you.   Now let’s hunker down, relax with friends and cheer on those HOGS or you favorite college team.

 

Happy Hunkerin’, Y’all!

Don’t you just hate it when you’re in a meeting, an interview, or  business mixer and this is the icebreaker they throw out at you?   Aaargh!  The pressure to be unique. witty. memorable.

A few years ago I was part of a leadership training class comprised of 50 of the city’s up and comers (read: highly competitive folks ). Our first session, we were assigned the seriously lame task of “fun fact” finding ( read: corporate speed dating) to discover the who’s who of ever impressive achievements, traits, or associations?

“Where’s the guy who climbed Kilimanjaro?”

“Anyone seen the chick with Mick Jagger as a Godfather?”

“Who ate the 72 oz porterhouse in one sitting in some random Texas town”

You get the drift.

Going into the event I had my usual four options for fun facts.

Option 1: I can hang a spoon from my nose
Option 2: I’ve never ( no never) had my ears pierced.
Option 3: I can correctly say tongue twisters at warp speed
Option 4: I write jingles

On this day, I chose to go with Number 4. Now, when I say I write jingles, I don’t mean that you’ll hear my diddys selling you dish detergent on the tele (not yet anyway). Mostly I write silly song spoofs or goofy poems….about my dog…which is a a fun little fact I forgot when I disclosed this publicly.   I never dreamed the follow up question from each curious leader would be, “Will you sing one for me?”   Oh, the horror.

Nobody really appreciated The Finley Dog version of top 40 hits as much as I did.  Nor did they want to endure my “I’m a Junior Leaguer” to SmashMouth’s Shrek hit “I’m a believer”.  To say I was slightly defeated and deflated by the end of that mixer is an understatement. Luckily, lying in bed, inspiration struck that night. By the next morning, I presented an Ode to Class 23, a rhyming treat of (nearly) all 50 fun facts of my classmates.   It was a hit.   I was redeemed!

I wrote a few more poems for the class and for the Junior League that year ( My apologies to Kenny Rogers turning “The Gambler” into a Junior League anthem.  It was just too easy. I couldn’t fold that one)

Then something terrible happened. Life got wonky. I lost my silly song mojo. A dark cloud hung over my giddiness. It was  indeed, the day the jingle died.

Now, I don’t know if it was my near death experience with Ninja Lenny Kravitz a couple of weeks ago, but suddenly I’m feeling zippier, giddier, more like…well, me. There’s a renewed tingle in my jingle maker.   (btw – I totally have dibs on selling that last line to viagra). I’ve gotten my silly back.

The thing about getting my silly back is, I’m never sure when inspiration will strike.  So last night, when the POTUS stood to share with us the great news of troops making their way back to U.S. soil, all I could really hear was the quirky way he pronounces the word “Tal-i-ban” much like Harry Bellafonte’s pronunciation of “Tallyman” in his great hit “Day-O!   / The Banana Boat Song”

That, darlings, is all it took for me to chase a lyrical rabbit for the rest of the night. A political Obama version of Day-O began looping through my head and by the end of the night it had morphed into a more personal version. Think Elle Wood meets Weird Al Yankovick meets Harry Bellafonte extravaganza. So, I hope you’ll oblige me for a little afternoon blog silliness.   And while we’re at it,   I’d love to hear your “fun fact” in the comments below.
Now everybody, sing along. (to the tune of the Banana Boat Song)

Day o
Day o
daylight come, me don’t wanna go run

I ate a cupcake. I cleaned my plate.
(Daylight come, me don’t wanna go run)

Shoes still fit, if I gain weight
(daylight come, me don’t wanna go run)

Come Mr. Shoe Man, Bring me some Manolos
(daylight come, me wanna shoe shop) (repeat x2)

Jimmy Choo, Miu Miu, Louboutin Pump
Daylight come and she wanna shoe shop (repeat x2)

Day
Me say Day-O
Daylight come and she wanna shoe shop

A beautiful wedge or a strappy sandal
(daylight come and she wanna shoe shop)

140mm, there’s no height she can’t handle
(Daylight come and she wanna shoe shop)

Prada, Fendi, Brian Atwood …pump
(daylight come and she wanna shoe shop)

Come Mr. Shoeman bring me Valentino’s

Daylight come and

me wanna

shoe shop

Cheer’s Y’all.   I hope you’ll make time to get your silly on today.

xoxo,

jobeth

Every southern girl worth her salt, can quote a line or two from “Steel Magnolias”.  In one particular heartfelt scene of the movie,  Shelby looks deep into her mother’s questioning eyes and says,  ”I’d rather have a thirty minutes of wonderful, than a lifetime of nothing special”.   Traditionally, on this blog  this is the point I’d dive into a life lesson.  I’d look for the spiritual meaning in it all.   Well, y’all, it’s summer.    I mean – it is full-on 100 degree summer already.   Seven days in a row of this heat, the sun is searing my brain.  When school lets out for summer, so does my brain.   I don’t want emotional insights.   I don’t want to think.    Shelby may have needed 30 minutes of wonderful,   I just wanted 90 minutes of nothing.

Last week,  I cashed in a spa gift certificate I had been holding onto for quite awhile.   This would be the perfect way  to spend ninety minutes thinking about ab-so-lute-ly nothing.

I don’t know about you,  but I’m not really good at thinking about “nothing”.   I’ve never managed to do it.   On this day,  I was determined.

GOAL:  For 90 minutes,  I will not think about anything!

SO there I was sitting in the waiting area of the spa, my mind kept whirling?    ”Is your goal measurable?  How will you know if you thought of nothing?   You better take mental notes…just in case”

My name is called.   I’m introduced to David.   Massage time…

In case you ever wonder,  here’s what “absolutely nothing” translates to:

“This masseuse …or is it masseur? … looks a lot like Lenny Kravitz.

How cool would it be if Lenny Kravitz moonlighted as a massage therapist?

You’ve got to LET LOVE RULE  (let ….love… ruuu –le)

Quit wasting thought time.  I’ve really got to start thinking about nothing…get thee to thy happy place.

Did I just think in Shakespeare?

Ok.  happy place.  happy place.  happy place.  deep breath.  happy place.

I’ve got it!   My dreamy pink cottage.  all white interiors.   a picket fence and a garden of peonies, roses and lavender.   Water view.    Sweet ice tea on the back porch at sunset.  deep breath.   deep breath.  I can hear the crickets…I can hear music

What is this music?   It reminds me of…The aurora borealis!    Note to self:  add to bucket list,  I want to see the aurora borealis.  I’ll need to download this weird music when I do.

You know, I’ve never met a child who dreams of becoming a new age musician…  or smooth jazz  musician for that matter.   Do they get all dreamy-eyed when they walk through Stein Mart or ride an elevator?

And what kind of music does a new age musician or smooth jazz artist listen to when their work stresses them out?

That might be funny to tweet.   Then again,  I’m a big dork.  I’ve been tweeting too much lately.

If Lenny Kravitz masseur was a ninja he could move his elbow a little to the left right now and kill me

It’s surprising how I’ve trusted my care in a state “undressed to the level of my comfort”  to a complete stranger for the next 90 minutes…or …. darn it, I bet we’re down to 45 minutes now.   I’ve flipped over.

I bet Al Gore wishes he had not trusted his masseuse.

Why are you thinking about Al Gore?   He’s gross.  Get back to your pink cottage.

If I went back to work, I could buy my pink cottage.   I really should get a job.

OWW!  Seriously,  Ninja Lenny,  one good crack and my neck is broken

Oh wait,  are you massaging my head now?   No,  really, are you stroking my hair?

it’s over?    Already?   Oh, Lenny, don’t you know, it ain’t o-ver til it’s oooo-ver.”

So much for thinking about nothing.   Now excuse me,   I suddenly realized I need to download some Lenny songs.

I heart my iPhone.  I do!  I’ve been accused of being addicted to it.    I heart it even more now that I’ve discovered insta.gram. Insta.gram is an app that allows iPhone users to snap pictures with their phone, do a little fun tweaking /editing and post for friends to see.   Long before I had my DSLR, my phone was my camera.    I whole -heartedly agree with famed photog Chase Jarvis – that the BEST camera is the one you have with you.    Photo inspiration can strike me anytime – whether fashion, colors, flowers,  sunsets, a texture, or  even an angle that makes my eyes twinkle.  As soon as  I see it,  I stop and take an iPhone pic.   Love must be in the air because I’ve gone through the last month of  my instagram shots,  I  found lots o’ hearts.   I thought today would be a perfect day to share.    It’s also a time to encourage  us,  to open our eyes.   Love IS all around ….if we just stop and look for it.

there is no substitute for love (my kitchen counter)

hearts of stone ( at Pottery Barn)

i love you...I do! ( Proposals Bridal Store Window)

love ~ love ~ love (my other drug)

glitter hearts ( on my coffee table)

be loved ( a shredded belkin cardboard box + doily!)

US Pizza Love ( shadow of my red soda glass!)

my valentine ( on my pillow this morning!)

two greats together ( always within arms reach)

I’m still a kid at heart because this silliness never gets old to me. Now, each Christmas the nieces and I perform a  few snippets of “Chubby’s  Many Adventures”

After a month on gorging on holiday fare, you  may relate to Chubby, too.    ( and I can’t believe I’m actually posting this.  Last year’s video never made it off my phone)    Without further adieu….

Meet Chubby

I hope your Christmas filled your bellies and hearts to the brim and I pray 2011 will be happy and healthy for us all.

Cheers,

boots

xxoo

( image via Ellen Von Werth )

Happy Birthday, Boots McBlog!    For the last year,  I’ve had the joy and blessing of sharing my favorite things,  my faith, my fears,  my failures,  a few fancies, my felecities,  some fotography,  a little flair, some serious footwear,   and just a wee bit of folly.    I want to say thank you  - to each of you my sweet friends for taking time out of your busy days to hang out here  for a few minutes on my virtual veranda.    This blog began as a way to push me creatively.  Little did I know how much healing and happiness it would bring to my heart.   Thank you for your kind comments,  for your encouragement.   Thank you for liking shoes and pink as much as I do.   Today is  not only the blog’s birthday, it’s my birthday, too.   I will celebrate with my pink cupcake and a glass (or two) of Vueve Cliquot.   And while that sounds a lot like last year’s celebration,   I am welcoming this new year with a renewed spirit.  I just can’t wait to see what new adventures God has in store.  If I’ve learned anything this past year it is that grace – the chance to start all over again – new! –  is the best gift of all.   So,   Dear Year Two of the Blog and Year 30-something of me,  there are all kinds of beauty waiting to be discovered.  Let’s go find it.

Cheers, Y’all!

boots

xxoo

The Angler flinches when I refer to this as “my” wedding. However, I don’t recall him losing any sleep over the 3000 blooms, the lemon leaf garlands, the pink and white striped tent, the 5 inch wide double face satin ribbon that I finally tracked down in Canada or the the months spent locating the perfect dress without a single bead or embellishment – which was nearly unheard of in the late 90’s. I loved MY wedding. I loved the research. I loved my organized notebooks that finally were dwindled down to the perfect outline of The guest list. The food. The flowers. The music. As we rode away that day as Mr. and Mrs in our horse drawn carriage (of course!) my heart fluttered with glee …with just a hint of sadness. That small ping that said, “This was it”. The only other time I would ever have The food. The flowers. The music and everyone I ever loved in the same room would be ……..my funeral.

This might seem a wee bit morbid, but if you’re from the South you know that a fascination with death is just part of our breeding. From the time we are born we know the recipes our mommas tote for additions to the family and which recipes are used for subtractions. We frame pictures of family members long since parted and usually the only story we know about them is some gruesome detail that led to their ultimate demise. For example, I have a picture of my great Aunt Mable framed in my guest room. I never knew her. She was pretty. I hear she was extremely talented – a writer, a painter, a seamstress and a bulimic. She died at the age of 30. They say the good die young.

Which might explain why – at the age of 23 – I sat watching Princess Diana’s funeral procession and thinking to myself, “Those Easter lilies are gorgeous. Make a note of that. ( just in case)” Or when pics were published of Jackie O’s graveside I noted, “the greenery and lilies of the valley that formed a cross. So elegant. so simple. So peaceful. and so going on ‘the list’.”

“Final” Lists are not anything unusual for my people. My grandmother kept a notebook in the top drawer of her dining room buffet for years where she would write and scratch out what she wanted to wear for burial. Pink ruffled dress. Scratch. Brocade Suit. When I was younger and my parents would travel off to distant places, Mother would always stoop as she said goodbye and whisper in my ear the current location of all the info I’d need to know if they shouldn’t return. To be honest, I never once looked at her list. Thank goodness, I haven’t had to yet.

Today, I’m carrying on this crazy family tradition. On my coffee table is a beautiful antiqued box The Angler and I lovingly refer to as my “death box” It contains notes and letters of my dear ones that have gone before me…and the “Final List” which I update from time to time outlining the who’s, what’s, whens of my funeral…when I shall…well…pass. (There is also a copy on my iPhone)
Now I know as a believer, I’ll be too busy dancing and decorating my mansion in glory to really care about earthly blooms and such. But – while I’m having the time of my everlasting life – I do believe the ones left behind should have a glimpse of eternity too.

As styles change – so does the list, but some things always remain: The flowers – must be white. Aromatic. Smell like heaven. Virginia Roses, casablanca lilies, peonies, lilies of the valley, white hydrangeas, french tulips – But please NO gladiolus – those just scream death. The music – A list of classic and contemporary hymns. Be prepared to sing Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus – and you better stand as is the rightful tradition when it is played. If a choreographed gospel choir can be arranged with a New Orleans Jazz band to play “When the Saints” I’d like that too. And I want party favors. When I go marching into glory – I want everyone to walk away from a celebration of life with a string of pearls and song in their heart.

Now here are the two sticking points that gets my family when I go talking about my funeral…and probably what compels me to write this the most. (YOU are my witnesses)

1. If I’m ever on life support – Don’t take me off until I’m at least back to a size 4. Now, a size 2 would be optimal. I’ve never been a size 2. But a size 4 ensures my favorite dresses will fit for this funeral fete.

2. I only approve an open casket if its open on the FOOT end. If I should die in fall/ winter – I want my Black suede Prada ruffled heels and my toes painted with OPI “Oh to be 25 Again”. If I depart while the spring & summer is coming to life, I want to wear my nude patent Jimmy Choos with “Sweet Memories” painted on my piggies. I just LOVE how OPI polish has names for all occaisions.

Lord willin, I still have a long time to add more to the “final” list, but if the valet arrives early with my chariot to glory…know most of the details are covered. They are fabulous…and this is one funeral you won’t want to miss.(all photos taken with my trusty little iPhone at the historical Mount Holly Cemetary in Little Rock. If you haven’t toured this treasure in the heart of our city,   April 25th is your chance when The Mount Holly Cemetary Association will host it’s annual picnic – “Restore in Perpetuity”. The event will be from 5-7pm, cemetary tours, boxed suppers, live musical entertainment, a silent auction {I find the “live” and “silent” a wee bit funny for the setting} and a chance to sip a Mount Holly Spritzer a refreshing concoction of wine, lemonade, and mint. Tickets are $75 and provides funds necessary for upkeep to this grand landmark. Call 375-5197 to purchase. )

If you’ve hung around my virtual veranda for long, you realize I am a girl who adores a great shoe (and can’t seem to quit writing about them. I promise this is the last FTF shoe post for awhile.) I’m a girly sort. Food, flowers, fashion. Sporty, I am not. Nevertheless, I decided to be sporty on Sunday and it turned into a fashion fiasco. Or did it…..

I limped into the MD’s office on Monday in my cute black patent Tory Burch flats. I left with the Air Cast 3000 to secure my calf muscle which I had gracefully torn sprinting for a ball. The bad news, I’m in “the boot” for at least two to four weeks. The good news, the doctor took one look at my trendy no-heeled shoes and said,”You’ll need to wear a heel on your other foot to balance your gait. Do you have a higher shoe?” HA! Do I have a higher shoe? Apparently fashion prowess is not part of the medical record or he would know my collection of summer wedges is – to put in laboratory terms- “above normal limits”.

For moi, the summer wedge is the winter boot equivalent. It’s daytime. Its’ nighttime. Its casual. Its dressy. Although – I’ll be honest – The Angler finds them utterly ridiculous. Most men do. Except for the ones who matter most in the shoe world – you know Jimmy, Manolo, Christian, Marc and the original wedge designer Salvatore -as in Ferragamo.

Ferragamo designed the first platform wedge sandal for Judy Garland in 1938. His creation soon became all the rage throughout Europe during World War II and by the end of the war, women were standing nearly 5 inches taller than when the war began.

That vintage vibe and the soaring heights, no wonder I’m smitten for these beauties for Spring/ Summer 2010.  Join me on my virtual hobble through the internets…

My go-to wedges are in nude or metallic hues.  These make your legs look miles long

seychelles wedge. www.urbanoutfitters.com

juicy couture www.net-a-porter.com

delman www.dillards.com

Nothing says summertime like a ladylike espadrille.  Love those ballet -esque ribbons to tie around the ankle

Christian Louboutin www.net-a-porter.com

marc jacobs www.zappos.com

Of course, a little pop of color never hurts…

jimmy choo www.net-a-porter.com

These are just incredibly yummy!

charles david www.zappos.com

But then, again,  black and white has it’s own panache…

sam edelman www.anthropologie.com

The tribal feel of these wedges would look great paired with natural linen and layers of wooden beads.

These little darlins make me want to plan a summertime soiree by the pool…

kate spade "cabana" www.zappos.com

Orange you glad I didn’t forget  these Louboutins?  (sorry for my silly pun)

Christian Louboutin www.bluefly.com

A new take on Missoni’s signature stripes, Dorothy would approve this rainbow.

missoni www.zappos.com

Just think – these could have been the ruby slippers….

moschino www.zappos.com

Bette Midler said, “Give the girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world”

For now,  I’m armed with ‘the boot” and  a cute wedge,  so world,  I can still take ya.

Have a fab ( and careful) weekend.  May it be filled with wedges of sunlight and a rainbow or two.

Cheers, Y’all!