Chris and I took a little road trip last weekend, because I was hired to write a series of travel blogs for a neighboring state.
It is said that the difference between women's magazines and men's is that magazines aimed at women are all about self-improvement, and men's are about how great they are. I do most of my magazine reading in the checkout line at Kroger (aka K. Roger, thanks to Ms. Stone!). It appears that there is much truth to this.
I have been in the business of beauty for 20 years, whether in the hustle and bustle of one of my salons or armed with an arsenal of brushes at the makeup counters, so this fellow knows some tricks you are sure to find a treat this fall.
History is like a big puzzle. There are scattered pieces tucked away in different collections, archives and books just waiting to be assembled. Sometimes these scattered pieces come together and what had been unassociated events help to form a complete story.
It's time to put your best face forward. Facial shapes come in a variety of different forms: round, oblong, oval, square, triangular, diamond and heart-shaped. You don't need a how-to book or even a stylist to help; simply face the mirror and trace the outline of your face with an eyeliner pencil. Stand back and marvel.
Lately, because of my growing addiction to newspaper puzzles, I have taken to reading the funnies again. Some of them are frankly political, even though they are usually the ones that can make me laugh out loud.
October is my favorite month. It is in this month that Southerners expect to feel a coolness in the air, finally. It is the time when leaves turn to flames and jewels. It is the month of Halloween.
These days everything we buy comes with instructions and detailed warnings. Aerosol cans have labels that warn us to keep them away from open flames. Shampoos clearly state that the contents are for external use only.
The holidays are almost upon us, and I can't think of a more appropriate time to turn up the volume on your hair color by switching gears with one of the newest buzz-worthy trends of the year -- ombre.
Just down the road between Columbus and West Point, where the asphalt turns to gravel, there's an opening in the trees revealing a peek at the meandering Tibbee Creek.
Although I do not consider myself a real artist, I love to try to paint. And I love the company of artists, those people for whom the scales have dropped from their eyes, who see things with a fresh outlook and can recognize beauty or humor in strange places. What is more, I never fail to enjoy being in the homes of artists. No matter how grand or humble, they almost always sparkle with personality.
Allow me to cut straight to the point. A haircut is not just a trim that you approach with eyes closed, literally or figuratively. It's one defining aspect of your image.
"Vintage" is a word that keeps popping up in conversation lately. Vintage has always been in my vocabulary. I love antiques, and if you see me about town most likely it will be lusting after a French armoire or drooling near a pair of Louis XIV candelabra.
Last Sunday morning I called some friends to invite myself over for Sunday dinner. More often than not, every third Sunday or so their dinner table is covered with garden-fresh vegetables, fried pork chops, chicken or meatloaf and to-die-for desserts. I'm blessed to have friends that don't mind my barging in (I think?).
I spent my childhood in Memphis, Tenn. It was the 1950s, and Elvis was "King." In those days he was not just any king, he was Louis XIV, The Sun King, and Graceland was his Versailles.
I have just finished a month of Nutrisystem; and, while yes, I may have lost a little weight (never enough!), I found out a few things I feel urged to share, such as "buyer, beware." Here's why: The example of celebrity customers who lose about 100 pounds is not typical. The small print tells you so.
From time to time my home page, MSN, tries to give me advice. It seems to think that I need to know how to make great cupcakes, or decorate my home to look like a furniture store window, or wear the trendiest colors, hot off the runways of Paris and Milan.
I remember sitting on the toilet seat -- closed, of course -- of our small, blue-tiled bathroom paying close attention to my mama as she went through her beauty ritual. The hot rollers were plugged in and ready to go. Even as a little fellow, I was happiest when surrounded by the glamour of lipsticks, dusting powders and Aquanet. It beat chopping wood with my brothers.
Many years ago, while recovering from a brutal divorce, I traveled through the Yucatan with a companion. We rented a yellow Volkswagen and wandered without an itinerary or plan of any sort. It was September. Most tourists had returned to school, and work, and the promise of autumn. However, in Mexico temperatures were still in the high 90s. We had the peninsula almost to ourselves, and time meant nothing.
You may have read or seen the movie about Marley, "The World's Worst Dog." Marley, at least, was just a dog, and those whom he troubled might have had to suffer torn belongings and other messes. Marley was a piker at "worstness" though; he did not speak all the languages of Satan, for instance, and he could not change his shape into that of a seductive woman, and he could not render himself and his master invisible.