14 December 2011

Hobbit Countdowns.

Today marks one year till The Hobbit's release.  Don't have the luxury of growing a beard and being a miscellaneous dwarf to the premiere?  Never fear!  I have prepared some costumes to celebrate the coming of Bilbo.

Dressing as Gollum is super fun.  Tape half-cooked spaghetti to a vaguely beige head covering.  Then precede to creep around looking disaffected.  I have chosen to carry a fish related product for extra shire-cred.

Smaug's treasure is under appreciated in the world of Middle Earth.  This costume is all about empathy.  Imagine the embarrassment of being upstaged by a scrawny ring!  Tape silverware, jewellery and things which shine to body.  To convince yourself of intrinsic and narrative worth mutter the motivation adage; I AM preccioouuuusssss.  The Oscar I am holding was actually won by the LOTR crew a few years back.  Every New Zealander got one.

365 days till second breakfast!  Mucho excitement.

8 December 2011

Bedroom Adornments. Op Shop Crawl HELP.

As creepy as it sounds I always ask to see people's bedroom when I visit their place of residence.  What someone adorns their personal space with is a weird insight into their mind.  It's always excellent to know people better.  The following are snippets of my room.  Please share yours.

I imagine the picture on the top left is the view from Lennie and George's farm.   It's actually a  British landscape.   In my head, at least, the dream of the rabbits lives on.  

Photographs.  Aren't I artistic?

Op Shop art.  Pensive velvet-suited children are the best.

Sarah Larnach's album art for Liam Finn and Ladyhawke.  Watercolours, kittens and beards.  Oh My.

50c from Butterflies Hospice Op Shop.  I call it 'Romanian Dancing Girls'.  Take note of Emerald City in the background.

Engineered Valentine.  Organisation of such things diminishes any romance.

By Rachel Hirabayashi

Queen Liz blackboard which gives me inspiration. 

The Monkey.   

My Grandmother's HOMEMADE SPAGHETTI.  Which I can unreservedly say to be the best sustenance.  Ever.

Op Shop kitten.  I legitimately used it as motivation to study.   

Groovy old sheets and card from artistic, zany cousin.

Dear blog readers, I am in need of assistance.
My totally awesome best friend is organising an Op Shop Crawl.
An OSC works on the same principle as a Pub Crawl.  Except with second hand stores and cooler people.
To maximise the epic fun times their will be rules during the Crawl.
Existing guidelines include:
  • Soundtrack for the crawl must be from an op shop.  Extra points for a musician with a perm.
  • The participants in the Crawl must begin the day with t-shirt and shorts.  They must end the day with fabulous and hipster attire.  
  • The 'Your Pants' game must be played in the literature section of each Op Shop visited in the Crawl.  The game consists of adding 'your pants' to the end of a book title.  This makes the title instantly more humorous.  For example: 'A River Ran out of Eden - in Your Pants'.
Your bodacious, creative and inspired contributions to the rules would be most welcome.

2 December 2011

Collective Post. There will be subtitles.

I had plans for an analytical political round up.  An angsty tantrum foiled such plans.  Debating and discussing the  opinions you have spent time forming is something to thrive on.  This blog doesn't seem the best forum for such debates.  It also takes a lot of effort to intelligently write on important matters.  A National government was expected.  I am not a member of the John Key fan club.  He is not a leader that promotes compromise.  Congratulations must go to the Greens.  Let's hope for positive, tangible change from them. 

Today is my final day of being 17.  Last year I regrettably missed the opportunity to obsessively sing '16 going on 17'.   The 2nd of December will not go to waste; I intend to spend it with Stevie Nicks 'On the Edge of Seventeen'.  Are your irony sensors singing?  I am the eligible age to vote exactly a week after the General Election.  Blarghf.

Second Hand Gems.
A spontaneous holiday to Dunedin heralded a jackpot.  The op shops were kind.  I will show ze clothing when I wear it.

Mother dear spotted these on the way out of Re-Store.  $10

Someone said 60's bowling bags.  I'm in a glass case of emotions.
Published in 1938.

I only purchased this to look at.  I wonder if it is disrespectful to all the learning books offer.   

This movie.  An action film shot like art house.  Dialogue, fake blood and music (listen) were used sparingly and precisely.  The hands did cover the face during the violence BUT IT WAS WORTH IT.  Shots of the driving were such a pleasure to watch.  I even liked the tacky font used.  Also, Ryan Gosling.  I command ye to watch'th it.

Finished reading 'Dewey: The Small Town Library Cat who Touched the World'.  I have no issue with gratuitous talk of kitties so I found it enjoyable.  And Mr John Green read out the second chapter of TFIOS.  Have I mentioned 'The Fault in Our Stars'?  TheFaultinOurStarsTheFaultinOurStarsTheFaultinOurStars.  7-21 business days after January the 10th baby. 

Summer reading brings happiness.

Previous post clarification.
Let me translate.  Blue hair does not mean Ramona Flowers.  It means the tips will be semi-permanently blue.  I apologise for the lack of bad assery.  The eating of stone fruit is far less philosophical than it sounds.  Apricots, nectarines, peaches and cherries are abundant in my corner of the universe.  Though I suppose to 'eat stone fruit' could also be interpreted as expanding ones mind through the consumption of difficult and hard to understand stone-like ideas.  Yeaahh.

Surprise Study Break.
This is what a friend did for me.  No words.

11 November 2011

Tudor-Stuart England: A Summary

A few centuries ago some people with wigs and castles did some stuff.  This period is also known as Tudor-Stuart England.  I hope to educate you on the areas I have strategically (lazily) decided to study for my forthcoming History examination.

We start our romp through Shakespearean England with Elizabeth I.  Lizzie makes my list of Top 10 Most Likeable Redheads.  She lived and reigned for ages thus created stability and historical events that are pleasant to study.  Her Religious Settlement of 1559 was the first and most important thing she did.  The rest of her throne time was spent chilling and teasing her mammoth ginger wigs.  As Liz was not a creeper, she had "no desire to make window's into men's souls".  Thus the RS was a compromise between two faiths as Sir John Neale put it.  Elizabeth had to create a broad based church to allow the warring Catholic and Protestant gangs to chill.  She was able to actually get along with people, unlike her extreme half-siblings.  As Conrad Russell wrote the reformed Church of England "looked Catholic and sounded Protestant".  The stability of her reign was largely because the Church let everyone get on with their religions and lives.  Our dear Lizzie was all about "outward conformity for the sake of good order not to impose her views" as Simpson wrote.  In another time the Queen would totes have had her own Disney Channel show in which to sing below averagely under the stage name 'Gloriana' and preach acceptance.

Elizabeth's interactions with her cousin*, Mary Queen of Scots, are also notable.  Mary is best known for blowing up her husband and unwittingly naming an alcoholic beverage**.  I think I would be happy with my life if they named a brew of tea after me.  Mary and Liz never got the chance to partake in such cousinly activities as brandy-snap blowing competitions and general frolicking.  Mary was French, ruler of Scotland and Catholic; no bridges of family love could be built between the two.  After Mary fled the land of Scots she was hospitably imprisoned by Liz.  She became the focal point for Catholic treason and her presence sparked the Rebellion of the Northern Earls (1569), The Ridolfi Plot (1571) and finally the Babington Plot (1586).  Graves & Frood, who likely only wrote a textbook because their names are oh so poetic together, wrote that "Mary's arrival hardened Catholic attitudes of Elizabeth".  The Papal Bull of excommunication in 1570 made Elizabeth a legit heretic and "pretended Queen of England" in Catholic eyes.  English Catholics were forced to chose between their Religion and Queen.  Elizabeth was forced to punish treasonous activity.  In practise this meant hatin' on the Catholics with harsher recusancy penalties.  As John Hasler wrote religious diversity was a danger to order.  Once Elizabeth's 007 Babington proved Mary's involvement in plots against the Crown she could be trialled and executed.  Yaaaay?  Liz agreed with "reluctance and ill-grace" as Simpson wrote.  She realised the dangerous precedent executing a royal.  Her lack of appreciation for Mary trying to "bring my kingdom to destruction" overcame her trepidation.  So Mary was killed for the "Catholic Faith and the assertion of my God-given right to the English Crown" and Elizabeth went on being Queen.  The uprisings associated with Mary, and the Spanish Armadas which were sort of related, made propagandists associate Protestantism with patriotism.  Doreen Rosman wrote that beauty.  It is upsetting that she is the ONLY FEMALE HISTORIAN I have come across this year.  Mary succeeded, not in bringing Catholicism back, but increasing fear of everything Popish in England.

James became King of Engerrrland after the lovely Lizzie.  He was pretty harshly judged, but compared to his Son wasn't all that bad.  He crushed on men, didn't balance his favourites, was necessary extravagant to buy his friends and was Scottish.  Not remembered overly fondly but HATERS GON HATE.  Most of his clashes with Parliament were over the "perpetual problem" of finance as Graves & Frood so poetically express.  The Crown was not obliged to call Parliament thus royal poverty actually benefited the governing class because they got to go to London and vote in subsidies.  The proposition of the Great Contract was a radical political occurrence during James' time.  Graves & Frood elegantly explain how the GC "surrendered feudal dues in return for annual taxation".  Feudal taxation was "exploited" by the Crown as Kerr explains.  It was hated because they were "hard to avoid" and had a high political cost.  Kerr also wrote that the gentry was "unsure about trusting the monarch" as an annual tax would make Parliament redundant.  Parliament was the only place where the people (MP's were limited to rich, privileged males.  That represents the population right?) had a voice in Government.  The gentry was not willing to compromise that voice.  As Sharp commented it was in the English people's "interest, that James remained short of money".  Faction fighting, which James' fixation with Carr and Buckingham exacerbated, and James' unwillingness to compromise also contributed to the failure of the Great Contract.  The state's "serious structural weaknesses" that Graves & Frood so wisely mention, remained unaddressed under James.  The trend of discontent amongst the English people regarding their rights continued.  Kerr makes the point that unlike his son James "remained at peace with his people and died in his bed".  Considering he didn't alienate his people to the point of civil war James wasn't the worst ruler of England.

I'm looking at my notes on Charles  and headdesking.  I can't be bothered with all the multitudes of ideas and problems that led to Civil War.  There will be no Charles essay for me.  Basically Charles was an incompetent monarch who was born at a time when the state desperately needed intelligent reform.  The End.  

*or some sort of weird royal relation.
**Except that is a lie because Bloody Mary's were named after Mary I.  Oh well, it sounded good in the sentence.

1 November 2011

A metaphorical and monumental kaftan.

Disclaimer:  This post contains excessive amounts of kaftan.  It is potentially dangerous to those with heart conditions and/or an aversion to fabulousness.

Sometimes miracles happen.  Today was a miracle; in the form of a kaftan.  It boggles the  mind that such beauteous garments exist.  If such a cacophonous piece of fabric ever presents itself to you an occasion must be made of it.

Priced $6 at the Salvation Army.  The lady gave it to me for $5.  I have connections.

Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No.  It is Ella in a second hand kaftan.

A week today I will have finished high school.  13 years of being privileged enough to be born in a country, and a family, that values education el completo.  It feel as if I should be doing something monumental to mark the occasion.  Instead I am fighting an apathy to study.  Exams?  I laugh in the face of exams.

I'm flying without wiiiiiiings.

Two years of Classical Studies has left me with a major appreciation for  stylised pleats.  O Attic Shape!  When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain.*  Just like Athenian art, my kaftan is timeless.

My trip to the op shop came at a wonderful time.  Today was the last full school assembly of the year and my swan song as the Cultural Prefect.  I was happy to mark it visually.  After the head students gave their final address balloons were dropped from the ceiling of the auditorium.  In true metaphorical style, I felt like one of the balloons falling from the lighting holes toward the seated students.  My much imagined end of school has not been a life-shaking change.  It has been gradual.  The simple pleasure of leaving "like pearls slipping off a string"** and the feeling of falling from a height best describe how I feel.  I am a balloon.***  

These shoes haunt my blog.  My brother has no words to describe his loathing for them.  All he could muster was "disgusting".

So I am a balloon enjoying the terrifying pleasantness of falling out of school.  But I am also being momentous, wearing this undeniable pleated wonder.  Later in the day as I talk about how excited I am for being 18 and being able to club it is pointed out that I actually won't like this coming of age activity.  It is true.  Drunkenness makes me extremely uncomfortable.  I have an aversion to bodycon dresses and general sleaziness.  And my musical taste is far more developed and elitist than your average dubstep obsessed youth.  I accept these facts.  But I also desperately want to be excited for busting moves in the club.  Piling in a car with energetic whipper snappers.  Interpretive dancing like ood****.  Enjoying iced tea and oversize burgers then car tripping back home to bed.  These are my dreams.  I want growing up to be an epic excursion.  For as long as I haven't been 18 I have been promised strobe lit good times in small spaces.  I want clubbing to be the funnest, bestest, most youthful experience of my life.  I want to nostalgically tell my grandchildren how I found love in the club.  I want my growth into an adult to be as momentous as my kaftan.

The kaftan made me dance.  

School is ending.  It is nice.  It is scary.  It is momentous, but it doesn't feel like that.  Marking the inevitable last experiences doesn't make me especially upset.  Last Speech and Drama lesson.  Last assembly.  Last full week of school.  I get no poetic surges of angst from these facts.  It surprises me that I don't feel more momentous and nostalgic about the process.  I don't feel disillusioned from my imaginings of the monumental future.  Instead a sense of surrealism accompanies my last days at high school.  My clothing has become compensation for something I am not feeling.  The kaftan is totes an expression of how exciting the ending is.  This kaftan is a metaphor baby.  

Ahhhh.  The reptilian pattern.  The obnoxious colours.  It is so pretty.

Good sleeves.

I have decided to make a zine after school and examinations finish.  Having a published piece of something to commemorate completion of school seems a mighty fine thing to do.   Also I have some arty and clever friends whom I intend to exploit.

Thank you for reading this ramble.  And thank you for all the lovely comments.  I am enjoying this blog thing.

*Ode to a Grecian Urn, John Keats.  It is likely he actually wrote the poem about this kaftan.  It should be titled Ode to Ella's Kaftan.
** Anne of Avonlea, L M Montgomery.  From chapter 19, Just a Happy Day.  "'After all,' Anne had said to Marilla once, 'I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens, but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.'"
*** Probably a reference to Paper Towns by John Green.  Hard to tell as I honestly feel everything is.
****  I can't insert the GIF.  But I can insert the video.

17 October 2011


Salvation Army.
Blue - $5
Red Granny - $5
Soul mate Technicolour - $20
This knitwear isn't even half of my collection.  It is upsetting how I must leave less than exceptional woollen creations in an op shop. *le sigh*  

I've been listening to some chillaxing (I remember being ridiculed by some Regina George-esque 14 year old girls for using the word.  We were never friends.  I maintain that 'chillax' as a verb is one of the most rad, groovy things one can expend energy on.) music.  This playlist provides a decent cross section of the nerd/musical/teen rebelling with mainstream rock/wanting to like jazz/bearded musicians rag tag nature of my iTunes.  Dost anyone else enjoy these sweet sounds?  I would like to snap fingers in appreciation of Liam Finn with you.  

Cold Feet - Liam Finn
The Crane Wife 3 - The Decemberists
Tea - J.B Dazen
Animals - Tom Milsom
I Still Think - Darren Criss
The Storm - Boy and Bear
Permafrost - Laurena Segura
These Winds - Tunng
Strawberry Swing - Coldplay
Better To  Be - Liam Finn
Oh No - Andrew Bird
Misguided Ghosts - Paramore
I Saw You Blink - Stornoway
Stars Fell on Alabama - Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong
Under The Stars - Hans Zimmer

11 October 2011

In which my Mama proves herself a troll on Facebook.

Many thanks to Cat for letting me use her photo.  I cropped out my friend because it would be creepy to post pictures of her on my blog.  Not because I don't think she is rad.

Mum:  Ella, that blouse was not worth the $1 you paid for it.
Me:  Haters gon hate.
Mum:  There is a reason that somebody ditched it
Me:  I'm cut.
Mum: I've had a closer look and think that the feature I dislike most is the double row of 
white plastic buttons. On a positive note, gold buttons would be worse, or is that better?.
Mum:  Did you get your sense of style from your mother?
Friend:  pwnd
Me:  My Mama is a  troll.
Mum:  Perhaps she is modelling her personality off a LOTR character
Friend:  she be trollin' 

30 September 2011

Trying to look cool.

Top - ex school uniform, Skirt - Glassons, Tights - Glassons (on the cheap.  I would never spend more than $3.50 on animal print (unless it was a gigantic second hand caftan.  Then I would)), Ring - $2 shop, Black Ribbon
I don't have much to say.  In my town this would be considered dressing eccentrically, though I view it as tepid and tame.  I must read too much street fashion.

I'm listening to Liam Finn's FOMO and awaiting my best friend.  She has picked a film and rang to ask if I had tuna.  Mysterious Friday adventures await.  Let the weekend of spontaneity and study commence!

20 September 2011

Wanting to write.

Blue merino - Glassons, Lego earrings - Annie Blackberry, Hideous clogs - $5 Rubi shoes, Dress - Mother, Badges - Op Shop
Hello Internet Dearest,
I have been meaning and wanting to write.
I've had practise exams and therefore illicitly read novels.
Before we speak of these, because I enjoy discussing literature, let me tell you about the outfit collage I have included in the metaphorical envelope.

It's simple, but I have an affinity for it.  It is good to actually dress in a style that you have been admiring from afar.  You could call it 'toned-down-school-girl-Harajuku'.  Catchy enough for a Vogue article?  Yes?  
Wearing heels to school was a mental barrier I had to climb.  Quite a feat in ridiculous patent-Quant clogs.
Let me mention the Mexicans partying in my hair.  My Grandmother, who has impeccable taste in tie-die harem pants, brought them from Australia.  Possibly their best export.
I recently joined the Junior Girls Flatworm Society.  Great Fun Sometimes?  Gigantic Frilly Strumpets?  Dost thou know'th the meaning of it?

Now to books.  Before exams I re-familiarised myself with The Hunger Games and Catching Fire.  Goodness I love these books.  Collins is no Tolkien but she writes a story that leaves little time for eating and going to the toilet.  These books are good inroads into other Dystopian literature.  The Capitol reminds me of Brave New World.  The movie will be fun.  As long as Hollywood focuses on the ideas, and how they are realities, more than the romance.  I finished my second reading of Paper Towns five hours ago.  I could blather about Mr. John Green indefinitely.  So let me summarise my soliloquies.  This book is the reason for the subject of English.  Like rotisserie pigs students are stuffed with the apples of learning.  Themes and ideas in novels seem meaningless when one is overfed.  The joy in reading is when you independently analyse and connect with a text.  Paper Towns resonates.  Like Margo, I try hard to create a indie, literature loving reflection instead of a window.  The pleasure of leaving and frustration of the final months of high school is my life right now.  More catfish and poetry.  Less study.  As well as provoking thoughts, it provokes laughter.  This is my recommendation, please accept it.

Love Ella

9 September 2011

Rugby World Cup. It begins.

Ok kids, Rugby World Cup.  It's starting.

Apart from the misplaced advertising campaigns trying to evoke patriotism, forever annoying television personalities preaching the All Black religion and the mucking about of school terms for Auckland traffic, I'm excited.

I hope all the Global Citizens, who are too cultured to care, enjoy their chocolate biscuits and Shakespeare tonight.  I don't have to follow, or (and let's be honest) understand, rugby to be excited.  Hairy men wrestling for a giant egg is undeniably part of New Zealand culture.  Imma celebrate the positive parts of that culture.

Tickets have been purchased for an obscure pool match between Romania and Argentina.  After expressing indecision about who to support I was informed that Romania was "way shittier" and that they deserve my painted face screaming for them.  Sorry Romania. 

I have made a calculated decision not comment on whether New Zealand will actually win.  Only time will unravel that infinite mystery (and when it does we can be assured of many an obnoxious analysis).  Since I have friends on a rather successful female rugby (insert feminist metaphor here) team, I am qualified to make predictions.  Ireland, Samoa and Tonga are going to be in the semi finals.  I base this on the fact that a dude from the Irish team herded ducks into a management meeting, I feel his talents are wasted on the field, and the passion from the Islands.

I would end with a witty rugby related pun.  Regrettably I can't think of any.
Have fun New Zealand.  Don't get too angry.

26 August 2011

Abstinence and Mute Shoes.

Dear Internet,
From hence forth I shall not be frequenting your sites of procrastination.  Until practise exams at least.  I took a vow of abstinence.  Lined refill makes for a binding contract.

I excluded blogging from my paper-oath.  I see it as a semi productive enterprise.  More than Tumblr *shakes fist* anyways.

This time of year is a horrible time in ones last year of school.  Realisations of your credit count, multitudes of internals, practise examinations, legitimate examinations, mocking sunshine and important forms to fill out.  Actual important forms.  About University.  And I thought I had left handwriting woes behind in primary school.  Habitats such as this spawn unhealthy habits.  Which I need to eradicate.  Which I will try to eradicate.

So goodbye my lovers, goodbye my friends.  Facebook, YouTube, Tumblr.  May you prosper without me.

On another, more bodacious note, let me introduce you to some shoes.  I look on this pair with a twisted kind of excitement.  I was partaking in the the 40 Hour Famine at the time.  I had given up talking, was over halfway through, for sponsorship which goes to World Vision.  Not talking is not easy.  Shoes at the Salvation Army were half price.  These ones made me converse.  I didn't even realise.  They are my nemesis.  But I also have mucho appreciation for the paradoxical pair.  I am always unsure if they were worth having to repeat the Famine.


22 August 2011

Tradition tastes good.

I am the 4th generation to frequent this bakery.
After a speech exam we went there.
Food always marks important occasions.
It tastes so much better than it looks.

15 August 2011

A visual punch.

In an utterly fantastic occurrence, today was a snow day.  I like this type of Monday.
What I don't like is how snow on the ground is always short lived.
It's melting like the Witch of the West, and soon I will be confronted with the week.

I dressed for homework not frolicking.  Please, do not panic.  I did frolic, wander aimlessly and contemplate ambushing a friend.  Mama described my comfort clothing as a "visual punch".  I hope it was an amiable, friendly sort of punch.  Or Punch and Judy.  Hurting people with fists is not what I'm about.

Scarf - Grandma.  Knitted with love.
Striped Thermal - Only type there is.  I refuse to accept the existence of non-striped thermal underwear.  They are an abomination to nature.
Cardigan - Kiwiana tourist cardigan.  David Bain in technicolour.  Best $20 I ever spent at an op shop.  This piece of knitwear is my soul mate.
Granny Pants - $4 op shop.  OMNOMNOMNOM on my legs.

11 August 2011

16 dress + trying to be artsy

This has been languishing as a draft for far too long.  Be free!
I bought this dress on my 16th birthday for $4.
It took me a year and half to actually wear it, but I have always loved it dearly.
It makes me think of rose gardens.

10 August 2011

My lip gloss be poppin'.

Something I said in Statistics got convoluted today. 

I believe I read on Hvit that lip gloss is worn to look like female genitals.  This made sense to me.  Makeup is worn to make us more attractive and attractiveness is judged by beauty conventions. Clear skin is beautiful; we wear foundation.  Tan is beautiful; we Thin Lizzie ourselves to Oompa Loompa level.  Dark eyelashes are beautiful; we wear mascara.  Makeup allows us to fill these beauty conventions unnaturally if we can't ourselves.  So why is the oil-slicking of lips regarded as beautiful?

Different people uphold different beauty conventions; Moko's, bound feet and fat bottomed girls.  I don't believe these conventions are inherently bad; but some are limiting.  Bound feet best reflects how conventions of beauty can be harmful.  Intentionally disabling a woman to beautify her is ugly and unrealistic.  Beauty conventions I aspire to when I consume media are unreal.  I will never look like Emma Watson or Selena Gomez.  The attractiveness I feel when I wear makeup is certainly not unreal.  I genuinely feel 'prettier' with stuff on my face.  Is that because glossy lips is beautiful or it's what I believe is beautiful?  Belief is powerful and I'm not discounting the fuzzies we feel after grooming, just questioning their origin.

Makeup does not simply make us more attractive and acceptable to ourselves.  Like an Amazonian mating dance it makes us more agreeable to potential partners.  Not too long ago the only power women possessed was sexual.  Marriage was the ultimate goal; think Jane Austen.  Beauty conventions had to be fulfilled to attract Mr Darcy.  Why would women want to make their lips look like their nether regions?  Men enjoyed women for the children they bore, amazing sandwiches they made and time they spent in the bedroom.  This isn't an academic article but I think it's totally feasible that shiny, red lips became a beauty convention because of what it reminded men of.

Use your imagination to create the innuendos and jokes that my comment in class sparked.  I'm sure girls don't start wearing glitter on their lips for unseemly reasons.  But perhaps when they start buying makeup they should be handed an informational pamphlet on its origins.  Chapstick seems less tempting when you consider the reasons we wear it.

9 August 2011

Read Books, not Magazines.

When I was Justin Bieber age I read a lot.  Hauls from weekly library visits were mingled with Total Girl and Creme magazines.  Thankfully I never made the leap to their older sisters.

These magazines are like cheap chocolate; nom to sickly quickly.  The lip gloss and huggable boys seem rather harmless.  And maybe they are.  But they did  not help shape the person I want to be.  I want to dress up and read literature.  Not doll up and read Facebook.

Now I read Frankie.  It's quite a communal experience.  When I'm done it goes to a friend, my English teacher and my bookshelf to be enjoyed later.  Although I wish I had read something like Frankie when I was twelve, I know I wouldn't have accepted it.  Fluff though it was, it was pretty pygmy puff fluff. 

I have decided to expand my personal library and read more.  I shall see you trolling the second hand book sales.

We need laughs, role models and culture.  Not sex tips.