Anyway, I started reading the article, and I was floored, yes, floored. Instead of being this toady, kiss-up article written by a cool-kid table back scratcher (like every article in a fashion magazine seems to be), it was crisp, it was melodic, the sentence structure was here and there, it was fun to read. In the most splendid, snappy way ever conceived, the person who wrote this article whipped up a piece about an ordinary person with a high profile job, and served it a flambé. I kept thinking, "Ooooh that's the coolest way to say that! WHY I didn't think of that first!!!" as I often do when I'm reading things written by Oscar Wilde, David Sedaris, Louise Plummer, Ann Dee Knight, Annie Garlock Reynolds, and Ken Craig.
About the time my ears had started smoking for both thrill and envy, I turned over this magazine and saw that it was the British copy of Elle magazine. 3 pounds 50. Of course. (!!!)
Bah, must the English beat us at ALL things artistic?
But anyway, it was another one of those, "you lazy git" moments. If I ever had any talent in writing, I certainly haven't been doing anything to fluff and primp it for the last several months. In so many ways and for some lame reason (I can't afford to have a shrink analyze why) I've stopped trying to better myself at something I do love to do. I usually stop writing well when I start worrying so much about what other people will think of it. Anyway, as Yoda might have said, "Wake up call I had," and I need to put writing back into my brain, and work on it in the miscellaneous areas of life, like this here bloggy blog.
I bought the UK Elle, to remind me. And it cost an arm and a leg, thankyouverymuch weakened dollar.
Yes I know that's not Jennifer Aniston, but this is apparently last month's UK Elle, and this is a much more modest outfit, and Gwyneth Paltrow is my favorite actress.