Art, music, whatever
Today we’re going to look (in some detail) at Camila Giorgio, who in her early thirties has recently retired from an unremarkable career in tennis:
…and moved into a different kind of career altogether.
No, not music. While it is generally true that tennis totties have nice legs, Camila’s are sensational.
Tennis’s loss; our gain.
This is Austro-Philipino totty Myleene Klass, who was a singer with some Britpop band back in the early 2000s, and is now something or other else in showbiz.
Not too bad for her late 40s…
Among the several things about Modern Life that make me ultra-peevish is this thing about people walking around carrying drinks — water bottles, Yeti flasks, what have you — and I want to ask people (loudly) whether they think they’re going to die of thirst before they can get to the nearest tap or drinking fountain. Mostly, this applies to women, the precious creatures, because Teh Experts tell us that We Must Remain Hydrated, Lest We Die.
Maybe when you’re crossing the fucking Mojave Desert, but not when you’re crossing the street in Dallas or Los Angeles.
However, let it not be said that I’m completely intolerant in this regard. I am prepared, for instance, to make exceptions to my “Stop acting like a camel!” gripe in circumstances such as these:
…although I should also point out that not all women seem to need that oh-so important drink in their hand every time they step outdoors:
…and of course, there are those poor things in obvious need of sustenance:
I mean, I wouldn’t want y’all to think I was that Krool & Hartless, after all.
But in all honesty, if you’re that thirsty, get off the street and find a place to assuage your thirst — and there are many of them, in cities all over the world. Places like these:
It’s really not too much to ask.
This one’s named Monica Barbaro (no, never heard of her either), but she plays Jan Baez in the Bob Dylan biopic.
That ol’ Commie Joan Baez can only dream of ever looking this good.
New Wife and I have a Saturday morning ritual which involves me making us tea and coffee and bringing the laptop to bed, where we read the online news and browse a few websites together.
The first thing we look at is this here website, because she doesn’t have time to read it during the week, so we scroll back while she gets a Whole Week Of Kim in one gulp, so to speak. (And yet she still stays with me, which is a miracle, quite frankly.)
Anyway, our first read this past Saturday was my post about beauty and the differing definitions thereof.
I should point out that New Wife has if anything more conservative tastes than I do, and anything that reeks of “flashy” or “loud” makes her nose turn up in disgust. Needless to say, she thought all the ’68-’72 cars I pictured were “dreadful” and “disgusting” except for the E-type (and even that gets only a begrudging pass from her).
One of the other websites we visit each week is C.W.’s Daily Timewaster, which on this occasion featured this vision of loveliness, a Jaguar Mk II from the early 1960s:
This she pronounced as the most beautiful car ever made, because it was classy (inside and out).
By her terms, of course, it is the most beautiful car ever made — because she thinks that almost all sports cars are “flashy”, and the family saloon car is the sine qua non of automotive desirability.
I would actually agree with her, because as 4-door saloon cars go, the Mark II is undoubtedly exquisite, especially when compared to others of its ilk and era both European and American. (With its 3.4-liter engine, it’s also plenty powerful, which she sniffily dismisses with “If you’re interested in that sort of thing”.)
And in case you’re interested in which sports car she would appreciate were we to win the lottery, it’s this one, the 1964 Mercedes 230SL W113 (“Pagoda”):
Can’t really fault her on that one, either. (I’d prefer the later-model W113 280 SL because MOAR POWAH, but she’s unmoved by that, as we’ve seen before.)